Five years is a long time for people to think you’re insane. For doctors to diagnose you as Schizophrenic and medicate you. To have no friends because your life is on the road, looking for a solution to a problem that doesn’t exist. From 6, through to 11, five years is an eternity for a child.
Evangeline sighed and looked out the window of her parents’ RV. The bland terrain of Southern Alberta, Canada, rolled by. Well, it was at least bland to Eva (she preferred that over Evangeline). To anybody else the low terrain broken up by pristine forest and mirror clear lakes, backed against mighty mountains, would have been awe inspiring. The sort of beauty people paid a great deal of money to be a tourist in. Or purchase land for holiday homes. Aspen for Canada. Picturesque. Pristine. Beautiful.
Boring.
The only thing Eva gave the briefest of attention was her own reflection. It had averted their gaze. It was her reflection today. Young. A child. Female. Black. Long burnt brown hair. Tawny eyes with dark rings under them. A face that might have been cute for someone her age. But instead looked… almost sickly. Certainly gaunt. Lines where there ought not be. Not for her age. Curious, no?
Eva turned away from the rolling view and buried her nose in a book. It was her favourite thing to do when on the road. And after five years Eva knew what was or wasn’t her favourite thing to do when they drove between stops. Today was ‘On the Way to the Wedding.’ Eva had been bingeing Julia Quinn since discovering her at a second-hand bookstore in the previous town. 8 books gone in two weeks. She just had the finale, which was more of a collection of short stories, to go.
“Have you finished your homework?” Christina called from the front seat.
“Yes, mom!”
Five years on the road didn’t equate to five years of indolence. Far from it. Christina Foxe was a university qualified teacher. She had insisted that Eva’s education would not suffer while they travelled all North America. In search of answers. Answers to entirely the wrong question.
Eva was a bright girl. She had a natural intelligence and curiosity. Much of it from her father, Luther Foxe. Luther was an independent web designer. As long as he had a Wi-Fi signal the man was able to work. Mostly contract and always well paid. It let the family of three spend their itinerant lives on the road.
Perhaps we’re going a little far afield. Eva was bright. That intelligence was only further polished by her mother’s studious care, attention and ruthless curriculum. It was entirely possible that Eva could sit her High School exams. If she ever had the chance to attend school. The last time she had gone to school… maybe we can talk about that someday. Today isn’t that day. Today is about first meetings, ticklishness, ice-cream and Eva learning that she isn’t broken the way everybody says. She is still broken. But it is a broken that is normal in the sea of abnormal that is post-2012. Post ‘The Event.’
Let’s stop being ambiguous and alluding to things.
“How long until we stop?” Eva asked without looking up from her book.
“There’s a town maybe half a day’s drive up ahead,” Luther replied in his deep, rich voice.
“Can we stay in a motel?”
Eva pitched her voice just sweet enough to try twist her father’s heart. The three had been through a great deal in the last five years. But deep-down Eva’s parents still loved her even as she caused them pain and confusion.
A low conversation carried on between the two. Eva knew not to interrupt or even listen in. Knowledge hard won. Let them horse trade on her behalf.
“… need to pick up a new script. It may take a day or two to process…”
That much Eva couldn’t help. Script meant medication. Medication meant more of her very self being muffled, suppressed or at worse lost. Eva wondered how much of Evangeline Foxe really existed. What was left of the girl who had once lit up the room like a dark evening star?
Not much. But you can grow very little into a supernova if you know how. After all, dark matter cannot be seen nor felt. But it shapes the cosmos.
“Sure thing, Candesia.”
Eva knew things were good. And bad. And worrisome. Candesia was a little joke between Luther and her daughter. Shannon Messenger’s first novel had been published in early 2012. An unironic mirror to their own world post-2012. That novel was far more controlled and palatable. A world where magic was hidden in the background. But its own unique flare and quite apart from Potter. Eva had once been described as a dark evening star. Now she was one of the unmapped stars from Messenger’s novels, Candesia, a smoky glow hidden in the sky. Luther used it affectionately for his daughter. Or when he was preparing her for something she mightn’t like.
