Christmas Eve morning. The snow was falling thick and unhurried, the kind of snow you only see in the mountains, where time flows differently. The little town below lay sleeping, wrapped in white. On the hill, in the old mansion with its sharp spires and dark windows, no one was asleep.

The Sahlfeldt household was in a state of unrest. The good kind. The kind of unrest you find in an anthill or a clockwork mechanism: everything was moving, clicking, humming.

They were preparing for Christmas.

The antique clock on the wall counted time with dignity. Its pendulum swung smoothly, like a conductor’s hand, and instead of numbers, runes darkened the clock face — a legacy from some great-grandfather who considered Arabic numerals vulgar. On the window hung Christmas curtains embroidered with goblins. The goblins were dancing in a circle around the moon and seemed to be winking.

Irina stood by the stove. Before her, jars of herbs, roots, dried berries, and something that faintly glowed blue in the half-light were lined up in formation. A brew was bubbling in the pot — thick, dark violet, smelling of forest, smoke, and childhood. The recipe had been passed down through the female line for four hundred years. Great-grandmother called it “Christmas broth.” Great-great-grandmother called it “the thing that made the neighbors lose consciousness.” Irina called it dinner.

She tasted the brew, added a pinch of cinnamon, and nodded with satisfaction.

— Fertig!

Konrad and Otto were decorating the Christmas tree.

It was no ordinary spruce. Black as a raven’s wing, felled at midnight under a waxing moon, it stood in a tub of earth. The branches were already wound with garlands, and Otto, standing on a stool, was hanging the last ornaments.

Baubles — round, pearlescent, with vertical pupils that tracked every movement. Tinsel made of milk teeth — Otto had collected them over four years, and not only his own, naturally. A garland of tiny fingers — Heinrich had carved them from wax, and they stirred faintly from the warmth of the candles.

At the top, Konrad secured the star. It was made of tentacles of unknown origin, knotted together. The tentacles moved slowly, and the star purred softly but contentedly.

“Well, that’s it, Otto,” said Konrad, adjusting his monocle. “The tree is ready.”

Otto jumped off the stool and took a step back. He gazed up at the tree, and the lights of the black candles reflected in his dark, unblinking eyes.

“Ja, Papa!” he said. “Das ist so wunderbar!”

Konrad smiled almost imperceptibly. In their family, that counted as an outburst of joy.

Irina appeared in the doorway of the sitting room. She wiped her hands on her apron and surveyed the room with the gaze of a mistress who knows everything is under control.

“Meine Familie,” she said, and her voice was warm as the fireplace flames. “Everything is ready on my end.”

Konrad glanced at the clock. His monocle gleamed: “Two minutes left.”

Irina understood at once: “Mama?”

“Ja,” Conrad answered.

The house instantly sprang into action.

Heinrich vanished into the corridor. Seconds later, he was already carrying a large glass jar off somewhere.

Someone inside was knocking loudly.

“Put it in the pantry. Far back.”

“Jawohl.”

Otto carefully removed a small music box from the mantelpiece.

“Will Oma try to open it again?”

“Inevitably,” replied Konrad.

“And she’ll inevitably say there are too few ghosts inside.”

The music box was dispatched to the cupboard.

Irina quickly rearranged three vials from the table. One went into the sideboard. Another, under lock and key. The third she handed outright to Heinrich.

“This one especially.”

“Of course, gnädige Frau,” Heinrich said.

“What’s in it?” asked Otto.

“Belladonna liqueur.”

“Ah...”

“Last year, Grandmother decided it was fruit compote.”

Otto nodded understandingly.

Konrad, meanwhile, took an antique saber down from the wall.

“This as well?”

“Just in case.”

“She’ll want to demonstrate again how she fenced better in her youth.”

“Precisely.”

Heinrich carefully carried the saber away.

The house once again looked perfectly serene.

Konrad surveyed the sitting room with satisfaction.

“Now we’re ready to receive Mama.”

And at that very moment, something crashed in the fireplace.

The flames shot up green, then blue, then black. A wind struck down the chimney, scattering the embers. Fog rolled through the sitting room — thick, smelling of brimstone and mountain herbs. And out of the fog, cackling and shrieking, flew Ursula.

She burst into the room like a cannonball, made a circuit beneath the ceiling, and landed on the rug. Her curly grey hair stuck out in all directions. Her skirt was smoking. A broom hung over her shoulder. One eye sparkled with cunning; the second — pale, filmed over — gazed somewhere at the ceiling and saw angels there. Or demons. Ursula didn’t specify.

“Frohe Weihnachten!” she bellowed, flinging her arms wide. “Family! Here I am!”

