Mayfly

by Rei Fletcher

  "Honey, what's wrong?"

  The tension released all at once. She sat up, gasping for air. Her mom perched on the side of the bed and rubbed Marianne's back. John's silhouette filled in the doorway.

  "There was something outside. I saw something outside. Someone…"

  "John!"

  "On it." He vanished down the hall.

  "Take something. Make noise. A broom or…something. It might be a bear."

  It wasn't a bear. She knew it wasn't. She stayed where she was, listening to the door shut, and then footsteps—proper ones—outside. The beam of a flashlight danced over the ceiling and walls.

  "I'm really glad that's not us going out to check."

  Marianne nodded and rubbed her eyes. Her mom brushed her hair back. "Pretty scary, huh?"

  "Yeah. It was...It was really bad."

  John came back. "Nothing there now."

  "Just a dream, then." John looked doubtful. Her mom saw it too. "What?"

  "There were marks on the siding, under the window. I don't know. Were they there before?"

  "What kind of marks?"

  "Like scratches."

  "Goddammit. No. It was fine before. I bet it was cats. This is supposed to be a pet-free trailer park, but I know that old biddy in number twelve has them."

  "Yeah, that might be it, too."

  Her mom seemed satisfied. "I'll get you some water and some aspirin. You can keep your light on and read if you want." She closed the blinds before she left. John leaned against the door frame. He wasn't glaring and didn't seem grumpy about having had to go outside for cats. Or a dream.

  He looked down the hallway carefully, then leaned forward. "Do you think it was a cat?"

  "No, not really." She was happy that the blinds were closed.

  "Yeah, the scratches didn't look like a cat could make them, either. Damned if I know what did. Maybe for now let's not worry your mom with it? Until we have a better idea."

  "Yeah. That's okay. I don't really want to talk about it, anyway."

  Her mom brought her water and aspirin and said it was okay if Marianne listened to the radio a bit. She waited until she saw Marianne take the pills, then they went back to bed. It must make moms feel better to do something, no matter how ineffective.

  She kept her reading lamp on and pulled her radio close. At night, sometimes, if she tuned it just right, she could get the far away stations. Even stations on the coast, dim and tinny, playing music the local stations didn't, talking about businesses and streets that she didn't know.

  She was lucky tonight. The DJ gave the time and weather. It was overcast, down south, and the song that he played to accompany the rain was wistful; the worst was over, for that singer, and time had sapped the pain away. But he'd really loved, and he reached over the mountains to tell her about it.

  The next morning she waited until they were gone and the sun was high and bright before she went to look. If there were tracks at all they would have been left in dew, and it'd burned off. She could see what John meant, though. The scratches weren't deep enough to be a bear. She traced them with her fingers. They were in sets of five, thin and sharp, but far wider than any cat could leave.

  She went back inside and pulled out her pack. Clothes, she thought. She didn't have much besides T-shirts and a couple of pairs of jeans. Toiletries...toilet paper? She stood in the bathroom, hands shaking. What was she doing?

  Something different. Something special.

  She pulled a picture of her mom and dad out of a box. Her mom wouldn't notice as fast as if she took the one in the frame. Food? She made peanut butter sandwiches out of the remaining bread. It would be okay. Ewan hadn't said she couldn't come back at all.

  The phone rang, shattering the quiet of the trailer. It was her mom, saying that she'd be out late with John. She felt a little surge of disappointment.

  "There's leftover spaghetti sauce. You can cook some up."

  "Sure."

  "Marianne—" She stopped, and when she spoke again the exasperation was gone. "Is it that thing last night? Honey, it's just those cats from twelve."

  "Yeah. Sorry. Guess it spooked me more than I thought. Have fun. I mean it."

  "We won't be too late. We can watch a movie again or something."

  "That sounds really good."

  I love you.

  Her mom would be suspicious if she said it.

