You hear their howling calls in the distance. Canines circling hungrily in the darkness. They have scented fresh prey. Prey that you have already claimed. The foolish mongrels have yet to notice, though their noses may yet pick up your alien scent. It is enough time. The power within you is gathered. Focussed. Diffused through your being. Power long enough to complete the deed. 3 minutes to satiate your hunger.
You rush forward on all fours, limbs carrying you along at an unnatural gate. The shadows draw and guide you forward, letting you flicker between points in reality, close distances in impossible ways. Closer. Closer. Waste no time. Flickers of power remain coiled within your mind. Once close enough you lash out, crushing the mentality of one of the mongrels. It howls in pain, blood gushing from nose, eyes and ears. Before the pack has responded you mentally attack another. Two wounded before you engage. Now they have scented you.
The five disappear from normal sight. But you do not perceive the world as they do. Colour. Sound. Tactile. Scent. All of this is dross. You know the world in concepts and bounded layers of observed physical laws. Blood. The idea of heat and life force. The pressure as it moves throughout the body. It’s symbolism of injury as death when it leaves a mortal vessel. Desire become reality as your tentacles lash out. Wrap around the mongrel in the lead. Hold and do not let go. The healthy two move to flank. At least they try. They can barely discern your form. Front. Back. Inside. Outside. Your anatomy defies logic. Even the logic of creatures born of umbral fear. They still bite and claw. Lash out. Fangs sink deep into flesh. Tear off fresh gibbets. It hurts. But your flesh renews. As fresh as new. Claws gouge lines of pale white blood into dark hide. Pain flares. Followed by cool relief as it heals. Your body regenerates as quickly as they wound.
Ignore the two biting into your flesh. It is the one that you have in grasp that needs to die. Tighter and tighter you wind your tentacles. Two about the neck, one around each forelimb. It cannot run. It cannot hide. This mongrel tries to bite back. Not worth fighting it. Just tighten and tighten until the pop. Vertebrae crushed under sufficient pressure. A spasm then stillness. Now there can be revenge. The one with your leg in its mouth is next. Grip it tightly. Crush it hard. The wounded ones are stirring. Packmates found courage after the death of the Alpha. Claim your head and claim that title. Pity. You flick a tentacle out and strike one with a twisted curse. It falls to the ground in a heap. Three remain. The one in your grasp you hold tighter. It knows what is coming. Struggles. Howls. Mewls. Yelps. Pop. Another neck crushed.
The remaining one attached to your arm sinks its teeth in hard. This time there is pain. Your body can only regenerate itself so fast. You oblige and wrap your whole body about it. A constrictor made of madness, shadows and hungry tentacles. The wounded one chooses to run. A final telepathic lash drops it to the ground. Weakness. Weakness will always be punished. Now you scrabble in mortal combat. One final mongrel and yourself. Brutal. Bloody. Inelegant. Savage. You envelope it’s form, entangle its limbs and begin to twist. Cartilage reaches breaking point. Joints pop and snap. More howls. The air tastes of fear and horror. But it is too late. The mongrel can no longer run. And after such a struggle and so many injuries you feel weak. Time aplenty to nourish yourself before returning home. Hungry. The smell of blood. Your meal whimpers and tries to crawl away on broken limb. Pity. You have none. And this meal will taste good. Piece by screaming piece.
----------------------------------------
Scream. Loud enough to spook the neighbours. Dry and wet pressed against tongue and back of throat. Gagging. Eyes swimming in tears pulled wide open. The room was bright. Too bright. Try to flinch. Wake up, foolish girl. It’s time for the nightmare of reality.
“Eva. EVA! Just breath. Calm down and breath. Stop struggling.”
Luther’s deep voice beside his daughter’s ear. Tears are blinked and reality comes into resolution. Christina is on her knees, knuckles pressed against mouth. Dark skin turned an unhealthy grey. Fear in her eyes. Eva hasn’t seen such fear in a long time. Not since she left school. Or expelled. That is one conversation she’s lacked the courage.
“Long, deep breaths, Eva. Listen to my voice and keep taking long, deep breaths. You remember, like we’ve practised before.”