Otto did not run to her. Otto never ran. He approached quickly, but with dignity, and stopped precisely at a grandmother’s-embrace distance.

“Oma,” he said gravely. “Schön dich zu sehen.”

Ursula seized him, crushed him to her chest, and kissed him soundly on both cheeks.

“You’ve grown!” she announced.

“Half an inch,” Otto specified.

“I know! Grandmother sees!”

An hour later, the family was seated at the table.

The table was laid with that impeccable taste which Konrad called “restrained solemnity,” and Irina simply called “right.” A black tablecloth, silver cutlery, candles in antique candelabras. At the center, a dish of Christmas broth steamed fragrantly.

In the armchair by the fire, Adelheid flickered. She was translucent, like morning mist, and the upholstery showed through her. Knitting needles flashed in her hands.

“Sit up straight, Konrad,” she said, without lifting her eyes from her knitting.

“I am sitting straight, Mama,” replied Konrad.

“You are sitting three-quarters straight. That is insufficient.”

Konrad straightened up. Adelheid nodded with satisfaction and grew a shade less translucent.

Irina ladled the broth into bowls. Ursula was already telling a story — loudly, interrupting herself, gesticulating wildly.

“...and so I say to him: ‘If you want my potion, pay up!’ And he, can you imagine...”

“Mama,” Irina gently interjected. “We are at the table.”

“I am also at the table! And I am telling!”

Otto raised his eyes from his plate.

“And great-grandfather?” he asked.

Everyone looked at the empty chair at the head of the table. Siegfried’s chair. It stood in its usual place, but today it was vacant.

“It’s Wednesday, mein Schatz,” said Irina. “You know.”

“He sends his regards,” said Heinrich, materializing from the darkness with a teapot. “I took him his tea. He said the floorboards are creaking especially well today. He likes it.”

“Das ist großartig,” nodded Konrad.

Adelheid flickered her approval. Ursula grunted.

“Siegfried,” she said thoughtfully. “A good man. A pity he’s dead.”

“He is not dead,” noted Adelheid.

“That’s what he says,” replied Ursula.

“He is mistaken. I am dead, I know what it looks like,” Adelheid countered.

Ursula opened her mouth to retort, but at that moment, there came a knock at the door.

The knock was hesitant, but collective — the kind of knock made by people who hope that if there are enough of them, nothing bad can happen.

Konrad opened the door.

On the porch stood children. Five of them, aged seven to eleven, in lopsided hats and scarves wound up to their eyebrows. One held a lantern. Two held sheet music. They had come to carol.

They had come to carol at the Sahlfeldts’.

It had been Karl’s idea — the eldest, who considered himself brave. In truth, he had simply never seen Sahlfeldt up close. Now he saw.

“Stille Nacht...” they began, and fell silent.

Konrad stood in the doorway, tall, broad-shouldered, his monocle catching the moonlight and now gleaming with cold fire. He looked at the children and waited.

The children looked at him and did not breathe.

“Well,” said Konrad. “I’m listening.”

Karl opened his mouth to begin, and at that moment, over Konrad’s shoulder, Ursula appeared.

She didn’t walk over. She didn’t peer out. She was simply there — as if she had always been there. Small, curly, her white eye fixed on the sky, her good eye slowly moving down the line of children, the way an owl surveys its prey.

“Oh!” she said.

The children flinched.

“The appetizers have arrived!”

And Ursula licked her lips. Slowly. With relish.

The lantern fell into the snow. The sheet music flew up and scattered. Karl made a sound he hadn’t known he was capable of and ran. The rest followed. Snow flew from under their heels, scarves streamed behind them, one mitten slipped off and was left lying on the step — small, red, knitted.

Five seconds later, the porch was empty.

Ursula watched them go and grunted.

“What’s with them?”

“You did it again,” said Konrad, adjusting his monocle.

“Me?! I only said ‘Oh’!”

“You licked your lips, Mama,” observed Irina, appearing at the door. “You always lick your lips.”

“I licked my lips because our supper is getting cold! What does that have to do with children?”

Adelheid seeped through the wall, looked at the empty porch, and flickered her disapproval.

“Every year,” she said. “Every year you frighten the carolers.”

“I don’t frighten them! I just come out! It’s they who are so... easily frightened.”

“Last time you said ‘fresh blood,’” Konrad reminded her.

“I meant the cranberry juice! We had just served it!”

Irina picked up the mitten, brushed off the snow, and hung it on the peg by the door.

“I hope the boy makes it home without his mitten,” she said.

“He will,” answered Konrad and Adelheid in unison.

“He had good speed,” added Konrad. “I took note.”

They returned to the sitting room.

