Missing: Isanne Wilkins

Isanne Wilkins was always a queer child with her large, mysterious gray eyes and her white-as-paper skin. She was uncommonly delicate and beautiful, despite her long, wild tousles of midnight hair. Her mother and father always argued that they had given birth to her themselves, but it was already quite obvious that they hadn’t. She was too miniscule—too elf-ish.

As a young girl she had been forever shunned by the other cheerful, jaunty children for being so strange and quiet and different. It wasn’t an obvious difference, and yet at the same time it was. Her features themselves were sharper and more pointed, but still soft and sweet. She still had the innocent look of a young child, but again the aura around her emanated something more, something even otherworldly.

She’d always be found sitting in a corner by herself gazing at who-knows-what in who-knows-where. Whenever anybody, teachers and kids alike, walked up to her, it’d always take her a while to finally acknowledge their existence. This prompted many dissatisfied parents to say that she was too dreamy and too unconcerned about what she should be concerned about at her age. More than once in a while you could catch her whispering something suspiciously to a tree or a flower; or chatting amicably with the wind and the air.

No, Isanne Wilkins was not natural.

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During the winter time when trees were stripped of their abundant leaves and flowers fell and cried into the frozen earth, Isanne became exceptionally strange. From the day she was allowed to wander and discover the world around her alone, she had made it a habit of herself to smoothly disappear into the vast woods beside her small country house whenever snow fell and suffocated every living thing. There had even been some outrageous incidents when she had disappeared for a tad bit too long and the authorities had to hack through the woods in search of her frail body. Of course, they could never find her no matter how far and long they searched. But she’d always show up not a moment too soon and various persons would start murmuring, “Oh, but I looked in that area,” and other stuff of the sort. And Isanne would gaze at them solemnly with her startling gray eyes, so sad and confused.

It came to be that the Wilkins began to bar the woods from their only daughter in the winter season for fear of finally losing her forever, but Isanne always found a way to escape and her parents would once again call the police whilst crying hysterically. After Isanne turned twelve the authorities began to dismiss her annual disappearing acts and evaded the Wilkins family at all costs during Isanne’s vanishing months. And yet, Mr. and Mrs. Wilkins kept clinging onto the strange nagging feeling in the back of their heads that warned them to keep their eyes on Isanne at all times. Even after the town’s people had begun to mark their calendars.

On the Winter Solstice of Isanne’s fifteenth year, and more importantly, her birthday, Isanne took her first annual stroll through the woods with her heart beating wildly and her spindly thin fingers twitching nervously in the deep pockets of her jacket. Unbeknownst to her, Gregory Schumacher was tailing her expertly from behind. The younger boy had followed her many times before in hopes of unveiling her secrets, for he was a nosy little bugger who wished to become a profound detective in the far future, and he had become so good at being quiet that almost no one could hear him.

Whenever Isanne reached a certain point in the woods, though, it seemed to Gregory that she would vanish before his very eyes. And no matter how hard he tried, he could never find her again and would later on be scolded by his dear grandmother for being late to dinner. Gregory couldn’t bear to tell her that he was following Isanne Wilkins, because his grandmother was extremely frightened of her for some reason. So he would always have to make up some lame excuse and then get reprimanded for lying, but Gregory’s grandmother always forgot about him being late after that.

But this time Gregory was sure he would catch this strange and exotic girl on her quest to find answers. He was absolutely certain of himself because just the day before his grandmother had told him a particularly interesting story.

Gregory’s grandmother was the type of grandmother who served home-made chicken noodle soup on sick days and threw salt over her shoulders for luck. She knocked on wood daily and always stayed clear of black cats and open ladders. But even more, Gregory’s grandmother warned her grandchildren almost every day of the evil little beings, and some the same size as us, which wandered the woods where the Wilkins lived. Gregory himself wasn’t as suspicious of every Hawthorne tree and foxglove that came across his path, but he did try to keep her happy. Yes, Gregory’s grandmother was an adamant believer of faeries and whatever other myth there was of the little people.

And the particular story that led Gregory on his prize-winning quest was of the biggest blizzard in Idlewood fifteen years ago on Isanne’s birthday. Mrs. Wilkins was dangerously pregnant and when the baby came, Gregory’s grandmother tore past the shaking houses to reach her after a frantic phone call. All the lights had been cut off from miles around and so Mrs. Wilkins was surrounded ominously by wax candles. Gregory’s grandmother had been a midwife back in the days when women needed them, and so she rejuvenated her young soul and set to giving Mrs. Wilkins a healthy, strong baby.

When the baby came out, Gregory’s grandmother was sure the child was a boy at first and had fine, brown hair like his father’s. But Gregory’s grandmother had set her down for one moment to tend to Mrs. Wilkins, and when she turned back something fluttered in the corners of her eyes and the baby was not the same baby. She was sure of it. At the time Mrs. Wilkins hadn’t known the baby’s gender or had even seen it yet, but she accepted her all the same when she cradled her in her arms, no matter how worriedly Gregory’s grandmother warned that it wasn’t her child. But who else's could it have been on such a desolate night?

