A charcoal Subaru crossover parked in Callie’s usual spot in the driveway signaled Mom had a visitor. Callie briefly wondered who it might be. She turned her pickup truck around and backed it against the large pine tree between the shed and the house. She glanced up at the block and tackle hanging from the pine, then untied the rope to free it. She grabbed the lower block with the hook, pulling it toward the truck and listening to the block wheels spin.
Callie found the spreader bar hanging from its usual spot on one of the shed’s rafters and returned to the truck. She lowered the tailgate and stood looking at the small buck, a four-pointer. She took her knife from her belt, felt along one leg of the deer above the hock joint until she located the Achilles tendon, then slid the blade through the skin, creating a small slit between bone and tendon. She repeated the process on the other side.
Sliding the spreader bar’s hooks through the incisions, she ensured it was securely in place. Callie grabbed the lower block hook and attached it to the spreader bar. She then tied the standing part of the rope to her canoe rack, got in the truck, and drove forward slowly, raising the lower block toward the upper block. Just before the deer’s upper body slid off the end of the truck bed, she got out, grabbed it by the horns, and pulled it off the truck, lowering the head gently to the ground. She returned to the truck and drove it forward about twenty more feet until the deer was high enough to be out of the range of predators.
With the deer raised, she used her body weight to pull down on the rope, lifting the deer slightly and creating slack in the standing end so she could untie it from the truck using her off-hand. Then, she walked the rope back to the tree, keeping it tight by holding the rope against the ground with her foot as she moved. Finally, she tied the rope off to a lower limb of the tree and gently released the tension, allowing the deer to drop six inches before coming to rest. Stepping back, Callie inspected her work. If the weather held, she’d be able to keep it here for three of four days, letting the meat age to improve flavor. She wiped her brow and allowed herself a moment of satisfaction before turning to the house.
Callie’s home was a small one-story cabin made from weathered logs and aged timber, standing in a small clearing surrounded by towering pine trees and dense underbrush. Her dad had painstakingly worked to keep the old place standing against the harsh Maine winters, but seven years had passed since he was gone, and it was showing. Moss and lichen clung to the north side of the cabin, adding a touch of green to the earthy browns and grays. The mismatched patch of asphalt shingles over the kitchen area, installed seven years ago, kept the interior dry, but it wouldn’t be much longer before a complete roof replacement would be needed.
A stone chimney jutted out from one side, emitting wisps of smoke that hinted at the warmth within. The front porch, though small, featured a pair of old rocking chairs and a well-worn doormat, welcoming visitors with its homely simplicity.
Callie stepped into the house. The living space comprised four rooms: the living area, two bedrooms, and a bathroom. A large cast-iron wood stove that provided heat and a cooking surface dominated the living area. Warmth from the stove permeated the room.
The kitchen area, though small, was functional. An old refrigerator hummed in the corner, and a battered wooden table served as the hub for family meals and homework sessions. A mismatch of dishes and an array of canned goods filled the doorless cabinets. A small window over the sink offered a view of the shed and the forest beyond, often providing glimpses of wildlife. This afternoon, her deer was proudly displayed just outside the window.
Mom was sitting in her usual spot on the loveseat. Seated next to her, rather than in one of the two mismatched end chairs, was a girl around Callie’s age—possibly a year or two younger. It was no one Callie knew, but the girl smiled brightly and said, “Hello.”
Callie nodded, not really answering, and went to the sink where she began washing out organ meat. “Heart and liver,” she said.
“Great, Callie!” Mom said. “I wanted to introduce you to someone—a friend of mine.”
“Sorry, just let me finish this up and I’ll wash my hands,” Callie said. After washing the heart and liver, she dissolved some salt into a bowl of water, put the organs inside it, and placed it in the rickety refrigerator. She washed and dried her hands and then walked over to stand by the loveseat.
Callie felt a shudder, feeling strange, as if the girl had been watching her for unknown reasons. She shook it off and smiled, reaching her hand to their guest.
“I’m Callie,” she said.
“Amanda,” the girl said. “It’s a great pleasure to meet you.”
