by Rei Fletcher
"The kids?" she asked.
Ash looked over her shoulder. Seeing her expression, Marianne turned. The staircase had vanished behind a wall.
"We're going to find out."
They started forward. The weeping remained, growing neither louder nor quieter. The constant, steady breathing seemed to come from behind them, following so closely that her skin crawled.
"On the right," Ash said quietly. A gold-tone doorknob gleamed in the dimness. The crying was coming from there, she was sure of it. It wasn't childish.
"That isn't you, is it?" Ash touched her shoulder.
"It sounds like my mom." She pressed her hand against the door. "After my dad died she'd go into her room to cry. I guess she thought it was better. Like the door was magic. Like I couldn't hear. Later it was different."
Booze-soaked.
"Did you? Mourn?"
"I cried a lot."
"It isn't the same," Ash said gently.
She leaned against the door, listening to the inconsolable grief. Her heart twisted.
"I have to help."
Her hand wrapped around the doorknob.
"You don't have to."
"I don't want her to cry. Maybe I can help."
"It isn't real."
She pushed the door open.
"Marianne, wait!"
When she turned Ash was gone. The hallway was flooded with sunlight. Perfect, golden sunlight. The door was bigger. She turned again. It was her parents' bedroom, exactly as she remembered, with a blue carpet, and a grey bedspread with big blue roses. All of the proportions were wrong, though. The dresser was too high, and the bed.
"Mom?"
Her voice was a kid's voice. Her body was small. A child's body. She was wearing a pink dress that had ruffles around her knees.
"Mom?"
A sob choked off. She edged around the end of the bed, reluctant, but she had to see. To help. It was her dad's side. His bedside table with his mystery books stacked next to his ashtray. Her mom was sitting with her back against the bed, wearing a robe, feet bare. When Marianne appeared, she reached quickly for the bottle beside her, shoving it beneath the bed skirt.
"Go away, Marianne."
"But—"
"Get out! Go play in your room!"
Marianne hesitated, and her mom turned on her, face raw with rage and grief and shame. "Go! Get out, get out, get out!"
She fled, tears bursting forth. She tripped over the heavy pile of the carpet. Sunlight flashed in her eyes.
As soon as she passed through the door her body became her own again. She stumbled, unprepared for the change, and crashed into the opposite wall. She slid down it, landing painfully on her ass. For a moment she covered her face, gasping for breath. The dark spun wildly, before settling. It'd felt real. As real as the actual day.
She lifted her head, looking up and down the hall. There was no sign of Ash. Maybe it was the doppelgänger. Maybe it got her.
I should have cut my hair.
A click made her look up. The golden door handle turned.
There's no door here.
"Shit!"
Before she could get to her feet the door swung open, and she fell backward, screaming.
She landed on something soft. Something was pressing her down. Something was inside her. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear the flashing light and impenetrable dark from her eyes.
Bobby was on top of her, face twisted up in orgasm. Morning sun streamed through unfamiliar windows, turning him to a shadowy silhouette. She turned her head to the right. A vague, inoffensive landscape painting hung above a polished wood dresser. The sheets were printed with roses. The whole room was soft beige and pink. An ugly floral robe was draped over an upholstered chair.
Bobby gave a final, sighing grunt. He kissed her forehead and rolled off. She looked down at herself. A nightgown had been pushed out of the way, exposing breasts that looked wrong. Bigger. Floppier. He'd pushed her nightgown up to her waist. She closed her legs and straightened it, fastening the buttons.
The bed rocked. Bobby sat up and swung his legs over the edge. She quickly used the nightgown to wipe herself off.
"You checked your temperature, right?"
"What?"
He looked over his shoulder, amused. "So hot for me that you forgot?"
"I…guess."
He was older. Way older. Well into his twenties, all of the wiry skinniness grown in. His hair was office hair, short on the sides and back.
"You okay, babe?"
"Yeah. I'm fine."
He nodded and disappeared through a door. A minute later she heard a shower running.
