Twixt

by Sarah Diemer

  “Charlie, a new one?” she’s asking, and Charlie shrugs, shakes her head.

  “Yes."

  "But it just got dark—"

  "Don’t ask me, Vi. I don’t know how or why.”

  “Things are getting worse,” moans a woman then. She has tangled red hair that shifts over her shoulder as she looks toward us, her skin pale as milk. “New Sleepers in the daytime? What else will change? Will walls grow solid, or fail to keep out the Snatchers?”

  “New Sleepers in the daytime is good, Ella,” says Charlie with a tired sigh, rocking back on her heels. “That would make Fetchers’ work easier, and Twixt safer.”

  “But what else will change, Charlie?” asks an older man, sucking on the ends of his mustache. He brings his cane, a ragged stick, down upon the floor with a loud thump. “That’s the thing: what else? What will change not for the better?”

  “Listen, we’ll worry about all of this later. This girl was almost Snatched. Try to make her feel comfortable.” Charlie falls onto an unoccupied couch, leaving me standing alone in the center of the room. I clasp my hands before me, uncertain.

  “I’m Violet,” says the girl in the hoodie, angling her chin up to grin at me again. “Have you got a name yet?”

  “I…don’t know my name,” I whisper, panic threatening to eat me up, but the girl shakes her head, still smiling.

  “Oh, no, it’s all right. None of us had names when we first got here. Charlie, have you thought of one for her yet?”

  “No,” she says, opening one eye to look at me. “We’ll think up a name for her tomorrow. I’m sorry. I’m fried, and I still have to go Fetching tonight. I was just out for a walk before night fell and—”

  “Who knows if there’ll even be new Sleepers tonight,” says the older man, throwing up his arms. “This is serious. We need to hold someone accountable, is what we need to do. I've said it before, but—”

  “Robert, ease up,” commands Abigail, setting her lantern down upon the dusty piano. She hobbles over to Charlie's couch and perches primly on its arm. “Ain’t nothin’ happening that we can stop, anyway, and you know it.”

  Silence descends, hazy as a shroud, and I shiver, rubbing at my arms. Everyone watches me, the new Sleeper, the oddity. My eyes flit over the pale gathering of people with their wide, sunken eyes. Beneath their many gazes, I’m strung as tight as a violin. To shut them out, I close my eyes, but then I see the shadows—white and black and winged—descending from the trees.

  My eyes spring open, wider than before.

  I don’t want to be here, amongst these people with their probing, accusatory stares. I don’t know them. I don't know any of them.

  I want to feel safe.

  How can I feel safe?

  I don’t know if I’ll ever feel safe again.

  Suddenly, the hairs on the back of my neck prick up. I stand a little straighter and notice Violet straightening, too, peering behind me with her large, bright eyes.

  I turn, following the line of her gaze.

  There’s a shadow in the doorway—small, slight, only a girl, not a monster, I realize, as she rocks on her bare feet, swaying back and forth. Not a monster. Just a girl. She's nearly bald, with scraps of hair tufted on her head, small, ragged knots of lanky blonde, and when she looks up at me, still swaying, I see by the sharpness of her face that she’s thinner than any creature ever should be, and bones poke out at odd angles beneath her formless brown dress.

  “Oh,” she whispers, then, staring at me with wide, bloodshot eyes. Animal eyes. “Oh…” she says again, stepping forward, faltering, a skeletal hand stretched out toward me.

  She hasn't glanced away, hasn't even blinked. She’s staring so intensely at me that I cringe and step back as she moves forward. Her smile isn't right… It's too wide, that smile, as she pauses, trembling, before the doorway. “Oh, she has such pretty hair.”

  And then I notice something silver in her palm. It flashes in the half-light as she runs across the floor toward me, hands curled like claws, mouth open, teeth bared: everything else but her too slow, tilting.

  "She's got shears!" Violet wails from somewhere far away.

  I move as if through water. I try to deflect the girl, but she’s on me too quickly, too ferociously, and I tumble to the ground as she straddles my waist, my shoulders, pinning me with her knees to the floor. She holds up a great fistful of my black curls—I hadn't noticed my hair before this moment—and, in her other hand, she brandishes a small pair of gleaming scissors, sharply glittering as she unhinges them, still smiling. Tears stream over her face, falling warm upon my cheeks, as she closes the pointed jaws around her handful of my hair.

