by Daniel Braum
Yael’s husband takes a thick envelope out of his jacket pocket.
“Your boss told me you’d be here early. I have this for you.”
The man slides the envelope to Nathan. It dawns on him what is happening.
“Go ahead,” Yael’s husband says. “It’s bad for the both of us if you don’t.”
“No.”
“Energy flows back and forth between everything,” Yael’s husband says. “Everything in the universe. Including you and I. When we don’t do what we’re supposed to do it breaks that flow. And that’s an imbalance. You know this. When we don’t do what we need to do the universe comes knocking. And knocking. Most people spend their lives surrounded by the universe knocking. And they don’t hear a thing. Or won’t. I don’t know why. But I know you are the kind of man who knows what happens when one doesn’t answer the knock.”
“The universe knocks louder,” Nathan says.
“Yes. Then tries the window. Or breaks down the door.”
“Or sends something we can’t ignore,” Nathan says.
“Very good. You are with my wife. You must know this concept well. She and I, we’re from the same place but we walk in different worlds; you know what I mean. That’s okay. That’s how it goes. Things change. Things end. Things serve their purpose. You’re here to bring me to my son. And to take this.”
Nathan does not touch the envelope.
“You can’t buy your son back,” he says.
“Your boss told me this was what I have to do. So I’m doing it. I wish Yael only happiness and good fortune. That which wasn’t meant to be with me.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t hurt her?”
“Did I hurt her? Is that what she told you?”
Yael’s husband stands. He takes off his jacket and unbuttons his white, collarless shirt. His shoulder is a knot of scars.
“This is where she stabbed me when she tried to kill me. I’m lucky she’s better at telling fortunes than she is at killing people. There’s no court case. And no police. Don’t believe me. Check. The money is yours because it is bad for you to perform a service without compensation and bad for me to accept one without paying fair value. What you do with it is up to you.”
“You don’t get to decide what to do with him.”
“I know. I’m his father. It’s supposed to be something Yael and I decide together.”
“I don’t want any part of this.”
“I mean you no harm. I mean her no harm—”
“Go straighten it out yourself. That’s what I told her too.”
“I want to. But I need your help. I’m here with my hat in hand asking for your help. You know she may not know many things but she knows how to run. I take one step. She knows I’m coming and she’s ten steps away. I’ve been trying for years and my son is getting older. Until I procured the services of your employer I had little hope left. Help me, please. You look like a good man. Inquisitive. Cautious. I can tell you’ve been looking after my son well.”
“We’re finished here. Go.”
“Take my card. Check on me. Do what you have to do. I’m not here to get between you two.”
“She’s nothing to me,” Nathan says. “Just someone I know.”
“Then doing your job shouldn’t be hard.”
****
The morning home health care person doesn’t show and Nathan has to come and get his mom out of bed, to the bathroom, and make breakfast.
“Veronica found Snakey a new home,” Nathan says. “A nice man out in Suffolk who rescues turtles from the side of the road and breeds reptiles.”
“Oh good. She’ll have herself a nice Snakey-husband.”
Nathan’s mom is in bed. In the room that used to be the family room. Nathan and his sister’s bronzed pairs of first shoes sit atop the big old Zenith console television. Two decorative swords hang on the wall. Nathan remembers when he was Kirk’s age he used to think that they were real and that he could use them for protection if he had to. Nathan opens the closet. He knows there is no room or space behind it but he is compelled to check.
“We don’t have an attic, right Ma?”
“No, of course not. Nathan. Sit down. Promise me you’re not going to run off and go to that Sphinx like that man on TV.”
“Ma, of course not.”
“Promise me. Swear. You have that crazy look in your eye. You’re my son. I know you.”
“I promise, Ma.”
“I worry about you. I don’t want you to end up like that man. Celebrities think they can fix the world.”
“I promise.”
On the TV an image of the Sphinx of Cropsey Avenue cordoned off with police tape is displayed behind a news panel. A white-bearded Rabbi is saying he thinks the Sphinxes are the Pharaohs’ revenge and that we must find the answer to their riddle. A man who has written conspiracy theory books says he thinks that the Sphinxes themselves are the riddle. A woman who has helped the police track down serial killers with her psychic insights says that our governments will fail us and that we must trust people who deal in the unexplained for a living.
“Who are these people?” the news host asks.
“They live and work among us. They have a whole society. Rules and laws and codes. Like the mafia, most of us don’t even know we’re living next door to them.”
“And what if we don’t answer the riddle?” the news host asks.
“Then we don’t pass. So to speak. Which means we, all of us, do not survive.”
“Turn that rubbish off,” Nathan’s mom says.
Nathan turns the sound down.
“Nate, my boy. I’m meant to be here,” she says. “I can’t be what I’m not. Nothing good will come of it otherwise. I don’t have much time. I’m meant to pass here. In my home.”
“Ma, don’t talk like that.”