The last few pages of Quinn’s novel were a blur. Eva certainly enjoyed it. But she would take a break before getting to the finale. Savour the flavour and mood rather than bingeing a whole tub of ice-cream. Putting the book down Eva rummaged through her bag of recently acquired second-hand books.
“Jonathon Strange and Mr Norrell,” Eva read to herself, picking up the heavy novel.
The clerk had said she would love it. Magic, mystery and Regency England. Plus, it had a strange fey creature known as ‘The Man with Thistledown Hair.” The shopkeeper’s vivid description had entranced Eva. The fey man. Always lurking in the shadows and playing games with people that it took an interest in.
Yes. This is foreshadowing. But it’s appropriate.
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Luther had been true to his word. The RV pulled up at a nice motel on the outskirts of a quiet little town. Eva hadn’t even paid attention to the name. The book was too engrossing. She just called it ‘The Town.’ That was good enough.
It was a treat to stay in a motel. Most of the time the Foxe’s kept to the open road. Even when in a town they would shop locally and get back on the road where possible. Staying in an actual motel had Eva excited. Excited enough to put down her books. She brought some blu-rays with her too. Eva didn’t like sleeping without something playing in the background. It helped drown out the background noise. Tonight, was the BBC production of Sherlock. Specifically, the Benedict nod to the classic Sherlock, complete with deerstalker, sword-canes and period piece clothing. It tickled Eva’s tastes.
The Foxe family had gone out to a restaurant to celebrate the latest leg of their journey. Luther had received a very generous paycheque for a contract website. Enough for them to splash out on an all-you-eat buffet. Lots of meat, salads and sides. Dessert too. Did I mention unlimited drink refills? Pretty good deal. Eva had gone back for thirds; she was so excited to eat something other than microwave meals or her mum’s occasional on-the-road home cooking. Whenever she was away from the table Luther and Christina talked in hushed tones. It irked Eva that her parents thought she didn’t notice. Yes. She was heavily medicated. Not clueless. But the night was a fun one. The girl even kept her composure whenever she went to the drinks machine. An innocuous shadow. It didn’t look at her and she didn’t look at it. Of course, she was still busted. Eva could bluff pretty well. Her parents still knew the little ticks and shifts in body language. Eva sat down at the table, deflated and feeling the onset of another emotional barrage. Swallowed her drink. Her emotions. Her pride. Her dignity.
“Shall we get going, Candesia?”
“Mmm.”
One parent per hand. Eva wasn’t dragged out. Per say. But her parents carefully policed her movements. This wasn’t necessary. Mind you, by the time she was 10 Eva had learnt how to keep quiet, to ignore what she saw and heard. To maintain her composure and blot out the things at the edge of her vision. Her parents still treated her like terrified Eva at age 6. The Event fresh in everyone’s minds. The things in the dark now illuminated to one and all.
And Eva screaming all the time.
Life sucks.
The family walked in the twilight back to the Motel. Christina broke away to fetch something from the RV. Eva knew what. The Foxe family had booked a 2-bedroom 1 bathroom suite with combined kitchen/living area. A treat for them to enjoy over the next week. Eva had probably already ruined that. It depended on how tonight went. Once indoors Eva claimed first shower. The proper scalding hot water felt amazing. The bathroom was a palace compared to the RV. Eva couldn’t help but start singing. Not in English. She liked reading English. But she preferred singing J-pop and K-pop. Something about its unbridled energy and freedom appealed to her. The girl didn’t want to end up a prune no matter how much she loved the shower. With no small amount of regret Eva got out, towelled off and changed into her purple pyjamas. Padding into the living room, Eva saw the brown paper package sitting on the small dining table. She trudged over to the package and began emptying the contents. Painkillers for her father’s occasional headaches. Something for when her mother’s period was especially bad. The rest. Several packages packed with blister packs. All hers. One looked new. Probably another experimental. They liked to change things around.
