by Iva Viddal
The road—little more than a walkway now—angled sharply around a dead potted plant, as though the village builders had followed the wishes of a mad architect. The road curled sideways and backways around houses that seemed to have sprung from the ground as trees in a forest do, without planning or pruning and only the fierce competition for sunlight to shape their growth.
An abandoned newspaper lay trampled in a gutter, and when Nerma nudged it with her toe, a dozen tiny, insect-like shadows scuttled out from under it. Nerma jumped, but the insects scattered, and she bent to read the newspaper’s headline in the dim lighting “Gala Predicted to be Most Grotesque Ever!” it declared.
Something caught her eye up ahead, a movement on the other side of a sagging gray awning. Nerma ducked beneath it and looked around. There, just disappearing around another turn in the road, was a flash of light in the gloom. Keeping to the darkest of the shadows, Nerma crept forward on numb feet. She clenched her jaw to still the chattering of her teeth. The light dipped and wobbled with a rhythmic up-down-down-up pattern and reflected mutely off the dull buildings and murky glass windows. It struck her as a cold light, one that hinted at secrets and hidden perils, and yet it suggested warmth and safety, so she followed it.
As she drew closer, she could see that it came from a small flame, perhaps a candle or small torch. The thought of fire drew her forward more quickly, anxious as she was to be out of the cold, in the light, and back home. She slipped from shadow to shadow, sliding ever closer toward the flame, until at last she made out the shape of a lantern and, beside it, a round, top-hatted figure. It carried the lantern high in one hand as it limped over the uneven cobblestones.
The figure and its lantern disappeared around a bend in the alley, and Nerma approached with caution. She pressed herself against a wall and listened. The sky above was almost completely black now. Slowly, keeping her eyes wide open, she extended her neck and peered around the corner.
She quickly pulled back. The lantern and its owner were just an arm’s length away beyond the corner. Why was she suddenly so afraid now that safety was so close? Sinking to her hands and knees, she took a moment to calm her breath, and then dared another peek. The light hadn’t moved. In fact, it appeared to float in midair. The top-hatted figure was nowhere to be seen.
Hands and knees chilled by the freezing stones, Nerma crept from her hiding place. The lantern hung on a hook beside a soot-colored door. It was no different from any of the other gray doors she had passed, but beside this one hung a crooked sign. Spidery handwriting dripped down its surface. Doctors Leech & Mapple, M.D.Min., it read.
Nerma clambered stiffly to her feet. She thought fondly of her own doctor, the man with the salt-and-pepper hair and gentle smile who always offered her strawberry lollipops.
For the second time that day, Nerma moved her hand up to a metal knocker as cold as ice.
She knocked.
5
Doctors Leech & Mapple, M.D.Min.
The sound of the knocker echoed through the alleyway.
“Hallowed Maker! So early in the night,” bellowed a voice from behind the door.
Nerma rubbed her arms with frozen hands. The overhang provided little protection against the chill of the dark night.
The broad door opened with a reluctant groan, and a top-hatted man of magnificent roundness peered out at Nerma with two squinting eyes. A surge of relief coursed through Nerma’s shivering body to see a face with only two eyes upon it.
“Yes?” the man droned. His voice was deep but nasal.
“Hi,” Nerma began. She hadn’t prepared an explanation for her arrival, but she longed desperately to sit before the lit fireplace that illuminated the room just past the foyer.
“A new patient?” the man grumbled. “Gory night. Come in, then. I shall be with you shortly.”
Nerma scrambled into the house and shuffled toward the roaring fireplace. The stone hearth was warm, and as her toes and fingers began to thaw, she took in her surroundings. Upon the mantle crowded a set of old gilt frames. At first glance, Nerma took them to be old wedding photographs. The ladies in them wore billowing gowns, and the men stood stiffly beside them in square suits. But when she looked closer, she realized that the photographs must have been taken during a costume party, or perhaps on Halloween. Within one especially dusty image, a glowering young woman appeared to have a unicorn’s horn growing from her forehead, its point topped by a small bouquet of white flowers. In another photo, a bearded gentleman gazed at the camera through objects that Nerma guessed to be kaleidoscopes. But they appeared to be glued to his face or attached in some otherwise invisible way, for his hands were folded firmly at his waist.
