Unlovely- A Tale of Madness

by Risa Fey

  “What good would that do?” Cathy had snapped. “Studying rocks as dumb as you?”

  Cora shut her eyes at the painful memory. There was an awful bulging in her chest, a pressure of unrelieved emotion. All she wanted now was to be free. Career and dreams be damned.

  “All I want is a quiet life,” she said then to Mr. Philips. “Peace. Quiet. Solitude. I don’t need any of that other bull.”

  Scratching at his snowy beard, Mr. Philips grunted in acknowledgement. The barred lines on his forehead grew more pronounced. And then he nodded once with finality.

  “Well,” he said, “we aren’t all made of the same stuff, I suppose. College is a boisterous place, and it certainly isn’t for everyone. All the careers that spring from there tend to chaos in their own right. They’re liable to drive a sane one mad… And perhaps,” he shrugged, “that’s why they pay so well: compensation for the insanity. Still, you’re a curious case for not having heeded your instructors. They’re apt to know what you’re capable of far better than yourself. They can sniff out potential even where you can’t. If they thought you might be capable of handling it—”

  “They didn’t take into account what I want.” Her tone wavered in its firmness. She was not accustomed to asserting herself.

  “I see…” He waved a hand. “But still, I’m surprised you aren’t at least curious about attending university. What is it that you want?”

  Cora played with her hair, frowning around at everything in the office: the faded map nailed to the wall, a cratered corkboard, some fusty old books regarding business and accounting. “I want to hear that I’ve got the job,” she answered mildly.

  Mr. Philips cradled his chin in one hand, placing the forefinger thoughtfully over his mouth. He believed she truly, honestly wanted the job. She wouldn’t run out on him without warning, not like the previous clerk who didn’t even bother calling in when he had quit.

  “Where do you live?” he asked. “I’ve never seen you around here, now that I think about it.” If Cora didn’t live in town, then it’d be too out of the way for her to commute from the nearest city. The modest income she’d be collecting wouldn’t be worth it.

  Of course, she thought. The town was small enough that he would have known about her if she was one of the longtime residents. Not to mention all the personal information he had gleaned from her so far by reading her mind.

  He must know that I’m a runaway, she thought. He must be wondering what I’m doing here. But I absolutely cannot tell him why or how I ran away.

  Cora had stolen cash from her parents over a period of several weeks. She had hopped the first southbound bus with the money in her pocket, and had paid the deposit and fees for the little drab place she now called home.

  But Cora kept all that other information to herself; Mr. Philips might be entitled to her address, but all that other stuff was private. “I live in the cottage at the end of Rendling Road. 46 Rendling. I saw it was up for rent, thought it was cute, and took it immediately.”

  His extremely mobile eyebrows sank straight down at that. “Really? You mean the one with the old well?”

  “That’s the one,” Cora affirmed. Her eyes dragged left and right. “Why do you ask?”

  Mr. Philips shook his hand up, swatting at the air like it was nothing important. “It’s just that you’re so buried in the woods, and I figured the story surrounding the place would have been enough to deter anyone from taking it.”

  Cora had heard about the strange reports and unnatural occurrences, which were largely why the place had been so cheap to begin with. But the rumors didn’t bother her in any meaningful way. Her own life, she figured, was already a haunt. It couldn’t be made worse by someone else’s undead memories.

  “I have plenty of experience with my own demons, Mr. Philips,” Cora said. “Someone else’s could hardly do me any harm.”

  The shopkeeper rubbed at his scruffy beard. He stared long at the short-haired girl, lank and pale in her long-sleeved dress. He clapped a hand down on the table. “When’s the soonest you can start?”

  Her face flushed with relief. “Today—I was hoping.”

  Mr. Philips nodded his agreement. The boy he had been employing had quit suddenly only weeks before, and he needed an immediate replacement.

  “Excellent. I’ve been stuck trying to clean the store and put more stock out, but some repairs have prevented me from tackling those tasks. We just got a large shipment in yesterday: souvenirs and the like, for the coming local celebrations.”

