Wild Swans

by Patricia Snodgrass

  She took a tentative step forward and the shadow moved along with her own. She quickened her pace, and the shadow followed. She broke into a run, and then skidded to an abrupt halt, the momentum putting her on the tips of her toes.

  The other shadow, the one that seemed to be leeching the very color out of hers, had moved a fraction of a second longer than she did. Apparently it was startled that she stopped so quickly. Althea bent down, putting her hands on her knees and studied it.

  It extended from the bottom of her right foot and crossed her own shadow at a right angle. She turned around and looked again, and again she saw nothing at all.

  Yet somehow, it reminded her of the shadow she and Jake saw on the bayou, although not as well formed. The thing they saw looked three dimensional and utterly terrifying. This one wasn’t, although it was much darker than her own. She cocked her head, trying to decipher the puzzle.

  You’re being silly, Althea reassured herself as she straightened. It’s just a shadow after all. Maybe it’s an optical illusion, a trick of the light, nature’s smoke and mirrors. Surely something is casting it. After all, shadows don’t move on their own accord.

  Except for the thing that glided over the water the day before.

  Althea’s mouth went dry. She quickened her pace, and then broke into a light jog.

  The shadow followed. Ice cold adrenalin poured through her. Althea ran full tilt down the sidewalk. Shops and bistros seemed to fly past as she ran. The shadow kept up. Her mind was running faster than she was, soaring ahead, trying to figure out how to ditch the thing that was surely following her. The opportunity came up when she spied a narrow ally between the Rexall Drugstore and Louver’s Feed and Seed. She ducked inside, and pressed her back against the wall. Her heart pounding, beads of sweat glistening on her forehead, she pressed her cheek against the old crumbling brick and mortar wall and watched the entry way.

  The shadow, a long thick slanting line of a black so dark that Althea had trouble comprehending it, passed slowly across the entrance. Her head pounded; thin, insanely bright zigzag lines slammed against her field of vision. A profound bout of nausea and dizziness caused her knees to sag. She closed her eyes, feeling tears trickling down her cheeks. She opened her eyes, rubbed them and was startled to see streaks of blood on the back of her palm. She rested her head against the crusty bricks and watched whatever it was paused at the threshold, then glide away.

  The pain and dizziness eased, and then disappeared. Althea peeked around the corner, surprised that the shadow-thing had disappeared so quickly. She blinked, confused. The whole world at that moment seemed to be filled with people and noise. Traffic reappeared on the streets, people walked along the sidewalk. A kid of about ten skateboarded around a couple walking arm and arm.

  Where had all the people gone? Althea wondered. Nobody was on the street but me. Nobody.

  Althea heard something behind her. She jumped, gasping as she spun around. Toward the back of the ally she heard a faint sigh followed by a grunting noise coming from behind a stack of orange crates.

  She scowled, looking very much like her mother. If someone’s trying to sneak up on me, then he’s in for a big surprise, she thought as she stepped up to the wall and pulled a piece of one by four off a dilapidated stockroom skid. She gave it a couple of preliminary swings, reminding her of the time her mother consented to let her play girl’s softball when she was ten years old. She was pretty good too, she recalled. She hit more balls out of the park than most of the boys.

  Whoever’s messing around with me is getting a line drive straight to the face, she thought with angry satisfaction as she strode down the ally toward the crates.

  “Alright you sorry bastard,” she shouted as she rounded the stack of crates. “Now you’re gonna get it.”

  Shocked, she stopped dead still. Her jaw dropped. She dimly heard the piece of wood clatter to the alley pavement.

  It was Jake, and he was hip deep in Matilda. He stopped in mid rut, looking up quizzically at Althea as if she had materialized from the air itself. Matilda was in the middle of an orgasm. Her legs wrapped firmly around Jake’s waist, her face twisted into a ludicrous expression, as if she’d just seen the Virgin Mary step off a street car. Her mouth was wide open as she grunted from each short bursting climax. Drool poured out of the corner of her mouth. Disgusted, Althea turned and walked away.

  “Althea, Althea wait,” Jake called. He was off of Matilda now, trying to run and pull his jeans up at the same time. “Althea, baby.”