“Thanks,” Callie said. “You too. Are you a friend of Mom’s?”
The girl spoke, but Mom interrupted. “Oh, I’ve known Amanda all her life.”
“Nice,” Callie said.
“Did you see him again?” Mom asked.
Callie looked over at Amanda and then back to her mother, a question in her eyes.
“Oh, it’s nothing, dear,” Mom said. “Amanda is trustworthy.”
“Okay,” Callie said, hesitating. “Well, yeah. I did. I saw him at the feed store early this morning when I was picking up the chicken feed.”
“He say anything to you?” Mom asked.
“No,” she said. “He never does. He just shows up wherever I am and pretends he’s not looking at me.”
“A secret admirer?” Amanda asked, taking a sip of water.
“A weirdo,” Callie said. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m paranoid. He doesn’t belong here.”
“What makes you say that?” Amanda asked.
“Well, he’s not from Maine, that’s for sure. He’s got a foreign accent. Something European, I think.” Callie walked back to the kitchen area, opened a cookie jar shaped like a teddy bear, and pulled out a molasses cookie. “Anyone else want one?”
They both declined, and Callie returned to the living area, taking the chair closest to Mom.
“So he has spoken to you?” Mom asked as she picked up her crochet basket and fished in it for her current project, a baby blanket for the preacher’s new daughter who was due in two weeks.
“No, but I have heard him speak to other people. What’s weird is that everyone seems to know who he is, which makes little sense to me.”
“You’ve forgotten a lot of things, dear,” Mom said. “Since the accident. Maybe you knew him before or something?”
“I don’t think so,” Callie said. “I’d remember that.”
“What makes you so sure?” Mom asked.
“You don’t forget someone that handsome. Plus that voice. I’d remember him if I’d known him before,” Callie said. A brief look of confusion passed over her face and then faded away. She turned her attention to Amanda. “What do you do?” Callie asked.
“I’m a college student,” she said.
“Where?”
“Tennessee. Go Vols!” she said, smiling.
“What you doing up here?” Callie asked.
“Visiting,” Amanda said. “Just here for a couple of weeks over Christmas.”
“Amanda will be staying with us for the holidays,” Mom said. “I hope you don’t mind. We’ve got the extra bed.”
“In my room?” Callie asked.
It was a strange idea. There were only two bedrooms in the house. Callie had the smaller of the two, but it had always held two twin-sized beds, set apart from each other along the opposite walls. This had been in case any family or company were going to stay, not that any did.
“If it’s a bother, we can swap rooms,” Mom offered. “You can stay in mine and I’ll stay in yours with Amanda.”
“Nah,” Callie said. She turned to look at Amanda. “I don’t mind getting to know you. As long as you don’t snore.”
“Snore free here,” Amanda said, laughing.
“Well,” Callie said. “I’m going to take a quick shower before dinner. I’ve been sweating a bit and cold, so getting warmed up will help.”
She dismissed herself from the living area, going to her bedroom first, where she saw a small suitcase sitting on the opposite bed. Apparently, having someone else stay there, a friend of Mom’s, had already been decided. Callie felt strange that she hadn’t asked more about the girl. But she’d get to that maybe this evening.
Once in the bathroom, she stripped down, shocked again to the scars on her body. Forearm, thigh, a slash near her clavicle. The latter one was the only one that still seemed ugly to her. The others must have been glass or very sharp metal. The one on her clavicle had to have been from something jagged that tore at her. But she had no memory of getting the scars. Most of the lacerations had healed very well. They were noticeable but faded. Still, they made Callie feel ugly, and once the shock of seeing them again began to fade, the tears started again.
The trouble with having amnesia like this, having forgotten things, is that she didn’t even know what she had forgotten, or how many things she had forgotten, but it had been a lot, she gathered. She had spent a year at a university, but had no memory of it. She had no memory of any classes she had taken. She couldn’t even name the subjects she took without looking at the transcript. She’d gotten good grades, but couldn’t remember a single thing from the syllabus of any class.
