When she came to, she was in the exact same position she had been in: sitting on her bed with a dead hamster in her hands. But something was different.
There was heat there, now, beneath the fur, and a cool, blinding sting spreading from the centers of her palms, through her veins, up her arms. It felt nice at first—fresh—and then it ached and felt horrible.
Her whole body startled when she felt movement in her hands.
Hervey squeaked quietly and snuffled at her fingers.
Chapter Two
There was a long silence. The hamster looked at Edie. Edie looked at the hamster.
“Hi, buddy,” she managed, unsure of what else to say. The cold ache was fading through her shoulders and down her back, gradually lessening. “Were you sleeping?”
The hamster didn’t say anything, so at least she knew this was still a reality she was somewhat familiar with. He just looked at her. She could see him inhale and exhale; his ears twitched, and his little black eyes were wide open.
“Okay.” She took a deep breath and slowly went to his cage, letting him down near the door. He hopped back in eagerly, retreating into his little hutch and hunkering down in the wood shavings. He looked ... scared, but alive. He had to be alive. He was moving and breathing. That was alive. He was alive.
But she’d been so sure—
Edie tried to shake the doubts from her head, latching the cage again. She sat back on her brocade bedspread and watched the hamster for a long while. He was just in shock. That happens all the time with small pets. Maybe he was playing dead because he’s in a lot of pain or something.
She looked it up on her phone, without taking eyes off the cage for too long. ShowMeHow said shocked hamsters would feel cold to the touch and would stop moving.
That was it. That was probably it. “If he doesn’t improve in 30 to 60 minutes, take your hamster in for veterinary care,” she read aloud, if only to hear something besides him scratching at the wood chips in his cage, and the thudding of her own heart.
She scrubbed her face with one hand. It was fine. It would all be fine. She just had to forget about that strange energy and her weird blackout. She’d just made a mistake. Had panicked.
A loud ping from her phone startled her, numbing her already shocked system for a moment before she realized what it was. A message from Mercy had appeared in her notifications.
[Mercy Cedeno]: How is everything going?
The message appeared alongside Mercy’s icon, a selfie: a woman a year or so older than Edie, with medium brown skin, round chestnut eyes, and voluminous, wavy pink hair that would put Jem and the Holograms to shame.
[Edith Holloway]: nice timing. Hervey just had an episode or something? he was in shock, but he looks okay now.
[Mercy Cedeno]: really? :( Poor Hervey!! make sure he’s nice and warm and tell me if you need anything from my room
Any herbal remedies Mercy might suggest would have to be a last resort. They might help a human feel better, but Edie wasn’t sure they’d work on a small rodent.
[Edith Holloway]: How are things over there?
[Mercy Cedeno]: things are okay, just checking in before I go to bed <3
In Mercy-speak, that meant, Don’t bother me, I’m about to get laid. Edie sent a thumbs up and set her phone aside.
One of her mom’s old scarves hung over the towel rack on the back of her door. She stared at it for a while, the wheels turning in her head, before grabbing it and draping it over the cage. Hopefully, it would give Hervey some sense of security.
The texture of the scarf brought back memories of her Mom. Should she call her? Did Mom even know she owned a hamster? She couldn’t remember if she’d mentioned it, but probably not. They barely spoke.
Edie felt like she should talk to someone, but Mercy had gone to bed. There was no one else. And even if there were, what would she tell them?
Edie bundled herself in bed, propping herself up against the wall so she was facing the hamster cage. She tried to watch vigilantly, but she’d just finished a twelve-hour shift at Nocturnem; it wasn’t long before she was almost too exhausted to even keep her head up. It wasn’t that she wanted to go to sleep—chills still ran up her spine, through her body.
Maybe Hervey had just had an episode, but whatever had happened to her had been totally weird and definitely creepy. That blackout….
She’d passed out before, once. It had been at homecoming, and she’d been wearing a black velvet gown half her weight that she’d fasted all day to fit into. Turned out, humans needed food and water to live. She’d literally swooned in her date’s arms, and he had promptly dropped her on the dance floor. She’d elected to skip prom the following year.