Eva knew her prescription better than Christians knew The Lord’s Prayer. Popped out pill after pill. The new one she left to one side. Fetched a glass of water. Luther exited his room and walked over to Eva. Put firm but reassuring hands on Eva’s shoulders.
“The psychiatrist we saw a month ago said we should try something new. See if that helps. Do you feel up to it?”
It was insulting. Not in the vicious or condescending way. Rude. That was what the question was. Even if Eva didn’t feel up to it, she still had to take the medication. It would take weeks for it to build up in her system. That would leave her feeling miserable. Lethargic. Enervated. She would lose all that reading time. Another two months of Eva’s short lifespan she would never recall.
Eva was 11. She had maybe enough memory for 9. If we are being generous.
Life really does suck.
“Okay, Dad.”
Eva, glass of water in one hand, pills in the other, swallowed her regime of medication. Luther popped from the new blister pack the right dosage. Eva watched closely. She wouldn’t be able to memorise now. In two months’ time Eva remembered to do so.
“Where’s Mom?”
“She will be back shortly.”
This had Eva curious. Hadn’t Christina simply gone to the RV to get the medication? Her question was answered when the door swung open, Christina wearing a bright grin. Eva had inherited her mother’s stunning grin. At least that was what Luther told her some nights.
“Dessert,” Christina announced.
The family had left before they could treat themselves. Christina had bought what looked to be a giant tub of Haagen-Dazs to make up for their early exit. Eva smiled and raced to hug her mother.
Luther and Christina are not bad people. They aren’t being painted that way. It can be too easy to make them out as villains. Life is FAR more complicated than that. You should have seen Eva age 6.
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Benedict’s rich timbre buzzed around the room. More than enough to hush the other noises when they did rise up. Though tonight was a quiet one. Eva liked the quiet ones. Some places. Some camp sites. Some Towns. They were quiet. Nothing to see or hear. Others.
Not so much.
And then there were the overwhelming ones.
Eva lay on her bed with lidded eyes, staring at the TV where it played in the corner of the room. Her stomach was full of ice-cream and parents that hugged her and sleepy thoughts. It was a good night. Already her head was feeling foggy. This would be her for months. She smiled dopily. Frowned. Something coiled in the shadows at the back of the room. Eva didn’t want this. The medication was meant to make this go away. Though that was a lie. At 11 Eva knew nothing was going to work. Her parents had travelled across all of North America, spending incredible amounts of time and money seeing the best psychiatrists. Nothing. Not people. Not drugs. Not therapy. Nothing had made a tangible difference. All that had changed was Eva’s perspective. Her mind was permanently changed by all the medication. Possibly damaged. That’s up for debate. When you have the mind of a 6-year-old as baseline there isn’t much of a frame of reference. Now Eva knew to keep quiet, to ignore what she saw and heard, to remain calm and use various coping mechanisms. Books to keep her mind busy during the day. Music or preferably TV at night when she slept. Nothing for the nightmares. No bed-wetting these days. A positive step.
Since The Event. Since she was 6. Auditory. Visual. Tactile. Hallucinations and delusions so vivid they had to be real. 6. Eva screaming at all the things of shadow, tentacles, mouths and eyes. 7. Curled up in the RV and afraid to look out the window. 8. Borderline catatonic from the various drugs as they drove along the highways. 9. Working studiously at her homework to catch up from what she had missed in prior years. 10. Consuming books voraciously and telling the random therapist she met about the creature with too many arms leaning over his shoulder. 11. Well it all starts at 11. It starts tonight.
Eyes. That is what stirred Eva just enough. Sometimes they had eyes. Actually, usually they had eyes. The problem was the number. You know Graham’s Number? You’re getting close. Or none. When there really should have been some. Yellow. A shade Eva couldn’t describe. Maybe there weren’t words for it. Maybe dusky yellow without the bite. Or anaemic orange turned to dust. Eva liked her eyes.