Nerma turned to look around the room. In some ways, it reminded her of her great-grandmother’s sitting room before she’d passed away three years ago. In others, it reminded of her an auto mechanic’s garage. The combination was perplexing. Two sagging wingback loveseats flanked the fireplace, their floral fabric long ago faded, while off to their side gleamed a contraption with oiled hinges and clamps. Limp lace doilies had been strewn across its metal rods, and upon a delicate coffee table, candles dripped onto a pewter candelabra beside a crystal bowl full of ruby red and sapphire candies.
The walls of the room had once been papered in stripes of muted plum, but now they bulged and drooped in the damp air. On one wall, a collection of framed anatomical illustrations (a curved spine, a human skull, the wings of a bat) clustered around a strange metal-and-wood device that jutted from the wall, looking something like a prehistoric bird with an iron beak. On the opposite wall, beside a bookshelf of leather-bound volumes and delicate china dishes, was a case of heavy iron tools. Nerma recognized a hammer, drill, and hacksaw, but others were entirely unfamiliar to her, twisted scraps of metal that had been welded and bolted together.
All of this Nerma took in while keeping one eye on the man who had let her in. He observed her with clinical interest from his place by the door, and, at last, shifted his great body. He lumbered toward Nerma, one leg dragging behind the other.
“It is—pardon my saying so—rather early for a visit,” he intoned, “unless it is, perhaps—an emergency. One can hope.” His round head bobbed up and down and he held out a hand, inviting Nerma to speak.
“I—I think I’m lost,” she began, twisting her hands nervously before her. “I was just going on a walk, and I didn’t know it would be cold out, and I got lost, and then I followed your light and—” She gestured at her clothing. “And I only have shorts and flip flips on. So, I was cold. Sir.”
The man squinted. “Flip . . . flops?” he drawled.
Nerma nodded. “Do you have a phone I can use?
The man stared, the stubble on his chins quivering slightly. “You are lost,” he grumbled at last. “Yes. How is it that you found your way here?”
“I—I went for a walk, and it was really an accident, because I wasn’t trying to go far, but I—I lost the path. . . . It was an accident.” Her eyes scanned the room for a phone, but none was in sight.
“Is anything not?” The man mumbled, scratching beneath the rim of his hat with a stubby finger.
Nerma shrugged, unsure how to answer. Behind her, a wet sound slapped the air like gelatin when it’s stirred, and she turned to see a woman in a billowing jade gown descend from a staircase at the far corner of the room. The woman’s face beamed radiantly at her from between curls of flame-colored hair. She smiled sweetly and waved a hand in Nerma’s direction.
“A new patient?” she asked in a high, sing-song voice. “Welcome. Is there an emergency, or . . . ?” The woman’s voice trailed off.
Nerma shook her head. “I’m sorry to interrupt. I got lost, and I was cold—very cold. See?” She wiggled her bare toes.
The woman cocked her head to the side. “What is the patient’s name?”
The man waved his thick hand through the air, as though details such as names were trivial.
Nerma answered, “Nerma. Nerma L
ee. I live on top of Harmony Hill. We just moved there.”
The woman nodded once and turned abruptly to a cluttered sideboard, where she began to prepare something that looked like tea. “Will you please sit?” she called over her shoulder.
The man burrowed into one loveseat, and Nerma hovered upon the edge of the other.
“Do you have a phone I can use?” she asked again.
The woman smiled serenely to herself and, after a moment, crossed the room to set a silver tray and tea service upon the table. Her brilliant hair shimmered in the candlelight as she lowered herself into the seat across from Nerma. She whispered something in the man’s ear, and he replied gruffly under his breath.
When the woman cleared her throat, it sounded like bells tinkling. “We must welcome you to Small Hours, dear. I am Doctor Leech, and this is Doctor Mapple. I believe you will enjoy your stay here in our quaint little village.”
