We All Have to Play

She recognized me instantly. And she was not happy about it.

“That’s not fair,” she said.

“What isn’t?”

“Showing up in that form.”

“What’s wrong with this form?”

She narrowed her eyes, emphasizing the wrinkles around them. I tilted my head and smiled.

“It’s not a trap,” I assured her.

“I beg to differ. You come to me as a sweet-faced child. But, as soon as I take your hand...”

My laugh caught her off guard. “Where do you think I’m taking you?”

“I’ll not say it.” She averted her gaze.

“You’re going whether you say it or not.”

“Only because you’ll trick me.”

“You have to go somewhere.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re dead. You can’t stay here.”

“Why not?”

“That’s the rule.”

She lifted her chin. “Who made these rules? I’d like to speak to them.”

I reached out a hand. She recoiled before I could touch her. “You are speaking to them,” I said.

A grunt was her only response. I reached into my pocket and retrieved a piece of chalk. She watched as I sketched the hopscotch board. The lines on her face softened. She watched as I fetched a shard of headlight plastic and tossed it. Her white hair darkened into raven waves. She watched as I hopped into the first square. Her stooped body straightened. She glanced at the wreckage, then stepped toward me.

“Can I play?” she whispered, her voice aching with hope.

“Of course,” I said. “We all have to play, sooner or later.”

Nissa Harlow lives in British Columbia, Canada where she writes strange little stories.