But this had been more than just passing out. The icy ache that had spread up her arms still stiffened her shoulders and neck. She felt sick herself. Surely, she couldn’t have caught anything from the hamster. That was ridiculous. That was kooky 60s science fiction. The Day the Hamsters Rose.
Eventually, the sunrise started to filter, gray, though her blinds. Edie realized with dull surprise that she hadn’t slept in almost a full day, and with the light coming in, the empty apartment seemed less threatening.
Leaned against the wall at the head of her bed, she finally gave up and surrendered to sleep, those bobbing, hissing shadows still whispering behind her eyelids.
It wasn’t until the next night that she noticed the smell.
When she’d gotten off work, right away, she knew there was something off about the apartment.
To be fair, the apartment had never smelled quite right, even despite Mercy’s expensive scent diffusers. Edie guessed that having a hundred different tenants over the years and no change of carpet would do that. But this wasn’t the slightly moldy smell she was used to. Sniffing her way through the house, she eventually traced the weird scent to her room. It was even worse there, though still vague enough for her to wonder what it was and where it came from.
As she approached Hervey’s cage, the intensity of the smell mounted, and she coughed a little. It almost smelled like a mix of bad fish and very strong, cheap perfume. Edie peeked into the hamster cage, half-expecting to find him really dead this time.
But Hervey was there, awake and as alive as he’d been last night, sniffing at his water bottle and scratching at the wood chips under him. He looked fine, but the closer she got, the weirder he smelled.
“God, buddy, what did you get into?” After pausing a second to gather her courage, she opened the latch and carefully plucked him out. His fur still didn’t feel right, and his eyes looked strangely glassy and gray. After last night, she had hoped he wouldn’t still be sick, but she saw now that was stupid.
She turned him over, noticing that he was flushed on his underside. It looked like he had a few open sores, too. She had no idea where they could have come from, but they looked nasty.
Cradling Hervey to her chest, Edie walked briskly down the hall, into the bathroom, and started to fill the sink with lukewarm water. Usually, he loved baths, but as she moved to place him in the shallow water, he squealed and scrambled up her palm. Huddling against her wrist, he clung to her sleeve as if for dear life.
“Hey, it’s okay! It’s just water.” She held two fingers under the running water, then brushed them over the fur of his back. His skin twitched in agitation, but eventually, he seemed to grow used to the feeling.
She helped him into the shallow pool, turned off the faucet, and got out the soft-bristled toothbrush she usually cleaned him with. She decided to forgo the hamster shampoo Mercy had concocted; since she didn’t know what was wrong with him, it was probably best to avoid anything other than water.
The bath didn’t go quite as expected. She started to brush him between the eyes with the damp brush, but he didn’t seem comfortable with it, so she moved to his back. He stiffened again.
“It’s okay, little dude.” Gently, she picked him up and turned him in her palm so she could brush his belly. But with the am
ount of skin that sloughed off of him, it was like she was scrubbing him with industrial sandpaper. He didn’t seem hurt, exactly, but was becoming increasingly annoyed as she handled him. He squirmed until she set him back in the water.
Between her fingers, there it was: a thin sheet of skin and hair. It wasn’t much; it wasn’t his whole stomach, and she hadn’t broken any of the weird blisters on his belly, but … holy shit. Holy shit.
Hervey was already scrabbling to get out of the water, so Edie quickly helped him out and wrapped him up in a hand towel. She rinsed off her shaking hands, drew out her cellphone, and called Mercy. Usually they just texted, but she didn’t think anything she tried to type right now would be comprehensible, especially not with still-wet fingers.
“Hello?”
Hearing her friend’s soft, concerned voice relaxed her considerably, but she couldn’t stop herself from shaking. Hervey was just a sick hamster, sure, but everything about the situation was … off. And she was certain she’d just hurt him pretty badly, though he hadn’t seemed to notice.
