The fear still remained.
Tonight the sky was bleak, depressing as it now always is to the older woman. She sat on the slightly wrinkled but untouched sheets of her bed, a child's storybook resting in her gnarled fingers. Mrs. Miller was waiting, as she had taken to doing every night, for Miriam to appear. On the oak nightstand, a small bowl of glazed cherries waited for the delicate grasp of the girl, to be devoured by the likes of the demonic thing.
Mrs. Miller stole a glance at the clock, her sunken and sleepless eyes registering the digits displayed. It was exactly 3:04 A.M. She heaved a sigh and called out with her slightly cracked voice, "Dear, Miriam, where are you?"
The woman knew it was of no use. Miriam never responded to any questions asked; only nimbly avoiding it, the answers hidden behind those pretty little lips of hers.
Mrs. Miller hadn't taken note of this, but the night outside was slightly warmer, preventing the usual snowfall of the winter months. Not a cloud dared poke its head out, leaving the vast sky yawning overhead. The stars twinkled and danced around the silver moon, which shone its pale light upon the dark waters of the river, that evenfall.
Miriam would not come tonight.
Mrs. Miller had never noticed the weather that told of the arrival of Miriam.
"Child?" said Mrs. Miller, placing the children's book on the bed as she stood up. It was unusual for Miriam to be this late. The elderly woman made her way to the door, cold feet padding softly on the hardwood floor. Her hand barely brushed against the doorknob. Mrs. Miller sucked in a deep breath, hesitantly cracking open the door. She eyed the dark hallway, taking a moment to let the ancient orbs adjust to the mysterious darkness before tentatively poking her head out.
"Miriam?" No reply.
The old woman set her jaw firmly, deciding to brave the darkness she despised so much, and opened the door just wide enough for her to slip through into the corridor; until she stood in front of the oak door that belonged to the girl - that monster's room. She reached for the handle. When her trembling fingers touched the cool metal surface, she froze. She had expected something or even someone to leap out of the darkness and hurt her. The dark, continued silence came almost as a surprise to her. She opened the door and peeped inside, turning the small knob that activated the lights, warm and dim.
The room was neat, meticulously taken care of and organized down to every speck of dust by the silver-headed girl who resided there. It was sparsely decorated, with just plain white walls and white curtains, drawn tightly shut to ward off any curious eyes. Mrs. Miller's tired and sore eyes shifted to the bed near the corner of one wall. The snow-white sheets had not been touched once; they were smooth like a wind-blown sand dune.
"Finally," murmured Mrs. Miller, "Perhaps I'll actually be able to get a good night's sleep." She did an about-face and returned to her room to collapse among a nest of blankets and warm bed sheets.
-
That was only the first night that this had occurred. For four more days, the weather had held and Miriam did not return. Mrs. Miller's life slowly brightened. Tommy, the little canary, had taken to singing again in the early morn. Ever since the permanent arrival of the demon-girl, Miriam, the poor creature had not even uttered a note. It was like even he understood and feared the malevolent and imposing presence of the girl.
However, as the fifth day approached, winter's wrath returned. Dark clouds let loose a heavy string of hail and snow. Hurricane-force winds tore relentlessly at the little town and howled ceaselessly. The wind's song eerily mimicked the sound of wolves howling after a clean kill. It sent shivers down the older woman's spine.
Mrs. Miller had set for herself a task to keep her busy and in a good mood despite the violent weather. The delicious smell of freshly baked cookies permeated the kitchen as she pulled a baking sheet full of cookies from the oven. She gently set the baking sheet on the cooling tray, and then dug from her apron pocket a cigarette and a lighter. Cupping one hand over the cigarette end, she ignited it and took a long drag, the smoke curling up into the air before disappearing altogether. If it weren't for the weather, Mrs. Miller would almost say that she was… happy.
Suddenly the elderly woman froze as the room temperature dropped a few degrees. A cool breeze blew faintly, raising the fine hairs on the back of her neck. She felt the familiar dark presence of that monster and turned around slowly - just as the young voice of Miriam spoke.
"You must have missed me." The voice of the girl was clear and calm, much like the silence before the storm. Mrs. Miller made no move to reply, only staring, fearful and crestfallen; she would still be living in the presence of the little girl after all. Miriam's silver hair trailed down her back, shining in the warm but no longer comforting light. Mrs. Miller watched as she moved towards the baking sheet filled with tempting delicacies - the cookies.
"Did you really think you would be rid of me that easily?" She picked up two cookies with those slender fingers and retreated to the kitchen table to nibble on the treat. Oddly, it occurred to Mrs. Miller that Miriam was wearing the silk dress from that night in February. White silk; cool as the snow itself.
Mrs. Miller croaked; she managed to find her voice. "Child! No, I--"
"Was just plotting my downfall, planning to send me away?" the fair-haired girl inquired with suspicion lining her tone of voice. She took another bite from the cookie in her hand. Chocolate chip. Delicious.
"These are good. How nice of you to make these for me."
"They aren't meant for you," replied Mrs. Miller icily as she placed the lighter back in her apron pocket and emptied her cigarette in a nearby ash tray, resting conveniently on the counter top. The girl had some nerve to return, and to assume the cookies were for her! They were meant for the older woman's enjoyment only.
