Glistening Haven: A Shape Shifting Dystopian Boxset

by Jill Cooper

  Wendy bit her lip, studying her textbooks, and silent tears fell from her eyes. She lowered her head, to keep anyone from noticing how upset she was. They were supposed to be taking a test, but she hadn’t even finished writing her name on top of the paper yet. What was she supposed to do? Take a stupid pop quiz like any of that would matter once everyone figured out what was growing inside of her?

  It was ruining her life. So why couldn’t she just get rid of it? Every day Dad asked her if everything was okay, and every day she lied. She wanted to tell him, to curl up on his lap as if she were five again, and beg him to take care of it. He would. But Mom would never forgive her. She’d be so disgusted with her, and then Dad would be disgusted with Mom. They would fight more than they did now and Wendy, their only child, would be the cause for their divorce. Maybe even the end of her father’s career.

  She couldn’t do that. This was her problem. She needed to solve it herself. Soon she wasn’t going to be able to hide it anymore. She was already wearing tight pants and a tight shirt to try to mask the bump under her baggy sweaters and t-shirts. Soon enough you’d be able to tell just by looking at her that she was the first girl in history to be pregnant with a half-human, half-glistening child.

  Wendy was startled by a knock at the classroom door, peering up she saw two uniformed men with someone she recognized from her dad’s office. They addressed her teacher. “We would like a word with Jake Monroe, please.”

  Her stomach tightened and a new feeling of panic rose in her throat. Jake collected his books and when he walked past her desk, they tried not to look at each other. Wendy glanced down, her pulse elevated and beads of sweat formed on her brow. It’ll be okay, she told herself over and over. Everything will be fine. They just want a few words with him. He’s not going away. He’s not.

  Angry, frightened hot tears clung to her eyes and her chest quivered under the pressure of her breath. Wendy hadn’t realized anyone noticed, not until she found a hand on her shoulder. Unable to look up, she gripped her pencil in one hand and the edge of her desk in the other. There was the soft squeak of loafers as her teacher, Mr. Doubosh, squatted beside her. “Wendy, what’s the matter? Would you like a pass to the school’s nurse?”

  She shook her head, unable to speak, but the rise of vomit in her throat was coming hard and fast. She gagged, put her hand over her mouth. Unable to control it any longer she bent quickly and vomited all over Mr. Doubosh’s expensive shoes.

  She saw the horror on the kids’ faces, saw some break out in mocking smiles. Couldn’t it all fade away? Couldn’t this all be nothing but a bad dream?

  ****

  Nurse Chapel was an older black woman with silver curls and a soft smile. When Wendy was sent down to see her, she made her lay down in a secluded area with a curtain drawn around her. In the dark, Wendy began to feel better and the cold compress against her neck was certainly helping. But when the nurse stuck her head in, she pretended to be asleep, curled on her side.

  “Child, if you think this game is going to work on me, I’d like to inform you I’ve had two of my own, who went on to have two of their own. I’m familiar with all the tricks and gimmicks you kids can dish out.”

  Wendy scowled, but refused to move or roll over.

  The nurse sighed. “Have it your way. I’m leaving a few hard candies on the counter here for you. It should help calm your nerves and your morning sickness.”

  Wendy’s eyes fluttered open and her heart skipped a beat. She drew a quick breath and held it.

  “That caught your attention, didn’t it? You probably take me for an old glistening fool, don’t you? I know there’s little for humans to do in a place like this, but I’d at least think the chief of police’s daughter would be a bit more careful.” .

  She went on. “You’ve been here a lot in the recent months, Wendy. If you’re having this tough a time, you should see a doctor. Have you told your parents yet?”

  Wendy squeezed her eyes shut. Please, just go away!

  “You’re no child anymore. Eighteen and soon to be graduated. You know this is serious. You and your baby need prenatal care. I’ve put a call in to your mother. She’s going to come pick you up and take you home.”

