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readingat3amisnormal · 3 years ago

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ndiana, ’76. Scorcher of a year, gotta tell ya, and the fields sure showed it. You couldn’t see nothin’ for miles and miles out from the interstate, nothing but oceans of barren land and broken dreams. Maybe a scarecrow or two if you were one of the lucky ones.

“Poor dears,” Mom piped up from beside me, hands crossed over her chest as she leaned forward to get a better look. Dunno what she could see that I couldn’t, we were doing 70 in my Camaro. Everything but the road ahead was a blur.

“Hm?” It was hard to hear her over the growl of the engine and the gale-force air conditioning. “What’chu say?”

“They’ll starve, love.” She put a hand to her forehead. “Tragic.”

Believe ya me, there was nowhere I wanted to be less than in that car, my very own brand-new baby blue that’d cost me an arm an’ a leg and five different Chevy dealers tryin’ to get me to sign on a minivan instead, goin’ where I was that day. But ah didn’t have a choice.

Yeah, yeah, I hear ya. Could’a jumped into moving traffic, coulda moved down to Mexico and changed mah name. But ah liked mah life. I liked mah job, I liked my house, I liked my hobbies an’ mah friends. The only thing I didn’t like was this situation right here. But all I wanted to do that autumn was drive, and I’d be damned if this was gonna stop me.

I adjusted my sunglasses.

We’d used up all the small talk on the way down from the airport, all the ‘How’d’ya do’s an’ ‘How ‘bout that heat, hunh?’. Now there was nothing but the uncomfortable knowledge that she’d abandoned me, I’d abandoned her, and that neither of us trusted the other anymore.

I should back up.

Right. Ten long, long years ago, when I was barely out of high school, I got an offer from a big university down south. Ma told me not to take it. I did anyways, and in doing so left behind my entire family and all of my friends.

Because I hated it there, you see.

But yeah. I guess Ma had a change of heart eventually, but I hadn’t been back in years. Years.

And here I was. Going back anyways.

I didn’t know what I was going to do, what I was going to say.

So I did what I did best.

The sunglasses flipped down over my eyes gave me the boost I needed. I put the pedal to the metal an’ let her eat the miles up.

Turning off the interstate was an adventure and a half, what with navigating the night-ouroboric off-ramp and serpentine streets. You’d think it’d be easy with the land as flat as it was, but nope. It was like they’d designed the stupid thing to waste your time and spit you right back where you’d begun.

Urgh.

The sour tang of sun-baked asphalt and gasoline lined my mouth like grease, worsening my already stormy mood. Could’a used a storm right then; the engine temperature dial was steadily creeping up into the red, and if there was anything worse than being trapped in a slowly overheating car with my mother, it was being stranded in the barley-fields with my mother.

“How long, ma?” I asked. It was the second time I’d spoken in as many hours, which was a real relief. I wanted to save all my socializing muscles for the meeting proper.

“Turn off here.” She said,

I brought the Camaro to a rolling stop, looked at the dirt path she was presumably referring to. “Ma. I asked you if we needed to go off-road, and ya said no.”

“It’s only a little bit, dear.”

“Ma, I could’a rented a truck-”

I bit down on my own retort, put ‘er into first and feathered the throttle to ease us onto the dirt path. I had better things to do than to get into a shouting match out here in the sticks; it’d get us put into the village stocks. Or get us burned at the stake.

Surprisingly, the Camaro didn’t bottom out. She growled and bucked and spun up dirt and all, but we kept trekking towards our destination. I had half a mind to be mad at it. Yeah, she was a real trooper- but ma would gloat the instant we arrived, and I could not deal with that today.

We crested the hill to find a herd of horses grazin’ all willy-nilly, scattered across the fields like flotsam in a storm. The barley undulated, making my metaphor even more apt.

“Ah, Cousin Bartebly told me ‘bout this.” Ma sat up straighter, rolled a window down before I could tell her not to or so help me. “Darlin’s, we’re here!”

They looked up at us. All of them, all at once.

Then they turned and darted towards the manor atop the hill.

“Ne’er bin good with animals, eh?” my grandaddy cacked from his perch on the front porch. He cackled even louder as I fought off the last of the chickens, who were pecking at my studded boots. “Land’sakes, girl, ya should’a known better!”

“Well, pa, ah told her,” Ma cooed, herself pecking at both his cheeks before taking up roost beside him. “Told ‘er all the way ‘ere.”

“Sura ya did.” I mumbled under my breath. Key word under- I’d managed to keep my head for three hours, and that was basically a third of the way there. All I had to do was stay calm, not respond to aggression…

“How’s them NASA boys treatin ya, sweetheart?”

I flashed a smile I hoped was blinding in the sun, all teeth and no joy. “Aw, jus’ fine.”

“Ya think ya can make me one o’ ‘em Astro-nauts?” Father and daughter laughed in time, polite and unassuming and literally my worst nightmare. “We gon’ go to the moon!”

Yeah, yeah, yuk it up. I sure wasn’t.

“Ah’ve missed this.” I said offhandedly, taking in my surroundings. “Houston ain’t half as tranquil.”

“Ain’t gon’ be tranquil for much longer, dear.” Ma nodded towards the horizon, where a horde of trucks was kicking up dust. “We got company.”

Company, as it turned out, was the entire town turning up to ogle their prodigal child. Oh, and to get some more NASA digs in.

It was miserable.

I thought I could handle it. I’d crunched numbers with my team for almost two weeks straight during the Apollo 13 disaster- barely any sleep, barely any rest, nothing but endless blackboards and this awful pallor that hung over the entire department like a plague.

I’d take it over this any day.

Meeting them, it became clear that not a single one of my fears had been misplaced. I had escaped, and now I was back to lord it over them, and oh.

Penny was the first big blow. She’d settled down with Sean, a match made in pure and utter mediocrity. White picket-fence and F-150 galore, they assured me, and I tried to pretend I was happy for them.

That sounded bad. I was happy for them. But…

How did they live like that?

Beverley- sweet, unassuming Beverly who would have joined me in Pasadena back in the 40s in an instant if it hadn’t been for her ailing mother. We’d grown apart, and now here she was- drowning in mediocrity like the rest of them. She showed me her hand-crafted doilies. I smiled, but it didn’t reach my eyes.

John, who’d lost two fingers and most of his fortune since the last time I’d seen him. Sarah, Lindsay, Joel…

Barely fifteen minutes in, with the walls closing in on me and the room heavy with regret and the horrid, rancid fervor of nostalgia, I had to stop.

“Guys, I-” I looked around at all the faces I’d left behind, now so different, now so distant. “I think I need some air.”

Cousin Da joined me out on the porch, looking out towards the dusky midwestern sky. “’sup, cuz?”

“Sky.” I replied. “Clouds.”

“You suck sometimes.” Da clapped me on the shoulder so hard I almost fell over. As it was, it took some stumbling and fumbling for the railing for me to regain my balance. “How long’s it been since I wrote?”

“A while…” I murmured, rubbing at the spot Da’s hand had connected with. “I’m sorry, dude.”

“Hey, no probs. Family, amirite?”

I smiled. “Yep”

I looked out to the fields.

I looked, and I looked, and I looked.

“…hey, Da.”

“Yea?”

“Where’d all the horses go?”

The house was empty, just like the fields, and I couldn’t tell which was more concerning.

“So,” I concluded, meeting up with Da on the porch. “Surprise party or horror movie. Which one?”

“Both!” Da threw his hands up. “Listen, don’t tell ‘em I told ya this, but there is a party. But they were supposed to wait for me!”

“Well, I-”

I’d barely started chiding him about throwing me a surprise party when the barn doors buckled under some invisible weight.

“Oh.” Me and Da said at the same time, then darted towards it.

Even as we approached there was a distinct din, a soft undertone of chatter hanging in the air like the chirping of cicadias, or the bubbling of water in a stream.

“Okay, okay-” Da stopped me before I barged in all willy-nilly. “I’mma go in there, an’ you will stay out here until I say it’s safe. Again- we don’ know if this is that surprise party, or a home invasion. Capiche?”

“Sure.” I nodded.

“Right.”

Da threw the doors open, and the susurrus ceased immediately.

“Huh.” A rake bobbed out of the darkness as Da frowned. “I thought we were waiting a bit longer- urk!”

The rake dragged Da into the barn like something out of an old slapstick cartoon, complete with the door swinging closed behind it.

I stared.

Then I ran.

Holy shit.

This was literally the worst, because I could leave anytime I wanted, but that would mean sacrificing my family and friends that I’d just spent a good deal of time reconnecting with to whatever eldritch beast haunted that barn. Or to zombie horses, whichever was closer to the truth.

Holy shit.

After I’d calmed down, steadied my mind, and performed some intensive soul-searching, I’d catalogued my options.

Run.

Fight.

Camaro

“Goddamnit, ma, you owe me big for this ‘un.”

I gunned it. The wheels of my beautiful baby-blue spun all the way until I hit the barn doors.

They splintered apart with an awful screeching and splintering, doing considerable damage to the front of the car. But hey, that’s why there was five feet of nothing between the engine and the start of the bonnet. They were smart when they’d designed this thing.

Bits of barn door and hay rained down around me like the aftermath of a tornado. Through the haze of grain-dust, I thought I could make out what resided in the darkness. Would hitting it with my car be enough to stop-

The passenger-side door opened, and my ma- crow’s feathers sticking out of her hair and hands- stepped in. “Dear, please gun it.”

I looked at her incredulously. “Wha-”

She slammed the stick into reverse, hiked up her skirt, and reached over the centre divider to slam on the gas just as an elephant emerged out of the gloom-

The car moved fast, the front swung out, and it was only instinct that led me to spin the wheel so we came to a stop. The elephant barely missed us, instead continuing into the fields at full tilt.

I looked over my shoulder into the barn and saw a veritable dirge of barnyard animals- horses, cows, buffalos, goats, and corvids of various shapes and sizes.

Ma grabbed my face. “Drive.”

Instead of think about what the hell was going on, I followed her advice.

Corvids blanketed the sky, and I can’t remember ever being so scared in my life.

“What’s happening?” I asked over the scream of the engine.

“Well,” Ma didn’t seem to be in any hurry to explain, which sucked because it was really imperative I got an explanation soon. “They’re, ummm… not in the right state of mind right now. They’re animals, you see. Right now.”

“What?” I slammed on the brakes as the elephant made another pass. “They’re always animals!”

“Bull.”

“What do you mean ‘bull?’”

There was a flash of vaguely bovine proportions, and suddenly we were at a standstill, and I was bleeding from the forehead.

