the bird on fire

For Dream Theme

By Katelin Mei

We start in the woods–my sister, my friend, and I. We wanted to get away from society and technology, so we booked a cabin in the mountains. We wanted to get out of the city, go on a few hikes, live life simply, and take inspiration from the outside. My sister is a writer. She was looking for inspiration. The cabin is nice. There is a stone path that connects the cabin to the gravel road. There are flowers and a tree with a swing in the front yard, and we have a back porch with a few chairs that look out to the forest, which surrounds us on all sides.

There are two cabins in our surrounding area: ours, and an old woman’s. The old woman is always terrified of everything, and never leaves her cabin. We visit her sometimes, but she has strict rules about her house. The house is bright, as the lights are never turned off, and there is no silence. The music discs are always playing, filling the house with noise of some kind. The house smells like herbs.

We can’t deal with this anymore. The music is too loud. The cabin next to us leaks of strong herbal scent, which my friend is quite allergic to. The whole place seems unnatural. When we go on hikes, we never see much wildlife. There is no wind ever, not even a breeze going through the leaves of the trees, and yet the swing can sometimes be seen moving at night. We pack our bags and leave. As we leave, we see the old woman looking out through the window of her cabin. She closes her blinds as we turn the corner, and that is the last we see of her.

Back in the city, we feel safe. Even though the vacation was relaxing, we can’t help but feel haunted by it. My sister had entered a writing contest, and the winners got to talk to the author. When it was announced that my sister was one of the winners, we got the address to the author’s place. It was the same cabin that the old woman was staying in. I prepare myself for visiting the perpetually sunlit cabins, yet, on that day, there were shadows dancing around the trees.

When we arrive, there are many people. We all crowd around the house, but the door is locked. The police emerge from the house, and inform us that the author is missing. The crowd seems disappointed. I take my sister’s hand, and we walk around to the back of the house. We see that the old woman is there, but she is too terrified to leave the safe pen of her backyard. She stands there, shivering, with one trembling hand on the doorknob. My sister and I return to the front.

“What was that?” she asked

“I don’t know,” I responded, “but I have a bad feeling about all of this. Maybe we should go.”

We walk up the path and climb the steps, when I spot a cat. It has beige fur, and dark brown face, ears, and paws. As we pass it, it meows. We stop and look at it, and it meows again. My sister and I slowly back away from it, as it opens its mouth again. It still has the sound of a cat, but we clearly hear it say “Meow.”

I am terrified, and don’t know what to do. I throw something at it. It collides with the so-called “cat,” and the creature shifts to a human shape. It is a short boy, with dark hair and pale skin, wearing light clothes and dark shoes.

He looks at us, with a small smile.

“You have half of your remaining lifetime before I call the beast. Since both of you were destined to die in 8 minutes, you have 4 minutes remaining before I call it.”

Suddenly we hear a meowing from the forest. The boy tells us to follow, and we walk, not very far, into a nearby clearing in the forest. The same cat is sitting there, looking at the beast. I turn to look back at the boy, but he slips into the shadows of the woods, leaving us all alone with the cat and the beast.

The beast takes the form of a 7-foot woman. She has fair skin lined with grey veins, and wears a tattered outfit made of animal skins of all kinds. Her face is angular and sharp, and she has dark red hair–so dark that it is nearly purple. She has antlers protruding from her head, hooves instead of feet, and her eyes are black and soulless. When she looks at us, her eyes form red irises, and she opens her mouth, exposing sharp teeth. Black liquid drips from the corner of her mouth as a form of drool. We slowly back away.

The cat looks at us. “All you have to do is lick your hands and swallow your pride. Go and bow.”

We do so. I hear the grass crunching as the beast steps closer to us. . . .

Dreamer Editor: Doreen Yuan