  A weight seemed to float off from her shoulders. “Just show me the supply closet. I’ll get started right away.”

  Mr. Philips stood up, and a pleasant grin crinkled his features. “Follow me,” he said, leading the way. “We open at eight-thirty sharp, but customers tend not to come in until around ten. When we get our first customer I’ll show you how to work the register. Then after that, we’ll see how you do with the rest of the customers on your own.”

  He went in the dark, narrow hallway, just a few steps outside the door to his office. He opened a cramped, two-fold broom closet that Cora hadn’t noticed earlier.

  “First, dust the place,” he said, “especially the merchandise. Then get to sweeping. After that, you can wash the windows, inside and out.”

  Cora picked out a sullied duster, a broom and pan, and a grubby washcloth and spray bottle. The broom’s straw head was split and frazzled at the ends, but it was sturdy and functional enough. She could make do. The duster, on the other hand, needed to be beaten outside before use.

  Cora busied herself with the assignments right away, feeling hopeful and cheerful for the first time in her life.

  Mr. Philips left to fetch some overdue boxes from the stockroom, whistling all the while. He could already tell that Cora was a diligent and hardworking young woman. But there was something pervasively sad about her that he couldn’t quite pin down.

  He almost had the mind to ask her why she had moved into such a small town, but then figured it wouldn’t be right, at least for now. One day he would ask her, though, when they knew each other a little better. Until then, he would just be grateful for the new help.

  After bringing out some boxes, he unsheathed the box-cutter on his belt and sliced the packing tape with ease.

  CHAPTER 3

  ONE OF THE ITEMS Mr. Philips took out of the pile of boxes was a handheld mirror. He propped it sideways on the top shelf of a spiral-shaped rack with various other matching objects: trinket dishes, pocket mirrors, lipstick tubes, perfume atomizers, and some iron jewelry trees. Later on in the morning, he guided Cora through a few customer transactions so that she had a working knowledge of everything that was expected of her. Around noontime she felt confident enough to operate the cash register on her own, although interacting with the people put her on edge.

  Sunbeams fingered through the crooked slats of the farthest window, touching the handheld mirror’s glossy surface and brightening it to a splash of burnished gold. The brilliance was blinding and hurt Cora’s eyes even though she tried to keep it in the periphery of her vision.

  After a while, Cora crossed the shop to reposition the mirror’s angle so that the reflection would stop dazzling her eyesight. As she grabbed the handle, the reflection seemed to ripple like slightly agitated water. Cora blinked her eyes rapidly, suspecting she was tired from her lack of sleep over the past few days. She moved to lay the mirror flat, but it slipped from her fingers at the last second, and upon it slapping down on the shelf, the mirror cracked. A hair-thin line slanted diagonally across its face.

  Cora was startled by the sound of someone behind her in the empty shop: “You broke the seal. You shouldn’t have done that. Now They’ll be coming for you…”

  She bit her lips shut, then turned around.

  No one was there.

  She figured Mr. Philips had been talking to her from somewhere in the backroom. But his voice had sounded so clear and very near—and how could he have known she had m
oved the mirror?

  An irrational feeling of guilt came over her, growing out of all proportion to the situation. Had that voice been her boss’s? Had he caught her meddling with his display? Cora glanced around, wondering if cameras were in the rafters or in the merchandise. Was he going to fire her for messing up the display, or breaking the fragile mirror?

  A tingling sensation crept down her nape, and she imagined she could feel his eyes on her even now. Cora listened carefully for any further reprimands, but then forced herself to acknowledge: I really am more tired than I thought.

  Cora padded back over to the cash register, where she started organizing the stationary and tip and charity jars. Briefly, she wondered if she could buy the mirror for herself and only hope that Mr. Philips didn’t look at it too closely during checkout.

  The room felt stuffy and almost muted. It felt like a bubble of noise was trapped in the dense bricks of the four walls, and the vibrations that it emanated were distorting reality, plugging up her ears and ringing from the hollow flutes of eternity. She heard whispers, hoarse mutterings, and incantations—actually, she felt rather than heard them.