In the distance, I saw a blur of shag and muscle coming around for another round. It’d just barely grazed the car the first time around, but the damage was considerable.

My eyes were unfocused, staring into the middle-distance. A corvid alighted on the hood of the car, staring towards me with its beady eyes.

“Stay.” It said in my grandfather’s voice.

“Darlin’, it’s comin’ round for a second go.” Ma tapped the side of my head, and I wanted nothing more than to sit there and let her. But if I didn’t get movin’ we were gonna get crushed.

So I got up, put the car into drive, and gunned it.

The creaking from the axles was straight outta my nightmares, and I’d barely gotten ‘er up to speed before I realized she was toast. But hey, she was still runnin’, and runnin’ fast enough to get us out ahead o’ that crazy bull.

Almost to the main road now, the only obstacle between us and it a-

“Ramp!” For the first time that day, Ma looked slightly annoyed. “I told them to get rid of that thing.”

I grinned, if only to convince myself of my plan. “We can make it.”

Through the fence we went, and there was only a split-second of terror where the tyres floundered for grip on the loamy soil, when I thought we’d lost enough speed that we wouldn’t make it. Then the tires gripped again, and we were soaring.

And then we hit the ground, and the kickback from the steering damn near took my thumbs off. We spun around in a wide arc, lining up with the road before I really let what was left of the drivetrain have it.

I didn’t intend to slow down until the state border.

I glanced in the rearview, barely able to see through the shattered glass. Mah hands were tremblin’, nerves pro’lly shot more than mah baby blue had been. But I’d grieve later.

“Never thought I’d be breakin’ for the border.” Ah mumbled.

“Never thought I’d be joinin’ ya.” Mum responded from her perch; right up against the back glass, lookin’ for any signs we were bein’ followed. According to her, if we made to Kentucky then we were home free. An’ given how fast we were heading down I-65, we’d be there in the hour.

I looked into the rearview mirror, right at her. “Do you have anything to say, Ma?”

“Not yet.” She frowned. “Keep yer eyes peeled. They might try and stop us still.”

“Ma.” I clapped, got her attention. “Ah’d appreciate a more thorough explanation, ma.”

“Ah’m sure ya would, sweetie.” She sucked her teeth. “But it ain’t that simple.”

“Try me.”

“Duck.”

I swerved to avoid the duck that’d wandered out into the interstate. “Ma, how much o’ this godforsaken state is shapeshifter country?”

She fanned at her face. “That was just a duck, dear.”

“Don’t call me dear.” I growled.

“Deer.”

“What’d I just-” The stag was clipped right across the face by my nearside mirror, smashing it to pieces. Ma leaned out of the window. “Sorry ‘bout that, Bart!”

I tried to control my breathing as she pulled herself back in. “He’ll be fine. Ah’ve seen that man shrug off tractors.”

“Wh- Bart from the farm?”

“Yes, Bart from the farm! Remember Bart?”

“Yeah, ah remember Bart! An’ Grandad, jus’ now, tellin’ me to stay!”

She sighed.

“Well, dear, ya said it. This here is shapeshifter country, and we’re just like the rest of ‘em. Ya left before we could show ya what we were- we have this whole thing, dear, on the night a ya eighteenth birthday and whatnot, but you’d left long before that.

“They were all excited to see ya, now, an’ show ya what we could do. An’ they got excited, an’ a couple got a bit too excited, an’ next thing your poor ma knows she’s the only one in the gosh-darned town that ain’t transformed. And we… well, we got a one-track mind when we’re animals, ya feel?”

“So, they wanted me to stay.” I stared at my knuckles. “To save them.”

“Aw, stop with that.” Ma complained. “You think you escaped. From us, from that town. That you were one o’ the lucky ones.”

We went almost a mile without a word spoken between us. When Ma finally spoke she was soft, demure. “Dear, ah understand that provincial life’s not what ya wanted. Yer happy, an’ we’re happy for ya. It’s just…”

I tapped my fingers against the wheel.

“The others don’t need savin’, dear. They’re perfectly happy as they are.”

I swallowed. “They are, then? Without me?”

“Oh, darlin.” Ma leaned forward, put her hand on mine, then flicked the wheel so we wouldn’t hit another duck. “We all missed ya. But sometimes ya just gotta let the ones ya love go. And if they come back, well…”

We were standing outside a Camaro dealership, where some poor sod had spent the better part of their workday cataloguing the damage to my car. Thankfully- far as I could tell- they’d have her fixed up in no time at all, and at very little cost to me. Bein’ high up in the government has its advantages.

Me and Ma were standing out in front, discussing what had just happened. It was… strange. But also not all that surprising.

“…so that’s mah mistake, then.” I said- referring, of course, to the whole ‘I escaped this awful town that I hated’ fiasco.

“Ayup.”

I turned to look north, towards where we’d just fled. “Ah, now I feel bad.”

“No hard feelin’s, dear. They’ll be right as rain next time ya come by.”

That, admittedly, brought a smile onto my face. “Thanks, ma. An’ don’ be too hard on the troublemakers, yeah?”

“No promises, dear.” She plucked a feather from her hair. “Keep this.”

“Thanks.” I accepted it, then stuck it into my bun. “Ya need a ride?”

“Ah can find mah own way back.” she assured me. “You take care now, ya hear?”

“Crystal, ma.” I grinned.

She turned, and then she was gone.

That night I dreamt I was a raven, beating my wings against a vast, empty sky.

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readingat3amisnormal · 3 years ago

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“So there I was, slowly sinking into the frigid waters off the gulf of Mexico with a briefcase full of GarfieldTM phones handcuffed to my ankle, and I’m certain that this is the end of the line, right? I’m tellin’ myself I did good, and that nobody coulda’ seen that triple-iso-mobius backstab- where all five of my shady business partners turned out to be a polyamorous pentuple that were gettin’ married on that Japanese whaler I’d snuck aboard- comin’. And I’m crying, and it ain’t really helpin’ cuz- y’know, I’m in the sea, and boy oh boy- when that looming maw emerged from the abyss, the only thing I could think was ‘well, it can’t be worse than New Jersey!’”

“Sir.” The service worker deadpanned during my pause for applause. “Please get off the display stand.”

“Honest-” I adjusted my position atop the tower of energy drinks, calling out to the grocery store as a new-age prophet imparting divine wisdom. “-first thing I did when I got cut out of that marine mammal’s bloated corpse- well, apart from yodel as loud as I could to tell mah ol’ pal Pichi I was still alive ‘n kickin’- was to get myself a deal with one of ‘em hot an up-comin’ IPO’s.”

“That’s not how IPO’s work!” a voice called from aisle seven.

“NOBODY ASKED!” I yelled in response. “Anywho, the CEO met me in a sewer and told me I’d been legally dead for fifteen years, can ya believe that? So, these so-called intellectual property laws don’t apply!”

I tapped the side of my head. “I’m a thinker, see? Don’t even gotta be an intellectual to own property! And I’m livin’ the life out here in small-town Idaho! Every other week the big man himself swings by mah alley an’ splashes me with some ice-cold water, which I do appreciate, then grabs mah shoulders n’ shakes me until mah brain waves line up right and I tell ‘im everythin’ I can’t remember! But I’m getting off topic.”

I swiped a can of instant energy from underneath me, bringing the stand one step closer to total collapse, and brandished it like a mace. “These things are obsolete! All you need are some porpoises and- and all we gotta do is make them salivate! I asked the local librarian, and she told me to ‘get out of her house’ so that was a bust, but the second we got that figured out we are. In. Business!”

Those last three words were punctuated by loud claps, and a wide grin. “Who’s with me?”

The static hum of the air conditioner and tak-tak-taks of various consumers dialling 911 punctuated the lack of response.

“Sir, I’m going to have to call security.” The service worker insisted.

“Hey, now, I didn’t believe it at first either,” I admitted, spreading my arms to either side. My tattered sleeves fluttered in the cool breeze. “But I am living proof that whale spit is, in fact, potable! And, might I add, surprisingly delicious.”

“Security is on their way, sir.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

I clambered down from the display stand, glancing around for the mall cops that were honing in on my location. “But hear me when I say, the days of soft drink monopolies are coming to an end! Watch, as one man brings down their empire single-handed!”

I knocked a load-bearing can from its place, and the pyramid of cans crashed to the ground, sweeping away consumers like a tidal wave. The service worker stood in place.

“Hah!” I made my way to the exit, trying to make wading through an avalanche of cans look sexy and certainty succeeding. “I mean, I haven’t eaten or drank in days an’ ah feel fine!”

With that, I tripped, fell over, and immediately passed out. The last thing I can remember is the service worker sighing, “Hey, Apio? I’m clocking out.”

I woke up in the back of an old minivan, with my face in an empty crisps bag. Cheddar, approximately seven days old, well-enjoyed. My talents are numerous and strange.

It wasn’t exactly surprising- I’d woken up in similarly unfortunate positions numerous times over the past half year or so. Still, it was never pleasant.

“So, you’re finally awake?” a familiar voice called.

I groaned. “Hey, how ‘bout we don’t do this. Just drop me off somewhere beyond the city limits an’ I’ll hitchhike mah way outta your hair.”

“You got somewhere you need to be?” the service worker asked, stoic as always from their position at the wheel. “If so, I’ll acquiesce.”

“Too early in the morning for that sorta language, friendo.” My head throbbed. “Not to impose, but could ya spare some water?”

“No whale spit for you today?”

“Ah, fuck, is that what I was on? Explains why mah tongue hurts too…”

The sun streamed through the clouded windows as we emerged from the shadows of the built-up bit of town into the fuckin’ fields or whatever. Hey, I’m from LA, sue me.

“…hey, just so ya know, I have this condition. Sometimes, mah impulse control goes outta the window, start havin’ delusions a’ grandeur or whatever... unpleasant stuff.”

I coughed. “An’, uh, that’s what was goin’ on. Sorry for, uh, knockin’ over all those cans, makin’ a mess, all that jazz. Wanted ya ta know, in case you’re plannin’ to take me out Children of the Corn style.”

“You’re on your way to a job interview.” They said, an answer which only gave me more questions. “I’d recommend making yourself presentable.”

“Wh-” A water bottle was lobbed at my head, followed by a portable dental kit. “What?”

“Family friend needs someone to stick around an old barn of theirs and make sure nobody intrudes. It’s a roof over your head and an fourth of minimum wage- which is a step up from where you were before.”

“Look-” I sat up, massaging my forehead and trying to shield my eyes from the light. “Not that ah don’t appreciate it, but ya don’t gotta do this. I just wanna get outta town.”

“And why’s that?”

I scoffed. “Ya can’t tell? Don’t wanna be around for any repeat offences.”

