The Scar

Scar

You’re staring.

Don’t worry. Everyone does. They can’t help it. You probably didn’t realize you stared. Even now, when I’ve caught you, you have no idea why you were doing it. You don’t know why you can’t look away.

And you can’t look away. The fact is, someone could hit you in the head with a fireplace poker, and you would still struggle to look away. You don’t know why. Just like you have no clue what’s causing that sick feeling in your gut, like your intestines are full of frightened parasites all scrambling to escape you, like rats from a sinking ship.

Don’t panic. I’ll tell you. It’s not a secret. I have no secrets. Not anymore. You’re staring at my scar.

Go ahead. Look for it. Search my face, my neck, my exposed arms. You won’t find it. Strange, because you’re looking right at it. Right now, if I asked you to close your eyes and describe my eye color you wouldn’t be able to do it. It’s true. You wouldn’t even be able to describe the color of my skin.

You can’t focus on anything, right now. Nothing but my scar. It’s gnawing away at you and you can barely remember why you came here and what you’re doing and it’s driving you insane that you can’t look at or think about anything else and you can’t even find it.

It’s there. It’s right here. You can’t see it because it’s in a place you’ve never paid attention to, even though you’ve look there thousands of times before. Every time you look at another person, or an animal, or a tree. Because they all have them.

You are staring at me not because of what you are seeing, but because of what’s missing. It’s as if someone stripped all of the color from their skin. You couldn’t help but stare at the colorlessness, because up until that moment you had assumed such a thing was impossible.

I thought so, too. I didn’t mean to do it. I was just bored. I was bored and curious and playing around with my knife. This knife. It’s very special. I don’t know if it was special before I used it to do what I did, or if using it made it so. But it’s special now.

This is the knife I used to reach in and gouge out my own soul. I didn’t know there was such a thing as souls. I still don’t, really. I don’t know what they are, or what they’re for. But I know what it means to lose one. I know what it feels like to rip it out.

Maybe I should have stopped after I started digging. It was like a sore on the inside of your mouth. You know you shouldn’t worry it, but you can’t stop. You can’t stop until you’ve ripped your essential essence from your being. It’s happened before.

You won’t remember. You people never do. I could stab this knife into you and slice off your finger and you would have no idea how it had happened. You’d make up a story. Or someone else would, and you’d believe them. Explanations are like souls. Your mind can’t stand when they’re missing.

I could stab this knife into you, deeper than your finger, deeper than your flesh, deeper than your heart. I could make you like me. You’d remember me, then. Then, only then, you would understand.

But I won’t. Not this time. Instead, I’m going to walk away, and only once I’m out of your sight, only once something mundane and fleshy and full of color blocks your vision will you forget me.

But you won’t. Not really. You people never do. You just pretend. You come up with stories that explain the wriggling in your stomach, the panic that nestles in the back of your mind. The stories amuse us, as we watch you. They’re all we have left.

You still amuse me. So I won’t cut you. I won’t make you like me. Not this time. Not just yet.

Sweet dreams.

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Twigs, Part 2 of 2

scary

Another 37, Day 10

Twigs
A Short Horror Story
Part 2 of 2 (Part 1)

 

It was when I was walking home from school, this time in the spring. Now that I think about it, it was the last day of school, so there was an extra bounce in my step. Most of the time I walked home with my best friend Genna, but her parents had picked her up directly from school so they could set out on vacation straight away. So I was all by myself. I knew I would miss Genna for the weeks she was gone, but summer vacation stretched out in front of me and nothing could bring me down.

I took the long route home along the back roads and over near the edge of town where the rich people lived. Or at least, what he had that passed for rich people. They had gardens in full spring bloom and trees covered in blossoms and it was beautiful. I used to go out for walks by myself all of the time, and even though I liked walking with Genna or my other friends I realized that I missed this solitary time to just be out in nature with no one around to distract me. I wondered why I never did this anymore. A moment later, I remembered.

“Pick us up,” said a deep, scraggly voice just a few feet away from me.

I shrieked and jumped into the air. My bag flew off my shoulder and smacked against the ground. I heard a muffled shattering noise that could only mean the unfinished Snapple in the bottle pocket had broken, and my books and notes would be soaked. I didn’t care.

“No,” I said, half to myself. “No, you’re not real.”

“That’s right,” said the voice. The voices. “We’re not real. Nothing to worry about. Just pick us up.”

I couldn’t do that. Anything but that. I had to get out of here. That’s what I thought, and I barely noticed my outstretched fingers until they brushed against the bark, and felt it pulsate.

“No!” I screamed. I jumped back and began to run. I didn’t stop to pick up my bag. I didn’t turn around to look. At one point I tripped and scraped my knees and my hands, but I just picked myself up and kept on running.

I burst through the gate of my front yard ten minutes later, slamming so hard against the fence that white paint flew off in chips as it crashed against the other side. I hunched over and breathed in ragged, gasping pants. Fire lanced up both of my sides, the scratches on my knees screamed, and my lungs felt like I would cough them out in bloody clots. But at least I was home. At least I was safe.

“We won’t forget about you, little girl.” The words scratched their way into my ears. I turned in horror towards the sound to see a small branch just a few feet away. It undulated on the neatly trimmed grass. “We never forget. So go ahead. Pick us up.”

 

I locked myself in my room that night and hid under the covers. When my mom came to wake me the next day for First Day of Summer Breakfast I told her I was sick and I couldn’t eat anything.

“You do look pretty ragged,” she said as she felt my forehead. “I don’t think you have a fever. Better just get some rest. You look like you haven’t slept in weeks.”

“I feel like it,” I croaked. It wasn’t far off. I hadn’t slept a single minute the night before.

“Poor baby,” she said. “I’ll make you some chamomile, okay? I’ll bring it right up. Let me know if you need anything. I can make you some soup.”

“Maybe later,” I said. My voice was very scratchy. I didn’t like the way it sounded. “Thanks, mom. Mom, can I ask you something?”

I was about to bring it up. The twigs. Then I saw her face. It froze up, into a mask. Before I even said anything.

“Yes?” she asked, her voice utterly empty.

“Nothing, mom. Nothing at all.”

 

I didn’t leave the house for a days. It wasn’t like me, but the rest of the family chalked it up to my illness. I did feel ill, but not for the reasons they thought. So I stayed in and I read books and I watched Netflix and played card games on my tablet. Anything to keep me busy, keep me from thinking. And I tried not to look out the window. They were out there.

Was I going insane? Surely there weren’t really living, talking twigs littering the streets of my town, begging stray girls to pick them up. I tried to tell myself that. That I was crazy, or that I had just had some kind of weird dream. I could almost believe it, except that it all felt so real. I could hear the blend of deep, craggly voices, thick with anticipation as I reached for them. I could smell the lilacs in bloom in the exact spot where it happened. I had always loved that scent, but it now it sickened me.

It took a week before I dared put a foot outside the house. I volunteered to check the mail. It had been my turn a few times, but I got out of my chores because I had been sick. My parents both believed me because I never stayed in this long, and because what kid fakes being sick right after school lets out? But after a week trapped in my own house I felt cramped and restless, and I knew I couldn’t stuff myself inside forever.

So I walked through the front door, hesitantly. I inched towards the mailbox, one step at a time, glancing in all directions and starting at the noise of a squirrel as it scurried up a nearby tree. I made it to the mailbox. I grabbed the mail. I was almost in the front door when I heard it.

“We never forget.”

This was real. This wasn’t going away. I was terrified, but I couldn’t let it keep me from the world. I had to do something. I had to tell someone. Someone I could trust. Genna. I had to tell Genna. She would be back from vacation in a week, and I would let her knew. She was my best friend, and she was the smartest person I knew aside from my dad and my 6th grade math teacher, but I was scared to talk about this to an adult. Genna would believe me. Genna would know what to do.

I counted down the days until her return on my room calendar. The stretched out far, far longer than summer vacation days are supposed to. I went outside a few times. I wore headphones so I could blast my music.  I tried to stay as far as I could away from fallen branches, but it was impossible. Sometimes I saw movement out of the corner of my eyes. Sometimes I thought I heard a voice, and I turned my music up. All the while a single question ran through my head: what would happen? What would happen if I picked them up? The thought terrified me. But at the same time…no. Best not to think about that.

Finally the day of Genna’s return arrived. I texted her in the few days beforehand that I missed her and I really wanted to see her as soon as possible. She said she felt the same. So it wasn’t hard to arrange to go over to her house the day she got back.

“Hey Stace,” she said as she opened her front door and I hugged her. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much,” I said as I stepped in. “It’s just been boring around here without you.”

“I know, right?” she said.

“Hello, Stacey!” her mom called to me we walked through the living room towards the stairs up to Genna’s room.

“Hi Mrs. Beaumont!” I said to her.

“You kids want some snacks?” she asked.

“Maybe later, mom,” said Genna, and we raced up the stairs.

“How was Paris?” I asked.

“It was super fun,” she said. “But I wish you could have been there. And we went to way too many museums.”

I giggled.