  “Get away from me,” she shouted, yanking her arm out of his grasp. “My God, my mother was right. You are fucking Matilda.”

  “Well,” Jake said, sounding self righteous. “It’s not like we’ll ever get married or anything. Besides, a man has needs.”

  “Needs? Needs? What about my needs, Jake?” She slapped him hard across the face. “You told me you loved me. You told me you wanted to be with me, but all I was to you was another sport fuck. My God,” she exclaimed. “You went to see her right after being with me! Oh don’t bother denying it; my mother caught the two of you dead to rights.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing, Mom was right. She was right about men all along. You’re all pigs. Filthy grunting pigs!”

  Jake slapped her. Behind him she heard Matilda titter. Althea lunged at her, and Jake grabbed her. She stared at him, at a loss for words, enraged and revolted.

  “It’s not like you were going to give me any. I begged and pleaded but you wouldn’t.” Jake glared at her. “You’re saving it up for your new husband, like your pussy is gold plated or something.”

  Althea yanked herself out of his grasp, stunned at the bald faced lie. She clenched her fists, her slender thighs pumping as she stomped her feet. Jake looked amused. Matilda tittered again. Althea turned and ran, the strange shadow forgotten, her heart broken. Her face scalded by Matilda’s harsh laughter echoing behind her.

  She ran, crossing the street, not seeing the car that nearly struck her. She fled past stores, shops and houses until the city gave way to dense woods.

  She took refuge in amongst the trees, stopping only long enough to catch her breath. She leaned against a knotted old cypress, its shaggy trunk rough against her smooth skin, fighting off a stitch in her side, crying so hard she thought her sides would split.

  She thought about the day on the bayou, of the flower laden hideaway where she and Jake spent most of the day in each other’s arms. He knew about that place, she recalled. He knew about it because he brought Matilda there. It was our place sacred and perfect, and he brought that slut there and defiled it.

  She recalled the thing that floated silently above the dank river water. Althea wiped away her tears and gazed past the thin line of trees that separated the forest from the busy street beyond. The shadowy thing that followed her wasn’t exactly like the thing in the woods, but it was close enough. What’s happening here? She wondered.

  Chapter Seven

  Ruby stepped out of the church and stood on the high concrete porch surrounded by white Greek pillars. Above her the church bell rang. She blinked and squinted through bright midday glare. Shielding her eyes with her hand, she looked down the street. She scowled.

  “Where did that girl get off to this time?” she grumbled.

  Muttering to herself, Ruby climbed the marble stairs which deposited her onto the side walk and strode toward the car. She stood in front of the driver’s side door and opened her purse.

  “She better not be off with that boy,” she said to herself as she rummaged for her car keys. “I’ve had about all of her and her foolishness than I can take.”

  The keys on the ring jangled as Ruby extracted them. The ring held a tab for a catfish place in Lake Charles she, Cally and Althea liked to frequent before the wedding started getting expensive and frivolous things like girl’s night became impossible to do. She scowled, feeling put out. The key ring snared a tube of lipstick, and several of the keys were holding it down,
keeping her from dislodging it.

  Ruby leaned over the hood of the car, set her purse on the hood, and tried to pull the lipstick and the key ring apart. She swore profusely as the jammed lid popped off without warning, and keys, ring, and lipstick poised in midair just before making their rapid plunge to the ground. She grabbed for them, but caught only the cosmetic, crushing the lipstick in the palm of her hand. The keys clattered to the ground, bounced twice and skidded to a stop underneath the car. The remains of the lipstick arrived a millisecond later, smacking the pavement soundly as the tube broke free from the chain, and promptly rolled underneath the car.

  Ruby stood, feeling dazed, then outraged as she glared at her coral colored right hand. She fished around in her purse and extracted some tissue and wiped off the mess. And that was my favorite color, too, she groused as she dabbed at a smear on her blouse. After cleaning up, she knelt down, careful not to show off what was underneath her tight a-line skirt, and reached down to pick up the key chain resting against the front driver’s side tire.

