The Hollow Gods

by A. J. Vrana

  It was absurd to think the difference between happiness and misery was how long a person was willing to listen to wearisome music on a busy phone line. Still, Miya knew she could have done things differently. She didn’t because change was hard. It was easier to stay depressed and angry, pitying and loathing herself. There was a sweet self-indulgence to it that made her feel important. My feelings, my pain, my losses; she was caught in them like a bug in a spider’s web. It’s all about me.

  But Miya wasn’t sure what she truly wanted. Was it magic? Excitement? Adventure? As she stood on the border between the meadow and a river of tarmac, the view wasn’t the epic horizon she imagined.

  But at long last, she was on a journey…with an irritable, hungry wolf.

  “Move it, Lambchop,” he grunted when he caught her staring, putting a hand on her shoulder and spinning her around.

  Miya found herself facing the opposite way, his hand on her back as he pushed her forward. Had he just referred to her as food?

  “Lambchop?” She tried to look over her shoulder at him, but he was nipping at her heels with every stride.

  “Don’t like it?” he asked with a hint of sarcasm, pushing her along the side of the road.

  “My name is Miya,” she told him, trying to sound assertive despite being trotted along like a toy.

  “I think I prefer Lambchop,” he goaded from behind.

  “But that’s not my name.”

  “To me, it is.”

  Miya dug in her heels and thwacked his hand away to keep him from forcing her along. “How would you like it if I called you the first thing that popped into my head?”

  “Call me whatever you want.”

  “How about Beef Jerky?”

  He was amused again, giving her that same arrogant smirk from before. He seemed to consider her words, retracting his hand and letting it drop to his side. Taking a step forward, he leaned in by her neck, just close enough to breach personal space. Miya heard his breath draw in, then halt, like he was taking in her scent, testing to see what she was made of.

  “Kai,” he said, his voice reverberating against her ear. He paused just long enough to feel her hold her breath, then stalked past her. “There’s a diner near the highway. A little seedy, but cheap food. Think you can walk it?”

  Miya cleared her throat to keep her voice from cracking. “Yeah, I’m good with walking.”

  They strolled in silence for a good twenty minutes, Miya’s mind berating her to say something, anything—but her lips were clamped shut. I’ll interrogate him when we sit down, she told herself. The diner was a kilometre down a road mostly used by trucks to reach the highway. With nothing else around, the restaurant was easy to spot: a small, yellow-panelled building with an ugly brown roof. The windows were dark and foggy like the grease inside had been caked over the glass in layers. It looked abandoned, save for two pickup trucks and an old Buick with a rusty bumper parked around the side. The name—simply Diner—was half-torn from the top of the building, the E and R completely missing while the N looked like a dinosaur had taken a chunk out of it for breakfast. A half-working neon sign read Open, and the only indication that Miya wasn’t amid a zombie apocalypse was the tattooed guy in stained trousers carting garbage out the back door with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

  Staring up at the sign, Miya ploughed into Kai’s back as he stood there, rigid as a goddamn wall. Pulling back, she huffed in irritation while he chuckled to himself, shaking his head and moving towards the entrance. Miya questioned if she really wanted to go in, but Kai looked totally unfazed, like he was walking into his own home.

  As if sensing her nerves, he stopped a few feet ahead, waiting for her to catch up. Unsure of herself, Miya stiffly shuffled up to him, all the more aware of his imposing figure as they stood side by side. He was around six foot two and built like a warrior, but it was the don’t-fuck-with-me vibe that made her hairs stand on end—like he could turn around and bite her head off without a moment’s notice. Shrinking back into her shell, Miya took a tiny step forward, expecting him to snarl and thrust her inside. To her surprise, he didn’t. He didn’t drive a hand into her back or drag her by the arm. He remained by her side, keeping her pace and a respectable gap between their bodies. Was he actually paying attention?