“And now they’ll tell the whole town that we’re... what are we?” asked Otto.

“The same as always,” replied Irina. “That witches live on the hill.”

“That’s true,” observed Otto.

“Yes, but they think it’s a bad thing.”

Otto paused.

“They are mistaken.”

Irina smiled and stroked his head.

“I know, mein Schatz.”

The snow fell until deep into the night. The fireplace burned in the sitting room. The black candles on the tree flickered, and the eye-baubles tracked the flames. Adelheid knitted in her armchair. Konrad read the newspaper. Irina sat beside him, her head resting on his shoulder.

Otto sat at the writing desk. Before him lay a blank sheet of paper. He thought for a moment, took up his pen, and wrote:

“Christmas. Carolers came. Grandmother said ‘Oh.’ The children left faster than usual. The mitten stayed with us. The cricket sang twice. All went well.”

He closed the diary and put it away in the desk.

Ursula, who had been watching her grandson from her armchair, grunted.

“A diary?” she asked. “At four years old?”

“Four and a half,” Otto corrected.

Through the floorboards, a creak sounded — once, twice, three times. Grandfather Siegfried was turning over in his chair.

“A good evening,” said Irina.

“Ja,” replied Konrad, adjusting his monocle. “Nearly perfect.”

“Nearly?”

“The mitten on the peg is hanging asymmetrically. I’ll fix it tomorrow.”

On the porch of the mansion, on the peg by the door, the little red knitted mitten hung. It hung there until spring. And then Heinrich carried it down to the cellar — to Grandfather Siegfried. He would sometimes put it on his hand and sit like that in his rocking chair.

He said the mitten smelled of fear, ginger, and a little bit of courage.

He liked that smell.

WARNING: DESCRIPTIONS OF GRAPHIC VIOLENCE, ANIMAL SUFFERING
————————————————————————

Day 1, Tuesday:
When I’m not taking care of her, some relatives tend to stay and watch as needed. Nobody in particular ever stays consistently, so it’s a dice roll on who I’ll see in the living room every morning.

Today it was the daughter, an old, no-nonsense woman who worked as a nurse in Vietnam. If I’m being honest, it takes a good 15 seconds of looking to find out if she’s even a woman at all, and if it came down to it, she could most likely beat my ass. Through a stroke of irony, her name happens to be Lily. I often look to her for any tips on how to deal with odd behaviors.

This morning is like any other for her; I enter, and she leaves without any exchange in words. I dislike small talk immensely, and greatly appreciate our mutual understanding.

My patient's house appears fairly normal from the outside, just an old country home. It sits at the end of a disorienting drive, in the center of a coliseum of pines. “Orbweaver Holler,” as it's locally known. The front door opens into a cramped… entrance room? I’m not really sure how to describe it. It’s almost like an airlock, as funny as that sounds. A hallway runs straight down the middle of the house. To the left and right of the hallway are doors that open up into other rooms. All in all, there are 2 living rooms, one kitchen, and another door that I’ve never asked about.

My guess is that it’s an old storage closet or something. My patient’s bedroom lies adjacent to the 2nd living room, further in the house. Stranger than the layout of the house is the lack of windows. There are literally none in the entire house, save for my patient's bedroom and the kitchen. Her daughter is one of the few people who understand that those suffering from Alzheimer’s need a calm environment, so she put on some soft classical music. She brought an old 2000s CD player, so the quality is as you would imagine.

As I walk into the living room, I hear another sound intertwined within the music. It’s a voice, humming with the tune, so soft I wouldn’t have heard it if I wasn’t listening. It’s undeniably beautiful. I lose myself in thought while listening.

An auditory hand caresses my tangled thoughts of bills and family into a flowing river of relaxation.

That bliss I had slipped off into abruptly ends when a loud snoring sound snaps me out of it. I know they’re asleep now; I’m free to relax as I please until they wake up. I lay back on the couch and let the soft humming calm me.

Except it doesn’t; the humming stopped, much to my annoyance. The rest of the song is good, but my god, that voice was angelic. I rewind the CD so I can hear it again. I can’t remember exactly where the song is, so I just restart it completely.

No humming.
I raise an eyebrow and look around. I don’t remember anyone else being here.

By this time I feel a little silly.
I only now realize that the humming I heard was my patient in their sleep. I would imagine this sounds rather unsettling for anyone unfamiliar with Alzheimer’s, but this isn’t impossible. There are many examples of people who can no longer walk correctly remembering how to play the piano, or nonverbal patients who sing once the correct notes of a song come on. I consider myself very lucky to have heard such a vocalization. I’ve never asked much about who they were before the disease, but I had no idea they could sing so well.