Why the hell had she thought ‘her?’
It seemed right. The coiled thing of shadows shifted slightly. Its outline was now feminine. If shadows could have gender attributes. Eva sighed and wondered when this delusion was going to fade. Perhaps it would engage in a jump scare. Some of them did. Leapt at her. Soundless shrieks. Or hissing in her ears that took hours to fade. Flailing limbs wrapping powerlessly about her body. Those ones were the worst. How could you not flinch or scream? At least she had stopped soiling herself. The medication helped with dulling her senses, her mind, in that regard. For once it did something positive. The shadow thickened. Congealed. Coalesced. The more Eva thought about it the more it took on substance and form. Soon enough it looked vaguely humanoid. The bemused, dopey, terrified girl got up on one elbow and stared at whatever her crazy, schizophrenic, delusional and broken mind was conjuring up tonight. Confrontation sometimes dissolved the insane imagery.
Not working tonight. Nope. Can’t think away the real.
“What do you want?” Eva whispered, half-asleep and sad that tonight was not going well.
The shadows continued their strange, snake-like dance, twisting, coiling, constricting and only continuing to colour. Eva whimpered. She didn’t like this one. It was the most real she had experienced in over a year. Maybe the new drugs were doing the opposite. A wet, sloppy, oily sound came from whatever madness was being projected out of the girl’s broken mind. In fear Eva scrabbled to the side of her bed, took a risk to look away, leant down and fished the topmost book from her bookbag. Julia Quinn rested easy in hand. Sitting up straight the angry, scared and now frustrated, the girl readied to hurl the projectile.
A woman in a charcoal black cloak with dark red highlights crouched in the shadows.
“That’s. New.”
Stolen story; please report.
Eva slowly set the book down. Ran her fingers absently over the plastic cover. The woman watched Eva. There was a passiveness to her. She couldn’t make out much more than those strange not yellow eyes. Everything else was hidden beneath the cloak. The hood was up too. But definitely a woman. Eva was certain of that.
The two stared at each other for almost one third of an eternity, give or take an epoch. Eva made the first move. Slowly crawled over the covers towards the bed edge. Swung her legs over and tapped bare feet on the carpet. The woman very carefully stood up. She was… well she wasn’t tall but wasn’t short. Average’ish, leaning towards tall. Maybe she changed height every time Eva blinked. That made the most sense. Average’ish build, from what you could make out beneath the cloak. That cloak obscured everything. Chest. Limb. Face beneath the hood.
“Who. Who are you?” Eva managed in the quietest, softest of voices.
The woman didn’t respond. Instead, she took a step forward. Feet didn’t move beneath the hem of the cloak. Something squirmed. Writhed. Wriggled. It didn’t bother Eva. She had seen worse. The next step was calf-high boots. The woman took on more distinction. Slowly coming into focus. A photo slowly developing from nothingness in a darkroom. At a safe distance the woman stopped. Out of reach of Eva. A sign of respect. Acknowledging personal space. Not a threat. The woman tipped her head, eyes looking to one side of Eva. The girl realised what was being asked. Without words. Just respectful distance and a look.
“Come. Sit.”
Eva padded the space beside her. Emphasise the point. The woman moved cautiously. Carefully. Rolled back the cloak enough not to sit on it. Writhing shadows. Tentacles. Eyes. Mouths. The shadows withdrew. A black bolero jacket, white blouse, black skirt to mid-calf, black stockings and dark leather boots. It looked. Well, it looked like something Eva might wear herself. All the books she had read. All those period piece drama. Edwardian. Regency. Pre WW1. The make, cut and style appealed to Eva. Anachronistic.
