Moss covers the land like a blanket. It is wonderful to walk on. Its springy quality instigates a desire in Edna to skip and bounce each step. Edna lets her heart bounce lightly, instead. She is reminded of a lawn she had once seen in a beach town while on vacation with her family, when her children were small.
On their walk from the beach to the hotel they had passed a little blue house that had a small, fenced yard in front. The house was so close to the ocean that sand came to the edge of the fence, and the fenced yard was covered with vibrant yellowish green moss. Edna was surprised by her desperation to own the house the moment she saw it, mostly for its yard. She stood at the fence and stared at the little house and the little mossy yard, as if trying to figure out how to take it all with her. And all the while the ocean breeze played with her hair and caressed her skin, intensifying the urgency she felt to have everything that she was feeling in that moment.
“What are you doing?” Grady had asked. And Edna had snapped out of her fixation. Her husband’s voice was strained, and he looked through her, not seeing the longing in her eyes. And her children were uncomfortably sticky with ice cream, and covered in sand. Edna had forced them to leave the beach early—though they did not know how strongly her fear was that they would drown—and then they had to wait on her while she had fantasized about a moss yard.
Edna wonders if her husband and children had already been here when she had stood at that fence. She takes a deep breath of the fresh air, and smiles. Her steps relax and she stops trying to walk at Pixie and Twynne’s pace. Her two new friends slow their steps.
Without realizing it, Edna has accepted that she is not in a dream.
The moss had been forest green, but as they go further, Edna is delighted to find that the color of the moss changes. It becomes a bright sea-green, and after a while it turns deep orchid, then royal blue.
“Why does the color keep changing?” Edna asks. “And where are all the creatures? There are creatures, right?”
Without answering, Pixie brings Edna close to one of the royal blue trees. “Look closely,” she says, “do you see anything other than the moss?”
Edna stares into the thick blue strands that are woven together like a tuft of tangled hair. She is about to complain that she sees nothing, but Pixie tells her to wait. Pixie is experienced with human impatience. A few moments pass and still nothing happens.
“Just keep waiting,” Pixie urges.
Suddenly there is motion in the moss. A furry blue body shivers and tiny black eyes stare right into Edna’s.
“A little blue creature! I couldn’t see it because it blended in so well,” Edna says, clasping her hands together.
The creature’s body is long and flat—no wider than Edna’s arm—yet its belly is nice and plump, and squishes against the tree. Edna reaches one hand towards the creature to rub the side of its belly with her thumb, but it bares its teeth and hisses. Edna quickly pulls her hand away, and the creature disappears up the tree.
“My word,” Edna says. “That thing would have bit me. Are you trying to give an old woman a heart attack?”
Pixie puts her hand on Edna’s heart. “Give your heart a little more credit. You’ll see what it’s capable of.”
“Don’t you get old here?” Edna asks, pushing away Pixie’s hand. “I don’t think you realize how aging works.” Then Edna mumbles to herself, “this place’ll be the death of me. What a life, not believing in this foolishness, only to die by it in the end.”
Pixie laughs, looks at Edna and shakes her head. “I don’t think we get old the way you humans do.”
Hundreds of blue creatures scuffle up trees and blend back into their blue blanketed world while Edna walks on in ignorance. After walking for half an hour, she is tired. She has tried to be a sport, digging her cane into the mossy ground, and pulling her body forward, slowly, and shakily. But she has had enough.
“I can’t go anymore. We’re gonna have to rest; I need to sit; help me down would ya?” Edna says.
Pixie and Twynne help Edna to the ground. To their surprise Edna lay’s down on her back and promptly falls asleep.
“It’s so early,” Twynne says to Pixie. Pixie shrugs her shoulders, and they both sit down next to Edna. They take the opportunity to observe the curious looking human more closely. Twynne places two fingers on Edna’s arm; he pinches the skin and lifts it, jiggles it, then lets it drop. He then pokes at the varicose veins that squiggle and zigzag along her calves. His half smile—born of amusement and curiosity—softens as his eyes rest on Edna’s legs. He looks at them for a moment, then at Edna’s cane, then at Pixie. Pixie’s brow lifts in agreement, and she nods, ending a discussion not yet spoken out loud.
As if to change the unspoken subject, she reaches over and touches Edna’s hair, relieved to be able to address her own curiosity.
“It’s kind of like dried moss,” she says.
