by Rei Fletcher
Someone. Anyone. She felt the look her mom gave her while she reached for her cigarette.
"Beggars can't be choosers, Marianne."
I'm not a beggar.
But she was.
As soon as the car was off they could hear the phone. Her mom dashed for the house. Marianne looked at the uniform then kicked it under the seat.
"Marianne! Phone!"
"Who is it?"
"Someone named Sarah."
"I hope you don't mind," Sarah said, tinny over the line, when Marianne finally got inside.
"No, it's cool."
"So glad you have the same number."
"Nothing ever changes around here, you know. What's up?"
"I was just checking in. Just, like, you left the party so fast and you looked upset."
"I guess everyone noticed."
"Bobby was outside bitching at Charlene for like an hour. It's just that you were the one who left all freaked out, while he got to stay and hang out, you know?"
"I needed to clear my head."
"You're okay, though? Got home safe?"
"Yeah. Camped out at the doughnut shop and found a ride."
"Cool. Look, you want to grab some coffee? Catch up a bit more?"
"Yeah, that...sounds great, actually."
Sarah had gained a Beetle that rode the fragile line between old and vintage. There was a rainbow air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror. Marianne eyed it, wondering if it was just a rainbow.
"Guess you heard?"
No, then.
"Bobby told me. I might have been the last to know, though," she added apologetically.
Sarah shrugged. "It probably doesn't matter."
"Does that get you in trouble? Up here, you know. I mean Vancouver is different. Big places like that."
"Sometimes I take it down. My grandma doesn't know."
"But you...you know. Dated guys."
"Loads. Even at university."
"But you aren't..."
Sarah smirked. "I know you know the big words, Mare."
"I don't want to, like, offend you."
"I don't sleep with guys at all anymore. I think I was doing a lot of compensating. It's pretty common. That's what my therapist said." She nodded at the sign ahead of them, announcing the doughnut shop. "I'm going to assume Tim's is okay, since you camped out there."
"Great! It's great."
As they walked in she saw someone with the chilli bowl. The smell wafted to her and her stomach growled. She didn't have the cash for it but remembered how closely it resembled her mom's. She hadn't had it in ages.
"Since I asked it's my treat. Anything you like."
Sarah was concentrating on the menu. Marianne looked at the bread bowl. It was a little much.
"I can't resist the chowder. That's such a good deal, the lunch sets. Do you want one?"
"I'm a chilli girl."
"A little reserved, but I wouldn't say chilly."
Marianne laughed. "That's really smooth."
"I have a rep to maintain."
They ended up talking about Sarah's classes. Marianne thought it would sting to hear about university and degrees; all of the plans that she'd had, from modest to grandiose, had revolved around it. But Sarah was nice, and shared the stuff she'd picked up at school. She didn't sound snobby when she did, either. Marianne soaked it up. It was the first time since her AP classes that she got to talk about lit theory.
"You almost make me like Wuthering Heights."
"Oh no! I've used my powers for evil!"
Marianne smiled and tore off a chunk of bread. "I hope I can get the chance to not hate it in school. Or re-hate it."
"I was surprised to hear you weren't going. You had the grades, and the track team and everything."
"Just didn't make the cut."
"There are always student loans."
"My mom is really against them. She said that we'd've been better off if my dad hadn't…Anyway, she won't have anything to do with them."
"Ah. I know that messed you guys up. I mean, loans aren't great, but sometimes they're necessary. Anyway, you can decide for yourself soon."
"And find my ass out the door."
Sarah sat back, slurping at her iced coffee. "That sucks. Bad. But you know, sometimes home isn't the best place. No one ever wants to admit it. It rocks their middle-class world. But family can be good for you in one situation and bad in another."
"My mom tries her best. But it's like...she always just wants to be safe. Like life right on the edge of shitty is better than trying something different."
"I guess you don't share a lot."
"No. She kinda knows about Bobby but not officially." She thought of Ash. "It's like that with most things now."
"That's a lot for you to deal with."
"I guess."
"Look, god knows I don't have this life thing sorted out. What I do have is a crappy apartment with two rooms and a car that can usually get me around. It's all at your disposal."
"What?"
"If you get in trouble. Mom kicks you out or the guy starts treating you bad again, you can call me. You can crash at my place. We'll get you down to the coast somehow." She sat back, waving the remainder of her doughnut. "It's just, I don't have much, but maybe I have more than you, and I'd rather share it than see a girl suffering or getting hit or treated like crap. No pressure. You don't have to or anything. But the offer is always there. You can lock the bedroom door if the wild lesbian orgies are too noisy."
Marianne laughed, probably too loudly, judging by the look the old guy at the next table gave her.
"You're really…"
"Obnoxious?"
"No."
"Out?" Sarah turned the cup around in her hands. "I bet you heard an earful."
"A bit."
"I've heard it all, too. I mean, slept around but like I said, it wasn't why people thought."
"When did you know?"
"I didn't want to know. Just sometime during my first year away I realised that I like looking at women and talking and being with women and I could be pretty happy just with women and that's sort of what it means, isn't it? I don't know. It was there in the back of my head the whole time. Just let it out, finally."
