Once Upon A Dystopia: An Anthology of Twisted Fairy Tales and Fractured Folklore

by Heather Carson

  This is yearning and it is not something I knew before. The force of it makes me want to give in, to agree to whatever will make him stop asking. I think of my mission and that allows me to feel sad for him, but also to shake my head and pull my dress away from his grasping hands.

  “Lucy learned to love her husband and she had a child. It didn’t survive, but we know more now. Trust me, I’ll take care of you if you do what I say.”

  I can’t meet his eyes.

  “I’ll see to your room.” Flicks leaves and I turn to the woman who had her skin stolen, was married to a stranger, and then forced to have a child.

  “Do you want me to embrace you?” I ask.

  She nods and I hug her, letting her clutch back at me.

  “I’m sorry we had to wait so long.”

  She steps back. “You had to wait for Little Sister.”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s too late for me. This body has trapped me and I’ve grown old.” She holds up her wrinkled hands. “But I know where he put your pelli.”

  She scrambles onto the countertop and reaches up high to pull out the sack. She drops it down to me and I pull at the cord wrapped around it.

  My skin. Saltwater falls from my eyes. Soft as I remember, pliable and jelly-like. It has not dried out. I bury my face in the fur and inhale the musky, wonderful scent. This close, I hear the echo of my pod and know they are dancing beyond the black teeth, making a plea to Little Sister. Each moment Little Sister is moving away. Soon we will not have the power of the water to help us.

  I think about her words. There are no other voices to talk to about this decision. No pleasure in consensus. She is more experienced on land than I am, knows more about this situation, and she tells me to go. And inside me there is an eagerness to leave, to rush back to safety and to the pod.

  But I cannot leave without the pod member that he calls Lucy because she is my sister, my mother, my aunt, my daughter. That’s why we agreed that one of us would be captured.

  She releases a long moan when I replace my pelli and hand the bag back to her.

  “I will not leave you,” I say. “Unless we can both go.”

  ***

  He takes me to a room for sleeping. There is a narrow cot and a desk with a chair and a dresser against the far wall. When he closes the door, I wrap my arms around myself and sink to the floor. It is so hard and so cold and so lonely. I have never been alone like this. No sounds of the ocean lull me into dreams, there is no music, there is no comforting mental touch of the other pod members.

  A sound on the door makes me look up.

  Lucy is there. “May I come in?”

  When I nod, she closes the door and comes closer. “May I embrace you?”

  Again, I nod.

  She helps me to the cot and pulls a blanket up to my chin, she makes soothing sounds that mean nothing in the newcomer’s language, but could be the clicking claws of a caer or the cheerful screech of a porphin. She pulls the chair next to the cot and sits beside me as Little Sister, and our plan, drown in the deeps.

  ***

  In the morning he takes me to the lab. This is the first time I’ve been so close to their camp. There are several small metal buildings like the one we were in last night and a larger one in the center. That is where we are headed. Clouds shift overhead and the wind sweeps my hair. The crash of the ocean is there, the water calls to me.

  Inside the large white room are large machines crewed by five more newcomers. Immediately their needs and wants hammer at my mind. We teach our children not to do this, but these creatures are emotional toddlers, undisciplined with their pain and their demands. They give no thought to the group, only to themselves.

  “Is that one of them?” A female with yellow hair cut short. She wears the same clothing as the other newcomers, but her frame is smaller and her voice is higher. The violence in her tone grates against me.

  “Nice, Flicks,” another one says. He, this human body tells me, has glasses that sit on scars racing down his cheek to disappear under the collar of his shirt. His leg is different, a curve like part of a shell, but he uses it to move around with what appears to be little hindrance. We would do something similar with our pellis. I think these changes must be from the war that Flicks told me about. “Is she friendly?”

  “Does it matter?” says the yellow-haired one.

  They choose silence, but their secrets pulse at me. Embarrassment, gratitude not to be me, implicit us versus them. I am the them.

  Flicks holds up the sack with my pelli. “I thought we could test it against the ones we’ve been synthesizing.”

  “Great,” the one with scars and glasses says. He moves to a tank, places his hands into over-sized gloves, and then plunges them into the tank. Then he holds up what looks like the body part of a tentacled dreer: clear and slippery and the size of a human’s torso. “We’ve grown this so far, but if one of us tries on the real pelli, then we can compare.” He looks to the yellow-haired girl. “Abby, you’re the smallest.”

  “Yes.” She makes a fist and pulls it close to her side in a celebratory move. “Thank you, Cap.”

  I double over in pain as my stomach cramps. Abby’s searing sense of pride, Cap’s biting curiosity, Flick’s hope all swirl around me like phantom touches. Human words ricochet around my mind and I grasp at them as if I had fins instead of fingers.

  Flicks takes out my pelli. The edges are curling up. It needs saltwater. He offers it to Abby. “Try it on.”

  My mental fins turn into claws to snatch up words. I’ve never had to do this before, to push back against these overwhelming wishes, but I do it now.

