My old house was creaking under the weight of ghosts, and I knew it was the uneasy time labeled bed. Sleek, blue Addie hovered in her crystal aquarium.
“Goodnight Addie,” I said, placing a few pellets on the serene surface, that ether boundary of her world, residing as she does in the meniscus of life.
Later, I am yanked awake from fitful, light sleep by the sound of splashing water. Eyes bleary, I stumble down the hall to the studio to Addie’s aquarium.
Inside was a feral little girl, curled up inside the tank, her bony, bluish body pressing against the glass. Her hair, brown and unbrushed, was tangled and soaked.
“Where’s Addie ? Who are you?” I gasped.
Then she looked at me, staring bleakly out of her hollow face, and I knew it was Addie.
I blinked, and the girl was gone. The aquarium was still there but almost completely empty. I felt inwardly disheveled. My discombobulation turned to horror when I saw Addie beached on the neon rocks, gasping for breath, her gills clutching at whatever water got too close.
I ran to the sink and filled a measuring cup with water. I dumped it out into the tank quickly. First one then another, until the tank filled.
But when I returned to the aquarium with the last cup of water, Addie was gone. Wet footprints scampered out the door, and a wisp of a child somewhere runs wild.
Miniature Moon 