The Twisted Ones

by T. Kingfisher

  “I’m with you, buddy,” I muttered. “I want out of here too.” I looked back at Foxy and jerked my head just a little, in the direction of the door.

  She nodded, reached out, and grabbed Anna’s wrist.

  Anna looked briefly startled. Her brilliant red eyes flashed human brown and back again.

  Foxy put her lips next to Anna’s ear and hissed something.

  Anna started to shake her head, but Foxy’s grip on her wrist tightened. I could see polished nails digging into bone-white flesh.

  Anna gave me a look that was pure rage and then seemed to deflate. She nodded once to Foxy.

  Foxy released her.

  “She won’t do anything stupid now,” she muttered, stepping in front of me. “Or I’ll make her wish them things had kept her.”

  Apparently I wasn’t the only one who had worked out Anna’s plan to use me as a replacement.

  Were we still going to run? Was she hoping that between the three of us, we could get far enough away that the effigies wouldn’t find her? What was going on behind those red-brown eyes?

  If I get far enough away, they’ll give up. They have to give up.

  Dear God, I hoped she was right about that.

  I followed Foxy, following Anna. My stomach was churning with anticipation and terror. I could hear the tapping of the headless effigies following behind Foxy.

  Would we run as soon as we got to the door? Outside the door? Down the street? Would Foxy give me a sign? Would I recognize the sign? Was I supposed to give her a sign?

  The layered paper crunched under my feet as I crossed the threshold.

  Anna had stopped a few feet from the opening. Bongo and I came out, and Foxy followed. I looked back over my shoulder and saw Uriah in the gloom, walking forward.

  Without a word, without so much as a gesture, Anna reached down and picked up something lying at her feet.

  It was a jagged piece of rebar. I wondered how long ago she’d placed it there, waiting for her moment.

  She took three steps forward. Her skin was bone-white, and the moiré pattern blossomed around her like heat haze as she slammed the makeshift spear into Uriah’s chest.

  22

  He fell backward. The blood was astonishingly bright on his white skin, and then he vanished into the gray shadows inside the Building.

  My first thought was that it had been an accident.

  This was incredibly stupid. I think I knew even at the time that it was stupid. But my brain just wasn’t equipped to handle a murder happening in front of me. Therefore it couldn’t have been a murder. Therefore it was an accident. Therefore we had to get help and call an ambulance and…

  I took a step toward Uriah, and Foxy grabbed my arm.

  My brain’s frantic hamster-wheel running stopped. There were no ambulances in this place. There would be no help. Anna had murdered the other holler person in cold blood because it would make it easier to escape or he deserved it or she hated him for reasons of her own and it didn’t matter because Foxy was dragging me now and Bongo was hauling on the end of the leash and we had to run.

  So we ran.

  Bongo had his back humped and his tail between his legs, but he still moved faster than any of us, choking as he strained against the collar. I couldn’t run fast enough to keep him from doing it, but I did my best.

  “It’s all right,” I gasped, as Foxy nearly stumbled trying to keep hold of me. “You can let go. I’m okay now.”

  “Good,” she said. “Gave me a turn there. Hold on to your hickory.”

  I reached down the neck of my shirt and grabbed the string of wooden beads tighter.

  In my head, I saw Uriah falling back, again and again. I hadn’t known him. He was worse than a stranger. But it had been so fast, so irrevocable, I couldn’t process it. I had to keep looking at the memory, over and over, trying to make it real.

  Anna was a pale shape in front of us, running through the dark streets. She paused for us to catch up, her fierce eyes narrowing.

  “Why?” I gasped. “Why kill him?”

  She laughed. Her eyes flashed inhuman red. “To slow them down. They’ll pay respects. They have to. It’s why they exist. Now hurry!”

  She took off again, dodging around a corner, and I ran, thinking of the small carved figures with their hands over their faces in grief. Would they mourn for Uriah? Would it buy us a little time?

  Probably.

  Probably not as much time as if the effigies had decided to take me in trade.