  “No.” I straighten against the cramping in my middle. “No. You will not give away my pelli. It is not yours to give. It is mine.”

  I feel the shock from all directions, but I don’t care. I dismiss their feelings. This is unheard of in our colony, but I cannot think about it now. Worse is the violation that these newcomers propose.

  “Give it back now.” I step forward and hold out my hand. It shakes as my heart bangs against my ribcage so hard that the internal sound muffles my hearing.

  “Oh. She’s angry.” Abby shrugs one shoulder as if I don’t matter. “Lucy’s never done that before.”

  “They are different creatures of the same species,” Cap says, as if he has any idea. “They will have individual reactions to stimuli, but each interaction brings new information.”

  Flicks looks at me and shoves my pelli back in the bag. “We can discuss this later,” he says to me. He smiles and his teeth gleam white.

  A sound from one of the machines breaks the standoff and the crew returns to their devices. There is a cone-shaped alarm on top that swirls around three times and then quiets. A series of long and short sounds follow, like a caer’s six limbs tapping against a rock at low tide.

  “Ugg,” Abby says when the tapping stops. “Typical check-in.” She shakes her head. “No reaction to any of the reports we’ve sent.”

  Cap places his hand on her shoulder and squeezes. “As soon as they know that human life is sustainable on this planet, they’ll send more settlers.”

  Which means that if human life is not sustainable, then they won’t? I keep my face blank. These humans are so insensitive to the emotions of another that they don’t notice. Maybe Lucy and I will not be able to escape. Maybe my mission is changing.

  Anger stings me inside as if I’d wandered into the tentacled dreer. I don’t know what to do with it so I feed it until Flicks says it is time to return to our building. The wind blows stronger than before and the light is red. Lucy and I both turn to the place where the seawater strikes the rocks. Our pod is there, standing in a line, buffeted by the water, making themselves seen in order to deliver a message. They stretch their forms to reach toward Little Sister. Lucy and I stare at each other as we receive their message and butterfly wings unfurl inside me. I recognize the sensation. It is my courage. If Flicks asked again, I would say that I’d name
d myself Butterfly-Wings.

  Once we are inside, Flicks says, “Now you understand. I need someone to help me on this forsaken planet. It’s a matter of survival. And it helps that you’re beautiful. It is easy for me to love you.”

  Lucy stands by the open door. The pod’s chanting has grown louder, welcoming the storm. Rain comes at an angle, blown by the wind. Seawater invades the house, kissing Lucy’s feet and then retreating, creeping farther each time. Little Sister must be listening, her volcanoes erupting as she swings close.

  “You love the idea of a selkie,” I say. He speaks of love but sprinkles his phrases with “me.” “A woman who has no past, no needs, no demands.” I push him away and he falls into the water covering the floor, soaking the back of his clothes. “But I have my own story.”

  He stands up, furious. I see the violence in the narrowing of his eyes as he sees the water. “This stupid planet. Flooding again. How can the tide come up so high?” He kicks at the water as if it were alive and then pulls a hunting knife from his hip. The kind used to peel sealskin away from meat and blubber. He holds the blade toward my throat, hand shaking with anger because he is being thwarted. “You can’t –”

  He doesn’t seem to know how to finish. Instead, he wants me to say that I won’t leave because his needs are more important than mine. Understanding chokes me. All I can do is stare back at him.

  He tosses the knife to the table and exhales as if disappointed. “Shut the door, Lucy. I’ve got to get sandbags.” Flicks stalks away.

  Lucy ignores him and grabs the sack with my pelli. She rips it open and lowers my skin into the seawater before handing it to me.

  Fingers tingling, I strip off the human dress and thrust my feet into the skin. I pull the skin, shimmying it over my hips, forcing my fingers down the sleeves. It feels so good, but then I look at the woman he called Lucy. Being in this human body has changed me, but I choose to think of “we.”

  I meet her eyes while I hold the knife to my pelli and I make the first cut.

  It isn’t easy but I hold with one hand and I cut with the other. When one of our pellis are torn, we gather around and sing to our injured friend. Sometimes one of us will offer blood to help it grow. Growing a pelli large enough for two bodies has never been done before. Maybe we will sing songs about it, if we can escape.

  I’m taking too long.

  She comes over to help me.

  Saltwater is up to our knees and Little Sister moves higher in the window. Oh, she is gloriously angry tonight.

  I help Lucy slip into half of my skin. It’s tight, won’t fit. She’s been in this body so long, life changed at the whim of a stranger.

  “Leave me so you’ll be safe,” she says.

  “Nope.” The word feels fierce and defiant. I love it.

  I retrieve the hunting knife.

  The blade stings. I release his disappointment that I won’t stay. Crimson flows down my arm and onto the outer layer of skin surrounding my friend.

  The layer absorbs my cells and grows until I can pull it up to cover her shoulders. Now she takes over, massaging and singing to the skin, encouraging it to grow.

  I hunker down and work my own portion of skin, kneading and grabbing with my teeth to make it stretch. The soldier and crew changed me, confused and battered me with human feelings and demands. But they will not keep me here.

