”Papa.”

The whisper echoed in Stacey’s left ear. His vision was foggy, and he blinked a couple of times. He couldn’t recall the last time someone had called him that—that word—it had been years, nearly a decade. Never had he considered himself so unworthy for a title. The coal miner blinked several times, before realizing that he was standing outside. The pain that remained in his knees and back was gone, and he pondered how had gotten to this place. In his hands was not his trustworthy pickaxe, but a shovel. The scent of warm dirt and flowers and plants met his nostrils. Stacey deeply exhaled, sensing the warm sunlight on his face. In front of him was a large garden filled with squash, okra, tomatoes, potatoes, radishes—-

Am I at my father’s farm? he wondered, and then shivers ran down his spine. He half expected to see the worn-down house, his mother perhaps knitting at the front in a rocking chair, sewing and darning clothes, as she always did. His brothers were either working or fighting or playing cards, the younger ones playing in the dirt; his sisters collecting fruits from the dying trees or scavenging the garbage in the road to perhaps find some glass bottles that they could sell for their next meal. But to his great surprise, the land around them was green and bright. The warm sunlight revealed only shrubbery and grass.

”Papa.”

Stacey turned around at the sound of the quiet, still voice. A butterfly flew out in front of him, and he could make out a small figure, barefooted, dressed in a long, thick cloak and hood that casted a heavy dark shadow on its face. The young man knelt down in the tall grass. He couldn’t make sense of Bunny’s features because it was blurry, like the windows when the rain would pour on top of them. But he could see a few dark brown locks peeking out from beneath the hood, slightly blowing in the warm air.

“I…I fell, Papa. It hurts.”

Stacey noticed a deep gash on the child’s right knee, where it was leaking blood and covered in mud.

The tiny figure suddenly sniffed, wiping their nose with their sleeve.

“Now, now,” Stacey said, gently scooping the child up. “No need to fret about it. Ye just got to be more careful, that’s all.” He began to whistle as he walked across the tall grass, where the ladybugs crawled on the flower stems. As he approached the shack, he noticed that drops of water were falling from the sky, landing on his head and shoulders. It looked brighter, and the wood appeared shinier, definitely not the good pine that he had selected. He had never seen it such good shape, not since Eliza and his—

“Papa?”

Stacey glanced down, startled at Bunny’s voice. “Yes?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I…” Stacey frowned for a moment. “Could’ve sworn my place was a bit rougher looking than this.”

There was a giggle. “You forgot, didn’t you?”

“Forgot what?”

”You fixed it, Papa. And I helped you. We fixed the walls, and you showed me how. Don’t you remember?”

For a moment, Stacey stared at the shack. There was no firewood on the porch, which was empty.

”We must’ve done a pretty good job,” he murmured. Then he chuckled. “Come on. Let’s take care of that cut.”

The child quietly exhaled, somewhat curling themselves in his arms like a ball, grass blades still clinging to the bottom of their bare feet. Their heartbeat was quick against his.

Stacey felt Bunny’s wrapped arms gradually lock and tighten around his neck, almost like he was being suffocated. He winced in pain. The child’s face was buried in his left shoulder. As the coal miner entered his home, he couldn’t make out the walls, but there was the fireplace, his sturdy table, and a bed against the wall. But Isabel was missing from her usual spot on the pillow, and in her place was a storybook, though he see what the cover said. Not that he was very good at reading either,

The child released their grip.

As Stacey set the Bunny down on a stool, he bustled around until he found a clean rag and a small basin of water. He cleaned up the wound, carefully removing the dirt and debris that littered the gash, before securing it tightly with a large white bandage. A smile fell upon his face as he patted their knee and straightened up. The child rose to their feet.

“Good as new. It may sting some, but don’t you no mind to it. Now, no more climbing trees and doin’ cartwheels, yes?” Stacey chuckled. “You go on and play now. I’ve got to finish up some work in the garden, and then we shall have supper soon.” He was about to turn and step out to the door when he felt the child’s right hand immediately grab his own. The grasp was stronger than he expected.

Stacey looked down, startled.

The tiny hooded figure gripped his palm with their other hand, the long sleeves of their cloak almost covering their small palms. The child’s gaze was focused on the door, which was open. It had stopped raining, and sunlight flooded the porch.

”Can you play with me?”

“Not now,” Stacey released a deep sigh. “Ye know I have to finish up my work. Go ahead and run along. I won’t be long.”

“But I can help you in the garden.”

“How about we play a game in a little while?”

”What kind?”

Stacey paused, rubbing his chin. “Hide and seek?”

There was a crackling sound in the sky, causing sudden rainwater to splash harder against the roof tiles. As Stacey looked at the window, he saw that lightning forked the sky.

