Society for Paranormals

by Vered Ehsani

  As Kam made to leave, he turned to me and said, “I will find where the Spider is, but you will have to convince him.”

  I nodded as if this was a perfectly reasonable proposition.

  Let me clarify: there is nothing reasonable about talking with giant insects. They don’t think like us, they don’t like us and they consider us to be on the same level as a fly. In other words, we’re food.

  But I agreed, forcing my reservations away from my face, so Kam would only see my determination and not my doubts.

  “He didn’t really mean a spider, did he, Bee?” Lilly whispered to me. “I mean, that’s a code name of sorts, right?”

  “No,” I said. “The Spider is a spider.”

  With that, Lilly announced she needed to see about wedding arrangements, although she might also have wanted to consider a funeral dress as well. “Mama is fussing overly so. I wish she wouldn’t insist on all this frivolous nonsense.” With those very un-Lilly-like words, she hurried off, leaving me to marvel at the transformation my cousin was undergoing.

  Mr. Elkhart and Dr. Ribeiro bade me farewell, promising to render any assistance I might require, and rode off together. Jonas too left, probably on his own personal errand, as he wasn’t overly interested in expending too much time on his gardening work. Eventually all who remained were Drew, Cilla, Mr. Timmons and myself. I could well see where Cilla’s thoughts were.

  “Cilla, would you give Drew a tour of the garden?” I requested. “He’s not had a chance yet to see the grounds, such as they are.”

  Relieved, Cilla turned to Drew. On his part, he had successively relaxed with each person’s departure and now appeared almost fully calm.

  Wordlessly, he followed her out, shoulders hunched over, hair hanging over his eyes. Mr. Timmons and I followed them at a discrete distance. I flinched from the heat as we exited the barn.

  “What a sun,” I said, not because it needed to be said but in order to fill up conversational space and because I’m English.

  “Yes,” Mr. Timmons agreed amicably. “It’s the hot, dry season until the end of March.”

  And indeed it was. If dry heat had a smell, this would be it: wilted grass; baking grains of red clay soil; eucalyptus oil snapping in the air from a nearby stand of tall trees.

  The ground crunched, the branches rustled like a bag of bones overhead, and a breeze devoid of any moisture assailed my nose, my mouth, my skin. I marveled how the people and creatures of this land could tolerate two more months of this without shriveling up or hiding in a cave until the rains arrived.

  But that’s enough about the weather.

  “Are you well, Mrs. Knight?” Mr. Timmons asked.

  I was equally touched and unnerved by his concern. “As well as can be expected, with all that’s transpired,” I said.

  Truth be told, his question unleashed something from my depths, for in that moment, I wished nothing more than to curl up in my bed and sleep until…

  I broke off the thought, refusing to give way to frailty and dismay, although both were threatening to overwhelm my defenses.

  “They seem happy,” I continued, nodding at the couple ahead of us, hoping to distract my worried thoughts.

  Mr. Timmons frowned at that and didn’t respond.

  “Oh surely you have no prejudices against human — paranormal relationships, after admonishing me for mine,” I chided him gently, referencing an incident in which my prejudice and Mr. Timmons’ lack thereof had clashed; the incident had removed him and Cilla from me for a time.

  When he didn’t speak, I prodded some more. “Or do you preach tolerance except when your niece shows interest in a werewolf?”

  “It’s not werewolves I have issue with,” he said tersely. “In fact, I’ve met one who is quite pleasing despite her sharp words.” He gave me a look that caused me to glance away and redden. “It’s rather the wildness and unsettled nature of that particular one over there that has me concerned.” He paused and inhaled deeply before adding in a softer tone, “I hope you aren’t offended on behalf of your brother.”

  I desperately wanted to be, but there was too much truth in his words for me to protest. Cilla was as dear to me as she was to her uncle, and how well did I know Drew after all? He was no longer the sweet, trusting, little boy of my memories. How much control would he have as the moon filled out?

  “But let’s not burden ourselves any further,” Mr. Timmons said to my silence as he took a step closer to me.