Nathan’s mom takes her son’s hand. “Feel me. Sometimes I really think I’m dying. It hurts so bad. I can’t handle getting out of bed. How am I going to handle moving?”
The afternoon health care person walks in. Seeing them holding hands and in tears she quietly walks back the way she came.
“You’re not going to die, Ma.”
“And I’m not selling this house. You might need it.”
“I don’t need it.”
“Maybe you’ll have a family someday.”
“Maybe, Ma. Maybe someday.”
“For you. And Yael and Kirk.”
“Yael is a long way away from that. She’s getting her act together. Perpetually.”
“People don’t change, Nate. Unless they really, really want to. Either you love them for who they are. Now. Or you don’t.”
“I know, Ma.”
The news image zeros in on the piece of shredded car caught in the paw of the Sphinx of Cropsey Avenue. In the background cars on the Belt Parkway crawl by as drivers slow down to look.
****
Nathan hands the envelope full of money to Yael.
“You saw him? Where?” Yael says.
“At work. I know there’s no court case.”
Yael utters a string of profanities in several languages.
“What did you tell him?”
“Nothing,” Nathan says.
“Is he coming here?”
“No. He paid the money for me to tell him where you are. But I didn’t tell him anything. And I won’t. I don’t want to be involved. Now you can go to Morocco or wherever you want.”
Yael flips through the money. Kirk is sitting with headphones on barking along with 101 Dalmatians on Yael’s tablet.
“I still think you should just take care of this head on,” Nathan says. “But it’s your life. Do it when you’re ready, I guess. If you ever are. I’ll throw him off your trail. You’ll have a big head start.”
“You’re not coming with us?”
“I can’t.”
“You can. But you won’t. Why? When I said I loved you it meant I’
d do anything for you. Why isn’t that the same for you?”
“I’ll go say goodbye to Kirk.”
“No,” she says. “Just go.”
Kirk sees that his mom and Nathan are looking at him and he waves and smiles. Puppies run and frolic in the movie on the tablet’s screen. Kirk barks.
****
The Sphinx of Cropsey Avenue rises from her place in the sand on the side of the Belt Parkway. She walks along the road to where it changes to the Southern State. The piece of shredded car in her paw scratches on the asphalt. She walks along the Southern State to the Wantagh Parkway where she turns south and heads for Jones Beach. The Sphinx lumbers through the lot and over the dunes and tall grass of the beach called West End Two.
****
Yael and Kirk are in an old Jeep Yael bought with some of the money. All of their possessions are in it. They pull into the West End Two parking lot at Jones Beach. It is almost spring but despite the sun it is still terribly cold. The beach is empty except for a small group of wet-suit-clad surfers. The two surfers in the water pay the Sphinx no mind.
“What are you doing?” one of the surfers asks Yael. “Get out of here. That thing’s dangerous.”
“I’m looking for someone before I go,” Yael says. “I was sure I’d find him here.”
The Sphinx lumbers in their direction. The surfers on the sand move out of its way.
“You said we could say goodbye,” Kirk says.
He lets go of his mom’s hand and runs for the Sphinx.
The Sphinx does not slow down. Kirk is in its path.
“I know the riddle,” Kirk says. “I know the answer.”
He barks. The Sphinx keeps coming until it is right before him. It raises its paw. The two surfers from the water have left their boards and are running for Kirk. Yael is running too. They will not get there before the great paw lowers.
Kirk drops to all fours and barks louder.
The Sphinx lowers her paw back into the huge indentation of sand she lifted it from. Her head lowers as if regarding Kirk, then she turns her body ninety degrees towards the water.
Yael reaches Kirk. She wraps her arms around him and pulls him to her.
“You’re okay,” she says, and kisses him.
“Where do you think it’s going?” a surfer says.
“Not sure. Fire Island, maybe,” the other surfer answers.
Kirk squirms away from his mother’s kisses.
“What did you say? What did you say to it?” Yael asks.
“I said it in puppy language,” Kirk says. “If you don’t understand I can’t tell you.”
“I think I get it,” the first surfer says. “I think they’re here for us. All of us. Here to ask us why we’re all being so stupid.”
“Like why Auntie Ruthie won’t move from Canarsie,” Kirk says. “And why Nathan doesn’t use his mask.”
To Yael and the surfers it appears that the Sphinx of Cropsey Avenue is going to lumber into the water and disappear like a Saturday afternoon movie monster. She stops at the water’s edge. Diaphanous wings unfold from her back. The wings are so thin one can barely see them. In the sun they take on the sandy color of West End Two and the steel blue gray water. The Sphinx takes a step into the water then lifts into the air.
“I didn’t know they had those,” Yael said.
“You didn’t?” Kirk says.
“You did?” Yael says.
“Of course,” Kirk says. “You just have to know to look.”
Yael lifts him into the air and holds him up to the surfers.
“My son,” she says. “Six years old and already seeing the unseen.”
The surfers let out a mock cheer.
“Alright. Whatever,” one of the surfers says. “Glad he’s alright.”
