by S L Mason
Shucking off my grimy clothes was a blessing really. I still had dirt on my face from the tunnel and blood on my shoe and probably elsewhere. I didn’t want to look for it. A little hot water would clean it all away. I wanted to pretend for a little while that the world was a normal place.
I closed my eyes and imagined my mother downstairs making breakfast. But the hot water ran out, as did my fantasy. The previous homeowner hadn’t heard of hot water on demand.
Judging from the clothes in the closet, nothing looked like it’d been made in the past decade, except for a pair of sweatpants. I grabbed them and put them on along with a T-shirt.
I mounted the stairs with my clothes under one arm and a terrycloth bathrobe over my shoulder.
“Arty, take off your clothes—” I said, causing his eyes to rise and his eyebrows to shoot up to the ceiling, “—and put on this bathrobe so I can wash your clothes.”
“For a minute there, I thought you were asking me to take off all my clothes for…not that.” He pulled his shirt over his head and threw it at me.
I started laughing. “If I ask you to take off all your clothes, I’ll have a reason, trust me. Anyway, that’s gross. You’re like my brother.”
He chuckled low. “You’re not exactly my sister, but yeah, it’d be kind of weird. But thanks for thinking of me and washing my clothes.”
I smiled at him as he left the room and headed into the bathroom to change. He was probably hopeful. Sorry to burst your bubble, Arty.
What came out of the bathroom was the funniest thing I’d ever seen. I couldn’t stop laughing. The world was ending, and Arty was going to be caught dead in a fluffy pink bathrobe with polka-dotted, fluffy trim.
“Are you sure that’s what you want to wear?” I crossed my arms to keep my belly from hurting.
“What, it’s soft! Anyway, it’s only until my clothes are dry. Then I’ll be Arty the badass again.” He shrugged his shoulders and strolled to the living room. He plopped on the couch, throwing his feet on the coffee table.
I threw our clothes into the washing machine—nothing fancy; just a quick wash to get the grime out. I’d apparently fallen a couple of times somewhere. The grass stains on my knees told me so. Arty’s T-shirt had dirt on it from the tunnel. I sprayed that spot treatment crap on everything. After the water was already running over the clothes, it dawned on me that the room was missing something—a dryer. My eyes strayed out the back door and landed on it—a clothesline. Great. Maybe next door had a dryer.
My eyes darted to the horizon and with the sun in its place, we had maybe two hours tops.
“Arty, this cottage doesn’t have a dryer. I have to take our clothes next door.”
I saw him sneak a glance outside. “You sure you want to go with it getting so close to twilight? I’d feel much better if you didn’t. How long do you think it’ll take those clothes to dry?”
I looked at him and shook my head. “I don’t know. We both have jeans. They always take longer like drying towels. But I’d rather have partially dry clothes I could potentially run away in, than be stuck wearing a pair of oversized sweatpants and you in a fluffy terrycloth bathrobe.”
He looked at his digs. He put his hands in the front pockets and shrugged his shoulders. He sheepishly looked back up at me. “Maybe I should put my boots on, just in case I gotta run. I don’t have to run out barefoot and in a pink bathrobe.”
I gave him a half smile with a little snort. “Yeah, I think putting your shoes on might be a good idea. Those shoes were hard-fought.”
The back door slammed behind me as I headed over to the house next door. I entered through the rear, and as luck would have it, it was the laundry room. The problem was, they line-dried too.
Really?
I ran through the yard, jumping the fence to the house next door. They had a dryer, thank god. I chucked everything in and turned it on. We need to get this done before… I had to be back. I sat next to the back door, keeping an eye out.
The day had been clear and bright, and I had noticed that in the evening these days it always seemed to turn misty. The lower the sun sank in the sky, the more of a heavy fog formed around the area. It was enough to cut visibility. I couldn’t see more than a block or so. It was creepy with the idea that fairytale creatures were running around and out there killing people. Judging from the position of the sun, I guessed there were only ten minutes left. My clothes had dried for only thirty minutes, but I couldn’t wait any longer. I opened the dryer and pulled out the clothes. I shoved them in the bag and headed to the cottage.
