The muddy earth clung to the shovel as I drove it in and out. After each pull, I flung the clotted mess over my head and out of the hole, lumps of the wet stuff splatting down on me as I did so. The rain thickened. My hair stuck to my neck in swirls and dripped cold rivulets down my back.

    I thrust the shovel once more into the soggy earth, the small puddle that was collecting on top of the soil splashing and bubbling around it. I hit something hard, the jolt of its resistance sending a pulse through the length of the shovel and up my arms.

 

    I stopped and leant the shovel against the walls of dirt enclosing me. I blinked raindrops from my eyelashes and knelt in the puddle at my feet, the brown water seeping through my pantsand turning already cold skin numb. Drawing a sharp breath, I plunged my hands into the cold, wet earth and scooped out armfuls of it until my fingers scraped against a hard root. Brushing away the grime I discovered little green shoots sprouting from the woody stems. I pulled at the twisted roots until, from the murky puddle, emerged white fingers, each one ending in a twisted spear of root and leaf.

    I sat back in the mud, the icy touch of the puddled water crawling down my thighs. The fingers, pale against the dark earth, reached for the sky. Raindrops fell on their leaves and slid down the ivory joints. I wiped the wet hair off my forehead, the grit of the earth on my hands scrubbing against my skin. I watched the water trickle down the rooty fingers a moment longer, then, with renewed energy, I clawed again at the earth.

    From the hand grew a white forearm; little green tendrils retreated into the dirt as I
uncovered its length. When both forearms were exposed the fingers on each hand twitched, rustling their leaves. I froze, my heart leaping against the walls of my chest; but there was no more movement.

    I stood, bending, and grasped the two hands that reached at me from the earth. Then, I pulled. The muddy soil folded and heaved. I tugged, grunting, fighting against the weight of it. I closed my eyes and strained until I felt the weight give and I fell backwards, my hands slapping against the puddled water around me.

    When I opened my eyes, a man sat before me. Thin root tendrils crawled back from his pale face and arms. As he held his hand before his face, flexing the fingers, the roots receded into his skin, the leaves drying and crumbling, falling off in bits. Beneath the mud his skin was so white, he looked like a ghost rising from the grave. Thick dark hair curled from his head, molded to his bare shoulders with sticky mud. When he raised his eyes to me, their color reflected the rich dark of the earth around him.

    I placed my fingertips on my lips. “It worked,” I whispered.

    Raindrops plunked into the puddle around me. The man looked at me. I pushed myself up onto my knees, so I sat close in front of him. His eyes followed me, but he said nothing. Slowly, I extended my hand toward his. When our fingers touched, he did not flinch. In my astonishment I could not keep a breathy laugh from escaping me. The man remained silent, his face impassive.

    “You will come home with me,” I said. “You will come home with me now and we will help each other.”

    Something awoke behind the man’s dark eyes. His fingers clasped mine and he nodded.