Saturday came. Around noon, Mae emerged from her room and found Mother sitting on the couch, a photo album open in her lap. She sat down next to her and looked at the pictures as Mother flipped through. They were all family photos. Dad was present in most of them. Memories from years before, some of them the same ones that fertilized Mae’s garden, preserved in little colored rectangles. A few tears escaped Mother’s eyes. Mae scooted closer and hugged her. Mother hugged back.
“I really miss Dad,” Mae said.
“I do, too, sweetie,” Mother said. “I do, too.”
They sat there, side by side, staring at the pictures, for a while. Then Mother closed the photo album, set it on the coffee table, and went to the kitchen. Mae got up and went back to her room. She turned on her TV, booted up her PS2, and put in Kingdom Hearts.
The menu hadn’t even finished loading before Mae heard another argument break out in the living room. Instead of blocking it out, Mae decided to go out and get a peek at what was going on. After having to sit through so many, hearing them play out through the walls, they no longer filled Mae with the same anxiety that they did before.
“Don’t insult Randall like that,” she heard Mother say as she opened her door.
“What does he care? He’s dead,” Grandma said. “Besides, someone should have been smart enough to tell him as much while he was alive.”
Mae inched slowly towards the living room, pressing her body close to the wall. She could see Mother and Grandma standing in the living room, close to each other, Mother with her arms crossed, Grandma’s hands on her hips.
“What? That I’m delusional?” Mother asked. “That I’m just a man in a fucking dress?”
“That he’s an enabler for letting you think that,” Grandma said.
“He was supportive! I needed that support.”
“You needed support. I’ll grant you that. But you needed the right support, and that’s not what he was giving you.”
“So what, in your eyes, is the right support?”
“I told you years ago. Do you not remember?”
“Oh, I think I do. Conversion therapy, more church involvement—”
“So many people there were ready to help you.”
“They would have done more harm than help. They saw a teen in the middle of an identity crisis, deeply depressed, and what’s the first thing they tell her? That God won’t love her because she doesn’t feel the same as them about herself.”
“That’s not true.”
“That’s absolutely true.”
“It’s true to you because you think it’s true. But it’s not. There were so many people there ready to help you. Including me.”
“You weren’t ready to help. If you wanted to help you wouldn’t have kicked me out!”
Grandma’s hand shot up and struck Mother right across the cheek. A loud crack echoed through the living room. Then there was silence. Grandma stood perfectly still, her hand still raised, her face flushed. Mother’s head was tilted to her left, a bright red mark growing on her cheek. Her face contorted, her eyes squeezed shut. Then she lowered herself to the ground and let the sobs take over.
Mae stayed in the corridor, watching, stunned. Heat spread slowly throughout her body. She unfroze, went back to her room, grabbed the stone from under her pillow, stuffed it in her pocket, ran from her bedroom, through the living room, into the entryway. She threw the door open and bolted for the woods. She sprinted past the trees, jumped over branches. She needed to get back to the garden, needed to hide, needed to escape. Maybe if she brought the stone with her this time, she could bring the kids back, could live through a few more memories, add a few more flowers. Anything to take her mind off what she had just seen.
Something struck her ankle. She yelped, fell forward, landed hard on her face. Already she could feel the pain spreading across her chest and stomach. A deep throbbing pulsed against her face.
She lifted her head. The stone had fallen from her pocket and now lay a few inches in front of her. She inched her hand towards it.
A hand grabbed her wrist and pulled her roughly to her feet. Grandma stared down at her, furious. “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked.
No response came. Mae’s head was all jumbled, and she couldn’t properly form a sentence.
“Running off on your own,” Grandma continued. “That’s how you get kidnapped. Is that what you want? You wanna get stolen by people who want to hurt you?”
Mae still didn’t respond. She stared up at Grandma, hoping that her anger could be sensed through the pain.