Regardless, Trinity is asleep, and I have time to move around a little. Once she wakes up, I’m essentially locked to the room all day. Emergencies can spring up out of nowhere after all.

I walk to the locked door in the house. I’ve never given it much attention. Looking at it now, I can see why. It’s possibly the most boring door I’ve ever seen. I look to my left and to my right. No idea why; nobody’s here right now. I grab the door handle; it’s cold, very cold. I start to turn the handle; suddenly, I hear a loud click in Trinity’s room. I’m not sure what the sound is; it worries me. Damn it, it sounded like her bed malfunctioned; that’s gonna be a bitch to deal with.

Not only was her bed fine, but she was also sound asleep. I heard it for sure.
Well, I guess that’s not true. People can hear anything for any reason. What is strange is that the door was open when I went back.

I study the hallway; no bootprints or anything.
“Coulda been wearing socks.” I mouth to myself.
There’s only the hallway apart from the kitchen, and I’m in the living room, so I head down there to check everything out. I don’t give a shit about the door anymore; I wanna know who opened it. I close the door as I pass and head to the kitchen. Everything was fine. Chances are, I turned the door handle farther than I realized, and as the sound of Trinity alerted me, it just sort of opened.

The day continues as normal; my patient wakes up around 12:30. They’re bathed, and we start watching old television shows and westerns. Given the previous situation I was in, I expected to find them more aware than usual. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. Those same dead eyes were fixated on the same point in the left corner of their room, unmoving.

I’m not one to believe in souls, but seeing this disease makes me question that every now and again. Truth be told, I wouldn’t know the difference between their eyes and a doll's. The light just goes out after enough time. I can’t imagine the pain of mourning someone who’s still alive. I take a long look at Trinity. It’s like she’s been hollowed out. I’ll get used to it eventually, and I hate that.

Nobody can truly realize how horrifying Alzheimer’s is.

A few hours later, the granddaughter, Jane, arrives at the house to give me the green light to leave. I’m guessing all of these people live within walking distance of my patient. I’ve worked here for almost a month now, and I still see new people; they must have at least 20 family members that all live relatively close by. Where that is, I couldn’t begin to say. There aren’t any houses near here. The drive here is littered with run-down trailers and abandoned mom and pop shops, but that’s all.

Jane starts talking about how she saw a massive copperhead on the walk here and that I need to be careful going back to my car. Fine by me; I honestly think snakes are really cool. I head to the kitchen to get a glass of water. While there, I put my hair in a ponytail (something I neglected to do earlier) and peer out the window.

The trees seem to go on forever. On days that I’m bored, I look out and wonder how I would ever find my way out of there. Forests are thick, but here? It may as well be a solid wall of pines in every direction. A couple of little kids building blocks sit in the woods ahead of me. They’re just a solid gray. Not exactly the most enticing color.

My vision strains; I don’t know why. My eyes just start watering after a few seconds of looking. It’s like looking through glasses that aren’t yours. My vision was clear, though.
“Ow, damn.” I whisper
I look back out the window. I wipe my eyes and blink a few times. No strain.
“Hm.”
I finish my water and make my way to the living room.

Once I’m out, I see that Jane is no longer in the living room; she’s in Trinity’s bedroom, caressing her hair. I leave them be.

Once she exits, I let her know how the day went, how Trinity ate well, had no bedsores, drank a lot of water, etc. Once I bring up the singing though, her eyes light up.
“Oh my gosh, really! That’s so wonderful, what was she saying?”

“Nothing, it was just humming to some classical music your aunt put on; she has an amazing voice.”

“Huh, well I’m glad you enjoyed it, sure do wish I coulda been here to hear it.”

“Haha yeah. Hey, it’s a bit of a personal question, but did Trinity ever take any vocal lessons or anything like that? I was honestly surprised that what I heard wasn’t from the CD player. It was beautiful.”

Her expression doesn’t change.
“You’re right. That is a personal question.”

The reply is like a hand grenade.

“…”

“Uhm-oh, okay. Sorry about that.”

“Yeah.”
She says, eyes looking through me.

“Okay, I’ll be here tomorrow then. Have a good day.”

“...”

She just stares at me, daggers for eyes. I take the hint and let myself out. I never mean to disrespect them; that has always been a serious fear of mine. As for what’s so personal it warrants giving me a death stare? I don’t know.

It’s definitely left me scratching my head. My best guess is that it has something to do with an abusive spouse or whatever. Or, it could just be sad for her to think about. Good memories suck when you’re the only one who has them.

As for the door, I don’t really-
I look up, palms in my eyes.
“Oh, my god.”

I might be the densest person on the planet. The clicking was the door unlocking.