“You won’t have to worry about them out here.”

“Who’s to say ah won’t just bolt?”

They shrugged. It was infuriating. “Dunno. Just felt like ya needed a roof over your head, some help getting back on your feet. If you wanna prove me wrong, be my guest.”

I finally peeled myself off the floor of the minivan, leveraging myself up onto one of the seats. “No offense, but uh…. I’m not some charity case. I’m not just gonna magically get better cuz ya decided ta help me.”

“Didn’t think you would.” the minivan jerked to an abrupt stop. “We’re here.”

Old barn my ass. This place was loaded!

There was a bed, and like, running water. I’m not picky.

The service worker swung by every other day, whenever they could get some time off. Usually with some godawful board game they’d pulled from a portal to the eighties. Ghost Castle, Mr T, the Garfield board game, which I was certain was just a way to mess with me… it was kinda fun, actually.

About a month into my stint, the service worker came over with a bottle of cheap whiskey, some clearance-aisle-bound snacks, and a copy of Return of the King: The Movie: The Game. “Play as Gollum!” the perfectly preserved cover proclaimed.

“I got time off.” They said by way of explanation. “Wanna hang out?”

There’s this great thing any amount of alcohol does to me- it just absolutely obliterates my inhibitions. I’m generally not the type of person to rant about their interests. But oh boy did that not last.

“You don’t even notice ‘em until you start looking for ‘em!” I ranted, spilling my drink all over the board. “There’s all these freakin’ things hidin’ in the shadows, and like- they’re scary, dude!”

“Like what?” the service worker asked, incredulously and a little tipsily. We were having a good time.

“Oh, there’s plenty!” I parted an invisible curtain, beckoning the service worker to follow like a fortune teller. “Wanna hear about it?”

“Hit me.”

“First thing ya gotta know is- y’know the most popular stories? Bloody Mary, Bigfoot- ah, that one’s a classic- yeah, they’re all made up!”

“Really?” the service worker rested their chin on their hands, leaning forward.

“Ah, Bigfoot’s the biggest scam of ‘em all. ‘Course you’re gonna see things out in the woods, with all them trees anaw.” I leaned in closer. “What you really gotta look out for is the not-deer. They sure do look like deer, but they ain’t, and lemme tell ya sum’n’, they pro’lly never were.”

“What do they do?”

“Eat ya, if yer lucky. Else, they just stalk ya. Don’t sound too bad ‘til ya see ‘em at the edge of every parkin’ lot, pair a spooky eyes just outta range of the street lamps. Ya see ‘em in yer backyard, standin’ there ‘til dawn, never blinkin’…”

I trailed off. The service worker hesitated, then put their hand over mine.

“You, uh… you have personal experience?”

“Nah, just… I guess once ya start lookin’ for ‘em ya see ‘em everywhere.”

Look at the ground. Don’t look up.

“I just…” a shudder jolted me out of my reverie. “Began makin’ a break for mah car, ya know? Middle of the day, I’d look over and… I saw ‘em in the walls, dude! In like, the paint. The shadows.”

“That sounds awful.” They interjected softly. I swallowed, suddenly uncomfortable.

“Dunno ‘bout that. Shoulda just dealt with it. What’s the worst a fuckin’ deer’s gonna do, hunh?”

Their grip on my hand didn’t waver. “…what happened?”

I pressed my lips together. “Well… tried to deal with it, and it didn’t really work. Started bein’ all sorts’a jumpy, saw things where they weren’t, yanno. Last straw was when ah broke down in this meetin’, started wailin’ ‘bout how those things were out ta get me… no comin’ back from that. Fired on the spot.”

Despite my best efforts to supress myself, I giggled. “Five years, man. Five years ‘a work, makin’ a life for myself, savin’ for the future, and the money jus’… disappeared. Month in I couldn’ afford utilities, so that’s the water and lights gone. Started spendin’ more cash on candles than on food…”

I wiped at my face, unable to look the service worker in the eye and unwilling to stare into the darkness of the middle distance. “Silly, ain’t it?”

“It’s really not.” they whispered.

Swallow. I told myself. Stare at the ground. You can do it.

“When everythin’ dried up, I was livin’ in squalor. Not a dime to mah name, no food, no water, no light. Gets stuffy in a house on the bay without air conditionin’, so I opened the second floor window one night. Came back from the bathroom to see that-”

I choked. “Th- that- I, I dunno if it was even there, or if I was just seein’ stuff, man. I screamed mah head off, slammed the door on it, curled up in mah bathtub an’ stayed there all night. Neighbour musta’ called in a check o’ some sort, cuz that’s where the authorities found me. Shipped me off to some- somewhere, I dunno. Best guess is it was a psych ward, but if that was a psych ward…”

The grip on my hand tightened. “Do… do you still see those things?”

“Eh, sometimes.” I leaned back, tried being nonchalant, made sure not to look where the light of the campfire didn’t reach. “Don’t have the same effect anymore, ya feel? Been there, done that.”

“I-” in a rare moment of discomposure, the service worker ran a hand down their face. “Jesus, we’ve been leaving you out here all alone when-”

“Hey, it ain’t that bad.” I forced a grin. “I’m better now.”

“And that’s thanks to the psych ward?”

“Oh, this sure is.” I groaned. “Greyhound therapy, they call it, and they ain’t talkin’ ‘bout the dog. Once a week they lined the worst of us up, stuck us on a Greyhound, and gave us a free ride to the middle ‘a nowhere. ‘s how I ended up here- no offence.”

“None taken.”

I leaned back, sombre. “Ah truly shudder to think of those that actually need help and get stuck on one of ‘em accursed buses.”

“You think you don’t need help?”

“Not like they do, buckaroo.”

During the long pause that ensued, we sat back and gazed longingly at the navy sky; scattered with stars.

“You’re coming with me tonight.”

I’d gotten help.

The service worker had a friend that had a friend that knew a guy who could fit me in on his lunch break. We mostly talked about my day, how I’d been feeling… sometimes I’d go off on him about being stuck in that awful, backwater town, insult his stupid hat to hide his balding head. Make fun of his legal pad he was constantly scribbling on.

Okay, the first couple of weeks were mostly that. But he gave me advice, and it… helped. Granted, it didn’t stop the outbursts outright- I didn’t know if anything short of horse tranquilizer could- but I was better. Two months into what I’d initially assumed to be a temporary rest stop on my road trip to an early grave, I walked into the local convenience store without the service worker at my back, thank you very much, and asked for a job.

They were short staffed. You know that thing they tell you about small towns and how everybody knew everybody else, how nobody would forget you? Hogwash.

The not-deer didn’t bother me as much anymore, not that I was still looking, not that I thought they were there in the first place. I was fine with the outside at night! And to prove it, I’d asked the service worker if I could put together a lil shindig of sorts.

“Ain’t campin’ fun?” I asked, passing them a marshmallow on a stick while expertly rotating mine over the campfire. Sparks danced in the sparse light of the Idaho moon. “Nothin’ better to relax after a long day’s work.”

“Indeed.” The service worker toasted the marshmallow, flames dancing in their eyes. “I’m glad you feel more comfortable out here.”

“Hey, so am I.” I laughed, definitely not nervous. “Ah, um, got another story to tell ya.”

“Hm?” they took a bite out of the marshmallow, holding eye contact.

“Well, uh… hm. Wanted to tell ya that seeing the not-deer… it ain’t exactly where mah story started.”

“Hm.” They hesitated, then set the stick aside. “Go on.”

Welp. This was it. LA or bust.

“Used to be this big-city-bumpkin ‘n whatnot, workin’ for the city as a… y’know, it ain’t all that important. Long story short, ah decided what got done ‘n what didn’t. Got this missive from upstairs that we needed some ‘drastic changes’, so I made this proposal. Cut environmental funding by half, among other things. They jumped right onta that one.

“Got picketed by some activists, but there wasn’t much we could do at that point. And, uh… ah was kinda proud of it, ya feel? There was some real shufflin’ in there, we were gonna do some good with that budget. I felt satisfied with mah work. Started goin’ out on the town, all that jazz…”

I breated, steeling myself.

“Walkin’ down by the pier, late afternoon or early evenin’, and… I dunno, think ‘twas th’ first time ah really noticed what the effects were. I knew in mah head, but like… there’s all this junk, piled up ‘longside the shore. Yellowed grass, lookin’ sickly, an’ the place was deserted. Can’t blame ‘em, it made me ill longer ah stayed there!

“Wasn’t even the worst part...this lady, ah… longest time ah thought she was this the water djinn, thinkin’ back she was pro’lly in the same situation as me couple ‘a months back now. Ah guess she recognised me from the news or sum’n? Cuz she looked at me, and there was all this… disdain, and hurt and grief and ah knew I’d caused it. Ah cannot describe that feelin’ ta ya in words, but ah pray ya don’t feel it yourself.”

I leaned back, rubbing my face, staring up at the sky. The stars were coming out, that was nice.

“Started goin’ downhill from there… read about the not-deer somewhere on the internet. They’re jus’ deer, ‘xcept real sickly. But that image of a diseased creature just… haunted me. Ah convinced mahself ah’d been cursed, ‘n well… ya know the rest.

“Ah’ve been lyin most of the way, friendo. Tellin’ tall tales, so ah don’t have to admit what it is ah’ve actually done. An I’ve resigned mahself to tellin’ ya the tallest tale of ‘em all.”

The cicadas were definitely quieter now. The retail worker didn’t interrupt.

“That ah didn’t mean for any of it ta happen. I- that’s what they taught us! Find places ta cut costs, and that’s what we did. Didn’t… think, ah suppose. Not that it makes it any better. Ah knew the basics, the broad strokes. Didn’t think it would get that bad. Or maybe ah didn’t think ‘bout it ‘til ah was on the receiving end.

“But truly, I didn’t mean it.” I concluded. “I didn’t.”

“Hey.” The service worker leaned forward, and for the first time ever, enveloped me in a warm, Lysol-scented hug. “I believe you.”

I hugged them back.

The moon hung much lower in the sky when I awoke.

We’d retired pretty soon afterward, and why shouldn’t we have? I got some trauma off my chest, we kickstarted the healing process, pretty productive day by any standards. I just wanted to sleep…

But there was something I still had to do.

The not-deer was there, kicking at the ashen remains of the campfire, when I emerged from the tent. I held a finger to my lips as I eased the flap shut, trying not to wake the service worker. It didn’t look as scary in the predawn light. Just… diseased. And sad.

There’s a parallel there, between it and me.

I pulled out the bag of marshmallows I’d stashed in my coat and tossed one to him. It caught it in midair, almost like it had done this before. I cracked a smile.