  The swinging double-doors were chipping with blue paint and pin-sized splinters from around the darkened windows. As Miya pushed her way inside, she saw a ratty old playing card wedged in the frame—a king of spades. She eyed the little black spearhead as she entered. Was Kai her king of spades?

  The place was dimly lit, with low hanging yellow lamps over grimy off-white plastic tables, burgundy vinyl booths, and faded black-and-white chequered tiles that started to spin if Miya stared at the floor for too long. She stopped in her tracks, her brain seizing from the atrocious decor.

  It was half-past nine on a Saturday night, but there was only a handful of people seated around the tiny restaurant—some dude who looked hungover since last week, and a couple whispering angrily from one of the booths. The boyfriend had a mullet—something Miya thought only existed in ’80s films—while his girlfriend looked like she’d been electrocuted. Her wiry, bleached hair was sticking out left, right, and centre as she continuously tried to smooth it out with dry, bony fingers.

  A waitress approached Miya and Kai, the sound of a nasty cough alerting them to her presence. She was in her fifties at least, with frizzy brown hair, distracting lipstick, and a double chin that looked remarkably pliable. Clearing her throat, she asked if the table was for two in a voice that sounded like it’d been burrowing in rubble since Chernobyl exploded. Kai stared at her, fixated on her tattooed brows—thin and perfectly arched for that permanent look of mild surprise.

  “Don’t see anyone else with us,” he replied coolly, unimpressed by her rote.

  “Hah hah,” Brenda—according to her nametag—hacked each syllable with no attempt to mask her sarcasm. “This way, please.”

  She grabbed two menus and led Miya and Kai to a corner booth directly behind the hissing couple. They paused and eyed Brenda with palpable displeasure as she set the menus down and left without waiting for Kai and Miya to sit.

  “She didn’t sound happy,” Miya observed.

  Kai opened the menu and scanned his options. “Because her soul is as arid as her lungs.”

  “Right,” Miya snorted, rolling her eyes. “Nothing to do with you being a class act back there.”

  The corner of his lips quirked up as he continued reading. Miya was about to pounce on him with her first round of questions when Brenda returned, smacking two glasses on the table and a jug of ice water, its contents spilling over as she clunked it down.

  “You kids ready?” she asked, pulling a pen out of her hair like it was a magic trick.

  Miya had barely looked at the menu, so she blurted out the first thing she laid eyes on. “Uh—chicken and leek pie with mash.”

  “Cheeseburger, triple up the patty and throw in some bacon.”

  Miya gawked at Kai, wondering if he was serious. Judging by the total absence of expression on his face, he intended to eat half a cow.

  “For your side?” Brenda grunted at him.

  “Fries,” he grunted back, holding the menu out to her without making eye contact, his focus on Miya.

  When Brenda was out of earshot, Miya shuffled to the edge of her seat and folded her torso over the table, staring back at him with equal scrutiny.

  “You…” she began, the murmur carrying a hint of accusation.

  “Me…” His lips pulled back in a rakish grin.

  “Don’t play dumb with me,” she hissed. “It’s you…you’re that wolf.”

  He seemed unsurprised, narrowing his eyes and leaning closer until their noses brushed. “Careful, Little Red Riding Hood, I could eat you all up.”

  Feeling her face heat up like a kiln, Miya withdrew at viper speed, her back hitting the plastic behind her with a loud thump. He was trying to make her uncomf
ortable—trying and succeeding with extraordinary ease. “You’re not denying it.”

  “No point.” He shrugged and leaned back, resuming his earlier nonchalance while picking at a stain on the table. “You figured it out the second I got close.”

  At least he was an honest, if volatile, dick.

  “More interesting thing is,” his eyes locked onto hers, “you’re not calling bullshit.”

  It was Miya’s turn to shrug, crossing her arms over her chest. His gaze unnerved her, but she didn’t want him to know that. “Sounds like you haven’t been in Black Hollow very long. People here believe in weird things.”