Well shit. It’s been one of those. Eva has nightmares. Most nights. But there are nightmares and then there are nightmares. The sort that involves screams and hysteria. The one that lead to neighbours listing noise complaints. Being on the road has its perks. Just you and howling coyote for 100 miles.
A howl in the distance. Suddenly cut off. The sound of pain attached to that ending.
Eva sat up straight. Cold water poured over her psyche with that noise. Reality is fixed. Morpheus banished. She is lying on the motel floor. A pillow tucked under her head. Parents honour guard. Either side flanking her. A rag has been jammed into her mouth. A hasty gag. Biting off your tongue. Not on the top-10 list of party games. Spit it out. That’s a good start. But the gag is packed in tight. Eva howls like the coyote and tries to shake out the gag. Parental understanding and plenty of experience. Luther grabs the wag of rag and yanks. With it comes gagging and Eva’s rasping voice. More gagging. Coughing. Whimpering of her own.
“Bathroom. Now!” she manages.
Christina is on the phone.
“Tonic clonic,” she parrots. Whatever the person on the other end is telling her.
Hesitates. Looked to her husband. Then she does something right. Gives Eva room. Hey. All parents get to wear the ‘did right by my child badge’ once or twice a year. Might be five years for Christina. But we’re going in the right direction. Luther is hesitant. Squirming and flailing 11-year-old isn’t everybody’s cup of tea. Finally relents and withdraws. Limbs are sore. Aching. Bruises on knuckles and knees. Head is throbbing too. No time to complain. Pain or not it’s stumbling time. Eva rushes to the bathroom. You know how in anime they show someone being sick as a rainbow and a soft drawn out ‘bleeeh’ noise. Lies. Fabrication. It's chunky. Wet. Heaving. Agonising. Face covered in sweat and eyes teary again. The taste is something you never become accustomed to. Even after all that Eva can still taste the hot iron flesh in her mouth.
Now without a stomach, Eva realised she is warm and damp. Underwear soaked through. Bed-wetting was a thing when she was younger. Justified. You would have too when seeing what any six-year-old never should. Not this. Not now. She’s far too old. Probably. Aching limbs carry the girl back to lounge. She wants to grab some clothes, shower and clean up. Ambulance sirens in the distance. Luther with his hand on Christina’s shoulder. He turns to look at this daughter. Image silhouetted in faint red and blue light.
“What happened?” Eva finally managed.
“A seizure,” Luther said, calmer in his voice than otherwise might be expected.
Eva’s eyes went wide. Her brain was many things. Broken in many ways. But fits were a first. Bruises explained.
“How long?”
“Maybe 10 minutes.”
“Wha!”
Also, a first. The Foxe family has become accustomed to medical difficulties. Calluses upon scar tissue. Not prepared for this.
“Did I just… collapse?”
Eva realises there are gaps. Memories with missing jigsaw pieces. Or memories that do not fit any puzzle. Non-Euclidean pieces on the table this time. No chance to put your hand on the puzzle out of time. Heavy vehicle hits the bitumen outside. Luther opens the door to greet the new arrivals. No chance to change. Even brush your teeth. Time waits for nobodies’ dignity or self-respect.
The 11-year-old tensed. She had been tensing during the seizure a short while ago. That didn’t compare with now. Hate. Loathing. Utter terror. Hospitals were the one place Eva could never… no. They put her in a children’s psych ward for a month when she was 9. They are lucky she didn’t leave in a pine box. Let’s end that here. You can use your imagination to its most sadistic and horrific worst. Won’t come close to what Eva saw and experienced lurking in the shadows beyond time.
Anyway. This story is grim enough already. Let’s hustle on.
----------------------------------------
At least she wasn’t medically restrained on the ambulance stretcher. Improvement. Ambulance was clean, neat and well stocked. Foxe family are afficionados of Ambulances. Judge the pedigree at 50 paces. Luther rode in the back. Even held his daughter’s hand. The man has seen his daughter messed up. Twisted. Broken. Properly fucked. This has still spooked him. Christina stayed behind to gather things. Overnight bag. Catch a cab later.