“Hey.” I said. “I’m sorry.”

The not-deer snorted, bowing its head.

Then it was gone, galloping- or as close to galloping as it could come- into the woods.

I stared after it for some time. Not in the ‘oh wow, I’m so shocked’ way, just… ruminating. Pondering.

It had been a full year since I’d taken that walk by the pier. Damn.

“There’s worse places to start over.” I muttered, pulling up the flap of the tent and retreating inside.

0 notes

readingat3amisnormal · 3 years ago

Text

The sunrise blushed light-pink and orange on the horizon, distant and still, glinting off the knife’s edge of the icicles along her balcony, diffusing through the hoar-frost to fall into the living room, onto the loveseat where Nyx made her roost.

She watched the rays tumble over the honeysuckle that curled around the balcony, listened to the chirping of the birds mingle with the buzzing of mopeds as they darted down the narrow city streets, felt the icy chill against her wrists and the warm, steaming cup of cocoa in her hands.

It was the first day of spring, and- contrary to yesterday’s weather report- it appeared that winter was here to stay.

No matter. It was technically spring, and so it was time for spring cleaning!

She practically kicked down the door to her attic; an impressive feat given that it was set into the ceiling. Dust billowed out from the opening, obstructing her view until it cleared. She took the opportunity to reflect on what she hoped to accomplish, what treasures she hoped to find. A sarcophagus, filled with treasures of yore? Ancient tomes, maps, letters and diaries containing calls to adventure innumerable?

She said all of this, of course, to distract herself from the fact that this was her first spring cleaning in over a decade, and the only reason she was even doing this was because she’d felt… something up here. Something… dangerous? Powerful? Alive, mayhaps?

She ascended the stairs into the attic, wishing she had a basement instead; then she could pretend she was descending into a dungeon, her broomstick a lance, ready to vanquish any number of monsters that would jump out of the darkness!

That sounded scary, actually. She didn’t want that. And thankfully, she didn’t get it. Instead, Nyx spent the better half of her morning dragging boxes around, discarding the stuff that had obviously gone bad or that couldn’t be repurposed, and being generally disappointed in her management skills. Which was… better than being attacked by monsters for sure!

A sigh, as she retreated further into her attic than she’d ever been. She cracked open another box, and extracted-

Oh.

-a wonderful little book, hand-bound and tenderly tucked in cloth. She pulled it aside to get a better look at the cover.

Oh!

It simply oozed thaumatic power, from every pore including the tiny slip of paper that stuck out from the pages. She extracted the slip, and read it.

To whom this may concern,

I transfer ownership of this grimoire to whomsoever wishes to possess it. In my name…

There was more, but she stopped there.

A grimoire. Lounging in her attic, unknown and unloved. She’d heard about the discovery of grimoires on the news. Their power, their value… how had one ended up here?

She scanned down the length of the slip and noted the signature.

-Chun.

Her grandmother.

This was her grandmother’s grimoire.

She stared back at the book. The scalloped edges of the fabric on the cover made her wonder if her grandmother had repurposed an old doily to better obfuscate the tome’s thaumatic nature, or if it was meant more as a mark of affection. What did the grimoire contain?

Why had her grandmother even written a grimoire?

She opened the book, read the words across the top of the first page.

The best Manju I’ve ever made. It proclaimed.

Her eyes wandered downwards.

Ingredients:

As much flour as you’d like.

Sugar, but not quite as much as you think.

Salt, but quite a lot more than you’d think.

There were more, but that was where she stopped.

A recipe. Which made it a recipe grimoire.

She considered it as she emerged from her attic, taking care not to trip on the sheer steps or track dust into the kitchen. Her grandmother had never been famed for her recipes, but they’d always been good. Just the sort of thing you’d need to fill out a wonderful New Year’s Dinner. But how did that translate into a full-blown grimoire?

She continued to consider as she swept, swept, swept, swept herself even further into her spring-cleaning bonanza. Was this a sign from the universe, she wondered as she knocked the grime from the top of her armoire, spun cobwebs around her broom like cotton-candy. What was she to do?

What was she to do. That really was the question.

It was all very confusing, she conceded once she’d showered and curled up with her 3DS.

The afternoon was unusually silent. Even the mains hum from the transformer down the street felt muffled by the snow.

If she continued considering, she considered, she would consider herself into an anxious knot. Taking that into consideration, she decided to conserve her worry-resources, and make a nice, numbered list instead.

Who I think I should go to.

Who my grandmother would go to.

Who would benefit most from this.

She could put a face to each choice with ease, and it would be no good to while away the rest of the day with the grimoire burning a hole in her pocket- or table, as it were. So, she donned her cap, and wreathed herself with her scarf-and-puffy-parka combo. Resolute in her resolve, Nyx grabbed her broomstick, admitted that the rest of the cleaning would have to wait, and took to the ash-white skies.

Hyu- a twenty-something grad student of local pyromancy fame- was her first visitor. His nest was a thing of beauty; when the local university had run out of room in their buildings, they’d expanded outwards and upwards. The lab where he spent his days (and most nights) was suspended in the space between a skyscraper and an old townhouse, its concrete exterior already worn down by the fierce wind. The window was open; a small blessing, as she now wouldn’t have to navigate the archaic labyrinth that connected these rooms, or worse- try to get Hyu’s attention.

Once she’d been appropriately chastised for tracking in snow- nevermind the pile thereof that had built up beneath the open window- she had to stand at attention as he, several years her junior, leaned back in an office chair which was missing all of its wheels and most of its back to hum and haw his way through the first couple of pages of the grimoire.

She looked over the room, took in the kaleidoscope of Erlenmeyer flasks and Bunsen burner flames, each practicing aposematism in their own special way, cringe at the microwave labelled “Only Science, NO FOOD”, and smile at the lab shower painted to look like a sunflower.

“Hm.” Hyu closed the book slowly, set it atop his lab coat; a position of reverence, as it was the only bit of the table that wasn’t sticky. “It’s cool.”

“Really?” Nyx shrugged.

“Yeah! Look, I’ll show you.” He grabbed his phone, pulled up a recipe. “This is a normal recipe, but the recipies in this book are like, way better.”

She glanced at the words on the screen. “Um… they look the same.”

Hyu’s face fell. “Alright. Uh, how do I do this…”

He darted around the lab, grabbing vials and reagents and flasks (if they were mostly clean). He kept circling the lab, muttering to himself, looking and looking. Just as Nyx was going to tell him not to worry about it, and that she would take his word for it, he found what he was looking for- a miniscule glass bottle- and ran back to them.

“Okay,” he gasped out before he smashed the bottle against the ground, creating an immense purple smokescreen that expanded to fill her vision.

“Something about this recipe book sets it aside,” Hyu began from deep within the shadows, seemingly having gotten over his exhaustion. “from other recipe books. Let us look at the average recipe book.”

The ceiling flashed, prompting her to look skyward. Above her was an immensely detailed static image of ballet dancers frozen in place; slim, elegant, stoic, scintillant. Their bodies comprised glitter-dust suspended in a medium somewhere between aether and honey, flowing gently but not slowly.

“The words are slow, steady, monotonous.” Huy emerged from the smoke, staring up at his creation. “Words like these, though, they dance!”

His sleeves billowed as he thrust his arms skywards. The image changed, moved; crystalline ballerinas twirled through the air, leaving behind dusk-golden trails that, over time, coalesced into elegant lettering much like those found in the grimoire.

An abrupt change; the dancers dissolved into fine dust, shimmering, shifting, forming the foundations of a more lively performance- of the boot-thumping, ale-guzzling variety. Now they were stocky and spirited, eyes unfocused, mirthful and kind. Their rhythm followed a vague rhythm, going in and out of time with the backbeat.

“It is chaotic, it is ordered, it is the most beautiful marriage of the two I have ever seen!”

The dancers now dissolved, into luminescent swirls and eddies that wandered the space between them and the ceiling, spinning, catching, cycling through all the colors of the rainbow and then some. They flew, blew up snow and some of the lighter beakers, flapping Nyx’s scarf into her face.

And in the eye of the storm was the young wizard with sugar-solvent down the front of his silken overshirt, with robes barely on the right side of disheveled, unkempt hair and crooked tortoiseshell glasses that sparkled with his eyes as he tried to impart to her the pure, inchoate beauty of her grandmother’s grimoire.

The light show faded into nothing, which left Hyu’s grandiose posture and ear-splitting grin looking a bit gauche.

“…so yeah, it’s pretty cool for a recipe book.” he concluded.

Nyx blinked. “Sure, makes sense. Uh… would it be useful to you?”

“Eh.” He shrugged, flicked some residue off his lab coat. “It’s a recipe book. I dunno how to deal with those. I go with the flow, ya feel? Besides, if I asked for it, would you give it to me?”

She considered it. “Probably not.”

“There you are. Now get out, I need to get this done before my advisor sees me slacking off.” He fumbled for some reagent on a shelf and tossed whatever he came up with into an Erlenmeyer flask, where it promptly exploded.

While the newfound appreciation for lab safety protocol was nice to have, Nyx still wasn’t closer to her goal of figuring out what to do with her grimoire. But she’d planned for this! So, as fire crews rushed to find the official entrance to Hyu’s lab, she pulled out her checklist and crossed off the first option.

Who I think I should go to.

Who my grandmother would go to.

Who would benefit most from this.

Right.

Off she trudged across the street, through snowdrifts and snowmen, dodging snowballs and sleet. As she went, she tucked her arms close to her body and pressed her face deeper into her scarf. It was a long and arduous trek to her destination, and she would have to remain vigilant to see it through.

Once she’d crossed the street, she stopped to stare up at her target; a wonderful townhouse in the contemporary style, all stocky and blocky and all sorts of other ocky. Even the doorbell was square.

About a minute after she’d pressed it, she found herself inside, having shed her outer layers and pampered with a nice cup of lavender tea. The interior of the townhouse was as warm and welcoming as its inhabitant, one Mr. Liu, mustachioed and gruff in his middle age. The last she’d seen of him was as a child, at a house party thrown by her grandmother. He’d snuck her candies and let her play video games, so she’d decided she liked him.

Though now the smile lines around his eyes were more pronounced, and his visage had grown gaunt with the years, he still exuded that same calm, mischievous energy.

The living room was carpeted with collectibles and toy cars. There were broomsticks propped up in the corner, board- and video-games littered around the easy-chairs, a bookshelf piled high with herbs… it was cozy, a welcome respite from the bitter winter storm.

“It’s been a while since I’ve played.” Liu admitted, booting up his ancient Snes and holding out a controller for her. “Player one, or two?”

“Your choice.”