  She watched the sun go down from a lawn chair on the porch. Maybe the last time ever. She shifted, the aluminium frame creaking. The smell of the pulp mill followed after the evening chill. It was barely even a proper sunset. On TV sunsets were on beaches, or out on a farm or something. Here the sun just fell behind the trees, and that was it. There was plenty of day left, just the cold, dim end.

  I won't miss it. Even if I do, it doesn't have to be forever. There's got to be better than this.

  After dark, she grabbed her bag and shoved in her jacket, too, just in case. Her mom wasn't home yet. She could make noise, but it didn't seem right, somehow. She closed the screen door silently.

  The light was waiting, floating between the trees. When it saw her it started to look like a person, so it must have been the curious one. She started to turn, to look back. She'd read that if you looked back it would be easier to go back. Like destiny or something. Then one noodle-like arm lifted in what was meant to be a wave, and she hurried forward.

  The way was easy. She found herself running, even though she was wearing her Docs. Her pack slapped her back.

  Why did I bring it? Why did I bring anything? It's magic. Who needs regular things in a magic world?

  She burst through the trees to the cottonwood and saw Ewan waiting. This time she didn't hesitate; when Ewan opened his arms to her she hugged him back, feeling his laugh.

  "I'm so glad you came."

  "Well, I couldn't really think of any reason why not."

  He smiled down at her, hands cupping her face. "Sweet Marianne. Everything will be splendid, now that you're here."

  She looked away. They hadn't said...But that's what guys wanted. Men. Even real men. Everyone said so.

  She kissed him, and he did kiss back, but he stopped, too.

  "Thank you. I haven't been given such a precious gift in so long."

  "It's just a kiss." She felt herself turn red. She wasn't his type, then, or something. He wasn't into her. And she wasn't really into him, either, right? She just wanted to make him happy. She looked down, trying to figure out the right thing to do.

  "A gift," he repeated, "that I'm privileged to receive. But you don't have to pay your way with your affections. It isn't your body that I desire."

  "Oh. I didn't...think it was like that."

  "Your company is enough, and your light."

  She left her bag by the tree. They walked through the fields—green again—while the lights danced and played.

  "Will it always be like this?"

  "As long as you're with us. And one day everyone will know it as you do."

  "What? What do you mean?"

  "Imagine the whole of the world like this. Peaceful. Always full of music."

  "No." She spoke without thinking.

  "No?" His smile sharpened. "No?"

  "I mean...It's special, here. The world is just the world. People have lots of food and clothes and stuff. Abundance. They don't need this, too."

  "Harmony and peace? This is the best world. A perfect world. My world."

  He didn't seem angry, exactly. His voice was still smooth, but not like water. It was smooth like metal. It was like a knife.

  "I'm sorry."

  "I'm close. So close."

  "To what?"

  "Returning my people to the world."

  "People?"

  "All that was. Magic and wonder."

  She remembered the shadow flying above the cottonwood fluff. "I don't know if everyone...People like electronics. Cars. Things like that."

  "They'll come to appreciate my kingdom, just as you did."


  Kingdom?

  He took her hand and pulled her to a stop. She stumbled. God, why was she never cool?

  They'd come to the edge of the cottonwood clearing. Kind of. The geography of the place wasn't always reliable. The hills wavered, and shadows moved behind them. The green landscape melted. At her feet spread a forest of dead and dying trees. The details were obscured by an unwholesome mist. Things moved on the damp earth, making wet, slapping sounds. Thick wind lifted her hair. Some alien, serpentine shape flickered through the clouds, stirring the smell of rot.

  "This wasn't here before. What is it?"

  He stepped up behind her. For a minute she thought he was going to push her in, and her skin prickled. His long fingers folded over her shoulders.

  "You're safe, Marianne. Safe here with me. You're going to help me fill the world with light. My people will be free. We'll become strong again."

  "This place?"

  "We've survived."

  "How?" Her voice shook.

  "I need nine of you. Nine bright lights. Nine points, to form a great gateway to the world." His breath whispered against her cheek. "Nine, to return to the world that should be ours."

