Quite Contrary

by Richard Roberts

  I didn’t feel bad about that. I hate fairies, and she’d been a nasty little bug that attacked me at first sight. If they made fairy burgers, they wouldn’t be making them out of a person, just an especially pretty wasp.

  I kept walking, and ducked under another pipe to come across a field of those glowing bulbs. Not-rats tended them, rubbing the surface of some while three of the little creatures twisted a bulb off its stalk with patient precision. A thin path let me walk down the center of the passage without stepping on the fields on either side, but I had to step over not-rats in the process. I had nothing to grab onto that wouldn’t burn my hands, so I felt wobbly and uncertain as I stretched my legs out to creep over one not-rat, then a second, and then a third. When I got to the other side, I looked back down at the not-rats still working, apparently unaware I’d even passed by. Could they talk? Did they really not know I was here? Curiosity hit me. I crouched down and asked the nearest not-rat, a black and white piebald creature, “What are these—”

  There wasn’t any point in saying more. When I addressed him directly, he’d dropped his little copper cup full of mud and sprinted away on all sixes into a hole in the wall. As for the others, it might as well not have happened.

  I stood up, and kept walking. Another ten or twenty feet and the moss got thin. I couldn’t see any more village or mushrooms or not-rats ahead of me, and the mists settled into the even white that told me no pipes were waiting to block my path. I stopped, staring back behind me at the weird little village of weird little creatures doing weird little things. I’d liked it. It had been pretty. But I’d been an invader there, and I had to keep moving.

  I walked some more. The steam tunnel went back to the old look, stark and intricately lifeless, filled with shadows and gleams. All metal and bricks. Hey, hadn’t it been stone before I’d passed through the village? A change like that shouldn’t surprise me at this point, but it did. I was passing from place to place without knowing anything about any of them.

  The steam tunnel ended in a dank, circular room. It held less pipes, most of them traveling floor to ceiling along the walls. The room had three doors and a couple of grated vents near the ceiling that I couldn’t see how I could get into. The old circuit breaker box on the wall stood out too, but I had no desire to shut off the lights.

  I checked the left hand door. Like the last door, this one was metal and official looking and had a push-bar, so I pushed. It creaked open reluctantly into a tall, gray cement hallway. Banners of sports teams hung high up on the walls, but I didn’t have a clue about sports teams. When people wanted to act stupid in a group, I didn’t get involved. A stairwell went up right next to my door, and a goblin carrying a pizza box was disappearing up it.

  This was a sports stadium, wasn’t it? A back hall of a sports stadium. Another crusty, hairy little brown man, a long-nosed goblin in a flour-stained polo shirt and khaki shorts, walked out of a doorway down the hall carrying three more stacked pizza boxes. He waddled up towards me and, presumably, the stairway. Sure, of course, this was how food stands in stadiums were stocked. Real people had no place to cook. I felt amused, and wondered if any of this pizza really ended up in an actual stadium.

  “Hey, can I have some?” I asked the goblin whimsically as he turned the corner to go up the stairs.

  He screamed. He shrieked bloody murder, threw his boxes at me, and fled back the way he came waving his arms and gobbling. It was the only word I could use to describe the gibberish he wailed. They sounded more like an angry turkey than a human.

  Two of the boxes slid to the ground, but I’d caught one without thinking. I opened it up and peered inside. Hot, fresh pepperoni pizza. I wasn’t all that hungry, but hey. Free pizza. I kicked the other two boxes after the rude little creature, stepped back into the circular room, and yanked the door shut as hard as I could. They didn’t want me, so I didn’t want them. I didn’t care. I’d gotten pizza out of it, and I was more annoyed that the door had one of those stiff hinges that wouldn’t let me slam it.

