The House That Curves

The House That Curves

Past Filmore Road, up the cobbled, fake-old lane,

there’s a wooden house tucked away, hiding like a stray

cat with an arched back behind a line of plastic shrubs.

You’ve moved in next door.

You’ve never seen a wooden house before,

only in photos from before the Great Drought.

The neighbors say, “What house?” and squint.

The fine print on the mailbox says 458 Filmore Rd,

with the curving, looping font

of tree rings and wedding invitations.

It’s an invitation. You bake some bread, banana.

It’s the best for first impressions. You trot

up the driveway and it slopes like something stretches

underneath. The windows arch up like eyebrows.

You shiver with a strange desire, your spine crinkling,

and rap the gnarled knocker with knuckles trembling.

The sound curls through the house.

The door opens like tree boughs reaching for

the sun, and you’re sure

you didn’t move, but the floor moves you inside

like wind buoying a bird through its branches.

You dare to crook your neck up

and there They are.

They have vaulted cheeks like a ballroom ceiling,

and a smile that leans you up against the wall.

You wilt, you tilt, and proffer the bread.

They say, “Would you like to stay?”

Their words turn the corner of Their smile

and grow down into your lungs,

an infusion of something honey-sweet,

with an aftertaste of old health and leaves.

It’s such a potent tea inside,

you know at once. You realize,

they’re a dryad who kept Their tree alive,

even after the rainforest dried,

even chopped down and cut to size,

hiding behind the night of human sight.

You gasp out, “I’ve moved in next door,”

but the words twist round your lips into,

“I’ll move on in to your first floor.”

They take the bread with a bow.

Somehow, Their teeth are both sun and sleep,

a sweet invitation, a fungus rot,

a lure to procure compost for Their tree,

So They can plant new rainforest seeds.

You know this, and yet,

The turn of Their spine still steals your breath.

This dryad of the curving house

has sown Their wishes in your chest.

Emmie Christie’s work includes practical subjects, like feminism and mental health, and speculative subjects, like unicorns and affordable healthcare. Her novel "A Caged and Restless Magic" debuted February 2024. She has been published in Daily Science Fiction, Infinite Worlds Magazine, and Flash Fiction Online, among others. Find her at www.emmiechristie.com, her monthly newsletter, or on TikTok.

Copyright © 2024 by Emmie Christie

Published by Orion's Beau