“Come on, we’re going back home.” Grandma started to pull her back to the apartment, but she stopped suddenly. Her gaze had drifted off, and she now let go of Mae’s wrist and bent down to the ground.
When she came back up, she was holding the stone.
“Would you look at that?” she said. “Isn’t that pretty? We should take it home with us.” She turned her gaze back to Mae. “Would you like that. You could start a little rock collection.”
The ground rumbled. Grandma stumbled, regained balance, looked around confusedly. Mae, however, stood still. The shaking of the earth had no effect on her.
All around them, the leaves and branches shifted and parted. Eleven children rose from the earth, all of them sitting cross-legged in a circle. There was space for one more child to join them. Calmly, Mae walked over and sat down.
“What is this?” Grandma asked. “What are you doing? Who are these kids? Where did they come from?”
Mae didn’t answer any of her questions. She continued to stare silently. A slight smile grew on her face.
I’m afraid that stone is not yours to take, the voice said.
Grandma jumped. “Who said that?” she asked.
We know who you are and what you have done, the voice continued. Something must be done in return. That is, if the true stone holder approves, of course.
Mae looked across the circle. The girl was staring at her. Without hesitation, Mae nodded. The girl lowered her head, closed her eyes.
Then her eyes shot open again. They were no longer black. Now they flashed with different colors, all of them fixed on Grandma.
One by one, other children did the same. Grandma turned in a circle, staring at all of them, looking more scared with every passing second.
A single root shot out of the ground and wrapped around Grandma’s foot. Grandma stopped turning. Before she could do anything, another root shot up and wrapped around her other foot. More and more rose from the ground at an increasing rate, curling around Grandma’s legs until they more closely resembled knotted tree trunks.
Grandma started to sink, her feet disappearing into the earth, then her calves, then her knees. The roots continued to wrap around her, encasing her torso, pinning her arms to her sides. Grandma screamed as the roots pulled her down—in fear or in pain, Mae couldn’t tell. As Grandma’s lower half disappeared, she began to plea for help, for mercy, for something. Not a single word was uttered in reply.
Now Grandma was immersed from the shoulders down. Only her frightened head remained above ground. More roots wrapped around her neck to keep her head from turning. One more rose up in front of her, curving and floating like a tentacle. Grandma stared at it, her eyes wide. “No,” she said. “Please, no.”
The root shot into her mouth and down her throat. Grandma’s eyes bulged out. A few choking sounds escaped her throat. Then, slowly, her eyes drifted shut, and the sounds ceased. The root stiffened, then broke off, leaving a splintered stump poking out from between Grandma’s lips.
Green patches broke out on her cheeks. They spread, growing thicker and deeper in color, until a layer of moss covered Grandma’s head. There was no evidence that she was ever there at all. In her place was only what appeared to be a mossy stone.
The children’s eyes stopped flashing. They lowered their heads and began to sink into the earth again. Remember, Mae, the voice said, one day you will find someone who needs us. When you do, you must grant them the portal. Do you understand?
“Yes,” Mae said, still staring transfixed at the mossy lump in front of her.
Best of luck, Mae, the voice said. Then the children disappeared, and the earth settled again.
Mae stood up and crawled towards the mossy lump. It was still, silent. Mae ran her head over its top. It was cold. The green stone rested on the earth in front of it. Mae grabbed it and tucked it back into her pocket.
She got up and continued into the forest. She reached the hill and stared down at the ground below. The garden was gone. There were only trees, their branches covered with fresh leaves.
Mae turned and went back to the apartment. Mother was still in the living room, sobbing on the floor. Mae went over and knelt in front of her. Mother lifted her head and looked at her, her eyes red and puffy.
“You saw what happened,” Mother said.
Mae nodded.
“I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
Mae nodded again.
Mother’s eyes shot back and forth. “Where’s your grandma?” she asked.
Mae didn’t respond. Instead she pulled Mother into a hug. The two of them stayed there for a long time, both of them wrapped in each other’s tight, warm embrace.