By Julie Brandon
Drying the last cup, Margaret glanced out of the kitchen window. For a moment, she thought she’d seen something scuttle across the lawn. Pulling aside the curtain over the sink, she peered out into the dusk. It was too dark to see anything clearly. Margaret had resisted the realtor’s suggestion to install lights on the patio. The nighttime darkness was just one of the many things she loved about the house. Lights would obscure the brilliant night sky. Dishes done; Margaret turned off the kitchen light. Ignoring her doctor’s advice to avoid alcohol she poured a glass of wine and stepped out the back door onto the patio. Earlier that day, she’d arranged her lawn chair and a small table at the edge in preparation for her evening ritual. She sat and watched as the fireflies danced about, their flickering lights calling out for potential mates. As she tipped back her head, a shooting star blazed a trail across the sky. Her grandmother had told her that one should always make a wish at such a moment. Margaret couldn’t think of anything she wanted but old habits die hard. She closed her eyes. Unbidden, an old wish popped into her mind. Margaret opened her eyes and laughed. It hadn’t come true all those years ago. She had no expectation it would happen now.
Something rustled in the bushes. Probably raccoons, Margaret thought. When the noise became louder, she shined her flashlight beam in that direction. It could be a coyote. The noise stopped. She switched off the flashlight and relaxed. Her grandmother used to say that Nature, always referred to with capital N, was their friend. When Margaret was young, she thought her Gran was a witch. The older woman was always concocting salves and mysterious potions in her kitchen. As an adult, Margaret reasoned that her grandmother was a holistic healer. In her heart of hearts, she’d hoped Gran was a witch and that she’d teach Margaret to be one, too. Sadly, Gran died when Margaret was thirteen. Margaret’s parents had sold Gran’s house and never mentioned her again, but Margaret thought of her often.
Lost in her reminisces, Margaret failed to notice the hazy figure that stepped out of the bushes.
It made its way silently across the lawn towards her. The apparition spoke.
“Margaret.”
Margaret gasped, knocking over her chair as she leaped up. Scrambling for the flashlight, she managed to turn it on. With shaking hands, she swept the light around the patio. Nothing. Margaret let out her breath. She must have fallen asleep. It was just a dream bleeding over into reality. She righted her chair and sat back down. Thankfully the wine glass hadn’t broken. Just as she was about to take a sip, she heard the voice again.
“Margaret, don’t be afraid.”
She closed her eyes. She must still be dreaming. Either that or she was going crazy. Willing herself to calm her breathing, Margaret opened her eyes. A hazy figure was standing in front of her. It didn’t feel malevolent. She couldn’t make out any features. It was as unsubstantial as morning mist.
“What do you want?” Margaret asked.
The figure reached out a hand to her.
“I’ve come to grant your wish, but you must come with me.”
Margaret hesitated. Surely her wish of many years ago wasn’t possible. It was just a silly dream of a young girl. It couldn’t possibly come true. The figure waited. Margaret considered the consequences. She was alone in the world. No one would care if she was gone. The whole idea seemed ridiculous. And yet, somehow tantalizingly tempting. What did she have to lose? Margaret stood and placed her hand on the one reaching for her. She expected it to feel cold but as their hands touched, it became surprisingly warm and solid. Margaret’s eyes grew wide as her grandmother smiled at her.
“But you’re dead, Gran!” Margaret sputtered. “What’s happening?”
Gran gave Margaret’s hand a squeeze.
“I’m sure that’s the story your parents told you, my dear girl. They couldn’t tell you the truth.”
Margaret closed her eyes, sure that she was still dreaming. When she opened her eyes again, she’d be in her bed. She opened them but her grandmother, her dead grandmother, was still there. Does madness run in her family? Gran patted her gently on the shoulder.
“You’re not mad, my dear.” Her grandmother squeezed Margaret’s hand.
Well, if this was madness, Margaret welcomed it. The longer Gran or whatever this was, held her hand, the surer she was that she preferred it to her boring, uneventful life. Perhaps she was a witch after all. It had been her fondest wish; one she’d repeated with each shooting star. Well, that and the other one. Margaret allowed her grandmother to lead her through the Rhododendron bushes. Just before they left the backyard, Margaret glanced back towards her house. She could see her body sprawled in the lawn chair. Unbidden, a bit of poetry she’d learned at school popped into her mind.
“Because I could not stop for death, He kindly stopped for me.”
Margaret smiled. Her wish had been to die quietly in the night. Nice that one wish finally came true. She and her grandmother faded into the darkness, leaving nothing but fireflies and starlight.
* * *
Julie Brandon is a poet, playwright, lyricist, and storyteller. She published her poetry collection, My Tears, Like Rain in June 2024. Her work has been published in Bewildering Stories, Corner bar Magazine, Awakenings Review, Fresh Words, Mini Plays Magazine, To Write of Love During War:Poems, Mask of Sanity: The Monster Within, Rio Grande Valley International Poetry Festival Anthology: Boundless, Kibbutz Gezer International Exhibit, Detangled Brains, Altered Reality and others. Two short plays will be produced for podcasts in the Fall of 2024. Several of her short plays have been produced both locally and nationally. She lives near Chicago, IL.