Freebie Mondays: A Family Reunion (Prompt Novel Chapter 14)

For 2024, I have decided to devote my prompt writing time to a novel. The twist is that the novel plot will be generated entirely by the writing prompts I chose to use for the project – which were rolled randomly using my trusty dice and a few online prompt lists. You can find the Table of Contents here.

For Chapter 14, the prompt was: “a character thought dead returns home to the surprise of those that moved on.”

I had a flash of inspiration before I wrote this chapter. One night, as I was getting ready for bed, I saw a clear path through the end of this novel. I haven’t entirely decided the final resolution. I’m still trying not to make a solid plan ahead of time. But I did figure out the order for the rest of the prompts.

I’ve never been a huge fan of horror, but one thing I do enjoy is taking a seemingly normal situation and putting a bit of a twist on it. Since this novel has turned out to be mostly slice of life with some weird magic spliced in, this was another grand opportunity to turn a somewhat normal, somewhat happy situation on its head.

We’re diving deep into the main conflict of the novel now, and it feels good to get some pay off for all the build up!

If you’d like to see this chapter come together, you can watch the VoD on Youtube!
. . .

“Are you certain it’s Wendell?” Ira demanded the second she burst through the door. She didn’t even pause to breathe after sprinting from the driveway, nor did she offer her husband any form of greeting.

To his credit, Delmar took one look at her wide eyes and frantic face and smiled instead of sighing. “I think I can recognize my nephew and your sister can recognize her son,” he said with far more patience than she really deserved.

Considering the conversation she’d just finished having, his tone penetrated her soul and left a stinging sensation in its wake that caused her to wince. She was lucky Delmar obviously interpreted the expression as realizing she said something stupid.

“But they found bones,” she protested when she regained her composure. They hadn’t been identified the last time she spoke to her sister, of course. DNA analysis took time, and it had been obvious when they found the cache that several bodies had been stashed in the same mass grave. All she could remember at the moment was that it resembled a nest of some kind – like the type a bird would make.

“Obviously not his if he’s walking and talking and has all his limbs,” Delmar replied with far more exasperation than he had spoken the first time.

Ira’s mind swirled with a whirlwind of thoughts she could barely control. As far as she knew, no one had ever encountered the Mawor in person and lived to speak of it – aside from her. The stories were mostly conjecture, built around the disappearances of members of the community and the meager evidence as to what might have happened to them.

From the moment Wendell vanished, Ira had been certain the creature was the culprit. It had taken Wendell as punishment for her escape. In her mind, the beast had hunted him specifically, waiting for someone of her blood who was young enough and foolish enough to venture close to its territory before it struck again. How else could they explain the gap in disappearances and the complete lack of indication where the boy might have gone?

As her mind frantically sorted through all the details that had previously been provided to it, attempting to build a complete picture of the situation, she only managed to gasp, “How? Why?”

“Come and talk to your sister,” Delmar replied in a tone that suggested if she didn’t comply he would cross the space between them and force her to move into the living room. “She has been on the phone with me the whole time you were driving over,” Delmar added when Ira froze in place instead of answering his summons. “She won’t let me hang up until she hears from you, and she knows far more about this situation than I can hope to convey.”

Again, Ira was slow to realize her mistake. She had assumed Delmar had been left with all the details, meant to serve as a messenger for her no-doubt frantic family. As soon as she realized an open line to her sister existed, she scrambled across the foyer and into the living room. Delmar had left his phone on the coffee table, and Ira snatched it up without preamble or asking for permission.

“Constance?” she demanded as she held the phone to her ear.

“Oh thank goodness!” came the breathless reply – and Ira had rarely heard her sister so glad or relieved to speak with her. “It finally happened, Irie. He’s here. All in one piece and back in my arms. I can hardly believe it.”

Ira could hear tears of joy streaming down her sister’s face. The emotion choked her voice and set Ira’s eyes stinging.

After the FBI found the bones, Constance and her husband assumed the worst. They had begun making preparations, thinking about funeral arrangements, even saying their private goodbyes. Most of a month their son had been missing and, after the first two weeks, the only hope anyone managed to cling to was born of the desperation of family that couldn’t let go.

Ira had spent the entire span of Wendell’s disappearance experiencing the most vivid nightmares of her life – except when she was plugged into the computer simulation to retrieve Alyial. And she was starting to wonder if that might have contributed to some of the bad decisions she made while she was plugged in.

But now was hardly the time to think about her abandoned conversation with Alyial.

“Where was he all this time, Constance? How did he get away unscathed?”

