Stain of Secrets

8001 words

Jo’s fingers trembled as she scraped at the edge of the black stain in the cotton field, the dirt caking under her nails like dried blood. The air out here was thick, heavy with the tang of iron and something older, something that didn’t belong to the earth she knew. Her knees pressed into the soft, red clay, damp from last night’s rain, and the heat of late afternoon bore down on her neck, sweat trickling into the collar of her faded blouse. She could hear the cicadas screaming in the trees at the field’s edge, a relentless hymn that drowned out her own ragged breathing. The stain wasn’t just a mark anymore—it had spread since yesterday, stretching out like a shadow with no source, its edges curling toward the house like fingers reaching for something to hold. “Jo, you out here again?” Robert’s voice cut through the buzz of insects, sharp and frayed at the edges. She didn’t turn, didn’t stop digging with the small hand trowel she’d snatched from the shed. The metal scraped against a pebble, a grating sound that made her teeth ache. “Woman, you hear me? Lily’s up there drawin’ them pictures again. I don’t like it. You gotta talk to her.” Her hand paused, the trowel hovering over the stain. Lily. Those drawings—charcoal scratches...