In an open meadow, she lay lost. The frosty air entombed her, numbing her touch as her bare arms caressed the sleeping daisies, and the cold grass, like soft tendrils sprouting from the earth, kissed her frozen skin. The night was silent, with the crickets and cicadas finding home on trees far away, and all else governed by sleep, lay still, engorged in quiet; and the sky, not a single star speckled its obsidian surface, so that when Grace looked up from her plot on the soil, where she remained, supine and limp, she could only see a single thing: the dominant opulence of the full moon.

She looked around her, the miniature plants beneath her giving a sense of safety and care, and saw the meadow that stretched far beyond the horizon, sprawling in every direction, where that endless expanse finely drew the divide between the heavens and earth, and where, skirting away with the ground that carried it far, the confines of matter and reason seemed to escape, eternally out of reach. Her body was sprawled on the ground, impregnated by fatigue, tethered by the tiredness of a million sleepless nights, that the young girl could not stand; she could not move, spare the faint prods that stirred her limbs, before resignation took hold, and Grace succumbed to the paralysis, and her eyes returned to that glorious stone in the sky, which hypnotised her with all its beauty, and she simply did not wish to look away.

She watched time pass, laying in that same spot in the meadow, waiting for the day to come. She watched the moon reduce from its grandeur slowly, losing slivers of its magnitude gradually, painting the meadow in darkness as it abandoned her, hour by hour, where from fullness it became half, and then only a quarter remained, till the young girl, through eyes half-closed in an endless daze, watched the final slice of radiance disappear, and the void from above precipitated down, and consumed the world.

The purest night had fallen upon her, but still, even in the deepest darkness, Grace did not sleep. She was alert in that darkness. She felt the grass below her, the wind, which could never stay perfectly still, grazing her cheeks. She felt the fabric of her nightgown rest on top of her, and in her motionless fixture, it felt like a burden, an alien force suppressing her human form. The silence yearned to migrate into that bleak oblivion, but was found culled by the sound of Grace’s beating heart, which, though faint and weakened, was unimpeded by anything else in occupying that vacated space. Her eyes rested for a while as they found no light to disturb them, till, after another sleepless darkness, the moon reawakened, and once more there was light in the world.

Grace stayed in place, watching the moon grow as it slowly recovered its shape, and the crescent paleness waxed to once more complete the full eye. Thus, the young girl witnessed the celestial orb complete its full cycle, for when it became full, her eyes were transfixed upon it once again, and as she stared deep within its colourless grasp, neither body nor mind could agree on the passing of time. The hours had passed indefinitely, but with them, the day she desperately awaited never came. That heavenly creature, it was beckoning her, and she knew that she could no longer remain static under its light, under its guidance. She jolted her arms and legs, which so recently felt impossible to move, now she had control over them, and, with the slow and careful pace of the half-lucid, she turned over and propped herself up, where, with heaved sighs, she managed to push herself onto her feet, where balance found her with little confidence, but she managed to keep it nonetheless.

Grace stood faintly in that open meadow, supporting herself on unsteady knees, wearing nothing but her nightgown, whose bottom swayed barely among the grass, now doused in red. She could see, through her long, interlaced lashes, the true expanse of the meadow: how helplessly alone she stood in the barren grassland, like on a desolate planet, surrounded by darkness. Lumbering and stupored, the young girl started walking forward, with no destination in mind, chasing the horizon.

As she trod the globe, the ground turning beneath her feet, the moon shed its energy to keep her afloat; till, by the time the distant house materialised into view, it had become only a crescent. It was an unfamiliar building, no more material than the nightgown Grace wore or the grass that brushed her bare feet, and with nowhere else to go, the girl stumbled into it all the same.

The entryway was devoid of any decorations, the pale walls entirely bland, visible only in those places that opened doorways cast the final remnants of silver moonlight onto them. The hallway was long, and the girl did not see its end, ambling into the first open door on her left. The kitchen, she thought, and so it was.

Grace approached the fridge, where she removed cold comestibles, and the cupboard, where she produced a plate. She made breakfast and sat at the small dining room table. Here, the moon eroded, and she ate her food in darkness.

The house spoke and creaked. The first came from the stairs afar the hallway.

‘I didn’t make yours,’ said the girl through slumbered words.

The creaking proceeded down the hallway, where it passed the kitchen doorway unseen, and left the house, leaving the front door open in its wake.

On the first sign of moonlight, Grace removed from the table, empty plate in hand, and walked to the sink. In the little illumination the waxing crescent gave, she washed the dishes, a couple plates and glasses, and placed them aside to dry in the still, lifeless air. The moon sang through the window, till the scene became utterly silent, and the presence awoke within her.

So did Grace venture through the rooms and hallways of the house, filling their lifeless husks with her steps and shadow, rearranging and cleaning their emptiness with slurred, tired movements. As the moonlight grew, it blew new vitality into each chamber, articulating in fine contours the nothingness that occupied every corner. Grace moved, and cleaned, making the motions, but there was naught to alter anywhere she went; but perhaps, in the ritual that is brought by the day, the day itself might be summoned from within its sleep. 

She slipped between the rooms, finding the kitchen at dinner time, and dressing the table with two plates of food. The creaking returned through the front door, and Grace took her seat at the table, hanging over her plate in fatigue, and allowed the noise to venture into her space, where she would not acknowledge it, lest it retaliate and bring its attention to her. Once the full moon arrived again, the young girl took her first bite, and as she chewed and swallowed the morsel, she felt it travel, landing deep inside, where it nestled and could be comfortably consumed. Thus the young girl ate, and by the time Grace was finished, the moon had lost some of its glow once again.

The haunting creaks left her again, and she was alone. She upped from the table, as at breakfast, and washed the dishes much the same. Looking out that window, the girl hoped she might hear the moon again, but the silent pillow upon which the silver rays sang was ruptured by the infant’s cries from above. Grace walked unsteadily into the hallway and up the stairs, into the bedroom, where the baby lay, tormenting in its crib. The girl tried to reach for it, but she could not. She slipped over to the large bed, where she collapsed, and through the wails she could hear the house beginning to creak once again. She closed her eyes. As the crying progressed, it weakened, till it fell quiet. Once the creaking floor was at rest, it too stopped, and the house, and the world, fell completely silent, completely still. After a moment, the final slice of the moon disappeared, and the world collapsed into darkness once more.

Grace hoped that in that night, she might find some sleep. She had been there for all of time, reaching for an end.

2·VII·23