  I wandered up to door number two, chewing on a deliciously greasy mouthful of cheese, tomato sauce, and bread. This door had a wired glass window, and through it, I saw a badly wrecked auto mechanic’s shop. Tools and extra car parts lay everywhere. One car would have blocked the door if it had been any closer, and another was turned up on its side. I checked the handle, and the door was locked. Okay, that annoyed me, but as I jiggered stubbornly, I kept peeking into the room on the other side. My eyes drew to the pinup calendar on the wall, and the strategically not entirely naked girl. I smirked, swallowed my pizza, then clamped down my jaw so my gorge wouldn’t rise. A raw, meaty arm stretched up from where my view was blocked by the nearby car, grabbed the calendar, and pulled it down the wall. The hand left a smeary trail of red on the wall that didn’t look quite like blood or rust.

  Yeah, I was not going in there without a shotgun. I wasn’t going in there with a shotgun. I wasn’t a moron.

  That left me one more door and starting to wonder if there was a way up into the vents after all. This door was simpler than the other two. Shoddy painted metal, like a door you’d find in any basement. I opened it up to disappointment. The tiny wooden room on the other side looked like a closet, complete with rubber raincoat and galoshes. It had another door on the other side. If that one opened on still another closet, I was giving up on this way. I tilted to keep the bulky pizza box out of the way as I turned that knob.

  It didn’t open. What did happen was that the door behind me slammed shut so hard it shoved my wedged foot out of the way, and I fell on my butt onto a wooden floor in a suddenly pitch dark room. The room creaked, moaning like an old house, and I felt it roll, and cold water seeped around my butt.

  t was pitch dark, I was sitting on hard wood, and my butt was wet. Pitch dark was a new and uncomfortable sensation. I saw black, only black. The floor rolled in a slow, uneven rhythm and cold water sloshed around me, filling the air with a salty smell. With no light and the floor moving, I had trouble telling which way was up.

  I didn’t like it. I shouldn’t be scared of the dark, but the jitters nagged at me anyway. Was the puddle getting deeper?

  I pushed myself up. I couldn’t feel the water through my impenetrable boots, and they kept me stable even on a moving floor. There’d been a door in front of me. I rearranged the pizza box into one arm and felt for the handle. It took uncomfortably long to find it, but I did. Still locked. I reached behind myself and started groping for the handle of the door I came in by. That took longer to find. Not longer. I couldn’t find it. It wasn’t there. I couldn’t feel a door jamb, just wet wooden planks. The wet wasn’t just on my hand from the fall. Cold water streamed down the wall.

  Wetness crept over my toes. I shifted my foot, and water dragged and splashed. The shallow puddle had risen over the tops of my shoes.

  My heart got tight and cold. I wanted to panic, but that was just instinct. Stupid. Don’t be scared of the dark, Mary.

  I kicked the door in front of me. It shook, but that was it. I kicked harder, wobbling as the rolling floor threatened my balance. I’d broken doors before by accident. I could break this one. I kicked the handle, kicked it again, and kicked it again. The door shuddered, but nothing happened.

  “Help!” I shrieked.

  Someone answered. I couldn’t make out any words. My heartbeat nearly drowned out the muffled, girlish voice.

  “Is someone out there?” I yelled. I hated the squeak in my voice, but now wasn’t the time for stupid pride. “I’m trapped in here and the water’s rising and I swear to you, if I drown surrounded by magic I will come back and there will be trouble!”

  Another muffled voice. A boy’s voice, a question. I still couldn’t quite make out the words.

  “Yes, I’m in here, you idiots!” I yelled back, and kicked the door again. Then again.

  Someone kicked it from the other side. The door thumped, but nothing happened. A second later it boomed, hit hard. It still didn’t open.
Light did flash around the edges.

  I didn’t know what the loud crack was, but it happened twice, a third time, then metal clonked and water splashed. The door opened out, spilling water into the brightly lit room beyond. Water that had been up to my shins. I stumbled out into the arms of some other kids my age.

  “Patrick, the walls are leaking all over!” squealed the goth girl.

  “I told them I heard a voice,” insisted a Japanese looking first grader as she threw her arms around my waist. I didn’t feel inclined to push her away.

  “It’s only leaking around the edges. We can caulk that,” the tallest boy insisted, stepping into the closet.

  The boy with the wide shoulders moved me into the goth girl’s arms, and the brown haired girl slipped away from me too, letting another boy support me from the other side. The two who’d let go of me joined the tall boy in the closet, running their hands over the walls. The girl had a rusty metal toolbox.

