The best place to look for monsters was in the tree line along the highway. Young Lana held firmly to the belief that those crooked branches hid giant creatures that could swallow her in one bite. Only the little cottage, tucked off the beaten path, could keep her safe. On those long drives to her grandmother’s cottage, she kept a vigilante watch under the early dawn light. Lana told herself that’s when the monsters were most active. When unsuspecting children, drowsy from sleep, drove through the forest. The search entertained her long enough for the sleep to lilt her eyelids shut while the hushed argument of her parents faded to the background
Once, the early morning light tricked her eyes. Lana pulled over immediately with a racing heart. Was this her moment? She was older now, wiser even, and could fight off any monster that dared to roar at her. But when the branches stilled, Lana came face to face with a young doe, scrounging around for the last few pieces of green before the first frost. With a heavy heart, Lana gave up her search for the monster. And every drive since has felt a tad duller.
Lana sighed, shifting her legs against the car door. The early morning rays made the forest glow golden against the autumn leaves. Her grandmother would’ve loved this view. Her fingers itched to snap a quick picture, but it was too useless. Lana rested her chin against a closed fist, letting her breath fog the window. There was nothing worth seeing out there, anyways.
Her fiancée, Finn, drummed his thumbs on the wheel in time with the quiet music. She and Finn normally spent the long drives to her grandmother’s cottage loudly, and extremely off-key, singing along to their favorite songs. But today, it felt too cheery despite the beautiful morning. Lana’s jaw felt disconnected from her brain, her tongue a limp muscle. Like she’d have to manually lift it to make any sound come out. The music would have to wait.
“Did you remember to grab the boxes off the counter,” Finn asked, turning the volume knob slightly to the left. A little furrow formed between his brows as if neglected boxes were the most distressing matter awaiting him.
She hummed a response, barely registering the question. A nauseous pit rested at the bottom of her stomach, churning her insides until they threatened to spill. Lana ran through the mental checklist she made earlier: Tape, markers, and packing boxes. The items burned a hole in the trunk of the car. It was nearly impossible for her to forget their purpose. She slunk down into the car seat and resumed searching for the monster one last time.
Finn nudged Lana’s side, cranking the music to encourage a sing along.
“Could you turn it down a bit? I’ve got a slight headache,” Lana mumbled.
“Probably because you didn’t drink enough water,” he shouted over the music, shooting a sideways glance. “Did you even sleep at all?”
“I did for a bit.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie. Lana did rest her eyes at one point, well after Finn began his orchestra of snores. Visions of a shadowy creature chasing her through the woods danced behind Lana’s eyelids. The cottage remained locked no matter how hard she banged on the wood or jangled the handle. When the monster loomed behind her with outstretched claws, Lana awoke. Covered in a cold sweat, she’d spent the rest of the night under the bay window, curled up in an old blanket crocheted by her grandmother.
The cold glass numbed the bare skin of her arm, but she didn’t mind. Lana pressed harder against the window, counting the bright stars in the cloudless night sky. It was a welcome distraction to keep her thoughts at bay. Each drift towards memories of her grandmother etched an unshakable numbness down her spine. She wanted to erase every note of laughter shared between them. Wipe away the many tears Lana cried onto her grandmother’s shoulder. But then the insurmountable guilt crept under the blanket to strangle her. The night dragged on in its agonizing loop.
She couldn’t muster the dregs of her energy to explain to Finn. Maybe in a few years, when the tidal wave of emotions submersed a bit. But for now, lying to him was easier.
Lana’s phone buzzed, drawing her attention away from the winding road stretching out in front of the car. Her arms remained glued to her side, feeling all too heavy to pry them apart. Lana imagined the road taking a sharp left, looping the car back to the expressway, and away from her grandmother’s cottage. If she scratched the place out of her memory, it would never hurt her again.
“You should tell them we’ll be there in five,” Finn suggested.
“I’ll get there, when I get there,” Lana muttered.
