Ghostly Writes Anthology 2016, Page 2

Silvia

  Monrovia, Indiana – 1880

  Nine-year-old Silvia lived to explore. Come rain or unrelenting heat, she kept at it. Being out and about and witnessing nature thrilled her. Silvia’s mother warned her against going too far. She would tell her, ‘You’ll get lost, my sweet child of Jesus.’

  Silvia never listened. She enjoyed the trails too much. The mystery of what she would find if she went a little further excited her. On December 25th, 1880 Silvia did go too far. Her face glistened with sweat as she headed for the tree line. Her blue eyes stared reverentially at a misshapen yet generous fan of frozen water. It was snowing heavily, a sharp wind gusted. Silvia wore two layers of plain winter clothing, and a black hat to cover her ears. The water beyond her was steel grey, the outermost rim black. Three feet of snow blanketed the ground around it. Beyond were a little hill and a lengthy field.

  Silvia hadn’t known the pond wasn’t frozen over. To her it looked welcoming and safe. She stepped towards the pond only to step back, her fathers’ words playing in her head: ‘If you see a pond in your wanderings, my sweet child of Jesus, don’t go walking on it.’

  Then like children often do, she ignored her father’s warning and stepped onto the pond. Her small frame got her twenty feet before the ice began to crack with many pops and snaps. Before Silvia could comprehend what had happened to her she had fallen through the ice. The immense cold took her breath away. She inhaled sharply, violently, swallowing a great amount of water. Her lungs burned. Her arms and legs flailed for a long while then went still. She sank to the bottom of the pond like a boulder.