The officers were wonderful. The driver kept Luther calm and reassured him. The woman in the back spoke to Eva constantly. Made sure she felt involved and informed. IV in the arm. Needles didn’t bother her. What was a tiny pin-prick against the enormity of the world? Heart rate monitor watching closely.
Penny drops. Talk to the girl and make sure she’s lucid. Rational. If Eva stops the stream of sanity, then they know something is wrong. Savvy. Part of Eva approves. Luther just holds Eva’s hand tight. Once at the hospital Eva is rushed past the usual checks and entry barriers. Nobody fucks around when it comes to a child’s health. Good. Humanity showing it’s best.
The rest is a blur. More medication. More tests. Doctors asking Eva a myriad questions. She answers most of them. No grades for this. Honesty. Where possible. Though explaining that you still taste fresh bloody meat is hard. Luther is grilled too. Eva can tell the moment when her father breaks the news. What Eva is like. Body language. Easy to read. The shift in the feet. Head with more slouch. Now the doctors know. Come to different conclusions. Downhill from here sorry. All those assumptions.
The things in the hospital. They haven’t noticed. Yet. Eva is focussed on the professional and still kind nurses. She changes into a hospital gown. Showers come later. Soiled undergarments and smell can wait. Camisole is clean when removed. Curious. Check with the eldritch abomination about her dry-cleaning services. Blood samples taken. EEG and ECG booked pronto. You know this is going to end well.
Life sucks.
Eva is wheeled into a new room. Away from the buzz of other patients. They want Eva as calm as possible. Shift to a new bed. Plenty of electrodes attached to the chest. More are placed around the head. Eva’s throat hitches up. Nothing left to throw up. But her stomach really wants the chance. Grey. Milky white eyes. Tentacles hanging where a mouth should be. So thin it seems wrong. Panic takes hold. Ever grabs the nurse’s hand.
“Do I have to?” she asks.
“It will be alright,” she reassures. “I know it’s scary. But you can talk to us at any time. You’re a brave girl, right?”
Pfff. Trying to stoke a child’s courage. Reverse psychology isn’t effective on the insane. But too late now. She’s locked in here and they won’t let her out until the tests are finished. May as well get this over and done with. No mercies to be found. Sometimes general anaesthetic is an option. Not this time. They want the brain gloriously clean.
Fresh IV in the arm. Remain still they say. Time to be squeezed into the tightest circle of hell. Eva cannot hear anything. Still her teeth ache at the sound.
Then the nails run up her leg. Eva twitches.
“We need you to hold still please, Eva,” a technician says to Eva, watching the EEG output computer.
Oh, he really should shut up. Bonus points to Slytherin, Eva obliges. The nails glide up, from ankle, to knee, over the gown up the thigh, across the stomach and rest on her sternum. Head pinned in place. Cannot see it. Eyes fixed down, trying to burst out through the cheeks. The thing looms over Eva. Emaciated body against emaciated body. Maggot white eyes hover close to Eva’s own. Up close Eva thinks it worse than human. Four long tentacles hang from a lamprey mouth, crawling along her chest, up her neck and finally resting on either side of her head.
More twitches.
“Please Eva, this won’t take much longer.”
Not entirely true. This is confirmed by a tactless technician conducting the EEG not realising how good Eva’s hearing is.
“30 minutes at least,” he says to the doctor. “Perhaps an hour. We need a large time sample.”
The nightmare continues its caress of Eva’s body with thin pale hands, long nails dragging over the hospital gown, scritching sound deeply unsettling.
[You have good eyes, child]
Nope. So much nope. 100 pounds of nope in a 10-pound bag.
[I am so very hungry]
Eva’s heart rate skyrockets. Technicians and doctors alike can see that. But they need answers. You want ECG? You get ECG! Status Epilepticus is incredibly dangerous. New term. I won’t be rude and interrupt. That will be explained later. For now it's Eva. Brave girl. Just scared.
[I can consume you. Make this all end]
Tentacles stroke her head. Leave strands of mucus in her long hair.