  “What!” Wendy screamed, rolling to face the nurse. She pushed herself up in a seated position and nearly toppled over as dizziness overcame her. The nurse braced her arm. “You told my mother! How could you? What about my right to privacy?”

  “Child, no one in New Haven has a right to privacy. You know that. Besides, I didn’t tell your mother. That’s your job.”

  Wendy shook her head, new frightful tears in her eyes. This couldn’t be happening. This was going to ruin everything! Her mouth hung open and she stared at the nurse. “You…stupid bitch.” She whispered, sobbing with a hand over her face.

  The nurse sighed. “I take no comfort in seeing you like this, but someone has to look out for you. I’ll give you a moment to yourself, before your mother shows up.” She patted Wendy’s hand.

  Wendy jerked it away. “Get out!” Her eyes raged with fire and drilled holes into the back of the woman’s head as she left the room. Wendy thrashed, kicked her feet, and knew nothing would be the same ever again.

  Chapter Five Jenna Morgan

  Eighty years ago, Hollywood died and took half the country with it.

  Life was chugging along at its normal clip without a care in the world. Sales of magazines were up, and movie tickets were selling like hotcakes being dished up by airbrushed women with bodacious curves. Women and men everywhere looked closer to twenty than they did sixty. Life was good, that’s what people told each other as they searched online to catch up on their favorite celebrities, patting plastic surgeons on the back. Even regular housewives and lawyers jumped onto the trend. Creams, pumps, vitamins, tablets, energy drinks—the list went on. There was always room for one more on the market, so said infomercial after infomercial.

  But really it was one too many.

  It pushed humanity over the edge and turned regular good people into a sub-species. No one knew what product it was that turned people into old-fashioned monsters who fed off human flesh. There was no way to reverse history. The beauty industry was effectively dead.

  The affected people were dubbed the glistenings because of the shine of their skin. Who didn’t want radiant skin? But the loss of eyebrows and peach skin, the growth of wings, and the sprouting of giant claws—these weren’t exactly things you could airbrush away.

  Maybe it started longer ago than most people thought; maybe humans were always more concerned with appearance than merit. The quality of their lives meant tight skins, rock-solid abs, and keeping up on the latest fashions until the one Oscar ceremony that ended them all. The one where millions of viewers around the world watched the latest and greatest devolve right on stage.

  Was it a setup? Was it really happening, people wondered as they watched these new creatures attack anyone who wasn’t one of them. But the screams and sounds of shattering glass weren’t being heard just on television. They were being heard in neighborhoods across America.

  Hollywood glam became obtainable for every American, thanks to advances in surgery and drugs. America worshipped Hollywood, and half the country followed them right into hell, leaving the other half as prey. But some banded together with the strength to stop them from taking over the world.

  It was so much easier when they were just monsters, animals. With time, the hunger to kill anything that wasn’t one of them faded, but they still needed human blood to live. With Tinseltown dead, glistenings came to crave what they had before the spotlights grew too hot: children, quiet, suburbia. The things they threw away without a moment’s pause became their greatest wish and desire.

  And it was Jenna Morgan’s job to give it to them

  She was setting up inside a conference room where, high above, a banner read: Scrapbooking for Pros! The center of the room was adorned with large circle tables with multicolored tablecloths and smell
ed of stale cigarette smoke. The kind that was in the carpet, the upholstery of the room, and could never be removed, no longer how many years passed since ‘no smoking indoors’ became the law of the land.

  Jenna unpacked her briefcase. She thought she was unlikely to turn any heads in the paisley dress she wore that day, but there was something about her deep smoky eyes and her short red hair that made people stop and take notice. The wavy chunks of bright red framed her face as it stopped right before her shoulders.

  Her tools clinked together as she laid them out. A few people smiled as they hurried to take their seats, their supplies in their hands. Most were older, like grandmothers who actually looked like grandmothers, but some of them were young and just starting out. Jenna’s eyes passed over them and the bitter edge to their glares, while she searched for the other kind. Then she saw three possible suspects who fit the profile and watched as they sat at separate tables, talking to each other quietly with a giggle. They were middle-aged mothers with preschool-age daughters.