  I don’t trust her! I thought, and then I would have laughed at myself if I’d had enough breath, because it didn’t matter if I trusted her or not, did it? I wasn’t getting any better offers.

  I had no idea where we were in the dead city, but I could see a line of trees ahead and above us. Was that the hillside we’d come down, from the place of white stones?

  Hard to tell. We came such a long, long, long, long, long, long way, I thought bitterly.

  Were we being pursued? I risked a glance over my shoulder, but the lights were too erratically placed. I didn’t hear clicking, but surely the effigies couldn’t be far behind.

  I thought we might go back on the switchbacked path, but Anna made straight for the trees, scrambling up and over a low wall.

  Bongo went over the wall like an antelope. I… didn’t. It was only about shoulder height, but I had to leap and get my arms up on it, with my dog still yanking on the leash.

  Adrenaline came to my rescue. I don’t know that I could have done it if I hadn’t been terrified and listening for pursuit. Also, Foxy got her shoulder under my ass and shoved.

  “Didn’t know we had that kind of relationship, Foxy,” I panted.

  “We live through this, hon, I’ll even fart in front of you.”

  We were making jokes. We were making jokes while, in the back of my mind, a man fell down with a makeshift spear through his chest, blood on white skin. We were making jokes while unspeakable things chased us in the dark.

  Maybe that’s why we were making jokes.

  I leaned down and caught her arm, hauling her up. My biceps screamed, but to hell with them.

  Foxy teetered on the edge of the wall as one of her heels slipped, then got both feet up. I looked over her shoulder as I pulled and saw movement.

  “Effigy!” I croaked.

  Foxy swore, swung around, and drew her gun.

  The two headless, four-legged ones that followed Anna came into view. I heard a hiss behind me as Anna saw them. “Will bullets stop them?” I asked.

  “Let’s find out,” said Foxy, taking aim.

  The gunshot woke echoes in the city like birds. Anna cried out, whether in surprise or grief, I couldn’t tell.

  The first bullet plunked into the body of the lead effigy. It staggered sideways, but kept coming. Its partner took the lead, the slack fabric of the neck beginning to sway back and forth, as if something inside was reaching through.

  They reached the wall and stood on their hind legs.

  The shot had knocked a hole out of the side of the first one. It leaked rags and sand and what looked like bits of pine needle and bark chips.

  Foxy shot the second one in the shoulder, shattering the socket. It collapsed on that side, against the wall. The fabric began to move, more agitated, and I swore I heard something snuffling inside.

  “Anna?” said Foxy, over her shoulder.

  I looked up and saw, to my astonishment, that Anna’s dead-white face was slicked with tears.

  “Do it,” she said, her voice shaking. “It’s the only way.”

  Foxy emptied the clip into the effigies. She focused on the legs. They both fell, kicking feebly. The snuffling noises grew louder, and whatever was inside them began to jerk and twitch.

  I didn’t ask what it was. I had a horrible suspicion already.

  Five drew no breaths… of the other two… but we will speak of that later.

  We hadn’t spoken of it after all. I hoped we never would.

  Fo
xy slammed the empty gun back in her purse. “Come on,” she said. “They’ll have heard that.”

  We took off into the leafless forest.

  The ground was dry and crackling underfoot. A whole army of effigies could have been after us and I wouldn’t have been able to hear any of them over the sound of our footsteps and my own ragged breathing. Bongo was back to dragging me up the hillside.

  The slope was steeper than it had looked on the endless switchbacks. There was no undergrowth, though, which helped. The trees were stark black in the gray, grim light.

  Foxy began to fall behind. I didn’t know whether to slow down or not. “Foxy?”

  “I’m still here,” she said.

  “You want to take Bongo? He’ll help pull you.”

  “I’m busy reloading, hon, and doing that while running is violating everything my granny ever taught me, but thanks.”

  And indeed, in a few minutes she caught back up again, and damn near started to outpace my dog and me.

