ã€ŠThe Case of Evangeline Foxeã€‹


 The Truth on the Doorstep

    Five years is a long time for people to think you¡¯re insane. For doctors to diagnose you as Schizophrenic and medicate you. To have no friends because your life is on the road, looking for a solution to a problem that doesn¡¯t exist. From 6, through to 11, five years is an eternity for a child.

    Evangeline sighed and looked out the window of her parents¡¯ RV. The bland terrain of Southern Alberta, Canada, rolled by. Well, it was at least bland to Eva (she preferred that over Evangeline). To anybody else the low terrain broken up by pristine forest and mirror clear lakes, backed against mighty mountains, would have been awe inspiring. The sort of beauty people paid a great deal of money to be a tourist in. Or purchase land for holiday homes. Aspen for Canada. Picturesque. Pristine. Beautiful.

    Boring.

    The only thing Eva gave the briefest of attention was her own reflection. It had averted their gaze. It was her reflection today. Young. A child. Female. Black. Long burnt brown hair. Tawny eyes with dark rings under them. A face that might have been cute for someone her age. But instead looked¡­ almost sickly. Certainly gaunt. Lines where there ought not be. Not for her age. Curious, no?

    Eva turned away from the rolling view and buried her nose in a book. It was her favourite thing to do when on the road. And after five years Eva knew what was or wasn¡¯t her favourite thing to do when they drove between stops. Today was ¡®On the Way to the Wedding.¡¯ Eva had been bingeing Julia Quinn since discovering her at a second-hand bookstore in the previous town. 8 books gone in two weeks. She just had the finale, which was more of a collection of short stories, to go.

    ¡°Have you finished your homework?¡± Christina called from the front seat.

    ¡°Yes, mom!¡±

    Five years on the road didn¡¯t equate to five years of indolence. Far from it. Christina Foxe was a university qualified teacher. She had insisted that Eva¡¯s education would not suffer while they travelled all North America. In search of answers. Answers to entirely the wrong question.

    Eva was a bright girl. She had a natural intelligence and curiosity. Much of it from her father, Luther Foxe. Luther was an independent web designer. As long as he had a Wi-Fi signal the man was able to work. Mostly contract and always well paid. It let the family of three spend their itinerant lives on the road.

    Perhaps we¡¯re going a little far afield. Eva was bright. That intelligence was only further polished by her mother¡¯s studious care, attention and ruthless curriculum. It was entirely possible that Eva could sit her High School exams. If she ever had the chance to attend school. The last time she had gone to school¡­ maybe we can talk about that someday. Today isn¡¯t that day. Today is about first meetings, ticklishness, ice-cream and Eva learning that she isn¡¯t broken the way everybody says. She is still broken. But it is a broken that is normal in the sea of abnormal that is post-2012. Post ¡®The Event.¡¯

    Let¡¯s stop being ambiguous and alluding to things.

    ¡°How long until we stop?¡± Eva asked without looking up from her book.

    ¡°There¡¯s a town maybe half a day¡¯s drive up ahead,¡± Luther replied in his deep, rich voice.

    ¡°Can we stay in a motel?¡±

    Eva pitched her voice just sweet enough to try twist her father¡¯s heart. The three had been through a great deal in the last five years. But deep-down Eva¡¯s parents still loved her even as she caused them pain and confusion.

    A low conversation carried on between the two. Eva knew not to interrupt or even listen in. Knowledge hard won. Let them horse trade on her behalf.

    ¡°¡­ need to pick up a new script. It may take a day or two to process¡­¡±

    That much Eva couldn¡¯t help. Script meant medication. Medication meant more of her very self being muffled, suppressed or at worse lost. Eva wondered how much of Evangeline Foxe really existed. What was left of the girl who had once lit up the room like a dark evening star?

    Not much. But you can grow very little into a supernova if you know how. After all, dark matter cannot be seen nor felt. But it shapes the cosmos.

    ¡°Sure thing, Candesia.¡±

    Eva knew things were good. And bad. And worrisome. Candesia was a little joke between Luther and her daughter. Shannon Messenger¡¯s first novel had been published in early 2012. An unironic mirror to their own world post-2012. That novel was far more controlled and palatable. A world where magic was hidden in the background. But its own unique flare and quite apart from Potter. Eva had once been described as a dark evening star. Now she was one of the unmapped stars from Messenger¡¯s novels, Candesia, a smoky glow hidden in the sky. Luther used it affectionately for his daughter. Or when he was preparing her for something she mightn¡¯t like.