  Jenna touched her ear gently and coughed into her closed fist. “We got three.” She whispered into it, not because there was a hidden microphone in her hand, but to disguise the fact she was talking at all. Angling her scissors, paste, and colorful cardboard, she leaned up against the table and gave her hands a hearty clap. “Thanks for joining me, Melissa Roberts, for a fun-filled adventure in scrapbooking!”

  The women in the room gave tempered applause, while in her ear, Jenna could hear the sound of typing across the keyboard. “Adjust the scissors. We’re picking up the floor. Can’t see the targets.” The husky voice came from Dirk.

  “Hopefully everyone here has their supplies.” Jenna smiled, allowing her eyes to cast over the women. Nonchalantly, she picked up the scissors and bounced them slightly in her hand. “We’re going to start with some baby photo arrangements and move onto my all-time favorite, vacation time!” She giggled and left a break in the conversation to allow the other women to join in the chorus.

  “Just a little bit to the left.” Dirk said. “There you go. Stop right there. Okay, we’ll get you identity information in a minute. Happy gluing.”

  “It’s more of a paste, actually.” Jameson responded in her ear and Jenna had to concentrate so her facial expression wouldn’t change through the course of their banter.

  “Why don’t we go around the room,” Jenna said with a single clap of her hands, “and introduce ourselves to the group, okay? I’ll start.”

  She cleared her throat. “I’ve been scrapbooking for nearly ten years, and I’m head of the arts and crafts retreat in Melbourne, New York. I have two cats, a dog, and one precious son. In my spare time I like to bake apple pies and chair the monthly PTA meetings.” Out of the corner of her eye, Jenna saw suspect one sit up straighter at her announcement. She had a feeling she wasn’t going to need her team to put this one together.

  The woman was short, with fine lines and wrinkles around her eyes. Her hair, like her daughter’s, was cut in a simple flip bob. Their method of dress was simple; the mother wore a red dress with giant white polka dots on it. Jenna turned her attention toward the woman. “Why don’t we start with you?” She pointed the scissors out at her. “What’s your name?”

  “Me?” The woman croaked, placing a hand on her chest.

  “You’re gonna spook her.” Dirk said, lightly typing in the background. “I need a few more seconds to bring up her profile.”

  “You always need a few more seconds.” Jameson said. “And Jen always spooks. It’s how we roll, dogs.”

  Jenna nodded. “Yes, you sitting right up front. Why don’t you stand up and tell us a little bit about yourself. Your daughter too.”

  The woman’s plump cheeks turned crimson and she pushed back her chair. Standing, she fluffed out the hem of her skirt. “Well, my name is Margaret. I live upstate and last month won the annual blueberry pie contest. It’s all in the crust, don’t you know?” She smiled at the group as the applause rang out for her. She glanced at her daughter with pride. “My daughter here is Emma and we love doing crafts together.” Margaret hugged her close to her body. “Don’t we, darling?”

  Emma’s eyes were wide, studying. “Oh yes, Mum! I just love arts and crafts.”

  “Give us the vitals on those two, all right?” Dirk asked.

  Jameson sighed. “It’s not easy to scan a whole room without them being hooked up to the monitor, you know. If I had to guess…”

  “If you guess wrong, Jenna kills them and the real glistenings get away.” Dirk reminded him.

  Jenna outwardly cringed at Emma’s enthusiasm. Only a glistening would get that excited about crafts. “Thank you, ladies.” She plastered on a big fake smile, wider than a monkey’s butt. “If I knew that, I would have told everyone to bring a sample of their best pie! Have a seat and we’ll get started!”

  A woman in the back raised her hand. “Don’t we all get to introduce ourselves? I make windsocks.”

  “Good for you.” Jenna cringed. “I mean, lovely, lovely!” She cleared her throat and opened a small black box. “We’re going to start by talking about the different pastes and embellishments you can use to accent your photos, because as every good craftswoman knows, the beauty is in the details, ladies.” She took out a pair of black gloves and slid them on.