The woman, face still hidden beneath the hood, sat down. Eva realised as the woman brushed down her spot, she was wearing black leather gloves. The cuffs of her jacket held wriggling things that would hurt the eyes. Eva sighed and knew that she was having another schizophrenic episode. The delusion just wouldn’t settle. But at least she might find some small way to enjoy it before it all melted down into fear and panic. She would probably go running to her parents. Eva hated that. But right now, she wanted to be held and gently shushed in one ear and made to feel loved. Safe.
Perhaps her parents were the wrong people to go to. They were however all Eva had.
“You’re just another delusion,” Eva whispered to herself.
“What do you think?”
The cadence was off. Pauses mid-syllable. Pitch going up and down awkwardly. The flow stilted. The delusion… English wasn’t its first language. Perhaps it had never spoken before. Never needed to. Dreams don’t need words. Imagery and sensation are enough. The diffuse experience laying in morning's waking bones long after the dream is forgotten. That wasn’t what surprised Eva however. She was being asked for HER opinion. Someone was speaking to her. Not at her. Decades later Eva would recall this night vividly. Perfectly. Eidetically. The night when someone asked rather than told. Let her have a voice.
“None of this is real,” Eva went on. “It’s all in my head.”
“Is that what you believe?”
“It has to be.”
“If I touch you?”
“False sensory input.”
Eva had learnt a great many terms from all her psychiatric assessments and sessions. I did mention at start that she was quite intelligent.
“My brain is recreating sensations I have already experienced. In that past I’ve been grabbed by things. Bitten. Felt them freeze or burn. Lick. Whisper… horrible things to me. None of it is real. Just my brain confusing my body.”
“You. Need proof?”
Eva looked up at the woman. Sighed. At least this wasn’t an aggressive madness. Perhaps the drugs and ice cream were working.
“There isn’t any proof. Nothing. Nobody. Well, nobody would… you know… nobody… nobody… nobody…”
A constant loop. The same word. Spiral. Twist. Fractal. Turn in on itself. Never ending.
“—Listens,” the woman broke the ouroboros.
The woman brought gloved hand to hood. A somatic gesture implying consideration and thought. Then the woman lowered her hand. Instinctive. Animal. Cautionary. Hard worn experience. Eva felt the faintest thread of danger from the woman. Not anger, hunger, the need to destroy. More predatory. She began crawling away from the edge of the bed, toward her pillow and anything else that might shield her. The woman spoke in her strange cadence, tone, pitch and delivery.
“Kinesmesis. Gargalesis. Light itch and tickle. Hypothalamus response conveying submission or flight. Nerve fibres associated with pain and touch. Unique response. Somatosensory cortex transmits information to the cerebellum regarding pin-point accuracy and contact point. Cortical response causes gargalesis to be rendered moot. The brain knows exactly where it is going to be touched. Surprise mechanism undermined.
Schizophrenia is dissociation of mind with external and internal sensory input. Delusions, hallucinations, impossible thoughts and conjurations of memory. Underpinning recent evolutionary traits of homosapien sapien is primate brain. Consciousness overlays sensory nervous system. This system can be interfered with, damaged, broken. But underpinning principles cannot. Somatosenosory communicating with cerebellum.
Even with schizophrenia and ability to create false information, base functions must be observed. It is acknowledged that non-pathological individuals with high schizophrenic traits possess the ability to surprise themselves. But sensory input is incredibly limited even with dissociation of tracking and attribution of actions to self.”
Eva had listened closely to the sudden explanation. She didn’t fully follow what was being said. It seemed to focus around neurology, psychology and the nervous system.
“Uhm… what are you saying?”
“If I am a hallucination, even able to deliver false sensory input, I cannot tickle you due to the fact that your somatosensory cortex communicates to your cerebellum and knows exactly where your delusional mind is hallucinating the contact upon your nervous system thus breaking the surprise element of the sensory feedback.”