  “There you are,” she said as she clasped the key ring in her fist. She started to rise, then froze, half crouched, her thighs aching as she squatted next to the car.

  A sound caught her attention. It was odd, like the flapping of heavy wings.

  “Now you’re just being silly,” she told herself, yet couldn’t seem to gather up the courage to straighten up.

  Despite her instincts howling at her, begging her to stay down, she straightened anyway and looked up and down the street. Strange, she thought. Where is everybody? And why is everything so bright all of a sudden? A storm front was coming in earlier. It was heavy cloudy an hour ago, but now...everything seems out of place. Everything’s too quiet, and too bright. It’s like that Twilight Zone episode we watched last night, where that Air Force guy finds himself alone in a strange town and it all turns out to be an experiment of some sort.

  “Forget this, I’m going back inside,” Ruby said as she repacked her purse. Fear propelled her as she crossed the side walk and the perfectly manicured lawn with the bronze statue of Saint Francis of Assisi gazing benignly out toward the parking lot. A huge buzzard was perched on his head, its red eyes regarding her as if he were about to renounce his scavenging ways and have a go at some fresh meat. She stopped, abruptly, nearly toppling over. The great carrion bird flapped its wings then settled back onto Assisi’s head.

  Ruby gasped, appalled that such a creature had the audacity to perch atop such a sainted visage. It bordered on heresy, and for an instant, Ruby considered throwing a stone at it. As if sensing her thoughts, the buzzard rustled his wings and bobbed his head, its sanguine eyes glaring at her. The creature made an odd croaking sound, and Ruby had the distinct impression it was threatening her. Then to add insult to injury, the huge bird shat, whitish green guano streamed down the statue’s back, the stench incredible. Ruby gagged.

  “Abomination,” she whispered. The bird hissed an ugly reply. Pressing her hand to her nose, Ruby stepped backwards and tripped, her right foot came down hard on the marble steps. She over-corrected and the heel on her pump snapped off. Ruby twisted as she fell, her knees banging smartly on the edge of the step as she went down. Her hands scraped raw. She moaned, frustrated, frightened, as she turned over and sat on the bottom step. She picked up the heel and looked at it. The shoe is ruined. And it was my best pair of pumps, too.

  The bird ruffled its feathers and offered her carrion curses.

  Silence pressed hard down upon her, as did the stillness and heat. She turned to throw the heel at the buzzard still regarding her from his perch on Assisi’s head. She stopped, her arm poised above her head, the heel of the ruined pump still clasped in her hand.

  There were more shadows on the lawn, she realized, shadows that certainly didn’t belong there. She looked up and gasped, horrified, as she saw not one or two buzzards, but hundreds, perched on the highline wires. The wires sagged from the weight. The birds were also roosting on the church roof, the rectory, as her startled gaze verified, as well as perching precariously on the Stations of the Cross.

  Ruby’s mouth went dry. The creatures regarded her with beady crimson eyes. Their heads were bald, ugly as if they’d been chewed by a dog and their wings were black, huge and terrible. More of them were flying in, Ruby noted, spiraling down from high above the church steeple. The bells clanged as the buzzards fought for landing space on the antiquated domes. Several ruffleded their feathers, gazing down at her as if she were an intruder.

  They’re not dangerous; Ruby tried to reassure herself but failing miserably. They don’t bother the living. They only come after the dead.

  She was horrified at the notion, the thought that came unbidden yet terrifying just the same. Had they come for her?

  “How dare you,” she hissed. “I’m still young and strong. I have a girl to see married and happy. I want to see my grandbabies being born. I have a life of my own. Go away. I’m not coming with you.”

  The buzzard on the Assisi statue cocked its head, and uttered a strange strangling sound. The air was dense and oppressive. A low grade buzzing seemed to come from everywhere at once. Ruby’s head pounded. Blazing zigzag flashes of light invaded her field of vision. The lights were too bright to stand, and they vibrated along with the deep thrumming sensation pressing against her ears. Ruby clamped the heels of her hands against her temples, her heart hammering, her stomach roiling along with the insane lights, sounds and bizarre smells that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.