I ran at breakneck speed with the duffel bag on my back bouncing around with every step, which threw my rhythm off. That was when it dawned on me—I hadn’t brought a gun.
I’d taken off my ankle holster for the shower. I’d left both my guns in the bathroom upstairs in the cottage. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I put on a fresh burst of speed, approaching the second fence. Timing my steps just right, I leaped.
“Jack be nimble, Jack be quick, Jack jumped over the candlestick. Hey, diddle, diddle, the cat and the fiddle, the cow jumped over the moon.”
Aww fuck, it had to be one of them with their stupid nursery rhymes.
In slow motion, I watched in horror as the leg of my saggy sweatpants hooked on the top of the chain-link fence. Gravity worked against me, and I slammed face first into the ground. I rolled over and pulled at my leg several times, hoping it would dislodge itself. I was stuck.
With a pounding heart, I pushed off the ground with both hands, slipping to the side in the mud to stand on my free leg. My fingers worked at the fabric, but out of nowhere two violet eyes with pointy ears and white hair peered into my face.
“Hello, pretty girl. I’ve been looking for you.” He gave me a devilish smile with his full lips and a deep-throated laughed.
My heart clench as my mouth open to scream.
Arty screamed instead. “Run, Sarah! Just run! Don’t worry about me.” He hadn’t even fired a shot. They knew right where we were. They had to have known.
The Fae didn’t bother to unhook my sweatpants from the chain-link fence. He grabbed my arms and pulled me along. The tearing sound of fabric followed me.
“Oh, you ruined your frock. How sad for you.”
All I could do was glare at him through the mud on the side of my face.
Why, oh, why did I take a shower? Here I am three hours later, filthy again. I should’ve stayed in my dirty clothes. Then I would’ve had my gun, and I could’ve shot this Fae right through the eye.
“Nothing to say? Cat got your tongue?” He had a firm grip on my arm, but he wasn’t trying to hurt me. Though his words irritated me, they had a singsong quality.
“No, the cat hasn’t got my tongue. I’m being stolen away by a pixie.”
He stopped dead in his tracks and straightened slowly. He turned his head to the side, giving me a side view of his face. One violet eye pierced me. “If you truly knew what a pixie was, you’d never call me one. They are flesh eaters disguised as flowers.”
I felt a chill run down my back. Something about the way he said it, I had no desire whatsoever to meet a pixie, ever.
He dragged me out toward the street between the human logs lying there. One of their rafts hovered above the surface of the street.
There were two monsters on the raft, and they really were monsters. They had two legs but one arm each. One eye dominated the center of their foreheads, like a weird Cyclops. They were covered in bulbous, weeping boils. Their mahogany colored skin stretched tight over bulging muscles with sharp shining teeth filling their gaping maws. I shivered. Were they going rip me apart?
I dug my feet into the ground, pushing at the arm that held me.
“Let me go! No, don’t take me! I won’t go with you.”
He turned around and sang to me, but it didn’t do anything. I kept kicking him and digging my feet into the grass until we reached the street. My feet dragged across the asphalt, and he raised an eyebrow
> “Bind her, she’s a resistor.” He turned and glanced at me with his evil, violet eyes. “Meet the Fomorians.” He opened his hand, sweeping his arm as if to encompass the raft and its occupants.
I assumed he was referring to the hideous creatures that took my arms as he thrust me at them. I stumbled and almost hit the edge of the raft.
The creatures’ hands were slimy and cold. It was gross like being touched by a wet washcloth. I cringed away, but with one holding me, the other bound me, turning my body over and wrapping me like a spider does a fly. They laid me on my side on the raft.
There’s no way I’m getting away.
I heard the musical singing in the background and watched as Arty turned into a mindless zombie. He climbed up onto the raft and sat next to me. He stared through me like nobody was home. A whimper escaped my lips, I guess he forgot to put his earplugs back in; too busy watching television.
We were so close. If only we’d waited a little bit longer and been a little more careful. I was such a fool.
