Nightingale

The rising sun was my compass during my travels, my trusted companion that woke me every morning as I wandered the rolling green hillsides. Its warmth chased away the night's lingering cold, and I trusted its path more than my own. Following its guidance, I arrived at a small farming town nestled among the northeastern hills of the country.

The sun had lingered high in the sky when I reached the crest of the hill, but by the time I began my descent, it had started its own journey toward the horizon. The orchard trees cast long shadows like dark fingers stretching across the cottages below.

The modest cottages clustered in an almost perfect circle between the hills and a large forest to the east. A few women in their identical long brown dresses stood in the green-painted doorways of their homes. At the sight of me descending the hillside, they called their young children close and held them tightly against their bodies.

Three men working in a barren field ceased their labor and turned their eyes toward me. The youngest froze halfway through his work; his shovel remained buried in the dark earth. The second man rested his foot upon the metal of his spade, and the elderly man swung his scythe over his shoulder before wiping the sweat from his wrinkled brow.

Uneasiness stirred within me; it urged me to flee from the village. Yet something unseen held my path steady, and my feet continued onward. Rather than seek shelter among the villagers, I ventured toward the edge of the eastern woods. There, in a small clearing at the forest's edge, I made my shelter near a crumbling brick wall covered in moss.

I opened my sack and took out half a loaf of bread and the leftover slices of cheese wrapped in a napkin. As I ate, I looked toward the heavens, expecting to find Orion in the southwestern sky or even the twins, but the stars were absent. The sky above me was utterly empty. A deeper unease settled over me as I looked across the empty land surrounding me.

There was an unnatural silence. All was quiet; nothing stirred except for me. I slowly lifted a torn piece of bread to my lips as I stared deeply into the growing, almost pulsing darkness of the woods. It was then that singing broke through the silence of the night. I rose to my feet, searching for its source, yet there was nothing.

The singing swelled through the woods, fragmented by the trunks of the trees, and grew in volume till the woods themselves seemed to emit a faint glow of color. The gentle wind delicately carried the sweet notes to my ears, and a faint scent of lilac seemed woven into the incomprehensible melody. I lurched forward toward the trees, unable to understand why my feet had begun to move. I drew closer to the tree line, yet before I took a single step more, flashes of movement diverted my attention.

A young child, roughly six years old, walked somberly toward the threshold of the woods beside me. I spun around and saw more children of all ages wandering silently through the open field. I reached out to the young girl and took hold of her arm just above the elbow; as I did so, my touch stirred her from the enchantment.

"Can you hear me?" I asked her.

The other children crossed into the woods. Tiny flecks drifted from their bodies like spring pollen until nothing remained. The singing ceased, and the eerie hush returned.

"What happened?" she asked, looking up at me. "Where is my mommy?"

I took her hand, and together we walked toward her home, whose door swung gently in the breeze. Her mother spotted us from the side of the house. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she rushed toward us, smothering us both in tearful hugs and frantic kisses that left me startled and bewildered. The parents ushered me into their home, offering me food and preparing a warm place for me to sleep. Before long, my awkwardness gave way to the complaints of my empty stomach.