Fiction

Our Sally Is Gone

Rural USA, December 21, 1927

Sally May climbed the carved granite steps, careful not to slip on the damp stone. The cave walls wept, and cool drops fell from the ceiling.

She could already hear her parents scolding her. They might even send her to bed without supper. Daddy would say, “Sarah, how many times have we told you? Don’t go wanderin’ like that.” Momma would tell her, “Go on to bed, Sally.” In the thirteen years since momma birthed her, they still couldn’t agree on the name. She loved the way grandma said her name with that drawl. SallaMay.

Skeletal trees scratched at the cave’s mouth, as if trying to pry it open. The full moon traced the forest in silver, and a thick blanket of snow covered the ground. Her breaths became dancing white wisps against the black sky.

She straightened her spine and hugged herself, wide eyed. It had only been hours since she entered the cave. Eliza had dared her to cross the rocks without falling in the creek. Laughing, they chased each other further into the woods. Momma had said it was the longest day of the year, the Summer Solstice, so they had more time to play. The two girls cooled their bare feet in the pond, and gathered daisies for the kitchen table.

The rock formation jutted up from the ground like a massive gray tooth. Its entrance was just large enough for one person to squeeze through. This had also been a dare from Eliza.

Once inside, a spiral staircase seemed to go on for miles. The cave grew warmer the deeper she walked. Beings with no true faces, only shifting shapes of light, like a candle reflected in water waited at the bottom. They spoke without words, and bathed her in a glowing blue pool.

Snow caught in her black hair, still damp from the luminous bath. Teeth chattering, she ran toward the house, past the pond, its surface catching the moonlight like frosted glass.

When the trees parted and the house came into view, her breath hitched, A tall pine, adorned with candles stood in the main window. A Christmas Tree? But how…?

Her bare feet bounded up the icy porch steps, and she knocked hard on the heavy wooden door.

Warmth from the hearth, and the smell of cornbread and stew covered her like a warm quilt. Daddy’s broad frame filled the doorway. “Sarah?”

“D—Daddy…”

Daddy embraced her with such a reverie that her feet lifted from the ground. Momma and grandma came from the kitchen, their eyes wide and teary. Her siblings gathered around, speechless. Isaiah, the youngest, clung to momma, hiding behind her skirts.

She sat at the kitchen table, lapping venison stew while the questions began. She’d told her family about going into the cave after Eliza dared her only a few hours ago. Fear and even anger joined the disbelief on their faces. Later that night while she tried to sleep next to the crackling fire, she heard momma and Daddy talking. “That thing aint’ our daughter,” Momma said. “Our Sally is gone.”

Author’s Note:

The image above was created with DALL-E3. In the future, I want to use more of my artwork to accompany these stories. But I wanted to get this one up as close to Yule as possible.  I hope everyone has a good holiday this year. Feel free to follow me on twitter at: https://x.com/Valkrane

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Thanks for reading.

V.