  This startled all thoughts of Koki and Drew from my mind as I stared up at him, wondering what game he was up to now.

  “So all prejudice regarding relations with paranormals has been banished from your heart?” he asked, his tone teasing and light-hearted, and that set my nerves twitching.

  My walking companion was not by nature carefree. Even when joking, there was an intensity about him that compelled one to pay him attention. And that was before he used his energy manipulating powers.

  At that thought, I verified that he was keeping his tendrils of energy very much in check. I was relieved to note that he wasn’t attempting to influence me, but this left me even more confounded and apprehensive.

  “Well, in principal it has,” I answered his question with great caution. I sensed a trap and wondered what trigger would cause it to spring. “It would of course depend on the individuals involved, what their natures are.”

  His gaze intensified. “And what do you consider yourself to be?”

  I can tell you quite frankly that I didn’t much appreciate the direction the conversation was moving in. But it was a fair enough question, one I’d battled with since my first day with the Society, and perhaps even before that.

  “I used to tell myself I was more or less a normal human,” I mused, staring down at the dry, crunchy grass and the crushable insects scuttling through the blades. “But given recent revelations and an honest introspection, I must admit to being something else, although what precisely, I cannot say.”

  I frowned at my reluctance to admit aloud the truth. Half witch, infected with werewolf venom and possessing a highly developed second sight, not to mention heightened olfactory senses, what else could I be but a paranormal creature? I was a member of the community I had spent the past several years investigating, tracking down and, on occasion, despising. Why was it so difficult for me to say it?

  “Surely then you’d have no issue with a closer association between two such beings who are both clearly ‘something else’?” He repeated my words with a touch of his usual mockery.

  I jerked away from his side so forcibly that Mr. Timmons stopped walking to stare at me in astonishment. I faced him and pushed my sun hat back a bit so as to better view him. Even through the hat, I could feel the sun’s hot rays tapping on my head. I ignored the heat, the dusty air, the prickly grass against my ankles, for these were minor discomforts when compared to the one facing me.

  “Mr. Timmons, I don’t desire to be rude, but this conversation must end now,” I said, my cheeks flushed (and I can’t blame the sun), my nerves rattled.

  “And why’s that?” he asked with a calm that his clenching hands and tight jaw didn’t share.

  “Where is it going?” I countered. “What is its purpose? What are your intentions?”

  Mr. Timmons leaned toward me as he stuffed his hands into his pant pockets. I could imagine he did so to prevent them from encircling my stiff neck and throttling me.

  “My intention, Mrs. Knight,” he said with a ferocity in his voice and eyes, “is to ask you to marry me, if you would allow me to proceed that far.”

  There it was, confronting me with a rawness that left me aching. When Dr. Cricket had proposed to me not so long ago, my response had been an easy decision, a cool-hearted, leveled reflection with no remorse.

  But this…

  My throat and nose were as dry as the air and I struggled to put into words the turmoil his offer caused me. I closed my eyes against the glare of the sun and the storm in his eyes.


  “Then it’s best I don’t allow you to proceed that far,” I whispered, swallowing tears that had no business existing in this parched season. “For I must tell you that I cannot and never would be able to accept.”

  I could feel his glowering stare as well as I could the sun’s rays, and I found within me a coward who sought to hide from the truths his proposal had unearthed: that I desperately wished to say yes and for that very reason must say no, lest history repeat itself.

  “Is it Gideon?” he asked in a voice impossibly soft for him.

  I forced my eyes open to look into a gaze unnervingly compassionate. I would’ve far preferred his disdain, or his anger.

  “Yes. No! Not… exactly,” I stuttered, shaking at how close he’d come to the reason, and yet still he could never know. “It’s related but… It’s me. It’s just me.”

  A knot formed between his eyebrows and I knew with one word I could erase it. One word, and the only word in the vast English language I couldn’t give him.

  “That’s a rather baffling explanation,” he said.

  “I know.”

  “Have you no affection for me then?” he asked, his eyes hardening. “Will you leave me no hope?”