A dark tentacle shot out from the woman’s cuff and wrapped around Eva’s ankle. Rolled onto her stomach. Dragged backwards. Eva grabbed a pillow. Buried her face in it in readiness for her limb to be torn off. She didn’t want her parents to wake up as she went through another episode.
Giggling. Honest giggling. Snickering. Puffs of laughter. An electric current zapped through Eva’s body. Left a metallic taste on her tongue. Then the world was colour, light and sensation. Brilliance. Her mind, long smothered and shackled, shucked off its bindings. Eva could feel leather gloves dancing over her foot and all she could do was laugh.
It tickled. It really tickled. IT REALLY, REALLY TICKLED. The eleven-year-old buried her face in the pillow and did her best not to make too much noise. The buzzing through her body felt… it felt good. She wanted to break free but whatever had wrapped around her ankle held firm. So, Eva just giggled and giggled. Let the endorphins flood her mind. Let the liberating sensation overwhelm everything else. It ended up that Eva still had her mother’s smile. Her laugh too. Warm and effervescent. But with caramel depth to it. The experience of someone far too young to be mature.
Eventually the tickling abated. Eva hadn’t realised how hot and fatigued she felt. Her face covered in a patina of sweat. Breath laboured. A runner’s high. Of a sort. What coiled around Eva’s ankle let her go. The girl lay there. Breathing into her pillow and savouring the experience. She had felt. Properly felt. Yes. It had been torture in a sense. But still this was the first verve of experience for the girl she knew in… years. And years should not be quoted when one is only 11.
Twin fingers ran down the sole of either foot.
If you are wondering, yes, the woman is a bit of a sadist. Monsters are meant to instil fear in their prey. If two fingers can have their favourite meal quivering, well that’s not much energy expended for a good bit of flavouring. Also. Painless Agony. Sadist. I think I’ve underscored that enough. It’ll come up from time to time again later. Future stories too. Can you smell the foreshadowing?
Eva yelped, pulled her legs up and threw the pillow at the woman. It struck the hood. Did not knock it off. Eva watched. Contemplated. For other’s that would have been disconcerting. Cautiously, Eva sat back on her heels and stretched her arms forward, small hands clasping either side of the hood and tipped it back.
She was beautiful. Eva’s first thought. At 11 your concept of beauty lacks the maturation like any good alcohol does. Eva still knew at a primal level what beauty was. Pale skin. Unlined. Soft. Probably English. Cute nose. Somewhat angular features but in proportion. Thin pink lips. Those incredible not-yellow, not-orange eyes. Large. Those eyes spoke to Eva. Soft blonde hair worn loose and spilling down to her neck, bangs almost obscuring her enticing eyes. A set of oval glasses perched upon that cute nose.
Shadows crawled in the gap where a pale neck sunk beneath the collar of the white blouse. Thin black and deep purple tentacles writhed. They were beautiful too. Before withdrawing into clear white skin.
“You’re beautiful,” Eva managed.
The woman reached out and softly touched Eva’s head in reply. Gloved hands enveloping her head, thumbs touching temples, fingers curling behind. She drew Eva into a very gentle embrace. The woman’s smelt… warm. The scent was not something Eva could name. Warmth. From a dream. A promise. Eva leant into that embrace and exhaled. She let go and trusted. It was utterly irrational. A monster from the shadows met less than an hour ago. Now she was feeling affection for it. From it. Eva trusted, dropped all barriers and let herself just be held. The monster gently shushed, stroked fingers through hair and Eva let herself be calmed. A frisson of peace.
Arms untangled. Eva looked up at the woman. Realised something. Manners.
“I’m Eva.”
“Pleasure.”
“You’re supposed to give your name.”
“Asking for a name implies you acknowledge that I am not a hallucination.”
Eva blushed a little.
“Well, it did tickle. A lot. Okay. You aren’t a monster.”
The woman shook her head.
“I am not a hallucination. But I am madness. I am a monster.”
Things squirmed in the shadowy cuffs of the woman’s jacket. Eva swallowed and scooted back a little.