“Two it is.” Liu passed the controller over, then slowly lowered himself into his armchair. “You’ll excuse me for being a bit rusty, I haven’t played this game in years.”

“Neither have I.” Nyx admitted with a giggle.

They whiled away most of the afternoon, taking victories and defeats in their stride. All the while, Nyx mulled her questions over in her mind, turned them over on her tongue, ran through the possibilities over and over until she was sure nothing could go wrong.

“Did my grandmother ever mention her grimoire to you?” she asked once she’d lost Mario to the same Mufti Guy thrice in a row. At the dismissive shake of head, she sighed. “I thought so. She wrote one, and I’m not sure what to do with it.”

He navigated a particularly tricky jump, then spoke, “Did you think I would know better than you?”

“I mean… I was hoping you could point me in the right direction.”

“Ah. I understand.” Another tricky jump, barely dodging a Charging Chuck, and just like that he’d finished. Liu adjusted his glasses as the fanfare played, turned to her as the game returned to the overworld level select screen, gentle chiptune nothing filling the silence. “How well did you know your grandmother?”

“I- she was my grandmother. I knew her- as much as a grandchild would, I guess. Like- I know she was your friend.”

“And a dear one, at that,” Liu set the controller down, brought a trembling forefinger to his forehead. “But that doesn’t mean Chun told me everything. The… the thing about grimoires is that they can be about anything you find pleasure or joy in, no matter how insignificant you think it is. They just happen, you have to deal with them after the fact. And grimoires do not come with any inherent power or value. They are assigned value… by us. So, whether or not it is important… is for you to decide.”

“I see.” Nyx responded, even though she didn’t. She took another sip of her tea. “This is wonderful.”

“Thank you. It was a gift from my youngest. Would you like some?”

Several politely downed cups of tea later, Nyx found herself outside the townhouse, weighed down by several bags full of assorted teas and coffees. Her hands smarted in the cold.

She checked her list.

Who I think I should go to.

Who my grandmother would go to.

Who would benefit most from this.

One final item, and one final face to go alongside.

Nyx, ever graceful, barely avoided smacking her face right into the display window of her preferred bakery. In her defense, it was a slippery part of town; steep-slopes all around. Dangerous at this time of year.

She braved it for the company.

“What’ll it be?” the resident baker’s cap, invariably flour-caked, poked up above the counter as she entered.

“Umm, I’ll have that one.” She pointed to a random pastry, hoping her nervousness wasn’t showing.

“Yup.” Miu finally emerged from the space under the counter, dusting her sleeves of built-up flour. Her candy-pink vertically-striped apron billowed, her gaze warmed as she recognized one of her regulars. “Coming right out for ya, Nyx.”

“I- have a question, too.” She forced out before her stammer overtook her and she had to flee. Her mouth was already dry; her lips buckled and cracked under the weight of her words.

“Ask away.” The intrepid baker’s apprentice smiled with unfettered joy and appreciation; something she possessed in droves. Though she didn’t want to admit it to herself, Miu was most of the reason Nyx continued her patronage of this place.

“My- my grandmother, she- she wrote a grimoire of recipes, and I don’t know what to do with them.” She stammered out.

“Sheesh, girl. That’s neat.”

Nyx nodded, tried not to get ahead of herself. “And- well, I was hoping you could- umm, you could-”

“You want me to give you some pointers?” Miu interrupted, pointedly but not unkindly. At her nod, the baker’s ruddy cheeks gently upturned. “Tell you what. I’ll swing by later today and help you out. Sound good?”

Nyx nodded, and walked out of the bakery backwards, whereupon she was immediately caught up in a snowball fight.

On the roof of her apartment building, Nyx brooded.

She brooded, and she wondered, and- against her best wishes- she considered.

What was so important about a book of recipes, is what she would’ve wondered if she’d been a little bit meaner. As she wasn’t, she instead wondered what importance the book of recipes had to her grandmother. Had they been passed down through generations? Did the recipes contain a coded message? Had the book simply materialized in her attic, born from whatever manner of dangerous and volatile raw materials she’d forgotten up there?

She considered what Hyu had said about the passion that flowed through the pages like water, what Liu had said about not needing the contents of a grimoire to be integral to one’s life; just important. She recalled what she could about her grandmother’s dishes, and what she remembered most about them.

Was it the taste? Was it the texture? She thought back to each event, each family dinner…

…and sat bolt-upright as she realized it was the people. The conversations, the experiences, the emotions. Was that all it was? What the grimoire was meant for?

There was only one way to check.

Liu was the first to arrive. He brought a wonderful fridge ornament, which she promptly hung next to a drawing from her niece, and some fresh eyes to go over the recipe and decipher her grandmother’s handwriting.

Hyu brought some sour candy he’d mooched off his roommate, and a light-show; miniature fireworks that had explosions about the size of a mochi and left no residue. His performance featured puppets- both of the regular and of the shadow variety- and ended with the conjuring of a miniature Bonzai, which he set down on the sitting room table to much applause. As they moved off, Nyx noticed it flickering between color and greyscale.

Miu, when she arrived with her Christmas-mug gift, had the questionable honor of sitting back and watching the rest of them bake. She provided instructions, of course, but no help. Thankfully, they ended up not burning the place down.

Then they crowded around her tiny kitchen table, poor Miu having to crouch so her head didn’t brush against the ceiling lights, and chatted, and ate, and enjoyed their time out of the cold.

Miu left first, citing work the next morning. Then Liu, and though both her and Hyu offered to escort him home, he turned them down. Finally, Hyu; much, much later, once he’d finished helping with the dishes and discreetly fixing up the Bonzai. He finished out the night with a selfie.

“Dude, we need to do this again sometime.” He nodded after he’d uploaded the image to all his social medias. “Peace.”

And then that was that.

She grabbed her broom, felt the familiar texture of the knotted wood against her skin, and swept up the tracks they’d left behind. She put away the dishes they hadn’t, thought those were few and far between. The very top of the Bonzai was lit like a birthday candle, but the flame gave off no smoke or heat; she decided it was safest to keep it on the balcony with all her other potentially volatile plants.

The tea Hyu’d given her provided a warm and welcome conclusion to the day. She sipped on it using the mug Miu had left behind, one hand wrapped around the handle, the other gently supporting the base. In between sips, she played Pokémon Blue.

Outside was a veritable winter wonderland, but here, she felt warm.

0 notes

readingat3amisnormal · 3 years ago

Text

Winter winds howled like wolves.

That in itself was unsurprising; they were rabid tonight, dashing into cliff-faces and tearing themselves into tattered eddies, shedding vast whorls of turbulence like skin, ribboned around the jagged peaks. Their progenitors obscured the sky to the north, Charon’s bone-white scythe poised to strike from the south.

Pine-scent was snatched away by the storm, replaced with a neon-ozone-ish effluence that raked across the epidermis like claws; not so much a smell, moreso an electric potential that foretold incredible violence.

Lightning flashed, for a split second turning the world a strange greyscale- a blinding blue-white-but-not-quite in the highlights, pure black everywhere else. A heartbeat. Two. Then thunder rumbled, and the sky- if it was possible- grew even darker.

The forest, as a whole, was still. The great grizzlies huddled within their caves. There was no birdsong, no scampering of rodents through the undergrowth, no chirping of crickets. Only the trees would brave the storm, tall and proud. As the wind rushed into the valley from the peaks, screaming all the way, they would be the sentinels. As the hail buffeted, they would stand in place, unwavering. Eventually, no matter the struggle, no matter the damage sustained, it would pass. Everything did.

0 notes

readingat3amisnormal · 4 years ago

Text

The heat was stifling, rough sand streaking across the dunes. Whirlwinds whorled in the distance, roving across the alien landscape. Against the mayhem of the pre-dawn desert, a man stood still and silent.

His hair, shaggy and unkempt from the long trek, billowed in the dry desert wind, as did his bell-bottom trousers and chic white jacket. Absently, his fingers began snapping. He whispered subconsciously, “a-dooba-doobie…”

As the sun finally broke the horizon, Elvis Presley was cowed into silence.

He stood at the peak of a sand dune, staring out at the gaping maw of the Sahara. Endless dunes, stretching as far as the eyes could see. This was it- the real deal.

The edge of his mouth curled into his characteristic smirk.

“Come now, Nenet!” he called gleefully. “We’re almost there!”

Nenet, a sprightly, athletic young woman who did not currently look it, crested the dune and collapsed onto the sand. She’d been guiding tourists across the Sahara for the better part of five years, and none had been quite as… ambitious as this strange, strange man.

Rather than go to any of the usual tourist destinations, he was insistent on travelling off the beaten path- and dragging her with him. She made sure that they were never more than half a day’s walk away from civilization at any time, though that was becoming increasingly difficult as they progressed further into the desert.

“What’s the plan for today?” she panted, placing her hands on her knees under the weight of their luggage.

“Well, sweetheart, we’re almost at where I wanna be!” he glanced down at the compass clutched in his hand. “That-a-ways!”

His white cowbody boots jived along the sand, a fine sheen of sweat clinging to him like so many overenthusiastic fans. The dust had been quite annoying the first couple of days, but he was used to it by now.

And hey, it was better than what he’d left behind.

He’d loved it once- the fame, the fortune, the drama. But lately… the magic had faded. He’d lost his drive.

Until one fateful day…

He strummed lazily on his guitar, staring off into the distance. His thumb caught on the D string with a painful twang that echoed all around the bustling city square. It was out of tune, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

So many people, going about their day. Some of them looked up at him, most didn’t. They’d grown used to him by now. He disliked it.

“Mr Presley, act your age and get down from there!”

He glanced down at the balding city official that was calling to him, and in a moment of fear touched the top of his head.

“Oh thank goodness…” he removed his fingers from his luscious curls, then went back to strumming. “You ain’t nuthin’ but a…”

“Mr Presley, you will get down from that lion this instant!” the official stamped his foot to punctuate his point.

Elvis groaned miserably. “Awwww…”

As the official tapped his foot against the ground, Elvis dropped down from the lion. The guitar was rudely snatched away, and he was instructed to go wait in the library until his lawyers arrived.

Ah, shoot.

He grooved miserably through the gilded doors and into the lobby, sincerely disappointed that this so-called ‘grand institution’ couldn’t even afford a concierge.

“Stupid government workers…” he muttered under his breath. Like clockwork, a receptionist raised a finger to their lips.

He growled in frustration and stomped over to one of the desks. Books of various shapes, sizes and colours were strewn across it, but one drew his eye- a gilded tome, with a strange cat-person doing a pose on the front.

