Don't You Remember?

It wasn’t that I wanted to make the deal. It wasn’t like I wanted to give that old hag more of what I could never get back. But I didn’t have a choice. Maybe I had had a choice a few months ago. I don’t know; I can’t quite recall.

But I certainly didn’t have any other alternative this morning. Harper needed shoes on her feet to walk to school and Henry had been sick with that cough for far too long. He needed the medicine.

It was worth it, I told myself.

Whatever I gave up…this was worth it.

***

Henry’s chest had cleared completely now. His sweet songbird voice had long since replaced the scratchy hoarse vibrato that had plagued us all for the past few weeks.

Harper’s blisters were also beginning to heal. She no longer winced when her toes touched the floor, and her smile when she walked out the front door wasn’t swallowed by a grimace.

I was doing good as well. I couldn’t remember a time I’d felt better.

Of course, there were many things I couldn’t recall anymore. Sweet Harper, always the curious one, I think she’s beginning to suspect something.

Their father was a hollow shell of himself when they were born. But he’d passed by the time the sun rose on little Henry’s second birthday. Harper never got to question him; not like she gets to question me.

“Don’t you remember, mama? Don’t you remember?”

I think that’s the phrase she says the most to me now. Just today she was telling me about our latest trip down to the lake and how much fun she’d had watching the otters float on their backs. Lucky for me, Harper was a storyteller. She loved to talk and talk and talk. So all I had to do was listen and nod. I tried to drag up any recollection from her descriptions.

She told me everything from the color of the sunrise that day to how many fish we saw jump out of the water.

And I just nodded. I nodded over and over and I smiled. And I did not tell her the truth. I did not tell her that I didn’t remember that day at all, though it sounds lovely. I didn’t remember how the otters floated or the fish jumped. I didn’t remember how the sun had cast a burnt orange across the fluffy white clouds.

In truth, I thought the lake was still frozen.

But that was impossible, wasn’t it? It was blazing hot outside. We were in summer.

So I let Harper talk. And, when she was done, I asked her about the last time we flew kites. She said it’d been a while but she’d love to go tomorrow.

I told her that sounded wonderful.

***

It’s winter again.

I know because of the snow that flurries from the sky and the fact that I can feel three pairs of socks in my boots each time my heels crunch the ice.

But I don’t know how deep into winter we are. I think we must be at least halfway. I hope we are at least halfway.

I no longer have any memories of warmth. I think I must have just given the last one away. But my pockets were full with loaves of bread and bags of berries. This would last us long enough, wouldn’t it?

Until I could get new memories the hag would say tasted sweet to her tongue. Until I could find new experiences to trade her with.

I had plenty of bad memories, of course.

But the wretched thing was never interested in those. She said that the memory of death and and grief and frigid cold tasted like acid in her throat.

I could hardly disagree with her there. They felt just as awful as they tasted, apparently.

“Miss!” A voice called from behind. “Oh miss!”

I turned to see old man Florence hobbling towards me, cane in hand.

His breaths were coming out in puffs of frost and it sounded as if his lungs were wheezing with each exhale. “Terribly sorry to bother you. Do you have any food to spare?”

Florence looked rail-thin. I could have sworn I could see his ribs poking through the folds of his battered jacket. I remember he once called my husband weak. He’d said that Nate was a fool for bargaining with the hag. But here he was, appearing to have done the very same.

The entire town had traded with the old beast by now. Why, just yesterday…or was it a month ago? I’d seen Florence walking out of her shop with a few cuts of lean venison in his hands.

That kind of food costed 5 good memories at least.

Apparently Florence didn’t have any good left to trade.

I broke off a piece of bread from one of the loafs and handed it to the old man. Florence clasped it in his grasp with fingers made of ice, his cane forgotten in the snow, and tore into it right there with the savagery of a starving man.

I could still hear him struggling to swallow the dry meal as I turned heel and continued my trek back home.

***

The hag’s shop smelt of smoke, as per usual.

But it smelt thicker and deeper this time; more impenetrable, somehow.

I had been sitting in her waiting area for several minutes now. There was always a long line for her services these days. There were no jobs left in the village and the only way to acquire any goods was to have come from wealth or seek them here.

But even the old money in this town had dried up. Well, just beside me sat Penny Montona in her puffy pink sweater and shiny shoes. I wondered how long she’d be able to afford that gloss on her lips. There was no use in keeping up appearances here. Everyone knew you were out of options, anyway.

“Next.”

The familiar croak of the owner of this shop met my ears at the same time her latest customer stumbled out from behind her curtain, looking as dazed as a newborn fawn.

She’d made a trade, then. It was always rather difficult to find one’s bearings after having a memory ripped out.

I rose to my feet and brushed past the hag’s latest victim.

“My, my, what a surprise. I didn’t expect you until next week.”

The hag was neither human nor animal but somehow the worst qualities of both. I used to find her too repulsive to look at, but no more. Her appearance was one I had grown most accustomed to.

But I was certain if Henry ever saw her he’d say she looked like one of the ugly toads that chased his grasshoppers.

I suppose she kind of did, in truth.

“What have you brought me for lunch today?” The old hag purred, her green lips forming in a smile. “I don’t see much you have to offer from here. Are you hiding something dear in that pretty brain of yours?”

“I’m sure there’s something.” I answered. “I only need a couple fish.”

“Fish, hm? Fish don’t come cheap, you know. I’ll have to dig around in that precious head to see if you have anything I may want to taste.”

The hag’s clawed hands felt both alien and familiar as her fingers tapped against my temples.

“Ah,” the beast breathed as she licked her lips with a forked tongue. “Now that is a flavorful one indeed.”

“Not that one.” I snapped, stepping away and almost back through the curtain. I simply could not give that one up.

“Now, now, don’t act in such haste.” The hag crooned. “I could hear your stomach growling from a mile away, dearest. Surely a forgetful mother is better than a dead one, hm?”

***

There was a sharp tug on my dress.

I whirled around with a start, a gasp already half way up my throat. But it wasn’t a ruffian or a thief or even a dog at my heels. It was only a girl. A girl with twin pigtails hanging past her shoulders.

“Can I help you, dear?”

“You were supposed to walk me home from school today. You promised.” The girl frowned, arms crossed over her tiny chest.

I squinted my eyes against the sunlight, trying to get a better look at her features.