She ventured into a hallway to find another bathroom. On the way, she passed two doors with nameplates hanging from them, in the shape of cartoon planes. Bobby Jr. and Anthony. Her father's name had been Anthony. No sounds came from them. Maybe it was too early.
This is wrong.
She found another bathroom, moved the bucket of plastic toys out of the tub, and scrubbed herself. Her hands travelled over the unfamiliar body. Her legs seemed swollen, and her thighs were thick, fat clinging to them in lumps. She grabbed at the soft, sagging belly, pulling at it until it hurt, biting back a sob. Gobs of it, coating her frame.
This isn't real.
But it felt real. The pain felt real.
The clothes in the dresser were as ugly as the robe and nightgown. She found a pair of jeans and a plain black T-shirt beneath the rest of the crap that fit over the blobby, out-of-shape body she had. The waistband pinched into her like the twist of a balloon animal.
"You're supposed to rest after. It'll help, the doctor said."
"Oh. Sorry."
"If I didn't know any better I'd say you were already pregnant. You always get so forgetful." He sat to pull on his socks. "The sooner the better, so you can get back on your meds."
Meds?
She didn't ask or wait to watch him dress, feeling only the tremendous bubble of panic quietly growing in her chest.
The house was unfamiliar to her. It was nice. The walls were dominated by paintings of lakes and mountains. Bursts of artificial flowers sat on polished wood tables. She stared at a family photo, seeing herself in it. The her in the photo was smiling, sort of. Vaguely. Her attention was caught by something beyond the camera, while Bobby and two kids beamed toothily. She stared at the older of them. Her hand went to her stomach, trying to count the years, to figure out the time between the boy in the photo and the thing inside her. Ten? Maybe? She didn't know how to tell kids' ages.
This isn't real.
Bobby breezed past her into the kitchen. "Sorry I have to go in to work today. Remember the boys have their baseball practise."
"Oh."
"Did you forget to set the coffee maker again?" She heard an exasperated sigh. "How many times have I asked you to do it? It's such a small thing, Marianne. For god's sake."
"I can...I can start it now."
"Never mind. I'll grab breakfast on the way."
She followed him into the kitchen. It was bland, perfectly tidy. She must cook there, and clean it. She should take something out for dinner—
steaks
She frowned. Bobby was pulling on his jacket. He was wearing a suit. Did he work at his dad's company? What did he do? She should be able to remember his job. She looked down at her hand. Set of gold rings: a plain band and a matching diamond one.
This isn't real.
"There's dinner at my parents' tonight. Make sure you wear that dress they bought you. It'll make Mom so happy. And clean the boys up, please. We aren't trailer trash."
It was the lack of coffee making him grumpy. He'd apologise later. He knew she hated that phrase. She told him that when they started dating.
She rubbed her eyes. He'd given a ring to...not her. To a—
"Doppelgänger."
"What?" When she didn't respond she heard him sigh. "Jesus, Marianne."
She twisted a bit of wet hair around her finger, eye
s searching the room. "This isn't real."
Bobby looked up sharply, slowly lowering his briefcase. The irritation on his face was swiftly replaced with concern. "Remember what the doctor said. You have to depend on your therapy while you're off your meds."
"This isn't real." She stepped back. He set the briefcase on the floor.
"Mare, maybe you should drop the boys off with my mom. Go visit Doctor McMillan."
"I was in my house. My old house. I was with Ash. There was a door where there shouldn't be." Is that where it found her father's name? From her memory of the house? Maybe not. Ash said it would know anything that she knew. "This is just an illusion."
"Mare..." He held out his hands, calming, walking towards her cautiously.
"Stay away from me."
"It's happening faster this time. Too fast. Babe, I know you want a little girl—"
"I don't!" She shook her head, taking another step back. "I don't want kids. I don't want this."
"Okay, we're going to call the doctor, okay? I'll stay home with you. It's going to be fine."
