Free A Girl of the Paper Sky by Randy Mixter Page A

death of my parents. I promise you, I will not let him harm any more people I love.”
    I gripped her shoulders as tightly as she had gripped my hand.
    “The next time I return to the paper sky, I’ll kill that son of a bitch.”

26
    Rosalind Mary Mayfield came into this world on the second day of June, 1971. Brian’s parents, Charly and Paul, were a constant presence at the Columbus Sacred Heart Hospital before, during, and after the birth. I’d like to think my parents were there too. In fact, I’m sure they were.
    Aunt Betsy visited twice, each time with a huge stuffed animal in hand, and I even received a visit from Brian’s Uncle Todd who, according to my husband, was in the running for the world’s biggest lush. He certainly did nothing to dispel the notion that day. He seemed tipsy when he entered the room. His gift, a bottle of Irish whisky, didn’t make it through the afternoon, as it made the rounds between Todd and Brian’s dad. Even Brian took a hearty swig before collapsing in a coughing fit.
    Each time I looked at my baby in my arms, I smiled. And, each time, I thought of the smoke man of the paper sky.
    I had not dreamed of the place since my talk with Charly, not once. In a sense I was relieved, but I was also worried. What if I never returned there? What if the thing grew stronger in my absence? What if it was once again more flame than smoke? I thought of my last journey to the Clarksdale of the paper sky, and how the steel mill had grown, how it had taken over the town. Was there a connection there? A connection between the mill and the scarecrow?
    I looked down at my daughter. Somewhere in her face - her eyes, her nose, her mouth - was a part of my mother, the part that would live again through Rosalind.
    Not long ago, I told Charly I needed to return to the paper sky before my daughter was born. I needed to end it before it was too late.
    “It’s all in the hands of God,” she said. “God will take you there when he is ready.”
    I didn’t recall her mentioning God before. “Do you think God has something to do with this? Do you think God is involved in some way?”
    She smiled. “My dear child,” she said. “Let’s hope so.”

    Life settled into a regular routine. Brian worked while I took care of Rosie. I felt guilty asking Brian to see to her when she cried at night. He had to work the next day when I didn’t, and at least I could take an afternoon nap when Rosie took hers.
    It was during one of those mid-day naps that I returned to the paper sky. It was a brief trip, but long enough to know something was not right.

27
    I no longer stood on a hill. This time I stood in the town square of Clarksdale, not far from the gazebo in the park, the location of the scarecrow’s first sighting by my mother. And yes, the scarecrow was now my official name for the vile entity that haunted this place.
    If he was lurking around, I neither saw nor felt his presence. The paper sky had returned in all its majesty. Ribbons of color crossed the afternoon sky in a tapestry of tones, ebbing and flowing.
    I found I could walk. For the first time under the paper sky, I had legs beneath me, moving me from my starting point to wherever I chose to go. I decided to head in the direction of my home, my first home that is, not the house where I currently resided.
    Clarksdale had an eerie, deserted look to it. I noticed there were no vehicles of any kind on the streets, and even if there were, there was no one around to drive them. I saw no straw deer roaming about, nor any foxes blending into the scenery. In this paper sky Clarksdale, I seemed to be the only living inhabitant.
    Another strange thing was that the town shops and businesses stood where they belonged, but the signage displaying their names was missing. I came to Read’s drugstore where Brian and I first talked about our dreams over milkshakes years before. The glass window by the entrance was covered with a layer of soot. In fact, when I looked