Dreams from the Witch House: Female Voices of Lovecraftian Horror by Joyce Carol Oates, Nancy Kilpatrick, Caitlin R. Kiernan, Storm Constantine, Molly Tanzer, Lois H. Gresh, Gemma Files, Karen Heuler Page A
Authors: Joyce Carol Oates, Nancy Kilpatrick, Caitlin R. Kiernan, Storm Constantine, Molly Tanzer, Lois H. Gresh, Gemma Files, Karen Heuler
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are, but the main portico collapsed, so everyone ape-side is trying to find a new way back and it's all a bit chaotic right now.…” He waved his Pretty Hands around.
“Ape-side?”
“Where the humans live.”
“Ah.” I edged sideways. It was too cold out here anyway. Chatting with Pretty Face Sullivan had been entertaining, but we were now steering the Good Ship Conversation far past the Harbor of Mildly Amusing into the uncharted Seas of Uncomfortably Weird. “Perfect.”
“You can't help being human,” and he said it so sincerely. Perhaps it was his voice. I was being hypnotized. That's it. Totally hypnotized. “It's not your fault.”
“Ah.” My conversational train had derailed. I didn't exactly have a lot of responses ready for this sort of thing. “What are you then?”
“A go-between.” When he smiled, I swear it all made sense. “Now, come on. There's supposed to be a slipway to Jarry here, but it's temperamental at best. Takes a bit of thumping before it works.”
“And you know this how?” I followed him, every molecule of my brain screaming, but damn me, I followed him anyway. “I thought you'd only used the Old Way.”
“An angel told me.”
“Right. Angel.” I nodded.
“Yes, exactly. Zaile. He was drunk at the time and I had to trade him a starling-bowl for the information, but Zaile's Mundus-born.” He was smiling again. “It will be there, and we will get it to work.”
“Okay.” I was fumbling with my phone, sending a message to Sav. Near Hole. Chatting up weirdo. Pretty weirdo. Possible serial killer. Pretty serial killer. Not home in twenty send heavily-armed men. “So how far is this doorway-thing?”
He stopped. We were literally half a block from the Hole . I could still see people lounging on the pavement, leaning against the walls, talking shit and smoking and drinking their craft beers. Safe. “Right here.”
I tilted my head. Someone had stuck a poster to the wall. It was for a circus. Last year. Most of the poster was gone. Some scrawled graffiti, a damp patch that smelled like urine and a few weeds growing through the cracks. “It's… wonderful,” I said. “I'm truly lost for words.”
Sullivan slammed his open palm into the center of the crumbling brick wall, and I jumped. Beneath his hand, the wall shivered. Sullivan grinned.
And I saw Jarry.
§
It was night over the city and the stars hung in garlands across the sky, stars of silver and blue and red and green, like distant fireworks. The buildings were tall and narrow teeth, blackened in the indigo maw of the sky. It wasn't the sight of Jarry that made me draw a deep breath, like an infant's first, but the smell.
Incense and jungle green and parrot feather sweetness and a cinnamony musk, the air of a different world. Behind me, the Hole and the stink of beer and cigs, salt and stale fish faded, the empty ocean night falling away. I didn't even have to wait for Sullivan to speak, I stepped forward before anyone or anything could stop me.
The air was thicker here and my lungs had to work harder to draw oxygen from it. I took gulping breaths, filling my chest with a sweet taste that reminded me of pears soaked in whisky.
“Jarry,” said Sullivan, and his voice was loaded with emotion. I tried to place it. Relief? Perhaps. It was flooded with something close to tears, like it had been years since he had seen the city and was finally coming home.
“Oh my god,” I said. “It's real. It's really real.”
Sullivan didn't acknowledge me, probably because yes, it was really real and I was stating the fucking obvious. In my hand, my phone had gone dead—not just out of signal range or emergency call only, but utterly black. I thumbed the power button a few times, but nothing happened. With a short sigh of irritation I slipped the phone back into my pocket. Of course I wanted to Instagram this shit; it was the most exciting thing to happen to me since forever.
The skyline grew clearer as
“Ape-side?”
“Where the humans live.”
“Ah.” I edged sideways. It was too cold out here anyway. Chatting with Pretty Face Sullivan had been entertaining, but we were now steering the Good Ship Conversation far past the Harbor of Mildly Amusing into the uncharted Seas of Uncomfortably Weird. “Perfect.”
“You can't help being human,” and he said it so sincerely. Perhaps it was his voice. I was being hypnotized. That's it. Totally hypnotized. “It's not your fault.”
“Ah.” My conversational train had derailed. I didn't exactly have a lot of responses ready for this sort of thing. “What are you then?”
“A go-between.” When he smiled, I swear it all made sense. “Now, come on. There's supposed to be a slipway to Jarry here, but it's temperamental at best. Takes a bit of thumping before it works.”
“And you know this how?” I followed him, every molecule of my brain screaming, but damn me, I followed him anyway. “I thought you'd only used the Old Way.”
“An angel told me.”
“Right. Angel.” I nodded.
“Yes, exactly. Zaile. He was drunk at the time and I had to trade him a starling-bowl for the information, but Zaile's Mundus-born.” He was smiling again. “It will be there, and we will get it to work.”
“Okay.” I was fumbling with my phone, sending a message to Sav. Near Hole. Chatting up weirdo. Pretty weirdo. Possible serial killer. Pretty serial killer. Not home in twenty send heavily-armed men. “So how far is this doorway-thing?”
He stopped. We were literally half a block from the Hole . I could still see people lounging on the pavement, leaning against the walls, talking shit and smoking and drinking their craft beers. Safe. “Right here.”
I tilted my head. Someone had stuck a poster to the wall. It was for a circus. Last year. Most of the poster was gone. Some scrawled graffiti, a damp patch that smelled like urine and a few weeds growing through the cracks. “It's… wonderful,” I said. “I'm truly lost for words.”
Sullivan slammed his open palm into the center of the crumbling brick wall, and I jumped. Beneath his hand, the wall shivered. Sullivan grinned.
And I saw Jarry.
§
It was night over the city and the stars hung in garlands across the sky, stars of silver and blue and red and green, like distant fireworks. The buildings were tall and narrow teeth, blackened in the indigo maw of the sky. It wasn't the sight of Jarry that made me draw a deep breath, like an infant's first, but the smell.
Incense and jungle green and parrot feather sweetness and a cinnamony musk, the air of a different world. Behind me, the Hole and the stink of beer and cigs, salt and stale fish faded, the empty ocean night falling away. I didn't even have to wait for Sullivan to speak, I stepped forward before anyone or anything could stop me.
The air was thicker here and my lungs had to work harder to draw oxygen from it. I took gulping breaths, filling my chest with a sweet taste that reminded me of pears soaked in whisky.
“Jarry,” said Sullivan, and his voice was loaded with emotion. I tried to place it. Relief? Perhaps. It was flooded with something close to tears, like it had been years since he had seen the city and was finally coming home.
“Oh my god,” I said. “It's real. It's really real.”
Sullivan didn't acknowledge me, probably because yes, it was really real and I was stating the fucking obvious. In my hand, my phone had gone dead—not just out of signal range or emergency call only, but utterly black. I thumbed the power button a few times, but nothing happened. With a short sigh of irritation I slipped the phone back into my pocket. Of course I wanted to Instagram this shit; it was the most exciting thing to happen to me since forever.
The skyline grew clearer as
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