A grove of tall dark pines. Dusk and deep shadows. Gun-metal clouds boiling overhead. A shaft of light through the clouds, a spotlight on the garden in the center of the grove. The filtering of light through dust particles in the air. A dusty smell of aged wood. Of damp and faint decay.
In the center, a floor of cushiony pine needles, dotted with pink and yellow wildflowers. Chapel-quiet but for the hymns of birds. At one end a large stump like an altar wreathed by flowers, its life rings darkened by long exposure. A black heart-shaped hole in the center of the heartwood.
A shadow among shadows. Dull eyes, full of darkness, fey and feral. Sunken hollow cheeks, thin lips. Straight black hair and full, shaggy beard, ragged edges dragging the collar. A great heavy coat hiding the shape of him. Dark swarthy skin like a gypsy. Watching. Waiting. Two tufts of hair, two cowlicks, like horns, but apparently human. Sharp yellowed teeth, like fangs. A man of shadows and darkness.
A child of light, toddling on fat little legs in the center of the garden. Shining golden curls veiling the shoulders. Soft, cherubic face. Full rosy cheeks. Tiny upturned nose. Immense bright blue eyes fringed in black lashes. A full-length white satin dress with eye-blue sash. Chubby little hands clutching a bouquet of delicate pink and yellow flowers in a death grip. Kneeling near the altar, reaching for a flower. A sylvan chapel with a cherub in attendance.
The restless shadow among the trees. Waiting. Watching. Black eyes shifting to follow golden little girl movements. Hand moving in the pocket of the great coat. A slow smile.
Light sweet child's voice, prattling away at imaginary games. Scolding an invisible playmate. Unknowing. Unsuspecting.
Blackest of shadows, watching.
Golden and unsuspecting and innocent.
Now, maybe. A hesitant step, from the trees to the light.
"Little girl." A rusty voice. A slow yellow grin. A cautious step, huge hairy hand extended, palm up. Slow thinking. Slow, cautious movement. So close now.
A quick turn, blue eyes wide, then narrow. Suspicion. "Don't-talk-to-strangers" in her mind.
Slow, soft, struggling to think. A voice like a rusty hinge. "Little girl. Play with me?" Hand out, palm up, as if in friendship. Watching. Pretty. Pretty little girl.
Mistrust. Quick steps backward. Slowly shaking head. Blue eyes wide.
"Play with me, little girl?" Hopeful. Long yellow fangs. Black eyes in shadow, almost invisible. "Make birds come to you." An offer.
Wait...wait...soon...soon. A long moment of silence.
Sudden silver-bell laugh, like chimes in the pine-tree chapel. Eyes bright like flickering blue sparks. Dimples and teeth flashing. "You look funny."
Slow, hesitating laugh, uncertain. "Your name, little girl?"
Suspicion again. And curiosity. Funny man. A victory for curiosity. "Eve." Watching, curious only. No fear. "What's yours?"
Another step closer. "You live nearby, Eve?"
A gesture in a vague direction. "Over there. Where you from?"
A laugh, low and slow. "A long way from here. That way." Pointing finger, aimed vaguely toward the altar-stump. Toward its deep, dark heart-hole?
A giggle, like silver chimes. "You're funny." Again.
Another wait, a short one this time. "See birds?" Black eyes open wide. Another step.
Curious blue eyes. "Why?"
An obstacle. Why? "Pretty birds. I like pretty." Dark face frowning, concentrating. "Sing pretty. Messengers of God."
Blue eyes widen. "Ohhh! I want to see!"
Slow steps to the altar. Eyes watchful of the pretty girl. No sudden moves-slow, cautious. Careful not to startle her. Hand emerging from pocket. Clenched fist holding bread like manna, like communion wafers. A first offering on the altar.
"Come here, Eve." Pretty name. Pretty little girl. "Here, next to me. Quiet. Don't move. Don't scare the birds. They'll come down. Eat the bread. We can watch."
Golden and dark, side by side. Motionless. Waiting. Soon, now. Silence but for the music of the birds. A brown shape flitting among the shadows of the trees. Dragging moments. Soon now. More bird voices. Birds, eying the offering from their sanctuary on low tree limbs. An impatient, roving blue eye. Stone stillness. Bated breath. Anticipation.
Pink and yellow flowers, half wilted, clutched in the child's hand, like a bridal bouquet. Man and girl before the altar, like bride and groom. Time, slow. A bird on the altar. Dark eyes glittering with anticipation.
Blue eyes gleaming in delight. Birds like messengers of God, here for the offering. Three. Four. Waiting. Soon. Five. So close.
Now!
A hand, suddenly. A captured bird. Plump white child hands. Squeeze. A flutter of wings, an empty altar. Bird shrieks. Childish delight. Dimples. Squeeze. Screaming of bird voices.
Faint crackling of bones. Delicate sparrow. A hand over a hand. Large over small, brown over white, hairy over smooth. Squeeze.Wide dark eyes, mouth open, fangs gleaming. Horror. Death. Wide blue eyes, mouth open. Fear. A scream. Panic.
Boiling gray clouds. The sun hidden. An omen. No spotlight from heaven now. Duskiness. Dim light of oncoming night. No golden shining halo.
Screams echoing in the chapel. Screams of birds and of a pretty little girl. Screams in a low rusty voice. A gripping of hands. Squeeze. The fall of a sparrow, soundless, to a cushion of pine needles. Release of hands. Terror. No more innocence. No more light. Fear. Evil. Run! A pounding of feet, heavy breathing, like sobbing, growing fainter.
A solitary chapel in a pine grove. Tall dark pines in supplication to the gun-gray clouds of heaven. Silent. No bird voices. A small moan of wind. No sunbeam. No light in the chapel, only shadows. The gold tarnished. A blood sacrifice on a wooden altar. A bird now lying on pine needles. A small child, kneeling.
Eve, sitting on the ground, staring at the dead sparrow. A bouquet of delicate pink and yellow flowers in a cherubic hand. Wilted.