[ IP ] The Mothers

Margaret tucked in her ward, wrapping the baby blue blanket she had quilted around his shoulders and legs. Her touch was gentle even as her calluses brushed his cheek in a parting caress. Young Master Jon looked like he had already nodded off, little body cocooned in the homespun blanket. 
 
 She carefully laid out the string, one end wound around Jon ’ s waist and the other end clutched close to her. She did not have many possessions, a small makeup box, a change of clothes, some other sundries, and she had moved them the empty guest room next to Jon ’ s. The rest of the mansion was empty, plush beds and lavish rooms left with no owners. She crouched down and set to sleeping on the floor. Sore and unkempt when she arose, she knew it would be difficult, but work and stretching eased those problems. 
 
 Worse than her own discomfort on the ground was resisting the urge to nuzzle into the small bed and nest like a hawk with a frail winged bird baby beneath her wing. 
 
 She said, “ Sleep through the storm, ” to the empty room. 
 
 Rattling windows set her blood racing and she was frozen on the ground. Barely peeking out from beneath her borrowed blanket she glanced at the window in the room. She saw nothing but snow and cloud-covered sky. 
 
 She checked the cord, almost willing to tug it and wake her charge. She resisted, trying to calm her breathing, when it was wrenched from her grasp. It began unwinding and she screamed, jumping to her feet and tearing open her door, tears forming in her eyes. 
 
 There was no household to awake, but Margaret had left all of the oil lamps lit, a ritual before night approached each day. Margaret blinked in the bright hall and tore open the next room and saw an empty bed, with the window bared open. 
 
 She knew it was impossible, she had locked it herself, she threw her body through the small opening and was onto the icy roof, bare feet freezing on the cold shingles. She pulled on the cord, bringing it in, but the tension reversed, she was already being dragged towards the edge of the roof. In the distance she could see the cord disappearing into a low hanging cloud. A white wall that must have hidden Jon from her. She jumped into the snow below. 
 
 The cord was still with her, she was freezing, but her numb hand held it. Her ankle hurt her. With her other hand shielded her eyes as she made tracks following the string. 
 
 “ Jon! Jon! ” she cried. 
 
 He was still close, not yet past the forest. The skeletal horde surrounded a young, rosey cheeked child. He wasn ’ t crying or upset, bless his soul. 
 
 “ I won ’ t let you take him. He isn ’ t yours. ” Margaret said to the abomination. 
 
 The groaning echoes were all around, making no sense to her ears. The bones clasping Jon ’ s shoulders tightened. 
 
 “ Please ” she begged, “ he isn ’ t sick, he isn ’ t yours! He should live. Take me instead. ” 
 
 Her cries confused Jon, she could tell he was close to breaking down with her. Although they didn ’ t share the same accent, or family, she would give everything for the child. 
 
 She pulled and pulled on the cord, but merely one of the horrors had more strength than she, and the line moved no further. 
 
 “ I won ’ t leave, I ’ ll freeze and leave with you all. ” 
 
 She gave up pulling on the cord and touched once more the perfect cherub face of the child. 
 
 “ I will turn to ice, ” she was shivering “ I will not relinquish him. You can not stop me, I will keep him. ” 
 
 Bits of hair and eyes were all that separated the floating monsters, each seemed to have its own will, though their forms coalesced together. 
 
 The skeletons floated directly up to her face, each grimacing in outrage or stuck in a permanent expression, she did not know. 
 
 Testing her, perhaps, though she wouldn ’ t leave. Her ankle threatened her, she almost felt past being able to leave, in the back of her mind she worried about the frostbite biting into her toes. 
 
 She repeated her words to each skeleton, beseeching and threatening and freezing. 
 
 Two by two the cold claws released the child until he was no longer floating and he clutched at his caretaker with desperate need. 
 
 Some skeletons pulled back, taking the mass with them. There were more leaving than wanted to claim him. 
 
 Margaret pulled up Jon, carrying him, unsteadily making her way back to the mansion and warmth. Praying the night ’ s misery was done and that Jon would forget this like a bad dream less remembered each day in the grace of sunlight. 

