• W​rite about a character who is lost in a strange and unfamiliar place.

T​he trees surrounding the hiking path seem to vibrate with a hazy, high-pitched urgency that mimics my own frenetic energy as I start to pick up my pace. I hear a bird call out a warning as a low roll of thunder rumbles overhead. My cheeks feel bone-cold and my hands have begun to tremble. The sun will set any minute now, and I don’t want to be stuck deep in these woods when that happens.

I shouldn’t be here at this moment; I was supposed to take Spike for a short walk to relieve himself before heading over to the neighborhood block party. Still, I took a path I had never been down before and walked for much longer than necessary. It’s easy to look back with the benefit of hindsight and recognize why I made the choices I made. At the time, my behavior was automatic. I never made a decision to branch off from my mundane life and, essentially, run away.

And yet, here I am, stumbling aimlessly around a damp, moldy wooded area behind my neighborhood with no way to return home in sight. I see a mechanical movement out of the corner of my eye. It startles me into tripping and I turn my ankle, feeling a sharp bite of pain shoot up my body with an electric jolt.

A​s I yelp in sheer agony, I hear a bell-like voice respond to my interruption with a nonchalant and slightly irritated tone.

“​Lost, are we?”

“I’m taking a creative path,” I respond, as I mess with my ankle, trying to somehow bind it with my scarf. “Who are you?” I ask, squinting into the dark evening.

“​No one you would know.” The disembodied voice seems vaguely amused.

“​Listen, I hurt myself on the root of that tree. Could you help me get back home so my partner can take me to Urgent Care?” At this point, I know my situation could be dire if the Voice were to walk away.

“Certainly, and I am sure you will return the favor when I call in my marker.”

“Of course.” I reply, without a thought.

“Then, so be it.”

I turn my head to see the stranger, and find myself on my own front step.

“​The baby is losing it, Fiona. Please do something. We’re going to be late for the Bensons’.”

I see Xavier struggling to place our angry toddler in the car seat.

“​Where’s Spike?” I ask him, as I try to regain my bearings.

“​On the couch, I think. You walked him, right?”

“​Of course.” I reply, automatically. As I respond, I am met with a queasy feeling, as if I’ve forgotten something vital. What could I be forgetting? I have my purse. My keys. My phone. The baby is accounted for. Spike is inside. Why do I feel so uneasy?

“​Were we supposed to bring anything? Dessert, or something?”

“​I’ve got a bottle of wine for them. That should be enough.”

I walk over to the baby and fiddle with her shiny ringlets. Recently, she has been testing boundaries with us, especially with me. “No” has been her favorite word since she could speak, but now she has progressed to throwing food and toys seemingly to see how we might react. I see so much of myself in her, even when she is acting defiantly. In this moment, as she screams red-faced into my open mouth, I worry I don’t recognize her. It isn’t out of character for her to throw a fit about being strapped into her car seat, but the tenor of her cry feels unfamiliar. I shush her and try to allay my own fears.

“​Hush little baby, don’t say a word…” I start to sing her favorite generic lullaby.

“​NO!!” The baby shrieks.

“​Try the iPad.” Xavier, always prepared, switches the tablet on and places it in her hands.

“​She already had her 20 minutes.” I remind him.

“​We’re late. It’s one day. She’ll be fine.” He replies.

I roll my eyes and shut the car door. As we drive to the party on the other end of the neighborhood, I scroll through my phone, checking emails and headlines. The young trees line the sidewalks in our development uniformly. Construction is halted for the day on the new houses on our way. I turn up the speakers, before receiving a reprimand from my husband.

“​Baby ears are sensitive.” Xavier tells me.

I shut off the music with a small pout. Silently, I regard the baby as she continues to scream in the back seat. “What about my ears?” I ask Xavier.

“​Almost there.” He answers. I continue to watch the baby as she writhes in containment. I’m uneasy, but I’m trying to behave as normal. I know something is wrong, but I’ve known something to be wrong before with little success. I see the baby make eye contact with me through the rear view mirror. Why is she such a tight coil of rage?

S​till, I don’t want to voice my concerns to Xavier, since I know I can’t explain my illogical reaction to this most recent car tantrum. Xavier has been taking so much responsibility with the baby recently that it can feel like the two of them are in a secret little club without me. I want to connect with her, but my own self-loathing tends to get in the way. It’s an age-old story, Demeter and Persephone, resentful mother in a thankless relationship with her insouciant daughter. I wish I could forgive my daughter for reminding me so much of myself most of the time, but today, I see that she is truly a stranger to me.