  A chilly smile crept onto his face. “Oh, I’ve been here a while,” he informed her. “Two types of people in this shithole. The ones who believe and stay the fuck away because they’re scared; and the ones who believe but pretend not to, so they can go looking for the thing everyone else is scared of.” The curve of his mouth widened into a wolfish grin—the kind that convinced Miya he really was a wolf. “I think I know which you are.”

  “You hardly know me. And there are people who don’t believe.”

  “Those people don’t matter. Either way, you’re not one of them.” His expression mellowed out as he returned to his fixation on the table. “Just don’t know why anyone would have dinner with something most people shit their pants thinking about.”

  “Only two reasons why people go looking for monsters,” Miya mimicked his didactics, and not without a touch of mockery. “Either they’re bored, or they want something from the monster.”

  This gave him pause, his hand going still as he slowly raised his head. “So,” he began, “what do you want from me?”

  Miya groped for an answer under the weight of his blasé admission, but she was spared further turmoil when her line of sight was broken by Brenda’s lumpy arm. She flinched when the ceramic plates dove between them and clanked loudly against the table, followed by ketchup and relish bottles that looked bled dry.

  Miya and Kai blinked down at their food, the previous moment’s conversation put on hold. As Miya unwrapped her fork and knife from the napkin, Kai picked up his burger—about as tall as a mason jar—and bit into it with alarming zeal. Miya wondered when his last meal was as she absently cut into her pie, swirling the gravy around and taking her time to let the inside cool. She was grateful for the respite.

  What do I want from the monster?

  The question nibbled at her.

  They ate in silence, neither bothering to look at one another as they gorged on every last scrap of food. As she stewed in her own gaucheness, something dawned on her for the first time.

  “You said you’ve been here for a while. How long?” she blurted out as she wiped her mouth with the napkin.

  Kai was already done eating, his gaze boring through his companion’s skull as though she’d sprouted a third eyeball. “Ten years.”

  “Oh…” Miya was unprepared for how disappointed she sounded.

  “What?” he asked.

  “It’s nothing. I just thought we may have met once before when I was a kid.”

  Kai shook his head. “Wasn’t in the country before I was sixteen.”

  Miya did the math while she chewed. Ten years ago, she would’ve been eleven, which was well after her first encounter with the wolf. “How have you been here that long undetected? I mean, it’s not really a big town.”

  “You mean, where do I live?” he rephrased the question as he broke out into a knowing smile.

  “What?” Miya laughed, feeling lighter. “I’m allowed to be curious, aren’t I?”

  “Maybe I’ll show you one day,” he teased before the booth suddenly rattled.

  “What the hell?” Miya ducked her head as the voices behind her grew louder. The couple was fighting again, their heated argument from earlier escalating until mullet-man slammed a fist down on the table, causing an earthquake to ricochet through the connecting booths. After Kai shot them a seething glare, they resumed their hushed bickering. Miya couldn’t make out their words, but it felt like one of those spats right before a pair of Bonnie and Clyde wannabes botched an armed robbery.

  “You wanna get out of here?” Kai asked.

  Miya nodded and reached for her wallet, grateful he was on the same page. Brenda must have been eavesdropping, because she’d already prepared the bill, leaving it on the edge of the table as Miya started pulling out the cash.

  “Huh, almost forgot I can see you in colour now.” Kai leaned over the table as Miya counted the money.

  “Colour?”

  “I don’t see colours the same when I’m furry.” He squinted at her face. “Now it’s...green…dark, murky green…like someone shat in a mossy lake.”

  She blinked at him. “What is?”

  “Your eyes.”

  Miya wrinkled her nose as her brain conjured the image of leaky poop floating through sewage, then burst out laughing.

  “That’s sweet of you, but I prefer to think of them as a smoky, forest green,” she cracked with borderline sincerity, then tucked the money under the receipt along with a fat tip for poor Brenda.

  As they got up, Kai casually swiped the fork off Miya’s plate and inspected it like a shiny new toy. She frowned as he passed her, then followed him out of the booth. She stayed a few paces behind as he meandered past the couple, fork in hand.