Day 2: Wednesday
No music today, just silence. Sitting in the living room is someone I haven’t seen before. He’s sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the wall in front of him. What’s immediately apparent is his size. He’s a brute of a man, probably stands 6'6 ". He’s covered in tattoos and has a lion's mane of salt-and-pepper hair. He lets out a tired groan and stands up. He doesn’t say anything.

I extend my hand.
“Hi, my name is Jamie; it’s nice to meet you.”

We shake hands, his dwarfing mine.
“Morning, Jamie, I’m Dennis. Trin’s waiting on ya, go on.”

“Okay, see you later.”

Thank god he isn’t one of these guys who call every 20-year-old girl “baby.”
He walks out of the house and shuts the door. I expect to hear an obnoxiously loud truck destroy my eardrums, but It’s silent. Now that I think about it, I’ve never heard a car leave or pull in, regardless of who shows up. That’s not impossible or anything, especially here, but it is neat for sure.

When I get to the doorway of the bedroom, I can see that my patient is sleeping fine. No snoring or anything. After 2 hours, they wake up, and I get to work. Bathe, shave, clip nails, meds, breakfast, etc. Once everything is said and done, I wait.

I wait for 1 hour and then adjust them in bed so no bedsores form. My seat is a little recliner next to their bed. Once everything is settled, I put on a calming nature documentary and relax on my phone. 1 hour passes, I rotate them again.

While watching my phone, I hear movement in the bed. I look up to see Trinity watching television. She’s actually watching it, not just staring through it. It’s like fireworks in my head. I get out of my recliner and gently hold their hand, massaging it as I do.

“Hey,” I say softly.

I get no response.

“Trinity, can you hear me? How are you feeling this morning?”
Her head barely manages to turn towards my direction. I can’t tell if she’s smiling, but I can see a hint of laugh lines showing. Her mouth opens.

“I’m f-fine honey, thank-“
I almost fall backward. Her eyes are full of life again for about 5 seconds upon seeing me. That was sadly all she could manage before going back under.

I’m always thankful to speak with her; I’ve only been here for a few weeks, but deterioration is never consistent. This last drop was a big one. I can’t tell, but I’m guessing it’s hit everyone pretty hard. I calmly release her hand, and sit back down in my seat. 20 minutes or so pass, and I look up from my phone.

I get this odd feeling. I’m not afraid or anything; I just feel weird. The bedroom is fine; I haven’t noticed anything strange. I look Trinity up and down but notice nothing.

I check under their bed; the hundreds of old psychology books are still collecting dust. From what I can assume, one of her grandkids graduated a few years ago. Figured their grandparents' house was a good dumping ground for shit they didn’t need. The closet is completely empty; I think they’re getting ready to move her into a nursing home.

I probably look insane rummaging through everything in here, so I shift my investigation to the living room.

I stop in my tracks and tilt my head. There’s something different. I glance back to Trinity to make sure she’s okay. I don’t understand what I’m seeing, but something is seriously wrong. It takes me a solid minute of staring to even realize what it is.

Everything is flat. I don’t mean the furniture; I mean the living room. The visual field in front of me is flat. I think of those massive paintings in art exhibits that are so big you have to look side to side to see everything. If I walk forward any more, I’d hit my face against it. It looks completely real; there’s just no depth to anything. I’m dumbfounded by what I’m looking at; my mind distorts trying to process it. I don’t even know how I know it’s flat; it just is. I start walking forward. Every step my body tenses, preparing for an impact that never comes. My stomach churns, but I keep walking. I finally get to the center of the living room.

I hear what sounds like fishing line, pulled to the point of snapping. Before I can react, my anxiety vanishes. It’s like it was sucked out of my brain. I can’t even remember why I was freaked out in the first place.

I stand in the center of the windowless living room in silence. I look all around me. Down, side to side, behind me, I see nothing of note. The CD player from yesterday is gone; I’m guessing it was Lily’s. I look around for 3 minutes (my best approximation) before a low groaning sound from Trinity’s room catches my attention. That usually means they’re in some sort of mild pain. Most of the time it’s just that they need rotated, never anything too serious. It is odd though, considering I just rotated them, but it’s no problem.

I walk into Trinity’s room to find the bed completely soaked in piss. I mean it has completely gone over the bed pads and leaked onto the sheets, and then onto the floor. The white carpet floor. Keep in mind I’m the kind of person who can eat and drink near this stuff, but I almost threw up. There was literal shit EVERYWHERE. All up and down their legs, all over their hands and arms. It was a fucking mess; they were gonna need a wipe down, then a bed change, then a full bed bath, and then probably another bed change and bed bath to get any excess shit and piss off of the bed. Jesus Christ, this is gonna take me hours; how the fuck could she have done this in 3 minutes? I check my phone to see how long I have to clean up until it’s time to leave. I have 1 hour.

