I’m not that good a chess player. It takes repeated whacks with the clue bat before I start to follow the trail.
I’m also still quite naive as fuck and often don’t remember the universal law of dealing with sentients.
“Everyone is hiding something.”
I had taken Sir Nathaniel’s comment of first meeting Head In Chest here in my house at face value. He claimed HIC was already present, and had been for several years, when he arrived here.
But a few things didn’t quite support the conclusion he led me to believe, that there had not been a meeting of them before.
The recent tumblr reblogs of the Blemmyes has been teasing me. Many of you readers have remarked about the great similarity with HIC. Can’t be the same, I thought. I’m in California, with no immediate connection to the African continent, or the explorers that brought the tale with them to Europe. Right?
A little detail about Sir Nathaniel’s spider body kept puzzling me. Nothing more than a unusually vivid body color, he affirmed it was the hue of a favorite spider species of his. I had looked it up out of curiosity and found that species is mainly found in modern day Angola. How nice.
Last night, HIC tugged on my hand for his ‘good night’ hug. As I wrapped my arms around his portly stature, I noted he was a little slimmer than before. I teased him for not getting to the candy before my father does.
“Word has gone out this house has a new predator. Not as many wandering souls pass through now. He has no taste for sugar.” Sir Nathaniel shifted his top hat after speaking.
HIC was still holding me contentedly. I was trying not to reveal my sudden fear. “He’s a ghoul.” I pushed the yellow shirt side and looked at HIC’s skin. It held the greenish hue of spiritual scavengers. I placed my face against the exposed skin and sniffed. It was faint, but unmistakable. Raw meat, gone to rot.
Sir Nathaniel shifted uncomfortably and moved higher up the wall, but watched me intently. HIC whimpered but I pulled his arms tighter around me and told him to hold me “while I check something”. This pleased him and he sighed happily as he snuggled against me. I took a good look at the makeup of HIC’s shirt and suspenders. Handmade and made well. The cloth is cotton with no hint of polyester. The suspenders had a core of rubber.
I leaned against HIC for a moment, placing the clues together. “He is a ghoul. One that you encountered while you were alive. The missionaries that accompanied you brought the Jehovian angels that tormented him.” No… Come on Keri, look at all the pieces.
“You met him when you were both alive! When you were doing the proper British thing of exploring ‘dark and uncivilized’ Africa. He was a boy and somehow came under your influence. That’s why the clothes! He became ill and died, but not before suffering horrible hunger. Starvation, which warped him after death. You had missionaries with you, I’m sure. They had Jehovian angels with them. Angels that tormented him in his last living days and first dead ones.”
HIC could sense I was agitated and held me tighter. I patted his shoulders to soothe him and to try and calm myself before continuing.
“He haunted you after his death. And you accepted that. Because you had a hand in his death, and like a proper British Gentleman, you owned up to it. In the manner of the time, anyway. You never tried to help him find rest. He’s a godless savage after all, damned from the start!” Sir Nathaniel crept up to the ceiling, holding his top hat tightly again his decapitated head that was his spider body. But he said nothing.
“After your own death, he took you away. You were too shattered by what happened. And your head was all that remained. Tell me? Did he devour the rest of your body? Is that why he doesn’t hunger for you now? Did he eat what had been denied him? What led to his death? Did he catch himself before eating your head, remembering all the fondness, and taking your head and running instead?” Sir Nathaniel didn’t respond to my wild speculation. But he didn’t try to leave, either.
“Here is what I think happened. He has been trying to find a place for the two of you. So things can be like they were before. Europe, where you died, has too many painful memories. Africa, where he died, is the same and crawling with warring Jehovian angels. While you hunker down, he looks for someplace. And he found this house. He ate his fill of prey, that is, lesser souls, then came back and got you. What is a couple of years to someone dead nearly a century? You got a little nap!”
HIC understood that I was angered. He started to whimper but I told him to keep holding me. I was testing him. I had no qualms about destroying him if necessary.
“So, you get here. And it’s fucking wild and savage. There is no one running the asylum. The strongest one wins. The living in here don’t help. Their acrimony and viciousness only fuels the irascible and unstable. The very environment is dangerous. Feels like old times, doesn’t it.”
“So, you two settle down. He has already established himself as top of the food chain. He is plump. As his handler, you are his greater. You’re safe. You can relish the memories you have kept. The Jehovian angels are kept outside. The house being an open gate to the dead means a steady supply of souls for him to feed on. The bastards don’t bother you because he is too formidable. The only reason he hasn’t eaten them is because there is weaker prey around all the damn time. And, it would be improper to hunt them needlessly.” I was openly mocking him now.