  I wince.

  And then, just as suddenly, I can breathe again, and I sit up, gasping, because Charlie knocked the girl off of me. Together they tumble across the floor, the shears skidding, clattering toward the empty fireplace. Violet snatches them up as Charlie pins the girl down, hands at her wrists, sitting upon her waist as the girl sat upon mine.

  “Violet, help,” Charlie hisses when the girl begins to scream. The sound is slight at first, almost pathetic, but after a moment it rages, piercing, like the monsters’ shrieks.

  “Florence,” Charlie murmurs, over and over. “Florence, it’s all right. Florence, look at me.”

  The girl spasms beneath her, shaking violently, back arching, snapping. Violet falls to her knees, smoothes her palms over the girl’s cheeks and her bare, tufted head.

  “Florence, breathe. Breathe, baby girl,” Violet whispers, voice catching. A single tear falls from her eye, splashing against the girl’s nose, and then, suddenly, with a wracking sigh, the girl just…stops. Her eyes close, and she shudders once and slumps, like a boneless thing, and all is still.

  Charlie curves forward, crawling off of the motionless body and falling to her back on the floor, beside Florence, breathing out and then shutting her eyes, too.

  “Well,” says Abigail, with a quiver in her tone, “that might have gone much better. Or much worse.” Her sharp eyes pierce through me.

  I sit up carefully and then stand, bending away from the lot of them and folding my arms across my middle. I’m ready to run if I need to, to flee into the hallway and just go. I don’t know where I'll go. But I’ll leave. I'll find someplace else, someplace…safe.

  The hair that the girl snipped off with her shears lies limp upon the floor, curled in upon itself.

  “I thought it was Nancy’s turn to watch her,” says Charlie, rubbing at her eyes. "Where'd she get those scissors?" She sits up, leaning back on her hands as she stares down at the unmoving girl. Face falling, she rubs her eyes again, and I see tears on her fingers. She stands, sniffing. “Violet, will you help me?”

  Violet, pale and wide-eyed, rises to her feet, nodding, as Charlie reaches down to lift up the broken girl as if she were only a doll, cradling her length in her arms.

  “Are you all right?” asks Violet quietly, reaching out and touching my elbow. Startled, I flinch away, and Violet stands beside me awkwardly, biting her lip, before she straightens, tucking her hands into her hoodie pockets. “If you…if you come with me, I’ll show you a room where you can stay tonight.”

  Florence is out cold, lying limp against Charlie's chest, and Charlie stays very still, watching me, her eyes red-rimmed and shining. “Sorry,” she mutters, noticing my gaze, and then ducking her head to stare down at the girl. “She’s been getting worse, but I didn’t… I thought she was being taken care of. I’m just…so sorry.” The words catch in her throat, and I flush, suddenly ashamed for flinching away from Violet. But I don’t know what to do or say. I shift from heel to heel as the people staring at us all around the room maintain their heavy silence.

  “Let’s take her upstairs,” Violet whispers, and I don’t know if she means the girl or me, but I follow Charlie and Violet out of the room, away from the heat of those probing eyes. There’s movement behind me as I leave, and I glance back over my shoulder to watch a small woman s
teal quietly toward the lock of hair coiled on the floor and snatch it up, her thin hands curling around it greedily before pocketing it in one jerky movement.

  I look away and shiver.

  Violet takes up one of the lanterns from the floor outside of the entryway, holding it in shaking fingers, angling it overhead so that it casts flickering light on the dark red carpet.

  I notice Charlie watching me carefully as she shifts Florence's weight in her arms.

  “Upstairs, Violet,” she says gently after a long moment, and Violet starts, nodding, leading the way down the corridor with the lantern aloft in her hand. Within the confines of the glass, the golden orbs swing about in lazy circles, resting for a heartbeat on the bottom only to rise and try to move through the glass again, bobbing in place.

  “What are those?” I gesture toward the lantern.

  “Oh, Wisps,” Violet murmurs distractedly, glancing over her shoulder at Charlie, who isn’t paying any attention to either of us, only staring down at Florence with a grave downturn of her mouth.