  “It’s leaking around every edge. Every plank,” said the brown haired girl solemnly.

  “We can’t seal all of them, Patrick. If we did, the wall still might split,” agreed the broad-shouldered boy. He was older than me. Early high school. Big, like an athlete, with deeply tanned skin.

  The tall boy with the dirty blonde hair must have been Patrick. Definitely high school, probably not a senior. “No choice, then. It’s just a closet. We’ll have to abandon it.” He sounded reluctant.

  The three of them got busy. They left the closet, shutting the door and jamming the broken knob back in. The tanned jock nailed wedges in with a hammer from the toolbox, and they packed a roll of gooey black stuff into every crack. Opening the door had spilled water all over the floor, but if any had been leaking before, it wasn’t now. Then, apparently just to be sure, they nailed two wooden boards over the door.

  That gave me time to get my bearings. I’d been wrong, and the room wasn’t brightly lit. One oil lamp hung on the wall. It had seemed like a glare after the blackness of the closet, that’s all. Floor, ceiling, walls, the room was wood. Wood creaked and groaned faintly in the background. The floor rolled, but darkness had deceived me there, too. It wasn’t bad. A wooden table and chair rested against one wall, and a faded map covered another.

  “I’m on a ship, right?” I asked.

  “Kind of,” said the goth girl behind me. The blond goth girl. She wasn’t Valdis, but her pale hair was trying. The ragged black lace dress didn’t match that look at all. Her words did. “The truth is, you’re dead. I’m sorry.” Regret made her sound sincere.

  “Welcome to Purgatory,” grunted the brown haired girl as she twisted the doorknob, jamming the broken base into its socket tighter.

  “Pizza,” broke in the brown haired boy holding me, “That box smells like pizza. It’s a pizza box. Please tell me you have pizza.”

  Apparently, dead people still like pizza. Each of the six took a slice, and left one for me. I’d already had one, not to mention drinking from Rose’s pool, but it kept me from yelling at them for taking my pizza. That would have been dumb, but like me. So I ate another slice, stuffed myself until I bulged, and figured I’d have wasted the rest anyway.

  The seven-year-old tore into hers, but her tiny bites took a while to finish it off. The brown-haired boy my age wolfed his down, but all the rest ate carefully, savoring every bite. Occasionally, they took sips from a big jug of what turned out to be orange juice, but mostly they tried to enjoy it. I couldn’t blame them. Goblins make great pizza.

  The boy my age finished first, and as he swallowed the last bite of crust, he spoke first, holding his hand out to me and introducing himself, “I’m Stephen. Welcome to Hell. It’s the place where there’s never any pizza.”

  “Purgatory,” corrected the brown haired girl. She spoke calmly. She didn’t lean against a wall; she just stood straight upright. Quiet, serene, she ate slowly and with unfocused eyes as she enjoyed the taste. That was the look you got on kids whose parents had really abused them badly. Her brown skirt and plaid flannel shirt screamed the same thing. She looked dull, deliberately.

  While I didn’t shake Stephen’s hand, Patrick cut in, “I’m Patrick. I can’t say for sure that you’re dead, or any of us are dead.”

  “You feel alive because this is Purgatory. That means it’s not over, and you still have a chance,” said the brown haired girl, without a flicker of emotion.

  The goth had propped herself against the corner. She’d taken it before I could, which said as much to me as the brown haired girl’s deliberate mildness. She was about my height, but she did have slightly more curves than a stick under that dress. The dress really went all the way. Threadbare as it was, that was a lot of lace, and she wore lace gloves, too. “He doesn’t want to scare you,” she told me, “But you need to know. You’re dead. We’re all dead. We have to accept it and keep moving. I feel alive, but I got here by dying, and so did everyone else here.” She lifted her slice of pizza, added quickly, “I’m Rainbow,” and took a bite so she wouldn’t have to explain.

  “I’m pretty sure I didn’t die,” I countered, and ripped off the last chunk of cheese from my own slice. I didn’t want the crust, and I was about the toss it to Stephen, then thought better of it and threw it to the little girl. She caught it in both hands and gnawed with fierce delight.