“And it’s stiff,” Twynne says. He tries to run a few fingers through it, but they get caught in a tangle of white fluff. Edna’s face twists in pain.
“Don’t hurt her.”
“I wasn’t trying to. Her hair’s like a net. It caught my finger.”
“Let’s just leave her alone. She looks peaceful.”
Twynne yawns and then lays next to Edna. Pixie looks at the two. Then she lays down as well. She had not been sleepy but the comfort of the moss along with the warm bodies next to her brings on a sinking sensation, and Pixie soon falls asleep, as well.
The nap does not last long. Edna is an unusual sight that brings a menagerie of creatures from every color of the land. They circle her like a messy rainbow, letting their noses wet her skin as they investigate the curious looking human. But when Edna’s eyelids flutter open, the animals quickly scatter before she has time to notice them. She sits up, joyed to find her body relaxed and relatively ache free.
“Time to wake up, sleepy heads,” Edna says, grabbing Pixie and Twynne’s shoulders and shaking them. After sleeping alone for so many years, waking next to others has a satisfaction she has long forgotten. Her joints feel good, too. They need to start making moss mattresses, Edna thinks. This stuff is a miracle. I would spend my retirement money on one. “Wake up,” she says again. “Rise and shine; wake up, wake up. You two are as hard to wake up as my children were.” She pushes their shoulders some more and then lifts their eyelids. “Time to wake up,” she sings to their moist eyeballs.
Twynne and Pixie rouse themselves. They sit up, shake off their sleepiness, and wipe the drool from their lips. Edna is amused by her own lightheartedness and is impatient to get going. “You two need to get up so you can help me up. I’m not as agile as a seven-year-old, but that’s not really my fault now is it.”
“No, it’s not,” Pixie says, laughing. She helps Edna to her feet. “Are you well rested enough for one hour this time?”
“Well, you’re a scoundrel,” Edna responds. “And you’re a knucklehead,” she says to Twynne, then grabs their hands and pulls to get them in motion. “And I’m a crotchety old woman. So let’s see what’s in store for us.” Edna enjoys being in high spirits. The feeling is rare, and often fleeting. She tries not to think about how well her body will last, or what actually might be in store for the three of them. Edna is not good with anticipation.
The mossy fields last for quite some time, and continue to change colors, gradually; from royal blue to orange, then to yellow, then to purple, and then the colors mellow into a deep ocean blue. The vast blue looks endless, and Edna thinks they have come to an end of the color changes. But it becomes suddenly clear that what she sees in the distance is not a mossy field, but a large body of water that lays just beyond a shallow shoreline. The water is so vast and so directly in front of her that she does not recognize what it is, at first, but now that she does, it looks like it is swallowing the land she is standing on.
“Why is that lake so large?” Edna asks. “And why are we going towards it?”
“We’re on an island right now,” Pixie says. “We’re headed to the mainland.”
“Oh, no we’re not. We’re not going to no mainland because I’m not going in that water.”
“You don’t have to go into the water, there’s a boat, see.” Pixie says, pointing towards a small brown object near the water’s edge.
“That rickety ol’ thing? I’m not going in that. This adventure’s just gonna have to happen here. You take me near the water and my rheumatism’s gonna act up.”
“Her roomatism is going to act up, Pixie!” Twynne says, momentarily putting a hand over his mouth. “How could she have brought something like that with her?”
“Twynne,” Pixie responds, “we don’t know what a roomatism is.”
“Rheumatism is the pain in my knees,” Edna says, rolling her eyes. “And that water’ll make the pain flare up. So, we’re not going into it. Boat, or no boat.”
“But you were excited just moments ago. You were ready for anything.”
“Not anything; not a slow torturous drowning death. That’s not an adventure.”
“Edna, to go on an adventure you have to leave some of your comforts.”
“But I can’t swim. And I’m terrified of creatures that live in water. I much prefer solid ground where I can see what’s around me; and run, if necessary.”
Twynne looks at Edna with a goofy smile, about to make a joke about Edna being too slow to run away from anything, but Pixie gives him a look.
“If it’s so important, why couldn’t I have started on the mainland? Can’t I fall asleep and wake up there?”
“I’m sorry, Edna, it doesn’t work that way.”
“Why not! This’s unfair. I’ve gone my whole life avoiding water and now you’ll force me to go in?”
“Edna, no one is going to force you to do anything.”
“Well then, I won’t do it!”
“You’ll be stuck here until you do.”