"You didn't even like those guys?"
Sarah shook her head. "I mean they were okay I guess, for jocks. I'm still friends with some of them. It's just...women feel right."
"You slept around with guys but not girls?"
"Irony is a bitch. But if they're going to shit talk me I might as well toy around with it."
"No orgies?"
"I've had like, three girlfriends, if I count the coffee date in my freshman year. She didn't, though. Count it. Awkward."
"If you want to keep your numbers up, you can include this."
"I'll change your name to protect the innocent."
Marianne toyed with her napkin. "Thanks. For the offer of rescue, I mean. That's the nicest thing...I mean…"
"You're welcome."
She felt better, somehow, on the ride home. Not good, maybe, but it felt like a weight lifted off of her. Maybe she'd never take Sarah up on it, but knowing that there was a place to go felt like a kind of freedom.
I could go and ask about financial aid. Loans and stuff. Other people do it. It must be possible. Even if I have to work at fast-food jobs. It's still forward momentum. I can do that. I can do things.
She waved goodbye as Sarah drove off. The sun was still high; there was plenty of time before it was dark enough for creepy things to sneak up on her. Time enough to be productive. She could help when Ash was sleeping, and find the nest. Even if she didn't go in, they'd be better off knowing where it was, and probably safer to investigate while it was light.
She packed her bag with her hunting stuff and caught the bus. The horses behind the gas station looked only slightly more interested during the day, and swished their tails as they tore at the grass.
"Seen any giant leech things? No
? Cool, thanks. I guess if you had you'd be..." She closed her eyes. Giant juice pouches. "Ew. Never mind."
There was only one road back into the trees. If Ash found a person it'd probably been down there somewhere, which meant the nest might be, too, or some sign. Her boots scuffed up puffs of dust as she followed the dirt road, keeping an eye out for some kind of bug trail. Maybe they'd leave the same ooze as the Unformed Beasts. Most of the houses were hidden completely from view, but here and there she caught glimpses of fancy brickwork or tidy drives, and even a barn, red and trimmed with white. All of the nice stuff tucked away out of sight. If the nest was behind a fence her adventure was done until Ash was awake.
A tent caterpillar squirmed across the road. A few years ago there'd been a massive swarm of them. The fluffy little yellow and black caterpillars they'd played with when they were kids were one thing. Millions of squirming, fuzzy, worm-looking fuckers on the road were something else. She remembered them clinging to clothes and dropping down into her hair. She made a face and moved to step over it.
A high, sickly smell hit her. She gagged, acid burning the back of her throat. She stepped back carefully. When she stopped staring so intently, unfocused her eyes a bit, she began to notice movement all along the road in front of her: one, then a dozen, then a hundred. They were all going in the same direction. That wasn't unusual; that's how they travelled. She didn't remember a smell though, from before. These ones were making their patient way to her left, where she saw a pair of brick pillars marking off the entrance to another yard.
A gust of cool air swept out of the tunnel formed of pine branches. The driveway grew smaller. Darker. She shook her head. It was just a driveway. She examined the paved drive. Tent caterpillars didn't eat pines, so they shouldn't be up there. And she ought to be sure.
They weren't so thick on the ground that she needed to step on them. Not many, anyway. Sun dappled the dark pavement. Bright green leaves from the low bushes at the edge of the driveway rattled softly, taking on a golden glow where they were touched by light. She didn't look at the ground, determined not to notice how much more movement there was than there should be.
A landscaped yard spread out in front of the house, with different levels built up in bluish stone and grass, so it was like a hill, but not quite natural. It would be fun to play on, she bet, if you had Barbies or something. The house was three storeys and it looked huge to her. In the window, she could see lamps turned on, even though the day was bright.
She passed a pickup that was leaking black oil onto the spotless white brick parking space. The garage door yawned wide and dark, smelling—as all garages did, no matter how fancy—of old tools and engine guts. A trail of caterpillars drew a thick, squirming line into it.
She followed the stone path up to the front door. All of the seams and crevices of the house were lined with cocoons, speckled with black bodies. It didn't smell as bad as that first time on the road, but it was still revolting.
She rang the doorbell with the butt of her knife. It was so loud; except for the wind, there were no noises at all, like birds. There were always birds. Even if her arrival had scared them away, sound carried far enough that she should hear a cranky crow or squirrel or something. She looked up into the trees, waiting for a response. There were more cocoons up there, thick with caterpillars. Some of them…
She peered closer into the branches of a birch tree. It didn't quite look like a mass of insects in there. It looked like a wing.
A baby started crying inside. When it continued unabated, and no worried parental footsteps sounded, she tapped the door.
"Hello? Is everything okay? I'm..." She looked at her knife and held it behind her back. "Girl Guides. Selling cookies."
The baby's crying grew louder, taking on a frantic, pained edge. She pushed the door open and edged inside. Her skin prickled. The entrance was untouched, picture-perfect. In the living room, she found a cup of coffee, still hot.
"Hello? Can someone hear me?"