  Cora lifted a tentative finger in the air, feeling for where the straining bubble of sound was, so that maybe she could pop it and release the pressure.

  “Is everything alright?”

  She whirled around. It was Mr. Philips in the backroom corridor. He was carrying an array of small boxes over one arm.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” she said.

  “Thought I heard you saying something a minute ago.” He shuffled forward. “Someone was talking, at least. Didn’t think it was a customer.” Mr. Philips wove through the displays toward the register’s counter. “Must be senility setting in.” He smiled easily at her. “I’m at that age, you know. It’s all downhill from here to six-feet-under.” He set the boxes down beside the register and then leaned back to crack his back. “Still, it sounded like someone was upset. Could’ve sworn I heard you calling.”

  “Well, you didn’t.” She bit the inside of her cheek, surprised at her own incisiveness.

  Mr. Philips laughed lightly, indicating it was nothing worth getting into. “Well, please don’t hesitate to call me if you do have questions or any problematic customers. Lord knows you still have yet to meet Mrs. Fussbury. Always accusing me of selling cheap China-made knockoffs.”

  He changed the subject abruptly. “I’m terribly hungry. I’m going to grab lunch. Will be outside if you need anything. Soon as I’m back, it’ll be your lunchtime.” Mr. Philips waved a hand in her direction, and then left through the back rooms, humming a tune.

  Cora wiped her forehead with the back of a hand. The mirror on top of the shelving gaped emptily at the vaulted ceiling. She meant to stow it behind the counter to purchase later, but a misty sparkle glimmering over its surface distracted her. It looked similar to low steam floating over a murky lake.

  Magic pulsed from the mirror’s pellucid depths, seeping into the room like blood from an open wound. The world around her seemed to shift upon its axis and somehow change, although not in any discernible way. It felt like gravity had been pushed slightly off center, and everything was different and somehow dreamlike.

  Something—or someone—broke through the rift in the mirror, emerging onto her side of the universe. Cora could not see him, but she knew he must have travelled from several light-years away, maybe even from several universes over. He was in the room with her, but Cora could not tell if the magical intruder was friend or foe. She felt his being, nonetheless, the springing-into-existence of a ghost.

  “I told you the seal is broken,” said the same disembodied voice from earlier. His words curled into her ear like a whorl of musical notes. “You opened the way. Now They’ll hunt you down until you lie dead at Their feet. There’s no escape.”

  The bubble of sound consumed her utterly, distending into a swell of palpable fear. It gave off a low-frequency ringing that seemed to pulverize her eardrums. Cora thought she might go deaf if the bubble did not burst.

  “Who are you?” she said, glancing around. The shop looked the same, but was somehow different. Cora could not put her finger on what had changed, but this was not Earth. This was not the mundane world she had come to know.

  There was a smile in the disembodied voice. Whether it was triumph or cordiality, she didn’t know. “I thought you’d recognize your only friend.” Some sort of magic in his tone stroked her agitated soul into docility. The voice was male, a handsome-sounding male, with warm notes and a husky quality that made her shiver on the inside. “I’ve always been here,” he went on, the voice taking on more character and substance, “watching you from afar…”

  Even though Cora had no idea who or what he was, she felt unreasonably willing to get to know him.

  “They’re here,” he said with more finality. “They’re coming. Don’t you understand what that means?”

  Cora picked up on his capitalization of the pronoun, and therefore knew what he was talking about. “They’ve always been here,” she pointed out. “They’ve been monkeying around with my mind since I was small.”

  “No.” He cut in with urgency, though his voice never became louder than a whisper. “I don’t think you understand. They only watched and pretended to hold sway over Man’s affairs. They were never here, not where you are. But now They are. They’re in your world, gaining traction, gaining substance. They’ll drive you into madness if you let Them.”