  “Here we go,” Dirk whispered with a sigh.

  “Their blood pressure is registering nil, Jen. You’re making them nervous. You better act soon or take cover. I wouldn’t want to be in there when they go postal.”

  “I’m out of material anyway,” Jenna whispered. “I only made it to page two in the manual.” She picked up what appeared to be two silver bracelets from the table and slipped them around her wrists. With a tap, they locked tightly around her flesh, constricting to the point that they pinched the leather of her gloves tight against her skin.

  She walked toward the table where the two glistenings in disguise sat. “I have a surprise for you two.” Jenna waggled a finger at them. “You can never resist a good old arts and crafts show, can you?”

  “Theatrics one-oh-one,” Jameson said with a chuckle.

  “Reminds me why we used to have actors. So people wouldn’t be subjected to people like her on a regular basis,” Dirk commented.

  Margaret and Emma regarded each other. “Well, we are from the burbs and love a good craft tutorial, just like the next person.”

  “The next person isn’t a glistening, is she?” Jenna asked and uneasiness washed over the room. Those close to the table stood up and backed away. All the color ran out of the mother and daughter’s faces as they clung to their seats.

  “Mum?” Emma whispered in fear.

  Margaret though was defiant. She stood, a hand to her chest and eyes fluttering with blinks so fast that she appeared to be a moving storybook. “I think, Ms. Roberts, you have us mistaken for someone else. We’re ladies, human. Just as you are.”

  “Want to bet?” Jenna asked, taking a wide stance. “As an officer in the New Haven police force, I place the both of you under arrest for impersonating human beings. At said time, that time being now, I remand you into custody until you can be transported to New Haven 56 to live out the remainder of your life.”

  Shock animated across Margaret’s face as her eyes bugged and her mouth dropped. “This is outrageous, and more importantly, wrong! I want to see a lawyer! I demand one, now.”

  “Glistenings don’t get lawyers.” Jenna said through slotted teeth. Forcing her palms up and then back, a grappling hook shot out from each of her bracelets. They wrapped with speed and malice around the necks of Margaret and her daughter. With a tug of Jenna’s arms, electricity zapped through her and traveled through the linked chain.

  Their bodies glistened blue and like a spastic tremor, reverted from human in appearance to that of a giant blue winged dragon. Their hands morphed into giant claws and their eyes rolled over yellow. A scream like a pulse emitted from their beak-like mouths while the spans of their wings
flapped in pain. They strained, pulling backwards to escape, while their claws grabbed at the metal rings around their necks.

  Others in the room screamed, running for the doors, but Jenna smiled triumphantly at the appearance of those in front of her. “You glistenings are all the same.” She spat at them. “You’re lucky we let you live at all.”

  Rodeo queen Jenna tugged on the chains, pausing for a moment to pick up her briefcase. With a hard yank, she pulled them through the door. “Police! Clear the halls!” The fluttering monsters behind her were on their knees, straining and coughing from their restraints. Jenna paid them no heed and only tugged on them harder.

  At the exit, Dirk held the door open for her. His eyes were a calm blue and his short brown hair was wavy. Handsome as he was, Jenna stopped noticing a long time ago. He was dressed in a black uniform with protective padding across his shoulders and chest, the type Jenna usually wore when she wasn’t performing a character. In his hand was a black stubby device. He struck each of the glistenings on the shoulder with it. They howled, rolling their heads back. The smaller one gnashed her teeth together and snapped her jaws at him like she might bite.

  Jenna sent a surge of electricity through her restraints as she pulled them outside into the sun and slammed their bodies against the doors of a black van. “You’re lucky we get such a good price on the young ones, or you’d be dead for that,” she said with spite.

  “Not that I don’t appreciate it, but is someone having her time of the month?” Dirk asked.

  Jenna cast him a glare as they popped the back of the van open and she shackled their latest catch inside beside the other two glistening prisoners. “Why do men always ask women that when they’re confident and strong?”