[Eat your flesh. Eat your mind. Have a body of my own]
No need for emphasis. But this creature is cruel. Strokes its tentacles all over her ears. Ethereal feelers slide into the ear canal. Wet sucking sounds. Eva is hyperventilating. Maybe the medical technicians should do something. Her medical readings are abnormal. Curious they don’t. Think on that. Callous? Or influenced?
[Crawl in through your eardrum and into your skull. Crawl into the wet flesh of your mind. Little by little you will die a death of personality. Imagine a child's innocent smile with my eternal hunger]
Cronenberg would approve at this point. Long live the new flesh. Tears streak Eva’s cheeks. She is strong. Like adamantine. Horrified. Broken. Tongue coppery where she bites her cheeks. Hands grasp her head. Nails press sharply into cheeks and caress them. Tentacles taste her fear and laps at neck, ear and scalp. Lick the tears. Fingers pull Eva’s eyelids wide. Maggot-white glaring into terrified tawny.
[You cannot run. I will make a fine meal of you]
Not once. Not once. Not once. She does not flinch. Eva suffers the creature’s horrific ministrations. A full hour of mental rape.
Let us cut here. I am certain you are feeling disgusted already.
----------------------------------------
Morning’s sunlight touches Eva. Warmth. Bedsheets tucked up to her chin. Eva’s head throbs. Time lost. What happened to the ECG and EEG? Crusty eyes. Maybe she can just lie here. Pretend nothing exists. Solipsistic. Time just oozes by. A door squeaks.
“Good morning, Eva,” a tired female voice says.
Crap. Well, bite the crazy bullet. Eva opens her eyes. Private room. Not the open children’s ward. Nicely laid out, neutral colours, personal bathroom, little side table and chairs. The bed is comfortable too. Plenty of pillows, freshly laundered sheets and cosy blankets. She’s been bathed and given fresh clothing. The usual medical trimmings. Heart Rate monitor. IV drip. Catheter. Overall, it’s one of the better hospital rooms Eva has woken up in.
“Good morning,” Eva manages to rasp. “May I ask for a drink?”
The woman obliges. Gets a glass of water and a straw. Holds it close. Eva takes short, small sips. Slowly hydrates. Time to gather her thoughts.
“How long?”
“Pardon?”
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“I lose days. Can’t remember what happens in between. Or don’t want to. Then I wake in an unfamiliar bed. Often restrained.”
The doctor gives a kindly smile. Patted her hand gently.
“Just a day. Once the tests were over you became hysterical. We couldn’t calm you down. I do not like sedating someone that has recently experienced a Status Epilepticus but… your safety is paramount.
After you were sedated, we consulted with your parents and, taking into consideration your medical history, put you in this room. You’ve been sleeping without medication since.”
Eva nodded. How the hell is a girl, age 11, so calm about something so shocking? Speaks volumes for courage. Or damage. Or this crapsack world.
“So, I had a fit?”
The doctor nodded.
“It is a little more involved than that. I would like to get your parents and we can discuss this together.”
The doctor made to leave. Eva grabbed her hand. The woman hesitated. Her eyes settled on Eva. This wasn’t a stable girl. She looked ready to bolt. Still. Kept her troubles under control.
“Do you have to go?” Eva whispered
Fair request. The doctor couldn’t see the thing crouched facing the wall in the corner. Can’t blame a girl for trying.
Curious. The doctor actually listened.
“Harry!” she shouted. “Bring Mr and Mrs Foxe to the room, please.”
“On it!”
The doctor remained by Eva’s side. Ooo, this one might be important. If we’re not a secondary NPC we might need a description. Help with that imagination of yours. Average height, leggy build of someone always on their feet, Caucasian, long brown hair in an unkempt ponytail. Dark eyes and a harried expression. But young enough that the fires of passion burn in those eyes. Give her a decade. Then we’ll have typical jaded doctor. But for now, she’s the best thing Eva has going for her next to a Lovecraftian horror.
“I’m Dr Schwarzschild,” the doctor introduced herself.
“Evangeline Foxe.”