  I don’t know how long we ran. Pain began to jab through my side with every step. How long would the effigies be arguing? Were they coming after us now? Were the things that hung from the ceiling even now detaching themselves, crawling over one another and down the walls, in a wave of clicking, rattling horror?

  I looked over my shoulder and saw only darkness. Was it moving? I couldn’t look long enough to tell. The footing was too uneven and Bongo wasn’t slowing down.

  “Anna?” I called. “Are we close?”

  She turned her head to answer. I heard “Not much far—” and then something crashed through the trees to our left.

  Bongo screamed. If you’ve never heard a dog scream before, you’re lucky. It started like a bay but went high and terrible. He pulled up short, and I threw myself over him, desperate to get between my dog and whatever the crashing thing was.

  Foxy yelled, “Get down!” but I was already down. It was probably for the best, because I heard a gunshot over my head and actually felt heat hit the back of my neck. I might have been imagining that, I don’t know.

  The muzzle flash illuminated the fan-headed effigy. I don’t know how much damage the shot did. There wasn’t enough light to tell. All I knew was that Foxy grabbed me by the collar and yanked me upright and Bongo was running again, nearly breaking my neck as his leash got tangled in my legs, but we straightened out somehow and Anna was shouting, and suddenly in front of us, a sight I’d never thought would be welcome, lay the edge of the trees and the beginning of the hill of white stones.

  * * *

  There was no moon in the sky, but the light on the hill was cold and blue and looked more like moonlight than it looked like anything else. The stones glowed white and the twisted carvings moved and wriggled and shifted in the corner of my eyes, as if they would come to life at any moment.

  My side ached like someone had jammed a knife in it—

  or a piece of rebar sharpened like a spear

  —but the sight of the hill gave me a burst of energy.

  We ran.

  “The wicker tunnel,” I gasped. “Back to the house.”

  What good being at the house was going to do me, I don’t know, except that my truck was there. If I could get to the truck, I’d throw Foxy and Anna and Bongo in it and drive until we ran out of gas. Surely the effigies couldn’t chase us that far, or if they did, I could get to other people. Other people seemed like a talisman.

  I’d go to… to a mall or a Walmart or something. Surely unholy abominations wouldn’t follow me to Walmart.

  The white stone loomed before us. Even if I hadn’t been wrapped in hickory beads, I doubt I’d have felt anything but disgust. We skidded around the edge of the depression and kept going.

  “On your right,” said Foxy, cool as a cucumber, and I looked over and saw a dark shape running alongside us. Flanking, not moving in. Foxy shot at it, missed, swore, and then managed to put another bullet in it. It fell down and rolled down the hillside. I didn’t stay long enough to see if it got up again.

  It was easier going now. The ground was less treacherous and easier to see. Unfortunately, I was also starting to hit the last of my strength. Even Bongo was slowing down, his panting turning into a wheeze.

  Foxy had one hand on her chest, the other holding the gun by her side.

  “Foxy!”

  “Don’t you worry,” she panted. “I ain’t dying yet.”

  “Anna, we have to rest!” I yelled.

  She turned. She was the color of bone in the moonless moonlight, and her eyes glinted.

  She didn’t say a word, just pointed.

  I looked over my shoulder and saw them.

  A tide of effigies poured over the hillside toward us. I couldn’t see where one left off and one began, only a wave of clicking sticks and bones, heaving like the sea.

  Suddenly I wasn’t tired anymore.

  Bongo was surprised to find there was slack on the leash suddenly, but he didn’t complain. I think at that moment, in sheer terror, I could have picked Foxy up and carried her.

  We tore past the three stones lying on the ground. The litany of the twisted ones started up in my head, in time to my stride.

  And I

  twisted

  myself

  around

  like the

  twisted

  ones

  but it didn’t quite match and my mind fell back on something else

  sticks and stones

  and broken bones

  sticks and stones

  and broken bones

  and I heard another gunshot from somewhere and then the wicker tunnel was right there and I ran for it.

  Anna skidded to a halt in front of it. I wanted to scream at her, to demand to know why she was stopping—she had to go through—and then I saw it.

