The scent of decay filled my nostrils. My eyelids were heavy but I forced them open after a few blinks anyways. I opened my eyes to a sky that appeared like dusk. The orange clouds on the horizon reminiscent of sunset. I made a move to sit up but my hands and feet remained motionless. I could feel the tight constriction around each wrist and ankle before I made a look to see the ropes binding me. It was only then that I noticed that the ground beneath me was not soft but hard and cold as ice. A stone slab, I realized. I was tied to what now resembled an stone alter. What was the last thing I could remember? A ball, in my father’s house. A glass of wine in my hand. A handsome stranger with dark eyes asking me to dance. All of this washed over me with disgust as I recalled his fingers on my skin. These memories made me pull frantically at my bindings. As if I could free myself by only allowing myself to forget the sensation. The bindings on my left wrist loosen and I am able to free my hand. I set about untying my other limbs until I am fee of them altogether. I climb off the stone slab, my body shaking and my heart pounding in my ears. The world around me is like that of the forest outside the castle but the scene before me has been repainted in darker tones. Everything around me is cast in shadow and I see now that the sky has turned cloudy and dark. I start to run although in this new landscape I know without seeing that the tall stone walls of my home will not be there to protect me. I run through the trees until I come to the rocky shores of a pond. There are no signs of the life that one would expect. No frogs croaking from lily pads, no fish swimming beneath the surface. Only still silence and the knowledge of this sends a chill down my spine. “I wondered when you would come.” I hear the voice, not from around me in my ears but from deep inside of me. This doesn’t stop me from calling out, “Where are you?” The voice just laughs a deep, rolling chuckle. “What is this place?” I ask. “Don’t you recognize your home?” The voice questions me. “This is not my home.” I responded adamantly. “Sure it is.” The voice almost purrs at me. It is then that I see it. Standing in the other side of the pond is a tall piece of ornately carved wood. The back that is facing me is flat and I start to think that perhaps this is the door. I begin to run again, this time with a purpose towards the door. I hear the voice laughing again. This time it sounds truly menacing. “What do you think my little dove? That you can escape?” I ignore the voice and keep my eyes fixed on the door. I am 50 feet from it now, 40, 30. I begin the slow as I start to make my way around the backside of the wood, searching for a doorknob. I round the edge and almost stumble when I realize that what stands before me on the banks of the pond is not a door but a mirror. At first all I see is a reflection of the dark red of the trees and slivers of moonlight, but as I come into focus my reflection suddenly shifts. No longer am I staring at a reflection of myself but a horrible, ugly beast. It has bull like horns and red, leathery skin. The eyes are glowing yellow and it has hooves in place of feet. “Hello there.” The voice says to me. “What is this creature?” I ask and to my horror, the beast in the mirror moves it’s lips with mine. “Don’t you recognize yourself? Why, my little dove, it is you.”
“Mark, come in here.” Sutton is sitting at his desk shuffling through the piles of papers that he considers his filing cabinet. He looks congenial and I hate to ruin his mood but I have been working for Sutton for about three months now and it is high time that he gets my name right.” “It’s Matt.” I say stepping into his office. “Oh yes, of course, Matt. Well come in here. We have a new assignment.” That explained his good mood this morning. Business had been scarce. I have even been afraid that if things did not pick up soon then I would have to be let go. I thought of my studio apartment that I was struggling to keep and knew that I could not lose this job. Sutton didn’t wait for me to ask what the new assignment was, he immediately started to fill me in. “We had a call this morning from none other than Julia Whitestone.” He says her name with a reverence and I nod my head encouragingly, even though I have no idea who Julia Whitestone is. “She is hiring us to watch her . . . “ “Husband!” I interrupt. Sutton scowls, “No, I was going to say dog.” “Her what?” I can absolutely not believe what I am hearing. How can this be a real assignment? “Mitzi is her prized show dog and she believes that she has gentleman caller visiting her at all hours of the day. She has asked that we come and investigate.” A laugh almost escapes my throat and I have to bury my face in my coffee mug to hide it. “Now we are not to approach the said gentleman caller. We are just to observe and report. If anything nefarious is happening, we are just to alert Mrs. Whitestone and she will take it up with the proper authorities.” Sutton continues in a serious tone. “Why yes, absolutely.” I am nodding my head into my coffee mug. “I’ll be happy to let the dog catcher take matters from there.” “Excellent!” Sutton stands up enthusiastically from his chair and grabs his jacket from the back of his chair. “Let’s get a move on.” Five hours later and we are still parked outside of the Whitestone residence. There has been no activity and no signs of the perpetrator. I’m busying myself with a crossword puzzle and Sutton is snoring in the driver’s seat next to me. I grab another handful of sunflower seats and toss them into my mouth, spitting the shells out of my open window. All of a sudden there is a commotion from the side of the house. “Sutton.” I shake my employer’s arm. No response. “Sutton!” I say again, louder this time and shaking his arm more insistently. Finally his eyelids flutter open. “What is it?” he asks through the drool that his dripped down his stubbly chin.” “I think I heard something.” He nods and opens his door. I get out of the passenger side and close the door just in time to hear the commotion again. Now Sutton and I are both running for the side of the house.
