The Scarf
By Samantha Mabry
Carrie and her family had moved out to Yellow House Canyon during the winter that baby Christopher was born. For weeks, Carrie had watched her mother knit things for the baby using old yarn pulled from sweaters and wood needles that were smooth and discolored from constantly clicking against each another. She admired the way that her mother’s fingers moved so quickly and with such precision and that she was able to create something whole out of a long, single strand of color.
“It has to be perfect,” Carrie said, as her mother was making what would turn out to be a small blanket. “Because the baby will be perfect.”
“It can’t be perfect,” Carrie’s mother replied. She stopped knitting for moment, leaning over to stir the soup on the fire. “Everything knit has to include at least one mistake. If it doesn’t, evil spirits will get trapped in the knots and never leave.”
“Will you teach me?”
“One day.”
Carrie’s mother explained that she needed all the yarn she had to make things for the baby and to mend old socks before the first freeze came. Carrie understood. She knew that it was important that the baby stay warm.
A couple of months later, after Carrie’s father had left for Clovis in the early morning, Carrie’s mother reached into the small space under one of the floorboards and pulled out a fresh skein of red yarn. While she nursed baby Christopher at the table, Carrie’s mother talked Carrie through the simplest stitches. Carrie wanted to make a cap for the baby, but her mother suggested she try first to knit a simple scarf for herself.
Over the course of several days, Carrie spent her time between chores working on her knitting, often starting and then unraveling rows. Despite what her mother had told her about imperfections and the trapping of evil spirits, Carrie wanted her scarf to be perfect. She didn’t know how her mother had come by the money to buy the yarn, and so she didn’t want to waste it. One night she stayed by the fire after her mother and Christopher had gone to sleep, worked until her eyes would barely focus, and then finally fell into bed once she’d tied off the end of the last row with a small knot.
The next morning Carrie wrapped her new scarf around her neck and stepped outside to get some cut wood from the pile. As she placed the logs into her arms, she glanced across the canyon. As far as she knew, no one lived in the cabin over there, but today smoke was trickling out of the chimney. Carrie thought that squatters had probably moved in, and she went on with her chores.
It snowed the rest of the day, and Carrie stayed up that night to care for her mother who had come down with fever. In the morning it was still snowing when she went out for more wood. Carrying the logs back to the house, she noticed that the cabin across the canyon still had smoke coming out of its chimney, and when she looked at the front steps she saw a girl wearing a red scarf staring back at her. She was shivering. Wet snow clung to her hair. Her eyes were like two black holes.
Carrie ran inside, dumped the wood by the fireplace, and sat down on baby Christopher’s pallet on the floor. She watched him sleep for a while before pinching the fat on his arm. When he started crying, Carrie picked him up and hummed to him until he went back to sleep. The rest of the day Carrie spent looking after her mother, whose fever wouldn’t break.
That night, in front of the fire, Carrie put her scarf in her lap and picked free the knot at the end of the last row. She tugged and tugged and watched the loopy knots unravel. After a while, Christopher woke up and started crying. Carrie made sure her mother was still asleep before she threw the bundle of red yarn on the fire, and then went to feed the baby with the last of the goat milk.
Carrie’s mother’s fever broke overnight, and by morning she was out of bed.
“Your father should be back today,” Carrie’s mother said, as baby Christopher nursed.
Carrie stepped out for more wood and saw the cabin across the cabin looking old, cold, and empty.
It was March when Carrie and her mom finally left the canyon. While her mother was packing, Carrie wrapped Christopher up in a bundle across her chest and walked over the other cabin. The front door creaked as she opened it, and as she stepped on the floorboards they creaked too. She saw white ash in the fireplace and no furniture. She thought the house looked and felt a lot like hers had when her family had first moved in last winter.
Once back outside, Carrie walked around the cabin and out to the rim of the canyon. She saw a small wood cross and a mound of earth. As she stepped closer, Carrie noticed that the grave had been recently dug up by animals, probably coyotes. She shifted sleeping Christopher onto her hip, and knelt down. Part of a jawbone with small teeth still attached jutted up from the earth. Careful not to touch the bone, Carrie covered it back up with dirt. Then, after saying a silent prayer that her mother had once taught her, she started back to the other side of the canyon, holding Christopher tight to her chest.
- - -
Samantha Mabry lives in Dallas, TX, where she writes stories about ghosts, families, and families of ghosts. She has been recently published in H_NGM_N and is working on a novel about a haunted hotel.