She bit back guilty tears with a hard swallow. Finn was only trying to be supportive.
The car slowed, inching around a hairpin turn. One more long stretch of road, and the little blue cottage will be sitting at the end like a twisted version of the finish line. The peonies lining the entry path will be sitting untouched, alongside the red gnome holding up a welcome sign. Her grandmother never got around to the fall pruning. Lana had asked Finn to rake the leaves into big piles only a few weeks ago. Even they were most likely still sitting at the end of her makeshift driveway. Panic surged through her chest, clutching Lana’s heart in a breath stealing squeeze.
It’s one day to pack up her cottage, Lana thought. She took three deep breaths, but her heart wouldn’t stop racing. Lana racked her brain for that one thing her grandmother used to say when the anxiety threatened to pull her under. But she was already forgetting the sound of her voice. Could barely remember the warmth of her skin as her grandmother wrapped Lana in a calming hug. The clammy feeling of ice-cold hands, foreign to Lana, shifted to hide the older memories from childhood.
It was all too much, too fast.
Finn reached over, placing his hand atop Lana’s resting on the center console. He gave a soft smile when her gaze reached his. It was sturdy with no wavering emotion lurking underneath but love. “It’s just one day,” he whispered, squeezing her palm.
Lana nodded, all her panic subsiding at the reassurance of Finn.
Three sedans and one van parked on the dirt driveway leading up to the cottage. Her only indication of the family waiting inside. She imagined the entire place already in boxes. Every knick-knack, old flower vase, birthday card, and memory packed away to be sent to donations. Her chest cracked at the thought, pulling her from the depths of that agonizing spiral from last night. Taking even the smallest glass tulip from the China cabinet became vital to Lana. She craved the smooth touch of porcelain under her fingertips. She’d scavenge for a broken magnet off the fridge if she had to, but Lana would not leave without something to tie her memories firmly in place.
The car dinged as Finn popped the trunk open. The subtle crackling of a cooling engine mixed with the birds’ morning song. Lana noticed the dawn about to break over the treetops. Silhouettes paced behind the blue lace curtains, limply hanging over the cottage windows. All she could do was watch as the numbness raked itself over her body.
“You coming, love,” Finn called from halfway up the driveway. A pack of flattened boxes tucked under his arm and the small baggie of markers dangled in his fingers.
A long-awaited tear trailed down Lana’s cheek. This would be the last memory of her grandmother’s cottage. No longer will it be waiting for her with warm yellow lighting filtering down from stained glass lamps. The smell of baked goods will never again waft out the door as she steps inside, greeted with old jazz records spinning on the entry table.
Worst of all, Lana would never feel the motherly caress of her grandmother after another world-shattering argument with her parents. Nobody would be there to fight off the monster for Lana. The thought impaled her heart, threatening to bleed out in the car.
Low voices carried over the wind, whooping around the forest, as Finn opened the front door. Lana froze, wiping the evidence of tears off her chin and cheeks. Her feet were numb in their boots, unable to lift from the car mat. Despite her determination moments ago, Lana wasn’t ready.
Slowly, as if being pulled by a puppeteer, Lana pushed open the car door. The autumn air nipped at her neck. She pulled her wool coat tight around her shoulders, already feeling frozen inside. The dead leaves crunched under her boots as Lana stepped off the driveway and onto the grass.
The metal seat of the porch swing stung through the thick jeans. The wind did most of the work, but Lana gently rocked her knees to swing with the rhythm. Her eyes closed with one deep breath, inhaling the biting wind. If the monster caught her right now, Lana wouldn’t mind. She’d even welcome the slicing sting of its claws because no pain will ever come close to saying goodbye.
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Nicole Mishra is a recent graduate from Purdue University with a B.A in Creative Writing. When not writing, she can be found curled up beside her cat with the latest fantasy series in hand. “Sleepless Monsters” is her first publication.
© 2026, Nicole Mishra
Halfway Down the Stairs 