"I was trying to get back to Ash." She looked around at the showroom-perfect house. There was nothing in it that was her. It didn't make sense that there was nothing of her in it. Nothing she would choose. It was a stranger's house.
"We've talked about this. Real and not-real. Remember? Start with your birthdate. When were you born?"
"This isn't a dream. This is a nightmare. That's all it is, isn't it?" She laughed, spinning around, searching for the doppelgänger. "Did you think this would get me? This?" Her voice was shrill.
"Mare, baby, don't—"
She grabbed a knife from the block on the kitchen counter. It swept through the air in a satisfying silver arc, leaving a red spray across the rose wallpaper. Bobby clutched at his neck. He didn't transform or change or melt. He slumped against the wall and slid down, choking. He looked like he was dying. He was dying like a human would die. She looked at the knife, a horrible, sinking terror filling her.
"Bobby?" She knelt beside him. "Bobby?" Her hand hesitated before shaking his shoulder.
"Mom? What's going on?"
It was the older boy, wearing a T-shirt and shorts, eyes still confused by sleep. She could see the understanding spreading across his face, just before he started to scream.
"No. No, you're just fucking with me." She stood, searching for some sign. Anything that would prove the unreality of it. "This is just some stupid dream. Nightmare. Whatever. Where are you, you bitch? Come on, come on and fight."
"Why would I do that?"
Her doppelgänger was sitting cross-legged on the counter.
"Well done. You caught on quick. Some people never do." It looked at Bobby's limp form and the wailing boy. "That is some cold shit, though."
"They aren't real."
"I grant you, this isn't real, strictly speaking. But it will be, just like your visit with your mom was." It waved its hand, encompassing the whole of the house, the real and unreal both. "This house is a door to the past and future."
"You think I'm that afraid of...all of this?"
"Petrified. You can feel it, can't you? This life, calcifying around you. Your imagination takes over. Your little glimpse of other worlds shadows your day. They call you sick and give you drugs, but you want another child, a girl that you'll name Ursula. Like the stars you remember from the last day that you were free. The delusions take over."
It hopped down. Bobby's head lifted. His eyes had turned milky already. The gash at his throat widened.
"You promised, Marianne."
He and the boy vanished. The wailing echoed in her brain a moment longer.
"Psychotic break. Shocking."
Marianne lunged for it. It laughed, dancing out of range.
"Now, now! I'm carrying a little Bobby Junior!"
It darted toward her and grabbed Marianne's wrist. She screamed; a burning numbness spread up her arm.
"You can avoid this fate. Fulfil your promise. Take your place with him, and all of this is nothing but a bad dream. Stay in this world, and become a murderess, doomed to madness, wasting away in a hospital."
"Fuck you."
It laughed and pushed her away. She stumbled against the kitchen table. It ran for the hallway and she raced after it.
The bright morning light turned back into the dim beige hallway. She staggered to a halt, feeling her stomach and arms and legs. Her normal self restored.
"Ash? Where are you? Ash?"
The breath that filled the hall drew in. Without knowing why she covered her ears.
The scream was deafening. She heard footsteps, heavy ones, rushing toward her and sprinted away. The footsteps fell behind. The even breathing returned. She wiped her eyes.
"Ash, where are you?"
She braced herself, but no scream followed. Instead, she heard whispers.
"Ash?"
She ran down the hall until she saw something she thought was the end. There was a flash of gold door handle. Ash was walking toward it, graceless and stumbling. Marianne could hear a tumble of English and some other language.
"Ash, don't!"
She started to turn. Marianne saw realisation spread across her face. The doppelgänger appeared behind her, arms snaking around her.
"Time to go home, bitch."
Ash flung out her arm. Marianne sprinted forward.
"Marianne!"
The doppelgänger swung her around. Ash vanished into a velvet dark doorway. The doppelgänger faded, laughter lingering in the hall. Marianne took a deep breath and plunged after them.
Chapter 15
She landed hard on a cold stretch of earth, grunting as the air left her.