“Well, once the rain stops.”

”Are you leaving, Papa?”

”Leaving?” Stacey asked in a bewildered tone.

“I…I don’t want you to go.” The child’s grip was so tight that pain was shooting up the coal miner’s hand. “I want you to stay here with me. Please, don’t….don’t go.” Their voice fell into a whisper. “You’ll stay here, won’t you?”

“I ain’t going nowhere at the moment,” Stacey replied. “Just to the garden. No need to worry.”

“Will you push me on the swing?” Bunny timidly asked. “Please?”

Stacey hesitated.

”Please?”

“Of course,” Stacey said, although he wondered when was the last time he had built a swing for Bunny. But as they walked through the tall grass together, there was one hanging from a looming apple tree, with a long thick rope from the lowest but sturdiest branch. It was a massive one, with roots that seemed to hover over the colorful earth. The rain had disappeared, replaced once more by a bright blue sky and an emerging yellow sun. The scent of rain was still visible in the air.

The child’s dirty fingers curled around the ropes.

“Papa, I…I don’t like hide and seek.”

“Why?”

“Because…” Bunny’s voice trailed into a whisper. “Because I’m not very good at that game.”

”Me neither,” Stacey replied.

The figure’s cloak blew in the wind, and the sound of Bunny’s bare feet against the ground was almost nonexistent—they were sliding across the surface of the earth. As Stacey gently lifted Bunny up on the swing and moved the rope back and forth, the child’s giggles filled the warm air, amongst the aroma of sweet apple, of flowers falling below. The child held their arms out to catch the wind, but the hood remained on their head, the dark locks of hair floating above.

”Higher, Papa! Higher!”

A fuzzy sensation took over Stacey.

He blinked, and realized that he was standing at the table, ladling out two plates of steaming hot food. Bunny was seated across from him, pouring a pitcher of milk into two glasses. They set it down with a thump, and despite Stacey observing the child’s shadowed face, he could not make out the eyes, nose, cheeks—there was only a black space, cast over by the hooded cloak they wore. They were focusing on cleaning up a small spill with a handkerchief, wiping it up as carefully as they could.

“No worries, Bunny,” Stacey said. “I got it.” He placed the plate in front of the figure. “You work on that, now.”

The child took a bite, before clapping their small hands together. “Mhmmm! Chicken.”

“Didn’t know you were so fond of it.”

”I love chicken. I wish we could have this every night, Papa.”

The coal miner laughed as he sat down and picked up his fork. “I don’t know about that. I’d get sick eating the same thing every day. And so would you. Even if it’s nice at first.”

”But I really do mean it. I like cornbread too. And one day, I want to cook just as good as you.” The hooded figure leaped out of the chair and rushed to the bed, clutching their book in their hands. “Will you read to me, too, Papa?”

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

Stacey hesitated. “Well, my readin’ ain’t so—”

”Please?” The word came out softly. “Please.”

The coal miner sighed. “Only one chapter, then.” He glanced at the window. “It’s getting dark, and it’s almost time for you to go to bed. Alright. Bring it over, and let me see.”

With a giggle, the hooded figure rushed forward. After Stacey had lifted them up sideways on his right knee, he frowned as he flipped through the pages. It had been a while since he had read anything. As he smoothed out a couple of creases on the page, the hooded figure leaned their head against his shoulder, their tiny fingers landing on a page number. Once more, they began to hum.

Stacey yawned, rubbing his bleary eyes. The figure’s quiet humming filled the air, though Stacey couldn’t recognize the tune. He searched for the words but could not find them, as there were only strange dark lines dotted on the surface of the paper. The illustrations on the pages appeared to be hand drawn with pencil, not printed. All he could see was the top of the hood, frayed at the edges, the hair taking on an orange golden glow, due to the roaring fireplace in the cabin. It was pitch black outside the window, dotted with multiple stars. Their shadows lingered against the wall, the hooded figure’s becoming gradually as tall as Stacey’s. The humming suddenly stopped.

The coal miner could not move. He could only gaze at the wall—was there a wall anymore? It seemed to morph and change and bend, and the trees were closer around them, the sound of crickets grew louder in the hot air.

The fire went out, leaving the shack pitch black. There was a heavy silence. Stacey struggled to breathe as a deep rattling sound filled the room. Beads of sweat dripped down his forehead, his nose, collected behind his neck. Then something metallic built up in his mouth. He wanted to scream, but his throat was filled with rocks.

A shaky whisper settled in his left ear.

“Please….don’t leave me.”

* * * * * * * * *

Stacey leaned over to the side of his sleeping pallet and threw up. With the burning sensation of bile bubbling behind his throat, he retched multiple times into a bucket he managed to snatch up. Once he was able to catch his breath, he blinked, attempting to make sense of his surroundings.