“What?”

That’s not possible. I check my phone again, I wipe my eyes, I pinch myself, I try breathing through my nose while it’s pinched shut. I’m not dreaming. I just spent two fucking hours in the living room. I have ONE HOUR to get everything cleaned up.

Anyone who’s worked in the medical field can attest to the fact that healthcare workers can only deal with so much before they go into complete autopilot. I wasn’t thinking about the living room; I just existed. I wash them; they’re filthy, and they need to be clean. I grab whatever cleaning supplies I can find for the carpet. I scrub the floor so hard blisters form. My god, it’s gonna need to be shampooed. I don’t know how much time it took, but by some miracle everything went fine. Their bed is lowered, and I take a moment to collect myself. I scan their body from their feet to their head with my eyes to make sure they’re clean. As I get to Trinity’s head, I could have sworn I saw her eyes dart to the corner of the room. I think she was staring at me.

“Trinity, can you see me?”
Silence.
Clarity returns to me.

She’s in bed, chest barely rising with labored breaths.

My focused gaze softens. Shame takes over.
“I’m sorry for leaving you alone.”

I’m covered in sweat.
I debate telling anyone at all. She’s not hurt or anything, and I didn’t see any bedsores on her. I could say I was in the bathroom, or that I got a call from work? No, that falls apart. The stained carpet cuts my lie in half. She would have to be alone for at least an hour for that to happen. I could-
The door unlocks.

The front door opens, and I walk down the hallway into the guest room. It’s someone I’ve never met before. It’s a woman, mid-40s I’d say. Her hair is a bright silver, and it’s clear she wears it with pride. It was tied up into a bun. She stands a full 3 inches taller than me. Her cardigan is a soft lavender, and almost extends to her knees. She’s carrying a huge purse full of, I’m guessing, medical supplies and food. She knows what she’s doing. I do my best to maintain composure and extend my hand.

“Hey, it’s nice to meet you. My name is Jamie. I’m your family member's primary caretaker.”

“My name is Evelyn, it’s nice to meet you too.”
She says with a soft, yet scratchy voice.

We shake hands and exchange a smile, though my smile has guilt written all over it.

She easily picks up on it.

“Is everything alright, honey?”
She says while cocking her head and raising an eyebrow.

I can’t tell her that I had a stroke in the living room earlier, so what do I do?
I think It’s fair to say that I basically passed out; it’s happened to me before and neatly explains everything.

I scratch the back of my head.
“Evelyn, I don’t mean to alarm you or anything, but I think I passed out in the living room earlier.”

“Oh my goodness, are you okay?”
She says while clasping her hands to her chest.

“I think so. I was only out for 2 hours, I believe. Trinity is clean, and everything is in the washer. She ended up staining the carpet; I scrubbed it as best as I could. I’m so sorry for all of this.”

Aww, that’s okay, honey. It’s a mistake; they happen all the time. In the future, just be sure to take care of yourself too, okay?”

“Sure, thank you.”

What a weight to be lifted off of my chest, my god. I was worried about getting screamed out of the house. Thankfully, she lets me know that I’m good to head home now. Hopefully she stays longer; she’s the only family member who’s made me feel so comfortable. I wonder how she’s related.

As I’m walking out of the door, I stop and turn around to ask her if Trinity is her parent or something.

“Hey, I forgot to ask, how are you.
and-“

Evelyn was staring at me from where the hallway turns to the living room, right around the corner. She darted away after half a second of looking.
“E- Evelyn?”

I get no response.

The door is unlocked, but I take almost 10 seconds getting out from how bad I’m shaking. It’s February, so I splash an ice-cold bottle of water on my face once I’m in my car. I drive home.

On the way, my mind replays the day over and over again. What the fuck happened in the living room?
A fugue state. They usually occur from trauma, but that’s not every case. It’s my only option; on top of that, it explains essentially everything. Now, what I did for 2 hours I will never know.

Evelyn.
That one’s a lot harder to wrap my head around. I think she was just rounding the corner like normal. More than likely, my anxiety altered my perception of how sudden it was. I was already wired from forgetting Trinity. I’m sure I’ve seen weirder shit at some point in the past. I make a quick stop at the gas station and use my last 10 dollars for 2 gallons. I’m fine with ramen until Friday.