  A barrage of voices invaded her head suddenly, clamoring for attention all at once. It was as if she had been wearing noise-cancelling headphones, and the volume had been turned all the way up. They swarmed her from the ruptured bubble of sound like a cloud of demons, Their voices at first sounding muffled but eventually gaining clarity.

  A man was laughing hoarsely, while a rusty-throated woman muttered on about some joke involving death. Skirls of children filled the gaps in between blares of arguments, and the sounds jostled together like overlapping radio waves, rising to a fever-pitch that sent Cora careening to the floor.

  Someone was behind her, but she couldn’t tell who. Whoever it was, they were very near, pressing close, invisible but almost tangible. Was it one of the alien gods, freshly escaped from the mirror’s rift?

  There was a muffled booming and loud clap, as of something being opened and thrown shut. Cora’s ears throbbed at the assault of that sound, and so she tried to stop them up with her hands. But, to her horror, that only seemed to amplify the sound.

  Gravel crunched beneath an endless parade of shoes. Heavy heels scuffed along the weathered wood of the small porch. And then the entry doorbell chimed.

  A family stepped into the shop, dressed head to toe in bright-colored clothes with geometric and floral patterns. The man, who Cora assumed to be the father, slid his sunglasses onto his head and scanned the room. The mother patted the heads of her three small children, two freckled boys and a rosy-cheeked girl in a yellow dress.

  It took an enormous amount of effort for Cora to regain her feet from behind the cash register. Her limbs shook visibly even where she stood, and her muscles felt boneless and debilitated.

  The father grinned at her, oblivious to her struggles, and then said, “Hello, there! Was starting to wonder if maybe we’d accidentally broken in.”

  “Are you one of Them?” Cora asked, basic comprehension failing her. “If you are, then you know you did break in.”

  Puzzled, the man paused to contemplate her question. “Well, I don’t think you were expecting us if that’s what you mean. I don’t know who ‘They’ are supposed to be. We’ve only just arrived.” He beamed real cheerful at her then. “We’re here for the festival next week. Love local holidays. On vacation, we and the kids. I’m John, and this is my wife, Abigail,”—Abigail waved—“and these three miniature devils are our children. Don’t let their adorable chubby faces fool you, though. They take pleasure in making one’s life a living H-E-L-L.”

  The miniature devils
snickered and waved exuberantly at her as well.

  “We’re just stopping in to pick up a few snacks,” the dad went on. “Haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

  With that, he wandered around the shop, browsing for something sweet and far too salty.

  If they were the alien gods, they sure didn’t look like it. Cora was ready to flee at any moment, but she just wasn’t sure yet what to do in the meantime.

  “I’m sorry if I made no sense just now,” Cora said. “It’s just, we’ve been expecting someone… um, a delivery, actually. I was only confused by your—timing…” Immediately, she withdrew from the conversation.

  John relaxed at that and smiled amicably, but said nothing more.

  Cora watched the family meander around the short tables and shelves, weaving through displays, and eyeing baskets full of goods. The children touched practically everything within their reach, holding onto the items that aroused their curiosity the most. Like a green-eyed band of frogs, they hopped madly around their parents, tongues hanging open in their pleas. Cora thought for a moment that their eyes were actually green, skin spotted with toad markings, and fingers bulbed around the tips.

  Brushing each child away, Abigail paused beside the mirror, having almost seemed to sense its magic pulse. The shimmer Cora had seen emanating from it disappeared at the exact moment Abigail touched its handle.

  The broken reflection Abigail saw in the mirror was unflattering. Her face was drained of all its color, making her appear almost dead, or like she was covered in bluish dust.

  Deterred from buying it, Abigail put the mirror down.

  The magic shimmer slowly reemerged. Diminutive faerie lights glinted like new snow.

  Someone stood behind Cora, still; she could sense the space being taken up. Instinctively Cora knew whoever it was wasn’t Them, but it was him, the unseen man with the velvety voice and warning words.

  He didn’t do or say anything. But he watched with what she sensed was blasé disinterest as the family browsed and bickered back and forth.