Shadow People - A Short Story

I wake as I have for the past five summers, alone. Lemon wedges of sunlight sliced through my curtains and danced along my table. I think in words I long to hear but never come. My name is Sara. My father disappeared on a hunting trip some six summers ago. My mother wandered in the forest from grief and pain searching for him. One day she just didn't come home. I could have gone too. Where I'm not sure, but I could have found my way to somewhere. I have met trappers here and there. They tell me there are towns and other people some day's journey from here. It could be weeks though. I love this place. I would find it hard to leave it and not come back. My father found this place, built this home with my mother and me, and taught me all I know.
The trappers tell me my father was killed by a strange bear that roams these parts. They tell me this bear is twice the size of the tallest man and his fur is pale as gold. He shines in the sun. Some have told me my mother succumbed to the same fate but I think she just went mad.
My parents taught me well, I must admit. They left me with a fine small farm that I can manage by myself. I grow my own corn, beans, and squash as well as some other vegetables. I find berries in the nearby woods and thickets. I have been able to gather honey oftentimes, and I have a stream close by for water. My father chose well. I miss him terribly. Until my mother lost him she was loving and kind. She did try after he was gone. I know she tried. I miss her too.

Curiously, I find fresh meat at my door many times each passing of the moon. I feel it is the Shadow People that leave it for me. I call them Shadow People because I never really see them but I do know they are there. Each night, at certain times of the month I can hear them in the distant forest. They are not always right here, but they are always nearby. I can feel them. They seem to care for me, although I don't know why. I feel connected to them. I wish they would show themselves to me. I am lonely for the company and would enjoy seeing someone. It has been so long.
Again this morning they have come in the night. They left me a fresh-killed rabbit for my supper. Poor rabbit, but I am glad for the food. Hunting was something I was never very fond of. I never took to the killing, but I like the food. I called out thanks to them but heard no return call. I have made things for them from the pelts and left them for them. It is the only thanks they seem to accept. There is more than enough for me here.
Someday I would like to venture out into these forests to meet the Shadow People. I must confess I have not gone far into these forests since my father has gone. The stories of the bear keep me close to my hearth, but I long for companionship.

The sun is warm today, but the leaves are turning and tell me the winter will be coming soon. In the winter I don't worry about the great bear. I know he sleeps and I am safe until spring. The Shadow People keep the wolves away from my door and I am ever grateful.
I hear a rustle in the forest nearby and crackle of the fallen timber.  Outside chores are finished for this day and it is time for me to make my supper. After supper I will light the lamp and work on the deerskin shirt I have been embroidering. I don't know yet, for who but I am sure he will come.

Each day is a bit colder than the next. I am grateful for that large store of wood I have prepared for winter. The fire is so warming. I saw frost on the fallen leaves this morning and found a deer on my doorstep. This will be the day's work today. It will mean meat for many days and a new pair of warm leggings for me. The trappers were through here some days ago and brought me salt and other stores for the long winter. I shared some of my meat with them. They tell me they will be through these woods and will happen by to make sure I am fine. They don't know about my Shadow People. I am afraid they would hurt them. The trappers call them Indians and speak of them with fear. I have no fear of them, only the great bear. I have no reason to fear the Shadow People. I love them.

It was good to have people to talk to but I am glad, in a way, that they are gone. My Shadow People don't come when the trappers are here. I guess I know why. They must fear each other. Sometimes the trappers make eyes at me and make me feel like a rabbit in the woods. I have only ever felt cared for by the Shadow People. My people. Yes, I feel as though they are my own people, but I remain unclaimed. I wish always that they would make themselves known to me. I call my thanks to them, again it goes unanswered. The sun sets sooner each day and I need more oil to finish my shirt. Again I hear the crackle of the fallen timber, it must be time for me to go in.

The deer meat is good. I sit in silence and eat my meal. Sometimes I think about the happy times around our fire when my father would sing, we would all dance and laugh. My father would share stories of his travels. I don't remember him mentioning the Shadow People. I wonder if he saw them too. I wonder where he was when he died. I wonder where his body lay and if it is still there now. I shudder as the wind whistles through my shutters and throw another log on my fire. Thankful for my oil lamp, I turn up the flame and stitch some more. This shirt is almost done and I am proud of my work. My stitching is the finest I've ever done. Although I've still no idea who it shall be for. It is time to put out the lamp and go to sleep. I am tired tonight. The fire in my hearth sends a warm glow around my cabin and I am filled with longing for my Shadow People. I can hear them tonight. They call in the distance to each other. I can hear a flute I think. It is low and somber, the music feels sad. I want to reach through my shutters and share our sadness. I call out my window but I am afraid to open my shutters. The bear is not yet asleep. I fall asleep aching and empty. As I close my eyes the embers illuminate the shirt and I smile, 'it is good work', I say to myself, 'I will be okay'. I sleep.