He reached for it before he caught himself- he wasn’t some nerd! He was a rock ‘n roll cool kid! The only reason he was even in the library was to wait until the city official left the lion statue unsupervised.

Resolute, he turned his nose up and looked away.

Although…

With trepidation, as though he were defusing a bomb, he flipped the book open with one finger. It opened to a page with intricate illustrations and an unfairly fascinating title- The Search for Tutankhamun’s Tomb.

Well, one book couldn’t hurt. He reasoned.

Four hours later, with the sun going down and his next show in fifteen minutes, he stood before one of the receptionists with the book in hand.

“Now I ain’t got no bread on me right this second, miss.” He shuffled nervously. “Spent it all on some candy from this store a couple blocks down…”

“That’s alright, dearie!” She croaked, hand trembling as she accepted the book. “Why, you don’t need to pay for books at the library! You just need a library card, and I can get that for you just now! What’d you say your name was, young man?”

He jumped through all the hoops gracefully, accepted the card, the book, and a little golden star he’d gotten for being a good boy, and headed off with a smile on his face and nary a care in the world.

From there, it had been a simple matter of devouring every book on Egypt and Egyptology he could get his hands on. He’d gotten a new personal idol- Gertrude Bell- a new purpose- find Tutankhamun’s Tomb (or any tomb, for that matter)- and a new drive. He’d kept the white coat and bell-bottomed trousers, although he’d swapped out the guitar for a khaki hat.

Nothing would stop him now. Not even his dwindling finances, though the riches he would definitely find would help him along.

His experience in the field had been entirely academic until he’d bit the bullet, travelled out to Cairo, and hired Nenet to act as his guide and translator. She’d kept him sane when hunch after hunch had proven to be incorrect and had gotten them out of some sticky situations.

Now, three weeks into what was shaping up to be the greatest adventure of his lifetime, they were so close he could taste it.

“Mr. Elvis,” Nenet said, straining under the weight of their pack. “It is of course unwise to lick the walls of an ancient ruin.”

Elvis pulled away from the wall, smacking his lips. “Well, it isn’t bone, that’s for sure.”

“It’s sandstone, Mr. Elvis. I could’ve told you that.”

“Ah, but I’ve now learned it, Nenet! Groovy!”

Despite the weight on her shoulders, Nenet shrugged. “Whatever.”

After a couple more taste tests they ended up in a cul-de-sac of sorts. Walls rose around them, and stairs led down to an intimidating looking door.

With some trepidation, Nenet followed Elvis down the stairs. He stared at the door for a good half-minute, then snapped his fingers.

“I will have no locked cupboards in my life!” he proclaimed. “Gertrude Bell, unsourced.”

Nenet leaned against the wall to take some of the weight off her back. Unbeknownst to her, the pressure of her shoulder against one of the tiles caused a centuries-old mechanism to spring into action. Gears grinded, pulleys pulled, and the end result of this mechanical medley was that the door opened just as Elvis touched the tip of his tongue to it.

He paused, staring into the darkness. The air was cool but dusty, and smelled vaguely of death.

He turned back to Nenet with a smug smile on his face. “C’mon, snake, let’s rattle!”

And with that, he pranced joyfully into the underworld.

Nifty…

Elvis tapped a specialised tool against the hieroglyphics on the wall. They were mostly your standard fare- “death awaits those cretins who enter”, “do not desecrate this hallowed ground, wretched mortal”, “remember to feed the cats, honey, I know you always forget XO”- but this one was different.

“Don’t… dead… open… inside.” He read off. “Hmmm…”

He considered it, ignoring Nenet’s grunts as she tried to pull their bags through a narrow doorway.

“So,” he reasoned, “don’t die, and open whatever’s inside this door? Perfect!”

He pushed the door open and ran through, close to giggling with delight. Oh, this was so much fun! He really was an explorer!

“It's so nice to be a spoke in the wheel, one that helps to turn, not one that hinders!” he called out to Nenet. “Gertrude Bell, From the Mountains to the Sea!”

As his voice faded into the distance, Nenet finished pulling their bags through. If only the oaf hadn’t insisted on bringing a to-scale sundial!

With a frustrated groan, she turned to the doors, which were slowly swinging closed behind Elvis.

“Don’t open, dead inside.” She read.

She blinked.

“Hal-kuh. Mr. Elvis! Mr. Elvis, it’s dangerous!”

Damnit, the oaf was annoying but she couldn’t leave him to die! With a deep breath, she steeled herself, grabbed something from his pack, and ran after him.

The thing to realise about Elvis Presley’s Egyptology phase is that it was entirely inevitable. A life of screaming fans is really, really not all it’s hyped up to be.

When he’d started out performing, he could hardly bear it. Over the years, it had taken a toll- created a… sort of psychological switch in his head.

So how would he react if, as he walked down a dusty passageway in the hopes of finding something exciting at the end, he heard Nenet screaming from behind him?

To put it simply, Elvis had a Pavlovian reaction.

To put it simpler, he was back in showman mode.

“Ooooh, sounds like somebody’s excited!” he boogied, sashaying his hips as he made his way towards the sound.

Nenet screamed again, louder this time.

“Somebody’s real excited, hoo boy! Hot diggity-dog, I can’t wait to see what’s causin’ this!”

Elvis swaggered around the corner, ready to put on a show for his fans, and happened upon a small nook with a sarcophagus propped up against the wall. It was shaking about, reminiscent of a fan that couldn’t keep still from excitement.

“Well, what do we have here!” he called out enthusiastically, unlatching the door of the sarcophagus and coming face to face with a mummy.

He really wasn’t equipped to deal with this sort of thing. Neither was the mummy, come to think of it. Point is- when faced with these extenuating circumstances, Elvis did the only thing he could think to do.

“Are ya a fan?” he asked.

The mummy screamed the scream of a thousand crows.

Elvis screamed with it.

Behind him, Nenet screamed once more. This time, Elvis recognised it for what it was- a battle cry- and moved out of the way.

She brought an ElvisTM Baseball Bat down upon the mummy’s head with so much force that it disintegrated into kindling. “Ah, shitty American products!”

Nenet dumped what was left of the bat onto the mummy, slammed the sarcophagus lid shut, grabbed Elvis by the wrist, and pulled him down the hallway.

“Hey!” he protested. “I brought that bat along for emotional support!”

“Doesn’t matter now, does it?” she responded, pausing at an intersection before pulling him roughly to the left. “We need to get out of here now- that thing won’t stop until it’s killed us both. I got the drop on it once- I doubt I’ll be that lucky again.”

“But-” before he could argue further, the screeching started again. The hallway felt like it stretched forever, and Elvis’ pulse quickened.

Nenet cast a panicked glance behind her. “It’s not slowing down. We’ll need to hold it off. When I get us back to our pack, take out that big sundial and throw it in its path, yes?”

Elvis, already out of breath, blinked.

“Now!” she flung him around a corner, and he found himself back in front of the door with the strange hieroglyphics.

After a second’s hesitation (and another scream from the mummy), his brain kicked in.

He scrambled to the pack, pulled the sundial out, and dragged it into the corridor. The mummy was about halfway down, running towards them at an alarming speed. Before it could scream, Elvis tossed the sundial like an Olympic Disk thrower.

It took both the mummy’s legs out, then shattered against the floor. Elvis winced- it had been pretty expensive. But then again, at least it had saved their lives.

The mummy got to its knees, screamed, and began crawling forwards.

“Ah.” Nenet’s face was unnaturally pale. “We’ll have to run again, Mr Elvis.”

Without waiting for confirmation, she turned. “And leave your pack behind!”

The mummy, moving considerably slower now, screamed once more. Elvis’ instincts kicked in again, but for once in his life he caught himself. He was an Egyptologist, for goodness sake! He needed to act like it!

He thought back to all the books on Egyptian explorers he’d read. All the mummies he’d seen in those new-fangled Universal Pictures. He recognised the scream, recognised the pain.

What would Gertrude Bell do? He wondered.

There is nothing more difficult to measure than the value of visible emotion, she’d say to him- as she had on page 42 of From the Mountains to the Sea.

As Nenet poked her head out from the doorway with the intention of demanding he hurry up, he moved towards the mummy.

“MR ELVIS- actually you know what, I tried.” Nenet shrugged, and made to leave.

“All these years…” Elvis realised, dropping to his knees and beckoning the mummy closer. “Trapped down here, all alone.”

The mummy hissed, holding its desiccated hands up to its eyes.

Nenet, who was ready to make a break for it any second now, watched in horror as her client ran a finger tenderly along the mummy’s jaw. “It’s alright.” he soothed.

With an awful, keening screech, the mummy threw itself into Elvis’ arms and did a decent approximation of a sob.

“There, there.” Elvis stroked the mummy’s head, rocking it back and forth. “We’re here for you now, aren’t we, Nenet?”

Nenet’s eyes widened as she realised what Elvis wanted her to do. “W-with all due respect, sir-”

“Group hug!” he growled merrily, reaching into the doorway and pulling her into an embrace alongside the mummy. After a moment’s hesitation, she patted the ancient creature on its head. “It’s… alright?” she asked.

It latched an arm around her and wept loudly.

They emerged from the tomb a trio- Nenet, carrying some assorted riches and other sundry, Elvis, and the mummy, being carried bridal style by the intrepid Egyptologist.

“I’m gonna take you back to the US of A!” Elvis promised the mummy. “And I’ll take ya to a baseball game and show ya that baseball bats ain’t all that bad! And you can tell me more about your culture and all! Don’t that sound fun?”

The mummy purred in approval. Nenet, who still hadn’t gotten over her client bonding with an eldritch horror from an ancient tomb, shaded her eyes against the setting sun. She had to admit, the ruby-encrusted bracelets really complemented her complexion.

“We will have to make camp tonight,” she said, “and by tomorrow I will get us to the nearest town. From there you can rent a jeep to get back to Cairo, Mr. Elvis. And company.”

Elvis nodded. “Miss Nenet, it’s been a pleasure working with ya so far. What’d ya say I take you on in a more… official capacity?”

Nenet wrinkled her nose. “Are you planning on adopting me?”

“Nah, I meant hire you as my guide for all future archaeological expeditions and the like!”

“Hmmm…” she considered it. “What’s your offer?”

He listed off a number. It had lots of zeroes.

“Done.”

The mummy stared out at the sunset… the first sunset it had seen in centuries. And for the first time in centuries… it felt at peace.

“To wake in that desert dawn was like waking in the heart of an opal. ... See the desert on a fine morning and die - if you can.” Elvis whispered reverentially, following the mummy’s gaze. “Gertrude Bell, The Desert and the Snow.”