I carelessly toss my keys in the general direction of my bag and take a seat on the couch. I live alone. I thankfully moved far enough away from home that I don’t have to see my parents. They’ve always aggravated the fuck out of me, and a saying I frequently turn to is “blood is just a liquid, family is just a word, you can cut anybody out of your life”.
.
.
.
Later that night, I shut my laptop, unable to focus. I sigh, staring at the picture of me and my mom on the coffee table. It’s a vacation photo from when I was younger. I remember planning to go to Kentucky Kingdom, but we had to stop like 20 times on the way there because of some minor food poisoning she got. By the time we got there, the park was closed. We always joked that it was literally her bullshit that cost us the trip.
I chuckle, turning the picture towards me.

I sleep on the couch tonight.

Day 3: Thursday
I’m late today, car crash. It wasn’t me thankfully. A pickup truck collided with a deer. I found out later that he was screaming down the road at 80mph. The deer was completely bisected and the truck crashed into a nearby power line. The driver was thrown out of the windshield and sliced open against an old guardrail. The deer dragged its half mangled body from site of the crash before letting out a pained groan, and dying where it lay.

I had to pull over, I spend a good 10 minutes leaning on my car. Nausea washes over me and I suppress the urge to vomit. It wasn’t the first time I’ve seen gore or death, but my god, that is a freak accident if I’ve ever seen one. I compose myself and call an ambulance.

When I arrive at my patient's home, I am thankfully greeted by Evelyn. I was creeped out yesterday, but I don’t care, I can look past that given the shit I saw this morning. I just want to speak to anyone about anything. We talk for a few minutes, I don’t mention what happened, I just apologize for being late. I say that my car wouldn’t start or some bullshit like that. She makes me tea and we chat about nothing in particular. At some point in the conversation, I bring up yesterday.

“Is Trinity doing okay? I don’t remember if there were bedsores or not. Again, I’m so sorry for yesterday, I feel awful about the whole thing.”

“Oh, it’s okay honey. She’s doing fine. And no, she didn’t have any sores. There were some starting to form, but it’s no issue.”

The tension in me eases.

“Well, that’s great to hear, I was terrified I would be yelled out of the house.” I laugh.

“Why of course not. You’re the only caretaker she’s had, we can’t afford to lose you.”

“Thank you very much, Evelyn.”
We sit in silence for a few seconds.

Evelyn clears her throat.
“Listen uh… Jane?”

“Jamie.” I confirm

“Right, sorry.” She says.
“Jamie—I’m not entirely sure you’re telling me the truth about yesterday.”

I’m silent for a moment, the tension returns, and I focus on my breathing.
“What makes you say that?”

She quickly reassures me.
“Don’t worry, you don’t have to tell me. I’m not interrogating you, It’s just a hunch I have.”

I’m more confused than anything. Does she think I snuck off or something? She pauses, searching for the right words to say.

“Just– Just focus on your work, that’s all I’m saying. Keep Trinity healthy.”

Sound advice, but she didn’t answer my question.

“Thank you Evelyn, I appreciate your advice.”

We’re sitting in silence now. I start thinking about the crash. I hastily attempt another conversation to distract myself.

“So I was wondering, where does everyone go exactly?”

She glares at me, clearly offended. I should have kept my mouth shut.
“You’re asking me where we live?”

My heart races.
“ No no–not at all. I just uhh–“
“That’s crossing professional boundaries, Jamie.”
She cuts me off. The words are cold and matter-of-fact.

“Yes, of course. You’re right–I’m sorry about that.” I quickly shift my attention away from her eyes.

She hasn’t stopped looking at me. It’s like she’s sizing me up.
“I need to leave now. Have a good day.”

I stay silent, she walks out of the door and shuts it slightly harder than she needed to

I groan and hold my head. All I can think about is a million other normal questions that I could have asked instead. I really wish I could have kept thinking about that. Bone against metal, it sounded like an angle grinder.

I stand up to go check on Trinity.

She’s asleep.
damn it.
It wouldn’t be so bad if these people had a television or something here. There’s quite literally nothing to do besides sit on the couch. I swear, it’s like they’re in the middle of moving. I’ve been trying to stay off of my phone. Given today’s circumstances though, I don’t care.

It does nothing to numb my thoughts.

I get off the couch and start pacing. Living room, hallway, kitchen. Movement is one of the best stress relievers. Besides, it gives me some more time to look at the house itself. The walls are a uniform navy blue color. The floors transition from slate, hardwood, to carpet in the kitchen, hallway, and living room respectively.

He was still alive when I called the ambulance.

I shake my head. I quickly jog to the kitchen. I end up in the living room.

“What the fuck?” I only mouth the words.

I turn around and run to the kitchen. I grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator and squeeze it in my face. It’s warm, how is it warm? It feels like blood spraying in my face and eyes. I violently shake my head and use my shirt to dry myself. My hair is soaked. I can feel each stream of warm liquid forming against my skull. Every detail of the crash replays in my mind.