“Do you have your gun, Meyer?” Sutton asks me as we near the gate. “No.” Is all I manage to get out of my mouth. Sutton should know better. We have never done anything exciting enough to warrant either of us carrying a gun, and then there is the small matter of my name. Doesn’t matter, we are opening up the gate and Sutton is holding his hands up as if he is holding a weapon at arms length. He looks absolutely ridiculous but I don’t have time to mention this as I am far too distracted by the set of eyes staring at us from the top of a trash can. Two dark, shiny eyes in the center of a dark mask. A raccoon. It has an upside down triangle shaped face and two little ears. It’s body is dark, with a stripped tale and it is wringing it’s little hands in nervous anticipation. “It’s just a raccoon.” I say relieved. “Are you sure it’s a raccoon.” Sutton asks me, fingers still pointed at the animal as if he could really pull the trigger. “Yes, I am sure.” I say turning around and giving Sutton a pat on the shoulder. “All Mrs. Whitestone needs to do is set some traps.” “Ah yes, well, excellent work Mike.” I shake my head, ready to give up on the name thing for the day and try again tomorrow. “How about we see if we missed any calls. Maybe tomorrow we can hunt down a fox.” I joke as we walk back to Sutton’s honda civic. “Oh I doubt that very much. Foxes are very clever animals.” Sutton tells me. I close my eyes. I need this job, I need this job. “Yes, that they are Mr. Sutton.”
Claire’s head landed gently on her pillow as she let her body collapse into the bed. She was exhausted from a day of sightseeing and the Guinness had relaxed her muscles and thoughts. She could still hear the music rising up from the pub below, but her body yearned for sleep. She blocked out the sound and let herself slip away.
It wasn’t the sun that woke her the next day, despite it breaking through the early morning rain clouds. It was the humming coming from a short and rather large woman. She was bent over so that all that Claire could see was her extensive bottom. She wore a plain linen skirt and Claire could see she had apron stings tied around her waist.
“Can I help you?” Claire asked startled. She sat up in bed, clutching the blankets around her despite her modest pajamas. The woman spun around, surprisingly athletic for her size and Claire could see the woman had rosy cheeks and bright, shiny brown eyes. Her black curly hair stuck out of her bonnet and only then did Claire notice that her outfit seemed out of place. Old but she couldn’t pinpoint the exact date. Like something she had seen on a PBS Masterpiece theater production.
“Mornin’ miss. Just tending the fire and emptying your chamber pot. Will you be needing anything else miss?” The lady tilted her head and waited for a response.
Fire? Claire didn’t remember having a fireplace in her room. Chamber Pot? How much had she had to drink last night? Claire shook her head in confusion but the rotund woman took it as an answer. She scooped up her ash bucket and left the room, muttering Gaelic as she left.
Claire looked down at the blanket she was clutching. What had been a cheap, mass produced duvet cover was now an intricate quilt, old and worn but obviously hand sewn. She threw it off of her and ran to the window. The carpet from the night before had been replaced with an uneven and pitted wood floor that was cold on her bare feet. The window was not like any glass she had ever seen. It was slightly milky and swirled with air bubbles like the Milky Way. It was hard to see through it clearly but she strained to see the street below. Everyone she could see walking along the cobblestone street matched the woman that had invaded her room. They all looked like something out of a play she had seen once. An open carriage drawn by a single horse ambled down the street making Claire gasp.
“Wake up!” She said to herself out loud as she slowly reeled away from the window. She felt like she was going to pass out. The edges of her vision started to blur. She’d never made it past book two of Outlander and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to survive it if this was anything like that. She took a staggered breath. This wasn’t Scotland, and this wasn’t some twisted romance. She just needed to stay sensible and she would find her way home.
It was better this way. It was the right thing to do. It had to be because that’s what he kept telling himself. They would be better without me. All he could feel was the darkness inside of himself. It felt like oil, oozing out of his pores and poisoning everyone he was near. It didn’t matter what his wife told him. Her words seemed hollow as they echoed inside his head. They didn’t need him to stay and depress them. They didn’t want this darkness to swallow them whole like it had him.
He watched as she drove away, tapping her brake lights periodically. It read in his brain like Morse code for goodbye. The day had been warm and sunny. He had cuddled with his grandkids and scared them as they played behind his chair but his body had been on autopilot. His thoughts were far away, shadowed by the darkness.