“That’s force! Where’s the choice in that? I don’t want to be stuck here forever and I don’t want to go in the boat. Take me home, I want to go home, now!” Edna demands, then she stomps her foot and begins to cry.
Pixie and Twynne have seen plenty of human tears. They have learned to tell apart crying caused by fear, or pain, and crying that is a spontaneous act of the will to get one’s way—a temper tantrum, in other words. And they have learned various ways to respond. But the way Edna is crying right now is such a confusing mixture of all the crying they have experienced that they are at a loss for what to do.
Twynne’s chest begins to huff up and down rapidly, and the hair above his upper lip begins to flutter. He stomps his foot, like Edna did, and starts crying as well—or so it seems. He has developed, just now, a new motto. And the new motto is; when confused, join in. But his crying sounds more like the hee-hawing of a donkey.
“What in the world are you doing?” Edna asks through moist lips. She begins to laugh at Twynne. Pixie looks at them both: Edna laughing, Twynne crying, and their destination beyond them. She sits down, pulls her knees up to her chest, props her elbows upon the bend of her knees, head in palms, and stares at the boat they must convince Edna to get in. As she stares at it, she notices something like a shadow that is close to the boat, along with what looks like the glow of two eyes; and the whole picture is working its way slowly offshore.
“That doesn’t seem right,” Pixie says. “Twynne, I need to see what’s causing the boat to drift. You two’ll have to catch up.” Pixie runs off so quickly she seems to disappear.
Twynne’s steps quicken as he walks towards the boat, and he pulls Edna along with him. Edna has to concentrate on her steps and her cane so that she does not trip. This brings a vague memory of Pam leading her down the hall at Sunflower Assisted Living. Twynne stops abruptly, which causes Edna to tumble forward. He catches her before she falls and then lifts her like a baby.
“Ouch,” she screams. Her body dangles painfully, trying to contract into a ball as Twynne begins to run towards the boat. Edna’s poor bones, little comforted by flesh, bounce in Twynne’s arms.
When they get to the shoreline, they cannot spot Pixie. The shore is cold, and mist rises over the surface, making it difficult to spot anything. Edna rubs her sore bottom and legs, once she is on her feet again, when suddenly they hear Pixie cry out in pain. Twynne stiffens, then grabs Edna’s wrist. “Ouch,” Edna cries and slaps his shoulder.
“Get behind me,” Twynne says, pulling Edna behind his back. She has half a mind to give him one good whack with her cane.
“Pixie’s in trouble, go out and help her!” she says.
“I don’t think I should leave you by yourself,” Twynne says with a strained voice.
“Don’t worry about me, Twynne, Pixie needs help.”
Twynne says nothing; his head juts forward, trying to spot Pixie.
“Can you swim?” Edna asks, after a few moments of silence pass, and Twynne seems determined not to leave Edna’s side.
“Yes.”
“What if I went out in the water with you? You could help me into the boat and then help Pixie.”
“Really? You’re not too afraid?”
“I’m more afraid of letting that poor girl drown out there.” Edna says.
Twynne looks at Edna, feeling lost without Pixie’s advice—always so helpful in confusing situations. “Okay, let’s go.” He decides. “Once we get into the water, wrap your arms around my neck. Keep hold of your cane.”
Twynne’s hand stays clenched around Edna’s wrist while they wade into the water. It is so cold that Edna’s stomach cramps and her chest tightens, and she can hardly breathe. Twynne does not wait for her to catch her breath, so she must wrap her arms tightly around his neck while she struggles to take in air. While her arms are around his neck, the rest of her body floats behind as they enter the fog.
Edna’s eyes are tightly shut, but they snap open when she hears Pixie cry out again. The mist above the water obstructs most of her vision, but she can see two arms extended above the water, grasping the side of the boat. They are pixie’s arms. Her leaf-like hands have a hold on the side of the boat; knuckles white; fingernails scraping; then they are gone.
“Hold your breath!” Twynne yells, “I don’t have time to bring you to the boat.” Then Edna is underwater. She keeps her eyes open in the biting cold, and eventually she spots green hair and two arms that are slipping away, farther into the deep. Edna is not experienced with holding her breath, and in only a few moments she begins to panic.
Twynne eventually catches up with Pixie. Edna sees the rough outline of a creature that is holding onto Pixie’s ankles, and soon Twynne has his hands around the creature’s neck, shaking it vigorously. The creature’s mouth opens, and it gnashes its jaws at Twynne. Twynne keeps his arms at a distance and his hold firm on the creature’s neck, squeezing so tightly that every vein and muscle bulges beneath his hairy arms.