Both Nenet and the mummy nodded. They stood there awhile, watching the sun dip below the horizon and inky shadows spread like water.

“Ya know…” Elvis mentioned. “I feel a song coming on.”

“Mr. Elvis, no.” Nenet deadpanned.

“Mr. Elvis, yes! Wiiiiise, meeeen, saaaaaaaaaaay… only fooooools…”

#elvis presley #elvis #Elvis Presley In: The Search for Tutankhamun’s Tomb #egyptology #writing #i was at most three seconds away from bursting into laughter the entire time i was reading this aloud #egypt #mummy

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readingat3amisnormal · 4 years ago

Text

Two in the morning on a Tuesday, and he shouldn’t have been out here, shivering in the cold, his brand-new boots soaked through and with nothing to show for it.

The air escaped from his mouth in a miserable hiss as he fumbled for his keys, gloved fingers slipping over the bare metal and only increasing his frustration. No, no, no- yes!

His unspoken exclamation was punctuated by a bell tolling in the distance. Two-fifteen, it chimed, reminding him that he had work that morning and he really, really shouldn’t have been there.

“This better be worth my time!” he yelled at the boarded-up windows. The old brownstone was completely unremarkable- faded, dilapidated, damp, mouldy, dusty- which was not her style whatsoever. Still, he knew she was up there.

She’d asked him to meet her.

And he’d said yes.

Because of course he had.

He cursed himself as he moved up a narrow stairwell, the smell of mildew and rot so strong he felt he might throw up. On each level there was a window, crusted over with grime and dirt so the light from outside was diffused, distant. He spotted the vague form of a hoarding, and the tell-tale flicker of siren lights.

Top floor, nowhere left to go but further into the building. He pushed the door open and was surprised when it swung open easily. He shouldn’t have been, in hindsight. She knew what she was doing.

They’d been best friends forever and then a bit, like peas in two slightly different pods. She was an event planner and performer, constantly on the move. Through thick and thin, they’d been together.

These last few months had taken their toll, though.

She’d been away a lot, involved with this strange new art project that involved acting like a superhero of some sort. He hadn’t been paying all that much attention to it- of course he’d seen her on the screens at work, the CCTV perspective failing to capture the beauty of her ribbons and figure, down the street from him during a confrontation, her form resplendent even through a crowd of bystanders.

But he hadn’t been actively involved, until this night.

He emerged into an ancient auditorium, dust-and-cockroach infested. The seats were hard, the fluff having long disintegrated.

The last message she’d sent him, in an old-fashioned eggshell-white envelope with an accompanying key, read as follows:

Seat 5A once you get to the top. Don’t be late. This might be your last chance.

He fucking hated that.

He’d gotten a therapist recently- a relatively stable job at an accounting firm as a receptionist meant he could afford it. And he’d come to realise that her ‘quirky’, ‘relatable’ nature was just a cover for being an emotionally abusive asshole.

He planned to tell her that tonight.

The sharp crack of heavy boots on wood knocked him out of his revere, and he snapped about to find a cloud of dust obscuring stage right. A harsh electrical hum signalled a stage light flickering on, pointed directly at it.

His heart, having skipped a beat, calmed- now that was more like her.

Before the cloud could dissipate entirely, she kicked again. Then again, and again, and he realised it was a beat. She was riling herself up, building up energy, waiting for the moment she could-

She darted out of the cloud, jumped off a springboard he hadn’t spotted, flipped twice and came to a stop at centre stage.

“Welcome,” she spelled off, and in that instant he could see her in a movie. “Welcome, hapless whelps and misfits of the world.”

“What—” he hesitated at that, completely unsure where he was going with the thought. It was an act, a performance of some sort, like it always was. But, as always, he’d resigned himself to playing second fiddle. “- is this?”

A wan smile as she traced the brim of her bowler hat was all the answer he got. A flick of her wrist; her white-topped cane flipped end over end, and when she caught it she was halfway across the stage. The thick curtains hid her retreat once she ducked behind them, and almost before he realised it he was alone again.

“Damnit—” he was moving, contemplating climbing over the chairs before he realised it was more trouble than it was worth, breaking into a run the instant he reached the aisle. “-GET BACK HERE!”

He clambered onto the stage, almost ripping his trousers on a stray nail. His heavy footfalls echoed more than hers had, and he had a second to consider that before he tripped over the springboard and ate dirt.

“Urgh.” He was pushing forward even before he was off the ground, intent on catching up with her and giving her a piece of his mind.

Backstage now, behind the curtains. Everything was covered in white sheets, and obviously hadn’t been disturbed in years. Or maybe she’d just set it up that way, given it that look for- what purpose? He didn’t know. Maybe to be dramatic.

He stepped through another door- the only one with a handprint on it, and now he was certain she’d doctored it to look that way. She was never as sloppy as that. The hall beyond stretched into oppressive darkness and silence, motes of dust flickering in the sparse overhead lighting.

And as he stepped into the hall, something slithered along the roof.

The creature was on him before he could react, dropping from above in a move that was decidedly un-boa-constrictor like. He knew it was a boa, of course, because he’d seen this exact one in a picture she’d sent him about a month ago. Same goofy look, same scale pattern…

It constricted around him, and the instant he realised what it was a boa constrictor did he was screaming. Of course, that didn’t stop the boa.

He screamed and screamed and screamed until his throat went dry, and still nobody appeared. His legs gave out, and he realised why the boa had dropped as it had- the lighting fixture it had been moving along had fallen on him.

The boa constricted further, and for a split second he was absolutely certain that he was going to die like this, with broken glass biting into his body, hands scrabbling futilely at the slippery-smooth scales of a snake his friend had set upon him. Alone and afraid.

His vision hazed over, and in a desperate attempt to find some semblance of beauty in his last moments his eyes flicked to the boa’s scales. They were, in a sense, beautiful- a backdrop of tropical green lush with floral yellows, verdant browns, blood reds…

The animal slid from his throat and torso, limp. He bent half-over, choking, coughing, hyperventilating, trying to get some air back into his system. He wasn’t dead, he wasn’t dead, he wasn’t dead…

“Well, that was a shame.” That… that thing called, and he looked up to find whatever it was wearing the skin of his friend staring right into his eyes. It wasn’t even maniacal- it was exactly her smile. A bit lopsided, with her cowlick perpetually getting in the way-

He vomited.

“Follow me!” she giggled, then ran down the hall and ducked into one of the doors.

He breathed, in and out and in, trying to replenish his lungs. He’d almost died, and…

This wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. That had always been their dynamic- she’d put him in danger, he’d call her out on it, she’d apologise, and they’d move on. Over and over and over, and eventually she decided to take his forgiveness as a given instead of something that had to be earned.

He looked down in abject horror at the corpse of the boa still wrapped around him. Even in death, it still had that goofy grin. In fact, with its tongue lolling out it looked even goofier.

He’d have vomited again if there was anything left in his stomach. Instead, he extracted himself from the corpse and stumbled towards the door she’d taken.

He threw the door open, threw himself inside the room, then threw himself against the door to close it. The room was decidedly less musty than the rest of the building had been- mostly bare, with a window that was clean on the inside but filthy on the outside. She stood in the centre, silhouetted against the moonlight.

“I’ve been expecting you.” She grinned.

“Is-” he breathed deeply. “Is this a fucking game?”

“Well you see, dear,” the words rolled off her tongue, “I’ve been on a bit of a… let’s say philanthropy binge as of late. And I wanted to show you some of it!”

“What? What is wrong with you?”

She said nothing, instead turning on a television he hadn’t even noticed. It flashed some news footage.

“The superhero known as Ballerita recently saved some kittens from a well! She then took some wall street executives and shook them upside down over until all the money they stole had been redistributed! Trickle down economics in action, folks!”

This was accompanied with B-roll of her running around doing stuff, using her signature cirque de soleie ribbons to incapacitate the baddies. She was wild, she was graceful, and it was all an act.

Or…

He recognised her, and her performance persona. It was something she’d cultivated over a number of years and was incredibly proud of. But there was something off about it.

“Wait, is this for real?”

She glanced back at him, confused. “Of course it is.”

He was silent.

…what?

Every single news story he’d assumed was a fake or a joke, every single bit of performance art… the orphanage on fire, the mobsters hung from a pizzeria sign, the babies saved…

… WHAT?

“Wh- why do you want to show me this?” he asked. “This- most of this stuff is illegal!”

“Weeeellll,” her grin was just the tiniest bit patronising. “I wanted to show you what it’s like. A day in the life of me. I had an itinerary and everything, you know.”

She looked up at him, eyes ever so slightly downcast but still full of that playful energy. What was he supposed to do?

“I almost died!”

She winced. “Yes. That was on me. I didn’t realise just how dangerous this place was to somebody who’d never been here.”

He waited for the ‘but’. There was always a ‘but’.

“But, I—"

“Of course.” He interjected, placing his face in his hands and raising his voice. “Of course, you would—”

“-wanted you to get a feel for the place! It’s got a library, just—”

“-justify almost killing me like this! This isn’t even the first time! What—”

“-like you’ve always wanted, and a terrarium, and I spent so long—”

“-possible justification could you have? I don’t get it, why do you constantly—”

“-getting it just right so you could have it when I’m gone!”

“-jeopardise our friendship like this?”

They stared each other down. Neither broke eye contact for an incredibly long, drawn-out second.

“What do you mean,” they both started, then she shut up and let him finish. “when you’re gone?”

“When I’m gone,” she responded, carefully, “as in when I finally die. Tonight, actually. What do you mean by ‘jeopardise our friendship?’”

He put his back to the wall, and slowly slid down it.

“No, seriously, we’ve been friends forever. What’s a near death experience between friends?”

“Y-” he hesitated. “You’re dying? H- how?”

She sat down next to him. “I got caught up with the wrong people. They gave me until tonight. I was hoping I could at least show you some of the ropes, try and get you ready to take my place.”

That got him to look up. “Take your place? As a- as a fucking superhero?”

The disbelief in his voice made her look at him, really look at him in a way she hadn’t until now. She’d been doing what she always did- treating him as the audience, and not as a person.

“You really didn’t know?” she asked.

“I thought it was a joke!” he ran fingers through his hair violently. “O- or some performance art, or some other shit like you always pull! I didn’t- who the fuck did you piss off so much that you can’t even try and run?”

She shrugged. “The government.”

He looked at her. Really looked at her as she had at him, at the dark circles under her eyes, at the scarring on her right arm, at her posture.

“I can book us a flight and get us out of this country before sunrise.” He said, even though he wanted nothing to do with her ever again.

“It’s the government, dude.”

“Well, there has to be something! Or did you just call me here to watch you die?”

