Arron Steep: The Collected Stories

​Acknowledgements

A Most Successful Failure , in its original format, first appeared in the Owatonna High School’s literary and art magazine Chimera (2008) .

Amaranthine: Divine Descent first appeared in Sentaku: A Short Story Anthology (2020), and later in Amaranthine with Other Short Stories and Poems (2023).  

The following stories first appeared in Amaranthine with Other Short Stories and Poems (2023): Threshold of Dawn, Mentor, Stale Desperation, Something Like Fate, Obscura, Winona and His Rump, The King’s Promise and The Mangar Prince and the Fairest Daughter.

The following stories first appeared in Morning of the Ouromor: A Collection of Short Stories and Poems (2024): Broken Man, Awutku, Vertex in Peril, Joyride, Morning of the Ouromor, August and June, Glory, Good Riddance, That Child, The Gossamer Lady and Keys to the Castle.

​The Gossamer Lady

Rosie jolted awake , meeting the curious eyes of her young daughter. Evie was pointing with a dainty finger in her mother's direction. Rosie realized then what her fingers had unconsciously grasped for. Hurriedly, she slipped the necklace beneath her blouse. Oh, this is nothing. Enough questions now, my little sprite. Let’s get you to bed...

Sometime later Rosie was reclining on the sitting room divan, wrapped in a cozy throw. A mug of tepid chamomile tea was sitting upon the end table and an undisturbed book lay across her lap. The curtains were drawn but headlights could be seen slowly tracing their way across as a car entered the drive. The front door was unlocked and Rosie’s husband came inside. He removed his overcoat and greeted her softly, as not to disturb their sleeping daughter. When Rosie did not stir from her daydreaming, Matthias settled down beside her. You’re quiet tonight. Something wrong?

Rosie blinked and turned to her husband with a wan smile. Her face looked more gaunt tonight, he thought. Her cheeks were sallow. Her strawberry-blonde hair, ungroomed and wispy, fell across her thin shoulders. 

At last she said, No, I’m fine... I was just... reading...

Matthias placed his hand on hers. The lines on his face deepened, his eyes marked by weary concern. The book on her lap, one of the colored fairytale collections by Andrew Lang, had been sitting on their end table unread for months. She never once even opened the cover.

Tenderly, he asked, You’ve been going back there again, haven’t you? Thinking about it. Though posed as a question, Matthias already knew the answer.

No! Rosie blurted. Frowning, after a pause she added slowly. Not exactly. I just—

She bit back her words. She turned away, her hand withdrawing from his touch. Her fingers reached for her neckline. In a whisper, she managed, You know I can’t do this.

He sighed. I know, Rosie. I know. He reached for her other hand, gently squeezing it as a familiar concession. But you understand that I’m here for you, right? No matter what. Whenever you’re ready, you can tell me. Words he meant sincerely, yet now felt almost hollow after so many years of saying so.

Rosie didn’t need reminding. Despite her inability to express it, she deeply loved Matthias: she always had, ever since they were children. Yet the subject of her past trauma was a heavy and complicated burden. Rosie had become so disconnected from the life she had previously known. The details of her time away had grown hazy and even dream-like. How could anyone hope to explain what happened? Missing for seven years, but for what felt to her like only a few hours. She had left as a girl but returned as a young woman. A child’s mind and emotions in a strange new body. She couldn’t dare tell them the truth; after all, she could barely fathom the truth herself. Furthermore, and most importantly, Rosie had made a promise. A promise that she couldn’t afford to break.

As Rosie lay in bed that evening, like so many other sleepless nights, her hand found its way to the ring resting at her breast. The narrow band of silver, on a chain, was engraved with patterns of intertwining vines and blossoms. This ring was her only connection to the past, to her life before the disappearance.

Sometimes Rosie would remember things. Fragments of memories. The imagery would bleed into focus at times, like a freshly painted watercolor. She would experience recollections both vague and vivid at the same time. Rosie would remember the path by the river, the thicket not far from her parents’ home. She would be running through the woods, the whispering wind in the trees and the redolent fragrance of wild flowers heavy on the air. Lights in the canopy blinked and shimmered: sometimes they were fireflies, sometimes they were stars.

Happy times had been found there at the riverbank. Yet to consider those memories now, and to think of the price she had come to pay—Rosie shuddered.

A FEW DAYS LATER, MATTHIAS was at work and Rosie was dressing her daughter for the day. As she removed the child’s pajama top, Rosie led out a near-silent cry of alarm and dropped the clothes. Around the child’s neck was an all-too familiar sight. Rosie snatched at her own neck, a rebuke riding on her lips. Yet then she stopped. Her necklace was still there.

