Cherry Feeds Her Soul
Previously Unpublished
Tonight, Cherry must feed her soul for the first time. She stands outside the cemetery, clutching the warm wicker basket tight between her hands. She couldn’t be more tense if she tried. Her feet are pressed together, boney ankles rubbing against each other. The discomfort doesn’t bother her, though. The only thing on her mind right now is trying to find the soul, the one meant for her tucked deep within tombstones.
“Mom?” Cherry looks back at her mother, her voice wavering as she tries to hide the fear bubbling up inside her. “Do I have to feed my soul by myself?”
Her mother smiles, tsks gently, and runs her fingers through Cherry’s bright red locks. “Cherry, sweetheart, you know no one else can feed your soul. You’re the only one who can find it.” She puts her hand on Cherry’s shoulder and turns her softly to face her. “Your soul won’t reveal itself to anyone else.”
Cherry nods. She knows every other young witch in the family goes through this process as soon as she turns eighteen. Her mother toughened up and marched into the family cemetery when she was Cherry’s age. Surely, Cherry thinks, she could do it too.
A new doubt wiggles its way into Cherry’s mind. “What if… what if my soul doesn’t like what I bring it?” Her gaze drops down toward the black-and-white gingham cloth covering the freshly baked goods.
Her mother shakes her head. “There’s no need to worry about that. If you love what you made, your soul will love it too.” She puts her hands on the sides of her daughter’s head and tilts it forward, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead.
Cherry braces herself and turns back to face the cemetery. The house is right behind her. No matter how wooded the cemetery seems, she knows that the house will always tower above. “I’ve got this,” she whispers, and she tightens her grip on the handle of her basket.
As soon as she steps through the wrought iron gate, the ambience of the night changes. Goosebumps rise on Cherry’s arms, and she shivers. It dawns on her that she has never been in the night without the hum of insects, the croak of frogs, and the hooting of owls in the distance. It unsettles her.
The silence constricts her, pushes itself deep into her ears. Cherry tries to take in a deep breath, but her dress feels too tight. It takes everything in her to not drop the basket in her hands. Cherry steps forward, cautious, anticipating something, but what, she doesn’t know. Nothing happens. She whips her head around. As nervous as she is, she never considered to stop and ask how she was even expected to find her soul in the first place.
“Hello?” As soon as she says it, she suppresses the urge to smack herself in the face. Everyone here is dead, she tells herself. Calling for someone is not going to help her in this situation. Or would it?
Cherry follows her feet on the adventure they take her, weaving in and out of the tombstones. She occasionally pauses and tries to read the inscriptions, but the deeper she goes, the more faded the stones get. “Hello? My name is Cherry Camus… I-I understand I’m meant to find my soul out here?” She tries to contain the waver in her voice.
In the back of the cemetery, she sees a faint glow. She squints and leans her bodyweight toward it. “Hello?” Her voice is small. “Are you my soul?” Cherry takes a small step, and the glow grows brighter. Without her meaning to, a smile creeps across her face. Cherry breaks out into a run, each step just as silent as the last.
Upon her approach, the glow that is the soul starts taking human shape. That makes Cherry slow, although it doesn’t make her freeze like she was expecting it to. She raises the basket up like a shield, putting the baked offering between her and the soul. She trembles and forces her eyes to shut tight.
The soul lifts its head, sniffing the air. It rises off the ground in the same manner a cartoon character would fly after a pie on the windowsill. A creaking voice breaks the silence. “Is…that…cinnamon…?”
Cherry peels one eye open. “Yes, it is. Do you…like…cinnamon? I made these cinnamon rolls just for—”
Before Cherry gets her last word out, the soul lurches forward, and passes its hands through the cloth. It removes a roll through the fabric, and the dessert takes on the same faint glow of the soul. Cherry stands there and watches its fluid movements. The soul digs in. “I haven’t had a cinnamon roll in forever,” it smiles in her direction. “I love them more than anything.”
Cherry returns the smile and lowers the basket from her chest level to down where her arms can relax. This soul is definitely hers. “I’m glad you enjoy them. I baked them myself just before arriving.”
“They’re perfect.” Its voice trembles gently, joy invigorating the sound. “You did a good job…” It pauses, as if hunting for her name.
“Cherry. Cherry Camus.”
“Yes… you look like a Cherry. These are exquisite.”
Cherry smiles. “Thank you.” She sets the basket on the ground, right in front of the tombstone. “So, you’re just going to be here? And I can come visit whenever?” She looks at the soul, hoping she understands the transaction properly.
“That’s right.” The soul wipes its mouth with the back of its hand and reaches down into the basket, extracting another steaming cinnamon roll. “You just need to bring me another dessert. I won’t say no to another basket of these.” It sinks its teeth into the tender bread. “Now, unless there’s anything else, begone, or whatever.”
Cherry beams and turns, retracing her steps back out of the cemetery. The silence no longer frightens her, but cocoons her. She loves her new soul.