She placed a hand on his shoulder in what was meant to be a comforting gesture, placing her finger under his chin and tilting it up to look him in the eyes.

“I called you so you could take my place.” She whispered, “You’ve seen what I’ve done! What you could do! What do you say, friend?”

He went silent.

She took a deep breath, pulling her hands back before extending one out towards him. “What do you say, friend?”

“God, you’re awful.”

She smiled.

“No, I mean unironically, you’re an awful, terrible person.”

He grabbed the key to the theatre and flung it at the window. It bounced off, cracking the pane.

“I never wanted this! Any of what you did to me! Putting ourselves in life threatening danger again and again and again… that was your thing! I tagged along until it was fun, but once it stopped being fun, you didn’t let me leave!

“No, you sunk yourself into everything I did like some sort of social parasite. And now that we’re here, you’re going to go die because you got involved with the government somehow because you like going out and playing dress up, and I’m going to have to watch you die! And that’s supposed to motivate me to become a superhero? What is this, a fucking movie?”

He was hyperventilating again. “You brought me here to watch you die so I could take revenge on your behalf? What kind of friend does that?”

She remained silent. Then, just as he thought she might respond, might say something of note…

Copter blades in the distance. Out of the window, he spotted police lights.

“They’re here.” She said, emotionless.

He turned back to yell at her but choked on his own words.

She remained silent as he tried to compose himself. Failed. Then watched as he collapsed into a sobbing mess on the ground, curled up into a ball.

She offered no comfort.

Eventually, he had cried himself out, and the copter was the loudest it had ever been. Directly above them if his hearing wasn’t deceiving him.

“Have you had your tantrum?” she asked.

“Go fuck yourself.”

She got up, grabbed him by the arm, and dragged him. As much as he wanted to just lie there, dead weight as she tried to get him up the stairs, she was more than capable of carrying him. So, he rose to his feet. His heart thumped in his ears.

As much as he didn’t want to see this, he knew he didn’t realistically have a choice. She was a siren, he assured himself, mostly to try and shake the cold pit that had wormed its way into his stomach.

She wouldn’t have cared if you had died. He told himself.

It didn’t help.

He was going to watch his friend die. How was someone supposed to prepare for that?

They emerged onto the roof, and the nightsun was right in their faces, blinding them. The noise was deafening- two copters putting boots on the ground and a third, presumably, acting as reconnaissance. The instant it spotted them it swung around, and the cold pit in his stomach became an impossible weight.

“Put your hands on the ground, and don’t move.” A voice called. “You are…”

It continued, but it didn’t phase her at all. She’d been performing for most of her life, of course it didn’t.

Her form arced- a curve that started from her left leg, worked its way up her spine and terminated at the fulcrum of her hand. Her impeccably-manicured fingers splayed outwards like a flower in bloom, and he found himself shaking his head in disbelief and fear- it was a sort-of signature of hers, something she had spent ages perfecting and performing.

“C’est fini.” She whispered, then louder, projecting her voice across the roof. “C’EST FINI!’

Nobody moved for a long, long second.

“Well, now…” the lopsided grin was back, shining through the grime and sweat covering her face. Strands of her hair had come undone from her bun and were clinging despondently to her forehead. “Aren’t you lot going to do anything?”

Even with all the noise, it felt deathly silent.

“Or am I just free to go?”

Despite what he’d seen in the movies, he hadn’t expected the rounds to be that violent.

They tore into her body, passing through her almost effortlessly. Some hit him, but they weren’t as lethal. Of course they weren’t, they’d gone through about twelve inches of his best friend before hitting him. She ragdolled, but the gunshots didn’t let up.

She was dead before she hit the ground.

Two-thirty in the morning on a Tuesday morning and he was watching boots on the ground advancing towards him and a corpse- the corpse of your best friend, some part of his brain reminded him- and he just… didn’t know what to do.

He raised his hands over his head slowly because that’s what they did in the movies. It was two thirty in the morning on a freezing Tuesday morning and he was in a movie.

Then he was sobbing, and he clasped a hand over his mouth, fingers scrabbling to make purchase on the skin, trying to block out the dust and the acrid stench of blood and sweat, and as he tried to push himself away from the body he screamed-

#mostly dark #slightly comedy #gore tw #death tw #bad friends

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readingat3amisnormal · 4 years ago

Text

The hushed beeping of the support systems over the static of the raging wind was a constant pressure against their ears. The muted colours of the display terminal bathed the sparse barracks- a storage closet, a desk, and an occupied sleeping pod- in a cool, uncomfortable light.

The walls were concrete, a neutral grey with aberrations where it had been worn down by past occupants. There was a patch over on the far side of the wall where an intrepid former employee had decided to carve their name. It hadn’t gone over well with HQ, of course.

They spent a not insignificant amount of their free time tracing over that patch, memorising the tiny fluctuations in concrete density, noting the microscopic whorls and spirals that peppered its surface.

It was a lonely existence out here, but it paid enough to slowly chip away at the nigh insurmountable bills, so there was that.

That former employee’s replacement was currently in the sleeping pod, where they’d remain for the next fifty-one cycles. So, they had the entire cabin to themselves.

That would’ve been excellent if they spent all their time indoors. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. They spent the majority of their time outside, running around in the below-freezing temperatures fixing up the temperamental equipment that almost always went wrong.

They eased themselves into the chair, letting the metal contacts on their left palm rest against the tabletop. The display flashed neon green and informed them that their performance that cycle had been ‘sufficient’.

A deep, deep sigh was all the response it got. HQ was incredibly unreliable, and as long as their performance didn’t slip further it should be fine.

Their eyes wandered to the massive display set into the wall across from them. Systems all up and running, though the temperature on one seemed slightly above nominal. They glanced at it, fingers fumbling against the metal desk for a half-second before it scraped painfully and they withdrew, wincing. The sound rung around the barracks.

Nobody woke.

Still, they hissed an apology- the implant was new, and they weren’t used to it.

Using their other hand, they pulled a notepad and pen from underneath a pile of wrappers left behind by the previous shift. They’d been incredibly expensive to buy, and impractical too- most people tended to use the digital counterparts. But it had always been easier for them to compartmentalise with pen and paper.

That was a sensor to keep an eye on, they noted. It was the very last on a list that still had over a hundred incomplete entries. They were expected to handle all over the remaining fifty cycles of their shift.

A gentle hiss, and a light ringing alerted them to the end of the cycle. Excellent, they thought to themselves, forcing themselves out of the chair. It was time for refuelling.

The tiny antechamber wasn’t a necessity but opening the door to the outside and having all the warm air in the living quarters escape was something the higher ups wanted to avoid. They wanted to keep operational costs as low as possible- and that included heating.

They stepped into it, closed the inner door, breathed, braced themselves, and put in the command to open the outer one.

The wind roared in their ears as the door cracked open. The haze of the blizzard was barely penetrated by the immensely powerful lighthouses in the distance. Here was something interesting they’d learned from their predecessor- if you tried hard enough, you could see them pulsing to the metronome of a beating heart.

The door slid away completely, and they stepped out.

Immediately they were blasted by a torrent of biting wind and snow. It scraped painfully against their already too-dry skin, making their extremities numb. As they took a step off the raised platform the cabin was on, a pile of slush made them lose their footing.

They cursed. Every moment wasted getting to the monolith was coming out of their paycheck. But they couldn’t help it- the sudden drop in temperature was genuinely painful.

That was a good thing, they reminded themselves as their breath rattled in their chest and they struggled to make any progress against the wind. According to people smarter than them, thermal shock was the best way to keep everything working while the recharger stations worked their magic.

One step after another, over tough, rocky outcrops and around narrow ravines that were almost impossible to crawl out of once you fell in. There had once been a well-maintained path- railings and a metal walkway and such- but they hadn’t ever been a priority. On schedules as tight as theirs, you had to decide what was really important.

They tucked their chin against their chest and soldered on. As they stepped into the shadow of a boulder, the wind speed dropped enough that they could watch as their frosted breath was stolen away.

Around a corner, past some craggy rock formations, and they were out in the open.

They steeled themselves and stared down the imposing figure.

The monoliths were a tricky business- shunned almost universally at the time of their introduction, they soon became an industry standard. In essence, the largest loss of productivity among the working class was attributed to lethargy and sleep. These were an ingenious way of delaying both- the monoliths recharged you, over and over and over again, until your shift partner took over and you got to catch up on it all.

People had died, of course. But they’d been outliers, and the vast majority had been able to trundle on. Therefore, they had been adopted instantly. HQ had set theirs right out in the open, so in case of an emergency a helicopter could lift it out. The devices were ultra-expensive, but apparently that was more than made up for by the increased productivity of their workers.

As they neared, a readout inquisitively beeped just in front of their left eye. They ignored it. It was a status report, informing them just how violent the refuelling process would be. Because of course, if they’d used up a bit too much energy, it would be extra painful.

They tried not to think about it, but now that the time to refuel was upon them they couldn’t think of anything else. Had they exceeded their quota? Had they gone over the soft limit? Or had they, for once, stayed within their bounds.

As something in the vicinity began to whir, they prayed the mainframe deity would take pity on them.

The monolith flashed a blinding red, and they felt their limbs tear.

Their mouth opened in a wordless scream as they were lifted, limp in the monolith’s pseudo-telekinetic grasp. The whirring rose in pitch, spinning in and out and in and out and in and out and…

They imagined a cybernetic ballerina pirouetting across a stage shrouded in silver, the chrome on its arms flashing in time with the music as the stage lights bounced off it like bullets. A perfect meld of grace and power.

The monolith set them aflame from the inside out.

They spluttered, spittle flying from their mouth as its grasp faded, letting them fall the ten or so feet to the ground. The attachments on their legs took the brunt of the impact, as they did most nights, but that didn’t stop the rest of their body from thudding to the ground.

The impact kicked up dust, almost immediately flicked away by the wind. They wondered how that worked. This close to the ground, the wind wasn’t blowing quite as hard. It was almost peaceful.

They stumbled to their feet, mechanical joints whirring and clacking. All over their body, holographic readouts bloomed like flowers.

They ignored them, deciding to savour the moment. It had been a gentle refuelling, their first of this shift.

The equipment status alert blared nervously in their ear, so they brought the readout up. 35bpm, a bit low but nothing to be worried about. Thirty degrees ambient, with all bionic components just a bit lower. They sighed in relief- no errors, no breakdowns. They’d made it through the day.

Fifty more cycles. They assured themselves. Fifty more, then I get to sleep.

Dismissing the displays, they turned and trudged back into the grey.

#cyberpunk #writing #short-stories #too-many-adverbs-imma-try-to-fix-that

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