Eva clasped Schwarzschild’s hand with both of hers. Grip tight enough to induce nuclear fusion.
“Thank you for not leaving,” she whispered.
Curiosity. Something doesn’t add up. Abuse? Neglect. Parents always on the road. Ruth (that’s Schwarzschild’s first name if you were wondering) will contact a friend in the police force later. Call in a favour or two.
The rap on the door interrupts. Luther walks in, Christina in his shadow, dark face a shade of grey. The pair brighten when they see Eva awake. Rush over. Ruth is already out the way. She knows what family are like. Both parents hold their daughter tight. No tears. Not from the three. They ran out of tears long ago. Just sharp intakes of breath. Bodies quaking a little.
Atmosphere. The room finally settles. Chairs pulled up for the three adults.
“Good news first. I cannot see anything wrong in your EEG or ECG. Bad news. That makes it harder to diagnose the underlying issue. Mr Foxe, for Eva’s benefit, could you explain what happened again.”
Luther nodded. Looked to his daughter.
“After dinner you took your medication. Said you were going to take a shower. Then mid-stride you just stopped. Looked out the window. Collapsed to the ground. You were lying on your stomach and started groaning and crying out. I rushed over. You didn’t respond. Your whole body was so stiff, the tendons in your neck standing out, limbs shivering. Then you started to jerk about. Your arms and legs were flailing, hitting the floor hard. I rolled your over onto your back. There was a dish-rag in the kitchen so I pushed that into your mouth. I don’t know if that was the right thing to do or not. I was worried you might bite your tongue off.”
Luther sighed and pressed a hand against his forehead.
“This has never happened before.”
“It might be a negative reaction to the recent change in her medical regime. I would like to send off some blood work to our lab in Calgary. On top of that I want to cease all her current prescriptions.”
Luther made to interject. Christina settled him.
“I cannot be certain if some contraindications are the underlying cause of this seizure. If she were suffering from an infection then a temperature spike could cause a febrile seizure. This isn’t the case. Right now we have no signposts to try determine why Evangeline had a seizure nor the reason behind its severity. We were lucky, Mr Foxe. Status Epilepticus can lead to permanent brain damage. The last thing you want is another one when you are on the road.
If we do not know why this occurred then it is best to slowly wean her off whatever medications she is taking.”
“Doctor, with all due respect, you don’t know how ill my daughter is.”
Parenting at its finest. Eva doesn’t take the insult too hard. Not that she considers it an insult. High tolerance to people talking over her.
“I have complete access to your medical records in Canada as well as your American records.”
Now isn’t that interesting. It’s not like American and Canadian medical services maintain close contact with one another. Methinks the Doctor called in a professional favour or two.
“Five years’ worth of data to read over the past 24 hours. With all due respect, Mr Foxe, I do know and this is exactly why I am recommending this path.”
Dr Schwarzschild tapped an electronic tablet in her hand.
“If you are hesitant then I would heavily stress that we at least reduce the dosage of her regular prescriptions and cease the new medication. It will take roughly two weeks for the labs to do a full spectrum analysis of Eva’s blood. We can monitor her closely during that time. See if there are any adverse side-effects or regression in her mental health.”
Take the hint. Take the tablet. Yes, you are her legal guardians. At the very least listen to the medical professional. You know. The person who has spent at least a decade studying their arse off to be in this position to give advice and, say, I don’t know, SAVE LIVES.
“We can stay in town for two weeks,” Luther relents. “Somehow.”
Dr Schwarzschild nods.
“The Western Budget motel is nice, but pricey over two weeks. I’ll talk to Ethel at the Four Pines caravan park. Organise for you to book a bay with an attached chalet. Sleep is critical for Eva’s mental health so somewhere with comfortable beds and a relaxed atmosphere is a must. Speaking of motels, Rubin is the man who runs the Western Budget. You cannot be driving your RV around town. Ask him about renting his spare i20. The man is a miser but drives a fair price. Knowing him he’ll want $1000 deposit and ID. I’ll speak to Trish at the pharmacy and see what can be done about lower dosage tablets. I’m not a fan of pill-cutters. The dosage is not evenly spread across the pill and smooth blood levels are very important right now.”