T​he party passes with little input from me and before I know it, we are home again. The baby needs to eat before bed, so I try to hand her a pouch of applesauce. She looks me in the eye and I know I have forgotten something important, but I swallow my fear, like I always do. I remind myself that this isn’t a new sentiment. I’ve been here before and I can’t be here again.

A​s I brush my teeth, I taste the tinny blood from my soft gums fill my mouth. I spit out my toothpaste into the porcelain sink and leave behind a trail of bright red saliva. I climb into our king-size bed and disappear under the heavy covers.

Before I know it, I am in a fitful sleep, tossing and turning and twisting. I find myself in a meadow I’ve never seen before, surrounded on one side by tall, knotted trees with long, heavy branches, and on the other side by a swiftly moving stream of brackish water. I feel thirsty as I’ve ever felt and find myself moving towards the water.

A bright blue lizard crosses my path and transforms into what is, undeniably, a fairy. I look behind myself, hoping to avoid an interaction, but the fairy seems to sense my trepidation and I begin to feel a torpor unlike any I’ve ever known. I am aware that the fairy knows the power it has over me, but I can do nothing to break my paralysis.

“​I know you, don’t I?” The fairy prompts me. I try to respond, but find I want nothing more than to listen to the bell-like voice of the fairy. “Oh, yes. We made a deal in those woods behind your little home. Do you remember?” I nod, warily. “I think we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement, don’t you?” I try not to encourage it, but find myself nodding again.

“​I believe you have a child. Is this true?” Alarmed, I struggle not to nod, but I can’t control my own movement. I know fairies tend to have a predilection for children and I would never intentionally endanger my own child. I try to shake my head, to somehow rouse myself, but I am stuck in.

“​Perfect. This exchange will suit us both. Fiona…it’s time to wake up.”

I awaken to an eerie silence with pink sun pouring in my bedroom window. It’s unlike my baby to sleep through until morning usually. I blink the sleep out of my eyes and fumble for the monitor to check on her. Sighing with relief when I find her little lump of a body breathing heavily with sleep on the screen, I roll over to wake Xavier. “Breakfast?” I ask him, drowsily. He grunts affirmatively, so I head to the kitchen to throw something together.

T​o my surprise, the doorbell rings just as I am putting some oatmeal in the microwave. I hastily open the door and look outside. No one is there, and I don’t see a package or a note. Uneasily, I carry the oatmeal back upstairs to have breakfast in bed with Xavier.

After Xavier leaves for work, I brace myself to wake the baby. However, she surprises me by waking easily with a content smile on her small, round face. Spike needs a walk, so I decide to strap the baby into her carriage for our morning routine. This is normally a perfect time for another tantrum, so, again, I prepare for the worst. Once again, the baby is on her best behavior, and I close my eyes in gratitude and then walk towards the bike path.

​As soon as we reach the woods, a mist begins to settle around the three of us. My stomach warns me that something is off, and I try to turn around and return home. As I turn around, I see a tall figure emerge from behind me. The figure looks familiar, but I can’t place where I know it from.

“​Much too late to turn around, Fiona. We both know why you came here today. We both know why you won’t leave now.” And with that, the figure disappears before my eyes.

“​I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” I reply, to emptiness. And yet, I feel myself slowing down as I speak. I must protect the baby and Spike; We must get home. I look at the trees surrounding us and realize home is farther away than could possibly make sense. I don’t recognize my surroundings and I have no way to extricate myself from the woods.

T​he sound of rushing water interrupts my confusion. A murky, olive-toned stream juts across the ground near the carriage wheels. I’m certain that I don’t know where I am. Instinct tells me not to make a noise, so I silently push the carriage along, following the stream to its mouth. Spike seems uneasy, but the baby babbles happily in her seat.

W​e walk for longer than is comfortable and the sun sinks in the sky. Everywhere I look, I feel I might see that tall figure, but the three of us seem to be alone. Up ahead, I see our home, but I am alarmed to realize it is certainly out of place.

I rush up to the door, dragging Spike by his leash. The door is locked. I slam my hands against the door, opening wounds on my knuckles, to no avail. When I look back, my baby is gone. A scream leaves my mouth as a whimper.

Simultaneously, I hear her match my cry. Startled, I find myself awakening back in my familiar bedroom. The baby monitor blares as she wails in her crib. I rush to her side and hear a gaping silence. Picking her up, I shush her anyway.

Xavier enters the room and I startle. The baby coos lovingly in Xavier’s direction. He instinctively relieves me by reaching for the baby.

“​She’s a growing girl. Time for breakfast!” He sings at her.

I follow them to the kitchen.