Where the Veil Is Thin

by Alana Joli Abbott

  Space junk scatters, breaking orbit and launching past the sway of Earth’s gravity and out into the greater solar system. You’re shrinking suddenly, faster than freefall, rushing down through thermosphere and mesosphere, stratosphere and troposphere until, once more, you are a Rita-sized Rita.

  Apparently the fey had not run off in fear, but had stuck around to see you grow and ungrow, since they’re all here now, watching you straighten your dress and rub your nose with a finger.

  “I sneezed,” you say.

  “¡Ah, good!” they reply. “¡You’ve met the Queen of the Fairies, then!”

  “¿Why does a sneeze mean I have met the Queen of the Fairies?”

  “Because the Queen of the Fairies,” say the fey in hieratic unison, “is half ragweed pollen and half rhinovirus.”

  Go to H.

  — X —

  “Go ahead,” say the fey. “We’re listening.”

  “Well, so, okay,” you begin. “I, um, am a friend. And I mean no harm. I come from—”

  “Nope, not working,” say the scores of fey, all at once. Your bones hear them better than your ears do. “We can’t understand you.”

  “¿What do you mean? I understand you just fine.”

  “Oh, well, yes, we understand you, but we don’t understand understand you, ¿comprendes? We have to get inside you our way, ¿entiendes?”

  “No.”

  Not all of the fey folk have eyes. Since each fey is half one thing violently smashed together with another thing—half manatee and half déjà vu, half assemblage of dinosaur bones that don’t add up to a dinosaur and half Robert’s Rules of Order, half white lie and half I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter, etc.—some have two eyes, some have one eye, some have no eyes, and some have a superfluity of eyes. But every fey in the mushroom circle rolls whatever eyes they have at you.

  “Paseculo,” say all the fey folk except one of the fey folk, whom the rest of the fey folk seem to be addressing, “show her what we mean.”

  Paseculo is a fey who is half superfluity of eyes, and half shoe-box diorama of a surgical theater. She approaches you, climbs your cloak, rolls over your cheek on “wheels” of eyeballs, and says, “Okay, if you please, open your mouth, and I’ll get myself inside and dig out all the truth we need.”

  “¿You want to crawl inside my mouth to dig out truth?” you ask.

  “I don’t really crawl,” says Paseculo. “I rather trundle upon these many eyes of mine. But, yes, in general, that’s the thing. Open wide, now. My shoebox-self used to carry men’s size 13 oxfords.”

  If you open your mouth and swallow Paseculo, go to S.

  If you brandish your mighty sword to fend him and the rest of the fey off, go to F.

  — Y —

  ¡RECORD THE LETTER Y!

  “They’re just kidding,” you say. You have to talk around Quitanombre, which remains shoved down your throat. “You know the fey. A tricksy folk, they are.” And then, thinking fast, you add, “The fey don’t have rulers.”

  “¿We don’t?” ask the astonished fairies, including the half-virus, half-allergen fey formerly known as the Queen of the Fey.

  “Nope,” you say, growing in confidence. “¿Why would immortal beings need a ruler? No parents to put limits on your sense of self, no bureaucracies to force you to behave in soul-crushing, monstrous ways. Everyone here is free. Freer than any human could ever be.”

  “¿We are?” ask all the fairies.

  “You are. That’s why you’re so nice to humans. You pity them. You want them to be as happy as you.”

  “¿We do?”

  “You do.”

  “Well,” says the fey formerly known as the Queen of the Fey, “you’re human. That means we should be nice to you at least. ¿What can we do for you?”

  “Make me fey.”

  You smile, for the fey formerly known as the Queen of the Fey smiles through you. “Your choices are your opportunities. Choose your new self.”

  To choose your final fey form, go to !.

  — Z —

  “More body, more problems,” says the Queen of the Fey, sadly and patronizingly, by manipulating your mouth. “That dress is a curse in disguise. Keep it on, and you’ll never stop growing. You’ll grow so big you won’t recognize yourself anymore. You’ll stop being you.”

  “¿What do you mean?” you ask.