“Hi, um, so ... Hervey’s, er … skin is falling off?”
Mercy was quiet for a moment. “What?”
“Yeah, and he’s got these sores on him, and … I don’t know what to do. Do I take him to the vet, or...?”
“Does it seem like he’s in pain?” There was a shuffling noise and some distant voices, like Mercy had left a crowded room to move to a quieter one.
“Um, well, he— Probably? I brushed him and some came off. That had to have hurt….” Edie wrinkled her nose, never taking her eyes off the hamster, who was hunkered down on his hand towel, just casually cleaning his face. Every so often, he’d look at her as if to say, What? Why are you freaking out?
“Oh, god … okay. How much came off?”
Edie looked down at the thin sheet of skin and hair in the basin. “Um, I don’t know. Not that much. A couple layers?”
“Okay, and you said he has sores?”
“Yes, and his fur feels weird, and he smells really bad.”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Edie even pulled away slightly to make sure she hadn’t accidentally hung up, but then Mercy finally spoke. “Is ... is he alive?”
What, did she think Edie had gone insane and couldn’t tell the difference between a living and dead rodent? “He’s moving around and breathing, so….”
Another long pause. “M’kay, he probably just has a skin condition. Maybe that’s why he’s been acting so weird, because it was bothering him. Just make sure he’s clean. And there should be some ointment in a little pink bottle behind the mirror.” When Edie didn’t say anything, Mercy added, flatly, “It’s just antiseptic. You should use it.”
Edie looked from the sink to Hervey. “Okay,” she mumbled. “What if he gets worse?”
“Well.” A sigh. “We can take him to the vet, but it’s up to you. They’d probably give better advice than me. Oh, and don’t forget to feed my fish!”
Stupid fish. “Yeah, okay. I’ll call later.” After a second, Edie hung up.
She appreciated Mercy being there for her, but this was all a little much. Hervey, the long hours, having to think about finding a new second job. Edie liked the little hamster fine, but she couldn’t spare more than maybe forty bucks; everything else had to go to her half of the rent and food. At the moment, there wasn’t any room for extras. She had to take care of herself. And after last night’s weirdness, she wasn’t even sure if she was fit for that.
Like usual, she was stuck in a never-ending cycle of shit—a cycle she’d created. And it sucked.
Better feed the fish before I forget. It wasn’t Mercy’s or the fish’s fault that life was coming at Edie a little too fast. She picked Hervey up, walked down the hall with him, and set him back in his cage.
She tried to shake off the feeling of creeping dread as she entered Mercy’s room. Walls of pastel pink and deep blue greeted her, decorated with decals of purple cats, pentagrams, fish skeletons, and lots of stars. All of the furniture was dark and modern, but the bedspread had Sailor Moon on it; above the desk where Mercy kept her cacti garden was a wall of knives—mostly collectors’ pieces, made of out cool materials and intricately engraved, including a machete with a bone handle and a rainbow switchblade. It all amalgamated into an aesthetic Mercy liked to call “Mermaid Murder.”
Edie called it confusing, but Mercy was happy, and that was all that mattered. At least Mercy knew who she was and what she liked, which was more than could be said for most people.
Edie crossed to the old-timey diving helmet her friend’s betta fish called home, picking up the canister of fish food and crouching to sprinkle the flakes on the surface of the water.
She stopped short, almost dropping the canister. The fish was floating belly-up.
Chapter Three
For the next little while, Edie kept to herself. She was withdrawn, almost paranoid after the last couple days—like she had a human body back at her apartment and not just a dead fish. As she rode the subway in to work, she tried to avoid eye contact with everyone else. How many of these strangers know my dark, fish-murdering secret?
On top of that, Nocturnem wasn’t exactly a bright and happy place to be working, and Edie wasn’t convinced going in would be conducive to her current mental state. But it wasn’t like she had a lot of choice.
