‘I wish someone could help me,’ she kept thinking to herself listlessly. ‘I don’t know what to do.’ She kept feeling the dread, with its hopelessness and coldness in itself.
Finally, after barely getting to sleep every night of that week, an idea softly and gently entered Isea’s mind, emitting a great relief surrounding the dread—defying it. With her new hope, she decided as she was finally releasing herself enough to lose consciousness, she would go into the nursing home, “tomorrow,” she whispered. She would go during school that next morning. She would be brave. Isea suddenly sat up. “Hello?” she called in the dark. It was the sort of call for help someone made when they knew no one was really there. Something quiet and small gently entered Isea’s mind again, and helped push her off into a deeper sleep.
Along the path to the nursing home, the trees were bare. Their leaves lay scattered across the ground and most of them had lost their colour altogether. A thought entered Isea’s mind—‘but I will grow and rise again.’ Isea started to run, imagining the dread not being able to hold onto her…imagining it getting torn out behind her, in the shape of a human shadow. She imagined as she ran, and she imagined she was running away from fear, and dread, and evil. She was running away to save Gwendoline. She jumped over roots and low branches that threatened to trip her, and went under branches that threatened to catch her by snagging her blue rain jacket; she ran like the wind.