“Not unscathed.” The joy evaporated from her sister’s voice, replaced by something that could only be described as fear.

For all that Ira’s family were apparently rejoicing about Wendell’s return, Constance didn’t seem to believe the ordeal was over just yet. And that, more than anything, sobered Ira like a bucket of ice water dumped directly over her head.

“In the vast scheme of things, his injuries are minor,” Constance went on. “He says he can’t remember much about where he was or how he got out. Just that he woke up in the woods and saw a hint of light shining through the underbrush. He used it to find his path. To the old windmill.”

The way she spoke those final words sent a chill through Ira’s body. She shivered and, once she started, she couldn’t stop her body from trembling. She cast about the living room, looking for one of the old, heavy blankets she kept nearby, but Del had already grabbed the nearest. He wrapped it firmly around her shoulders and kissed the top of his head, all without having any idea how much it pained her to receive his kindness at the moment.

“You can’t think it was him,” she protested, her voice barely more than a whisper. Though who she was trying to keep this statement secret from, she couldn’t say. It wasn’t as if Delmar hadn’t heard the stories. He’d awakened her from enough nightmares, she’d eventually had to share the truth.

“What else am I supposed to think, Irie?” her sister demanded in a rough, low hiss that held some of the old anger and frustration. “The FBI has been scouring those woods for weeks now, and it seems like every day they extract more bones. I can’t imagine where anyone hid my son with all of that going on, but someone found him barefoot and battered on the road that comes from that god-forsaken old windmill.”

And she didn’t think the FBI would find the culprit because he was mystical and magical.

Her territory since that wretched day in the woods.

“What do you want me to do?” she demanded, careful not to sound indignant when she asked the question. She only came home because her sister had practically chased her out of the house for being unhelpful. Now it sounded like she wanted her to undertake some occult crusade.

“Just get here,” Constance pleaded. “As fast as you can. They have experts speaking to Wendell. And I trust them – I do. But the only person who’s going to truly be able to understand what he experienced-“

“Is me.” A cold hand settled over Ira’s heart – but not because of anything her sister said.

She had spent a significant portion of her life trying not to think about that terrible night and the marks it left beneath her flesh.

But if Wendell had experienced a fraction of what she did – and she imagined he’d experienced much more, given how long he’d been gone – he shouldn’t have to deal with any of that alone.

“I’ll be on the first available flight,” she promised. Then she hung up the phone and cast her husband an imploring look – not that she needed to worry. He already had the airline ticket window open on his laptop.

*   *   *

Night had long since fallen by the time Ira reached the doorstep to her old family house, the one she and her sister grew up in. As far as she knew, her sister hadn’t been home to her house since the incident. She had needed the support of their parents every step of the way to ensure she survived the potential loss of her only son.

By the light of moon and street lamps, the trees lining the block looked twisted and misshapen – like claws attempting to snare the unsuspecting. They swayed in the wind, which always seemed just strong enough to bring the plants to life. Several of her parents’ orchard trees lined the rear of the house, their outlines stark against the inky backdrop of night as Ira approached the old farmhouse.

With the only bright splash of color occupying the space directly beneath the old porch light, the scene looked like something out of an old horror movie. The faded paint and harsh chips in the aged wood didn’t help any, and Ira cast an apologetic look in her husband’s direction as she finally knocked.

“You didn’t have to come,” she murmured softly, and some hint of her words became a light puff of chill breath on the insistent breeze.

“Of course I came,” Delmar replied. His tone wasn’t dismissive, not in a way that indicated he didn’t care about the situation. Though he didn’t seem to mind all the things Ira worried about whenever she brought him here. “Much as I don’t like your creepy home town, your family is still my family,” he insisted, perhaps worried his tone would upset her.

Ira smiled. If she had her way, she never would have come back here the first time – let alone a second. But it was easier to have Delmar with her. It made her steps feel less heavy and the burden she carried ever so slightly easier to bear.

The inner door shot open quickly, and her sister reached for the catch to the screen door. That too flew open in a short span of seconds, then Constance launched herself into Ira’s arms.

For a moment, they were teenagers again, standing in this same doorway, embracing with all the desperation of two siblings who – despite fighting tooth and nail with each other for most of their lives – feared never seeing each other again. Tears fell unhindered down Constance’s cheeks, and her fingers dug deep into the flesh of Ira’s back, as if she couldn’t get her sister close enough to feel actual comfort.

The embrace lasted far longer than it seemed like it should have – longer even than it had on the day Ira came out of the forest after that one harrowing night of full moon. Then at last, Constance drew back and laid a firm kiss on each of her sister’s cheeks.