  The soldier returns, carrying sandbags. He splashes to a halt when he sees me with the knife, sees the woman whom he knew as Lucy changing into a sleek, gray-colored creature so similar to his home world’s seal. She has dreamed of this moment while lying in the human bed night after night. The images communicate through our pellis and I feel her wild joy. She slips out to join the pod, to be the “we.”

  She can return, but my portion of the pelli is not large enough. I am both part of my pod and still a single voice in my own head.

  “Don’t come closer.” I am desperate enough to saw through human flesh and bone in order to return to the sea. My body knows how to show him this truth: my lips pull back in a snarl. It is unnatural to a selkie but feels right to a human. “Am I beautiful now?”

  He flinches and looks out the window to avoid my question. His eyes widen as the whole island shakes. He grabs the counter.

  I slice again — cutting away my sympathy for his return to a never-ending war or his future children.

  Little Sister moves past the window leaving only a red light shining through.

  An alarm blares from another building in the human’s outpost. He turns to face me, and I see dawning realization. “The storm. Is the island going under? Are you doing this?”

  From my pelli I hear my pod singing a triumphant chorus as seawater churns.

  His shoulders slump. “Please,” he says, as if being polite will persuade me. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  Third cut. This time along my ribs. I flick the knife to clean the bit of human skin, hurling away his expectation that I will learn to love him if I have no choice.

  “But you did. Your selfishness changed me.” This assertion hangs in the silence between us. “I would run for your boats, now, because there will be nothing left here.” I smile at him. “It’s a matter of your survival.”

  “No.” I see his dawning realization a moment before he stumbles past me and through the door, making his way to the lab with the boats and the manufactured pellis.

  The knife falls from my human hand and the heaviness in my chest breaks apart, beaten by butterfly wings, as I lower into a watery embrace. Thick green skin -- a leviathan’s -- slips over my shoulders as my pelli alters my form to match my mind. My eyes, newly large, have no trouble seeing in the dark. My claws are sharp and I am not afraid. I cannot join my pod’s chorus but I can swim through these ruins. I can watch for more newcomers and tell them ‘no’ with my long teeth.

  Sherri Cook Woosley holds a master’s degree in English Literature from the University of Maryland with a focus on comparative mythology. Her short fiction has recently been published in DreamForge, Pantheon Magazine, and Abyss & Apex. Her debut novel, WALKING THROUGH FIRE, was published by Talos Press and combines her experience of being a mother of a child with cancer and Sumerian mythology. The novel was long-listed for both the Booknest Debut Novel award and Baltimore’s Best 2019 and 2020 in the novel category. www.tasteofsherri.com

  Lieutenant Red Hood

  By Jordyn Kieft

  Leaving the settlement was risky and rarely necessary. It was safer to stay within the walls of the settlement where there was no chance of Shifter attacks. But then harvest season failed. And failed again. And again. People were starving. Each day more and more settlement members were dying, their bodies left out for the Shifters to consume since no one had the energy to bury them. The O17 Council was left with no choice but to send a military team out into the lands beyond the walls with hope of reaching the nearest neighboring settlement. This settlement was known for their aid due to their continual, plentiful seasons. The team’s goal was to return with food and resources for potentially better harvest outcomes in the upcoming years.

  The nearest settlement is only a few days’ travel away through the dense forest surrounding O17. The team should have returned within a week of leaving. But then a week passed without a sign of the team. Then another week passed. Red knew that the possibility of any of the team members being alive was slim. The journey between settlements was a dangerous one as the pathways often bordered the Shifters’ feeding grounds. Even providing extra travel time for poor weather conditions, or Shifter sightings, the team should have been returned home by now. There were speculations of a Shifter attack, although no one contained any sort of proof besides the missing travelers. Members of the community were concerned about being able to survive the winter without the aid of the other settlement.

  Red did her best to ignore their talk, not wanting to let thoughts of her grandmother, one of the team members on the mission, potentially being dead enter her mind. Commander Hood
’s vast knowledge of Shifters and the world outside made her an asset both to the team and the settlement in general. She was almost as precious as the cargo - at least in Red’s opinion. But Red could not mourn her grandmother right now. Not when she was so close to graduating from her training in the guard. Grandmother would not want her death to get in the way of Red achieving her goals.

  The Council discussed how to proceed for three days, causing alarm within the settlement. The Council had never needed to discuss what to do when a team did not return. Team members knew the risks of leaving the settlement and were informed there would be no rescue attempts. But this mission was different. The survival of the settlement depended heavily on its success.

  Red’s training increased in difficulty in the following days, and she caught wind from a group of Commanders that they were readying all trainees. Some of them would be needed for the potential rescue mission. Hope flitted through her chest at the thought that her grandmother might still be alive and might even be rescued. If her grandmother was still out there, then Red wanted to be the one to make sure she arrived back home safely. She could not lose the only family she had left, and she did not trust others to prioritize her grandmother the way that she would.