  “Let me put it this way. ¿Is gravity happy?”

  You pause to think before replying. “It’s not happy or sad or anything, I guess. It just influences everything, but it doesn’t care one way or the other.”

  The Queen, agreeing with you, makes your head nod. “Keep this dress on, and you’ll be like gravity. You’ll become kin to electromagnetism. The strong force and the weak force will be your siblings. Except you won’t love them like siblings or hate them like siblings or be a family or be anything because you’ll just grow and grow and grow until you have no mind and you have no desires and you have no personality and you become Rita: a universal force that has some small effect on matter, but who gives zero fucks about anything because really you won’t be a ‘who’ anymore.”

  “¿But what happens to me if I take off La Ogrificadora?”

  “Well, right now it’s serving as half your fey body, so we’ll have to get you fitted for a new fey form: two brand new halves Frankensteinianly sutured together. Meanwhile, your dress will begin its journey to become a cosmic force without you.”

  “So, either mindless Nirvana or tabula rasa.”

  The Queen of the Fey shrugs. “Looks like. The choice is yours.”

  If you want a tabula rasa new you, go to E.

  If you want mindless Nirvana, go to M.

  — ! —

  ¡WELCOME TO THE END OF THE STORY!

  ¡The fey are happy to welcome you into their midst! All you need to do is choose what form you will take. Select two letters from the ones you recorded to pick the two halves of your new fairy self. ¡Choose wisely!

  A: ¡You did not record the letter A! Coño, compañero, stop trying to cheat.

  CH: You are half Carlos Hernandez, the author of this story. You now have a great deal more body hair. ¡Enjoy!

  F: You are half misericord, which in this case is not a dagger used for mercy-killings, but rather the kneeler that preserves one’s patellas at church. ¡Sweet relief!

  G: You are half finish line. Racers of all kinds—runners, cyclists, jockeys, drivers, hares and tortoises—come careering top-speed past you. You spend your life bestowing trophies, taking victory photos, and stretching yet another yellow tape across yourself that is destined to be broken by the next winner.

  LL: You are half twelve signs of a brand-new zodiac. You have to create them. ¡Have fun!

  N: ¡You married Jesús! That means you may conjoin your body with one half of the old battleax, causing the half-wineskin to become a whole wineskin, or else the half eternal-fireworks show to become a complete, eternal fireworks show. Either way, you two are destined to be the life of any party you attend. ¡A toast to the newlyweds!

  Ñ: You are half war-cry. Your guttural howl strike fear into enemies and hearten your comrades in arms. ¡Scream your war-cry now!

  Q: You are half the blueprints for clockwork before the first functional prototype was ever completed. You will carry with you the brio of invention and discovery all the days of your immortal life. But you lose the ability to tell time, which, you will discover, is actually yet another benefit.

  R: ¡You are half three flying heralding trumpets that play a royal fanfare wherever you go, announcing to all of Fairyland that they are in the presence of royalty!

  S: You are half sturdy tree, from which hangs a tire swing. The fey love to take turns playing on you. You’re a source of winsome, childlike joy. Ah.

  T: ¡You can become the Queen of the Fey! Half of you must be some kind of plague, disease, allergen, virus, pathogen, poison, or parasite. ¡But as Queen, you may choose which one, Your Majesty! Write it in here:<
br />
  U: You are half woodchipper. The fey have a lot of secrets they want to get rid of. You’re going to have a lot of friends in Fairyland.

  V: You are half the feeling left behind after someone tells a joke that’s more philosophical than funny. You evoke smaller smiles, but they’re sincere, and not without their own joys.

  W: You are half planetarium, with exhibits changing every month. Your shows feature the voice talents of beloved actor and reading advocate LeVar Burton. ¡Light refreshments follow every performance!

  Y: You are half the concept of egalitarianism. You are useful, yet unexpectedly problematic. But you certainly mean well.

  Whatever halves you used to assemble your whole, now you know who you are. ¡Go forth and live your best life!