    The last few pages of Quinn¡¯s novel were a blur. Eva certainly enjoyed it. But she would take a break before getting to the finale. Savour the flavour and mood rather than bingeing a whole tub of ice-cream. Putting the book down Eva rummaged through her bag of recently acquired second-hand books.

    ¡°Jonathon Strange and Mr Norrell,¡± Eva read to herself, picking up the heavy novel.

    The clerk had said she would love it. Magic, mystery and Regency England. Plus, it had a strange fey creature known as ¡®The Man with Thistledown Hair.¡± The shopkeeper¡¯s vivid description had entranced Eva. The fey man. Always lurking in the shadows and playing games with people that it took an interest in.

    Yes. This is foreshadowing. But it¡¯s appropriate.

    <hr>

    Luther had been true to his word. The RV pulled up at a nice motel on the outskirts of a quiet little town. Eva hadn¡¯t even paid attention to the name. The book was too engrossing. She just called it ¡®The Town.¡¯ That was good enough.

    It was a treat to stay in a motel. Most of the time the Foxe¡¯s kept to the open road. Even when in a town they would shop locally and get back on the road where possible. Staying in an actual motel had Eva excited. Excited enough to put down her books. She brought some blu-rays with her too. Eva didn¡¯t like sleeping without something playing in the background. It helped drown out the background noise. Tonight, was the BBC production of Sherlock. Specifically, the Benedict nod to the classic Sherlock, complete with deerstalker, sword-canes and period piece clothing. It tickled Eva¡¯s tastes.

    The Foxe family had gone out to a restaurant to celebrate the latest leg of their journey. Luther had received a very generous paycheque for a contract website. Enough for them to splash out on an all-you-eat buffet. Lots of meat, salads and sides. Dessert too. Did I mention unlimited drink refills? Pretty good deal. Eva had gone back for thirds; she was so excited to eat something other than microwave meals or her mum¡¯s occasional on-the-road home cooking. Whenever she was away from the table Luther and Christina talked in hushed tones. It irked Eva that her parents thought she didn¡¯t notice. Yes. She was heavily medicated. Not clueless. But the night was a fun one. The girl even kept her composure whenever she went to the drinks machine. An innocuous shadow. It didn¡¯t look at her and she didn¡¯t look at it. Of course, she was still busted. Eva could bluff pretty well. Her parents still knew the little ticks and shifts in body language. Eva sat down at the table, deflated and feeling the onset of another emotional barrage. Swallowed her drink. Her emotions. Her pride. Her dignity.

    ¡°Shall we get going, Candesia?¡±

    ¡°Mmm.¡±

    One parent per hand. Eva wasn¡¯t dragged out. Per say. But her parents carefully policed her movements. This wasn¡¯t necessary. Mind you, by the time she was 10 Eva had learnt how to keep quiet, to ignore what she saw and heard. To maintain her composure and blot out the things at the edge of her vision. Her parents still treated her like terrified Eva at age 6. The Event fresh in everyone¡¯s minds. The things in the dark now illuminated to one and all.

    And Eva screaming all the time.

    Life sucks.

    The family walked in the twilight back to the Motel. Christina broke away to fetch something from the RV. Eva knew what. The Foxe family had booked a 2-bedroom 1 bathroom suite with combined kitchen/living area. A treat for them to enjoy over the next week. Eva had probably already ruined that. It depended on how tonight went. Once indoors Eva claimed first shower. The proper scalding hot water felt amazing. The bathroom was a palace compared to the RV. Eva couldn¡¯t help but start singing. Not in English. She liked reading English. But she preferred singing J-pop and K-pop. Something about its unbridled energy and freedom appealed to her. The girl didn¡¯t want to end up a prune no matter how much she loved the shower. With no small amount of regret Eva got out, towelled off and changed into her purple pyjamas. Padding into the living room, Eva saw the brown paper package sitting on the small dining table. She trudged over to the package and began emptying the contents. Painkillers for her father¡¯s occasional headaches. Something for when her mother¡¯s period was especially bad. The rest. Several packages packed with blister packs. All hers. One looked new. Probably another experimental. They liked to change things around.