“So what’s on your mind?” she asked. “You sounded like you had something way important to tell me.”

“Yeah, it’s…it’s nothing. I was just bored, like I said.” She gave me a skeptical look. I wanted to tell her. I had to tell her. But not just yet. Not when I had this chance to have fun with my best friend and forget about things for a while.

So we sat on her bed and she showed me the pictures she took on her phone at the Eiffel Tower and her “favorite French cafe.” Then we played with her dolls for a bit. We were both way too old to play with dolls, of course, but that’s why we only did it when we were together. Mutually assured social destruction. Then she showed me the fan fiction she was writing and I gave it a Serious Critique.

It was fun, but as time went on my stomach started to twist up. I couldn’t put this off much longer. Did I really want to tell her? I had to. They were still out there. They weren’t going away. If I didn’t tell someone I would scream. So after we ate dinner and I helped her do the dishes we ended up back in her room, and I decided I couldn’t put it off any longer.

“Genna, can I ask you something weird?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Of course.”

“No, I mean, this is really weird. You might not like me anymore after I tell you. It’s that weird.”

“Weirder than when you told me you liked Josh Corbin?” she gave me a wicked smile.

“Yes,” I said, and my voice sobered. “This is serious.”

“Jesus Stacey,” Genna said. “You’re freaking me out. What’s going on?”

I took a deep breath. “Have you ever, I mean, have you ever seen something so strange you couldn’t make sense of it? Like, something…I mean, have you ever heard of a stick, like, a twig or something…talking?”

Genna’s eyes widened, and her face became a mask of horror. I heard her door open behind me, and the sound of footsteps.

“Did you…did you hear a twig speak to you?” She sounded terrified, more scared than I had ever heard her.

“That’s normal,” said a voice behind me. It was utterly without inflection. I turned around and saw her mom holding a tray of cut fruit. Her face was expressionless. “Don’t worry about that. It’s normal.”

“Mrs. Beaumont?” I said. “Are you okay.”

“Everything is okay,” she said mechanically. “Everything is normal.”

I looked back at Stacey, and she regarded her mom in shock. Then Mrs. Beaumont’s countenance softened. “I thought you girls might like some dessert.”

“Thanks mom,” said Genna. And I muttered my thanks as well. Mrs. Beaumont put down the tray and smiled at us and walked out of the room.

“What did you see?” Genna hissed in a loud whisper. “What did you hear, did you…did you touch them?”

“No,” I said. “I mean, almost, I…”

“Don’t pick them up!” Her voice trembled. “For the love of God, Stacey, whatever you do, don’t pick them up!”

“Did you…Genna, have you seen them? Have you heard them, too?”

She shook her head. “Not me. But my sister did. She told me, before…”

“What are you talking about? When did this happen?”

“Isabelle,” she said softly. “ A few years ago. My little sister. Isabelle.”

“Genna, what the hell are you talking about?” I looked at my friend in confusion. The next words were out of my mouth before I had a chance to realize what they meant. What they suggested. “You’ve never had a sister.”

“Yes,” she said as she closed her eyes. “I did.”

Genna and I didn’t talk about it anymore, after that. But things between us were never the same. Sometimes secrets bring people together, and sometimes they make you think about things you don’t want to think about. I didn’t ask her about Isabelle. Maybe I didn’t want to know. Maybe it was because I did want to know, and that scared me even more.

That was a long time ago, now. The twigs were telling the truth. They never forgot about me. Oh, I didn’t always hear them. I didn’t always see them writhing just on the edge of sight. Sometimes years would go by with nothing. But they always came back. And I could never forget them, not for a single day. Any stick, any severed branch could be one of them. Could speak to me, could tempt me.

They’re talking more and more these days. They’re getting harder to resist. Harder to ignore the voices that sometimes come from everywhere. More and more I just want to stop running. I don’t want to be scared anymore. And maybe there’s something else, too. There’s always been something else. Something that made my fingers reach out before I could stop them, so long ago, in that park, in the twilight. Maybe I want to see what happens. Maybe they spoke to me, of all people, for a reason.

It would be so easy. So very, very easy. Then it would be over. Then I would have my answers. The simplest thing in the world. All I need to do is reach out

and pick them up.

Twigs, Part 1 of 2

twigs

Another 37, Day 9

Twigs,
A Short Horror Story
Part 1 of 2 (Part 2)

Ever since I was little I’ve been afraid of twigs. Trust me, I know how ridiculous that sounds. Twigs? I don’t talk about it anymore. Not to anyone. Not since the last time.

It started one day when I was nine years old. I was at Wayland Park during twilight, on one of our Twilight Walks. That’s what the whole family called them, both of my parents and my brother and I would set off towards the park just as the sky started to purple. The two of them would sit on a bench or up against a tree and let the two of us run around as we would until it started to get too dark for them to see us easily. That’s how safe this town used to be.

This particular time it was winter, or late fall. I remember because there was that nipping chill that always makes me think of hayrides and bonfires where everyone wears wool hats and huddles up next to each other for warmth. And I remember the trees. The were bare of leaves, so the park looked like a mass of wooden spiderwebs clustered against the darkening sky. Wayland Park must have evergreen trees, but I don’t remember any of those. Just the craggy, barren fingers scratching at the air. We had just had a windstorm, so there were severed branches all over the ground ground.

I had a favorite tree that I used to play under. It was gnarled and had a huge knot in the middle that I could leap up and grab onto with both my hands. More than a few times I scratched up my forehead doing that, but I didn’t care. My mom would just dab antibiotic ointment on my head and sigh and tell me I was lucky I was so cute.

This evening it was almost full dark, and I knew I could expect my dad’s deep voice to come echoing through the park any minute now to end my fun. I was tired; it was a school night, I think, but I started running around more exuberantly so as to not waste my last few minutes. That’s when I heard it. A voice, but not my father’s.

“Pick us up,” it said. It was scratchy, like someone who just woke up and needed a glass of water.

“Excuse me?” I said, turning around to look. There was no one there. Just an empty patch of ground covered in broken branches from the tree above me.

“Pick us up,” said the voice again. It sounded very strange. Even deeper than my father’s. Too deep to be a regular person, I thought. Like a cartoon voice, only there was something creepy about it.

“Is someone there?”

“Yes, we’re here,” said the voice. “Come on over. Pick us up.”

I saw movement in that direction, on the ground. Was it a squirrel? That didn’t make much sense. Squirrels didn’t talk.

“I can’t see you,” I said. I was getting uncomfortable, but I didn’t want to be rude.

“Yes you can,” said the voice. “You’re looking right at us. Come on. Come over. Pick us up.”

I stared right at it, and I could see exactly where the movement came from. But it was too dark to make out what it was. To this day I have no idea why I walked over towards the voice. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and I had the urge to run away. Maybe I was curious. Maybe I thought it was all in my head. But that’s what I did; I walked towards the voice.

“That’s it,” it said as I approached, and I could tell now that it was more than one voice. “Come closer. Come closer and pick us up.”

I stepped towards it cautiously, another voice in my head screaming at me to flee. But I didn’t. I approached, step by step. I saw what was moving, now. It was several twigs, long and spindly. They shifted around as they spoke. Wriggling, like worms.

“That’s it, little girl. Don’t worry. Just reach down. That’s right. Reach down and pick us up.”

My fingers stretched out in front of me, towards one of the branches. They bent sinuously on the ground, almost as if they were…satisfied. I needed to stop. I couldn’t do this. But I couldn’t help myself. It was like I was watching my hand moving against my will. It was almost there. All I needed to do was close my fingers and the twig would be in my grasp.

“That’s right,” said the voices. They sounded excited, now. “That’s just right. Just like that. Pick us up, little girl. Pick us up.”

My fingers closed. I felt the rough bark against my skin, and it moved under my touch. It writhed.

“Stacey! Jacob!” My father’s voice boomed from somewhere behind me. It shattered the spell. I let go of the stick and pulled my hand away sharply, as if it had been burned.

“Stacey!” The warm voice came again. “Jacob! Come on, kids! It’s time to go home!”

I ran towards the voice like it was the only shelter in the middle of an ice storm. I always ran towards him like that, I told myself. It was normal. It wasn’t because I was scared. Why would I be? Nothing strange had happened. I certainly hadn’t almost picked up a talking, wriggling branch that wanted so desperately to be picked up.

For a couple of seconds as I raced towards my father I believed it. The twigs weren’t making any noise now. I must have imagined it. I decided there was no reason not to glance back, just to prove to myself that nothing had happened. That it had just been a long day, I was light headed from romping about and my imagination got the best of me. No reason not to just take a quick look, just to make sure.

I wish I hadn’t. Maybe then that would have been it. None of the rest of it would have happened. Maybe they would have left me alone. But I did look back. And I saw them. Even more of them, now. Where had they all come from? They shivered along the ground in erratic, staccato motions. Like they were frustrated. Angry. Angry that I had escaped.

 

 

I asked my mom about it a few days later, because it weighed on my mind. I didn’t believe it had really happened, or at least that’s what I kept telling myself. And I didn’t want her to think I was making things up. But I had to ask someone; I needed someone to tell me it was nothing so I could stop thinking about it.