  “I’m really sorry about…you know.” Violet regards me with too-bright eyes, her voice pitched low, as if to prevent Charlie from hearing her. “I hope that doesn’t mean that we’ll lose you to another Safe House. I hope you won't be afraid to stay. It was only a fluke, I promise.”

  “But why did she—”

  Violet shakes her head, puts a finger to her lips, leans closer.

  “She wanted your hair," she whispers. "Florence has been desperate for…" She frowns, her words trailing off. Her teeth worry at her lip. "Anyway, I guess seeing so much of it—hair, I mean—triggered her, flipped the switch. She usually has better self-control. Lately, at least.” Violet studies the lantern in her hand for a long moment.

  I glance at her own short black hair, sticking up like the points of arrows around her ears. “I don't understand. Why would she want my hair?”

  Violet swallows, her eyes downcast. “I'm not the one to tell you this stuff. Charlie’s the Fetcher. She has to talk to the new Sleepers, because you have to be told things the right way. Gently.” Her eyes are wide as she turns toward me. Wide and frightened. “I could tell you something the wrong way, and then you’d…" She swallows again and shakes her head. "It wouldn’t be good.”

  I stare at her, but she faces forward again and begins to ascend a broad staircase; the wood groans in protest beneath her feet. I follow, but Charlie brushes past me, bumping against my hip.

  “Sorry,” she mutters, as she shifts Florence in her arms.

  Two steps up the stairs, and the darkness seems to swallow the lantern light. It’s sudden and intense, how the panic consumes me in the half-darkness. I lift my ruined skirts and take the steps two at a time until I stand beside Charlie upon the landing.

  “We’ll come for you in the morning,” says Violet, and then looks to Charlie, who nods once. “You can stay here, in this room.” She rests a palm on the door to her right. Inclining her chin toward me, she turns the knob and steps inside, the lantern illuminating a small, shabby room with sheets covering three large pieces of furniture, turning them into dingy, hulking beasts. Whisper-thin curtains blow over the single—and broken—window.

  Violet crosses to the window quickly, pulling the curtains closed and shoving one of the sheet-covered pieces—a desk, I think—against them to hold them in place.

  “Always keep the windows covered,” she says, "just in case," and she glances past the curtains, toward the sky. My blood stills as I follow her gaze, as I remember what flies and claws beyond these walls.

  Snatchers.

  “They…" I swallow. "They can’t get in, can they?”

  Violet glances to Charlie again before she shakes her head slowly. “No,” she says, but hesitantly—as if she isn't certain. “You’re safe here,” she whispers, holding the lantern to her chest. “And I’m just next door. If you need anything, come right in, all right?”

  “I…” I shift from one foot to the other, look to the window again. "All right."

  “Morning will come soon,” Violet promises, smiling softly at me. “Morning is safe.”

  And night is not.

  “I’m two doors down.” Charlie clears her throat and removes her gaze from Florence, catches my eye. “Come see me, too, if you need to. But the Snatchers aren’t coming in. Don't worry about that.” Her voice is clear, soft. She angles her head toward me and says, so quietly that I almost can't hear it, “Again…I’m so sorry about what Florence did to you.”

  I open my mouth but don't know how to respond, so I just nod and look away. Then Violet holds out the lantern to me. I take it, peering at the orbs inside before hugging it against my stomach.

  "Good night, then," Charlie says, her brown eyes still sad, regretful, as she backs away, through the doorway, with Florence still in her arms. Violet follows close behind, shutting the door without a sound.

  I’m alone with countless shadows.

  I sit stiffly on the edge of the bed, the lantern on my lap, and watch the curtain waft in and out, as if Mad House itself is breathing.

  Chapter Two: Wanting

  When a dusting of light appears at the edge of the curtains, brightening the wall, I blink at it, shivering. It’s so cold in this room that I can see my breath, even though I’m huddled beneath the covers with my strange lantern.

  I feel as if I've sat here for hours, forever.

  The knock at the door is so loud that it shatters the stillness into jagged shards. I cough, sit up in bed, still clutching the lantern close.

  “Come in?” I whisper, teeth chattering.

