Sam didn’t trust Dave to write his own name correctly, much less file readable paperwork.
Some people might have been inclined to complain about the extra effort, but Sam was not that sort. He’d rather do it right himself than enlist inferior assistance. Dave was all right, but he wasn’t much of a clerk. That was fine—Dave didn’t make his living as a clerk. And when it came down to it, Sam wouldn’t have made much of a fireman, either, so he supposed it all worked out.
Dave dusted himself off, gave the courtyard wall a final jab with his toe, and announced that he was ready to head back to the courthouse.
The courthouse was barely half a mile away, so the men had walked to the house via the beach. The island had no fire department of its own, but it had a fire wagon—left behind when the bridge had washed out during a hurricane. The truck languished in storage on city property, and the chief would’ve thrown a fit if they’d fired the old thing up just to ride over to the beach house.
Sam finished noting the number and positions of the small fires. He straightened his clipboard and shoved his pencil into its latch.
“Fine,” he said to Dave, even though Dave was already out of earshot. “I guess we can call it a day.”
The Exposition of Monsters
M oments after Sam left, a curling, crackling, gravely noise whispered through the shaded courtyard.
A tall, rough-edged creature assembled itself from the gritty mulch beneath the grass and disintegrating leaves. It cobbled itself into a manlike shape with sticks for bones and dew for blood; it gave itself eyes made of crumbling bark, and it fashioned a mouth from yellowed strips of dead palmetto. Everything it used smelled of some quick rot, accelerated and nourished by the wet, warm air.
It stood up straight and was taller than a man usually comes.
It paced toward the statue in the courtyard wall and when itsmakeshift feet thudded against the earth, they made small, rhythmic crashes like sand and shells in a leather bag.
“Hello,” it said, but the voice wasn’t made by any clod-filled chest. The word sighed forth and it might have come from anywhere, or everywhere. The palmetto lips shifted, shaping themselves to project and pretend. It wasn’t a very good impression of speech, but it was a show for courtesy’s sake and not a strict necessity.
Hello,
Nia said back in her helpless way. The response echoed in her head and traveled no farther.
She was awake, inasmuch as she was ever awake anymore. It was easier to let her mind go numb, to switch off for days at a time. It was easier to insist that her eyes were closed and that her ears heard nothing. Sometimes, she even dreamed—or she thought she did.
But the two men in the courtyard had caught her attention with their chatter and she’d watched them, not closely but idly. What was the point in watching closely? What could she contribute, or warn, or assist?
“They’ve gotten it very, very wrong, haven’t they, dear? All of them. The ones who light the fires, the ones who found the fires—none of them has it even halfway right. Probably, for now, it’s just as well.”
Its brown, flaking eyes twitched and cast dust.
Nia was unsure but unafraid. Nothing frightened her anymore, even the things that ought to . . . even things like the creature that assessed her so callously and fed her questions and answers in a roundabout way. She didn’t know what it meant, but she didn’t know if it mattered.
“You’re coming along nicely, for what it’s worth. It won’t be much longer now.” It cocked its head to the left, and a bright red centipede scurried out of the place where his ear should have been.
“I ought to say, it won’t be much longer ‘in the grand scheme of things,’ to borrow one of Edward’s worn-out phrases. I don’t suppose that makes you feel any better.”
She wasn’t sure what the creature was talking about, but she couldn’t
Some people might have been inclined to complain about the extra effort, but Sam was not that sort. He’d rather do it right himself than enlist inferior assistance. Dave was all right, but he wasn’t much of a clerk. That was fine—Dave didn’t make his living as a clerk. And when it came down to it, Sam wouldn’t have made much of a fireman, either, so he supposed it all worked out.
Dave dusted himself off, gave the courtyard wall a final jab with his toe, and announced that he was ready to head back to the courthouse.
The courthouse was barely half a mile away, so the men had walked to the house via the beach. The island had no fire department of its own, but it had a fire wagon—left behind when the bridge had washed out during a hurricane. The truck languished in storage on city property, and the chief would’ve thrown a fit if they’d fired the old thing up just to ride over to the beach house.
Sam finished noting the number and positions of the small fires. He straightened his clipboard and shoved his pencil into its latch.
“Fine,” he said to Dave, even though Dave was already out of earshot. “I guess we can call it a day.”
The Exposition of Monsters
M oments after Sam left, a curling, crackling, gravely noise whispered through the shaded courtyard.
A tall, rough-edged creature assembled itself from the gritty mulch beneath the grass and disintegrating leaves. It cobbled itself into a manlike shape with sticks for bones and dew for blood; it gave itself eyes made of crumbling bark, and it fashioned a mouth from yellowed strips of dead palmetto. Everything it used smelled of some quick rot, accelerated and nourished by the wet, warm air.
It stood up straight and was taller than a man usually comes.
It paced toward the statue in the courtyard wall and when itsmakeshift feet thudded against the earth, they made small, rhythmic crashes like sand and shells in a leather bag.
“Hello,” it said, but the voice wasn’t made by any clod-filled chest. The word sighed forth and it might have come from anywhere, or everywhere. The palmetto lips shifted, shaping themselves to project and pretend. It wasn’t a very good impression of speech, but it was a show for courtesy’s sake and not a strict necessity.
Hello,
Nia said back in her helpless way. The response echoed in her head and traveled no farther.
She was awake, inasmuch as she was ever awake anymore. It was easier to let her mind go numb, to switch off for days at a time. It was easier to insist that her eyes were closed and that her ears heard nothing. Sometimes, she even dreamed—or she thought she did.
But the two men in the courtyard had caught her attention with their chatter and she’d watched them, not closely but idly. What was the point in watching closely? What could she contribute, or warn, or assist?
“They’ve gotten it very, very wrong, haven’t they, dear? All of them. The ones who light the fires, the ones who found the fires—none of them has it even halfway right. Probably, for now, it’s just as well.”
Its brown, flaking eyes twitched and cast dust.
Nia was unsure but unafraid. Nothing frightened her anymore, even the things that ought to . . . even things like the creature that assessed her so callously and fed her questions and answers in a roundabout way. She didn’t know what it meant, but she didn’t know if it mattered.
“You’re coming along nicely, for what it’s worth. It won’t be much longer now.” It cocked its head to the left, and a bright red centipede scurried out of the place where his ear should have been.
“I ought to say, it won’t be much longer ‘in the grand scheme of things,’ to borrow one of Edward’s worn-out phrases. I don’t suppose that makes you feel any better.”
She wasn’t sure what the creature was talking about, but she couldn’t
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