“You’re a mystic like your grandfather, Kirk,” she says, and kisses him. “And a gypsy just like me.”
“Does this mean we don’t need to go to Morocco?” Kirk asks.
“Maybe,” Yael says. “Maybe we are meant to go to Mexico. Or Miami? What do you think of Miami?”
“Will you tell Nathan? In case he wants to come and see us?”
“Why not,” she says.
Yael carries her son to their car. The Sphinx of Cropsey Avenue flaps her wings. Her lion paws hang beneath her clawing the empty air as she flies over the cold Atlantic Ocean.
****
Nathan drives to his mom’s house. 9109 East Eighty Fifth Street. He trusts you enough now to know the numbers. He hopes his mom will live forever but he knows she will not. Someday you might go looking. But she will not be there.
Nathan checks on the night health care person. He checks on his mom. Yael and Kirk called earlier to say they are heading to Mexico. There are plenty of places to tell fortunes there. The money will go a long way. If they stay, Kirk will grow up a free spirit like Yael desires. Maybe someday he will see them again. He doubts it.
He makes two phone calls. First he calls his boss and quits. Then he calls Yael’s husband.
“Morocco?” Yael’s husband says. “I should have known. She’s still stuck on finding her crazy grandfather.”
“She doesn’t have much of a head start. Maybe you’ll catch up with them in Fez. I’ve heard it’s a nice place. Everyone living side by side in peace.”
Nathan goes upstairs. He lays down on the floor of his old bedroom. He wants to explore the spaces behind the walls he has seen in his dreams. He hasn’t brought his mask. When he closes his eyes the Sphinx won’t leave his mind. The scarred fur of the Sphinx of Cropsey Avenue and her expressionless alabaster face, melting snow streaking through Canarsie’s grime. He lays there trying to fall asleep. He hopes the dreams will come soon and that his dad will be there.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Daniel Braum spins a unique blend of speculative fiction that effortlessly blends fantasy, science fiction, horror and mysticism in every verse. Braum’s multi-dimensional characters are drawn into dark worlds of spiritualism where concepts of advanced science collide with magic realism to investigate the unexplainable at the edges of civilization. Defying conventional categorization, his work thrives in the gray area between many genres.
Braum is a graduate of the Clarion and Clarion South writing workshops. He is the host of the Night Time Logic reading series. His chapbook Yeti. Tiger. Dragon is coming from Dim Shores Press in October 2016.
Please watch for stories both long and short coming in future projects from Cemetery Dance.
At the time of this writing Braum is at work on new short stories, novellas, and novels.
His websites are www.danielbraum.com and http://bloodandstardust.wordpress.com.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I would like to first thank Norman Prentiss for believing in my writing and for making this project happen. Thank you to Richard Chizmar, Brian Freeman and the entire Cemetery Dance team. Thank you to Nicholas Kaufmann.
Thanks also to Lee Thomas, Ben Francisco, M.M. Devoe, Chandler Klang Smith, David Wellington, Sarah Langan, Stefan Petrucha, Rhodi Hawk, Victor La Valle, Mongo Bettina, Peter Ball, J.J. Irwin, Chris Lynch, Kelly Link, Lee Battersby, Mark Rudolph, Darin Bradley, John Klima, Bailey Hunter, Robert Morrish, Leslie What, Tim Powers, Karen Joy Fowler, Simon Brown, Alice Turner, Jim Fruend, Ellen Datlow, Gavin J. Grant, Terry Bisson, Trent Walters, Rudi Dornemann, Sharon Woods, Catherine Dybeic Holm, Brendan Day, KGB Bar, Pseudopod, Clarion Writers Workshop and Clarion South and to all my teachers, editors, friends, and colleagues who have supported me and these stories. Thank you to the readers for reading, for your kind words, and for taking these travels.
Thank you to my family, especially my mother, father, and brother for everything. Without them, their support, and love this book would not be possible.
Cemetery Dance Publications
Be sure to visit CemeteryDance.com for more information about all of our great horror and suspense eBooks, along with our collectible signed Limited Edition hardcovers and our award-winning magazine.
Our authors include Stephen King, Bentley Little, Dean Koontz, Ray Bradbury, Peter Straub, William Peter Blatty, Justin Cronin, Frank Darabont, Mick Garris, Joe R. Lansdale, Norman Partridge, Richard Laymon, Michael Slade, Graham Masterton, Douglas Clegg, Jack Ketchum, William F. Nolan, Nancy A. Collins, Al Sarrantonio, John Skipp, and many others.
www.CemeteryDance.com
Table of Contents
MUSIC OF THE SPHERES
HURRICANE SANDRINE
MYSTIC TRYST
ACROSS THE DARIEN GAP
SPARK
THE GHOST DANCE
THE GREEN MAN OF PUNTA CABRE
JELLYFISH MOON
THE NIGHT MARCHERS
THE MOON AND THE MESA
THE SPHINX OF CROPSEY AVENUE