  Tell him you haven’t, the coward in me urged. That’s an easier answer for him and you. Send him away with nothing. Better a broken heart than a disgusted one.

  It was tempting to lie, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it, and I’m not sure if that made me less or more of a coward. Instead, I blurted out, “I’m sorry,” and before more could pass between us, I did something I’d never done before, except when escaping Koki: I turned about and ran.

  Chapter 9

  If I thought my bedroom would provide a measure of solitude in which I could recover my emotional equilibrium, I was much mistaken.

  No sooner had I collapsed onto my bed, hoping I might faint away and awake from my nightmare, when I heard a timid knock upon my door.

  That distracted me momentarily, for no member of this household would bother with a knock; either they would’ve marched straight in (Mrs. Steward and Lilly) or would’ve shouted their interests from outside (Bobby). Only Mr. Steward left me well enough alone.

  “Hello?” I called out.

  There was no answer.

  “Yes?” I asked, irritation clear in my voice.

  “Miss Knight?” It was Jonas.

  I sat up. It was unheard of for Jonas to enter into the bedroom area of the house when someone was in his or her room. Perhaps something had happened to Nelly, I thought.

  As Jonas wasn’t about to open the door himself, I stood and opened it for him. Still in his gardening clothes, he staggered slightly by the doorway and all but dropped a grotesque figure just inside the room.

  “For you,” he announced, shuffling back into the corridor.

  “How long has it been dead?” I asked, staring at the ghastly form.

  Jonas snorted, scowled and waved at the figure. “To protect you from the water sprite,” he explained, exasperated with my lack of appreciation for his thoughtfulness. He scratched at the black and grey stubble on top of his head, then squatted on the floor and glanced between his ugly gift and me, his eyes questioning.

  Could he see things, as I could? I was fairly convinced he could. Either that or he was unnaturally more astute and observant than most. Perhaps, I reflected, his cultural stories and beliefs gave his mind permission to imagine a world beyond what normal eyes could see, a permission not granted to the typical European.

  I turned my attention to the greenish, lumpy statue that looked nothing like any water sprite I knew of, nor was it impressive in the least.

  “You mean the Tokolosh, don’t you?” I asked, still trying to visualize how the carving bore any resemblance to Burr, my little Tokolosh friend.

  The statue suggested to the observer a hairless, baboon-like creature, its height reaching just past my knee, and large, bat-type ears lying flat against its head. While the height and ears were correct, the real creature was far more muscled and very hairy, with legs disproportionately short for its squat body, as if it suffered a form of dwarfism.

  Jonas grunted, which somehow translated into an affirmative to my question, and said, “They like to bite toes when we sleep.”

  I’m not one for subscribing to superstition or fairy tales, and personally I preferred risking a Tokolosh infestation (a highly unlikely event) over the daily sight of such a disagreeable room ornament. Aesthetics aside, I would end up stubbing my toe on the unwieldy piece of stone.

  “I very much doubt Burr will come creeping in here to hide under my bed and chew on my appendages,” I remarked.

  Jonas stared at me as if I were daft. “The living, natural Tokolosh, no. The dead, zombie Tokolosh, yes.”

  This was the first I’d heard of a zombie variety.

  Jonas relished in my ignorance and nodded his head knowingly. “Natural one is like a naughty child but not nasty. Zombie one is naught and nasty, and will bite off your toes and your fingers.”

  “Delightful,” I said, still wondering what to do with the statue. It didn’t match my room in the least, and I didn’t like unnecessary clutter.

  “They also like cow’s milk,” Jonas added.

  “Well, who doesn’t?” I asked, deciding I’d slide the statue over and tuck it against the wall where I couldn’t trip over it.

  Jonas made a gagging expression. “I don’t. It makes my stomach hurt.”

  He wagged a finger at the statue, as if admonishing the cold stone to do its job, and left me staring at the statue which was ugly enough to scare away more than a zombie.

  Chapter 10

  Once the novelty of Jonas’ gift had worn off, I was left to ponder my dismal circumstances. Fortunately the next few days were a fluster of comings and goings that left me thoroughly fed up with weddings and all their unnatural requirements.

