episode 6: Coffee and Entrails

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Interlude

I return to find them clustered around him, my absence forgotten. They are eager to show him their prizes; winter seeds untouched by magic, spider's silk – tangled but true, and Brokk has a small thing trapped in a cage of fingers. A mouse, trembling but still.

Master sees me, as shaky as the mouse with cold and … something else. In a stride he is upon me, his power suffocates me. I try to hold onto my... self. Feel it crumble.

"You have returned," he says.

“Yes, my Lord. But without tribute. I beg forgiveness."

He ignores the apology. "How?"

"The moon, my Lord, it shone upon the fence."

"And the way opened?"

“Yes, my Lord."

"At last," he says, and smiles.

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- David -

Coffee and entrails were not my ideal pairing for breakfast. I’d had another visit from my mysterious fox; but this time there were leavings of fur, blood and well-scattered guts. I stared at the scene, grotesquely fascinated, increasingly mystified as I parsed the details, coffee growing cold in my hand. The fox tracks sprinted straight towards the gore, cutting through the random markings left by the resident squirrel and raccoon population. Centred in the slaughter were some strange circular prints that I couldn't make any sense of. I was relearning the reality of what it was to have a predator in the neighbourhood. Not a Disney tale, but the blunt and bloody reality of a carnivore. There also seemed to be too much of the prey remaining, and it was, frankly, bigger than something that I would have expected a fox to tackle. There were the scattered guts, yes, but there were also a couple of savaged limbs, lying about the backyard, pretty much unrecognizable. Instead of being eaten, the animal appeared to have been savagely dismembered. Certainly there was too much of it left, if the fox was hunting for food. And if not for food, then why had it attacked?

The phone rang. I started sloshing coffee all over my bathrobe. I cursed, then answered, "Hello?"

"Well, well, my brother has actually chosen to answer his phone. Will the wonders never cease?"

In truth, had the entrails had not distracted me in the backyard, I would have let the call go to voicemail. I found the idea of custom ringtones tacky, so I had answered without thought, and now I was paying the price.

"I think the only wonder here is that I can’t hear Kristen cocking a shotgun to make you call," I responded. "What is it, John?"

There was a sigh at the other end of the line and I felt an old regret. We’d been close once, but things had changed after Mom died and we'd lost the farm. He’d blamed me for it. There was some truth to his belief. If I’d stayed, we might have been able to save it, but it would have meant putting my life on hold for years. Possibly forever. And I'd refused to become stuck in the hellish backwater of Russell trodding through cowpatties for the rest of my life.

His wife was the one that kept trying to mend broken fences, though, honestly, I think that we’d both prefer to just get on with our separate lives. But neither of us wanted to disappoint her. She was a sweetheart with a spine of spring steel.

"I’m in town." He said.

I paused, wondering what had brought him to the godless land of Toronto. Then I thought of of my strange experience with the bull and things clicked into place. "You’re at the Royal Winter Fair?"

His response was a grunt.

I gave a short, hard laugh. "What on God’s green earth could drag you to – what did you call it – a 4H wankfest?"

I swear he growled. Such an eloquent conversationalist. Finally, some words, "Simmons wanted to show off some of his new calves."

I laughed, "That old codger? How did he convince you?”

"I owe him, David. He actually stuck by me when Kirsten and I took over her family’s farm. You can imagine what a shit show her brothers had left behind."

The cut stung. I’d been gone for a few years when they’d taken over. He hadn’t asked for help, and I hadn’t offered. Kristen had asked though, she had a strong sense of what family was supposed to be. It amazed me, honestly, given that Kristen’s family were a bunch of yahoos. It constantly surprised me that Kristen had turned out the way she did.

"Yeah, of course," was all I managed. "It’d be good to see you. Did you want to come by? It’s close."

"I know where you live, David, for the love of god. But Simmons is being a bit of a handful. I need to keep an eye on him or he’ll end up in prison. There’s already been one incident. You remember how he could be. Look, I would like to see you, but it might be best if you could come by here? I know you’re busy with all that writing and deadline shit. But Kristen will have my guts for garters if we don’t at least grab a coffee. And I don’t think you’d get off much better."