  “No one remembers dying, but I shut myself in a refrigerator. I’m pretty sure I didn’t live through that,” Stephen remarked, trying hard to sound flippant.

  The broad shouldered boy, definitely a high schooler, added, “I fell off our boat in a storm, and Patrick pulled me out of a flooded compartment here.” When my eyes turned to him, he added, “Francis.”

  “My stupid brother locked me in the trunk of a car. I’m Joe!” Grousing turned to enthusiastic greeting before I stopped wincing from the image she’d painted.

  I guess I had to introduce myself. “I’m Mary.”

  That got everyone’s attention. When they all looked at her, the brown haired girl told them, “I’ll go by Maria. I don’t have any reason to mind, anymore. When I face the sun again, I should do it with my given name.”

  “Speaking of which,” Patrick announced pointedly.

  Rainbow nodded. “The floor is wet in here anyway.” Everyone filed through one of the doors into another badly lit wooden room, and kept walking.

  Passing through doorways, they had to form a ragged line, and I followed along reluctantly at the back. That put Rainbow in front of me and a little to the side, and she went on over her shoulder, “I threw myself into a well. I was trying to kill myself. I thought I had problems, but mostly I had a lot of stupid.”

  I smirked. “I don’t know. I let someone dare me into being locked in a crawlspace in an abandoned house.”

  Okay, that did not sound like something I’d survived. I wasn’t going to fall for this being dead business, but I could see why they had. Rainbow let it pass, but she was letting it pass.

  That annoyed me, so to stop myself from being nasty about it I asked, “Where are we going?”

  “Up,” Rainbow said.

  “Towards salvation,” Maria added.

  “Towards the sun,” Patrick didn’t try to disguise the longing in his voice at all.

  “How big is this ship?” I asked, beginning to worry about the answer. We’d walked through a lot of rooms.

  “Big enough,” Patrick replied. “I’ve been climbing since I was Joe’s age. I don’t even remember how I died. Everything went dark, and Andre pulled me out of a barrel. But it’s not endless. I saw daylight once, coming through a door at the top of a stair. Andre made it, but like a fool, I threw away the skull I was holding like trash to try and catch up with him. The floor broke, and I fell a long way. I wasn’t there, but Sylvia found the sun, and Ana. We just have to keep climbing.”

  “Speaking of skulls,” Rainbow segued.

  I stepped into the next room behind her, and saw what she meant. A human skeleton sat slumped over a desk. It had a faint, du
sty smell from over here, and was too small to be an adult. A pirate costume hung loosely off the bones, if it was a costume. Treasure covered the desk. Thin gold coins shone in the light of a pair of candles. They gleamed, like real gold. That much gold couldn’t be real. Jewelry, little statues, and silverware that was actually goldware bulked out the pile. Some of the gemstones on the jewelry were bigger than my thumbnail. Crap. There was so much treasure it had spilled onto the floor around the desk as the ship rolled.

  Rainbow took the pizza box from Joe and tiptoed over to the skeleton like she didn’t want to disturb it. Crouching, she scooped all the coins on the floor into the box. As she stood, she lifted the hanging arm of the skeleton, laying the box on the desk and tucking the arm over it. For good measure, she shifted the skull, leaving the skeleton looking like it had just fallen asleep.

  “I hope that’s better,” she whispered to the corpse, “We don’t need the box or your gold, but we might need this if it’s okay.” The skeleton’s other arm lay atop a rusty old box. Another tool box, and as she slid it out, Rainbow peeked inside, before nodding back at the rest of us. Mainly at Patrick. Oh geez, was this another crush? No, she didn’t give him another look as she walked back over to us and dumped a bunch of nails and that black sealing gunk into the tool chest Francis carried. Patrick was just the boy in the lead.

  I must have looked confused. Patrick said, “We take nothing we don’t need, and we respect the dead.”

  “Respect the dead,” a faint voice repeated, one I didn’t know. I glanced around, and didn’t see anyone. I was just going to pretend I hadn’t heard it like everyone else was doing.