  So it was a jolly good thing I wasn’t organizing one, I sternly told myself numerous times. Yet the sentiment rang hollow and did nothing to ease my heart.

  To distract myself, I perversely immersed myself into assisting Lilly in every aspect, for which Mrs. Steward expressed her eternal gratitude, after commenting on my new room ornament: “Good grief, Beatrice, what an atrocious doorstop,” she declared, her eyes bulging at the sight of the Tokolosh statue.

  The night before the wedding, I was with Lilly, twisting her hair into various styles for her to consider and reject.

  “What is it, Bee?” Lilly interrupted my dark musings after the third failed style.

  I looked up to the mirror from which Lilly stared back, her bright blue eyes fixed on me.

  “You’ve been unusually morose,” she continued in that newly acquired, reflective tone of hers, her eyes older than they’d been a week previous. “And since when do you show any enthusiasm for social events and hairstyles?”

  I mirrored her smile, but it was, as she’d pointed out, with a faded version of my usual energy.

  “It’s not often my cousin gets married and I’m happy for you,” I said to reassure her, and it was true.

  “Do try and contain your joy,” she commented dryly.

  We chuckled together and then I sighed a sound full of the despair of the past few days.

  “It’s just that…” I hesitated.

  I hadn’t told anyone what had transpired between Mr. Timmons and myself, not even Cilla who had visited every day since. It wasn’t merely discretion on my part, but a fear, for surely the listener would want to know what exactly prevented me from following my heart, and that was a story I was loathe to share with anyone. In fact, I found it impossible to do so.

  Lilly turned on her stool to face me, grasping my hands. Whatever had occurred in that cave, the shared experience of being possessed by Mrs. Cricket had brought us closer to the point that Lilly felt like a true sister. And now she was leaving.

  Tears leaked from my eyes.

  “Oh dear,” Lilly said, alarmed at the sigh
t, as well she should be. I wasn’t one to cry easily. She fumbled about for one of her lavender-scented handkerchiefs that she pushed into my hand.

  “Mr. Timmons proposed to me,” I mumbled into the cloth.

  “Proposed what?... Oh,” she finished as she grasped the situation. “And?”

  “And I said no,” I said with a sob.

  “Hm.” She watched as I rubbed the evidence of weakness out of my eyes. “Did you mean it?”

  “Of course,” I said sternly before I sagged in my chair.

  “Or not?” she suggested.

  “Or not,” I agreed, almost weeping. “But I can’t allow him to know my doubts, any more than I can marry him.”

  “Well, that’s somewhat bewildering,” Lilly huffed, some of her youthful attitude revealing itself. “Just inform him you changed your mind. Women do it all the time. Even a brute like him will understand that.”

  I bit my bottom lip, for here was one secret I couldn’t admit to her or anyone else. “I can’t. It’s for his own protection. Please don’t ask any more.”

  Lilly snorted and spun to face the mirror. With excessive vigor, she began to brush out her dark blonde curls. “That’s the most ridiculous, useless attempt at an excuse ever, Bee. I mean, I’m marrying a human bat, for heaven’s sake.” She gasped and turned to me again. “Wait, you’re not a… a vampire or a Mantis that bites off her husband’s head, are you?”

  I forced a laugh, a high-pitched, nervous sound. “No, don’t be silly. It’s nothing like that. It’s… I just can’t tell you. Please, Lilly, don’t mention any part of this conversation to anyone, not even Mr. Elkhart. He and Mr. Timmons are too close as friends for secrets.”

  “Hm.” Thoroughly unimpressed with me, Lilly resumed her brushing. “That’s all well and good, but you’d better behave tomorrow. I won’t permit any disruptions at my wedding. He’s going to be there, you know.”

  That I did, and I had a terrible time falling asleep in anticipation of seeing him. When sleep did finally sneak up on me, I dreamed I’d turned into a giant Mantis and had bitten off Mr. Timmons’ head. But when I looked down at the face, it was Gideon’s.