I knew I wouldn’t get the earful that John would, but I really didn’t want to hear her disappointed voice. She had a knack.

"Yeah, sure. What works for you? I just finished an article, so I have some time."

"Tomorrow works. Just text me when you wake up, city boy."

And he was gone.

It occurred to me that I might find Ellen and her husband at the Royal, but I wasn’t sure what I’d say. "You’re bull has created a magical portal in my backyard?"

I mean, really.

It didn’t help that it was supposed to be another full moon tonight.

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I stared up at the partially cloudy sky from my back deck until the moonlight broke through the cloud cover and I saw the fence waver in its solidity. Scurrying back inside, I locked the third floor door to the deck. Then did the same for the back door out of my kitchen and spent a good chunk of the evening staring at the TV in my front room, and peering out the front window, watching the cloud cover became more and more tenuous. Then it cleared completely.

Well, that was just great.

With some trepidation, I went back to the kitchen, wary of any discomfiting music. I heard something, but it seemed to be the indistinct chatter of strangely accented voices. When I looked out my back window, what I saw shattered all the comforting rationalizations I’d come up with over the course of the day. Fey creatures displaying characteristics of both flora and fauna filled my backyard. The most common of those present was some sort of spider-centaur. They weren’t particularly large, thank God, perhaps three to four feet high with four, heavy, tarantula-like legs ending in points, attached to short heavy thorax from which extended a short bulbous abdomen behind, and the near-human torso and face in front.

Emphasis on near-human — the cheek bones were unnaturally sharp, the noses large and hooked, arms and fingers more akin to tree branches than animal or insect parts. The cadence of their movement slid smoothly between these forms, the scuttle of the spider as they moved, but then, pausing in spot, their fingers would twitch and rattle like branches in a breeze. There was a compelling grace to it, but the combination of these in a single creature sent shivers down my spine, like some eerie descent into the uncanny valley.

As if this strangeness wasn’t enough, I was further disturbed that I recognized their tracks in the snow were those strange ones amongst the savagery and blood that the fox had left behind. And as though this realization was a catalyst, I had another — and I finally knew why I felt a sense of familiarity with their movement, and it was because these beings had been dancing around the Faerie host that I’d seen through the fence.

This time, though, they were on my side of the fence.

They cavorted, scampering about the backyard, having snow-fights and exploring the snow-covered furniture. They seemed both innocent and savage. One, seemingly at random, became the centre of attention among its tribe. This apparent pariah was suddenly surrounded by its fellows and assaulted with a flurry of snowballs. But then, as the moon passed behind a cloud, they all paused. There was a sudden scramble, as the gateway began to fade, to be replaced by my formerly mundane fence. The entire host in my yard dove through the opening in a mad rush, seeking home. By the time the pariah had wiped the snow from its eyes, the now fully corporeal fence blocked its way home. The back yard, suddenly empty but for this solitary creature. It stared, seemingly uncomprehending, at the fence. Then the creature fell into a fit of unearthly wailing and sobbing. Lights came on in some of the back windows facing my house, but none of the curtains opened more than a crack.

The spider-centaur slowly calmed and wandered around the backyard, then started towards the alleyway leading to the front. But then there was a faint flash of light from a car passing by the front of the house. It was enough to make the creature retreat behind the compost box, and it vocalized something that struck me as a series of curses. After a few moments, these expletives faded, and it became more deliberate, methodical even, in its explorations. As it surveyed the fenced perimeter, its face seemed to change. It was like watching someone wake up. Or grow up. It was odd. The face gained a certain definition, its features becoming more intelligent and expressive. As though some mask was falling away, or a child suddenly aged a decade or two. And then it saw me, looking at it through the window. He froze, as did I. Not knowing what else to do, I raised my hand and waved. He started and retreated a step, but when I lowered my hand, it cocked its head and waved in return. It seemed calmer after that, even ventured up the alley a ways, but always came back to scratch at the fence.

Some time later, the moon came out once again, and the fence faded into another world. It wasn’t much light, and the creature seemed to have forced itself against the boards and pushed its way through, into a place that was, apparently, much more real than a grainy film with a staticky soundtrack.

I needed a drink.

photo credits:

andrej lisakov on unsplash

jeremy hynes on unsplash