Summary: A spirit comes to collect the soul of a dying girl.
Trigger Warnings: Discussions of Death
Genre: Contemporary Fantasy
Written By: meadowofbluebells
Prompt: This story was written based on a prompt from Reedsy.com - https://blog.reedsy.com/creative-writing-prompts. That prompt was, "Write a story with a number or time in the title."
Day two hundred and seventeen was the start of the end. They could see it. The child was as she had been for weeks. Still. Quiet. Unaware. Yet, the room had changed. The air was heavier. The light was dimmer. They knew the markers of death - had been summoned by them thousands of times throughout millennia. This, however, was different. The soul before them had clung on for months, teetering on the edge as her body fought to sustain itself. The spirit had been called to her side day after day, waiting for the moment when her Earthly form would falter. Each time that they appeared they had prepared to gather the soul, circling over her form in a stream of incorporeal light, and, each evening, they left the child lying there to face another night of sputtering breath and shaking limbs. That, though, was about to end. They could sense it - taste it. Death was near.
They floated closer, looking at the child. She was pale, her cheeks having long since lost the red flush that the spirit had seen the first time they had materialized in the room. She had seemed so small even then, but now, with her bones sticking out and her cheeks sunken in, she was dwarfed by the blankets surrounding her. The specter leaned in, listening to the shallow breaths drowning in the girl's fluid-filled lungs. The night had clearly been a struggle, the scent of dried sweat lingering around the girl's head. When they had first come, the child had been able to talk. Her voice had been weak and her sentences fragmented, but she didn't seem to mind. She would speak as often as she could, whether anyone was in the room to hear her or not. She would talk about anything and everything. What she had eaten that day for lunch. The newest book she'd read. And sometimes, when no one was there to overhear, she would mutter to herself about how deeply she wished to see the stars again. Her voice had been little more than a whisper when she spoke of the twinkling lights, but her eyes would sparkle - her entire being filled with a taste that the phantom couldn't name. They always paid rapt attention then, fascinated by a human's interpretation of the heavens they called home.
The door creaked open, the sound of the wood's cry echoing throughout the quiet room. It had seen a great deal of use during their tenure here, an older female the specter had become familiar with scurrying in and out of it multiple times a day. She was haggard, her eyes stained grey as she brought the child water, blankets, food, or simply a shoulder to lean on. She had smiled while the child was awake - despite the taste of trees quivering in harsh winds that constantly permeated the air. The hunched woman would sit, gently running her fingers through the little girl's hair as she told tall tales to entertain her. However, once the child no longer woke, the woman did not speak. Her heavy steps and soft sniffles were the only sounds she ever made now.
The spirit drew into itself as the woman walked closer, scurrying to the end of the bed and curling around the wooden frame as it watched her gently sit the child up. The little girl didn't seem to register the movement, her head lolling to her chest as her mother exchanged her old pillow for a new one. A soft scent coiled through the room, something Earthly and fresh that always accompanied the new bedding. The only indication that the small child was even still alive was the slight increase in her breathing, her body struggling all the more to suck in air. Her soul shivered in her chest as she was lowered back to the pillow, her hands laying limply at her side. The tank by her bed groaned, working hard to compensate for her traitorous lungs.
They perked up, preparing to collect the child's soul. They could see it there, shimmering and shivering in the center of her chest. Cold tendrils reached out to bundle the life force close. Just a bit more, a few seconds, and it would all be over. Two hundred and seventeen days of waiting would come to an end. There would be no need to come to this room, with its fluttering curtains and brightly colored walls. No more waiting for a chattering voice that had long since fallen silent. They could return to the skies above while they awaited the next soul to call upon them. However, as they watched the soul, they couldn't help but tremble, their many appendages fluttering through the soft light peeking through the curtains. Their frame only relaxed as they watched the soul steady once more - clinging to the body with its usual tenacity. The phantom could feel the fraying threads working themselves back together again. Their essence sizzled at the sensation but, much to their incomprehension, they didn't mind. They shook, their tendrils lashing through the air at the oddity of their own countenance. With one last shiver, they relaxed, their form billowing out, stretching so far that they brushed against the floral wallpaper before returning to their usual shape.
It was no matter, the day was young. All the specter had to do was wait. It trailed around the room to pass the time. The spirit was not used to having grown so acquainted with one area within the human plane. Of course, it had seen man-made structures when collecting souls. They would be strong and new when the spirit would see them the first time, and by the time they would come again, they would be crumbling and covered with moss - if they were there at all. However, this room was different. The spirit had watched as the toys that had littered the floor in the beginning sat waiting for the languishing child. Small monuments to that bittersweet human emotion that tasted like the break of dawn after a dark night or the warmth of the sun after a winter's storm. They had collected dust, being kicked aside as new objects filled the room. First, a chair that the older woman, the one that tasted like the rain that encouraged blossoms to grow, occupied day in and day out. Then came the small machine that covered her mouth, the tank at her side rattling as it worked to tether the child's soul to her mortal body. Its grey exterior clashed with the pink blossoms that decorated the walls. Eventually, the small objects were removed entirely, the warmth of the sun fading to an unfathomable cold.