“Mom,” I said to her as we were making turkey sandwiches together. She let me cut the tomatoes as long she was there watching. “Is there such a thing as talking twigs?”

“What do you mean, dear?” she said as she spread mustard onto the bread.

“You know, twigs that can talk. That tell people to pick them up, or something.”

The expression fell off of her face. It went totally blank, like she had just woken up. I barely ever saw that look on my mother, who was always laughing or smiling or crying. Something. Not this blank, empty visage.

“That’s normal,” she said, her voice as flat as her expression. “Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s…normal? For twigs to talk?”

“Yes. It’s normal. Don’t worry about it.”

A chill ran through me. Why was she acting like this? I tried to think of something to say but nothing came. A moment later her usual half-smile returned. I watched it blossom on her face, and when she spoke it was like nothing had ever happened. “Can you pass me the cheese, please? I got this English farm cheddar from Mrs. Wilkins and it’s supposed to be super sharp.”

I didn’t bring it up again after that. I thought about asking my father, but I couldn’t stand the idea of watching his laughter lines flatten out and listening to that stale, mechanical tone in his voice. I didn’t know that it would happen, but the idea scared me. So I kept it to myself, and just hoped that the whole thing would go away.

For a long time it did. Nothing happened, and I stopped thinking about it. I didn’t forget it, and I never touched fallen branches or got any closer to them than I could manage. But that didn’t really affect my life, and more and more I came to believe that I had dreamed the whole thing, or seen it on TV somewhere and imagined that it happened to me. That’s the kind of silly thing little kids do, after all, and once I got into middle school I spent a lot of my time ashamed of all the kiddie things I did and thought and was into. This was just one more of those.

Until it started again.

Finding Blue

Suurjärv (Kurtna jv)

 

Another 37, Day 8

Finding Blue

One day while walking by the lake on her daily visit to her pile of interesting stones, Alycia found blue. It was just sitting there, lying next to the withered log, under the shade of the large willow tree. Except it wasn’t shaded. Alycia saw that even before she realized what she was looking at. Everything else around was darkened by the shadow cast by the tree in the early morning, when the sun was low to the ground and the willow stretched its umbrous fingers far along the lakebed. Everything was darkened except a patch of blue. It made her so curious that she walked right past her stones to investigate. They would still be there when she got back.

As she approached she realized what it was. A patch of blue. Not a patch of something that was blue. Just blue. All by itself, next to her lake, near her stones, unaffected by the shade of her willow tree. She bent down to have a closer look. It didn’t help. She laughed at her own silliness. Of course it didn’t help. You can’t get a closer look at a color, for the same reason you can’t shade a color. If you shade a color that just makes it a different color. It would be like shading a horse and turning it into a mongoose. And to be able to look closer at something it has to have dips and bends and squiggles. Texture. Colors don’t have texture. They just have color.

She dipped her finger into it without hesitation. She didn’t know what would happen but she knew it wouldn’t be bad. Colors can’t hurt you. To her surprise a bit of the blue stuck to her finger as she pulled it away. More than she would have thought. More than her tiny finger with its sparkly lavender nail polish could hold. A whole glob of blue came up with her, or it would have done if blue could glob. Which of course it can’t. But the patch of blue that stuck to her finger was the same size as the patch of blue still on the dirt. She tried to think of a word for the size and shape, and this is what she came up with: blue.

Alycia put her finger in her mouth to see what it tasted like. At this point she wasn’t surprised that it didn’t taste like blue raspberry. She had never thought it would taste like raspberry, but she knew that her sister Candice would say that blue raspberry is what blue should taste like. Even though that was ridiculous. Candice didn’t get things like this, and that’s why Alycia didn’t show her the pile of stones. But she was very good at painting nails.

No, the blue tasted like blue. That was no surprise. What surprise Alycia was that she had tasted it before. Many, many times. In and around and through other flavors, other tastes. It was in the flavor of water when she drank it right after eating a spoonful of ice cream and it cleared her mouth out and made it feel clean. It was underneath the taste of a ripe honey mango, below the bit that tasted like peach if peach tasted a little bit like grapefruit.

And it was in other sensations, too, which she hadn’t realized had flavors until this moment. The way her heart hurt in a good when she watch the fog on the lake on a cold morning. Or the mix of joy and desperation she felt when she neared the end of a really good book and knew she could only see her new friends find their resolution if she also let them go. And she tasted blue the day that her mom shooker her gently out of sleep one morning to tell her that she was leaving and she didn’t know if she was going to come back, and that Alycia should tell her sister and her dad when they woke up.

Alycia shivered. It was cold, this morning. It was always cold this early, but it was colder than usual. Alycia knew that the chill couldn’t hurt her because she had nowhere to be. She had the whole day to herself. She could walk by the lake, she could count her stones or follow the lake to the stream that glowed with pearlescent light when the sun was high above and look for more stones to add to the pile. The cold couldn’t hurt her because she chose it. Just like the lake wouldn’t make her wet unless she dived in. She could walk back to the cabin and cuddle under her fuzzy blanket or ask her father to start a fire.

But sometimes she couldn’t avoid the cold. One time the power went out for three days during winter in their house back in the city, and even burying herself in three blankets and holding Panther tight against her body wasn’t enough to keep her warm. And sometimes there was too much blue in her chest because her vicarious adventures in the Valley of Neversong were over, and even if she read the book again it would never be the same. And sometimes she couldn’t get warm because she didn’t know why mommy would say that, and she didn’t know why her eyes were so sad even though she and dad didn’t fight nearly so much anymore and everything seemed to be getting better.

She took the blue out of her mouth, but the taste lingered. She looked at the patch on the ground. She didn’t know why it was there or where it had come from, but she didn’t really wonder. What was the point? She wanted to walk back to her stones. To walk away and stop looking at and thinking about this strange patch of blue. But she didn’t. She would stay just a little bit longer.

Because blue was there. It was always there and it was sad and it was beautiful and even though she didn’t like grapefruit the mango wouldn’t taste the same without it. It would just taste like peaches, and the world would be very bland if there was only peaches to eat for breakfast. And she would never know how sublime was the warmth of the fire, with her fuzzy blanket over her head and her kitty nestled up on her chest, if she didn’t didn’t remember what it felt like to be cold.

Ari and the Precambrian Archbeast, Part 5

A Planetary Nebula Gallery (NASA, Chandra, 10/10/12)

 

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4

You saw it. On the day that Graemoreax rose up to surround everything and an eleven year old girl soared towards its massive form, you saw it. We all did. We just didn’t know what we were looking at. We so rarely do. And so we didn’t notice. And we didn’t remember.

A strange sensation coursed through Ari’s body as she burst through the earth’s atmosphere and out towards the sparkling firmament. It felt tingly, like the air right before a summer storm. Times a thousand. It was so intense she could barely stand it, but it wasn’t a bad feeling. On the contrary. She felt excited. So excited she thought her bones were going to leap out of her skin and dive into the luminescence.

That’s what it is, she thought. I’m diving into starlight.

It pressed against her body, rubbed against her hair and made it stand on end. She had spent so much time looking up into the starry night, drinking in the tiny trickle of magic that made it down to the ground. Now it was everywhere. She was swimming in a Van Gogh painting. Her tiny ship of cards had punched through the barrier that separated all of the dense, gravity bound creatures that scurried across the earth from the liquid light of the heavens.

She laughed, and the sound was as loud as a gunshot in her ears. It was so…terrestrial. So real. It didn’t belong here, somehow. The things that swam in the interstellar ocean did not laugh. But at the same time it was not unwelcome. She didn’t get a sense of fear from the enormous creature she now hurtled towards. Most likely, these things didn’t fear, either. What could something like this possibly be afraid of?

But no, that wasn’t quite right. This thing wasn’t afraid of her. At least, she didn’t think it did. It was hard to read its facial expressions when it had a billion billion faces, and none of them really worthy of being called that. The way it looked at Ari felt more like curiosity or fascination than fear. But just because it was big and powerful didn’t mean it couldn’t be afraid. Elephants were afraid of mice. Uncle Jacob had a friend who was a mixed martial arts champion, but she was so afraid of pathogenic microorganisms that she brought pockets full of sanitizing wipes with her wherever she went. Even though she had never actually seen a single amoeba.

The creature grew larger and more clear as Ari approached, but she still couldn’t make out its features very well. It was like it didn’t really have features. It was shadow and flame, like a Balrog. Like, Morgoth, who had made the Balrogs. No, like the thing that had made Morgoth.

She approached incredibly quickly. She looked behind her and she could barely see the earth. No, she couldn’t see the earth at all.

Because my eyes are closed.

The realization surprised her. She hadn’t noticed that her eyes were still closed. It felt natural, and she had no inclination to open them now. She wouldn’t be able to see anything if she did. The glowing nebulae around her lit up the universe around her more brightly than full moonlight, but if she opened her eyes there would be nothing but darkness.