Christina and Luther. Sort of poleaxed. At the very least they’re surprised. This level of care. Yes, the American medical health system is a joke. Go out to the middle of the arctic circle and ask someone to hacksaw your leg off. Better treatment and prognosis than America. Sorry. Not sorry to all Americans reading this. I’d rather be called a Communist and pay a little extra in taxes so that I don’t die of sepsis from a paper-cut.
“Uh,” Luther is fumbling with words. “Thank you, Doctor.”
“You’re welcome. If you’re ready I can discharge Eva this afternoon. I will need you to return every day for more blood tests and check-ups. I want to monitor any changes over the next two weeks. It is important we get to the bottom of this.”
Luther and Christina hold hands tightly. Another challenge. One more mountain to climb. It’s possible. Eva is impassive. Nothing shaking her. Just one question.
“Excuse me, Dr Schwarzschild. Is there a library in town?”
The doctor nods her head.
“Active reader?”
“There isn’t much else to do on the road. I don’t like video games and feel queasy watching television when driving. So, I read.”
“Our RV would be a library if we didn’t trade books in constantly at second hand book stores,” Christina explained with a rare smile.
“The Miskatonic Combined Services Library serves the public as well as the local colleges. You can sign up for membership this afternoon.”
A flicker of light in Eva’s eyes. A small smile. The good doctor does pay attention.
Luther and Christina leave the room. Privacy for their daughter to change. Oh, don’t worry. We haven’t forgotten the thing in the corner. Eva takes the doctor’s hand again.
“Can I speak… in private?”
Dr Schwarzschild looked to pair standing in the doorway. They nod their head. Close the door. The moment they are gone Eva motions for some help. All sorts of cords connected to her that need to be removed. No details. Just take it from the narrator. Pyjamas feel freshly laundered. At least it’s not hospital gowns for the umpteenth time. Eva doesn’t say anything to the doctor. Just changes into shorts, branded t-shirt and hoodie. Pink socks and lace-up kicks. Nothing strange.
Okay. That’s a lie.
Two things strange. Maybe two-and-a-half. First. Eva’s reaction on finding some clothing in her bag where it is stowed in the built-in wardrobe for the room. More specifically, a plain white camisole. Clutched tightly against her chest. The echo of tears in her eyes. The doctor assumes this is an important gift. Something from a family member.
Heh.
The second is Eva avoiding one corner of the room. She looked at it once. When she first grabbed Dr Schwarzschild’s hand. Since then, her eyes have carefully rolled around it. Side-note. The Doctor hasn’t chosen a specialisation yet. For now, she is just a generalist doctor on placement. But psychology does interest her. Eva is a startling case in psychiatry. The very deepest of deep ends of the field. Translation: this physician isn’t weighed down with 10+ years of conceited prejudice yet still has the skills of a psychiatrist. Good combination. She walks to the corner Eva has been avoiding and examines it closely. Nothing discernible. No smell. No bloom of light. No change in texture or permeability when she touches the floor with a loafer.
Turn around. Eva is watching the doctor. Naked curiosity.
“Is there something here?”
No response. Slack features. Not even a twitch of the fingers or dilation of the eyes. Schwarzschild is impressed. The girl has learned to mask very quickly. She can still pick it out. No doubt her parents too. Still there. That fear. Just bubbling beneath the surface. Healthy flesh an eggshell thin layer over a barren and rotten core. Gross thought, no? Maybe Videodrome. Maybe Nssu-Ghahnd. Check those references and look for dubs. /lovecraft green post.
Eva didn’t ask anything of the doctor. And the good doctor doesn’t ask back. She wanted company and not her parents. That raises sooooo many questions. Background checks are high priority, Ruth.
“Shall I walk you out?” Dr Schwarzschild offers.
Eva, clothing bag over shoulder, accepts the offer. Here’s the half unit mentioned earlier. As they leave Schwarzschild feels a prickling across her shoulders. There’s a small viewing window in the door. A reflection. A pool of shadow in the corner of the room reflected in the glass. Something that makes you feel queasy to look at.
