Guess Odon’s carving will have to wait. The blood on my finger drips to the Grief Room floor. Chief stands in the doorway and watches the droplet soak into the ground.

He smacks his lips and narrows his eyes. “I like that,” he says. He sucks a sharp breath in. “I mean, I like the color the red turns.” He tilts his head and leans further into the room. In a higher-pitched he says, “Have you tried blood as paint in these pictures?”

I shake my head.

“Welp.” He slaps the doorway. “Why don’t you give that a shot. Repaint Pteranodon’s hair with a streak of blood and let’s see how it looks.”

“Alright,” I say. I squeeze my finger and another droplet forms. Thank Gods I didn’t spill a ton of blood. This asshole would probably make me paint my own portrait with my own blood until my own body shivered with cold death.

I smear the blood against the black slug already on top of Odon’s head. The red changes to a deep brown. Looks even worse.

“Wow,” he says. “Terry, you are the best Grief Room artist to date. Keep the good work, son.”

He leaves and I’m once again alone in the Grief Room. Apparently, Odon’s portrait is finished enough for the Chief so I’m jobless for another thirty days. I guess I’ll head to our old spot and carve this dragon.

With the lilacs bending in the cool mountain breeze and the sunlight warming my shoulders, it should feel full here. Should feel complete. But instead, it makes me wildly aware of what's missing. The dragon's head is coming along nicely. Just like the drawings in Gran’s old books. It’s curled into a sleeping dragon, not sure why I chose a sleeping dragon, but it seems easier to carve than a dragon in action. Wings are big and tucked into it’s side and its teeth jut from between its lips. The orb of light in every drawing my Gran has, is in relief form – my fingers rub against it. And when I close my eyes and take a deep breath in, it’s just Odon’s memory, me, and the smooth orb my thumb rubs over.

The day passes by and the warm air turns brisk as the sun fades. The Old World above takes on a brown and amber tone once the sun sets. Like dirt. Like mud. But with a hint of something more. Like amber, I guess. And the hue casts on the ground around me and reflects off the finished dragon. The light change makes the dragon move. Just for a moment.

Gran’s book said once the totem is finished, the soul you want to inhabit it will come to it. But in the margins, she scribbled, might have to scrape off Grief Room too.

So that’s what I’ll do since Chief approved the artwork. He won’t duck his head in there until after the next Sac Day. I’m not sure if he’s ever noticed my Gran’s face scratched off the wall so maybe there’s a chance he won’t notice Odon’s scratched off too.

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Want to know another rule from Gran’s rule book?

Rule 1: Souls that come down, must go up.

Rule 2: Don’t let Chief know.

Know what, Gran? Know about your book and your rules or know about how often I explore the labyrinth of the Storage Room? Know about releasing souls and transferring them to somewhere safe?

Bleeeeeeeh

Shit, green-eyed goat. What the hell?

Yeah, goat. I won’t tell Chief about any of this. About the books. About you. The charm on her collar twists with her movements. It’s a goat. That’s for sure. Attached to a goat. That’s also for sure.

I unhook the charm and stand. My mom carved this right before Chief Sac’d her.

Goat bleats and bleats and calls out towards her herd, completely oblivious that she walked over to me, to the end of the mountain on her own accord. She turns to me and presses her horns against my thigh. It’s enough force to push my leg back. A little too close to the edge, don’t you think Gran?

Goat backs up and butts me again. It’s gentle. Just enough to scare me.

I move around her and walk towards the village. Goat rams the back of my legs.

Damn. Maybe this soul transfer is real. I hook the carving back on her collar and we walk back to her herd together. Peaceful little goat now she’s with her herd.

With night comes a choice. Sleep in my house, alone or sleep in the Grief Room, alone but with the images of my loved ones all around me?

“Sure, Odon,” I say under my breath. “I know it’s weird but guess what? It’s the only place I feel you.”

So in the Grief Room, I sit under my family and next to Odon. Maybe I’ll dream of her again. I close my eyes and hope sleep takes me somewhere good.

But sometime, in the middle of the night, I wake to a noise. It gurgles and spits. I press my ear against the door. It sounds like it’s coming from the Storage Room. I’m not the bravest around. If Odon was with me, she’d force me to explore it. She was so adventurous. I’ll take her with me then. I scratch her portrait off, just enough, and rub the dragon charm over it. I have no idea if I’m supposed to do that part or if she’s already released from the wall but I’ll try anything.

The Grief Room door creaks. The Grand Hall is empty and pitch black. I tiptoe across the hallway and slip into the Storage Room. Day or night, it doesn’t matter in this room. It’s only lit with torches. Always lit. I grab one off the wall and listen.

The noise comes from the back and that’s where I head, Odon tight in my hand.

The room ends but the noise doesn’t.

It vibrates below my feet.

I kick dirt around until my toe hits metal. A trap door inside the Storage Room? I haven’t read this in Gran’s book before. It takes some effort but I open it. A cross breeze rises out of it, cold against my face. Spiral stairs lead down.

Another noise.

Each step down the stairs reminds me I’m only brave when Odon’s with me. I hope she’s with me right now. At the end of the staircase is a room. It’s filled with all sorts of things, just like the Storage Room. There’s a hallway to the left and I walk that way. Cells line the walls. And in each cell are bones. They don’t look human. They look creature-like.

Big massive bones and teeth in one large cell, and the tiniest bones I’ve ever seen in the next. I can’t see the end of the hallway but the noise comes from there.

I want to keep going, I really do. But I can only lie to myself for so long.

Odon, I know you’re not with me no matter how hard I hold this ivory, I know you’re not here.

I rush back to the staircase, to the Storage Room, and back to my family. Back to my favorite person in this entire world. With knees tucked into my chest, I lower my head and cry silently.

You’re not here, Odon.

You’re not.