I

The sky looked so dark to Norah, speckled with little stars. She knew they existed, but having spent her seventeen years of life in a city that never sleeps, she’d seldom seen them. Norah hadn’t expected upstate New York to be so rural, winding through long highways while night fell around them.

Their brown Citroen BX had seen better days, creaking around every bend, it was a miracle the thing could handle such a long journey. Her mother, Mary, bought it from a junker the day she’d found out she was pregnant, and despite the breakdowns and general unreliability, it was the one constant in both their lives.

It was practically family, with its beaded seat covers and half-broken bobbler of Ruth Gordon that was superglued to the dashboard, a curiosity that seriously made her question the sanity of its previous owner. Though, Norah couldn’t imagine life without that scabby old car. Their last reminder of what they’d left behind in Queens. A dank and squalid shoebox, their old apartment barely even had a second bedroom, and was filled with whatever knocked up furniture Mary could scrounge together over the years.

With its paper-thin, and always peeling dry wall, you were basically on top of the neighbors at all times. Freezing in the winter yet sweltering in the summer with no airflow to sweep out the heat. Yet, climbing down the scorching, rusty fire escape and into the dusty streets on a summers evening was Norah’s idea of heaven. They’d left their mark on every inch of that tiny apartment. She still couldn’t believe they’d left it behind. Everything she knew, her whole identity, was gone.

Norah glanced to her mother, who was driving quietly beside her, while she was sat curled up facing the door. Mary’s curly hair wild and wiry in the low light without having been wet down since they left the city. Over the years her silky black hair had grown course, particularly since she began dying it a few years back. They’d been in such a rush she’d let the roots grow out, leaving a silver line along her parting that glowed whenever they passed under a streetlight. It wasn’t like her mother to be so sloppy.

That raven hair was something both she and Norah shared, other than their coal black eyes, which shone from beneath Mary’s thick black eyebrows. She said the supermodels of the 90s stole her look, except they knew how to use a pair of tweezers. The rest of Norah’s appearance, particularly the button nose and the freckles, were assumed to be the work of her father, but he’d never been in the picture, so a comparison wasn’t really on the cards.

With it just being the two of them, they’d always had a strong relationship, until Norah turned sixteen and the changes began. Now it was like anything Mary did grated on her. Not that it was her fault. For months Norah had been filled with this rage that she couldn’t control, and she tended to lock both barrels on her poor, unsuspecting mother. The last two weeks were the worst of their entire relationship.

But Mary’s love for her daughter was unwavering. It was that love that put them in that car together heading away from the city. Even so, they hadn’t spoken since Albany and it was Norah’s fault. She tried to ignore all the furtive glances her mother gave her, almost six hours of non-stop driving had to be boring. They’d nearly broken the silence a few time but everything Norah thought to say sounded so trite, so trivial.

She’d already turned their world upside down what were they meant to talk about – the weather? People said it got cold up north, much worse than it ever did in the city. They were headed for a town so north it was basically Canada, Norah wondered why they didn’t just hop the border and be done with it. That’s what people did when they were trying to run away, wasn’t it?

Hogarth was about as far from reality as you could get. Some freak town about an hour’s drive from Buffalo. One of those places that you had to zoom right into the map to even know it was there. Mary grew up a couple of towns over, and it was the first place she thought of when the proverbial ish hit the fan.

Luckily, she no longer had any living relatives in the area, meaning there wasn’t much chance of running into anyone they knew. Although, over the thirteen months they’d become good at moving in silence, keeping to the shadows. Of course, they had their people back in New York, but it was a small circle, and even they were kept at a distance. With family secrets like theirs, the fewer people who really knew you the better.

A golden haze burned on the horizon, as the nothingness of the highways relented to suburbs. A sign for the town of Hogarth reflected in Norah’s window, causing her to shrink down in her seat.