It was a below-ground club, so it was nice and cool this time of year—late spring, when it was still breezy and chilly but the sun beat hot on the pavement. On the brick façade outside hung a sign with the name of the club on it; below the sign was what looked to be the mouth of an alley that, on a night like tonight, was lit with eerie purple, red, and blue string lights.
But it wasn’t as it seemed. Beyond the entryway was a thin, enclosed stairway leading from the main street down into a sort of switchback alley, its brick walls plastered with clear signage: NOCTURNEM DRAFT HAUS, 21 +, GIVE IN TO YOUR DARK FANTASY.
In online circles, it was considered to be one of the “realer” clubs in the area, clearly targeted to an overwrought goth audience. The entrance was way too sketchy for most “normal” clubbers, which was a draw for people who liked to label themselves alternative. Nocturnem’s preferred clientele liked the privacy—and probably the novelty—of a dark, underground den.
The main room looked like Alexander McQueen’s “Horn of Plenty” and the Red Room from Twin Peaks had been thrown into a blender and then upended. Red velvet curtains lined and hid alcoves, lights were dim and obscured partially by cutouts made to look like the twisted limbs of dead trees; everything was harsh and dark and sculptural. At the far end of the club, there was a stage where musicians or a DJ were usually on duty—though some nights were special, like Burlesque Night or Poetry Night. Neither of those were really Edie’s thing, so, thankfully, this was not one of those nights.
Live music wafted from the club as Edie pulled open the heavy door. A cool wave of air enveloped her as she stepped in, bracing herself for her double shift. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe she could forget the craziness of the past couple days. First half, she was supposed to perform; second half, she’d be bussing, waitressing, and helping to tend the bar.
Even though Mercy was on vacation, Nocturnem’s owner, Scarlet, expected DYSMANTLE to fulfill their obligation to perform—even if it meant going on with only one band member. Mercy had told Edie that if she wasn’t comfortable with it, she didn’t have to do it, that they could try harder to cancel the gig. Edie was a bit nervous about it … but if she didn’t get used to leading a performance, she’d have to depend on Mercy forever. As much as she loved her best friend, it would be nice to prove she could carry herself.
Her heart sank when she saw only a handful of patrons milling around the club. But it was early. Maybe the crowd would fill out in the next half hour. A girl could hope.
As she went to hang her leather jacket in one of the alcoves near the door, Edie threw a quick glance at the stage. Some guy in
a sleeveless tailcoat was up on stage, crooning a Soap&Skin song into the microphone. She couldn’t help but smile. As extra as the people here tended to be, it was sort of endearing. She watched, half amused and half embarrassed second-hand as the guy wailed at the crowd, brought to his knees by … some type of feeling. Kinda looked like indigestion.
As she left the coat area, Edie bumped her clunky guitar case against of the mannequins that stalwartly guarded each alcove, another “charming” display of Scarlet’s interior design skills. Each was about 6 feet tall, painted in alternating black and white, and made of loosely-woven wicker … and all were extremely freaky.
“S’cuse me,” Edie mumbled, righting the mannequin and leaving the alcove’s safety. She trotted behind the bar to shortcut her way backstage.
A person who called themself Klein was working the bar tonight. Edie wasn’t sure if they were a man or woman, and frankly she’d always been too embarrassed to ask. They were tall, thin, and androgynous in both build and manner, with long, platinum blond hair and myriad piercings and tattoos. Some people, Edie was sure, would have found them unsettling—but she actually felt much more comfortable with them than she would have felt working retail with a bunch of soccer moms.
Klein gave Edie a knowing smile as she slipped by. “Some crowd tonight, eh, Edith? Scarlet is so generous.”
She laughed and turned. “Shut up.”
Klein shook their head, crouching to refill an ice bucket. “You’re later than usual. Tsk.”
Klein didn’t own the bar—they didn’t even get along with Scarlet very well, from what Edie had seen—but they were here more than anyone else. Edie had never worked a shift where they weren’t there. Actually, come to think of it, she’d never performed or visited on a night when they weren’t there, either. If she didn’t know any better, she’d have thought they were a sleepless vampire or something.
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