The Lucky Elephant--March, 2010

I remember sunlight, but not what it feels like. I know it was warm on my face. Up at the 'Shop, the Sun edged down beneath the horizon by October, and then it was dark, and it's dark tonight and always will be dark.
Cities pass below me, broad swathes of light splayed out along the coastlines or plains. Closer, I see street grids, blocks of houses, blocks of roofs. And chimneys, the world is full of them. In the most modern cities, houses with central heating nevertheless sport chimneys.

Ed Platte, aged forty-two, recent hire to the actuary firm of Steele, Murphy & Fitz, or SMF—pronounced “smif” by long-time employees. A practical and efficient man, Ed is a firm believer that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. Until today, that belief has gotten him through life unscathed. But until today, he never had to walk the Bunny Trail after dark.

Emily stared in the darkness, ears straining to pick out the sound that must have woke her. Behind her, Tony rolled to his side and draped his arm over her waist and pulled her closer. She didn’t resist the contact, but she didn’t relax to his embrace, either. Something had pulled her from a deep sleep, and she doubted it was Tony trying to get closer. People had been talking in her dream. Speaking in a language she didn’t understand. The volume had increased until everybody was shouting at her in French, the unfamiliar words piercing her ears like pointed weapons. When she opened her eyes to the dark room, the words were still there. Moving in a steady stream through her mind, nonsensical sounds forming phrases that felt deliberate. That had the rhythm and cadence of an actual sentence with actual meaning.

Halloween, the one time of year when all the masks and costumes come out of the closet, stock in candy companies soar, and pumpkins become the most popular kid in the vegetable aisle. But anyone who knew anything about the other world--the one beneath the often very thin veil of reality comfortably blinding those who weren’t ready to see or accept--also knew that this was the one time of year where the masks and costumes could be safely tucked into the closet for a change.

It was the absinthe that did it.

At least, that’s what Jacob says. I don’t believe him. My memories of that Halloween may be fuzzy, but they’re clear enough for truth, and if Jacob wants to blame the absinthe that’s fine with me. Let him. I know where the responsibility lies, but I won’t tell them. I don’t want to.

They are coming. Closer, closer, with every moment, every heartbeat, and I can feel my heartbeat, I can feel my heart beat, beat, beat, beat, it's beating too fast, it's echoing off the walls, and I wonder if they can hear it. They can hear so much that sometimes I wonder if they can hear thought. Can they hear my fear? I have covered my mouth; I have shut it tight with a sewing needle and fine wire. I must muffle my accidental screams, my cries for help, my own voice, because it betrays me. Especially when I sleep. I hear it all night long, it invades even my dreams, and I have to silence it, because they are coming and they can hear it.