Chapter 16: That Winding Nowhere Road
"It's five in the afternoon. Do you know where your Sybil is?" asked the coal-dark fox.
Sadie Crane knew this was a dream. Boots full of water, feet were dry as the grave. Could feel slopping moss between each of their toes, gross. They'd felt this before, huh? When they stuck their feet in the river. When they were a kid. When they didn't know a thing about bacteria and disease and war.
"Gone," they sighed.
"Is he?" the fox asked.
"He was like a hole," Sadie Crane said. "A hole in the world. Sucking us in. Damn, my feets are tired. What is this? Like, Damnation? Like am I for real dead?"
The coal-dark fox said nothing back. They didn't think It would. If they were actually for real dead, they'd know. They'd feel the air between their bones and know.
"This don't make sense," they complained.
"Yes it does," replied the coal-dark fox.
"No it doesn't!" Sadie Crane belled.
They were at foot of a pond, darkest water they ever did see. Down under, shapes flitting all over the place. They were like fish, but not. Notebooks, pencils, outside slippers, paintbrushes. Moving and alive. They were mesmerized for one second. Staring real deep.
"You gotta wake up now, Sadie Crane," the fox said.
"Don't tell me what to do--"
"Hey! Assface!" De'afi belled.
Couple miles outta Bellswater. Didn't make it to the next town, grabbed blankets and slept outside. Yeah, figured as much. It was that kinda week.
Bolted their eyes open. Cripes. Never gets tired of being all cryptic, huh? Can anyone in this godforsaken hole ever give them a straight answer? Just say it plain? Or it's gonna be like this forever and ever, please and crackers?
Gods, their mouth tasted garbage this morning. Like rotten milk. They lapped at the insides of their cheeks, lips too, yellowed gravehead teeth. Of course their back was trying to kill them this morning, as were several other parts of their body. Head included.
"Aghhh, what?" they mumbled.
Viola'd built herself a blanket pile, cocooned herself inside. Never the kind of person for sleeping outside, not since Scouts. And only under duress. Didn't have much of a choice in Scouts, it was either sleep outside or go home get screamed at by her folks. Least she learned to shoot a bow and skin a rabbit, skills she'd put to no good use. So maybe it was all a big fat waste of her adolescence?
The aviator squatted down and pointed at the sky. Gray and cast over. Sky foam, big fat clouds. Ze could smell rain coming.
Thought: Tears of creation, come down.
"Saw a hare," said the aviator. "You know their coats change with the months? Like they get all whitey when it's cold out?"
"Did notice that," said the anarchist. "They get snowy."
Ze tugged a book out hir rucksack. Way Down Deep: A Traveler's Guide to All Creation by White Veil. Peeled a map from between a couple of pages, little hand-drawn thing with blots and graphite indents. Wasn't much, but it'd been stuffed up there for a reason. It marked all the stops, the empty-eyed ruins and dead-faced abandoned. More importantly, the Spinners Club.
"Where are we?" Sadie Crane asked.
"Nowhere," De'afi said back.
Lined hir finger on the map.
"Past nowhere we got....Whalefall?" ze said. "About five miles? Looks like there's this place called Cradle--"
"Why's it gotta be called that?" they sighed.
"But anyhow, we're almost there," ze concluded.
Packed up the map, threw hir head skybound.
"This is so fucking boring," De'afi bleated.
"You wanna get dead that bad?" the anarchist sped back.
"No!" the aviator snapped. "But ain't that just pits? There's nothing! Not a single damn!"
Least if they got mauled into red splatters by some kinda night beast, that would be something. Prettier story than some books in an empty church or some cave lake. Wasn't that why ze hit the road? Why ze up and abandoned Abakris like that, knowing he might smoke himself dead?
Sadie Crane scrubbed the bikes down. You know, they wouldn't say any of this journey was pointless. Nonsensical mayhaps, but pointless? Wouldn't go that far. Like they were running in circles, coming back to the same point over and over and ever and over.
Thought: Bits of the world. Little pieces of what it means to be alive.
"You know where we are?" Sadie Crane asked.
"Um, out?" De'afi suggested.
"Nah," they said back. "Like where in time and space? You know where?"
"Where the wheel stops," ze said.
Sadie Crane flinched and their lips started running without permission.
"Reckon It's getting closer," they said. "Like, Its been following real close since Alcoast, right? Nah, since the woods. It wants something."
"So why don't They just take it?" the aviator demanded.
"Don't think They can," Sadie Crane squared. "Like, maybe it ain't something they can just take back?"
Thought: You're right. Or maybe wrong? Or does it matter? Does anything you're saying right now matter? Like gonna make a difference? Like gonna wrap your story nice and neat? You don't know a thing. You've never known a thing your whole damn life. Why start now, space cadet?
They woke Viola and left with the bikes. No sense keeping still.
End of Chapter 16
Something's in the woods. Mama sings in her cauldron deep voice. Something's in the woods. We leave offerings of bird wing and crow heart. Something's in the woods. I found a dead hare. Something's in the woods. It's on our doorstep. Something's in the woods. Papa and Papa build the altar. Something's in the woods. Mama sings. Something's in the woods. Somewhere, I hear both my papas and my mama scream. Something's in the woods. My other papa's nightgown, torn. Something's in the woods. Teeth on the altar. Mama's. Something's in the woods. I return to the house. Something's in the woods. I hear the jackalopes scream. Something's in the woods. Into bed. Something's in the woods. The jackalopes scream. Something's in the woods. Creaks. Whispers. Something's in my house.
--Excerpt from "The Wrong Door: A Collection of Arcadian Poetry" by Tira-Tira Keeper-of-Grace