  Before she could blink, Kai thrust his arm downwards with inhuman speed and stabbed the fork right through the edge of mullet-man’s sleeve, pinning his arm to the table with a dull twang. Miya flinched, mouth agape, while the girlfriend gasped in horror, her eyes bulging as her head whipped left and right, eyes darting between Kai and the table. The boyfriend took a second, but when he realized there was an eating utensil jammed into the laminate less than half an inch from his hand, he shrieked, yanking his arm away in a desperate attempt to get free. His girlfriend gathered her wits and tried prying the fork out of the table, but it was lodged in there pretty good.

  Mortified, Miya peered around the restaurant, but no one bothered giving them a second glance. The lush was still preoccupied with the bottom of his pint, and Brenda’s eyebrows were nowhere to be found. Miya sped past the couple and followed Kai outside.

  “W-why did you do that!” she stammered as she blasted through the doors after him.

  “Guy was pissing me off,” he replied as if it was a perfectly legitimate reason to nearly take someone’s fingers off in public.

  “That’s—he was just fighting with his girlfriend! I know it was annoying, but—”

  “You were getting freaked out,” he interrupted her—like her reaction was somehow the catalyst for his reckless stunt. Grated by the suggestion, Miya sped up and stepped around him, cutting him off.

  “Are you saying this is my fault?” she demanded, forgetting their size difference as she planted herself in front of him.

  He stopped and looked her up and down, his brows furrowing together as though he was trying to decide how unfair the fight would be. “No.” His face twisted like he’d bitten down on something bitter. He placed a hand on her shoulder and shuffled her out of his way. “It’s his fault. He made you nervous, so I put him back in his place.”

  Put him back in his place. Dumbfounded, she mouthed the words to herself. What sort of flabbergasting logic was that? Then again, it sounded primal, which was precisely what one might expect from an animal. Like a dog asserting its dominance over someone it found threatening.

  But before Miya could allow herself to feel flattered, her brain smacked her low self-esteem upside the head. You don’t need some guy standing up for you when you didn’t even ask for it, it hollered. You’re no damsel in distress.

  “How did you know I was that nervous?” she challenged.

  “Forget it,” he muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets and half-turning like he was uncertain if she’d follow. She could see him fiddling with the insides of his jacket, drumming his fingers against the leather. He appeared awkward, a touc
h self-conscious even.

  His ineptness softened Miya’s anger even as she wished he’d apologize. “What you did was totally out of line. You don’t have to use violence to protect people,” she offered. “But, thanks for thinking of my feelings, I guess.”

  He frowned and narrowed his eyes like he was trying to dissect her. “People are weird,” he said. “You want to be understood, but if someone understands too much, you get pissed about it like they’re invading your privacy or some shit.”

  “It’s not that,” said Miya. “No one wants another person acting on their behalf without asking first. Feels like an imposition, I guess. Especially when you don’t want to be seen as weak or helpless.”

  His expression ironed out as he contemplated this. “Fair,” he conceded. “I can understand that.”

  Miya was relieved they’d managed to make peace without a snarky exchange. “Good,” she smiled.

  Kai nodded, waiting until she was next to him to start walking. Silence followed, but Miya didn’t mind it this time. The need to fill the void was absent as a newfound comfort washed over her. She wasn’t sure which of them was leading, but they were headed back the same way they came: down a misty evening road and towards the playground by the forest.

  22

  Mason

  For weeks after the incident with John Doe, Mason tried to remain on his best behaviour. He heeded Annabelle’s warning—curbing his curiosity by helping around the house and sparing no chance to engage his host. But no matter how hard he tried, Mason couldn’t stop his thoughts from fixating on the town’s beliefs.

  Why was this fable buried in the rubble of history and whispered about only when striking fear into disobedient children? The irony was that the adults seemed more frightened of the story than the kids it was meant to scare. So much so, they murdered those kids just to protect that fear.