  Ruby lifted her head, tears streaming down her cheeks as another unearthly sound rumbled down the street. Something was coming toward her, something unknown and terrible. She longed to get inside the church, to seek sanctuary in the cool clean quiet depths of the building, but her legs wouldn’t carry her. The smell of rotting flesh and urine assaulted her. She bent over, pressed her hands to her slim belly, and dry heaved. The pressure in Ruby’s head magnified. She wanted to scream, to faint, to die, but all she managed to do was puke weakly on the church steps.

  I’m having a stroke, she thought as tears stung her eyes and the earth churned. That’s got to be what’s happening. I’m dying and the buzzards have come to pick out my eyes, rip off my nose and dine on the tender flesh between my fingers. Strew my guts across the lawn. . .

  The sound came closer. Ruby squinted at the street. It’s a car, she thought, as she caught a glimpse of the vehicle topping a nearby hill. That’s what I heard earlier, a car. Yet the ordinariness of a vehicle coming down the street wasn’t comforting. Instead, Ruby’s fear cranked up another notch.

  The thing had the audacity to call itself a car, but Ruby knew it was not. The vehicle in question was black, sleek and built like a Ford Fairlane with chrome so dazzling she could barely look at it. Ruby knew somehow that it wasn’t and never had been built by the Ford Motor Company and as insane as the thought was, she was convinced it was sentient in its own way. And it was dangerous, of that she had no doubt.

  The car-thing slowed as it approached. Oh God, it’s seen me, she thought. It’s seen me and it’s stopping. It’s stopping and there is nowhere to hide.

  The pressure in her head built to a roaring climax. Her pulse thudded heavily in her neck. Her mind spun; the zigzag patterns covered her vision as the car-thing slowed to a crawl. Ruby felt herself sag against the steps. She begged to pass out, yet could not. The car was right in front of her now. It stopped in the middle of the street, as if the driver didn’t have a care in the world. Which of course, it did not. There wasn’t any traffic, and hadn’t been in some time.

  Ruby laughed, clutching her stomach, terror ripping through her as she saw something in the shape of a man (but knew, oh yes beyond a shadow of a doubt) that it wasn’t human, sitting in the passenger side. It was wearing a battered grayish brown fedora and an equally drab trench coat. It was gazing at her with eyes that were nothing more than pinpoints of bright orange light underneath the blackness of the hat. She heaved again a
s a new and even worse sensation swept through her. The man-thing entered her head and was riffling through her memories the way a hurried secretary would go through a filing cabinet, tossing files onto the floor, onto the desk, out the window.

  The world seemed to fall out from under her. Ruby bent forward, her skirt hiked over her thighs, her silk stockings torn and sagging in great loops around her knees, her fingers digging into the tender flesh of her belly. Cold sickening sweat poured off of her face, down her neck, into the small cleavage between her breasts.

  She looked up and gave the man-thing an ugly smile. Not today you won’t, she sent her thoughts to him. You’re not getting into me you nasty brute. No one is ever getting into me again. And with that she mentally shoved the thing out of the office of her mind and slammed the door shut.

  The creature blinked at her, obviously surprised.

  Ruby offered the creature a hideous grin. The thing responded by taking a gloved hand and moving an appendage slowly along the rim of his fedora as if he were about to tip his hat to her. She prayed he wouldn’t because Ruby was certain she wouldn’t survive if he did. She had the sick impression that the thing under the hat was leering at her. Gathering all her strength, she raised her middle finger. “Climb this, Tarzan,” she whispered.

  The thing in the car nodded, touched its hat again and signaled for the car to move.

  The vehicle glided down the street, crested the hill and disappeared.

  The migraine eased as soon as the car vanished. Ruby leaned back against the steps, gulping huge gasps of air, wiping great dollops of sweat off her brow. The buzzards abandoned their posts in one great flapping whoosh and took flight. She watched them as they spiraled higher and higher until they disappeared in the milky white sky.

  Everything is dimmer now, Ruby noticed. And the shadows have returned. But they’re in the wrong place. She watched as traffic resumed, almost tentatively at first. Then more cars passed, and finally, the street and sidewalks were buzzing with people again. My God, how long have I sat out here? She wondered.