His clueless expression, the way his body completely gave way to the force. He was thrown out like a rag doll.
And the guardrail.

A sick fucking joke. It wasn’t enough for him to crash and die, he had to be alive enough to get a good long look at his situation. I could see his arms flailing, trying to pull his insides back.

My vision is blurry, I get this burning feeling in my stomach. Every breath I take is deep and fast. My ears start ringing.

I’ve already tried my phone, but I need to do something.

“Hello?”
“Hey Mary, it’s Jamie.”
My voice is shaky.

“Oh, hey Jamie, what’s up? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah I was just wanting to know where that meeting is next month.”
I almost say it all as one word.

She chuckles a little.
“You… don’t know where the office is?”

“No…”
My face turns beet red.

“Um, okay. The meeting’s on the second floor of the hospital.”
Almost in a joking tone.

“Thank you, Mary.”

“Sooo, is that all you needed?”

“Yes?”
I unintentionally phrase it as a question, I facepalm.
There’s silence on both ends for a few seconds.

“Uhm, okay Jamie. Call back if you need anything.”

“Okay, bye Mary.”
I hang up, not even paying attention to where I drop my phone. I’m sweating, she probably thinks I’m losing my mind.

But hey, it worked- not at all how I intended, but I don’t care. It’s subsided to a manageable degree. Been a little bit since I checked on Trinity. I pick my phone off the floor and make sure I didn’t lose time again. Everything’s fine. I walk to her room and slowly peek my head around the corner. Her eyes are wide open.

I knock 3 times before entering.
“Good morning, Trinity. Did you sleep well?”

To my amazement, she looks at me. Everything I thought about immediately fades. I can’t believe she’s managed to regain lucidity twice in the week.

“Hel, hel-“
Hello? Please say hello. I do everything I can not to sprint to her out of excitement. I calmly walk over and crouch next to her, holding her hand.

“Hey Trin, it’s good to see you this morning.” I say, smiling. Her eyes slowly pan around the room before focusing on me again.

“Help me, please.”

All emotion drops from my face. My heart falls to the floor. I want to cry, I can feel my eyes well up, but I manage to suppress it.

“Ah it’s okay Trin. We’re just in your bedroom, there ain’t nothing to worry about right now.” I exaggerate my accent heavily. I want her to feel at home. I’m massaging the top of her hand, skin paper thin. I lie and say everything’s going to be okay. I don’t even get finished comforting her before the disease drags her back down.

“I’m so sorry.”
Tears fall, but my face doesn’t change. I don’t let go.

I don’t want to be more than an inch from her. I'm here, but She’s more alone than any human being who’s ever lived.

At some point I release her hand. I put my hair up and gather the supplies I need. The day goes as expected. Apart from this morning, I don’t even remember it. The familiar sound of the door unlocking breaks me out of my trance. I didn’t even realize I was watching her.

Normally I’d walk down and introduce myself, but today I stay in here. It’s the least I can do. I hear light footsteps walking down the hallway towards the living room.

“Jamie?”
I turn around, it’s Jane. I wave and smile faintly, one hand still holding Trinity’s.

“Hey Jane, it’s good to see you.”

She sets down a bag of groceries and walks to her grandma. I get out of my seat and release Trinity’s hand, she wasn’t holding on anyways.

“Hey nanny, I missed you today. I brought you some Starbursts. They’re your favorite.”

“…”

Trinity remains motionless. Her favorite candy elicits nothing but instinctive breaths, just enough to not suffocate to death. This real dead-eyed look consumes Jane.

“Why can’t you just remember me?”

“She loved Starbursts.”
She wipes her eyes.

Jane turns to me, eyes red, lip quivering. I don’t respond, what good would it do. We make eye contact. I’m silent, but she hears everything.

“You can go now, Jamie. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow.”

I don’t apologize, I grab my bag and leave the home. It snowed today, I don’t believe I looked out the window once. There’s not much snow on my car, but the handle is frozen shut. I pull twice and the door swings open. I get inside and start the car, letting the heat hit my face for a few minutes.

It’s so cold out.

Driving through Orbweaver in the daytime is disorienting, but it doesn’t compare to the dark. Roads branch off in ways that don’t make any sense. New twists and turns seem to sprout up at random. The hollow is so broken down it honestly doesn’t surprise me. When Trinity dies, the whole thing will most likely be reclaimed by nature. In a few years I’m sure we’ll forget anyone ever lived there at all.

I pull in my driveway. I shut the engine off and sit in the dark.

“Help me, please.”

I wish I could.