210 292
Christopher Kloeble
210
Anni and the Shape-Shifter
White light stabbed at her
eyes. Anni ran across a
snow-covered field toward
the Moorsee, sinking up to
her knees in the snow with
every step, a cold headwind
whipping her cheeks and
tearing at her cloak. When
she reached thewooden pier
from which, on hot summer
days, the two of us had leapt
into the water hand in hand,
she closed her eyes and held
her breath. Now she was
alone with her heartbeat.
Apart frommy sister, nobody
made the hour-long trek
to the Moorsee during the
winter. She came to the lake
as often as possible. It was a
nothing-place: no smells, no
noises.
Cautiously, she lowered
herself from the pier onto
the frozen surface, dodging
those spots where the ice
was shot through with
cracks, and rushed on all
fours toward the center of
the lake, where, wiping the
snow and frost aside, she
sat observing her reflection.
Darkly gleaming curls spilled
from under her knit cap,
her thirteen-year-old face
was full and round; since
she’d started eating with
gusto again, the number of
dimples had doubled.
Something moved beneath
the ice. Anni let out a shrill
scream, shook her head,
breathed on her reflection,
polished it with her sleeve,
and leaned so close that the
tip of her nose touched the
ice—nothing to see. The lake
was as black as if night were
hiding down there, waiting
out the day.