Little May

Little May doesn't remember much. She doesn't remember the day she moved to this rural, ghostly place. She doesn't remember the day her parents disappeared. She doesn't even remember what her life used to be like.

She often walks the streets in a mind of her own, dreaming of nothing, just letting one foot fall in front of the other, on and on and on.

She’ll look at her boots and wonder, have I always worn these? Their dirty grey stains make her wonder if they were always that colour. And the gun in her hand. She doesn't know why she carries it, but she can’t let it go. And the umbrella stays over her head, rain or shine. And the tears are always there. Always.

And then she will look at her shirt and skirt and see the blood and think, why is that there? Stained deep and dried thick, it crumbles to powder when she rubs it with her tiny fingers. Her tiny frozen fingers.

And then she’ll feel it. The gust of hot air against her back. The burst of heat is so sudden she’ll get goose-bumps and hug herself as the warm air dissipates to try and keep warm.

And then she’ll smell it, the stench of rotting flesh and blood. The smell of festering waste. And her mind imagines what is making that smell. And she’ll turn around and see it. That beast with its jagged teeth, blood drooling from its mouth. A loud roar escapes from it and she remembers.

***

She walks down the empty streets again, searching, that thing following behind her. She can feel its breath on her back, the heat radiating out of its mouth making her shiver. Finally she sees what she is looking for. Another little girl just stood at the crossing. She quickly hides her gun in her little back pocket.

The other girl turns behind her and sees little May. “Hello,” she calls.

Little May smiles and waves as she approaches. She knows the girl cannot see it. But she can. She can still feel its breath, heavy and stagnant.

“Let’s cross together,” little May says holding out her free hand. The other girl places her hand in little May’s. Little May wipes her eyes a silent sorry on her lips before yanking the other girl backwards.

Before the other girl has time to scream, the mouth clamps down on her. There is no more sound from the girl other than her bones being churned.

Little May lets out one sob before turning to the beast. She rubs its side and leans against its warm body letting her tears fall into its fur.

“There you go mommy.” She whispers into the fur, cooing softly, just like mommy used to do for her. “You don’t have to be hungry anymore.”

The beast purrs softly against her. Little May cries for a long time. She then looks into the mouth of the beast and cries for the girl, the girl whose bones are now part of that rotting collection in its mouth. She cries for the family who have lost her.

And then she wipes her eyes. “Bye bye mommy,” she waves.
And the beast is gone.

Suddenly little May doesn't remember anything. She takes the gun from her back pocket and holds it close to her. She grips the umbrella firmly in her other hand.

And so, in a mind of her own, dreaming of nothing, she walks the streets, just letting one foot fall in front of the other.