“When I told you to come quickly, I never imagined you’d be here within forty-eight hours.”

“Flights to this area aren’t so few and far between that I had to wait a week to get one.” Likewise, this area wasn’t so popular that there was a line of people waiting to get in. It had been a simple matter of flying to the closest major hub and driving the rest of the way. With Delmar present, they had been able to switch off on the driving. Normal, reasonable people might have stopped at a hotel along the highway and finished the rest of the drive in the morning, but Ira knew there was a bed waiting for them here – not to mention answers.

Constance offered no response. She pushed both the doors leading inside the house open again and drew her sister in her wake.

Warmth waited for them inside. Not just the warmth of a chill night held at bay but the warmth of a family come together. The second Ira and Delmar had shrugged off their jackets, warm mugs were placed into each of their hands. There were platters of snack foods and cookies lining the kitchen counter, and chairs were pulled from the kitchen table for the new arrivals to occupy. Voices called greetings, and a few hands snaked from the crowd to pat shoulders as they passed.

It wasn’t until Ira managed to settle in her chair and swallow the first few sips of the freshly brewed coffee that she noticed Wendell sat at the head of the table. His face was scratched and bruised, as were the portions of his arms visible. The worst of the cuts had been covered with bandages, and the white gauze glimmered almost iridescent against the old, dark-stained wood that made up her parents’ kitchen. Ira imagined the worst of his injuries had to be on the bases of his feet – a theory supported by the fact that he rested his legs on a second, nearby chair set aside for his use.

But the boy smiled when she looked at him, and a wave of relief finally suffused Ira’s body.

Until she saw him with her own two eyes, it was hard to believe Wendell had actually returned. She had spent the weeks after his disappearance dreading the news it seemed must inevitably arrive. The experts assigned to the case had been careful not to speak anything definitive when they couldn’t offer proof, but it had seemed a given that her beloved nephew must be gone when there was no sign of him after the initial twenty-four hour cut off.

That he was here seemed as impossible as encountering a faerie in a computer simulation – or getting pregnant while occupying a virtual world. But since both of those things had already happened, this one was somehow easier to swallow.

“You worried us,” she admitted, her voice thick with barely contained emotion.

Suddenly, the entire kitchen fell into somber silence. The rest of the family present – representing both the boy’s mother’s and father’s relatives – had already offered similar statements but, for some reason, this one seemed to hold a great deal of weight.

“I’m sorry,” Wendell replied softly, his voice as thick and scratchy as Ira’s had been. “I’m not entirely sure what happened, but I swear I’ll never do it again.”

Ira squeezed her eyes closed. She had said almost the exact same thing when she came back from that forest. I’ll never do it again. I swear, I’ll never even look at that place!

She hadn’t needed to visit it again to see it though. It haunted her dreams every night, as vivid as a film shot in high-definition. And because her mind visited it so often, she felt as if she knew it, inside and out – wretched occupant and all.

When she opened her eyes, it seemed that everyone was looking at her, waiting for her to speak. As if this had become as much her trauma as it was her sister’s or her nephew’s. Delmar even reached across the table to set a hand on her wrist and squeeze gently.

“What happened is your experience,” Ira managed to say after a moment. “You don’t have to share it if you don’t want to. But if you want to reclaim it, there are ways to do that… things that can help.”

Ira had tried them all – to remember and, later, to forget. She suspected it was one of the reasons why her sister wanted her here – though probably not the primary one.

Wendell nodded. “I’d like to talk,” he admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper. “But not now,” he added. “I’m tired.”

Ira mirrored his nod and sipped again from her coffee mug. The liquid warmed her, dispelling some of the chill that had permeated her limbs since she climbed into the car to make the drive to the airport early this morning. Part of that chill would linger until she left this place; there was nothing she could do about that.

So she tried to focus on her family. Stories were exchanged as people caught up on things that had nothing to do with a murder investigation and a missing child. Discussions that had been conducted in strained voices a few days ago now felt light and airy – though not without a distant undertone of concern and a shimmer of fear.

No one spoke of how close they had come to attending a funeral with an empty casket. No one asked Constance what she would do with the objects she had purchased for the express purpose of mourning her son. Knowing what would come eventually might one day be a boon but, for now, the topic was taboo.

No one asked Wendell any other questions either. He had probably answered the same queries dozens of times, in any case, and his parents hovered close to his shoulders to banish any unwanted attention on this night of family reunion.