The one thing on the being that she could see more palpably as she neared were its mouths. It seemed to be almost entirely made of mouths. The burning darkness that only suggested a shape was there merely to bind the mouths together. So they wouldn’t fly off. But still, she couldn’t make out any more actual detail on the mouths. They didn’t become clearer, as such. It was more like they became more real. More solid. They still looked like the rough approximation of mouths. No, that wasn’t it. Like proto-mouths. What mouths looked like before the universe had the physics and matter to make lips and teeth and gums.

But mouths they were. As she neared she noticed that they moved. The entire creature was moving, uncoiling around like a great, many-bodied snake. But the mouths moved in unison with each other, and it was a different kind of movement than the rest of it. Its body slithered as if pacing, or like a person shifting weight from foot to foot. The mouth movement was more directed. More conscious. They were opening. Every single one of its uncountable number of mouths was opening. Every. Last. One.

Horror welled up inside of her at the realization.

It’s going to eat me! The thought screamed through her head. Instinctively, she yanked on the throttle-stick in her hand. Her Ship of Cards screeched to a halt. With a sickening wrench her body flew forward, and she crashed into the hull just a few inches from the front of her face. The thin plastic walls collapsed the instant she collided with them. Cards sprayed out everywhere as the ship burst into pieces. Ari’s body hurtled forward, unsupported, into the brightly colored vacuum of space. Towards the creature. Towards its infinite open mouths.

Panic seized Ari’s entire being. She was in space. She couldn’t breath. She clamped her mouth shut and pressed her hands over her nose. How much oxygen did she have left? Was she going to freeze, her blood turn into beautiful red crystals floating in the endless darkness?

Light flashed in her vision and her head swam as her brain struggled for air. Images spiked into her mind, sharp and clear and strong. She saw madre, splashing paint onto her face with a wide-bristled brush. She felt daddy’s arms underneath her armpits as he picked her up and twirled her around underneath the dappled forest sunlight of their backyard. And she saw Uncle Jacob. He smiled up at her, sadly, from some place very far beneath her. He was somewhere very strange. His eyes shown up at her like twin moons. His teeth were bright, and the twinkled like stars.

BREATH.

The voice that uttered the word was so surprising, and so enormous, that she dropped her hands from her mouth and gasped without realizing it.

“What?” she said.

BREATH, the voice said again, shaking the universe around her like a volcano had erupted next to each one of her ears. BREATH. YOU ARE SAFE.

“I…I am?” As she said it, she realized it was true. She could breathe quite normally, although it didn’t exactly feel like breathing. And she wasn’t hurtling through space anymore, either. Had she ever been? She couldn’t quite remember. It was like waking up from a dream. But the ground beneath her feet was perfectly solid. She looked down, and gasped again.

Beneath the soles of her shiny black shoes, she stood on…something. It was kind of like scaly skin, and kind of like lava, and kind of like what darkness would look like if you could make it into paving material . She didn’t know what it was made of, but there was no mistaking what it was. She stood on the skin of the creature with the infinite mouths. She had arrived.

YOU ARE SAFE. Ari threw her hands up to cover her ears, but it didn’t help. She felt like the voice was going to shake her apart.

“Do you have to talk like that?”

IT… the creature hesitated. It was caught off guard. Ari was surprised that such a thing could be caught off guard by a simple question. THIS IS AS IT SPEAKS. Ari’s brain rattled inside of her skull.

“Well it isn’t very pleasant,” said Ari. “Can’t do you something about it?”

There was a long pause. Ari tried to read what it was thinking on its many faces. They filled her entire vision, and in shape and form were utterly inhuman. Not even like an animal, or anything spun from the matter of the universe. But all the same she thought she saw contemplation, there. Like someone trying to work out a challenging but not impossible math problem. She could also see that its mouths were still opening. Very slowly, but they were opening. Was it still going to eat her? Clearly it didn’t need its mouths to speak. Not like a person did.

“It is done,” said the creature in a much softer voice. Now that it wasn’t shaking her apart, she could hear its tone and timbre. It sounded to Ari like a whole bunch of voices speaking together in chorus. Some were deep, and some were high, and even though they were simultaneous she could pick out the thread of each individual voice. It was strange, but not altogether unpleasant. She decided she had probably been wrong to think it wanted to eat her. At the very least, there was no use fixating on that right now.

“Thank you,” said Ari. “My name is Ariana. Ari, though. What is your name?”

“It is called GRAEMOREAX.” The last word was enormous, again. Like it was the only way to say it. Most of the voices uttered that word. Graemoreax. They stretched it out, each syllable resounding across the brightness around her. But others of the creature’s myriad voices said other things. “Archkthonios,” whatever that was, and something about “uncountable toothless maws” and “burning at the heart” of something or other. One tiny, beautiful voice said, “devourer of the eversong,” and it made Ari’s heart ache.

So that’s what happened to the eversong, she thought, though she had no idea why.

“Nice to meet you, Graemoreax,” the name felt flat on her tongue. It wasn’t the same name as the creature had uttered. Anymore than saying the word “tsunami” is the same standing underneath the wave as it crashed down.

There was another long pause. Then Graemoreax said, “It is pleased as well.”

“What do you mean, it?” Ari asked. “Aren’t you it?”

The creature paused again, and once again its “faces” looked contemplative and puzzled. Perhaps this thing was slow to react because it was so large. Or perhaps Ari was merely asking difficult questions.

“We are it,” said Graemoreax’s many voices. “We are pleased.”

“Good enough,” said Ari. She opened up her mouth to ask “what are you,” but then she realized that it had already answered. GRAEMOREAX. That was the answer. The creature had told her what it was, in a deeper and more comprehensive way than she herself could have answered the same question. This thing knew exactly what it was, and it had told her. She didn’t entirely understand its answer. But then, she hadn’t really expected to.

Ari didn’t know what else to say. It was almost funny; she travelled god-knows how many light years to get here, on a magic ship made of cards, and now she stared at this impossible, gargantuan beast and an impossible, gargantuan awkward silence hung between them. It was always this way when she met new people. Why should this be any different? She knew what she wanted to ask, but she couldn’t. Not yet. It might ruin everything. But she had to say something. So she asked the first important question the jumped to her mind.

“Why are you?”

It was out of her mouth before she realized it. She had long since learned not to ask questions like that anymore, because adults didn’t like to answer them and tended to brush her off when she asked. She asked Uncle Jacob why that was, once. His answer didn’t make very much sense.

“People are uncomfortable with too much curiosity.”

So Ari was surprised when Graemoreax’s gargantuan heads perked up all at once. So much movement in her field of vision made Ari’s head swim. It turned its many gazes upon her with increased intensity.

“That question has no answer,” it said.

Ari grimaced. “Is that just a fancy way of saying you don’t know?”

Graemoreax paused again, and then said, “We are before ‘why.’ We are of a time without reason, before reason. There is no why. We are.”

Ari considered this for a long moment. It occurred to her that her face must have the eleven-year-old girl equivalent of the ponderous look that had just possessed Graemoreax’s features. She wondered if the creature was trying to read her thoughts the way she had tried to read its. She shook this thought away and turned back to considering the strange thing it had just said.

“No, I don’t think so,” she said finally.

The infinite featureless holes that passed for Graemoreax’s eyes glared down at her. “We are before time. We are before matter. We are before mind and causality and reason. In the primordial destruction that spawned us—before spawning, before destruction, before the primordial—we were…”

“Okay, so you’re old,” Ari cut it off. “That doesn’t mean you have no why. It doesn’t mean you don’t matter.”

NOTHING CREATED US, its earthquake voice boomed out of it once more, and its coils shook beneath Ari’s feet. She had to grasp tightly to the coils of blackness that grew from its skin like hairs to keep from being hurled into space.

Then it steadied itself, and continued. “We are undetermined. We no not matter, as you say, because we cannot. We have scoured every syllable of the Pits of Transcendent Articulation. We have raked our molecular claws across every crystalline grain of the Desert Behind.”

The space around Graemoreax bent into shapes and colors as it spoke. Half-formed images of the impossible vistas it described. Ari could almost feel those sharp grains between her fingertips.

“We have fought battles that raged on for three forevers. We have burned stars upon bonfires built from the charcoal of dried galaxies, and read the divinations in the castoff ashes. We have resonated along every note of the Neversong. There is nothing. We are nothing, and we grow weary.”

With each word she felt its weariness. It lay over her like cold, soaking woolen blanket. It pressed her down, made her flesh clammy. She wanted to lay down, go to sleep, never wake up. She felt its longing, its quiet, lonely desperation, its endless fatigue that could wear down planet-sized mountains. Its spark had dimmed long enough, and it had gone to the stars, only to find no rest their, either.

Gone to the stars.

Anger spiked through her as she realized what she was hearing. “You’re giving up!” she shouted, and she knew it was true. “You’re giving up! Why does everyone give up? It’s so stupid, you people! You all give up! Just like madre. Just like, just like Uncle Jacob…” her voice trailed off.

“We did not give up,” said Graemoreax. “We cannot. We searched, and found nothing. There is nothing.”

She gasped in horror as it hit her. She looked up at it, at its gigantic, uncountable mouths. They were opening. Every single one of them was opening.