    Eva knew her prescription better than Christians knew The Lord¡¯s Prayer. Popped out pill after pill. The new one she left to one side. Fetched a glass of water. Luther exited his room and walked over to Eva. Put firm but reassuring hands on Eva¡¯s shoulders.

    ¡°The psychiatrist we saw a month ago said we should try something new. See if that helps. Do you feel up to it?¡±

    It was insulting. Not in the vicious or condescending way. Rude. That was what the question was. Even if Eva didn¡¯t feel up to it, she still had to take the medication. It would take weeks for it to build up in her system. That would leave her feeling miserable. Lethargic. Enervated. She would lose all that reading time. Another two months of Eva¡¯s short lifespan she would never recall.

    Eva was 11. She had maybe enough memory for 9. If we are being generous.

    Life really does suck.

    ¡°Okay, Dad.¡±

    Eva, glass of water in one hand, pills in the other, swallowed her regime of medication. Luther popped from the new blister pack the right dosage. Eva watched closely. She wouldn¡¯t be able to memorise now. In two months¡¯ time Eva remembered to do so.

    ¡°Where¡¯s Mom?¡±

    ¡°She will be back shortly.¡±

    This had Eva curious. Hadn¡¯t Christina simply gone to the RV to get the medication? Her question was answered when the door swung open, Christina wearing a bright grin. Eva had inherited her mother¡¯s stunning grin. At least that was what Luther told her some nights.

    ¡°Dessert,¡± Christina announced.

    The family had left before they could treat themselves. Christina had bought what looked to be a giant tub of Haagen-Dazs to make up for their early exit. Eva smiled and raced to hug her mother.

    Luther and Christina are not bad people. They aren¡¯t being painted that way. It can be too easy to make them out as villains. Life is FAR more complicated than that. You should have seen Eva age 6.

    <hr>

    Benedict¡¯s rich timbre buzzed around the room. More than enough to hush the other noises when they did rise up. Though tonight was a quiet one. Eva liked the quiet ones. Some places. Some camp sites. Some Towns. They were quiet. Nothing to see or hear. Others.

    Not so much.

    And then there were the overwhelming ones.

    Eva lay on her bed with lidded eyes, staring at the TV where it played in the corner of the room. Her stomach was full of ice-cream and parents that hugged her and sleepy thoughts. It was a good night. Already her head was feeling foggy. This would be her for months. She smiled dopily. Frowned. Something coiled in the shadows at the back of the room. Eva didn¡¯t want this. The medication was meant to make this go away. Though that was a lie. At 11 Eva knew nothing was going to work. Her parents had travelled across all of North America, spending incredible amounts of time and money seeing the best psychiatrists. Nothing. Not people. Not drugs. Not therapy. Nothing had made a tangible difference. All that had changed was Eva¡¯s perspective. Her mind was permanently changed by all the medication. Possibly damaged. That¡¯s up for debate. When you have the mind of a 6-year-old as baseline there isn¡¯t much of a frame of reference. Now Eva knew to keep quiet, to ignore what she saw and heard, to remain calm and use various coping mechanisms. Books to keep her mind busy during the day. Music or preferably TV at night when she slept. Nothing for the nightmares. No bed-wetting these days. A positive step.

    Since The Event. Since she was 6. Auditory. Visual. Tactile. Hallucinations and delusions so vivid they had to be real. 6. Eva screaming at all the things of shadow, tentacles, mouths and eyes. 7. Curled up in the RV and afraid to look out the window. 8. Borderline catatonic from the various drugs as they drove along the highways. 9. Working studiously at her homework to catch up from what she had missed in prior years. 10. Consuming books voraciously and telling the random therapist she met about the creature with too many arms leaning over his shoulder. 11. Well it all starts at 11. It starts tonight.

    Eyes. That is what stirred Eva just enough. Sometimes they had eyes. Actually, usually they had eyes. The problem was the number. You know Graham¡¯s Number? You¡¯re getting close. Or none. When there really should have been some. Yellow. A shade Eva couldn¡¯t describe. Maybe there weren¡¯t words for it. Maybe dusky yellow without the bite. Or anaemic orange turned to dust. Eva liked her eyes.