“We must go to the other towns and sweep them for challengers. Once we’re done and the sun begins to rise, we will head home with our prizes.” The violet-eyed Fae sang something, and we moved.
The raft was round, and the floor of it was lined with flagstones. It appeared to have mushrooms around the outer edge. I lay there with my face planted into the floor. One of the Fomorians creatures leaned over, his eye staring directly into one of mine.
“Would you like to sit?” His face was blank of emotions.
“If it means I’ll get a better look at you so I can figure out how to kill you, yes.” My heart raced with my bravado.
A dry huffing sound escaped his lips. “He, he, he. You will never be strong enough to kill one of us, silly human. You resistor, you’re defective.”
I didn’t want to start arguing with them. I could see that it would be useless. Who argues with a half-wit? He was probably hoping to bait me into an argument. What if he hurt Arty because of it?
I gritted my teeth as one of the Fomorians grabbed my shoulder, yanking me up. I sat on my butt with bent knees. I couldn’t wrap my arms around myself. I leaned my head on my kneecaps and looked over at Arty, willing him to wake up so we could get away.
They were gonna kill us, I was pretty sure of it. I could tell by the way they talked to me that we were nothing more than cattle with no value whatsoever. There had to be another reason for taking us. If we didn’t have a use, they’d kill us like everybody else.
They hopscotched us to what must’ve been fifteen different towns as they gathered up other zombie-like pretty girls and strong boys. It was all they wanted. I didn’t see them kill anybody, thank goodness. At last, the sun’s fiery fingers reached out toward me. I stared at it, hoping with all my heart that they’d leave Arty and I behind.
“Take a good look, Sarah. It’s probably the last time you’ll see it.” The Fae’s words pricked at my eyes, and my lips quivered. “Say goodbye to your world.”
Was he right?
He sang a beautifully haunting song. It wasn’t just musical notes; he sang of his home and flowers I’d never heard of. About love and loss, battles, about his queen and her beauty. Most of all, the magic of the Fae and how Tuatha Dé Danann ruled the world. His final line.
“Take us home to the hallowed hills.” As his voice reached the crescendo, there was a loud pop. My vision twisted, and we disappeared from our world, only to reappear somewhere else.
We were surrounded by greens, yellows, oranges, and purples, all the vibrant colors of the rainbow. They glowed like Day-Glo at a rave with everybody waving around glow sticks. It was everywhere, the plants, and the trees. The markings on the Fae were like he had a glow-in-the-dark tattoo that only showed up in black light. His eyes glowed. They were still purple, but his irises were white and his hair was illuminated around his face.
“Welcome to the land of the Fae, Sarah.”
My eyes ate up the sights surrounding me. Plants covered the cavernous landscape. Butterflies and dragonflies flittered everywhere painted in neon colors and lite by a black light. The hallowed hills of Fae were an illuminated, psychedelic rave.
CHAPTER 8
A Fomorian picked me up by the ropes that were wrapped around my waist carrying me like a purse. It was all I could do to keep my feet from dragging on the ground. Animals. Unbelievable, just being next to them was torture. They smelled like a cross between rotting flesh and wet mucus. It was enough to make me want to hurl. The only time I ever smelled anything like that was when I went into the garage after the power had been out for three days. The freezer meat had rotted. It was awful.
The monsters were covered in a thin film of slime, and with every step my body banged against the slimy, mahogany monster. The rest of the captives weren’t treated like me. The Fairy whistled something, and the kids stood in unison. It was Stepford Wives creepy. The Fomorian walked for a long time, and I got tired of holding my feet up. I let my feet drag on the ground while my brand-new shoes scraped ruts behind me. Maybe whatever the equivalent of soil they had here would rub the blood spot off the tips. I needed to save my energy. At the other end of this, I’d get a chance to get away.
We approached some kind of shed or barn. I’d always lived in the suburbs. Dad took me camping, but it wasn’t like we spent much time in the country. So far, the most time I’d spend in the country was the two days at best.