”Bunny?”

He shivered and wiped his moist mouth.

The symptoms of alcohol withdrawal had left his stomach a wreck—a result of him being sober for several weeks. His nose was less congested, and he scrambled out of his blankets, stumbling blindly through the shack. The fireplace had recently been replenished, and Isabel sat on the pillow, watching him with her button eyes. The gray sky suggested it was early morning, and Bunny must’ve went out to grab some wood—was she hungry? When was the last meal she had? He had only dozed off for a moment yesterday evening. Surely he couldn’t have been asleep for that long.

The sheets on her own empty bed were rumpled. His stomach sank as he struggled to get up, nearly falling over. The room shifted for a moment as he gazed at the door.

How long had he been knocked out?

“Bunny?” he whispered.

She wouldn’t have left Isabel. She never went anywhere without that doll.

She had called him Papa.

He pushed aside the table, knocking over his tools, looking under it, repeatedly calling her name. He turned over everything in the room. His head was still spinning. Even though he was in his nightshirt, he rushed out in the pouring rain on the porch, raising his arms over his head. Coughing uncontrollably, he tripped down the steps, shivering as the rain started to make his clothing cling to his body. His bare feet sloshed against the muddy puddles as he began to circulate around the shack again.

There was nothing but trees, gray sky, and rain. The effects of Stacey’s nausea were still present, and as he gazed into the wilderness, his chest tightened. She knew better than that, to go off by herself so far to find some wood. She hardly strayed from the yard, where she often played with squirrels and critters in the mud. He was about to make his way through the trees when the sound of hooves pounding against the ground made him turn to the side.

“Mr. Holloman!”

Stacey froze in his tracks, standing in the downpour. Mr. Sebastian Merriman came rushing towards him—-her horse and carriage was only a few feet away. The horse appeared jittery, tail swinging back and forth like the hand of an old grandfather clock. His wife sat on the driver’s seat, clutching the reins. She had a large patterned umbrella over her head, the patterns more visible in the rain. She avoided eye contact with Stacey and shifted her gaze to her husband, who attempted to place both of his hands on the disoriented young man.

”Bunny.”

“Listen to me, listen to me—” Sebastian began, but Stacey easily pushed him off and attempted to head down the muddy road. With a grunt, Sebastian managed to hold onto him, to prevent him from taking a step forward. “Get a hold of yourself!”

“Where is she?” Stacey’s deep, raspy voice echoed through the trees. There were black dots forming at the edge of his vision. “Where did you take her?”

”You need to—”

Stacey suddenly grabbed Sebastian by the collar and lifted him up in the air. Despite Mrs. Merriman’s screams, his gray eyes remained fixated on the much shorter man’s panicked look. His boots helplessly dangled in the air.

”Don’t you tell me what I need.”

”Take it easy!”

“Where the hell is my daughter? What have you done with my child?” The words slipped out of Stacey’s mouth. “Where is she?”

”Please,” Sebastian wheezed.

Stacey narrowed his eyes. “I’ll snap yer neck like a chicken if ye don’t say. Where is my daughter?” The words rolled out of his tongue, and he hardly recognized his voice.

My child.

“Herskes,” Sebastian managed to choke out.

“ ‘Tis P-Paul Stilton’s doing. That’s all I know.”

A deep heat flushed across Stacey’s face. He tightened his grip, causing Sebastian to squirm in pain. “Where did they take the girl?”

”I don’t know.”

”Try again,” Stacey snarled. “He pay you something to keep yer mouth shut, yes?”

“I…I swear! I don’t know which part of town.”

Stacey didn’t say a word.

Sebastian wrapped both of his hands around Stacey’s scarred wrist, attempting to break his grip. “They took her into town real early this morning,” he wheezed. “They’re going to find a place for her to work in Guadana. Paul Stilton’s orders.”

Stacey released him as Sebastian collapsed to the ground with a heavy thud, taking a couple of steps back. Beads of water gathered at the ends of his black hair. He weakly sank to his knees in the mud, trying to comprehend the sudden ringing that had descended upon his ears. After catching his breath and motioning for his wife to stay put in the wagon, Sebastian knelt down in the mud next to the coal miner, who had buried his head into his dirty hands.

Despite how hard he attempted not to show it, Stacey was deeply startled to find that he was fighting back tears—his eyes were stinging something fierce, and he was desperately blinking them away. He couldn’t remember the last time he had ever cried; even when he had buried Eliza and his girls he hadn’t shed a single tear, only paid the priest a few copper coins and headed to the tavern that very evening. He replayed the moments in his mind when Bunny had asked him to take her with him before he left for the evenings—how he had wanted to but knew that she was far too young to understand the nature of the things he had to do, or why. He released a shaky breath—his body was badly craving a drink, but he knew that he couldn’t numb this away, as he had several times before.