For a long, long moment she couldn't move, only happy that she was alive to feel pain. It wasn't like her trips through the doors; this had been a long, dark fall, worse than any amusement park ride she'd ever been on, with no end she could see.
Slowly she got to her knees. She spat out bits of grass and what she hoped was dirt, and wiped her mouth. All the while a frantic voice was prodding her to move.
Give me a break.
She checked herself over quickly. Bruised, but not broken. It was her own body, neither a child nor a soft, future version of herself.
It was dark. A cold wind bit at her cheeks. She could see well enough to pick out rolling hillsides that must have been green in daylight, and an indigo blue sky whose stars were half blotted out by clouds. No thick pine forests. No houses or cars. It didn't smell like home, either. It wasn't just the absence of the smell of the mills; the quality of the green things was different somehow.
Fuck me.
She turned slowly, looking for Ash, or even a monster. Anything familiar. As her eyes adjusted she picked out what seemed like an orange-y glow. That had to be a sign of life, right? Or maybe warmth. Wherever she was, the wind was fucking cold.
She searched the ground. She'd been carrying her knife in the hallway. In the kitchen it'd been a butcher knife, but here it was back to itself. She picked it up and started off.
The light, she discovered, was moving. She found a path after some stumbling and a clumsy climb over a stone fence. Two deep ruts were carved into the lane. They didn't look like tire tracks, exactly. She jogged cautiously along. Clods of half-frozen dirt turned treacherously under her boots.
Yeah, break your leg here in the middle of nowhere.
It was quiet for a long time. Just occasional animal sounds, and the wind. Not even the distant hum that meant cars on some road somewhere.
Then a scream, and the sound of sobbing: choking sobs speckled with hysterical fragments of words. They didn't sound English, but she doubted she could have understood them even if they were. The orange glow was hidden behind a low rise, tangling with gangly shadows on the road ahead. She debated a minute or two, then slipped off the road and crawled up to the top of the hill.
Two oblong stones about twenty feet high stood opposite her, covered in moss. Obelisk? N
o, those had four sides. These were rounded, like stretched out eggs. She could see carvings on them that twisted and swayed, reminding her a little of when she looked at her doppelgänger, or her one experience with acid, now that she thought about it. The bits of the stones that she could see were pale. Beyond them was the space/non-space of a door. Men holding lanterns stood in a half-circle in front of them.
They ought to be wearing robes.
They were just dressed like farmers though, like from old paintings, and they had Ash. Her beautiful brown hair was loose, flying around her wildly. They'd tied her to the stones, arms outstretched, and she was straining against the ropes. She should have been able to snap them like nothing.
She isn't a vampire here. Like I was a little girl. Like I was old.
And so this was Ash when she was still a normal human.
One of the men called out. There was a sort of careful command in his voice. Respectful, even in the boom of it. She heard Ash wail, full of terror and despair.
The wavering light of the Thin Place began to splinter into columns. It was perfect darkness beyond, sharpening the lines between light and shadow like the whole world was splitting. Lights appeared, only four, looking like nothing more than sparks at first. The men moved back, breaking up their flickering arc of lamps and disappearing quickly into the night.
The lights came closer. She saw a form, pale with long brown hair, wearing a dress like Ash, following along with them. Her doppelgänger. Ash saw it, too, and her screaming redoubled. Marianne waited until the last flicker of orange was gone, then ran down the hill.
The doppelgänger was talking to Ash, who was shaking her head. The tension in the ropes made Marianne's arms ache in sympathy. Their eyes were glued to each other, Ash in terror, her doppelgänger—
It was something under the skin. Marianne stumbled, filling with the same wrong feeling as when she'd been confronted with her own. This one was close to finished, she thought. This can't have been the first time that it had seen Ash. Those men must have brought her here before. Marianne couldn't tell if that was better or worse than one that spied on you when you slept.
She grabbed one of the ropes and sawed at it. Ash staggered when the tension released, fuzzy and confused.