Sorry doc. Sorry-not-sorry. You’ve been dragged into this. Get ready.
The two walk through the main entrance. Waiting benches in neat rows for people readying to see friends and loved ones internally. Reception desk manned by professional looking people. The two reach the front door. Dr Schwarzschild crouches down. Looks Eva in the eye. Gives her a slip of paper.
“Your new medical regime. I trust you to give it to your parents. And I trust you to stick to it. Your first round of blood tests showed nothing. Not a single medication. I won’t ask why or how. I will only ask that you trust me. See you tomorrow, Evangeline.”
Another smile. Blush of embarrassment. Less chance to hide this time. Eva turns and walks over to her family. Right past a parked ambulance discharging its contents. Injured man. Blood leaking from multiple stab wounds. Hate to see what the other guy looked like. Swearing. Just as messy. Several languages. Rather unhappy. Stretcher trundles by Eva as she walked to where her parents were waiting.
Dr Schwarzschild takes that in. Girl doesn’t care about what they walked past. Man likely in his last bloody moments swearing and howling. Doesn’t blink.
What the hell was that shadow then?
----------------------------------------
Miskatonic Combined Services Library, usually called Miskatonic Library, is a very recent structure. Maybe 3 years old. Already has a modern gothic feel to it. Not contrived. Possibly actual gargoyles living on the rooftop. Five stories tall. Solid construction. All the essentials and little tweaks on the edges. Built for the ‘modern man.’ Which means the unusual. Elevators for those that cannot use stairs. Natural lightning in some areas. Dark zones for those that cannot adapt. Special lightbulbs that don’t flicker for specialised visual ranges.
It’s a place that caters to anybody and everybody. Eva herself is busy in the adult section. The Librarian had been kind. Tried to point her toward the children’s section.
Yes. She does read kids books. But right now, Eva has an itch to scratch. Not the sort of thing you’ll find amidst the Billy B Brown or Kensy and Max.
Tall stacks loom. All variety of book on display. Unusual. Someone was smart enough to organise Miskatonic Fiction by subject matter. Find what you want at your pace. Alphabetic is a pain and Dewey a nightmare. Young fingers trace over old books. Very old.
This is a new library, right? The collection of texts is… impressive. First editions. Limited print. Antiquarians wettest of dreams. Actually, nothing wet. It damages the paper. It’s a dry—
Okay. Okay. I Take the hint. Too crude. No more cheekiness. This library just has far too many old books, even in the fiction section, to make logical sense. The general public isn’t going to be interested or attached. In non-fiction and for college use perhaps. Not this.
Want to know the odd thing? Nothing here. Well. Nothing that isn’t human. Eva knows old. Knows what haunted or fucked up should look like. Hence hospitals are the worst. But here. Here is shadows, things playing upon mortal imaginations, eerie sounds, creaking wooden floorboards and possibly the most relaxed Eva has felt in ages. What lives here belongs here. And what shouldn’t be here has been chased off.
Which is a warning in and of itself. Forgive the normally astute Eva for making this mistake. She was lying on the floor in a fit only a day ago. Seizures are not a walk in the park.
Set the scene. Eva in the classics section. Frankenstein in hand. More tucked under one arm. Dracula. Jane Eyre. Darwin’s Children. That one may hit a little too close to home.
“Strange,” a charming voice observes.
Turns to see the voice. Pure gap moe right here. Rich, deep voice. Commanding. Assertive. Confident. Presidential or kingly. In its place is an emaciated man. Not Eva is that scrawny. Properly sallow skin, bones and little else. Tailored suit. Wool blend. Probably worth more than the family RV. The man is bald. Actually, he lacks any body hair. Carries himself with poise and grace. Straight back and discerning gaze.
Those eyes. They are not found in any mammal ever to have evolved. Their colours keep shifting. Iris is wholly absent. Nothing but rainbow chameleonic sclera and pupils that aren’t close to terrestrial.
“How so?” Eva asked.
“You aren’t in the children’s area.”