Panicking, and unable to hold her breath much longer, Edna lets go of Twynne’s neck to swim to the surface, just as the creature lets go of Pixie’s ankles. Pixie is quick in the water, and soon has an arm wrapped around Edna’s waist, and they begin the assent to the surface of the water. These moments are the most terrifying moments Edna has ever experienced. It takes ten seconds to get to the surface, but they feel like an eternity; an eternity to fight against the powerful temptation to open her mouth and breathe in water.
Edna and Pixie finally break through the surface and both gasp for air while Pixie locates the boat. When she spots the boat, she swim towards it with both arms while Edna holds to her waste. When Pixie has a strong hold of the boat she helps Edna climb into it.
“I’m going back for Twynne,” Pixie says, “will you be okay?”
“Yes, yes, of course.” Edna says.
Just as Pixie is about to vanish under the surface, she looks at Edna’s empty hands. “Where’s your cane?”
“Good lord, I don’t know! I hardly think that matters now.”
Just then the surface of the water, where Edna and Pixie had broke through, is broken again with Twynne’s flailing his arms, one that happens to be holding Edna’s cane. He looks around him, spots Edna, Pixie, and the boat and swims towards them. Pixie and Twynne climb in with Edna.
“What was that thing?” Edna asks. “What just happened?”
Twynne doesn’t answer. He is quiet, like it was he who asked the question.
“I don’t know,” Pixie says. “I never got a good look. Maybe a merman? It seemed like it could stay under water for a long time. And it was strong.”
Twynne starts to say something but has a coughing fit, instead. When the fit is over, Pixie rubs his shoulders. “Are you okay?” she asks. Twynne nods his head and turns to the ladies with wet eyes.
“I was all panic,” he says. “I never paid the right kind of attention to know what it was.”
“Why did he attack us?” Edna asks. “Were my children subjected to this kind of danger?”
“No,” Pixie says, “that was highly unusual for Storia.”
There is silence for some moments. Pixie looks like she is making some connections as she thinks, and wants to say something, but isn’t sure if she should.
“Sometimes,” she says, finally breaking the silence, “though very rarely, a Storian becomes aggressive. It’s a mystery why it happens, but I’ve never heard of anyone attacking a human child. From what I understand, those who’ve become aggressive started isolating themselves from others, and eventually where never seen again.” Pixie looks at Twynne, hesitantly, then continues, “but there are rumors about these disappearances. Some think that…” Pixie stops abruptly, “let’s not worry about silly rumors, Edna. That thing is probably one of the Storians who’ve turned aggressive—the worst any has ever gotten. And it’s likely gone off to disappear like all the others. We were just unlucky to be in his path when we were; bad timing.”
“But what are the rumors?” Edna asks.
Pixie turns to Twynne with a sudden thought, “what did happen to the creature down there?”
“I don’t know, it seemed like it had gone mad or something. I thought I was going to drown down there with it, but it eventually swam away.”
“Is it going to come back? Do we need to be worrying about this our whole boat ride?” Edna asks. “Our whole adventure?”
“We don’t need to worry,” Pixie answers. “Like I said, this is a highly unusual occurrence, and that thing can’t harm us in this boat, not with us already in it. We’d be able to keep it from getting inside”
Twynne nods his head in agreement. “But it won’t be back.” He adds. “Whatever it is, that thing is gone.”
“Highly unusual,” Pixie says again, staring at the water.
Edna sits back and contemplates all that has happened since her arrival in Storia. She is shivering; cold from both the chilly air and from being underwater—though the adrenaline rush makes the shivering kind of nice. But if she were home, there would be a crew of nurses and staff to see to her comfort and to ensure that she does not get Pneumonia. She tries not to think about that. She does not think Twynne or Pixie would have any idea how to help her if she gets sick, so it is no use worrying about it. She just hopes in this whole adventure she will not end up with a broken hip; that would be just too predictable.
Pixie and Twynne had let the boat drift, to rest, but soon Twynne decides it is time to steer it and get somewhere. He grabs the oars and begins to row. Pixie is quiet. She sits behind him and rests against his back, contemplating the shivering human in front of her, the beautifully carved wooden cane, and what it all means.
Chapter four
Renee Rushing 
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