Shall I call you Lost?

The dark haired boy wandered his land. Sinking beneath shade in the unusual heat, avoiding the streaks of warm honey dripping from the sun, he was almost one with the world. Wispy black hair curled into the shadows as green eyes mimicked the dark dipped leaves coating the trees. He was draped in a moss boa, and a coat of messily woven fronds, with a similar air to vines. Peaceful to simply live, yet utterly untamed, beautiful in the correct place, hideous in the wrong. As he moved, he almost drifted. Not a leaf creased beneath his step, not a rustle sounded nor mark even hinted that he had been there at all. A stray echo lost in the breeze, unnoticed, a whisper on the wind, alone. But nothing could hurt his forest that way. The wind carried him whispers and echos, of the world beyond moss, leaves and curling branch curtains.

‘That place is creepy…’

The boy’s exact thoughts of their stone boxes they burrowed in.

‘…weird’

‘…told me there were funny noises’

Yet no one laughed.

‘Unnatural…’

As were they.

‘…Monsters’

He wasn’t the one who ran the second he saw them. He wasn’t the one who chased either. He didn’t tear apart their homes. He didn’t kill their animals for sport or set their world ablaze or laugh as they fell to their knees. He didn’t swear he would see them dead.

‘There’s a monster…’

You. You, you, you are the monster.

The dark haired boy placed a blackberry in his mouth as he listened. One of the whispers on the wind, was tickling at his ear. Out of tune with the rest… he couldn’t easily grasp at the meaning… was that another tongue? He listened with another ear-

‘Help!’

A child… a girl. Yes. Young, definitely, not more than seven surely. Maybe even younger. And… English? He thought so. He drifted towards the sounds.

‘Hellooo? Help me!’

Would she run? Would he need to chase her home? Most of the time. There had been one boy… he’d stayed. Awhile. He didn’t run… but that was a long time ago.

‘Can anyone hear-‘ the boy came into the girls view. Brown eyes. Like bark. Like earth. A colour he could trust. He waited. For a scream, a whirl of skirts, a run. Was… she too scared to move or something…?

‘Hi.’ She said. The boy’s movements were flawed, unlike previous motions. She had her head cocked to the side.

‘Hello.’ He replied. A rough voice, cracked with neglect. Like the aging bark in such young eyes.

‘I’m lost, can you help me?’ She asked, with such doe like innocence.

‘Shall I call you lost then?’ He said.

‘…what?’ She asked.

‘You said that you were Lost.’ He replied.

The little girl stared, wide eyed. But it was a different kind of wide eyed. Not scared, something sweeter, like the difference between poison and water- She made an odd bird call sound the boy didn’t recognize. But he knew all of the birds in his world… she was laughing?

‘What shell I call you?’ She asked, with a blinding grin

‘Shall. Not shell.’ He gently corrected, feeling a strange pull at his lips.

‘What’s your name?’ She said instead. The boy hesitated.

‘…I’ve only ever been called ‘Ghillie Dhu’, it means dark haired boy in your tongue. No true name.’ Nothing but a pointless echo. Empty. Nameless. Nothing.

‘What’s in my tongue?’ She asked, sticking it out innocently and crossing her eyes to glimpse at it.

‘Pardon?’ He said, frowning.

‘You said something was in my tongue…’ she said, prodding it with her finger.

‘I meant your language.’ He corrected, amused. He finally smiled. A full smile, not a gentle curve or half grin, a proper dimpled smile.

‘Oh… my names Lottie.’ She told him.

‘I understand.’ He said.

‘Are you a ghost?’ She asked.

‘I don’t believe so.’ He replied, amused at the tree eyed creature.

‘Can I call you ghost?’ Lottie asked, ‘You don’t have a name…’ he paused. A name, albeit lonely and cold, a name nonetheless. Were ghosts not doomed to be forgotten? Was he not forgotten already?