“Are you… like one of those fey? Or a shadow creature? A demon? I’ve heard all sorts of things.”
The woman shook her head.
“No. I am older. Much older. You asked for a name. I do not have one. I am from before names. Or names that you would understand. Names older than gods.”
Eva nodded. Then, caution, fear and bravery all mixed together, reached out and grasped the woman’s gloved hand. She stared at the cuffs and waited. Tentacles of deepest purple, black and a colour indescribable slowly quested out, curling around Eva’s fingers. Kinesmesis. Soft, itchy, tickly touch. Eva withdrew his hand.
“Shogo,” she announced. “I found a compilation of HP Lovecraft’s work in an old bookstore a year ago. My parents didn’t approve. A Shoggoth is a great tentacled monster.”
“Appropriate.”
“Why are you here, Shogo?”
The woman gave a vague shrug with one shoulder.
“To scare you.”
“You succeeded.”
“Are you still scared?”
“Well…” Eva sat back, certain to tuck her feet under the blankets, “Yes but not in the same way. I know you’re a monster. I know you could eat me at any time and there’s nothing I could do. I’m wary. Afraid but in control. And curious. You did something.”
Eva kicked her feet beneath the sheets.
“Besides tickle me,” she said in a soft voice.
“You were poisoned. I removed it.”
“Poison… everything that is in me… is gone? You took away all my medication?”
“Correct.”
“Whoa. I know magic can do strange things. Wait. Aren’t I going to suffer withdrawal? I’ve stopped medication before suddenly and it was horrible.”
“No. You are clean and safe.”
It was the most curious thing. Eva was in the room with a verifiable monster. She’d felt it firsthand. But all she wanted to do was talk to it. Correction. To her.
“So why… are you white?”
“Oh?”
“I just thought… you only look human for my sake… right?”
It was a curl of the lips. Measured in planck lengths. Enough. A ghost’s ghost of a smile.
“You are bright for your age.”
“I was right.”
“I look as your imagination looks.”
Eva considered all the literature, movies and television she had been consuming lately.
“Good point. Well, you scared me Shogo. I don’t know why but you scared me. And made me laugh. I think I cried a little too. I’m all tingly and buzzing. My head feels clear. What happens now?”
“I remain.”
“Pardon!?!”
“You are very important. Very. Not in ways you might understand. Not in scales you might. But important. I have looked for you since the flood returned. Since all the horrors of the past washed over this world. I am here for you. I do not wish to eat you. Humans taste bad anyway. I am here to teach a lesson to every child I come across.”
“A lesson?”
“Be afraid. The light isn’t protection anymore. Campfires will not hold it at bay.”
The light of the TV sent shadows streaming out from Shogo. Those shadows danced in twisted whorls and writhing madness. It hurt Eva’s eyes to look at those shadows. But she didn’t pull her eyes away. Fear stoked anew in her heart. Fear of what lay in the darkness.
“What I saw—”
“Was all real.”
“I’m not mad?”
“You are mad. A different sort. An important sort. The mad see the truth that others avoid. You are mad and so you will live.”
Eva hugged herself. She knew that something enormous was being delivered to her. That she should have grasped just how pivotal this night was going to be. For herself. For other children. It couldn’t stick. That was frustrating. In that frustration Eva lashed out. The reaction of a child. Perfectly understandable.
“What if I don’t want you to stay around me? What if I just return to the way everything that was before?”
It was warm when it coiled around Eva’s ankle. The girl glanced over the side of the bed. Inky shadows leading from Shogo where she sat up into the blankets. Eva was learning the many expressionless expressions of Shogo. Curiosity. Caution. Her scaring others mind you. Fear cannot be terrified. Intimidation. Humour. Now impishness.
“How long can you laugh for?”
Sadist.
“You are a monster of fear and terror,” Eva deadpanned.
