There’s nothing like trudging out at five in the morning to pump water from an ancient well. I would much rather be sleeping right now, but my boots crunch steadily on the late October leaves as I drag four gallons of water beside me.  When I reach my house, my little brother Ivan swings open the door.

            “Tomorrow’s Halloween!” he squeals, bouncing up and down.

            “Yeah, I know! Can you let me in please? These buckets are getting heavy,” I say. Ivan scurries into the living room to get a cup of cider.

In the kitchen, I plop the water down by the old wood stove and help Ivan reach the mugs. He carefully ladles steaming apple cider into the ceramic vessels, standing on a chair to help him reach over the giant cast iron pot. The simmering of the cider and soft swish of my hands as I knead bread are the only sounds in this moment of peace. A thought strikes me.

“Is Mom up yet?” I ask, covering the dough with a towel. Ivan shakes his head. “Then why are you up?”

“Dad woke me up,” he declares, taking a long sip.

Just then, my grandma lumbers down the stairs. “Good morning!” She nods to the water by the stove and then to me. “I see Cara has collected the water.”

“You’re going to wake up Mom and Ryan, Bottle,” I sigh. We’ve always called my grandmother bottle because she collects bottles and makes wind chimes and vases out of them.

She plops down on the couch with her knitting. “Waking up early never hurt anybody, did it?”

“Only if they have to deal with other people before six,” I say, reaching for the remote. Bottle slaps my hand away.

“No television, child. It distracts us from the life we have right now,” Bottle quips, knitting needles clinking mechanically.

“It’s distracting unless Wheel of Fortune is on,” my older brother Ryan says from the foot of the stairs.  Our sister Amalie hides behind him. 

Ivan’s eyes are filled with stars as he runs to Ryan. “Can we go and pick pumpkins today?” Ivan begs, pulling on Ryan’s fleece sweater.

“Of course,” Ryan smiles, picking Ivan up.

“Hey Amalie, can you help me find a bread tin?” I meander into the kitchen, wanting to escape from Ryan.

Ryan’s the oldest and the favorite of everyone besides Bottle and me. Amalie materializes beside me, snatching a metal tin from the meticulously organized pantry. She’s in charge of anything having to do with organizing and logic- she tries to answer all the questions on Jeopardy and has only missed one in the past three years. I realize my hunt has been in vain and turn to leave, but Amalie stops me.

“About your birthday,” she says, staring to the left of my head. “The blessing thing’s on Halloween, or Samhain, which is your birthday, and the magical new year’s. It’s when the veil between this world and the next is at its thinnest.”

“What do you want to tell me?” I shift my weight, getting impatient.

Amalie looks at me with sad big sister eyes. “Just don’t mess this up, okay?” I nod, and we part ways.

Back in the living room, Amalie loads the dough into the tin while I chuck a few more logs into the fire.

Ryan groans. “Why do we have to use the wood stove when the heater works perfectly fine?”

“It’s about staying close to our roots,” my mother says as she descends the stairs. She cradles the stone by our door and mutters a prayer. Now everything in the room feels much lighter, homier, and cozy. Mom works her magic once again. As she sits down, the stone winks at me. It’s proof of who we are. We’re a family of witches.

…

Sometime after dinner, Ivan grows bored again. He’s done everything he could think of. Gather herbs, gut pumpkins. He even dared to collect eggs from our neighbor’s chickens. He sits lifeless by the stove, halfheartedly playing with a toy car. Ivan rams the mini Chevrolet into our beat-up table and falls back, defeated.

“Can you tell me a story?” Ivan begs Bottle. She sighs dramatically.

“What do you want it to be about?” She dries her hands with her old apron.

“I want it to be about us,” Ivan says, “because it’s almost Halloween.”

Bottle relents and plops herself down on the sofa. “Okay.” She clears her throat. “Many years ago, there was a large blizzard. Lost electricity for weeks and school was canceled until April. But in the middle of that storm, a man went out to get some bread from the store and on his way home he passed over a creek. Now, he wasn’t a superstitious man, but what he saw convinced him of the other side.”

“Why didn’t he believe before the blizzard?” Ivan asked.

“He just didn’t,” Mom responded.