“You weren’t going to eat me,” she said softly. “You were going to eat everything. The entire universe.”

“There is nothing,” it said again, this time with a hint of desperation. Of defensiveness. “We searched. For so very long. We clung to our fire. It burned, and it dimmed, and still we searched. For so long. We found nothing. That is all that is to be found. It is all you will find, if your fire burns long enough.”

“Just because you found nothing doesn’t mean it wasn’t there!” Ari snapped.

“We have experienced everything in the four universes. Tasted every star, mingled with every mind, spanned every…”

“Have you met Hobdob?”

Graemoreax stared down at her, saying nothing.

“He’s a grass goblin. He has tufts of grass coming out of his ears like hair, and he writes terrible poetry about ferns and lilacs getting together and falling in love, and he’s delightful.” She put defiance in this last word.

“We…”

“How about Sinifi?” Ari continued. “She’s a nightingale. She sang herself out of…out of a fragment of the eversong. What, you thought you’d eaten it all up?”

Graemoreax’s eye-holes widened.

“What about Wonder Woman? Have you ever dressed up as Wonder Woman? Well?”

NO.

“Ha!” Ari laughed. “How can you say you’ve experienced everything in the, what was it, four universes? How can you say you’ve experienced everything if you’ve never even dressed up as Wonder Woman? All you need is a sparkly protractor. You people are all the same. There’s a billion-grillion things that you don’t know anything about, because you haven’t ever even stopped to give them a chance. Daddy says Hobdob isn’t real because you can’t pick him up and put him on the hood of your car.” Tears burned her eyes, but she didn’t care. “Well so what? Lots of things aren’t real. You can’t touch them. Like love and dreams about billions of fireflies and…and Darth Vader. But they’re there. And they’re amazing.”

Ari paused to catch her breath. She was ranting, now, but she didn’t care. But before she could continue, Graemoreax spoke again.

“You can do these things?”

“I can…what?”

“You can show us these things?” Graemoreax asked again. “These…sparky protractors?”

“Yes!” Ari cried out. “I can show you all of it! Everything! We can dress you up as Wonder Woman and we can sail the seas of grass and…we can go to the Desert Behind, and I can show everything you missed last time. Because I’m sure there is a lot of stuff. In the sand.”

It stared at her for another long moment.

“Very well,” it said.

It look Ari a moment to register what she had just heard. “Very well?”

“It is so.”

“So you’re not going to eat the universe? Universes?”

“We will let you show us what it is we have not seen,” said Graemoreax. “If there truly are such things.”

“So you won’t devour the universes if I can prove to you there is stuff worth not-devouring?”

“That is so. We will give you twelve breaths.”

Twelve breaths?” Ari said. “Only twelve breaths? That’s not very…wait, how long is one of your breaths?”

Once again the space around the creature shifted, colored, and shaped. She saw a great blue sphere. It took her a second to realize it was a planet, seen from high above. It took her another second to recognize the outline of the single, enormous landmass surrounded by oceans. It was the continents of the earth. All of them, joined together as one. Before they broke apart. Ari burst out laughing.

“It’s a deal,” she said.

“Very well,” said Graemoreax. Did it sound excited, or was it just her imagination. “Lead on.”

Ari took a deep breath, and nodded. “I will. But I should probably get back to my birthday party first. People are probably…well, okay, they’re probably not worried. But I should still get back. Is that alright with you?”

The heads all nodded. Every single one of them. It was a startlingly human gesture.

“Just one more question before I go,” said Ari. Now was the time to ask. It couldn’t wait any longer, and she had to ask. “Are you real? Is any of this real? Is this really happening?”

Graemoreax gave another one of its long pauses. She was going to have to get used to that.“We are not real, Ariana,” it said at last. “None of this is real. Yes, all of this is happening.”

She nodded again. “That makes sense. Sort of. So how do I get back?”

“It is simple,” said the creature. “You already know.”

“Yes,” said Ari. “I suppose I do.”

Then, for the first time since she had sailed off in her magic ship, she opened her eyes.

 


 

 

“There you are, sweetie.”

Ari heard madre’s voice from behind her as she walked through the hall. There were still a few people left, standing in the corners of the house, chatting quietly with empty cups in their hands.

“Yes,” said Ari. “Here I am. Is there still any cake left?”

“No,” said Madre. Then she smiled. “But I save a piece for you.”

Ari walked over and wrapped her arms around her mother. “Thanks, madre. You’re the best.”

“Happy birthday, Ariana.”

Ari smiled turned to walked into the kitchen to get her cake.

“You’re friend was asking where you were,” said Madre.

“My friend?”

“A black boy,” said madre. “With pretty eyes. Someone from school?”Ari blushed a little and nodded. “He said to tell you he’d see you.”

“Oh,” said Ari. She didn’t know how to feel about that, just now. She decided not to think about it.

“So where were you?” Madre asked. “I barely saw you the entire party.”

Ari grinned. “I went to the stars,” she said. Her mother’s eyes widened, just a little. “I went to the stars, and then I came back.”

She thought for a moment that madre was going to ask what that meant. But then she didn’t. “That’s nice. You enjoy your cake, dear.”

“I will, madre.”

Ari turned once again and walked towards the kitchen. She was grateful her mother had saved her a slice. It was very good cake. Of course, she’d had plenty of cake at the party, and if she had any more she would feel terrible the next day. But that didn’t matter.

It wasn’t for her.

Ari and the Precambrian Archbeast, Part 4

Attack Of The Playing Cards

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3

Imagine you are hand-washing dishes. The sink is full of soapy water, and you are scrubbing away at the dried tomato sauce stuck to a plate from your favorite mocha-colored tableware set. Your fingers are starting to prune, but it’s a little cold in the kitchen and the warm water feels good on your hands.
You aren’t really thinking much about the task of cleaning plates and cutlery. Your mind wanders to something a friend told you earlier today involving a rumor for an upcoming movie about panda bears you’re both excited about, and you’re wondering if the rumor is true. Then, all of a sudden, the plate in your hand begins to sing.

It lets out a slow, sonorous note that resonates throughout the kitchen. For a moment you entertain the idea that you are imagining it, or that the music is coming from somewhere else. The thought passes quickly. As crazy as it is, there is no denying the reality of what is happening in front of you. Your plate is singing. You barely have time to even gawk in amazement when the sponge in your other hand joins in, a smooth tenor joining the plate’s resplendent baritone.

They are singing opera. You know barely anything about opera, but this is unmistakable. The words are in what might be German, but it doesn’t matter that you don’t recognize them and can’t understand them. They are stirring. A moment later the soap bubbles chime in a high chorus of joyous soprano voices that crackle and pop in the air exactly the way you would expect soap bubbles to sound if they were operatic sopranos.

You’ve never cared for opera before, but that doesn’t matter. You’ve never really heard it before. By the time the tomato sauce on the plate adds its tones of loss and heartache to the mix, you can barely move. You are paralyzed as your mind is moved in more new and powerful directions than any previous moment in your life. You have no idea how to react to this impossibility that fills the world around you. Should you be freaking out that you are either going insane or will have to rethink everything you have ever known about sentience and life and the entire universe? Should you just give in and burst into tears at the sublime beauty of it all, and worry about everything else later? Are you moved because it is a beautiful performance, because your plates are singing, or because you suddenly realize the world has had glorious opera and singing plates all along, and you are only just now coming to notice?

Do you have all of that in mind? Good. Now ditch all of it, and imagine that you are a precambrian archkthonios, who was ancient when the second universe was birthed from the egg that remained when the black sun that first shone darkness upon the primordial destruction before existence collapsed in upon itself. You are Graemoreax, and the opera-singing-plates-and-sponges metaphor is a single trickle in the planet-sized ocean of what washes over you when, against everything you have ever known and believed, an eleven year old mortal girl stands on a pile of coats and looks up into infinite featureless holes that pass for your eyes.

 


 

“I have to get closer,” said Ari. She knew it was ridiculous as she said it. This thing was nested in the stars millions of light years away. Plus, as far as she could tell it was larger than the entire universe. It wasn’t really up anymore than it was down. But none of that changed the fact that when she strained and stood on her toes she could see it more clearly. It didn’t make sense, but that didn’t make it less true.

“What is it?” asked Stefan. Even in her nearly overwhelmed state, Ari noticed that he didn’t sound either dismissive. Just excited. And curious.

“I don’t know,” said Ari. She put her hand over her eyes to block out the sunlight, but that didn’t help. She couldn’t see the sunlight through the ceiling. Just the stars. As she strained to look the enormous thing began to uncoil itself from its nest, like a billion snakes unfurling their bodies together. “It has a lot of heads. Well, maybe it does. I see a lot of mouths.”

“How many heads?”

“I…” the question took her aback. She tried to count them but she couldn’t. It wasn’t that there were too many; she couldn’t even count to one. As soon as she started she got confused. The numbers slipped off of the creature like water off a newly waxed car hood.

She grimaced. “If only I could see it better. I need to get closer.” She felt Stefan take her by the hand. She turned her gaze away from the impossible creature and looked into his eyes.