Mary reached over and gave Norah’s arm a gentle squeeze, “We’re here”, when they both knew full well that she wasn’t asleep. “I think we're going to like it here”, Mary’s voice had a tinge of optimism that sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than anything.

“A fresh start is just what we need”, she added hopefully but Norah just turned to look out of the window.

Mary sighed, firming her grip on the steering wheel. Come on, kid, you gotta give me something. Norah gave her mother a look sharp enough to make her wince, “I’m sorry, I can’t always keep my them to myself”, said Mary.

Norah sat up and leant against the door, watching speckles from distant lights shimmer through the trees like eyes. It was just like any other suburb, but the thought of living here made Norah’s skin tingle with a sick kind of anticipation.

As if sensing her tension, Mary placed a gentle hand on Norah's shoulder, “You'll see. A small town where everyone knows your name, no drama, no surprises–”

“–Oh my god, Mom!”

In the nick of time, Mary swerved to avoid a balding middle-aged man who was standing in the road holding a trash bag, “Jesus! That guy came out of nowhere”, Mary wrenched the wheel back hard to right the car. “Do you think I should stop and apologize?”

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Norah glanced back to see the man shaking his fist and yelling inaudible obscenities in their direction, “Probably better if we let him cool off first”.

“Yeah, not the best first impression.”

Norah couldn’t help but laugh.

Mary’s lips curled up into an uncertain smile, “What?”

“I’m pretty sure a first impression won’t matter much, Mom.”

Mary’s smile waned, “We can always hope”.

Something shimmered in the darkness as a black cat darted into the road, Norah grabbed her seat as Mary was forced to swerve a second time. “I should probably keep my eyes on the road…”, Mary gave Norah an apologetic look, “You don’t think that’s a bad omen, do you?”

Norah wanted to tell her mother that she thought they were the bad omen, “Let’s just focus on getting home alive”.

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II

Steve threw his trash into the can and slammed the lid back down as those silly women in their beaten up estate drove away into the night. How insulting, like he wasn’t even there. Pulling his loose, dirty sweatpants up to cover his plumbers crack, Steve stood there shaking his head. Why does anyone even let women drive?

Steve stormed back into the house as quickly as his holey blue moccasins would allow and shut the door on the world. Even that short time outside in the fresh air made the smell of mold and dirty dishes feel like a slap in the face. Ever since his horrible wife left him, Steve’s housekeeping had gone to hell.

Every single day the list of jobs grew longer. First it was just the washing up he couldn’t keep on top of. Then without him doing much of anything the carpets became grubby, shelves and surfaces grew a thick layer of dust seemingly overnight. The toilets became brown and clagged up by limescale, the sinks slimy and covered in watermarks, or clogged with beard hair.

That was just inside too. The outside was another story. His was by far the shoddiest house on Beech Street, with its clogged up gutters, and thanks to a recent storm, several missing roof tiles. Painting the house was supposed to be his summer project. That was before that wicked Margaret walked out on him.

Steve had no idea how Margaret kept on top of it all, but it was just like her to leave him in squalor. Steve had never picked up a brush in his life and he was most aggrieved to have to do it now. Not like Margaret, who was living it up in Florida with her toy-boy and alimony, laughing at him. She’d been a disappointing wife and was an even worse ex-wife.

Steve caught sight of himself in the mirror and winced. Who was that overweight, balding, tired old man? Twenty years married to that harpy sucked the life right out of him. Wiping away a speck of Hungry Man gravy from his flabby cheek, Steve shuffled into the lounge. He threw himself into his beaten up armchair and bedded down into the comfort of his butt-print, which was twelve years in the making. At least he could depend on one woman.

Steve flicked on his 85” television under the watchful gaze of his son, Marcus, whose graduation photo stared down at him from above the fireplace. Another leech living it up in graduate school on Steve’s hard-earned money. No phone calls, no letters. Couldn’t even be bothered to come home last Chanukah because he was too busy “deworming orphans in Africa”. Ungrateful snot.