Evie noticed her mother’s gaze and turned bashful as Rosie questioned her about the identical item. The girl mumbled something about finding the trinket in the garden at the back of the house. Suddenly ill, Rosie moved with blind abandon to the bathroom. She hunched over the sink, taking ragged breaths, her heart palpitating wildly.

It couldn’t be! No, no—it couldn’t—!

Evie stood in the doorway. There was no more sign of the chain and ring. The child sniffled, lips pouting and eyes tearing up. She was frightened and gestured to be held. Rosie quickly reclaimed herself. They embraced. It’s okay, my little sprite. Mum is sorry for scaring you. Everything is okay.

THE NEXT DAY AFTER playtime and lunch, Evie wandered out to the yard. At the back of their lot, just down the hill, woods met the river. Rosie peered from the house with mounting disquiet as her daughter sat in a shady spot near the tree line.

Suddenly, a shape formed from the shadows. Fear clamped Rosie's heart. She moved to the door to call out to Evie, when suddenly the ring at her breast stunned her with an intense heat. Rosie fought the intensity. Her eyes seemed now to pierce the shade of the woods with newfound keenness.

The shadowed figure resolved into the form of a woman, dressed in a chiffon gown, with long, wavy hair. Her garments flowed like gossamer. The woman’s mien was sharp and yet tender. A smile like Spring sunshine lit up the woman’s face as she handed Evie a wildflower.

Rosie felt her heart begin to race. She felt weak and moved for the support of a chair. She was mute but regaining control. The sight of the woman’s face burned in Rosie’s chest a flash of emotions: raw, brilliant ecstasy which clashed with a clinging fear and rancid shame. Rosie knew that face, she knew that woman: the Gossamer Lady. The elusive memories from her past came crashing back, nearly too much for her to bear with conscious resolve.

When at last the warmth had fled her chest and she could wipe away her blurring vision, Rosie fought again to the doorway, and called Evie. She found the girl once again alone, playing as she had before with no sign of the woman. Rosie met the girl at the wood’s foreboding edge and told her it was time to come inside.

ROSIE REFUSED EVIE’S requests to play outside for several days, but at last she could not refuse her. When the young girl returned to the wood’s border, as before, the Gossamer Lady returned. The heat at Rosie’s chest also returned, seeming to emanate from the ring. Her hands felt sluggish, too heavy to move. Yet, no longer was the warmth an affront and a hindrance, but now soothing. It seemed to reassure her that everything was alright. Despite this, her mind raged in opposition.

Every day for the next week the figure returned, playing with Evie just beneath the wooded shade. The sylph-like Gossamer Lady danced and sang and played with Evie. As these visits continued, Rosie cautiously watched her daughter. Fearful passions diminished to mere weariness, hinting on jealousy.

Yet that’s when things changed. Rosie felt an unexpected release as if the valve of her emotions had been opened. Rosie could see in color again. Every moment was imbued with joy and hope. The wonder seen through the eyes of her daughter had opened Rosie to life again. To her husband, also, like never before. With every chance she got, Rosie embraced Matthias and kissed him. They cuddled in the evening hours with the rekindled passion of newlyweds.

Her husband was bewildered by the change, but thrilled, and they grew ever closer and more in love. Rosie was living in the moment. She was a changed woman. But what happened? Matthias also noticed a change between mother and daughter. He always knew Rosie loved their daughter, but where before it was a melancholy love, now the relationship was tender and bright. All the while, he wanted to ask Rosie what had changed. Patiently, though, he knew she would tell him when the time was right.

ALTHOUGH THE VISITS of the Gossamer Lady persisted, Rosie had yet to tell her husband. She determined that guilt would no longer stifle their marriage. One morning, laying in his arms, Rosie finally told her husband about Evie and the sylph-like visitor. Matthias was shocked but Rosie asked him to wait and see.

That afternoon, Rosie took Matthias to the back door and pointed to the shady spot. As often was the case, the Gossamer Lady was playing with Evie. Matthias was troubled. He fumbled with the door, calling out at the stranger. But the figure looked up in their direction with a hard look: stern, but also sad. She knelt beside Evie and hugged the girl. Once the figure withdrew to the wood, Evie came running back to the house in tears.

Rosie knew instantly what that look meant and why the girl cried. At first she felt relief, but then sad and anxious.