He grinned up at her. “Do you know how to get to the roof?”

 


 

Graemoreax knew about mortals and mortality, of course. The same way you know about dish soap. And in the same way it believed it knew what they were. It was there when every ingredient that made them up first came into existence, from the entropy that allowed for their ephemerality to the meat that serves as the platform for their evolution, maturation, and decay.

It knew exactly how much of the Devouring Allmind’s sundered mentality could exist within each body, and the complex machinery of cells, chemicals, and electrical impulses that shaped their functions. It had witnessed the generation from the latent energy of space of every photon that would ever bounce off of every mortal’s retina and join its brethren to paint a momentary picture of the tiny slice of the universe just in front of its eyes. In its enormous mind it understood all of these things, with a depth that no scientist, philosopher, academic, or occult magician ever would or could.

Yet absolutely none of that explained how and why an eleven year old girl now stood on a pile of coats and looked up into the infinite featureless holes that passed for its eyes. Every one of its uncountable heads shifted towards her. For the first time in hundreds of millions of years, every fragment of Graemoreax’s gaze turned towards a point in the universe small enough to fit into the trunk of a vehicle owned by one of the beings that lived on the life-bearing planet that orbited the brightest star in the galaxy that had coalesced inside its discarded toe-claw.

A sensation filled the archkthonios that, if translated to human terms, could only be called intense excitement. It had been a long, long time since last it felt like this. The allure of the mystery pulsed through its entire being, and is spasms could be felt throughout the four universes. It knew this might be a phantasm. A false trail, like so many others. It held only the tiniest flicker of hope that there might be even the hint of an answer to its question in the enigma of this mortal child. A flicker it might be, but eons had passed since it had last felt that much warmth.

Amidst the excitement, the Bearer of the Uncountable Toothless Maws that Snapped at the Black Dawn also felt something like gratitude that this new puzzle did come wrapped up in a mortal. Mortals occupied their forms for such a very short period of time, and they were so uncomplicated. It would simple to investigate this phenomenon before it finished devouring the four universes.

As she crawled up the pull-down ladder that led from the attic to the hatch that opened onto the roof, Ari was aware that the thing nestled in the stars stared at her. She didn’t feel it on the back of her neck the way that heroines did in stories. No, she could see it. Whatever direction she looked with her daydream-vision the creature’s eye-holes gazed back at her.

 


 

“Wow,” said Stefan as he emerged onto the roof. “You can see pretty far from here.”

Ari poked her way out of the hatch and pulled herself to her feet. Stefan was right. Even though this house wasn’t nearly as big as their Summerfax home, it was still the tallest house on the block. She could see out to all of the other houses and shops that made up this part of town. Bathed as it was in the light of all the colored stars, it was almost beautiful. Almost.

“It’s so windy!” Stefan exclaimed. He stretched out his arms and twirled around.

The wind made Ari’s eyes tear up and her chest ache the way lakes on overcast days or pan-flute music did. The way she felt when she thought about Uncle Jacob up there in the stars. The kind of sadness that poetry was made out of. The stiff October breeze carried the scent of changing leaves, and something else she couldn’t quite place.

“Stars,” she said as it dawned on her.

“Huh?” asked Stefan.

“The wind. It carries the scent of stars.”

Stefan’s expression became serious. “You’re right,” he said. Then he grinned again. “I’ve smelled that before but I never knew what it was.” Ari nodded.

“Can you see it better from here?” asked Stefan. “The monster?”

“It’s not a monster,” she said, and she realized it was true. At the same moment she noticed it’s myriad eyes do something very strange. They widened. In surprise? Could this thing be surprised, and by something she said? She was so small.

“So what is it?” asked Stefan. “Can you describe it?”

Ari shook her head. “I still can’t see it very well. I have to get closer. I have to get up there.”

“To the stars.” Stefan said. It wasn’t a question.

Ari groaned in frustration. How in the world was she supposed to get up there? She couldn’t fly. Even if her nightingale friend from Summerfax was here she doubted she could have carried her that for. She had a stuffed winged-hippo in her bedroom, Lorelei, but she was far too big to fit on Lorelei anymore.

“That settles it,” said Stefan. “You need a spaceship.”

“A spaceship?”

“Yes. A magic spaceship.”

Ari scrunched up her face. “And how are we supposed to get a magic spaceship?”

Stefan smiled again, showing all of his teeth. “I’ll make you one. I’ve just so happen to have some magic right here.” He slapped his hand against the back of his pants.

“In your butt?” Ari asked, confused. “You have magic in your butt?”

Stefan roared with laughter. “Well, yeah, but I meant in my pocket.”

He reached behind to where his shirt hung over his pants and pulled out a deck of playing cards. It was a little bigger than a normal deck. He must have had very large pockets. The case was made out of leather rather than the usual plastic, and when he took the cards out Ari saw that they didn’t look like normal cards, either. They looked a little like the tarot cards madre used to read before she stopped doing things like that. But they weren’t tarot cards. They had the same suits and characters as playing cards, only the art was fancier and more stylized. Older-looking. And unless Ari was mistaken, they were hand-drawn.

“Where did you get those?” asked Ari.

“Nicked them. Like I said.”

Ari knew from Uncle Jacob, who had spent a lot of time in London, that “nicked” was a British word for “stole.” She wondered vaguely where Stefan had learned the term.

“From the magician?” she asked, remembering how the magic mime daddy hired for the party had lost his cards.

The party, she thought. It seemed so strange to think that the worst birthday party she had ever had was still going on underneath her feet. Still going on despite the stars being out during the day, and this enormous creature wrapping itself around the universe. Probably no one down there realized she was gone. But they were probably all wondering where Stefan was. The thought could have filled her with resentment, but it didn’t. He’s up here. With me.

“Like I said,” said Stefan. “Magic!” He laid the cards out on the roof leaned two of them up against each other to make a V, which he then reinforced with a card perpendicular to either side. “Perfect for spaceship building.”

Ari clapped with delight. “Perfect.”

She watched as Stefan began to stack structure upon structure to build his Ship of Cards. Every so often he pulled a card out of his palm or his sleeve with sleight of hand just to make Ari laugh. Neither of them questioned why the wind, which even now made her hair whip along her face and his shirt billow out into a flapping sail, did not disturb the delicate shape that emerged from Stefan’s hands. After all, the cards were magic, the wind was scented of stars, and Ari was about to fly up to meet a creature with infinite eyes and uncountable mouths whose body surrounded the universe. What was there to question?

 


 

Graemoreax did not hunger for the ingestion of the four universes. It opened its mouths on that day not out of desire, but out of a deep conviction throughout its being that there was nothing in the universe to desire. But as it watched this mortal girl and her companion build a transportation vessel out of cards to carry the girl up and out of the gravity of both her world’s mass and the conceptual stasis of its collective thoughts, the precambrian archkthonis hungered to see what would happen. Its gaze fixed on each and every discrete atomic moment as one collided into the next, watching the scene at the tiniest scale, where causality and time and impossibility melted into the intoxicating liquid of absolute possibility.

The gaze of Graemoreax is not like ours. It is not a passive observer, recording and translating into a limited mind the impressions that collide with its sensory equipment. It is absolute. It defines and reinvents whatever it observes, and is at the same time defined and reinvented by it. Graemoreax willed that this unlikely vehicle should bring Ari up to meet it, and so it did. At the same time, Graemoreax willed this because it was already so.

It watched as the two children struggled to find a way to fit Ari into a ship that was much smaller than her physical body. Its attention was completely unswerving as, against everything that should, they figured it out. Their solution worked because Graemoreax willed it to be so. It willed it to be so because their solution had already worked.


 

“Do you have it?” Ari called down to Stefan.

“Yeah!” he yelled back. “It’s perfect! Go ahead!”

Ari gave him a thumbs up, closed her eyes, and started to walk forward. A thrill of fear spiked through her at the thought that she was now walking along her roof, thirty feet off the ground, with her eyes closed. She wasn’t afraid of heights under normal circumstances. She had been climbing trees since her limbs were long enough to reach from branch to branch. One of madre’s more successful sculptures was of Ari climbing the rocks behind the art history museum. Or at least, that’s what madre said the sculpture was supposed to be. It was hard to tell.

But this was different. All of those times her eyes had been open. She had been in control. Now she was blind as she put one foot carefully in front of the other and felt the fierce wind as it attempted to knock her off onto the pavement below. She could see nothing at all of the roof, which right now felt like flimsy support indeed. She could see nothing at all of the world around her. She could only see with her other sense. With her dreams. And there was no roof, there. Just the creature. And the stars. And, she realized with astonishment, the spaceship.

Oh my god, she thought as she observed the complicated, card-based machinery that revealed itself to her closed eyes. This is actually going to work.

“I can see it!” she cried out in delight. “It’s right in front of me!”

“Awesome!” said Stefan. “Keep going. You’re right on track.”