“And then I came back. And I started to wake up to what I am. And I started to take over the house. He is no longer an alpha predator in here. I am. When brute force didn’t work to subdue me, you resorted to more civilized tactics. Like playing to my compassion and loneliness. Which worked. Until now.”
I looked at HIC, who was visibly trembling even as he held on to me. “You tried to scare me, to intimidate me. I kissed you instead. You’ve never tried to eat me, and have even defended me. It’s clear I mean something to you, but I don’t know what. Don’t try to hurt me or my daughter, and I’ll have no reason to go after you. Okay?” He wiped his face against me in an attempt to nod.
“No more tricks, Sir Nathaniel! I’m Queen Bitch of this house now. And I am enforcing my rule. Understand?” A thick silence swirled between us.
“Yes, my Lady. I understand.”
From his trinket, Horatio’s laughter was surprisingly loud. “Took you long enough. I wondered when you would see. And before you ask why I never said anything, you were never in danger from them. Why would he kiss your naive ass? Because a drop of your berserker rage will tear them apart. It is in his best interest to keep you calm, and whole.” Horatio’s mocking laughter upset Sir Nathaniel more than my words.
“I have to go check on other places. If I have to come back here…”
“You’re turning your back on me, Madam?” Sir Nathaniel was surprised.
“Figuring out the truth of your past does not change the current situation. I have an attic to clean out, and your and your companion’s assistance will make the task easier. You have not tried to harm me, and have agreed to help me. Unless you are going to break your word, you are not a threat. And if you do… Horatio will begin the correction, and I will complete it.”
He skittered down the wall until his body was at eye level to mine. He removed the top hat he hid under. Milk-white eyes stared at me from his mis-colored decapitated head. “I will not betray you, nor the trust you have given me.” He replaced the hat and held it securely.
Horatio. Not his “real” name, but a nom de plume I gave him after he quickly revealed how much of an ass he is. He is gloating over another shard of my innocence lost and over Sir Nathaniel’s fall from grace in my eyes.
He quits his trinket to take bodily form in my room and leans against the dresser to add body language to the mocking tirade he is skewering Sir Nathaniel with. “Highborn ain’t so high after all, eh? A little pretty-pretty undoes your kind, every time! Ha!” He is dressed in the tux and markings from before. I note the clothing fits him well. Far too well.
“Tell me, [Horatio]…” At the use of his proper name, he gives me his full attention. He is still chuckling and relishing Sir Nathaniel’s discomfort as he turns to face me. “What kind of ‘pretty-pretty’ does it take to make a bokor fall?” Horatio’s laughter ceases at once. His face melts into a mix of fear and anger. The answer is on the tip of his tongue, but he is doing his best not to speak it. “You can tell me later. Mind your manners and mind the room. Any spirits that would disturb the four of us is fair game tonight.” I dismiss him with a lazy wave, adding to his leashed anger. “Good night.” He only bowed in response.
A little slide to the right and I am at the lair. Snake is coiled up and snoring softly. I smell the fading scent of a visitor, but I know who it is and am not concerned.
I had been meaning to add to the lair. I understood how to add rooms to this Dreaming locale, but I needed to put theory into practice. A quick look into a dark alcove revealed more Non-Euclidean geometry than I could handle. I turned away with a chuckle and a slight headache.
A wet nose at my ankle surprised me. I turned to see my dear Puppy nuzzling itself against me. “You’re not supposed to be here! Wrong realm!”
“By the way, the new doors were installed. And the contractor that installed them is waiting for your feedback.” Snake’s voice was slurred from not being fully awake. I heard him yawn before continuing. “And I’m upset with you.”
I picked up my very happy Puppy and came over to fifty feet of mythically lazy coils. “Upset about what? The doors?”
“No, the doors will be useful. I’m upset you contracted out the decoration of your condo in the City without allowing me to have at it!” He flicked his tongue at me in not-so-playful pouting. “I would have made it fabulous!”
“You would have made it emerald green! Everywhere! I would feel trapped in the movie ‘The Wizard Of Oz!’” I chuckled before segueing into sudden sadness. “And I’d rather not.” I did say I wanted the painful memories. “That, or enough colors thrown in seemingly random and abstract patterns that would make me wonder if I was dropping acid.”
