To Whom It May Concern by Anne Wolfe

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Chapter One

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To Whom It May Concern

Chapter One

Mt. St. Helens, Washington

 

“You are so lucky to live up here, Becca!” Ethel grinned through her shivers. “Back home it’s been an oven all month.” She shoved a persistent clump of dense curls back under her hat.

 

“What I’d give…” Rebecca’s three scarves muffled her voice considerably. “I don’t see how you can stand the cold, Eth. I’d rob a whole bank to be able to work from Mom and Dad’s.”

 

“Too bad I didn’t go into accounting. I’d go hiking every day after work if I had your job.” Ethel plunked her hiking stick on the rocky trail with every step.

 

“You can paint anywhere, can’t you? You could just move in with me.” Rebecca plied her stick with but the faintest whisper of sound, as if thinking she might see a moose plod into her field of vision if only she was quiet enough.

 

Ethel pursed her lips. “I guess, but Mom and Dad would get lonely.”

 

“Ahh.” Rebecca nodded. “Can’t have that. Maybe they could move up here?”

 

“Like they’re ever going to leave Great-grandpa’s farm.”

 

“Oh, yeah… Well, I’m sure we can figure something out. If you want.”

 

They walked in silence for some time, frequently pausing for water or a small snack.

 

Ethel squinted into the distance. “Hey, Becca. You see that?” She pointed a mittened finger in the pertinent direction.

 

Rebecca also squinted. “Well, I sure see something weird. Do you suppose someone tripped and dropped their flashlight?”

 

“Perhaps… Hey, there isn’t any rule against getting off the trail, is there?”

 

“I’m sure it’s disapproved of at the very least. The ground can’t be very stable— Ethel Sarah Meyer, what on this green earth are you doing?”

 

Ethel hopped off the beaten path and bolted for the glowing splotch in the distance. “I’m just getting the flashlight— I’ll be back in a jiffy!”

 

The light source was buried under a pile of small rocks, and indeed one more pebble might have obscured it from view entirely. Ethel swiped the top layer away, revealing—

 

“Oh, say it ain’t so.”

 

A brilliant white gem lay nestled among other, more common stones. It glowed.

 

She had read about such things as these, forbidden things which brought an ill fate to any who dared possess them. If her knees had not failed her, she might have stood. She might have returned to Rebecca. She might have left the whole ages-old, supposed-to-be-fictional mess behind her.

 

She could not stand. Her knees collapsed under her, and her saliva seemed to boil in her mouth. Oh goodness, she was going to throw up if she didn’t do something. She pulled her scarf off, and took deep breaths of the cold air. Eventually her mouth returned to its normal temperature. She replaced her scarf.

 

Since she could not stand, she sat.

 

Well. Perhaps she ought to think about things— it would certainly be better than running blindfolded, so to speak. She looked away from the jewel and shut her eyes.

 

The entire Silmarillion stood as good evidence for why she ought to calmly leave without even touching the thing— but someone who hadn’t even read The Hobbit might come across it and decide it would be a cool souvenir. Ethel shuddered to think of the bloodshed that would result from that— oh, bother it all.

 

She’d have to take it. She couldn’t trust anyone else with it.

 

Not wanting it to burn her hand, Ethel left her mittens on to grab the Silmaril and stuff it in her backpack. Shoving it down under the extra water and trail mix, she began the walk back to where Rebecca still waited with tapping toe and crossed arms.

 

“I got it!” Ethel forced a carefree grin.

 

“You’d better have. Why’d you sit down for so long?”

 

“Had to take a breather. I’m absolute garbage at sprinting.”

 

“Wimp.” Rebecca punched Ethel’s shoulder. 

 

Ethel laughed. “Oh, sure, Miss can’t-take-the-cold.”

 

Rebecca rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Come on, let’s finish this hike.”