The purple-eyed Fae whistled something, and the boys, along with Arty in his pink bathrobe, filed into the stable. Tears brimmed in my eyes; it was all my fault. Other guys were there too, standing or sitting. All of them looked lost and clueless.
I struggled against my bonds to no avail.
“Arty! God damn it, Arty.” My voice rose in panic. The ropes rubbed my skin as raw as my voice from screaming. My violet-eyed captor never gave me a glance. My body shook, muscles trembling. Why did I think he’d wake up? Arty was a follower, not a leader. But he’d never turn on me. I kicked my legs in protest.
“Stop kicking me, stupid human.” The Fomorian dropped me on the muddy ground. The clean side of my face squished into the ground. I turned my head spitting out the earthy goop, only to mash it into my hair. I whimpered.
Why? Why did I bother to bathe? If I’d stayed in my clothes, Arty and I would still be hiding in a closet, safe.
The girls were separated, and some were sent off with a different Fae. The drop-dead gorgeous supermodels, and there were quite a few of them, were taken along with me. I couldn’t understand. I didn’t belong with the supermodels. I was some dorky, average girl next door who tripped over her own feet. I craned my neck around to watch the barn shrink in the distance with Arty inside. My throat ached with the crushing knowledge that I was alone and so was Arty. I kicked at the Fomorian carrying me. He slapped my butt.
“Don’t touch me, you monster! Don’t ever touch me!” My tear-filled words sounded weak and feeble.
I clenched my jaw, locking my cries inside and pushing the pain to the side.
You can’t win. I will.
I took one last look over the ground we’d covered, blinking the moisture from my eyes, and I drank in every detail from the trail.
I will find my way back. I need to find my way back.
We crested a hill, and a giant, medieval fairytale castle dominated the landscape. Similar to the Schloesses they have in Germany along the Rhine and on the edge of the Black Forest. It also carried Tudor qualities, along with Renaissance styles. It was kind of a mishmash of all of them with lots of towers, some of which were thin and petite with beautiful fairytale like tops and others that were square and imposing with the long crossed windows. They were the kind my mom said they used to shoot arrows out of. The castle was surrounded by a massive outer wall. The whole thing would be cute if it wasn’t glowing in dark, Fae light. The light of Fae shot through the arched doorway and around stones. They gleamed with black opalescence, almost like the skin of the Fae themselves. Maybe they held
magic? Okay, that’d be stupid. We all knew that magic wasn’t real. Fairytales weren’t real, except for the fairy standing in front of me, that is.
The closer we got to the castle, the more impending doom permeated the atmosphere. If I went inside, I’d never come out again. I didn’t know how I was going to get out of this. I was tied up with a rope and trussed like a pig.
Arty stayed behind in the barn. The rope around my chest felt tight. It was squeezing me, it had to be. The ache in my chest was too great to be normal. I wanted to kick and scream and get all these ropes off. I wanted to run back to Arty. The lump in my throat made breathing unbearable. How was I going to do this alone? I didn’t know if I could. Arty’s vacant eyes and slack mouth danced before me in my mind’s eye. They had him, they took him away from me. I took another shuddering breath. It wasn’t enough, it would never be enough. I couldn’t breath thinking about Arty. I was alone, just me.
They’re gone, they’re all gone. First Arty’s parents, then mine, now Arty. I clenched my fists. The Fae can’t win, they can’t.
The closer we got to the castle, the more I made out the details of the embattlements. I saw other Fomorians walking the wall. Every now and again, something would glisten in their hands, some kind of weapon. Everybody here seemed to be lost in the medieval times or in some kind of fairytale story with Fae and a bad case of D&D.
I turned my head and craned my neck to get a better look at “it”. The Fomorian’s face looked unintelligent, but looks don’t gauge intelligence. After all, anyone who took a look at Stephen Hawkins might not have assumed he was a genius. But this creature had a look of determination on his face as if it understood what its duty was, and that it was going to perform it. The question was why they worked for the Fae? Why wouldn’t they just take care of themselves? After all, they’re strong enough, and they didn’t react to the Fae songs.