Snake gently nudged me. “Well, when you see what the contractor did, you might want the LSD after all.” Puppy sniffed at the mythos and approved my choice of roommates by licking Snake on the nose. “You might want to put it back. You’re holding a lot of trouble.”
“I am. Just trying to figure out how it got here.” I open the door to the proper world and place Puppy down. “Roam there, not here.” Puppy looked saddened. “You can’t come with me today. No leaving [there] without me or [friend] bringing you along.” Puppy accepted this and went home without trouble.
Closing that door, I opened the door to my condo. With Snake chuckling in anticipation, I stepped from the back of our lair, to a back room of the condo in the City.
Uh.
Hmm.
Hawt Shitte.
The walls had been painted in hues of dirt, from sand brown to volcanic red, to forest mud, to weathered granite. Over this was layered what I can only describe as modern petroglyphs. Some were distinct from each other. Some were layered in confusing patterns. Some were made to look old. Some were colored in vivid technicolor.
All gave the impression of movement. The eye could not hold still to look at just one. As I allowed the illusion of movement to take me, I found the mastery in the work.
Hidden in plain sight, standing still on immobile walls, was the inconstancy of spontaneous dance.
Just like a person can stand perfectly still on solid bedrock, yet be hurtling through space at unimaginable speed along with the planet they stand on, so are the murals and images both static and flowing at once.
I was so thrilled, I started to dance a jig on the spot.
The furniture had been reupholstered to match the rooms. Some appearing as (soft) carved rock, some as carved fallen logs, some as repurposed edifices.
The overall effect was wild, untameable, and unconquerable.
I loved it.
I found some mail at the front door. Drama about the shared garden. (Was warned.) Concern from Gossipy Neighbor. He hadn’t seen me for a few days. (Marked a few days ago.) Note from the Envoy, an invitation to coffee to “chat about recent events”. No rush, just consider when next I stop by. (Marked a day after Gossipy Neighbor’s. Noted.) And a few invites from neighbors as a Welcome to the Neighborhood. Okay. Nothing pressing.
Wait.
This is an odd note. Just a symbol. Nothing esoteric about it. No scent of juju. Just a drawing. That looks familiar. It’s making my brain itch. But it’s just an image and one of those Escher-like illusion images at that. It’s hard to look at, but I can’t look away. I feel something click in my mind and my consciousness shuts down as half of my face stops responding.
I don’t remember dropping the mail. I don’t remember heading for the (hidden) back door. I don’t remember Snake grabbing me. Only the overwhelming sense of panic.
I don’t remember screaming. I don’t remember being laid down. I don’t remember Snake holding my head. Only the feeling of being electrocuted from inside my skull.
I don’t remember HIC holding me in the bed. I don’t remember Sir Nathaniel sitting on my chest. I don’t remember Horatio holding my mouth open. Only him saying “I’ve never seen one this bad.”
“Whacha doing?”, the little girl asked. The tiny flare coming from the circuit board caught her eye.
The old craftsman lifted the hot lead away from her reach. “I’m fixing this circuit. Don’t get to close, this will hurt you.”
“How are you fixing it?”, she asked. It didn’t look broken to her.
“I blowing this circuit so it will always be open. This switch will never close again.” He didn’t wait to see if she backed away. He had a short window to complete his work. If he didn’t, the system would be even more unstable than before.
“But you’re holding your breath! That’s not how you blow!” She took a big breath to show the old craftsman the ‘right way’ to blow a circuit. But before she could exhale, the craftsman found the broken lead. He applied the unfiltered voltage to it, surging the circuit with more power than it was designed for. The little girl twitched and fell backwards away from the table, her eyes rolling into the back of her head. Her gathered breath escaping in a multitude of little clicks.
“Master. Welcome back. Don’t try to move. Just rest still.” Horatio was holding my head like a medic. Slightly tilted back, my throat was forced open. Everything smelled funny. Everything looked funny.
I knew what happened. I knew how the fit was triggered. I had an instinct that the Svartalf, and the doll he holds, had a part to play in it but I could not connect him to the image that triggered the fit.
I wanted to tell Sir Nathaniel that his response to my vulnerability is why I haven’t targeted him. He, and HIC could have had me countless times. But they protected me in my times of weakness. I may have issue with how he came here, but I can not ignore his actions.
A spider’s leg brushed my hand in a comforting gesture. Somehow, I don’t think I need to say anything.
A horrible lethargy welled up from inside me, and pulled me unwillingly and fearfully back into deep dreamless sleep.
My last thought before unavoidable surrender: “Good thing the contractor installed auto-closing doors.”