  One of the slapping, wet things was coming closer. The light that had played with her, mimicking her movements, crouched down at the edge of the mud. Whatever it was crawled toward it. Pale limbs, like a grub, and scraggly hair. Blonde hair. Long, sharp fingers.

  "What's that? What is it?" She tried to back away. His fingers bit into her shoulders, as sharp, now, as those of the thing coming toward her.

  "You've left the world. But we can't leave that little you-shaped hole."

  It crawled to its feet. The bulk of it hung from its hunched shoulders like a coat on a hanger. It was meant to be her, but it wasn't at the same time. It was naked and underfed, skin pulled taut over bone. Below its matted hair its mouth opened. Wordless moaning emerged.

  "It's not me. It's not me!"

  "It will be."

  It came closer. Marianne struggled in his grip. Ewan didn't look strong, but she might as well have been fighting against stone. The thing grew plumper as it approached. Black eyes regarded her, and its bluish, milky skin changed shades. It held up its hand; bone shifted beneath the skin, joints popping into place to look like her hand.

  She screamed and tried to break free. Her boots tore holes in the grass, filling the air with a deep, sweet smell of growth that for a moment washed away the stench of the thing. That thing was mould. It was the pale, white larva and colourless spiders and crawling things from dark places. It was not-right. It was…

  "Let me go!"

  "You came, Marianne. You came to my kingdom, to stay."

  "I don't want to!" The thing leaned close. In its eyes she saw her own panicked reflection before the black drained out of them, replaced by the shade she saw in the mirror every day.

  "You'll stay," he said. "You'll give me your light."

  She looked at the lights dancing joyfully around them. "They're people?"

  "Your sisters, now. Together we'll wait for the ninth and reopen the world."

  "No! You can't. This is...This was supposed to be…"

  "Yours?"

  Humiliation crawled up her spine. "Yeah. Yeah, it was."

  He kissed her cheek. She shuddered. "You're still special, Marianne. Not everyone can see the true door between your world and this place, much less open it, but you did."

  The other thing stood up straighter now. Its face looked more finished. She saw the small scar appear just under the left ear, from when she'd fallen off her bike. It was her and not her. Not quite what the mirror showed just yet.

  "I don't want to stay."

  "After all the effort we took making someone to take your place? After studying you?"

  The light touched the not-her, then swept through it and fluttered away. The not-her pushed a bunch of blonde hair behind its ear the same way she did. It became sharper. She saw when life filled its eyes.

  "You're so precious, Marianne. You're so important."

  "Let me go. You...you fucker, let me go!"

  His fingers dug into her shoulders hard enough to make her scream, and she felt blood begin to flow.

  "I didn't say I'd help you hurt people. I didn't...You didn't say I'd turn into one of those."

  "I offered you what you wanted. Peace. Joy. Something different from anything you'd ever known. Forever."

  She screamed. The not-her opened its mouth. A warbling cry broke free, traveling up and down a scale of notes until it matched her exactly. Marianne sobbed, staring at it.

  "Oh god, please. Please."

  The not-her smiled. "Please," it repeated, something watery in its voice.

  She closed her eyes and looked away.

  Oh god please someone. Someone help me. Please oh fuck. Help me!

  She heard a tearing sound. Her ears popped and rang. Ewan turned. Abruptly his grip on her was gone. She scrambled away from the muddy gulf and the not-her and him and the lights. She crawled through the grass toward the tree and her bag with the half-formed idea that she could run away.

  "You!"

  The rage in Ewan's voice was enough to make her cower. He was looking past her. Marianne twisted around. A…hole…hovered a few feet above the ground. The lady from the gas station stood in the tall grass in front of it. She looked, for a moment, as surprised as Marianne felt. Then her eyes focussed on Ewan, and they narrowed.

  "It's been a minute, you son of a bitch."

  "How are you here? I banished you."

  The woman smiled. "Someone opened the way."

  She threw a black ball at Ewan, and he howled.

  Chapter 6

  Ewan twisted, collapsing to his knees, flames licking the air. The lights swept toward him, flashing wildly. Marianne watched as they kaleidoscoped against his skin. They were so scared. His pain was theirs.