  The door gapes, and Violet peeks her head around the frame, then slips in, with Charlie behind her.

  I stare at them both from the mattress, trying hard not to shake.

  Charlie glances at me, eyebrows up, but goes to the window, pushing the desk aside and peeling back the curtains. Cold air gusts in past the broken, grimy glass, but there's daylight, too—enough daylight to see by.

  I set the lantern down on the floor and slide my boots out from beneath the covers.

  “You need good clothes,” says Charlie, angling her mouth sideways, glancing at my tattered skirts. “We’ll take you to the Wanting Market, get some for you.”

  Violet glances at her quickly. “But Charlie, how will she pay—”

  “She has to know what everything means before she starts making decisions. And it won’t cost much."

  Violet’s mouth is drawn in a thin, disapproving line. She looks away from Charlie, and she shoves her hands into her hoodie pockets.

  I glance between the two of them, and frustration begins to bubble up within me, scratching at my insides, replacing the fear. “I need to know what everything means now. Please.”

  Charlie bites her lip and puts her hands on her hips. “It’s better if we show you,” she says, catching my gaze and holding it.

  “But how can we show her the Nox—” Charlie gives Violet a warning glance, brow raised, and the girl falls silent.

  “Nox?” I ask weakly.

  Charlie shakes her head, offers me a hand, and I slide off the bed, helped up. I’m so stiff, I feel like a piece of clockwork that needs to be wound.

  “All right." Charlie sighs, her hand still in mine. "Let’s start at the beginning again. It’s best to start there. Like I told you last night, you're in Twixt.” She waves her free hand toward the open window. I let go of her and cross the room slowly, limping, dragging one of my booted feet behind me, and place my fingers upon the splintered sill.

  Beyond the window, buildings and streets stretch toward a long, low wall that hugs the whole city. The buildings are just as shabby as our clothes, the roofs falling in, the walls discolored and crumbling. Most of the windows have no glass, and bricks lie in piles along the cavity-filled streets.

  I can see children climbing on small hills of rubble, scrabbling toward tiny pinpoints of light—yellow orbs like the ones in the lanterns, but these orbs are unconfined and dancing
in the air, floating above the rocks and moving away from the kids.

  There's no color, really, besides those bits of light and the red sash on the dress of a little girl who shrieks with delight as she catches one of the orbs in her hand. It glows upon her palm like a tiny captured sun.

  I see, beyond the wall, that tall trees curve toward the city, with branches sharp and thorn-like, piercing the gray fold of clouds overhead that hangs close enough to touch.

  “You’re in Abeo City,” Charlie says, coming up behind me and gazing over my shoulder, her hand resting against the wall. I feel her warmth against my back. “In Twixt. Abeo City is full of Sleepers who live in Safe Houses, of which Mad House is only one."

  I look back at her, and she gives me a little smile.

  "I know it's a lot to take in. Come on. We’ll talk as we walk along.”

  “Safe Houses,” I say, turning away from the window, moving after Charlie and Violet as they leave the room.

  “Safe Houses keep you safe from Snatchers.” Charlie glances back at me as we descend the stairs. “There are six Safe Houses here in Abeo, and each Safe House is run by a different person with different…" She pauses. "Well, beliefs is a good word for it, I guess. Abigail, the woman you met last night, runs Mad House.”

  “And what are Abigail’s beliefs?” I ask, as we reach the first floor and my boots sink into the thick carpet.

  Charlie shakes her head, huffs out. “You’ll see.” She pauses at the door, fingers lightly touching the knob. “Are you ready?”

  I close my hands into fists. “For what?”

  Charlie laughs a little, but it’s a humorless sound, even though her mouth is curved up at one side. “The wonder that is Abeo.”

  She opens the door.

  I take in a cool breath, and then, moving over the porch, down the steps and onto the uneven street behind Charlie and Violet, I twirl and take in the city. The buildings, all leaning, are caving in: landslides of stone sculpting dangerous geography. Again, I see the children, moving in a little pack now, away from us, their eyes wide and wild. One stooped man, wrinkled and grey, scuttles out of the mountain of rubble like a beetle, takes one glance at us, and then scuttles back in again.