"You should take some too. Have a seat. You know that it makes me nervous when people stand." The silky smooth words came out sounding like a suggestion, but Mrs. Miller interpreted them as a command, taking a few cookies for herself before taking the open seat across from Miriam. She did not reach for the few cookies she took; she instead set them in a neat stack in front of her.
"Why are you here?" asked Mrs. Miller, staring blankly.
"You may find peace during times of warmth, but I rise with the moon, the snow, and the cold. I may disappear, but I will always return by summer's end. Always."
"What are you talking about, child?" The old woman seemed perplexed now, leaning back in her chair almost casually. She eyed Miriam curiously as the child devoured the last bit of the cookie in her hand before picking up another.
"Don't ask such silly questions. They will produce no fruitful answers."
-
That night, as normal, Miriam had requested that a story be read to her. It was well after that, into the early hours of the morning, that Mrs. Miller still lay wide awake. The words of that demonic Miriam echoed ominously in her mind.
I will always return by summer's end. Always.
What did she mean by that?
Mrs. Miller finally rose from her bed late in the morning. As she slowly made her way to the kitchen, a little voice in the back of her mind reminded her of Tommy, the canary. Birdsong wafted through the apartment. She thought about this for a moment, a frown creasing her withered face as she retrieved a small bag of birdseed from the kitchen cabinet. The canary had sung the day when Miriam had not appeared. Were they connected somehow?
The volume of the birdsong increased when Mrs. Miller entered the room. The curtains were drawn back, allowing the warm sunlight to filter through. How odd, she thought. She didn't remember drawing them back at all. She glanced outside to find that the snow was already melting, the heads of the no-longer dormant grass beginning to poke through the layer of snow. Tommy ceased his melody when she poured his breakfast, the birdseed into the small cup that sat in his cage. She then ventured back to her kitchen and proceeded to make and enjoy her own breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast.
-
Miriam did not appear for the rest of the day, nor the day after that. In fact, she didn't come back for the rest of the week. The weather was getting clearer and clearer, the remnants of winter disappearing altogether. Every morning, Tommy's clear song penetrated the lively air, and with each day, Mrs. Miller's idea as to how Miriam came to be also became clearer and clearer. Mrs. Miller supposed that Miriam literally did rise with the weather of winter. Over the course of the next two days, Mrs. Miller prepared. She began to pack her few belongings into two suitcases and her purse. It was time she left this old apartment and Miriam forever.
On Saturday evening, the sky was clear and the stars danced merrily in the indigo sky. A cheerful porter offered to take Mrs. Miller's luggage, the two large suitcases, to the front desk as she stepped out of her taxi with Tommy's cage in one hand; her purse was in the other. At precisely 10:00 P.M., the older woman had boarded a plane to Florida, where winter never dared to reveal its face. As Mrs. Miller took her seat, she stiffened as she heard the dreaded voice of the little girl, Miriam.
"You can't do this to me!" shrieked the voice. It seemed to be echoing slightly, but when Mrs. Miller turned, she saw only the few people beginning to trickle onto the plane.
Mrs. Miller only smiled shrewdly. Although she did not see the silver-haired girl anywhere as the passengers finished boarding, she could hear Miriam's agonized and furious screams resounding in her mind. She could imagine Miriam writhing in pain and her grin only grew wider. She wished eternal torture upon this malevolent girl. She really deserved it.
-
When Mrs. Miller arrived at the airport in Florida, the weather was gloomy and depressing. Dark rain clouds hid the stars and cast a shadow as far as the eye could see. Rain splattered against the windows of the airport and plane. Mrs. Miller had not once heard a peep from the voice of Miriam. She could only guess as to what had happened to the little girl. Oh well, she didn't care any more. Miriam was dead to her.
The old woman was the last to leave the plane and thus she was the last to make it to the now lonely baggage claim. She squinted as she approached, slightly startled to see a sole figure standing with both of Mrs. Miller's suitcases. She almost froze in her tracks, thinking that she had not succeeded in ridding herself of Miriam. As she got closer, she realized that this was not Miriam, like she had thought. This girl was slightly older, slightly taller. She dressed in a rather Gothic style and raven-colored hair cascaded down around her shoulders, framing a pale face.
Mrs. Miller finally made it to the girl, whose appearance was beginning to make her feel uneasy. The girl's eyes were completely opaque, pure inky blackness... and those teeth! They were filed down to fine points, much like a shark's. Mrs. Miller stood, frozen in place, as the girl suddenly grinned widely and spoke a single word.
"Hello."
"H-hello..." slurred the older woman. She swayed slightly, and then a wave of vertigo washed over her as the ground rushed to meet her. Darkness closed around her and manic laughter resounded around her, clouding her mind before she could suck in her last breath.
Her final breath.
-
Please note: If you have not read Truman Capote's Miriam, you should. This piece will not make much sense without reading Capote's story first.
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Woot! This is my second writing prompt for the advanced English class this year. The idea was to write a conclusion for the open-ended format story called "Miriam" by Truman Capote. Such a great story. I really had fun writing this, but I had to rush at the end to be able to turn it in on time. sad My conclusion was by far the longest in the class. My rough draft on college ruled paper was ten pages long (but my printed final draft was four pages) while everyone else had a story 1-2 pages long. Woot! c:
Hope you guys enjoy.
Miriam and Mrs. H.T. Miller belong to Truman Capote.
P.S. This is a few months old. XD
P.P.S. I seriously had no idea which sub-forum to stick this one in. Sad... xD