‘If you wish.’ The small girl smiled again. ‘I may take you home, if you would like.’ He told her. The grin faltered. He looked at her, felt into her. Felt into her soul, where her compass pointed, where home called. It twisted and twitched pointlessly. ‘You have no home…’ Lottie looked to the leaf littered earth.

‘I live with my Auntie.’ She whispered.

‘But it is not your home.’ He said.

‘But… I live there?’ She asked with a frown.

‘A home is safety. Comfort. Care. A house is a place you sleep.’ He told her. She didn’t like her Aunt’s place.

‘Something about your house isn’t right, is it?’

‘…auntie’s mean sometimes…’ she mumbled, ‘she tells me off a lot… Mummy and daddy didn’t shout like her…’

‘No?’ He encouraged gently.

‘and I’m not allowed to play, she makes me learn things.’ She told him.

‘Like what?’ He asked.

‘Stitching, but it’s not fun… I get poked lots.’ She said, ‘She told me a prop-p… popper- prop-er girl shouldn’t be getting dirty outside…’

‘Yes?’ He said.

‘Says that I’ll turn out like a ruffian…’ she told him.

‘That isn’t fair.’ He agreed, ‘there’s no point being proper if you aren’t happy.’

‘You think so?’ She asked hopefully, looking up from the floor. Her face sparkled, she had cried.

‘Would you stay with me?’

Lottie did. They passed days laying beside his stream, listening to its rhythmic whirring, watching clouds shift above them and birds dart overhead. They collected berries and nuts and sunshine and smiles. Their afternoons were filled with piles of freshly picked flowers and nights trading tales. The boy told her of his animals, his forest, his kingdom, of ancient secrets she would come to understand. Lottie told him one of a princess who fell into a deathly slumber and a girl who found true love through glass shoes. Synderelle or something like that… he couldn’t recall. His days were no longer leaves and loneliness. He had a daughter. The thought was enough to nurture a smile.

But the whispers did not stop.

‘…Monster’

‘…a creature’

‘There’s a monster…’

‘…got to be…’

‘Monsters…’

One day, Ghost heard the people pass through his forest. Their compasses pointed easily home. He began to guide Lottie to their den, as he paused. He realized something. He did not want her to be like him. Lonely. Lost. Unnatural. Lottie didn’t need to live a life like his. She didn’t need to hear the whispers, riding the wind, dripping through the trees, echoing off leaves. She didn’t need to be the story they told. Lottie could go with them. Find a new home. A safe one. The dark haired boy loved the strange bark eyed girl, who painted pictures in the dirt and wove necklaces from grass as innocent gifts to him and told odd stories of princesses and shoes and frogs and apples. But that was why he softly pushed her onto the path and melted into the shadows. Because she was his daughter.

‘Ghost? GHOST!’ He heard Lottie yell, in an echo through the forest.

‘What’s wrong darling?’ A voice replied. If the woman was not kind he would find someone else to take Lottie.

‘I-I-I…’ she stuttered, he could hear the tears in her voice.

‘Are you lost?’ The woman asked.

‘…no I’m Lottie.’ She replied.

‘Oh.’ The woman said, ‘Umm, where’s your mum?’

‘Nowhere…’ Lottie said.

‘Your dad?’ She asked

‘With mummy.’ Lottie said.

‘Where do you live?’ The woman tried.

‘With Ghost.’ She told her. Lottie’s compass pointed to him. As she left with the woman, he felt it slowly slipping away, back into a pointless twist as their first meeting.

Lottie never forgot the dark haired boy. She walked each day in his forest, leaving gifts she had made, grass necklaces and the like. She wished he had let her stay, and it took many many years to understand why he had left her. The ache of losing her life with him, the what if of what she could have had with Ghost. The longing to lie beside him by the stream, telling him fairytales. It never really disappeared. That life eventually became a fairytale in itself. As Lottie grew up, she heard the whispers they told about Ghost. The lies, the stupid stupid assumptions. One day, she looked into the green haze of the forest, and gave Ghost a whisper of her own. A promise.

‘I’ll change what they think of you Ghost.’