    Why the hell had she thought ¡®her?¡¯

    It seemed right. The coiled thing of shadows shifted slightly. Its outline was now feminine. If shadows could have gender attributes. Eva sighed and wondered when this delusion was going to fade. Perhaps it would engage in a jump scare. Some of them did. Leapt at her. Soundless shrieks. Or hissing in her ears that took hours to fade. Flailing limbs wrapping powerlessly about her body. Those ones were the worst. How could you not flinch or scream? At least she had stopped soiling herself. The medication helped with dulling her senses, her mind, in that regard. For once it did something positive. The shadow thickened. Congealed. Coalesced. The more Eva thought about it the more it took on substance and form. Soon enough it looked vaguely humanoid. The bemused, dopey, terrified girl got up on one elbow and stared at whatever her crazy, schizophrenic, delusional and broken mind was conjuring up tonight. Confrontation sometimes dissolved the insane imagery.

    Not working tonight. Nope. Can¡¯t think away the real.

    ¡°What do you want?¡± Eva whispered, half-asleep and sad that tonight was not going well.

    The shadows continued their strange, snake-like dance, twisting, coiling, constricting and only continuing to colour. Eva whimpered. She didn¡¯t like this one. It was the most real she had experienced in over a year. Maybe the new drugs were doing the opposite. A wet, sloppy, oily sound came from whatever madness was being projected out of the girl¡¯s broken mind. In fear Eva scrabbled to the side of her bed, took a risk to look away, leant down and fished the topmost book from her bookbag. Julia Quinn rested easy in hand. Sitting up straight the angry, scared and now frustrated, the girl readied to hurl the projectile.

    A woman in a charcoal black cloak with dark red highlights crouched in the shadows.

    ¡°That¡¯s. New.¡±

    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

    Eva slowly set the book down. Ran her fingers absently over the plastic cover. The woman watched Eva. There was a passiveness to her. She couldn¡¯t make out much more than those strange not yellow eyes. Everything else was hidden beneath the cloak. The hood was up too. But definitely a woman. Eva was certain of that.

    The two stared at each other for almost one third of an eternity, give or take an epoch. Eva made the first move. Slowly crawled over the covers towards the bed edge. Swung her legs over and tapped bare feet on the carpet. The woman very carefully stood up. She was¡­ well she wasn¡¯t tall but wasn¡¯t short. Average¡¯ish, leaning towards tall. Maybe she changed height every time Eva blinked. That made the most sense. Average¡¯ish build, from what you could make out beneath the cloak. That cloak obscured everything. Chest. Limb. Face beneath the hood.

    ¡°Who. Who are you?¡± Eva managed in the quietest, softest of voices.

    The woman didn¡¯t respond. Instead, she took a step forward. Feet didn¡¯t move beneath the hem of the cloak. Something squirmed. Writhed. Wriggled. It didn¡¯t bother Eva. She had seen worse. The next step was calf-high boots. The woman took on more distinction. Slowly coming into focus. A photo slowly developing from nothingness in a darkroom. At a safe distance the woman stopped. Out of reach of Eva. A sign of respect. Acknowledging personal space. Not a threat. The woman tipped her head, eyes looking to one side of Eva. The girl realised what was being asked. Without words. Just respectful distance and a look.

    ¡°Come. Sit.¡±

    Eva padded the space beside her. Emphasise the point. The woman moved cautiously. Carefully. Rolled back the cloak enough not to sit on it. Writhing shadows. Tentacles. Eyes. Mouths. The shadows withdrew. A black bolero jacket, white blouse, black skirt to mid-calf, black stockings and dark leather boots. It looked. Well, it looked like something Eva might wear herself. All the books she had read. All those period piece drama. Edwardian. Regency. Pre WW1. The make, cut and style appealed to Eva. Anachronistic.

    The woman, face still hidden beneath the hood, sat down. Eva realised as the woman brushed down her spot, she was wearing black leather gloves. The cuffs of her jacket held wriggling things that would hurt the eyes. Eva sighed and knew that she was having another schizophrenic episode. The delusion just wouldn¡¯t settle. But at least she might find some small way to enjoy it before it all melted down into fear and panic. She would probably go running to her parents. Eva hated that. But right now, she wanted to be held and gently shushed in one ear and made to feel loved. Safe.

    Perhaps her parents were the wrong people to go to. They were however all Eva had.

    ¡°You¡¯re just another delusion,¡± Eva whispered to herself.