What had the argument been about? He couldn’t remember. If he was being honest with himself, it didn’t matter. He’d already made his plans months prior. He’d just been waiting for the black sludge to tell him when to make his move. Waiting for an excuse.
He grasped the heavy metal of the shotgun and carried it out the door. When had he grabbed it? All thoughts of danger drowned in the black pool inside his head. This was better, the voice spoke to him. This was how it needed to be.
The sun was just setting over the mountains. He watched it for a few minutes, hoping to calm the voice in his head but it screamed at him. Looking at the retreating car one last time, a tear fell to his cheek. He held the shotgun to his chin and whispered “Goodbye” as he let the voice win.
It had started with an alarm. It rang out annoyingly through the dark. Too early but that was the choice she had made. Pulling on the clothes that had been carefully laid out the night before she made her way through the frosty morning and settled into her warm car for the 2 hour drive. The drive itself was uneventful. She watched the sun rise and sang along to the radio. It wasn’t long before she was sipping cold coffee and looking for a place to park.
She hadn’t left herself much time and already people were scurrying to the sign up table. She gathered up her supplies and followed them, like moths being drawn to the light. She didn’t really care what the race was benefiting but the shamrock on her t-shirt made her smile. She slipped it on over her shirt, grateful for the extra layer of warmer on this cold spring morning. In an attempt to stay warm and look like she was a seasoned athlete, she followed the direction of the other runners. They were jogging in place or stretching out their legs. Everyone was a vision in shades of green. She adored St.Patrick’s day and it seemed the luck of the Irish that this would be her first race.
It was getting close to time now so she allowed her body to be pushed by the crowd to the starting line. Fast runners up front. These were the people that hopped up and down and kept stretching to the whistle. They looked like bridled stallions, just waiting to gallop.
Behind them were the average runners. These people looked less serious. They mainly just bounced around in an effort to keep warmer.
Then there were the runners with dogs. The runners tried to pay attention to starting times while their dogs sniffed each other. In the canines’ heightened sense of excitement they wagged their tails and smacked their lips. This is where she stood. Her dog secured around her waist. He wasn’t much of a runner but neither was she. She looked behind her at the mothers’s with strollers and thought about how many of them would be passing her.
Everyone was close together now. Finally generating the warmth that she had been seeking. The sounds blended together until she couldn’t make out any conversations. She slipped her headphones on and let the scene play out like a movie. Finally she saw the man standing above the crowd as he fired off the starting gun. The serious runners started the wave of movement that ripples back, finally making its way to her. She started to move her feet. It was slow at first with everyone crowded in. The dogs were tripping people in their excitement and she struggled as many did to try and reign in the first explosion of energy from her running buddy.
Somewhere around half a mile the runners finally started to thin out. By now she had fallen into a nice steady pace. Lost in her music and the sound of her breathing. The chaos of her first run began to melt away. This was her first run but it wouldn’t be her last. Somewhere between her disgust for the sport and her craving the feeling of pavement beneath her feet; she had become a runner.
The rain had driven all of the other mourners away. It was coming in sheets now. I hadn’t embraced the rain but I hadn’t scurried for shelter either. I just stood there, numbly letting it trickle through my hair and drip off my nose. It couldn’t feel it weaving rivers down my back anymore because it had soaked through my clothes, leaving them sodden against my skin. Through blurry eyes I stared at the casket. Just minutes before it had been covered with brilliant flowers but now what wasn’t washed away was plastered to the shiny wood like paper mache. Suddenly I was aware that I was being watched. I waited for someone to shout at me “What the hell are you doing?” The sound of the rain beat in my ear drums but the words were never uttered. I looked up to see who else would be allowing Mother Nature to assault them. My eyes landed first on a dainty pair of black pumps. They were clean and obviously well polished, even before the rain. The pumps sat below a neat hemline of a long black peat coat. Thin, blue hands grasped the curve of a large black umbrella. The face that peeked from beneath the curtain of rain dripping off the umbrella was ghostly white, with wide hollow eyes. If I gasped the sound was lost in my throat. I felt the hair rise up on the back of my neck. My feet felt as if they had sprouted roots and dug deep into the ground. I was a part of the landscape now, unable to run away. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a flash of blue. A butterfly. It was gently flapping its wings as if unaffected by the rain that should have been beating against its’ delicate body like artillery. I watched it transfixed as it landed on the unearthly hue of the creature’s hand. Without acknowledging that she had even noticed the butterfly, she slowly turned on her heel and started walking away from me. The roots in my feet shriveled out of the earth and a knot formed in my stomach. Something tugged at me. Without reflection or consideration I followed.