But although the gathering wore the mask of a warm and welcoming family meeting held beneath the rough guise of a celebration, Ira knew it was all for show. Tension permeated this household, filling the cracks and crevices of the old space so full, it was a wonder they didn’t give way beneath the strain.

When Wendell had been tucked into bed and most of the family had shuffled off to homes and hotels just a few streets distant – because this town wasn’t really all that large – Constance drew Ira up to the old attic room where the two of them had spent the bulk of their childhood. The small tables at which they had done art projects and held secret tea parties were still pushed into one corner along with their solid but tiny chairs. Faerie lights ringed the outer portion of the room to chase the night away, and the posters they made still clung to the walls where they had hung them haphazard and crooked but full of love and joy.

“Just ask me the question,” Ira said when the door had closed behind the two of them, and her sister grasped her shoulders and once again clung to her as if she were a life raft.

“Is it really him?” she gasped between sobs. “It isn’t some faerie creature changeling pretending to be my son is it? Please tell me there’s no possible way this is a trick!”

Strange, Ira thought, that I should be the one everyone looks to for this bizarre confirmation of reality.

Stranger still was the fact that she couldn’t honestly say the question was absurd. Not with so many strange recent circumstances staring her in the face – her phone call to the witch of the woods not least among the pack.

Even so, there was only one answer she could give.

“It must be him. This isn’t like the faerie tales we read as children. And it isn’t like the legend, no matter what you’re going to say. It looks like him. It talks like him. And you’re his mother. Surely if he was a fake, you’d have seen through the illusion by now.”

Constance broke down. Her sobs became so wild and ragged, her knees gave out beneath her. Ira had to hold her up while she half-dragged her to the pair of ancient beanbag chairs they used for playing games and reading books as kids.

This had been their clubhouse. And their parents left it untouched so that it was exactly the way they left it the last time they visited – not long after Ira’s brush with the Mawor in the woods out behind the old windmill.

Constance curled into her per perch and let her head rest in her hands while she emptied herself of the storm of tears and emotions that had obviously been clogging her chest since this whole ordeal began. Ira waited in patient silence for the storm to pass because she remembered when their positions had been reversed and Constance waited like a lighthouse on shore for Ira to come back from wherever that storm-tossed sea took her.

At last her sister looked up and choked, “This is all my fault, Irie. I’m the one who couldn’t let it go. I was obsessed with that thing and those legends. I was even jealous that you were the one who got to see it. Did you know that?”

“It wasn’t hard to guess,” Ira admitted with a sad, cold smile. It was the incident that had ultimately come between them, after all, causing them to go their separate ways and barely speak until Constance called with frantic panic to inform her that Wendell had gone missing.

Ira hadn’t ever wanted to be involved with the supernatural, yet it clung to her like ice on a window on a cold winter morning. Constance, on the other hand, had been obsessed with anything and everything that made their dull, tiny little town the least bit more interesting. She had been silently angry at Ira for a long time about her strange experience in the woods, and she often claimed it was because she aggravated the spirit of legend, causing it to act even stranger than it had in the past.

But the real truth was that Constance had dipped her head into those woods dozens of times and never seen anything out of the ordinary. She felt her sister had stolen something from her, some special rite of passage she never got to experience.

“I was such an idiot,” Constance snarled as she wiped the tears from her damp cheeks with the backs of her hands. “You probably never even would have encountered that damn thing if I hadn’t insisted on telling you about it over and over-“

“The past is in the past, Constance,” Ira said softly but firmly. “There’s no point in wishing we can change it.”

“No,” her sister agreed and sniffled. Then she shot Ira a look darker than any she had ever seen before. “But it’s the future I’m worried about now. We have to break this cycle. We can’t let it keep assailing our family every so many years just as blithely as it pleases.”

Ira wondered for a moment if her sister was talking about the Mawor or the universe. But ultimately, she supposed it didn’t matter. “I’m not really sure there’s much we can do,” she protested with a shake of her head. “If your legends were accurate, the Mawor has been here as long as people have.” Centuries at least, if not longer.

“You can do this, Ira,” Constance insisted and lifted her shoulders as she finally regained her composure. “I don’t know why I know that, I just do. And you have to,” she added, once again piercing her sister with a hard look. “If not for me, do it for Wendell.”

Ira turned her head, but the only window in the attic was a tiny circular thing beyond the small table. From her current position, it was obscured – and occupied the same direction as her sister’s insistent face.

But again, there seemed only one answer she could offer. So Ira sighed, met her sister’s gaze and said, “I’ll do my best.”