The woman's tears drew the spirit back to the child's bed. Its form twisted through her tangled hair, peering over her shoulder at the small girl. The taste of a blizzard was growing, clinging to the mother's rumpled clothes. The phantom peered down, watching the bedding darken with the woman's tears. They had long since determined that humanity was odd in how it chose what souls to protect and what souls to destroy. They could wail as the spirit came to take one soul away, then turn around and grin as they slithered through the blood of another fallen. Yet, the specter could find no discernable difference from one soul to the next to warrant such varied reactions. This girl, however, was something else entirely. Maybe it was the way her soul had glowed in her eyes, or maybe the cadence of her chatter. Whatever the reason, they could understand the mother's desire to protect her. She had smiled in the beginning - her eyes crinkling in the corners. The spirit hadn't cared then, fascinated by her enthusiasm, but single-minded in its focus. Now, though, with her face lax and eyes closed, they desperately wanted to see the girl beaming once more - to taste sunshine again. The girl did not suit the stillness that trapped her.
Time passed, the light from the window fading as day turned to night. The spirit waited patiently, staying long past when it uselessly left to float through the skies. A small lamp on the nightstand tinted the room orange as the two beings hovered near the bed, watching each rise and fall of the girl's chest. Each breath seemed quieter, until they were nearly impossible to track. Then, it happened. The threads snapped, without a cry of agony or writhing limbs. That final moment where a soul becomes untethered. The spirit could feel the connection between body and soul fracturing at the seams. Its form pulsed at the sensation. It was calm - soft even. A peaceful demise, the soul sequestered so deep in the unconscious mind that it was unable to recognize death's grasp.
The spirit ought to weave around the wailing woman and collect the small sphere, but, instead, its tendrils were curling in, refusing to accept the flickering life force. Rather, their form quivered as a new sensation overtook them. It tasted like a wave crashing on the beach. The specter could sense each drop of water, its entire being shivering from the cold. It was overpowering. They wanted nothing more than to wrap up in a ball to escape it all. Yet, the girl, that child that they had come to know so well, was waiting for them to take her from the body that had betrayed her. They had watched, day after day, as she became weaker, her soul ailing under the weight of her corrupted cells. It was time. Their very essence knew it. Even so, they couldn't bring themselves to take her life force. It sat there, floating above her form, casting a soft light imperceptible to the human eye around the room.
They should reach out. Wrap around it. Bring it to the realm between heaven and Earth. They had done it thousands of times before. It shouldn't be that hard. So, why weren't their tendrils co-operating? It was just a soul, the same as any other.
She had wanted to see the stars though. Had waited so long to do. Patiently. Quietly. Never complaining as the possibility slipped further and further away. They remembered the way she spoke of them - the memory of that unknown taste lingering throughout her months of decline. She had waited so long, sitting in bed and staring longingly at the window at the far end of the room. Then, once her body could no longer maintain an upright position, she'd lay with her head angled to catch a glimpse of it over the mound of blankets until the day when her eyes could no longer stay open. Their form crackled. She deserved to see the stars - to witness that indigo expanse once more. They would make it so.
The spirit stretched forward, hovering over the child's limp form. Were they prepared? They didn't know. A tendril stretched around the girl's soul, hanging inches from her cheek. No, they couldn't hesitate. For the first time in their eons of existence, the value of a second became clear. It was now or never. No time to think. So, with one final pulse, they reached out, that cold appendage meeting skin. For a moment there was nothing and the spirit sagged in defeat. Then, they breathed - blinking open new eyes.
They sat up, their limbs shaking slightly as they steadied themselves on the mattress. The woman jumped up, hands reaching out to steady them. Their fingers clung to the wrinkled sheets as they swayed. They - she - looked down, trailing her fingers over the soft fabric. She furrowed her brow, watching as the thin digits stretched, much like their tendrils. Slowly, she turned, studying the room with human eyes and pulled the oxygen mask off her face, watching as the fine mist of her breath faded from the plastic. She blinked, inhaling and exhaling air more easily than she had since long before she had been confined to her bed. The pain was gone, that constant ache relegated to memory. She hopped up, a giggle on her lips as she raced across the room. Together, they stared out the window, looking up at the glittering stars. Their eyes widened as small fingers splayed against the cool glass. Then, it came again - that indescribable taste. It settled in their chest, twirling through the soul the spirit now called home. It whispered to them, its name settling on their tongue. Ah, yes, that was it - joy. Indescribable joy.
Written By: meadowofbluebells