Nerma reached out to shake their hands, but when they stared blankly at her outstretched hand, she instead reached for a cookie from the service tray. Perhaps they were concerned about catching a cold from a child. Some people were like that. She nibbled politely at the cookie, which tasted like dust and crumbled upon her lips like dried mud. She struggled to swallow and wondered if the doctors would pour the tea, but neither moved.
Finally, unnerved by the awkward silence, Nerma asked, “Small Hours—is that what you said this place is called?”
The man’s chins nodded. “It has been quite some time since anyone . . . new . . . has come to Small Hours.”
Doctor Leech picked up a cookie and ate it whole, appearing to luxuriate in its tastelessness.
“Indeed,” she said. Flecks of cookie clung to her mouth. “And so early in the night, so very early.”
Nerma was dying of thirst and reached for the silver teapot. The tea that flowed into her tiny cup was black, and she took a sip. It tasted of licorice and something else—perhaps celery? Sage? She set the cup down.
“What did you mean by ‘early in the night’?” she asked, beginning to wonder if it would be rude to ask for a jacket and then simply leave. She could always return the jacket another day. Maybe Julian would be willing to walk back with her tomorrow.
“Who in their muddled mind awakes at the crack of dusk and goes a-visiting,” Doctor Mapple whined, “especially without proper footwear?” His dark eyebrows joined together over his blunt nose as he contemplated the idea.
“I didn’t mean to,” Nerma began again in defense, but at that moment several urgent blows upon the door drew everyone’s attention.
“Is no one a late riser in this hallowed town?” Doctor Mapple growled, heaving himself up from the couch.
Doctor Leech made it to the door before him. “Cardea, gory night. What brings you so early?”
Nerma couldn’t see beyond the Doctors’ backs, and she failed to hear anything said from that point onward, for her attention was wrenched away forcefully by a sight unlike any she had ever before encountered.
Trailing behind Doctor Leech on the wood floor was a shimmering track of thick slime. Nerma’s eyes traced the glistening trail from the stairs to the sideboard and over to the sitting area, where a large, damp stain marked the fabric of the couch. From the couch, the wet trail moved on, clinging to the rug and the timber flooring, before finally ending at the end of an enormous, mottled brown slug’s tail.
A tail that protruded from the back of Doctor Leech’s green skirts.
A tiny sound left Nerma’s throat.
As she looked up from the tail, Doctor Mapple removed his top hat to greet the person at the door. Beneath his hat, Nerma saw with a bolt of disgust, a ring of silver hair circled a shiny bald head, and from this hairless center grew an oddly shaped, twisted horn. It looked exactly like a small branch from a gnarled tree, and four large, shriveled leaves clung to it. They shook with a dry shhhh when Doctor Mapple moved aside to allow their latest guest inside.
“Please, come in, Cardea. She is just over here,” Doctor Leech said. “Child,” she called, “Midwife Cardea has come with a complaint that concerns you.”
The new guest entered the Doctors’ sitting room with the shake of a black umbrella, and Nerma found quite suddenly that she could not breathe.
Her vision swam, and just before she blacked out, a long, pointed chin swam into her vision, and three hazel eyes blinked down at her.
6
Gold and Good Fortune
Nerma awoke to the glow of bright sunlight upon her eyelids. She pressed the side of her face into the pillow and breathed in deeply.
She had always been a vivid dreamer. Once, she had dreamed that she was a ladybug and that she and her band of insect friends had nearly been eaten by a school of ravenous sharks. Another time, she dreamt that her parents had been replaced by look-alikes with strange eyes. The night before her family arrived on Harmony Hill, she had dreamt that the earth was alive. Mountains shifted and shrugged, and rivers slithered before swallowing towns whole.
Nerma often greeted the morning with wondrous relief.
Today, the wonderful aroma of breakfast welcomed her. She tried to identify the different scents: sausage, eggs, and something sweet—maybe raisin scones or the little, jam-filled Dutch pancakes her mother made on special occasions.
Languidly, she opened her eyes and was blinded by a light far too near to be the sun. She whipped her head away and looked around.
