Melody moves off. She leaves the room behind and follows the little girl's route. At the foot of the main staircase, she moves into a small side room that is used as a cloakroom. She grabs her long white coat – one she would normally keep for winter – puts it on and then rushes past vases, paintings, and antique furniture as she reaches the glass conservatory at the back. The gray of the day filters through the glass like a blanket of unsure light, and as she opens the French doors to the outside, the wind carries a bluster to it that surprises Melody.
Looking up to the sky, the clouds are now moving at a greater pace. To Melody, they resemble the sea — waves of white cotton rolling and collapsing in on themselves, threatening to snatch the world away with them. A slight patter of rain now begins, and an uncomfortable feeling then rises up from the pit of Melody's stomach. She begins to wonder if she has made the right decision to allow Rebecca to play outside.
Closing the French doors behind her, she moves across a white stoned path, which crunches beneath her feet, until she reaches the lawn. Walking across it is like traversing a huge, flat piece of green felt. It is so perfect, Melody ponders if Tam the grounds keeper is somewhat of a hidden genius.
“Ready or not, here I come!” Melody shouts, but, for the first time, she realizes the effect the wind has on her voice. It contorts and moves off in strange directions. There is something unusual about this place, she thinks.
In the past few days, at the end of each lesson, Melody has played the same game with Rebecca. It has given her student something to look forward to as her lessons finish, and that has been a great motivator, more so than even allowing her doll, Sarah, to sit beside her during lessons. But in those previous days the sun has been out and the sky has been peaceful. Today, neither is true. The clouds spiral above like a cataclysm, and Melody's voice is not carried on the wind, but rebuffed by it. There is no way that Rebecca will have heard her.
The clouds now open, and a rain falls that is colder than the summer should allow. It is icy and thick, and reaches down the back of Melody's coat quickly, like dead fingers running along her neck. She shudders and pulls the collar of her coat up and closer to her face to gain what little protection she can. Her thoughts immediately turn to how Rebecca's raincoat will survive such weather.
Survive, Melody thinks. What an odd turn of phrase? Why did I use it? But as the rain now becomes a torrent of clattering madness around her, Melody knows why she used that word. In the back of her mind she knows the truth of weather like this. There is something earth shattering about. Something that can easily deal with the body of a little girl. Something that could turn fatal.
Above the trees, the mountain roars in the distance, but Melody is close enough to see sheets of water cascading down across its stony facade. The water reaches down and further down, searching for somewhere to go; looking for an avenue to pursue. And the water seems to be heading in fragments in the direction of the forest itself. Not enough for a flood, but enough to make the hairs on the back of Melody's neck want to stand up, if they were not already stuck to her skin with rain.
As Melody approaches the treeline, she scans the conglomeration of evergreens for any sign of that bright red dot she hopes to see – a hint of Rebecca's red raincoat. In her heart, she knows the little girl will not be in such a place.
Rebecca always hides deep into it, Melody thinks.
All she sees is the darkness of the woods, and as she nears, they take on an ominous sight. They sway almost in tandem, as if they are one monstrous creature, its limbs spindly and unnerving, moving with the knowledge that it has a young eight year old girl within its grasp. The rain bounces off of its moving appendages, rebuffed by a wall of green keeping the interior somewhat drier.
Reaching the first trees, Melody brushes past the bristling Scotch pines and the soft branches of towering conifers. They surround her body, a wave of green hands hindering then letting go. Once inside the woods, the wind is lessened by those same leaves and branches, but now the angry swirling currents above sound like something ferocious outside trying to get in. Melody's mind flashes to her father reading her a story when she was a child. It was about three children hiding in a cave from a troll. Unlike most stories, the cave was a place of safety. The dim light of the woods feels not dissimilar to such a place, but there is a malevolence here. A danger. This is no place for a child or anyone else.
“Rebecca! I think it might be getting too dangerous out here!? Please come out and we'll go inside!” This time, her words move through the trees. There's a chance they are heard.
As if in response to that plea, Melody hears something fall far off in the woods. The creak and crash are the unmistakable sounds of a tree being blown over. Again, Melody thinks of the story of the troll. Those crashes are not unlike the lumbering footsteps of the monster nearing its prey.
Shake yourself, Melody. This isn't a fairytale. A cold dread passes
