Page 58 of Molt

I look down at the tooth on the floor and reality returns. “Don’t touch that.”

“I wasn’t planning on making a necklace.”

I crouch and use a washcloth to pick it up. The drilled hole catches the bathroom light.

Something is inside it.

I bring it closer. A thread.

No.

Hair. A single strand has been fed through the hole and knotted.

Dark and long.

My stomach twists.

I know that hair.

“August?”

I don’t answer.

“What’s wrong?”

I unwrap the strand carefully. There’s something attached to it.

A tiny folded piece of paper. Old enough that it nearly disintegrates beneath my fingers.

Lenora moves closer. “Is that writing?”

“Yes.”

“What does it say?”

The ink has faded. But I can still read it. Because I’ve seen this handwriting before.

Not Lenora’s.

Mine.

My hands begin to shake.

“What?” she asks.

“I wrote this.”

Her face changes. “You said you’ve never seen the tooth.”

“I haven’t.”

“But you wrote the note?”

“Apparently.”

“Read it.”

I don’t want to.