  The mud-dauber effigy stood in front of the tunnel mouth, blocking the way.

  I stopped. I knew the tide of effigies was getting closer behind us, but all I could think of was Foxy and her gun.

  It took far too long for Foxy to arrive, and her skin had an unhealthy gray tint, or maybe it was the un-moonlight. But she looked at the effigy and grunted and raised her pistol.

  Anna was looking behind us, and I didn’t dare look because I knew the tide of effigies was far too close and at any moment they were going to break over us like the sea.

  The gunshots sounded like they came from a long way away, or maybe I was deaf from the previous shots. Of course, I was supposed to wear ear protection, I thought vaguely, which, going back to what I said earlier about thinking very insipid things when I’m in mortal terror.

  The mud-dauber staggered sideways and fell down.

  It wasn’t dead. It grabbed for Bongo as he passed, and one of those long stick legs closed over my dog’s haunch.

  I shrieked in rage and stomped down on the sticks, hearing them crunch under my boot. The mud-dauber effigy made an almost mechanical buzzing noise, legs drawing up like a dying spider, but I stomped on it again, because how dare it touch my dog?

  Foxy was already in the tunnel. Bongo was cowering at her feet. I turned to find Anna, to yell “Go!” and something grabbed me from behind.

  The grip was inhumanly strong and spun me around. I looked down at my arms, expecting to see bone and twig, expecting to scream in horror.

  I saw hands.

  The tide of effigies broke around us, became a semicircle of staring, eyeless horrors, and Anna held me pinned in the mouth of the tunnel. Bongo’s leash was still around my left wrist, and my arm twisted painfully backward as he tugged on it.

  “Take her!” she shouted. “Let me go! I’m done, you hear me? I brought you a replacement. It’s not my fault she isn’t good enough. I can’t do what you want anymore. Now let me go!”

  Well. It’s not like I hadn’t guessed.

  What a disappointment it must have been when I arrived, when it looked like the effigies had decided I wouldn’t make a replacement after all.

  “The
y won’t take me,” I said. “They won’t. You know they won’t.”

  “Shut up!” I could feel Anna’s chest against my back, hear her breath rasping in and out. She was shaking violently.

  The effigies, by contrast, stood like statues, unmoving. For a moment it seemed as if they were nothing but a mad artist’s assemblage, nothing that had ever been or could ever be alive.

  Then one, then another began to click.

  Anna’s shaking increased, until I was vibrating with it too.

  The clicking spread throughout the crowd, a parliament of beetles rattling their shells together.

  I felt something under my heel and realized I was standing on the mud-dauber’s leg again, and half dead, blown apart, it was still opening and closing its twig fingers.

  I recoiled, horrified. Anna’s grip was slipping. I could feel her shaking her head.

  “No…,” she whispered. “No, oh no…”

  “I can’t shoot her, hon,” said Foxy softly. “Not without hitting you.”

  The clicking grew louder and louder. I watched an effigy in the foreground turn its head sideways and let it ratchet backward, ticking like a clock.

  Bongo pulled on the leash again.

  And I twisted myself around like the twisted ones.…

  There is a trick that dog owners do with a leash. You’ve seen it done. Very likely you’ve done it yourself. It’s a kind of pirouette, where the dog has wrapped the leash around you, and you spin to unwrap it. Otherwise the leash is around your legs and you’re hobbled and likely to fall over.

  Bongo’s leash was behind Anna’s legs. I sent him a silent apology, yanked my left arm forward so that the leash pulled tight, and threw myself backward.

  She shrieked and fell. I landed on top of her. Bongo yawped in outrage. Something popped inside my wrist.

  The effigies took a step forward, clicking.

  I rolled sideways, over my injured wrist. It hurt like blazes, but Anna had lost her grip on my arms. I started to crawl toward the tunnel, trying to drag the leash out from under her as I went.

  Foxy grabbed my shoulders, hauling me into the tunnel. Bongo was yanking on the leash, and every tug felt like someone was hitting my wrist with a hammer.

  Behind me, Anna began to scream.