No more of this foolishness, he told himself. The child can’t be far. Pull yourself together.

”Where is this place?”

“I don’t—”

”Tell me where, damn it!”

”Holloman,” Sebastian began. “ ‘Tis just an orphan out of many. She was sent back to where she belonged. You can’t change that.”

She was gone.

Just like his two other children.

Stacey began to repeatedly to slam his fists in the ground, over and over again, until his knuckles were bruised and swollen and bleeding. He felt Sebastian’s hands firmly wrap around his wrists in an attempt to stop him, but he wanted to break all of his fingers.

”Look at me.”

His grip tightened, then relaxed.

“Look at me, Holloman.”

The coal miner lowered his sore arms.

Sebastian’s voice echoed in his ears. “She is in good hands. I assure you.”

”Ye let them come and take her.” Stacey’s gray eyes were bloodshot as he finally looked at the other man. “Ye and that blowsabella wife of yers. If I come down there and see a single bruise on that child—” Stacey’s head was spinning, and he stumbled to his feet. “Ye all dirty rotten pigs, ye bloody, worthless, filthy, despicable—”

”You’re incapacitated.” Sebastian interrupted. He lightly touched the now dark red ring around his neck with his hand and winced in pain. “This is for the best. And you know it is.”

No, no, no.

”Mr. Holloman.”

”Get away from me,” Stacey whispered.

”You can’t interfere. You let the authorities handle this. The main thing of the matter is that you ought to count yourself lucky that Paul Stilton hasn’t sent you to a jail cell yet. But I believe he’s inclined to change his mind at any moment, so you need to remain put.”

”They took my daughter.”

”You have no papers proving that the child belongs with you. She is a runaway from the orphanage, where she is to be immediately returned. Afterwards she shall be sent to a stable home in Guadana, where she will receive a proper education. That decision has already been made.” Sebastian took a step forward. “Be reasonable, lad. You did all that you could. The best thing you can do is put this behind you. Let it be.”

Stacey’s chest rose and fell.

“Paul Stilton won’t allow you in town.”

”The hell with him,” Stacey spat.

”It’s quite obvious that you need the child more than she needs you. She is in good hands, a place with people who mean well. She can begin to work, mayhaps a scullery maid or a servant in an established household.”

“She is only ten years old.” A dark expression fell over Stacey’s face. “She is but a baby, and you let those people take her away from me.” His voice grew louder as he took a step forward, causing Sebastian Merriman to slowly back away. “The same people who left all them bruises on her arms and legs, the same people who left her out in the snow, who nearly killed her. You’re going to bring her back to those people?”

“She belongs to the parish.” Sebastian struggled to see in the rain. “If you had taken my advice, this would have gone a lot smoother. You can’t fight the law.”

Damn you all.

“My wife and I, we tried to warn you, Holloman. You wouldn’t send her to school. You leave her alone here at nights.” He took off his soaking wet hat. “You’re not fit to raise a child, and it’s about time you accept that.”

”What, and do you think the people there who beat and starved her nearly to death are capable of doin’ so? They should be near no child,” Stacey yelled. “Ye gonna give her right back to those people? That what ye gonna do?” He sank his fingers in the mud. “Ye get away from me. Ye make me sick.”

“She will get into a good home. Rest assured.”

Stacey slowly looked up, his large gray eyes wide and bloodshot. His left fist was trembling. He was a light sleeper—how had not awakened? Bunny must’ve screamed, hollered as they lifted her out of that bed—how could he have slept through it all? He closed his eyes, not wanting to imagine it.

“Do you understand? This was inevitable.”

“I promised I would never leave her,” Stacey whispered. Beads of water dripped from the ends of his hair. “I promised I wouldn’t. I ain’t. I ain’t letting no one take her away.”

Sebastian glared at him. “ ‘Tis the best for the young’un, Holloman. You need to know—”

He had only gotten a few words out as Stacy rushed to his feet. The coal miner went back to his tiny shack, picked up the axe lodged within the wooden stump, his rifle lying on the porch. He reloaded it with gunpowder, dumping it in with his shaking fingers. After securing the weapon around his shoulder, he gave Mrs. Merriman one long, hard look, before turning down the road.

The woman’s eyes were swollen from sobbing, and she was weakly dabbing her cheeks with a laced handkerchief, shivering under her frilled green umbrella. Stacey pointed at Sebastian with the edge of his axe, who was watching him with great disbelief.

“You come on my property again, I’ll kill you.”