It was a little difficult to hear him over the wind as she took step after step towards her goal. It had been half his idea and half hers, for him to crawl down to the lower portion of the roof and look up at her. From his more distant, angled perspective, the Ship of Cards was larger than she was. If she looked at it with her eyes she would walk right past it. But as long as he was the only one looking she should be able to fit right in.

“You’re almost there!” called Stefan. “Just a few more steps!”

“I know,” she said softly, though she knew he couldn’t hear her. She strode forward more confidently now. The fear gripping her chest didn’t ease. It tightened, and it took her a few moments to realize that it had changed. She was no longer afraid that she would walk off the roof, or that this wasn’t going to work. She was afraid that it would. She wanted to fly up to the stars and see this creature. She needed to. But at the same time she was terrified.

What if it doesn’t want to talk to me? But she pushed the thought down, and took another step.

“You’re in!” Stefan hooted. “You’re in!”

Ari inhaled to calm herself, and breathed in the stars. She was in. She closed her eyes more tightly to keep hold of everything in her mind. All around her she could just barely see the structure and controls of the ship. Like something out of the corner of her eyes, glimpsed but never seen. She reached out and grasped something jutting out in front of her. It was a scepter, held by a the queen of diamonds. It was the throttle of a starship. It was both.

“Stefan!” she said loudly against the wind, which seemed to be blowing even harder, now. “Thank you! I’m going now!” She heard him call something back to him but she couldn’t make out what it was. She didn’t have any time to waste. This had to happen, and it had to happen now.

She pulled down hard on the throttle. There was a click, and then a lurch that made her head swim and her stomach turn over. Her nostrils caught a whiff of fire, and exhaust, just barely detectable beneath the scent of autumn leaves. The world around her began to shake. It shook so hard she felt her bones rattling beneath her skin. At the same time she barely felt it. There was a loud, deafening noise that faintly registered in her popped eardrums. The whole world lurched again, and she was gone.

 


 

Stefan watched as a gust of wind picked up and blew over his card spaceship just a few seconds after Ari stepped inside of it. The slivers of plastic whipped into the air and flew off of the roof and out into the sky. He put his hand along the side of his face to block out some of the wind so he could see better. It was sharp, and he was starting to get cold. The cards dance around each other as they rose higher and higher up. Towards the firmament. Towards the stars.

“Ari,” he said, “do you see that?”

But Ari was gone. Of course she was. Wasn’t that the whole idea? Stefan didn’t pause to consider whether Ari was really flying up in a magic spaceship to have some kind of meeting with a gigantic tentacular monstrosity. He didn’t take the time to wonder if he had just witnessed the most singular and miraculous occurrence of his entire life.

Instead, he climbed back up to the top roof, opened up the hatch to the attic, and crawled back down into the house. Where, even if it had been night time, he would have been unable to see the stars.

Ari and the Precambrian Archbeast, Part 3

Carina Nebula

Part 1

Part 2

One of the games Ari liked to play was collecting moments. When she thought back about her life it was a sea of hazy memory-liquid with the occasional glowing moment-fish standing out. The important moments, yes, but also the defining ones. And the ones she remembered for no reason but because they were funny or sad or just really obvious at the time.

Like the moment that she had the best piece of fried chicken in her entire life. Or the moment she realized that the concept of sunlight killing vampires came from the movies and not old historical vampire lore. These moments were bright and shiny when she looked back at them, but the game was to identify them as they actually happened. It was a way to live in the here and now. To pay attention, the way Uncle Jacob always said she should.

For example, Ari found it very easy to identify the moment that her eleventh birthday party officially became the worst part of her entire life. It happened with the utterance of these words:

“Do you want to go play spin the bottle?”

Mazie Larken said them. Mazie Larken, who had more friends than anyone else in Mrs. Mithers’s class, had a different nice handbag every month, and got at least 100% on every spelling test depending on whether or not there was extra credit. Spin the bottle. Spin the bottle. It was so junior, a word which to Ari had the specific meaning of “things kids do when they’re trying to act like adults.”

It also struck Ari as entirely too heteronormative. Heteronormative meant something like “assuming that no one is gay,” and was one of madre’s words. The kind of word that Ari had mostly learned not to use when she was standing more than four feet away from madre. It made other kids think she was a freak, and it made adults look at her like she was a phytoplankten under a microscope that had suddenly learned to juggle.

She watched the kids who had said yes gathering together and whispering their plans to sneak upstairs and play. Ari didn’t want to play spin the bottle, of course. She didn’t want to sit in a circle and be forced to kiss random boys. She didn’t know if she wanted to kiss boys at all. Or girls. Or anyone. It was a stupid game for stupid people. But it was her birthday, and she sure wished that Mazie had actually asked her. Not that she would ever admit it.

But Mazie hadn’t asked her. Mazie didn’t even look at Ari as she and Ella McGuire walked around to the other kids at the party and spread the conspiracy to hushed giggles and nods. Ari just overheard. Maybe Mazie didn’t know it was her party. Or maybe she did and just didn’t care.

Ari watched the group as it gathered and trickled upstairs. She realized they would probably end up in her room. It was the most obviously kid friendly and had the biggest open stretch of floor. A sick feeling blossomed in her stomach. Maybe it could be cured by the application of more cake. As she turned to walk away, she saw Stefan’s face among the small crowd of would-be-bottlers. Her stomach did something entirely different but no less uncomfortable. He looked in her direction as she saw him. He was grinning. She quickly turned away so he wouldn’t think she was looking and rushed through the door.

Ari floated around the party after that, trying not to think, not paying attention to much of anything. There was man in the backyard who looked kind of like a stage magician and kind of like a mime doing magic tricks. He seemed to have lost his deck of cards, and none of it was very impressive. There were a lot of snacks on trays all over the house, including the little crispy duck things that were Ari’s particular favorites. She kept eating them just to have some kind of sensation, but right now they just tasted salty and oily and the sharp crackers cut the sides of her mouth. Through it all she could hear the bottle. Spinning and spinning, glass scraping against the finished wood of her bedroom floor. She couldn’t really hear it. Not with the fleshy vibration detectors attached to the sides of her head. But she heard it nonethless.

There wasn’t anyone there to talk to or hang out with. Various kids came over to her and said hi, sometimes at the urging of their parents and sometimes actually with their parents in tow. Her father checked in on her periodically, sometimes with parents and/or their children along for formal introductions. At one point he and another father spent twenty minutes negotiating the exact time their two daughters could meet and study together, all the while completely ignoring those same daughters standing three feet away.

“So this is your party?” said the other girl, who had rich, dark hair and was very pretty.

“Yes,” said Ari.

“It’s pretty cool.”

Ari shrugged. “I guess so.”

“The snacks are good,” said the girl.

“I like the duck,” said Ari. The girl nodded, and they lapsed back into silence.

But Ari was tired of silence. She was tired of not talking to anyone at her own party.

“It’s not really my party,” she said. “It’s my birthday. But it’s really my dad’s party. It always is.” She glanced up to see if daddy had heard that, but he was engrossed in his conversation.

“Oh god, I so know what you mean,” said the other girl, visibly relaxing. “It’s like, really? You have to use your daughter’s birthday to, I don’t know, spread your business or something?”

Ari laughed. “I’m used to it, I guess. But it’d be nice if I knew the people at my own birthday.”

The girl nodded with enthusiasm. “Yeah, that sucks. I haven’t seen you before. Sixth grade?”

“Yes,” said Ari. “I’m new.”

“Yeah, but I thought I’d met all the new kids,” said the girl. Ari shrugged, while the girl said, “I’m Sandara.”

“I’m Ariana. Ari, though.”

“Pretty name.”

“Thanks,” said Ari. “I love your hair. I wish mine was that thick and shiny.”

“It’s cause I’m Indian,” said Sandara. Then, in an affected aren’t-I-a-princess tone, she added, “We’re just born like this.” Both girls giggled.

“Well I think it’s very pretty,” said Ari.

“Thanks,” said Sandara. “I like your bow. It’s cute.”

Ari blushed. “Madre…my mom, tied it in. She likes to do that. For parties.”

“Well it’s cute. So how are you liking St. Vincent’s?”

“Hmm?”

“St. Vincent’s?” Sandara asked again. “How are you liking it? I think it kind of sucks, but I guess there are worse ones.”

“St. Vincent’s?” Ari asked.

“Yeah. You know, the school? Our school, that we go to?”

“I don’t go to St. Vincent’s. I go to Cherrywood.”

“Oh jeez,” said Sandara. “Seriously?”

“Yes,” said Ari.

“So, like, our dad’s are making us a study session…”

“And we don’t even going to the same school,” Ari finished.

Sandra rolled her eyes, and Ari shook her head in disbelief. Then both girls laughed.

“It’s not even surprising,” said Ari. “That’s the kind of thing daddy does.”

“Mine too,” said Sandara.

Ari’s father, who seemed very tall in situations like this, turned away during a pause in his conversation and looked down at the two girls.

“Are you two getting along?” he said to Ari. “That’s great. I’m glad to see that.” He turned back to the man he was talking to. Ari saw that he had his tablet out, and his personal calendar/organizer app running. “Sam, I really think this could work. Maybe…”

“And…they’re off,” said Sandra. Ari burst into giggles.