Worse, she couldn’t remember any of the people at this supposed university, couldn’t remember having been accepted, couldn’t remember being excited about that. She couldn’t remember traveling there, couldn’t remember any parties she might have gone to, couldn’t remember if she’d had a boyfriend, and couldn’t remember what the cafeteria food was even like, assuming she had eaten some.
Callie stepped into the shower, letting the warm water wash away her tears. She stood there, letting the shower head pelt her back and wondered, briefly, if she had more scars there that she hadn’t even seen yet. Supposedly, it had been a year since her accident, but given how well the scars had faded, it felt like it must have been more time than that.
But it couldn’t be. She’d been in high school before that. She remembered the principal and—wait. Who had her teachers been? She reached out in her mind trying to remember, but could not picture a single teacher. No names came to her. A few students, but not as many as she expected there should be. This realization frightened her.
Callie soaped up, shampooed and conditioned, and dried off before putting on her pajamas and stepping back out into the living area.
The smell of deer heart and liver cooking surprised her. Amanda was tending a cast iron pan on the stove, to which she was adding squares of butter. Callie looked at her mother in surprise.
“Our guest is cooking for us?” Callie asked in a whisper.
“She likes to cook,” Mom said. “She used to cook all the meals in her house where she grew up. Let her do it. She likes to do it.”
Callie shrugged and stepped into the kitchen area.
“Can I help?”
“How about some biscuits?” Amanda asked as she turned to give Callie a smile.
“I don’t know how to make them,” Callie said, frowning.
Amanda gave her a very strange look, which confused her.
“What?” Callie asked.
“Oh, I—I guess—never mind. I can teach you how to make them,” Amanda said.
The biscuits came out only okay, but Amanda seemed to like them and Mom said they were delicious. The three women enjoyed a meal together at the table. Dad’s chair had been empty since his death, and was empty tonight, but it was sure strange to see someone seated in the fourth chair by the window. No one ever sat there, but Amanda seemed quite at home chatting with them over dinner.
When they finished clearing and washing the dinner dishes, Callie headed toward her bedroom, but was stopped by her mother.
“I have a gift for you,” Mom said.
“Oh, okay,” Callie said.
“Come back to the kitchen and sit,” Mom said before disappearing into her bedroom.
A minute later, she returned to the table and joined the two younger women.
“So,” Mom said. “I have a piece of jewelry I want to give you. It’s a family heirloom, passed down from one generation to the next. I know it’s a bit early for your birthday and Christmas, but I wanted to give it to you.”
“You don’t have to, Mom. Why don’t you keep it for a while longer?”
“I think it would be good for you to have,” Mom said, insisting.
She laid out a piece of jewelry that was one of the prettiest things Callie had ever seen. It was a silver necklace comprised of a thin silver chain and a pendant. The pendant was a semi-circular crescent moon designed so that the tips of the crescent almost touched. Suspended in the middle of the open crescent was a beautiful blue gem.
“Sapphire?” Callie asked.
“It is!” Mom said.
Callie looked down at it and placed her fingers on the chain and then looked up to see both Mom and Amanda looking intently at her. The looks on their faces were strange, as if they were hopeful or needy or something. It gave Callie the creeps.
She pulled her fingers back from the chain and said, “I don’t think I can take this. I just don’t feel right about it. You keep it for now, Mom.”
“Oh, just try it on,” Mom insisted, and she stood up, took the ends of the necklace, and dropped her hands over Callie’s shoulders, letting the pendant drop until it rested gently against her collarbone. She then connected the clasp, walked back to her seat, and looked at Callie with a strange smile on her face.
Callie looked down at the pendant. It certainly was beautiful, but it gave her a very strange feeling. She began to feel dizzy as her eyes went out of focus, her nerves were on edge, and she felt her pulse quicken. She reached up and disconnected the clasp, dropping the necklace to the table.
“I—I can’t,” she said. She got up from the table, leaving the necklace behind, and quickly crossed the living room to disappear into her bedroom.
Stephen B. Anthony is the author of Transmigrant, an epic science fiction thriller, available on both Amazon and Audible. The first seven chapters are available on this website for free.