I scamper up behind a tree, the branches spreading out, folding out the sun rays, hiding me in the dark. I gasp and gasp for breath. My legs fill with a sharp pain. I look around. He’s gone. Where did he go? Did he die? No, he couldn’t have died. Not already. I turn around to search. But that was my mistake. Looking away for the slightest moment, she gripped me with her claws, thawing at my skin, needling the words straight into my arm. Then it was over. I was Over. “Youch! Arnold!” I screech. Arnold laughs. “Keep an eye out, Rachel. Else the ants gonna get you!” I scowled at my brother. Always thinking he’s the best. I picked up a balloon filled with ants. Then I threw it in a perfect curve, and. . . “Dang it.” I say. Arnold laughed as all the ants crawled out of the balloon nestling on the rock they landed on. They swarmed around, likely taking in some fresh air, rather than being squeezed into an ugly shade of a yellow sphere. I sigh and lay down on the grass. Arnold comes over and lays beside me. His auburn hair so close to me it tickles my ears. I stare up at the clouds. One shaped like a turtle. Another like a wristwatch. Then another like her. Ma told me and Arnold the story many times. She always told us never to say her name. Then she warned us to never, ever, ever go to the basement. Of course, we always went to the basement. Once, we’d been crawling around the dusty room, pulling at spider webs, coughing in dust clouds, sweeping off loads of dust and germs off cabinets, chairs and such. That’s when Arnold said, “Rachel! Look here!” I ran over to him. He was hovered above a chest, a glamorous gold, though the chest was so small that it fit perfectly in my palm. I picked it up. It glowed in my hands. Carefully, I pulled open the lid of the chest, trying with all my might not to crush it with my fingers. What was inside pulled the excitement right out of my body. It was a necklace. A boring old ridiculous old silly old necklace. Necklace! I shut the chest and dropped it on the ground in frustration and disappointment. A necklace! Argh, I couldn’t believe it. “Rachel!” Arnold said, lifting up the chest. “What?” I replied, my stomach sizzling. Then the sizzling stopped. Nope. I was wrong. What Arnold was waving in front of my eyes was definitely not a necklace. It was a medallion. A large, gleaming medallion. In the center, it had teeny symbols that first were waves, then turned into spikes, then settling into straight lines, all spreading out across the medallion. Covering the designs, was the word that Ma would always say, always make us memorize and memorize, always telling us that we were that word, and that we should pretend we weren’t. Then she would once again say that we were. The word Amalga. We were Amalga. And that was a curse. Staring at the clouds, staring at her, I carefully pulled out the medallion hidden under my shirt, touching the word carved into it in gold. I never understood why Ma was so worried about me and Arnold being Amalga. I never even knew what being Amalga meant. All I knew was that it was bad, bad news. And that she would come after us as soon as she found out that we were Amalga. “Hey, Rachel?” Arnold said, his stale green eyes looking up at the clouds. “Ever wonder why Ma always gets to say Anaxea’s name, but not us?” I sat up, startled. He said it! Why did he say it? He shouldn’t have said it! “Arnold!” “What?” “Why’d you say it? You’re supposed to only refer to her as her or she. Not you-know-what!” I complained. Arnold sat up. “Is Ma’s fantasy getting into your head, Rachel? Anaxea’s rubbish. That medallion is rubbish. Ma’s stories are rubbish. It’s all lies, Rachel. Those types of things belong in a story, not real life.” I gasped. “Ma wouldn’t fill our heads with lies like that! Plus, it's better to be safe than sorry!” “Are you okay right now? You’re the one who always says none of it is true. You’re the reason we went to the basement. You’re the one wearing the medallion that Ma says is cursed. You’re the one who always goes to the garden picking the white flowers!” I paused. He paused. The white flowers. How did he know? Every night white flowers would bloom in Ma’s garden, and Ma would always say they were the most important part of keeping us safe. She said that she hated white flowers. Hated hated hated them. Ma said never to pick them. So of course I picked them. Then I crushed them up, and threw them in the trash. But I always did it at night, without telling anyone. So how did he know?
Arnold sighed. “You’re too careless, Rachel. So I followed you that first night. I thought you were going to do something crazy. Then I saw you picking the flowers. Since then, I never saw a single one in that garden.” The wind rustled my auburn hair. The medallion rested on my shirt, gleaming in the sunlight. “So you’re a stalker?” I said. “Ha ha.” Arnold replied. But he smiled, so I knew he was kidding. That dinner, Arnold and I sat beside each other, even though Ma said our Amalga aroma would be too strong, and she would be able to sense it. So of course, we sat so close to each other I kept knocking Arnold’s glass of water over with my elbow. Then Ma made us separate. As we were eating, Ma suddenly stood up, and faced both of us. She looked startled, like she’d seen a ghost. But that was crazy. Ghosts weren’t real. “Rachel, Arnold, what have you two been doing?” she said, her words quick and short. “Breaking rules? Picking flowers? The medallion, the basement, did you. . .?” Her words were in a crazy rush, as if she had only seconds before we would never see her again. But that was crazy. “Run.” she said. Arnold and I sat. What was going on? “Run! Use the medallion, it’s the only way. But whatever you do, run!” Arnold and I sat some more. What the flowers was going on? “Arnold! Rachel! Run!” she screamed more urgently. But this time, she wasn’t looking at us. She was looking behind us. So of course, me and Arnold looked behind us. Then, the world froze. It was her. Yes, her, the one we should never say the name of. It was Anaxea. Right behind our backs. My mind raced. If Anaxea is real, and Ma’s stories are true. . . “RUN!” I screeched. Arnold didn’t wait. He got up, running for the door. I ran after him, far into the night. The last thing Ma ever said to us was, “I love you, my little Amalga.” Then all I could see was Anaxea, eating Ma whole.