By Samantha Mabry
Carrie and her family had moved out to Yellow House Canyon during the winter that baby Christopher was born. For weeks, Carrie had watched her mother knit things for the baby using old yarn pulled from sweaters and wood needles that were smooth and discolored from constantly clicking against each another. She admired the way that her mother’s fingers moved so quickly and with such precision and that she was able to create something whole out of a long, single strand of color.
“It has to be perfect,” Carrie said, as her mother was making what would turn out to be a small blanket. “Because the baby will be perfect.”
“It can’t be perfect,” Carrie’s mother replied. She stopped knitting for moment, leaning over to stir the soup on the fire. “Everything knit has to include at least one mistake. If it doesn’t, evil spirits will get trapped in the knots and never leave.”
“Will you teach me?”
“One day.”
Carrie’s mother explained that she needed all the yarn she had to make things for the baby and to mend old socks before the first freeze came. Carrie understood. She knew that it was important that the baby stay warm.
A couple of months later, after Carrie’s father had left for Clovis in the early morning, Carrie’s mother reached into the small space under one of the floorboards and pulled out a fresh skein of red yarn. While she nursed baby Christopher at the table, Carrie’s mother talked Carrie through the simplest stitches. Carrie wanted to make a cap for the baby, but her mother suggested she try first to knit a simple scarf for herself.
Over the course of several days, Carrie spent her time between chores working on her knitting, often starting and then unraveling rows. Despite what her mother had told her about imperfections and the trapping of evil spirits, Carrie wanted her scarf to be perfect. She didn’t know how her mother had come by the money to buy the yarn, and so she didn’t want to waste it. One night she stayed by the fire after her mother and Christopher had gone to sleep, worked until her eyes would barely focus, and then finally fell into bed once she’d tied off the end of the last row with a small knot.
The next morning Carrie wrapped her new scarf around her neck and stepped outside to get some cut wood from the pile. As she placed the logs into her arms, she glanced across the canyon. As far as she knew, no one lived in the cabin over there, but today smoke was trickling out of the chimney. Carrie thought that squatters had probably moved in, and she went on with her chores.
It snowed the rest of the day, and Carrie stayed up that night to care for her mother who had come down with fever. In the morning it was still snowing when she went out for more wood. Carrying the logs back to the house, she noticed that the cabin across the canyon still had smoke coming out of its chimney, and when she looked at the front steps she saw a girl wearing a red scarf staring back at her. She was shivering. Wet snow clung to her hair. Her eyes were like two black holes.
Carrie ran inside, dumped the wood by the fireplace, and sat down on baby Christopher’s pallet on the floor. She watched him sleep for a while before pinching the fat on his arm. When he started crying, Carrie picked him up and hummed to him until he went back to sleep. The rest of the day Carrie spent looking after her mother, whose fever wouldn’t break.
That night, in front of the fire, Carrie put her scarf in her lap and picked free the knot at the end of the last row. She tugged and tugged and watched the loopy knots unravel. After a while, Christopher woke up and started crying. Carrie made sure her mother was still asleep before she threw the bundle of red yarn on the fire, and then went to feed the baby with the last of the goat milk.
Carrie’s mother’s fever broke overnight, and by morning she was out of bed.
“Your father should be back today,” Carrie’s mother said, as baby Christopher nursed.
Carrie stepped out for more wood and saw the cabin across the cabin looking old, cold, and empty.
It was March when Carrie and her mom finally left the canyon. While her mother was packing, Carrie wrapped Christopher up in a bundle across her chest and walked over the other cabin. The front door creaked as she opened it, and as she stepped on the floorboards they creaked too. She saw white ash in the fireplace and no furniture. She thought the house looked and felt a lot like hers had when her family had first moved in last winter.
Once back outside, Carrie walked around the cabin and out to the rim of the canyon. She saw a small wood cross and a mound of earth. As she stepped closer, Carrie noticed that the grave had been recently dug up by animals, probably coyotes. She shifted sleeping Christopher onto her hip, and knelt down. Part of a jawbone with small teeth still attached jutted up from the earth. Careful not to touch the bone, Carrie covered it back up with dirt. Then, after saying a silent prayer that her mother had once taught her, she started back to the other side of the canyon, holding Christopher tight to her chest.
- - -
Samantha Mabry lives in Dallas, TX, where she writes stories about ghosts, families, and families of ghosts. She has been recently published in H_NGM_N and is working on a novel about a haunted hotel.
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Love this, it gave me chills!!