  — TAKE ONLY PHOTOS —

  by Shanna Swendson

  The first thing I noticed when I staggered through my living room in search of coffee was that my Christmas tree was all lit up. That was odd. I hadn’t plugged it in the night before because I’d been out late at the office holiday party, and I’d gone straight to bed as soon as I got home. I’d only had a couple of glasses of wine, so I hadn’t been drunk enough to have memory gaps, and I’m not nearly sentimental enough to come home from an office party so full of good cheer that I have to bask in the glow of the Christmas lights before going to bed.

  On the other hand, I live alone, and the lights weren’t on a timer, so I was the only one who could have done it. I must have plugged in the tree without thinking.

  Once the coffeemaker was doing its job, I went to unplug the tree. It wasn’t plugged in. And the lights weren’t really on, now that I looked at the tree again from another angle. I must have just seen the bulbs reflecting the light. Shaking my head, I made a beeline to the coffee pot and poured a cup. I was sure it would make sense as soon as I woke up completely.

  The morning went back to normal as I ate breakfast and got dressed, until I went to find the shoes I remembered stepping out of on my way from the front door to my bedroom, at the same time as I dropped my purse and laptop case. They weren’t where I thought I’d left them. My purse was hooked over the arm of the sofa, and the laptop bag rested against the sofa, below the purse. The shoes were nowhere in sight.

  I checked the closet, in case my generally tidy nature had overruled my exhaustion, but they weren’t in there. I was on the verge of settling for a different pair of shoes when I thought to check where the purse and laptop bag were. Sure enough, the shoes were just under the sofa, as though someone had kicked them there to get them out of the way. I supposed I was so obsessive that even when I tried to be sloppy, I just couldn’t stop myself from being neat. I didn’t have time to think about it too much because I had to get to work, and by the time I reached the office, I had other things to worry about, like avoiding my coworkers.

  The receptionist was on the phone when I entered, which allowed me to get away with a smile and nod as I passed through the lobby. The hallway was empty, so it looked like the coast was clear and I’d be able to reach my office without having to chat about the party. That was the problem with work social events: they made everyone think we were all friends.

  I was almost to my office when Beth popped into the hallway from her office. “Hey, Meg!” she said.

  I tried not to wince visibly. She was the worst possible person to run into when I didn’t want to chat because she was the closest thing to a work friend I had. Not that we were really friends, but I managed to tolerate her because she was as detail-oriented as I was and didn’t try to socialize too much. “Hey,” I said, not breaking stride and hoping she got the message.

  She didn’t. “Did you have fun last night?”

  “Yeah, it was great, but it’s back to the grind today.”

  She didn’t push the point beyond that, which was why I actually almost kind of liked her. Most of my coworkers would have kept trying to talk. With a great sigh of relief, I entered my office, set up my computer, and got to work on all those columns of lovely, lovely numbers. Numbers made sense in a way that people didn’t. There were so many jokes about how boring accounting was, but I loved it. I found great joy in putting everything in order.

  Once I fell into my zen-like flow, the hours flew, and soon it was the end of the day. I’d even managed to forget about the morning’s weirdness, and when I came home, everything was just the way I’d left it.

  I couldn’t say the same thing the next morning. The Christmas tree was lit up. I’d left my purse and laptop in their usual spot, staged on the path from the bedroom to the front door, but they were back by the sofa again. I thought the coffee table seemed to be closer to the sofa, and on closer inspection I found that there were dents in the carpet to back up that impression. My chest tightened with fear, and I glanced around for something I could use as a weapon. Someone had been in my house during the night while I slept. All my valuables were where they belonged, so maybe the intruder was still inside, lurking, waiting for me to leave so he could walk out with all my things.

  I took a golf club from the bag in my hall closet and crept through the house, checking under the furniture, behind curtains, and in closets. I didn’t find anyone. I was reluctant to leave the house, though. I knew I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on work while wondering who was in my house, so I called in sick, faking a cough and raspy voice, and said I’d work from home.