The baby sounded like it was upstairs. She started down the hallway. The sense of malevolence that she had felt at the shed returned full force. Ahead of her was the dining room. The door was half-closed. Beyond it was a tile floor, the even, parallel lines bending somehow. She took a steadying breath and pulled the door open.
Bright light streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows before getting sucked into the black hole collapsing the tiles into the ground. A sluggish, wet wind swept out of it. She couldn't see the bottom when she inched closer. The edges of it were rough but regular. She thought of caterpillars chewing evenly away at leaves.
No sounds came from it. She picked up a bird-shaped tchotchke and held it over the empty space.
What the fuck are you thinking?
Still, the urge to drop it was almost overwhelming.
Bitch, don't even.
There was a thump from the kitchen. She whirled, still holding the knife and bird. A pale hand appeared grasping for purchase on the smooth tile.
"Help."
"Hey, are you—Fuck! Oh god, oh fuck. Oh, fuck me."
The woman's head and shoulders and one arm were still visible and a bit of torso. Untouched. The rest of her was lost under a mass of the leech things.
"Help…"
"I can't. Oh, god." She reached out, but Christ, what was she supposed to do? She remembered how they fed. "There's nothing I can do."
"Baby. My baby."
"I'll get it. I promise. I'll get it out of here. Oh god, I'm sorry."
One of the leech things started crawling across the floor. She knew it was fast and still it surprised her. She brought the bird statue down on its head. Black ichor splattered across the tile.
Leech things lifted their heads. Somehow they screamed. It was taken up by something in the hole, and outside, and higher-pitched, reverberating up and down the scale until her bones rattled. She thought of the writhing, flying thing.
She backed toward the hallway. The screaming from the hole was getting louder. She turned and reached for the door, slamming it shut. It shook as things thumped against it. She pushed shelves in front of it and backed away.
The baby was still crying. She ran up the stairs. All along the corners between the walls and the ceiling, there were cocoons.
...they eat leaves they eat leaves...
At the end of the hall, she saw pink and blue decals on a door. The screaming was following her.
They eat leaves and they scream.
The baby's crib was coated in webbing. She picked up a floor lamp and tore a hole in it.
"I'll get you. Almost got you."
It stopped crying. She could see through the thick white threads that it was moving.
Twitching.
But they eat leaves.
She sobbed.
"Marianne."
It came from the bugs and the wet leech things and hole and whatever was in it, but really it was him.
"Marianne. You promised."
She slammed the door against the approaching leeches and pushed a dresser against it. The room began to turn suddenly to dusk. She whirled. A fringe of caterpillars was converging around the edges of the window. She swung the lamp. Glass and caterpillars exploded outward. She cleared the fragments of glass from the bottom and looked out. The porch roof sparkled. She climbed out. Her boots—second hand and their treads worn—skidded on the glass. Before she could catch her balance momentum took her over the edge. She landed hard, vision greying out briefly.
The grass was moving.
"Marianne, we're waiting for You TO COME BACK!"
She pushed herself to her feet with a feral moan. The high fence gate swung open easily and she staggered out into the driveway. The pickup was sitting there. Maybe the keys were inside. Maybe—
She jumped back as a torrent of black liquid poured out of the door of the cab. The driver's business suit collapsed into itself.
Oh god, it wasn't oil under the truck.
"Marianne! You promised
to stay."
She fled down the driveway, desperate to keep her feet, every nerve and brain cell screaming that she did not want to fall, not now.
Behind her, she heard pattering. Caterpillars were falling from the innocent-seeming trees. She put on a burst of speed, hitting the bottom of the drive and turning down the road, full out and not stopping until she was free of the trees, and the voices had fallen behind her.
Chapter 11
She waited at Ash's door for sunset to come.
She'd run all the way to the gas station: a blind, panicked run that made the horses startle. They jogged away with cautious eyes turned back to her as she panted for breath. The weathered bus schedule didn't list another arrival for four hours. In four hours those things could follow her. She'd seen them in daylight. Unlike Ash, they could move around under the sun.
A taxi was parked at one of the pumps. The driver looked at her absently while she pawed through her bag for spare change. She let the phone ring at home then slammed the receiver down and tried Charlene, then Bobby.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck." She searched for the napkin with Sarah's number on it.
The napkin she'd left on her dresser at home.
She emptied her pockets and dumped her bag on the pavement, knowing she didn't have the money for a taxi, not by a long shot. She shovelled her pathetic belongings back in and begged the guy, swearing that someone would cover it at the end. He snorted, and she couldn't blame him, because it was a lie. He went in to pay for his gas and she looked back at the trees. Was it just the wind? Was it just her brain making up voices? It would be coming for her, one way or the other.
She heard the bell on the gas station door and footsteps.
"I'll give you a blow job."
"What?"
"Give me a ride into town and I'll suck you off."
She looked at him quickly, and away. She could feel him staring at her, trying to decide if she was serious, maybe, or if she was worth it. She didn't know. She didn't care as long as she was travelling away from that house. Finally, she heard the jingle of keys.
"Get in."
She hugged her backpack, eyes fixed on the window outside, unseeing. How fast could those things travel? Would they follow her somehow? She didn't think there were enough miles in the world that she could put between her and that house.