Then realised she had deadpanned. When did Eva have a sense of humour? When did she ever have wit?
“You aren’t going to leave me?”
Shogo gave another one shoulder shrug.
“What do you want?”
Choice. The first in five years. Evangeline could choose. It felt alien. To choose. To possess agency.
“You want to stay. But you would go if I asked?”
“You are in control.”
“My ankle says otherwise.”
Shogo’s impish look remained.
“There are consequences for choices.”
A proper giggle. Multiple. Probably too loud but they kept coming. Eva clamped hands over her mouth. She couldn’t have her parents waking up. In her defence it was pretty funny. She was being threatened with torture by a thing that had crawled up from the shadows. A creature that appeared obsessed with frightening children. Eva reached beneath the covers and stroked the cool tentacle wrapped around her ankle. Gently unwound it.
“Have you ever had ice cream before?”
“Ice. Cream?”
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Shogo sat in a very lady-like way on the floor at the foot of the bed. Eva sat on the edge of the bed and kicked her feet. The pair each wielded a spoon and passed the tub of ice cream back and forth. In between spoonful’s Eva would pepper Shogo with questions. Her friend was curious. And yes, I would classify Shogo as a friend. You know those stories about people meeting and immediately becoming fast friends. Same principle. Just one of them is human and the other isn’t. Anyway, the shadowy creature named Shogo answered as best she could. It was a sort of information overload for Eva. She kept storing words away in her mind to check the dictionary later. Shogo held nothing back. That Eva appreciated. She was being treated as her. Not a child. Not an adult. Just her.
“I’m not changeling or something like that?” Eva mustered the courage to ask.
“You are utterly human.”
“So why… well… you know…”
“How are you able to see the many horrors in the dark? That has nothing to do with magic. As I said, you are mad. Just a different sort from your misdiagnosis of Schizophrenia. You see the truth. Everyone sees fear as a child. They just grow out of it.”
“My madness is that I don’t grow up.”
A nod of the head. A ghost of a smile. Eva learnt fast.
Eva began an unintentional monologue of all the things she had seen and heard over the last five years. Used Shogo as a sounding board for what might have been a genuinely overactive imagination and what was ‘real.’ Shogo felt the nearby shift. She wasn’t concerned. Paying attention to Eva was far more important. The door swung silently inward. Eva looked up, spoon held to her mouth, conversation stopping. Tawny eyes met Shogo’s not-yellow. The monster flicked her eyes once to the right. The eleven-year-old understood the meaning. She shifted off the bed slowly and out of the line of fire. The barrel of the pistol pressed against the back of Shogo’s head.
“Whoever you are, get the fuck out of here.”
The monster sighed. No actual threat. What? You honestly think a firearm poses a danger to her? Let’s not honour that with an answer. Winked out of existence. Luther’s arm was shaking. He slowly lowered the gun. Put the safety back on. Motioned for Christina to enter. The pair had heard Eva sneaking into the kitchen to raid the fridge. Decided their daughter was being naughty. She had talked to things that weren’t there in the past. Out of concern Luther had snuck up to the door. This time something answered. Something was in the room with his baby girl. The pistol he always kept on hand was retrieved from the locked top drawer of the bedside table. Post Event you could never be too safe.
Luther returned the pistol to his room and the locked drawer. Christina smothered her daughter in hugs, kisses, tears and worry. Luther returned and was similarly distressed. The only one calm was Eva. Her parents thought the woman a sexual predator. Paedophile looking to kidnap a young girl. They wouldn’t listen to Eva’s explanation. Couldn’t. Don’t blame them. They’re not ready for this just yet. That will change in the next week. Trust me.
Shogo stood in the corner of the room and slowly licked her spoon clean. Tongue perhaps a little too long. She liked ice cream. Maybe it was time to try out other foods. The tableau between distraught parent and frustrated child played out as expected. Shogo knew what was to come. Awkward. Interesting. And certainly awkward.
Guess what comes next.