    ¡°What do you think?¡±

    The cadence was off. Pauses mid-syllable. Pitch going up and down awkwardly. The flow stilted. The delusion¡­ English wasn¡¯t its first language. Perhaps it had never spoken before. Never needed to. Dreams don¡¯t need words. Imagery and sensation are enough. The diffuse experience laying in morning''s waking bones long after the dream is forgotten. That wasn¡¯t what surprised Eva however. She was being asked for HER opinion. Someone was speaking to her. Not at her. Decades later Eva would recall this night vividly. Perfectly. Eidetically. The night when someone asked rather than told. Let her have a voice.

    ¡°None of this is real,¡± Eva went on. ¡°It¡¯s all in my head.¡±

    ¡°Is that what you believe?¡±

    ¡°It has to be.¡±

    ¡°If I touch you?¡±

    ¡°False sensory input.¡±

    Eva had learnt a great many terms from all her psychiatric assessments and sessions. I did mention at start that she was quite intelligent.

    ¡°My brain is recreating sensations I have already experienced. In that past I¡¯ve been grabbed by things. Bitten. Felt them freeze or burn. Lick. Whisper¡­ horrible things to me. None of it is real. Just my brain confusing my body.¡±

    ¡°You. Need proof?¡±

    Eva looked up at the woman. Sighed. At least this wasn¡¯t an aggressive madness. Perhaps the drugs and ice cream were working.

    ¡°There isn¡¯t any proof. Nothing. Nobody. Well, nobody would¡­ you know¡­ nobody¡­ nobody¡­ nobody¡­¡±

    A constant loop. The same word. Spiral. Twist. Fractal. Turn in on itself. Never ending.

    ¡°¡ªListens,¡± the woman broke the ouroboros.

    The woman brought gloved hand to hood. A somatic gesture implying consideration and thought. Then the woman lowered her hand. Instinctive. Animal. Cautionary. Hard worn experience. Eva felt the faintest thread of danger from the woman. Not anger, hunger, the need to destroy. More predatory. She began crawling away from the edge of the bed, toward her pillow and anything else that might shield her. The woman spoke in her strange cadence, tone, pitch and delivery.

    ¡°Kinesmesis. Gargalesis. Light itch and tickle. Hypothalamus response conveying submission or flight. Nerve fibres associated with pain and touch. Unique response. Somatosensory cortex transmits information to the cerebellum regarding pin-point accuracy and contact point. Cortical response causes gargalesis to be rendered moot. The brain knows exactly where it is going to be touched. Surprise mechanism undermined.

    Schizophrenia is dissociation of mind with external and internal sensory input. Delusions, hallucinations, impossible thoughts and conjurations of memory. Underpinning recent evolutionary traits of homosapien sapien is primate brain. Consciousness overlays sensory nervous system. This system can be interfered with, damaged, broken. But underpinning principles cannot. Somatosenosory communicating with cerebellum.

    Even with schizophrenia and ability to create false information, base functions must be observed. It is acknowledged that non-pathological individuals with high schizophrenic traits possess the ability to surprise themselves. But sensory input is incredibly limited even with dissociation of tracking and attribution of actions to self.¡±

    Eva had listened closely to the sudden explanation. She didn¡¯t fully follow what was being said. It seemed to focus around neurology, psychology and the nervous system.

    ¡°Uhm¡­ what are you saying?¡±

    ¡°If I am a hallucination, even able to deliver false sensory input, I cannot tickle you due to the fact that your somatosensory cortex communicates to your cerebellum and knows exactly where your delusional mind is hallucinating the contact upon your nervous system thus breaking the surprise element of the sensory feedback.¡±

    A dark tentacle shot out from the woman¡¯s cuff and wrapped around Eva¡¯s ankle. Rolled onto her stomach. Dragged backwards. Eva grabbed a pillow. Buried her face in it in readiness for her limb to be torn off. She didn¡¯t want her parents to wake up as she went through another episode.

    Giggling. Honest giggling. Snickering. Puffs of laughter. An electric current zapped through Eva¡¯s body. Left a metallic taste on her tongue. Then the world was colour, light and sensation. Brilliance. Her mind, long smothered and shackled, shucked off its bindings. Eva could feel leather gloves dancing over her foot and all she could do was laugh.

    It tickled. It really tickled. IT REALLY, REALLY TICKLED. The eleven-year-old buried her face in the pillow and did her best not to make too much noise. The buzzing through her body felt¡­ it felt good. She wanted to break free but whatever had wrapped around her ankle held firm. So, Eva just giggled and giggled. Let the endorphins flood her mind. Let the liberating sensation overwhelm everything else. It ended up that Eva still had her mother¡¯s smile. Her laugh too. Warm and effervescent. But with caramel depth to it. The experience of someone far too young to be mature.