The moon is full and bright beams come through my shutters. It wakes me. I don't usually wake in the night and I am all at once afraid and charmed by its' beams of silver-white. It is cold in my cabin. The fire has gone very low and I rise to add a log. I hear a noise outside my cabin and my fear freezes my hands. I am drawn to my window. I hear my heart pound as I reach for the latch. I feel as though it can be heard throughout my forest but I must open and see. My hand shakes lifting the latch. It drops two, three times back into position helping me to forget my fear and become determined. The shutter swings noiselessly open and I see them. I gasp. There they are in the moonlight. I see them moving swiftly, crouching low. I want to call out but my fear choaks my voice. Nothing comes out. I yank the shutter closed and fall to my floor. I cry, alone again.

I think it was my birthday last full moon. I believe it was the month of September if I recall correctly. I use the full moon for all holidays except New Years Day. I know that to be one week after Christmas day. Christmas would be the full moon in December, or as close as I can reckon to the month. The trappers correct my timing when they can remember it correctly. I have learned there are more moons than months so I get it wrong sometimes. By this reckoning, I would be twenty this year. My mother was already a mother when she was my age. It isn't right that I should be alone. I know the trappers will ask me to go away but I can't leave this place. The snow has come early this year. It flies around my door as I write this. I am glad for the fire and my lantern. I have my shirt to finish this day and a good stew I have made with deer meat and my vegetables. I have finished my deerskin leggings and they are indeed warm and soft. My mother taught me to do such work when I was very small. She told me her family lived among the Indian people when she was a girl. Perhaps that is where the patterns in my embroidery came from. I do not know for sure. Perhaps that is why I feel a kinship to them. I know I should venture out into my forest. I pray the great bear is asleep now and I will meet my Shadow People.

My shirt is finished. The sun is low and I am full of good stew. I am tired of my work today. Things are harder in the winter. The daily chores take longer and the water is harder to get. I think I will sleep early tonight. The moon is full again. This is one of the full moons between my birthday and Christmas, though I have lost track again. Sleep comes fast while I sit in my chair. I awaken much later in the full of the night. My shutter has blown open and my fire is nearly out. I rise to finish my evening chores and stoke the fire. I hear the low sound of music from my forest and this time I am unafraid. I look out my window to see them slipping away. The forest is so bright tonight with the moon and the snow. Lonely and brave I venture out to meet my people. I run through the shimmering paths to catch them but they are gone. They have slipped into the forest again and now the moon is falling low in the sky. I can smell the fire from my cabin but I cannot see it. I aim myself toward the smell of my fire and try to follow my footprints in the snow. I wander and terror envelops me that I might suffer the same fate of my own dear mother. I cry and forget myself for a moment. Then I think I see the brightness from my cabin in the distance. I curse my weakness as I stumble on a branch hidden in the new snow. As I rise I see a form before me. My eyes follow up the shape and height of this and I realize I am facing my father's killer. I am without my weapon and caught. The great bear is standing and begins to howl a terrible low growl like that of distant thunder. Then his eyes flashed and his howl filled my ears splitting my head with sound. Knowing it was the wrong thing to do I scramble to run in the snow but fell away in fear curled into a ball. Then I heard another sound, a cry, a scream. I chanced to look seeing something come from behind the great bear and held on fast. He struck him and the bear cried out in pain. Again and again, both shapes grappled and cried out until at last, the only sound was breathing. I was hiding my head with my arms too afraid to move. Then a hand touched my arm. My skin tingled. My hair seemed to move along my scalp and I lifted my head. The terrible battle was over and the great golden bear lay dead only inches from my deerskin clad feet. The smiling face of a beautiful man was over mine. His eyes were black and flashed in the remaining moonlight. His smile seemed to be one of satisfaction and victory but his victory was not without a price. He had many gashes glinting in the light sending droplets to the snow. We gathered each other up and stumbled toward my cabin. Falling inside we continued to smile at each other. I dressed his wounds. His thick winter coverings seemed to have prevented serious injury. He was handsome and strong and I knew who I had made my shirt for. I knew it as soon as I'd seem his face over mine in the snow. He put the shirt on appreciating every detail in it and smiled. He spoke, his words were unknown to me but his meaning was clear. We fell asleep in each others arms by the warmth of the fire. I have missed the feeling of arms around me and have not slept so completely before. I have found my Shadow People or they have found me.

In the morning he leaves me and I feel that maybe this has been some dream. I go about my chores but the shirt is gone and the other garments have been left that had been his. I know by these that this was no dream. I rub my arms over each other to remind me of the feeling I had as I rested in his. I glow inside for I believe that he will come back to me.  Entering my cabin I feel eyes upon my back and turn, looking back to my forest. He is there and calls me to him.
I am going home now.

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