The man pauses. Glances down at shoes buffed so bright they could be obsidian mirrors.
“Then again you don’t belong there any more than you belong here.”
It’s not a threat. Casual observation. Accurate too. Frankenstein is now a shield clutched tightly to Eva’s chest. This isn’t a hallucination. This is all too real. A man but not. Something else. Maybe.
“You are something like… no you are not,” Eva stumbles.
The man smiles. It would be charming. On any other face. Eva checks the shadow he casts. Just as tall. But stouter. Not that putting two nails together is much. Still 100% more than before.
Gloved hand resting patiently on the shoulder. No point on giving a reassuring squeeze. Contact is enough. Eva doesn’t need to ask who.
“She can see the truth.”
The man snorts.
“Truth is very relative.”
“Truth is truth and lies are lies.”
“Lies are what you make of them.”
The man runs a hand over his bald scalp.
“We’ve had this talk before, shadow. Neither side is going to give.”
Now it’s time to get angry. Adults talking over Eva. Parents talking over. Doctors talking over. The attendant at the gas station talking over. Someone who Eva, sort of, trusts, talking over. That’s a line she draws.
“What is going on!” Eva demands in a huff. Even stamps her foot. Acting her age for a change.
Shogo’s eyes flick down. The man too. The gaze of the inhuman on the human. The man smiles again. To anybody who didn’t see the truth he would probably be handsome and charming. He is both anyway. To the discerning and crazy eye of a small child.
“Your guardian has been poking around the town. Caused mischief here or there. Cleaned up some trouble lurking on the outskirts. I found only bodily fluids. It must have been quite the meal. I could not pin her down. So, her attachment to you is useful instead.”
Eldritch abomination. One step forward. Reality quivers along with it. Cloak pulled around Eva. It crawled down her shoulder. A tumble of inky tentacles. A latticework of shadowy flesh flowed across her back. Eyes flick up. Want to know the safest place in all of reality right now? Shielded beneath that cloak. [God] looks at that space and decides, “Nope. Gonna direct my omniscient, omnipotent power elsewhere”
The man raises his hands. Proper appealing gesture. Sincerity rated at 20%.
“No harm intended. I just want to talk. But later. Maybe without blackmail material standing before me. You have your rules. I have mine. We need to find some common ground. Or this becomes a turf war. And I own this town.”
A cloak of tentacles. Proper Gucci flesh and lidless eyes gazing at everything. Hanging from Eva’s shoulders. One bad move and you lose a finger. The man takes the hint. One step back. That’s all. A message. Enough.
Shadowy mist and now a fabric cloak. Shogo nods her head.
“She leaves unharmed. Then we talk. I have questions. You were human. What changed?”
The man in the suit checked a cufflink and nodded.
“Fair deal. Go up to the circulation desk, young lady. Get yourself a library card and some books.”
And who takes the advice of someone definitely not human anymore? Riveted in place. Eva looks to Shogo. Gloved hand leaves the shoulder. Should it hurt more that Shogo is sending her off? Yet another person holding secrets.
‘We talk later.’
For context that’s purely inside the head. Ears on strike for this one. Does the bluff succeed? Eva isn’t sure. She’s confident in her poker face. Not so confident with the man. He seems the sort to walk into a room and own everything within it. Know exactly what is going on. 空気読める for the Japanese. Copy-pasta that one into a web browser if you need an explanation. Go on. I’ll wait.
Back? I’d say duck out and get a drink but we’re about to close. Might as well sprint for the finish. Eva takes her five books up to the front counter. Luther and Christina have a card ready. Let their daughter loan what she wants. Easy. Done. Sorted. Another day done. An almost, possibly, maybe kinda functional family leaves the building. At least the image does. Parents flanking their daughter. All looking exhausted. Black rings under their eyes. Shoulders slightly slumped. But good enough to pass for greeting card happy family photo moment. Ignore that last 24 hours.
So just what in the court of Azathoth was that man? Good luck. Story for another day. We’re fixated on Eva right now.
Oh. That reminds me. Who was paying attention? How many books did Eva take out?