At the same time, she felt a tightness in her chest. Do it! a voice yelled in her head. It had the refined accent and self-confident tone of Lulu, her earthworm-royalty friend from back in Summerfax. Just do it, you dumb girl!

“Sandara,” she said, and to her ears she sounded far too serious.

Sandara perked up. “Yeah?”

“Do you want to, maybe…”

“Sandra!” a voice came from behind them, and they both turned to look. A black girl with blonde braids that danced around as she moved walked quickly towards them.

“Tanisha,” said Sandara. “What’s up?

“You’ve got to see what this boy is doing upstairs. He’s doing these magic tricks, and it’s amazing. You have to come see.” She grabbed Sandra by the hand and pulled her towards the door.

A few steps away Sandara looked back at Ari. “Do you want to come?”

“No,” Ari said before she could stop herself. “You go ahead.”

Sandra gave Ari a slightly confused look, then shrugged and turned back around to follow Tanisha through the oak-molded doorway and towards the stairs.

Why did you do that? Lulu’s voice chided at her.

“I couldn’t,” Ari said out loud to no one. No one was listening. “She probably didn’t want me butting in, anyway.” She could almost see Lulu shaking her tiny, pronged face in disappointment. But Lulu wasn’t here. Not really. Lulu wasn’t here and Ari couldn’t just follow off after someone she just met and try to force her companionship on the girl. As much as she wanted to, the thought of running after Sandara made her stomach queasy and the blood in her arteries turn cold.

She stood there in that same spot for a few very long minutes afterwards. She forgot that daddy was still there, still trying to build her a manufactured social life out of business associations and table scraps, until he spoke to her again.

“Where’s your friend, dear?” he asked. His voice made her jump.

“I don’t know,” she said. And she really didn’t.

She thought about getting another piece of cake, but she couldn’t face it. She didn’t want to run into Sandara again. Or Stefan. Or Mazie. Or anyone. She just wanted to be alone. She hadn’t been in this house long in to discover all of its nooks and secrets the way she had in the Summerfax house. There she would have retreated to the crawlspace behind the kitchen stairs, or hidden enclave underneath the large cedar tree out back that blocked out all the light. Here in Blarn the only place for hidden solitude was the attic. And it was dark and full of dusty webs and perfectly mundane spiders that never wanted to join her in conversation.

But she did know the pattern of her father’s parties. There would be one room in the house where no one would go. Ari marched up the stairs—sneaking to avoid any of the kids who might still be up there—and headed straight for the second floor guest bedroom. The bed was full of coats. Everyone’s coats, jackets, purses, and anything else they didn’t want to lug around the house were piled on top of the bed. There were enough guests that the pile rose several feet above the mattress. Ari walked around to the other side of the bed and flopped onto the floor. From here, even if someone walked into the room for some reason they wouldn’t still her. It was a high bed, and she was a small girl. She could sit here for as long as she wanted. Away from everyone. All alone.

In Uncle Jacob’s room. That’s what they would have called it. That’s what they called the equivalent room in the old house. Other people stayed there, of course. It was the guest room. Sometimes her grandparents used it, or daddy’s brother, Uncle Frank, or one of madre’s artist friends when they came to visit. But it was always Uncle Jacob’s room.

Sometimes, when he was visiting, madre sent Ari up to fetch Uncle Jacob to tell him that dinner was ready, or that it was time to put on Proper Clothes so they could go out to some function or other. On several of those occasions Ari walked into his room to find him sitting cross legged on the bed, his eyes closed, a wisp of a smile and a peaceful look on his face. The more she thought about those times the stranger it seemed to her. One day she finally asked him what he was doing.

“Paying attention,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s like this, munchkin,” he said, patting the bed so she could hop up and sit next to him. “Most of the time we don’t pay attention. We’re always running around and jabbering inside our own heads. So sometimes I like to just take some time out and listen.”

“To what?”

He smiled. “To everything.” Something about the way he said that word made it seem magical. Everything. Plump with whispers and secrets and possibilities. So she tried to join him. To sit there, unmoving, breathing, and just pay attention.

She did it right there in the bedroom, even though they were supposed to be getting ready for a fancy Luminary’s Club gathering. And she did it later, too. Before she went to bed, some nights. Or during particularly mind-numbing social studies classes when the teachers droned on about battles of this and signings of that which, according to madre, were mostly lies anyway. In those quiet moments she made the effort to hush her movements and her monologue, and just pay attention. There was only one problem.

She was terrible. She couldn’t sit still. She couldn’t stop the lively and perpetual Marrakech night market that took place in her head. There was just too much world to explore. Both out there in the grassy fields and in the cavernous reaches of her own brain. She wanted to pay attention. She wanted to see all of those things she might be missing. But how could she ever stop thinking? To stop weaving stories out of the half-remembered threads of her dreams? She had never really desired this.

Until now. Right there, sitting on the carpeted floor of what should have been Uncle Jacob’s room, inhaling the aroma of new paint and dozens of designer leather coats, she didn’t want to think. She didn’t want to be. She wanted to fade into the walls and become nothing more than an irregularity in the pastel wallpaper. After a little while, even the wanting dulled, and she couldn’t feel anything at all. Nothing ran through her mind. There was just her body, and her breathing, and the feel of the carpet where her skirt bunched and her exposed legs made contact with the floor. For the first time in her life, Ari paid attention. That is when she noticed the most interesting thing she had ever seen.

Once she noticed it, she was confused that she hadn’t seen it before. She didn’t understand it, of course. How could she have? It didn’t make any sense. It didn’t even make the kind of sense that Hobdob her grass goblin friend made. The kind that seemed obvious to Ari but confused everyone else when she gave them a perfectly clear and simple explanation. No, this was something altogether more bizarre. But there it was. She could see it, clear as day. She could see it even though it was day, and that was even stranger.

Well, she couldn’t exactly see it. Not with her eyes, the eyes that were covered in a thin membrane of flesh while she slept, and sometimes got crusted over so that she had to wash them out with water when she first woke up before she could open them properly. But she could see it all the same. Just like Hobdob.

The door to the coat room burst open and smacked against the far wall. In her heightened state of attention, she was fully aware of every feature of the boy who walked in. She saw his 63 inches of height, tall for his age. She saw the charge of energy that informed the way he traipsed across the ground. She saw the bright white teeth that glowed against the 65% dark chocolate complexion of his skin. She saw all of this, but she barely noticed.

“Ari,” said Stefan as he bounded into the room. “I was looking for you. It’s your birthday, right? I wanted to give you your present.”

Ari barely registered the fact that Stefan not only appeared to know she existed, but had actively sought her out. A few minutes ago it would have seemed very important.

“Do you see that?” Ari asked him.

“I wanted to show you something,” he said. “I nicked these cards, and…wait. See what?”

“The stars!” she said, her voice bright in her ears. “Can you see the stars? They’re everywhere.”

And they were. Right through the ceiling of Uncle Jacob’s room, and through the attic beyond it, and through the blanket of blue daysky that covered the earth, she could see straight to the stars. When she looked left, and right, and down, all around her, it was like the ground and the people and the earth weren’t even there. There was just a giant nest of stars, so dense and bright and beautiful that it brought tears to her eyes.

It didn’t look like the night sky above Blarn or Summerfax. It didn’t even look like the rich tapestry of light Ari saw when madre and Uncle Jacob took her to the mountains. It was more like the images in astronomy books; lustrous clouds of luminescence, rich reds and greens and blues all intermingled like a sand painting. Only those were only pictures. Memories. These were alive.

Stefan’s face broke into a grin. “I see them,” he said. He stretched out his arms and twirled around. “I can feel them running through my fingers.”

He thinks I’m playing a game, she thought. Then the truth flooded into her like a breath of oxygen after having her head under water for a long time. I am playing a game! It didn’t mean it wasn’t real.

Stefan made a cup with his hands, jumped as high as he could, and scooped up a cupful of star stuff. He didn’t know where they were. She could tell he couldn’t see them. Not like she could, so impossibly bright she could barely stand it. But it didn’t matter; they were everywhere. He reached his hands out to pour his cupfull of stars into hers. She giggled and caught them. She looked back to the hole his scooping had left to watch the stream of stars flood in and replace them.

But they didn’t. The place where Stefan gathered in stars let a hole. She could see right through it. A nest of stars. That had been her first thought when she saw it, and now she knew why. It really was a nest. A great, huge, impossible nest, wrapped around the entirety of the visible universe. And there was something inside of it.

“What’s up?” Stefan asked. “Why did you stop?”

“Can you see that?” she asked.

“What is it? What are you seeing?”

“I’m not quite sure.” She climbed up onto the bed, on top of the coats. She strained her neck to get a better look.

“Oh my god,” she gasped.

It was both inside of the nest and outside of it. Something bright and hot and enormous. Brighter and more massive than all of the stars put together. How in the world had she not seen it before? But she saw it now. Everywhere she looked, even when she closed her eyes, she saw it.

And in that moment it saw her too.