The Trinket of Poppy Field

Dear Julian,

How strange it is to write this by hand. I planned on just sending an email once the package arrived, but this seemed more fitting. Who knows? Maybe it’ll be a cool detail for your book. Should I have sealed this with wax and stained the paper with tea to give it more of a “haunted house” feel? Perhaps you can embellish the story when you tell it.

This isn’t really a story, though. More of a memento. A little piece of history that might take you somewhere if you look into it. Cristina thinks it’s creepy and that we’re cursed, but that’s just how she is. She swears the thing whispers at her sometimes. A writer’s imagination never takes a break.

I found it the last time we were in Dreary, clearing my mother’s house. I’m thankful for Eleanor to this day for being such a great help. And she was so understanding, too. Mom was very confused that day and kept accusing her of trying to steal the spoons. I don’t think I could have kept it together for as long as I did if it weren’t for Tina holding my hand and Ellie putting up with mom’s nonsense.

Only the good die young, I guess.

Seeing the strongest woman I’ve ever known, the one who told me she loved me no matter what, and who got us through the worst of times, behaving like a petulant child was just too much. That was going to be my life from then on, managing my mother rather than counting on her. I had to get away for a while.

I decided to take Allie for a walk, though she was walking me more than the other way around. I took her off her leash and just let her roam.

You remember how that old mutt used to be. She’d pick a scent and never rest until she found what she was looking for. I somehow ended up on Poppy Field, though I suppose there are worse places to visit in Dreary Foggs.

The city was setting up the stage for the Memorial Day speech, but the morning rain had paused construction earlier that morning, leaving only an unsteady shell behind. Do you still do the speech on Poppy Field, Julian? If not, perhaps we should change the name to something more accurate. Unremarkable Unoccupied Space That Never Had Poppies In It? Yes, that sounds about right.

Either way, the half-constructed stage was like an eerie haunted house. I was so scared that Allie was going to get stuck under it that I tried to leash her again, but she wouldn’t have it. And of course she went straight for the fragile, structurally challenged stage that could fall on her head at any moment.

I called Allie back, but she was already crawling underneath it, digging and shoving her nose in the dirt. I stood there, watching helplessly and waiting for the worst. I was so tired by then I almost turned on my heels and left. But how could I tell mom I had left her best friend behind? Even without the Alzheimer’s that wouldn’t have been a fun conversation. The only thing left for me to do was crawl in behind Allie and force her out.

That was probably the lowest point of my day, crawling through the wet mud and the prickling grass to get the damn dog.

“You’re a very bad girl,” I told her, mud soaking my sweater and water leaking into my shoes. She didn’t care. Her nose was stuck to the ground and her tail was wagging madly. Whatever she’d found, it had made her very happy. “What do you have there anyway, you silly mutt?”

As if to answer my question, Allie dropped the object of her hunt right next to me. She tried to sit back, realized the stage was too low for that, and lied down on the dirt instead, waiting for me to pick up her new toy and throw it for her to retrieve it.

All I could do was stare. I couldn’t believe I’d ruined my clothes for something so stupid. And yet, I couldn’t look away. It was so… well, I think you’ll know it when you open the box. I don’t even know why I kept it for five years; it just fascinated me.

I leashed the dog and dragged her back to my mom’s house. Allie didn’t fight it the way she used to when we were younger; her trophy was safely in my pocket, so her worries were gone.

Cristina was waiting on the porch. Eleanor was inside with mom, and mom, well, she was staring through the window, not quite calm just empty. You know what I mean? It was still the early stages, but there was nothing there. Allie rushed to her side and I should have done the same, but I didn’t. I couldn’t.

Tina smiled with pity when she saw the state I was in.

“Tough walk, Jessie?”

I didn’t want to talk, so I just showed her the thing in my pocket that had caused all that trouble.

Do you know what’s funny? Tina didn’t like it immediately. She’s a bit superstitious and thinks that personal items carry too much energy, too much history.

“It’s one thing if your parents leave you an old vase that once belonged to your grandmother,” she explained to me once. “That’s family. That’s someone you know. But imagine picking up a creepy porcelain doll from a yard sale. No, ma’am. No way in hell am I doing that. Lord knows what that thing would bring into our house.”

Tina gave the thing such a glare I couldn’t help but smile. It was the first time that day I managed to do that.

“What happened to the woman who once flipped off an entire congregation?”

“She met someone who picked up cursed objects for fun. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not end up possessed by the ghost of Jane Doe, thank you very much.”

“Can’t be worse than it already is.”

I nodded at my mom in the window. Mom laughed. Not for fun, not because she could hear me or even understand me. She just huffed out a chuckle, as if to acknowledge I was trying to be funny and encourage me to keep going.

Tina sorta chuckled too.

And I laughed. I laughed like a crazy person who’d just stumbled on comedy gold. Like my demented mother sorta thinking I was funny was the most hilarious thing I had ever heard. And then I started crying. Of course I did. I’d held it together for two days, but now the dam was broken and I couldn’t stop.

Grief is a massive bitch, isn’t it, Julian?

I didn’t think about Allie’s little trinket until we were back in Calgary and unpacking her things in what was to be mom's bedroom for the next four years. I don’t even remember putting it away, but it was sitting at the bottom of one of the boxes.

Let me tell you, Tina was not happy about it, but she didn’t put up a fight when I had it cleaned and placed on mom’s bookshelf. When you open the package, you’ll see it’s actually quite pretty in an old, beaten down way.

It sat on the shelf, between The Picture of Dorian Gray and Good Omens. No demons came to possess us and no ghostly ladies were spotted trying to put it in their hair. Even mom ignored it. Only Allie continued to look at it whenever she sneaked into the room, as if wondering if she could make the metal squeak if she bit down hard enough. And, of course, Tina glared at the thing every chance she got. Sometimes, I catch her shivering at the sight of it, and I always say, “Is it whispering to you, babe? Are there voices in your head?

She half-smiles, half-glares at me like she knows it’s silly but can’t quite grasp how funny it actually is. Tina has written you a letter as well. I bet her perspective on how things went is a lot spookier than mine.

Anyway, last year time came to put mom in a home now that she’s unresponsive and needs 24/7 care, so we had to pack her bedroom. Again. One would think I’d be used to it by now, but it was just as difficult. How did you do it so fast, Julian? I admire your strength. Your kid is lucky to have you.

Sending Allie’s trinket to you was Tina’s idea. She thinks you might be able to track its family down and find a mystery worthy of your book. In truth, I just think she wants it out of the house.

I’ve packed it, wrapped it in brown paper, tied it with strings for maximum creepiness, and I sat down to write this letter by hand. If it turns out to be just trash, I hope the ridiculousness of it makes you smile.

Eleanor would have.

Best of luck with the book. I’ll try to make it to town so we can catch up sometime.

Jesse