    Eventually the tickling abated. Eva hadn¡¯t realised how hot and fatigued she felt. Her face covered in a patina of sweat. Breath laboured. A runner¡¯s high. Of a sort. What coiled around Eva¡¯s ankle let her go. The girl lay there. Breathing into her pillow and savouring the experience. She had felt. Properly felt. Yes. It had been torture in a sense. But still this was the first verve of experience for the girl she knew in¡­ years. And years should not be quoted when one is only 11.

    Twin fingers ran down the sole of either foot.

    If you are wondering, yes, the woman is a bit of a sadist. Monsters are meant to instil fear in their prey. If two fingers can have their favourite meal quivering, well that¡¯s not much energy expended for a good bit of flavouring. Also. Painless Agony. Sadist. I think I¡¯ve underscored that enough. It¡¯ll come up from time to time again later. Future stories too. Can you smell the foreshadowing?

    Eva yelped, pulled her legs up and threw the pillow at the woman. It struck the hood. Did not knock it off. Eva watched. Contemplated. For other¡¯s that would have been disconcerting. Cautiously, Eva sat back on her heels and stretched her arms forward, small hands clasping either side of the hood and tipped it back.

    She was beautiful. Eva¡¯s first thought. At 11 your concept of beauty lacks the maturation like any good alcohol does. Eva still knew at a primal level what beauty was. Pale skin. Unlined. Soft. Probably English. Cute nose. Somewhat angular features but in proportion. Thin pink lips. Those incredible not-yellow, not-orange eyes. Large. Those eyes spoke to Eva. Soft blonde hair worn loose and spilling down to her neck, bangs almost obscuring her enticing eyes. A set of oval glasses perched upon that cute nose.

    Shadows crawled in the gap where a pale neck sunk beneath the collar of the white blouse. Thin black and deep purple tentacles writhed. They were beautiful too. Before withdrawing into clear white skin.

    ¡°You¡¯re beautiful,¡± Eva managed.

    The woman reached out and softly touched Eva¡¯s head in reply. Gloved hands enveloping her head, thumbs touching temples, fingers curling behind. She drew Eva into a very gentle embrace. The woman¡¯s smelt¡­ warm. The scent was not something Eva could name. Warmth. From a dream. A promise. Eva leant into that embrace and exhaled. She let go and trusted. It was utterly irrational. A monster from the shadows met less than an hour ago. Now she was feeling affection for it. From it. Eva trusted, dropped all barriers and let herself just be held. The monster gently shushed, stroked fingers through hair and Eva let herself be calmed. A frisson of peace.

    Arms untangled. Eva looked up at the woman. Realised something. Manners.

    ¡°I¡¯m Eva.¡±

    ¡°Pleasure.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re supposed to give your name.¡±

    ¡°Asking for a name implies you acknowledge that I am not a hallucination.¡±

    Eva blushed a little.

    ¡°Well, it did tickle. A lot. Okay. You aren¡¯t a monster.¡±

    The woman shook her head.

    ¡°I am not a hallucination. But I am madness. I am a monster.¡±

    Things squirmed in the shadowy cuffs of the woman¡¯s jacket. Eva swallowed and scooted back a little.

    ¡°Are you¡­ like one of those fey? Or a shadow creature? A demon? I¡¯ve heard all sorts of things.¡±

    The woman shook her head.

    ¡°No. I am older. Much older. You asked for a name. I do not have one. I am from before names. Or names that you would understand. Names older than gods.¡±

    Eva nodded. Then, caution, fear and bravery all mixed together, reached out and grasped the woman¡¯s gloved hand. She stared at the cuffs and waited. Tentacles of deepest purple, black and a colour indescribable slowly quested out, curling around Eva¡¯s fingers. Kinesmesis. Soft, itchy, tickly touch. Eva withdrew his hand.

    ¡°Shogo,¡± she announced. ¡°I found a compilation of HP Lovecraft¡¯s work in an old bookstore a year ago. My parents didn¡¯t approve. A Shoggoth is a great tentacled monster.¡±

    ¡°Appropriate.¡±

    ¡°Why are you here, Shogo?¡±

    The woman gave a vague shrug with one shoulder.