“Be quiet. Halfway over the bridge, the wood gave out and the man plunged into the icy water. He died under the ice, leaving his two young children without a father. Many years later, when his granddaughter was going to have a baby, she went out on a night like this to bring some water in for the stove, and on her way back, a creature came to her, staring at her with one green eye and one blue. They laid a hand on her stomach and whispered something in a forgotten tongue and the next day, the baby was born with one green eye and one blue. Astonished by the creature’s power, the child’s father named the creature Seine, mystical and watery.”

“I thought you were going to tell a story about our family, not about a magical water man,” Ivan protested.

I nudged him gently. “It’s probably some legend from a long time ago. This town hasn’t gotten a blizzard in ages.”

Suddenly there was commotion outside. Amalie swung open the door, screaming. “Cara, get out here. We need your help!”

“What happened?” I ask, pulling on my coat.

“Dad broke his leg coming down the mountain. There’s some bone sticking out of his jeans.”

Before I leave, I steal a glance at the mirror and see a girl with one green eye and one blue, just like in Bottle’s story. I shrug and go outside to Amalie.

“Can you go over the pass to where Ryan is?” She asks, breath puffing in large white clouds. I nod and run over the hills to the pass, a small break in the steep cliffs of the Appalachian Mountains.

I climb and climb until my legs feel like fire, flames licking my muscles. My fingers are turning numb with the cold. I should have worn gloves. A crow caws somewhere in the massive trees and a deer peeks its head out around a trunk.

I slow to a walk, appreciating the beautiful fall foliage. Eventually, the brush gives way to a babbling creek, pushing through the static rocks with unbridled determination.  Red and gold leaves duck and dive in the icy water. A pale column of mist emerges from the water, swathed in a fern cloak. It floats above the forest floor, ignorant of my existence. I follow, convinced this is some trick of the light. The thing stops at a cliff far above the earth where Dad and Ryan sit. It turns and takes off its hood, exposing a willowy body that reminds me of a tree, bark and all. I stare at the top of its wooden-looking head in anticipation.

The creature lifts its head, and I stare into eyes that mirror my own.

I jump back in shock. It’s Seine. The creature from Bottle’s story raises an arm over my head, speaking quickly in a foreign, guttural tongue. I sprint through the forest as Seine gains height and ground, its strange language growing louder and louder, hurting my ears.

I can’t see anything besides the ground in front of me when I hit something warm and soft.  The object in question collapses, taking me down with it. I look at what I hit.

“What are you doing?” Ryan asks, helping me up.

“Running.”

“From what?”

“From Seine.” I brush leaves off my sweater. Ryan laughs.

“You’re funny, Cara. Did the spooky water man bless you too?”

A low growl sounds behind me. Ryan’s face shifts from bewildered amusement to horror. I turn around.

“Hey Cara,” he says, staring high into the trees.

“Yeah?” my stomach plummets when I see what he’s afraid of.

“Remind me that Ivan wants me to build a pillow fort with him tomorrow.”

Seine bellows and charges at us like its life depends on it. We dash away, feet flying on the late October ground. Ryan and I are fast, but Seine is faster. We jump over a fallen log and I trip, just as Seine wraps their cold, watery fingers around my arm.

My whole body goes cold as Ryan watches me fade into the ground. Decaying leaves grow up my body, enveloping me in a warm, musky hug. My legs collapse beneath me, burying me in compost. I can’t do anything but watch now, my existence as silent as the wind.

Ryan runs away screaming for help, our father’s condition thrown to the wind. He never comes back.

Once a year my family comes to bring me gifts of water and compost. I thank them with a good growing season.

The remnants of my life slowly disappear. Ryan leaves for Los Angeles, pretending I never existed. Amalie gets a job crunching numbers for the county, tending to our parent’s ailing health. Ivan grows up and gets married. One late fall day, his wife goes to collect water from the stream and passes over my home. It is my time. I emerge from the ground and congratulate her on her baby. She stares at me in shock.

I realize my life has come full circle. I am a legend now, passed on as a horror story, something that happens when children go into the woods alone. “Beware of the leaf girl,” parents say, “watch out for Cara, queen of the woods.”