  If someone was lurking, waiting for me to leave, I hoped he now felt trapped. I situated myself on the sofa, the golf club across my knees, and waited. I didn’t hear a sound, saw not the slightest hint of movement. The Christmas lights faded, and I couldn’t bring myself to check whether the tree was plugged in. Eventually, I got out the laptop and did some work, since just sitting there on high alert was boring. By the end of the day, no burglar had fallen out of the closet or tried to creep past me.

  That should have been a relief, but it wasn’t. As horrible as it would have been to have an intruder in my house, at least it would have been an explanation. All I could think was that I must have moved things around without realizing it. Or there was the possibility of sleepwalking—I was getting up, tidying, rearranging furniture, and then going back to bed.

  That evening, I very carefully set my shoes and a newspaper in the middle of the living room floor. One last glance before I headed to the bedroom confirmed that they were where I remembered putting them. I also verified that the Christmas tree was off. I hung a string of jingle bells from my bedroom doorknob, which surely would wake me if I was sleepwalking. I moved a chair to the path between the bed and the door, so I’d bump into it on my way out. Just to cover all my bases, I kept the golf club handy.

  I woke early the next morning, before my alarm went off. The chair was where I’d left it and the door was still closed. With the golf club in hand, I rushed down the short hallway to the living room to see what had happened and barely stifled a scream.

  The tree was lit, the newspaper was carefully folded and set on the sofa, and my shoes had been moved under the coffee table.

  Someone had definitely been in my house during the night.

  When I got to work and saw Beth heading into the break room, for once I didn’t retreat to my office. I went straight into the break room after her. She was the only person I’d ever given a key to my house, so if someone was getting in without signs of a break-in, she had to be involved.

  “You didn’t give my key to anyone while you were looking after my place last summer, did you?” I asked, probably more forcefully than I should have.

  She finished filling her mug without spilling a drop—a demonstration of calm I found highly suspicious. “No, why?”

  “Things in my house are being moved around in the night. Not stolen, damaged, or anything like that. Just moved.” I left out the part about the Christmas lights because it sounded way too weird. “I know some people have played pranks like that in the office, so I was wondering if someone’s pranking me now.” It sounded absurd when I said i
t out loud, but it was too late to take it back.

  She leaned against the counter and took a sip of coffee. “No, I didn’t give your key to anyone, and I gave it back to you when you got home from vacation. I didn’t tell the rest of these idiots that I had it.” She arched an eyebrow slightly. “Stuff’s been moved around?”

  “It’s like they’re clearing space on the living room floor.”

  “Your midnight visitors must be having a big dance party,” she said with a laugh. “If they’d been cleaning, I’d say you had a brownie.”

  That wasn’t what I’d expected her to say. “A brownie?”

  “You know, like in fairy tales. The helpful little creatures who clean in the night. They’re a kind of elf or fairy.”

  “I wish. You don’t know how I’d go about getting some of those, do you?”

  “You’d make a fortune if you could figure it out.”

  I knew she was joking, but still, when I got back to my desk, I did a quick internet search to see what I could find. There were stories about elves who made shoes during the night, brownies who cleaned unless they were insulted, and various kinds of household spirits, but nothing about just moving things around and making lights come on in spite of them not being connected to a power source. It also seemed like I was in the wrong part of the world to have these kinds of visitors. America appeared to be sorely lacking in invisible nighttime cleaning creatures.

  Not that I was in any way worried about having elves, fairies, or anything like that in my house, because I am a functioning adult with a firm grasp on reality.

  Even so, I couldn’t resist testing the situation that evening. After all, ruling out a possible cause without any evidence was as bad as believing in something without evidence. The scientific method would help me get to the bottom of this, or at least rule out one possibility. I would set up conditions so obvious that I would be certain whether or not anything was changed during the night and see what happened.

  Although it tormented my soul to do so, I cluttered the living room, strewing clothes, shoes, and papers not just on the floor but also on every horizontal surface. I left out bags of snacks and a couple of half-full glasses of wine. I took pictures of the whole thing with my phone so I’d know for certain how the morning compared to the night before. I double checked all the locks, including the interior deadbolt and door chain, made sure the Christmas tree was unplugged, and hung jingle bells on the front door.