  The lady grabbed her hand and lifted her to her feet as though she weighed nothing.

  "Come, my girl. No time for lolling about."

  Then they were running toward the crack in the world. The edges of it shivered and strained, warping the narrow shape, filling the air with a high-pitched screech as it fought to stay open. She was a good runner, but her limbs felt heavy, and she would have fallen without the lady to keep her moving. Between the glittering edges she could see untroubled northern forest. Pine branches moved serenely in a faraway wind. She could even see a few speckles of stars crowning them.

  Other things were clawing their way toward it, coming from the muddy pit that Ewan had shown her. Marianne couldn't tell if they were running after them or just to get through the tear, but whenever they drew near she had to fight not to scream, stomach churning at the smell that followed them. A shadow swept overhead. She ducked, looking up. It looked like a bug, but it hummed and writhed. She felt a wave of revulsion, but there was no time to waste even on that. Damp, larval creatures were grunting as they leaped through the tear. Whenever they failed to clear it flames flared up, and puffs of smoke, and they squealed.

  She looked back once, and saw the cottonwood tree, bending low in the wind until she thought it would snap.

  "Wait! My...my bag…"

  They stopped. Marianne's heart pounded. Fear. Blind fear. Then the lady took her by the arm. Marianne flinched, expecting heavy hands, but they only steadied her. Fingers tilted her chin up gently.

  "You brought things here?" Marianne nodded. "Is there anything personal?"

  "Um. Pictures. My toothbrush..."

  "Best we not leave anything of you behind. Where is it?"

  "Under the tree." She didn't need to say which one.

  "Stay here. Don't let the creatures touch you. Not him. Not the lights. Not anything. Don't even think his name. Do you understand?"

  Marianne nodded. The lady gestured to the rip.

  "Hold it."

  Hold what?

  She must have run. To Marianne's eyes she was there and gone in a blink, leaving her to s
tand there alone. Above her head the sky churned, angry as she imagined E— he was. She hugged herself, searching for any sign of monsters. All she could see were the places where the grass bent. The trails didn't turn toward her. They all seemed intent on getting past her, to the rip. That's all that she could see, but she could smell them. Oh, god, could she smell them. She covered her mouth.

  She didn't look at the place where Ewan fell. He wasn't screaming anymore. The sounds were halfway between a whimper and a roar.

  "Come. We're out of time."

  The lady appeared as suddenly as she'd left. Marianne's bag was slung over her shoulder. She reached out and took Marianne's hand, leading her along, occasionally helping her with effortless ease.

  "What's happening? I don't understand!"

  "You'll have me stop to explain here?"

  "Marianne!" The voice boomed over the meadow.

  She went cold and looked back over her shoulder. Ewan had risen to his feet. He was taller, somehow. He loomed, limbs longer, and gangly and unnatural. His chest and face were blackened by fire. His smile was blinding, bone white, and his eyes burned.

  "Come back, Marianne. You promised."

  They ran for the hole. His footsteps shook the ground, making her stumble. Things hissed and jumped at her out of the grass, turning from their own goal of the rip. Driven to try to stop her. There was a boom and crash. Cottonwood fluff and fragments of wood bit at her skin. She closed her eyes against the wind.

  "Jump!"

  Her frantic mind did nothing to help, but her body remembered training for hurdles. The edges of the tear crackled and she remembered how they burned the creatures.

  She landed hard on cool pine needles. All the breath left her. Still, she forced herself to roll over, ready to run again. Through pain-blurred eyes she saw Ewan charging toward them. The lights flashing against his face turned it monstrous. She screamed, flinging her hand up.

  The gate was there, and then it was not. When it was gone the only sound that was left was the terrible whimpering she was making. She pressed her hand over her mouth. When she could breathe without making noises she finally let go, sagging down on the forest floor.

  The woman's shoulders moved. She straightened up from her defensive stance, hands falling to her sides. Marianne pushed herself away, quietly, just in case, until she felt the rough bark of a tree against her back.