Possum and Fly
Sarah Zweighaft
“I’m way past six feet under right now,” Possum panted. His hands, which were grubby previously to the dig, began to blister. He took notice of this, and a scowl formed on his face. Possum was a proud Pagan. He bared Amethyst around his neck at all times, a token of spirituality and contentment. Unbeknownst to most, the stone also stood for sobriety (a fact which Possum kept to himself).
“I believe that’s just a saying,” Fly snickered, “They certainly don’t bury caskets at exactly six feet below the ground.” Fly examined their pocket watch. The task was taking longer than anticipated. Fly tried not to get anxious over the matter, and shoved the watch back in their corduroy pocket.
“Well, I suppose ten feet is kind of an overkill, don’t you?” Possum wiped his greasy, unkempt locks out of his face. If it was dawn, one would be able to make out the hazel streaks in his hair.
“What’s it to me? I’m not the dumbass with a shovel in his hands,” Fly chortled. It hurt to laugh. They noticed their chest start to tighten. This meant trouble for Fly. It was always difficult to get their anxiety under wraps.
“Woah, you don’t look so good. Do you need some elixir, friend? It’s really no trouble. I have some in my purse,” Possum, being the more intuitive of the two, rummaged through his bag. He always carried concoctions for Fly on him, for Fly’s nerves were a common plight during adventures.
Fly plopped their lanky body onto the moss-covered Earth floor, their legs dangling into the grave, “I promise I’m fine... The fae are rampant in these parts; I can sense their presence. It puts me at slight unease, ‘tis all.”
“I don’t believe that for a second. Your fears are coming true. Aunt Julia keeps appearing in your dreams for a reason. And you know exactly why. That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”
“She isn’t yet at rest, Possum. This is where she’s allegedly buried. If she was here, we’d have stumbled upon her body by now. I don’t like the thought of her wandering aimlessly through the veil. I have to do something,” Fly began to hyperventilate. Their shoulders inched towards Fly’s ears as they convulsed.
Possum grew frantic, “You’ll worry yourself sick with such gibberish, friend. We’ll find Aunt Julia… I’ll tell you what- next time she visits you in a dream… we’ll- we’ll catch her!”
This made Fly perk up slightly. They wiped away their tears, and straightened up, “We can do that?”
Possum nodded. He was sure he could make Aunt Julia appear as long as Fly went to sleep. He scratched his head, “Get in the grave.”
“Is this some sick joke?” Fly let out a shrill cry.
Possum muscled his way out of the Earth’s den and huffed, “Just do it, alright? You need a dark spot to shut your eyes. You’ll feel safer in the confined space. C’mon, it’ll be just like your burrow.”
Fly contemplated this for a moment. They knew the familiarity would help them regain their breath. Fly eventually succumbed to this thought, “Oh, alright. You won’t leave me down there, right?”
“I won’t. Honest.”
Fly slid down the dugout after taking an apprehensive breath. The dirt was moist, as if the Earth soaked up their sweaty nerves. Fly’s mahogany eyes seemed to match the soil to a tea. They looked up at Possum earnestly, “What now? Do I just lay down?”
“Yes. This will only work if you relax. I need you to try to sleep.”
Fly shuddered as they kneeled to the silt. The Earth felt far too welcoming to Fly. It was as if the heavenly body was beckoning them to never leave this place. Tears ran down Fly’s scrawny face. Fly’s arms extended- all they longed for was their mother’s embrace.
Possum heard the whimpering and acted quickly. He pulled some lavender from his purse and recited an incantation:
Groggy bones lie in murky homes,
Let the dust settle and rest,
A velvet sheet upon thy blessed,
Allow sleep to beckon thee,
No more fears shall reckon thee.
Fly’s whimpering was no more, and Possum stared out into the darkness. He was sure to stay alert, for Fly knew he had to act as the look out for Aunt Julia. Possum’s attention shifted to his soaked boots. At that moment, he wished he hadn’t worn leather.
‘What a poor spot for a gravesite,’ he thought, ‘This is practically a quagmire.’
He sat and waited for Aunt Julia to emerge, but she never came. The sunrise began to peer out through the shrubbery. Possum grew desperate; he knew Fly would awaken soon. No spell in the world would ease Fly’s mind after this.
A loon was swimming through the nearby bog. Her feathers were silver under what was left of the moonlight. She stopped and looked to Possum, with the slightest head tilt.
Possum heard a murmur from the burial pit, “Possum? Is she here? Do you see her? I thought her up in my dreams. Surely that worked!”
“Yes-yes. She’s -um… right here! Yes, she just arrived. It’s as if she knew you were waking up!” Possum looked desperately over at the loon. He couldn’t bear to disappoint Fly.
“I’ll tell you, Possum, you’re a Pagan if I ever knew one! Your magic truly is something. Aunt Julia, I’m coming up now!” Fly could barely contain themselves. They ascended from the grave with glee. Said glee came to a halt upon catching sight of the loon, “What’s this?”
“You don’t recognize your own Aunt? Clearly, she isn’t in the form you remember her in, but she’s very much alive and here with us. Don’t be rude, give her a pet.”
Fly pondered this for a moment, nodded in understanding. They began to smile once more.
Fly crouched down by the loon, “Aunt Julia! My apologies, I almost didn’t recognize you. You look dashing through and through- time has done you some good. Possum here helped me find you!”
The loon examined Fly, and let out a charming chirp. The croak was melodious and warm, as if the loon knew to play along. She shook her feathers in delight, which splashed some water in Fly’s direction.
“I’m so relieved to have found you, Auntie! You must come home with me. I insist. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself knowing you were out here alone,” Fly picked up the unprotesting loon.
And with that, Fly, Possum, and the loon began their trek home. As their trip dragged on, Possum began to believe that the loon was Fly’s aunt. The loon’s identity held no importance though. Possum was just happy to grant his companion some peace of mind.