So, does that make Isanne a changeling? As superstitious as Gregory’s grandmother was, he had never heard or seen her lie. Not even when she had accidentally dumped the milk pail in the barn from Junior, the cow they had mistakenly thought be a bull.

And so, against Gregory’s grandmother’s wishes, he searched through the fields for a primrose and reluctantly chewed it; primrose could help you to see the world of the faeries. It wasn’t Isanne that pushed him to go to such measures, but the prospect of a hidden win. Win for him, though, because he didn’t have the urge to blurt everything out and possibly make himself the butt of millions of jokes to come. If everything his grandmother said was true at least. And somehow, he highly doubted the existence of invisible winged beings.

Now to place ourselves back into the present of their lives, let me open your eyes to the hidden.

Gregory paused in his steps as Isanne too halted, inches away from the point where she always evaded him. With tentative steps, she turned around and glanced briefly around the surrounding area. Gregory jerked his head back and waited a few seconds. When he nervously snuck his head back out, she had already began walking. And he could still see her.

With his heart dancing happily, he treaded over the barren ground and dodged twigs and sticks, all at the same time squinting at Isanne’s receding back. He sped up and gasped as a breath of cold air flew through his body when he passed the same spot Isanne always disappeared at. There must have been a barrier, but oh, he didn’t know what he had gotten himself into.

A sound broke through the terrified silence and Gregory’s breathing hitched up. A high-pitched giggle right at his ear resonated through the air. With stumbling steps he ran forward, ignoring the amazing commotion he was making. Indeed, he would be relieved when he found Isanne. She seemed comfortable being in such a strange place, probably because it was as strange as her.

“Isanne! Isanne!” he screamed hysterically. Small fingers grabbed at his neck and pinched tightly. Something pulled harshly at his short hair and he felt someone small wrapping around his arms. The trees all looked the same and the rocks were a simple pattern repeating itself over and over and over. A person cackled and a wind tore through the branches, shaking them and making them whistle angrily. Gregory’s eyes stung as scratches formed on his bare body parts and a hiss ran through the woods, knocking him to the ground.

“What are you doing here?” The woods seem to moan and groan and everything came to a complete standstill. Gregory blinked and with shaky hands lifted himself up slowly to his feet. A young man stood in front of him, tall and majestic with angry piercing eyes. He immediately reminded Gregory of Isanne with his long, pale face and thin, delicate body. “Petty humans,” the man mumbled.

Gregory blinked. “W-what?” he sputtered.

“Why do your kind always wish to bother us?” the man growled, the area around him seeming to steam and his skin paling even more. Gregory narrowed his eyes and peered at the man. Frost. It was frost. As the man stepped forward, Gregory stepped back. The man sighed.

“Just leave him,” a soft voice said quietly. Isanne pulled herself out from the confines of a tree, eyes unchanged and empty. “He’s just a child.”

The man turned to her and gently slipped his hand in hers. Gregory shifted uncomfortably. He was confused and frightened and was regretting everything he had worked so hard for in the past. It didn’t matter, because no one would believe him anyways. The man turned to Gregory and smiled with perfect teeth. “Run.”

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It had been fifteen days since Gregory last saw Isanne and the strange man in the woods. He had come home bruised and mussed. And it didn’t stop there. Gregory wasn’t late to dinner, he was late for two days. Fifteen minutes wandering hell on earth and two days of hell for his family. His grandmother couldn’t even bring herself to yell at Gregory—just cried and hugged him with the devil’s ferocity.

The town was abuzz with news. Not only was Isanne now truly missing, but Gregory too had been dragged into the woods. They were now to be private property and no one could enter them. Everybody wanted to know what was in there. He wouldn’t tell anyone what happened, though, Isanne made sure of that.

Gregory sat at the window, watching fearfully as the snow began to fall lightly on the yellow grass. He blinked. Isanne looked up at him, eyes blank and gray as ever. Gregory’s hands tightened on the mug in his hands, even though it began to burn. But Isanne was calling him. One last time, he would follow her. With trembling legs, he raced down the stairs and burst out the front door.

And for the first time he had ever seen, Isanne smiled. She beckoned him over and he willing stepped forward, entranced by her shocking eyes and radiant beauty. He stood in front of her and waited patiently. Now was the moment to finish everything and take the major moments of this time as a lesson to look back on.

“For you,” Isanne murmured in her complimentary soft voice. She unwrapped something in her hands, staring intently into Gregory’s eyes all the while. She didn’t even wince when the object slipped and blisters formed on a small part of her smooth hands. Gregory bent forward as Isanne dropped the charm around his neck. It was an iron cross with some yellow flower wrapped around it. “St. John’s Wort, for safety.”

Gregory nodded thankfully. “Where are you going?” he asked.

“Home,” Isanne answered, a small lilt in her voice making Gregory aware of the happiness she felt.

The snow stopped falling and Gregory blinked. Isanne had disappeared.