Steve mashed the remote to switch the TV over to cable, only to be met with a big, white wall of static. Don’t tell me, she’s canceled my cable too. Steve sat up, jabbing the remote control so hard he looked set to pop a capillary in his eye. The little red light was flashing but nothing was happening.

Just as Steve was ready to punch a hole through the TV, it sparked to life on a Game Show he didn’t recognize. Steve hated game shows, everyone was always too happy, and this one was no exception. Yet, after several failed attempts to change the channel, he gave up and decided to let it play. It had to better than the screaming silence of his own thoughts.

What a curious show indeed. Though they had the podiums and lights like any other game show, the studio looked like it was located in some dusty abandoned building. The wall behind the contestants was cracking and faded with age, and there seemed to be a boarded up window in the top corner. It must be one of those kooky survival shows the kids like.

Steve knew Hollywood people were practically aliens but the show’s presenter was borderline creepy. He was your typical tall, tan and lean, dressed in a sharp suit, but there was almost a look of fear in his glassy blue eyes. His lips pulled back into a rictus that revealed far too many absurdly white teeth.

“Wow, you are really flying ahead on points tonight”, the presenter’s teeth sparkled under the bright studio lights, that horribly broad smile never waning as he spoke, “Tell us how you’re feeling?”

The camera switched to one of the contestants, who according to the brightly lit nameplate on his podium, was called Glen. He was a shlubby middle-aged guy with buckteeth wearing a wrinkled StarWars t-shirt that had a big orange stain across it, like someone had used it as a napkin after eating a cheesy snack.

Despite this, Glen looked extremely pleased with himself, adopting a look of feigned humility, “I'm just doing the best I can”.

In fact, everyone in the studio seemed to revere this Glen as some kind of god. The living Barbie doll stood beside him was ogling Glen like he was the Adonis himself, clapping along with the audience any time he uttered a single syllable.

She was called Carolyn according to her nameplate, and was wearing a tight pink dress that looked like it had been fished out of a bargain bin on the bad side of town. She had that same glassy glazed over look as the presenter, like she could never really focus on anything, and her movements were clumsy, like what you’d imagine from a ventriloquist dummy.

The presenter reappeared in the shot, “Let’s see if he can keep it as we go into our next round”.

The studio lights began swirling on a sparkly board behind the presenter as the other lights dimmed, leaving only a spotlight on Glen and his ditzy-looking competitor.

The presenter held up a dog-eared flashcard, “For 100 points – what magical being has dominion over the dead?”

Glen buzzed and Carolyn’s spotlight dimmed, “Necromancer!”

“Correct!”

The studio lights went back up, “Who’ll be joining us next?”

Glen buzzed again, but this time he turned to look directly into the camera, “You are, Steve”.

As soon as their eyes met, Steve felt a pull into the TV screen and he was unable to move, unable to look away. His whole body felt hot and tingly, like he was caught in an electrified net.

Glen was still staring at him, his evil eyes dark under bushy eyebrows, “Would you like that?”.

Steve was transfixed but felt himself nod. Something tickled in Steve’s throat as his insides began to churn. The pain was excruciating, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t scream, couldn’t call for help. Steve coughed harder and harder, but whatever he needed to expel felt stuck inside of him, clinging to his insides until finally his mouth filled with blood. Carolyn and the presenter had frozen in position, eyes wide and unfocused, their arms hanging by their sides like automatons without a motor.

“Why don’t you join us, Steve?” sneered Glen, with a wave of his hand the force holding Steve in place released and he doubled over in pain falling forward onto his hands and knees. His eyes bulged, still fixed to the TV screen, as Steve began retching onto the dirty brown carpet, throwing up chunks of bloody goop that pooled around him.

Finally, Steve let out one last gasp before collapsing face-first into the puddle of goop.

“Welcome to the show…” Glen purred, before they all burst into hysterical laughter, and the TV snapped back to static.

Steve was dead…