Mustard yellow wallpaper stretched downward from a stained ceiling, but it had been peeled away in long strips near the floor. Across the room, an old wooden nightstand held a chipped water pitcher and bowl, and above these hung a crooked, dingy mirror. The bright light that she had mistaken for sunlight was no more than a lantern that emitted a strange yellow-green glow.
Nerma scrunched her eyes closed and pictured her new bedroom on Harmony Hill. This couldn’t be it, could it? The bedroom on Harmony Hill had pastel walls, and her parents had hauled her giant stuffed gorilla Chewbacca upstairs and plopped him down just across from her bed. Chewbacca was nowhere in sight.
She opened her eyes and sat up, and the bed squeaked nervously. A black iron footboard hedged her in, its spiky fleurs-de-lis like funeral flowers. An oval frame hung on the wall above the bed’s headboard, its photograph too faded to make out more than a pair of hunched shoulders and a bow tie.
Slipping out of bed, Nerma saw that on the floor beside the bed, a bowl of gelatinous brown mush had been left. She sniffed at it. It smelled sweet, but there was no spoon, and a thick skin had formed across the top of it, so she left the food—or whatever it was—untouched.
Limp lace curtains hung across a window, and she pushed them aside to peer through the bleary glass. It was still nighttime, and a gibbous moon hung within the blank sky. Below, its pasty light spilled onto the village, its rooftops twisting and reaching ever skyward. Silvery spires slanted gracelessly, leaning this way and that, and slate shingles glimmered like scalloped toenails. She was quite high above the ground, and she was without a doubt still in Small Hours. A thread of fear slithered through her. She would not be waking from this dream.
Nerma looked over the room again, this time with greater urgency. The only door in the room was closed. It had no handle, and when Nerma pushed upon it, it stood resolutely still. She banged on it and pressed her shoulder into it as hard as she could, but still it remained unaffected by her efforts or her fear.
The window was far too high above the cobblestone ground to consider climbing or jumping from it. She looked under the bed. Nothing. She looked under the washbasin stand. Only cobwebs and the furry legs of a black spider. She peeked behind the picture frame and mirror but only the peculiar wallpaper stared back at her. At last, she slumped onto the bed and fought the tears that welled behind her eyelids.
Then, something clanked against the door, and inward it swung with a click. A familiar and unwelcome face glided into view.
“How did you sleep?” Doctor Leech hummed. Her painted eyela
shes fluttered.
Nerma pressed her back against the headboard and pulled the bedsheet around herself.
“We were concerned for you. Imagine,” Dr. Leech murmured, moving closer. A muffled slurp emerged from beneath her voluminous skirts. “Imagine, a young girl appears on a doorstep early in the twilight, poorly dressed, and she just happens to run into not only the village Doctors but the town Midwife, as well. The young girl could not have found herself in better hands.”
Nerma’s eyes remained fixed on the woman’s pink mouth. She imagined running past her—past that giant tail—and running all the way home. If only she had any idea how to get there.
Doctor Leech lowered herself onto the edge of the bed, where she perched with a sweet smile upon her face. “You, my dear, could not have fallen into better hands. And what good fortune, dear. You get to stay in our finest room. Everyone wants to stay in the Gold Room.” She brushed a string of hair from Nerma’s forehead, and Nerma flinched.
“And I’m sure you are well aware—in fact, we discussed it and we are all sure of it—that we simply cannot let such a deeply, terribly injured young child out of our care.” The Doctor tutted sympathetically, her rosy cheeks as round as plums.
Nerma shrunk back, and the iron rods of the headboard dug sharply into her shoulder blades.
“Has the gargoyle got your tongue?” Doctor Leech playfully wiggled a slender finger, but her eyes were cold.
Nerma’s throat felt tight. “I’d like to go home now,” she said as evenly as she could.
Doctor Leech’s pink mouth puckered into a frown. “I can just imagine. But you, my dear, you can also imagine that we could not allow an unfortunate such as yourself to travel without someone to—to help you along.” The rosy plums reappeared.
Nerma tried to understand the doctor’s words, but their meaning was too slippery to grasp. Her confusion must have shown upon her face because the good Doctor patted Nerma’s knee.