    ¡°To scare you.¡±

    ¡°You succeeded.¡±

    ¡°Are you still scared?¡±

    ¡°Well¡­¡± Eva sat back, certain to tuck her feet under the blankets, ¡°Yes but not in the same way. I know you¡¯re a monster. I know you could eat me at any time and there¡¯s nothing I could do. I¡¯m wary. Afraid but in control. And curious. You did something.¡±

    Eva kicked her feet beneath the sheets.

    ¡°Besides tickle me,¡± she said in a soft voice.

    ¡°You were poisoned. I removed it.¡±

    ¡°Poison¡­ everything that is in me¡­ is gone? You took away all my medication?¡±

    ¡°Correct.¡±

    ¡°Whoa. I know magic can do strange things. Wait. Aren¡¯t I going to suffer withdrawal? I¡¯ve stopped medication before suddenly and it was horrible.¡±

    ¡°No. You are clean and safe.¡±

    It was the most curious thing. Eva was in the room with a verifiable monster. She¡¯d felt it firsthand. But all she wanted to do was talk to it. Correction. To her.

    ¡°So why¡­ are you white?¡±

    ¡°Oh?¡±

    ¡°I just thought¡­ you only look human for my sake¡­ right?¡±

    It was a curl of the lips. Measured in planck lengths. Enough. A ghost¡¯s ghost of a smile.

    ¡°You are bright for your age.¡±

    ¡°I was right.¡±

    ¡°I look as your imagination looks.¡±

    Eva considered all the literature, movies and television she had been consuming lately.

    ¡°Good point. Well, you scared me Shogo. I don¡¯t know why but you scared me. And made me laugh. I think I cried a little too. I¡¯m all tingly and buzzing. My head feels clear. What happens now?¡±

    ¡°I remain.¡±

    ¡°Pardon!?!¡±

    ¡°You are very important. Very. Not in ways you might understand. Not in scales you might. But important. I have looked for you since the flood returned. Since all the horrors of the past washed over this world. I am here for you. I do not wish to eat you. Humans taste bad anyway. I am here to teach a lesson to every child I come across.¡±

    ¡°A lesson?¡±

    ¡°Be afraid. The light isn¡¯t protection anymore. Campfires will not hold it at bay.¡±

    The light of the TV sent shadows streaming out from Shogo. Those shadows danced in twisted whorls and writhing madness. It hurt Eva¡¯s eyes to look at those shadows. But she didn¡¯t pull her eyes away. Fear stoked anew in her heart. Fear of what lay in the darkness.

    ¡°What I saw¡ª¡±

    ¡°Was all real.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not mad?¡±

    ¡°You are mad. A different sort. An important sort. The mad see the truth that others avoid. You are mad and so you will live.¡±

    Eva hugged herself. She knew that something enormous was being delivered to her. That she should have grasped just how pivotal this night was going to be. For herself. For other children. It couldn¡¯t stick. That was frustrating. In that frustration Eva lashed out. The reaction of a child. Perfectly understandable.

    ¡°What if I don¡¯t want you to stay around me? What if I just return to the way everything that was before?¡±

    It was warm when it coiled around Eva¡¯s ankle. The girl glanced over the side of the bed. Inky shadows leading from Shogo where she sat up into the blankets. Eva was learning the many expressionless expressions of Shogo. Curiosity. Caution. Her scaring others mind you. Fear cannot be terrified. Intimidation. Humour. Now impishness.

    ¡°How long can you laugh for?¡±

    Sadist.

    ¡°You are a monster of fear and terror,¡± Eva deadpanned.

    Then realised she had deadpanned. When did Eva have a sense of humour? When did she ever have wit?

    ¡°You aren¡¯t going to leave me?¡±

    Shogo gave another one shoulder shrug.

    ¡°What do you want?¡±

    Choice. The first in five years. Evangeline could choose. It felt alien. To choose. To possess agency.

    ¡°You want to stay. But you would go if I asked?¡±

    ¡°You are in control.¡±

    ¡°My ankle says otherwise.¡±

    Shogo¡¯s impish look remained.

    ¡°There are consequences for choices.¡±

    A proper giggle. Multiple. Probably too loud but they kept coming. Eva clamped hands over her mouth. She couldn¡¯t have her parents waking up. In her defence it was pretty funny. She was being threatened with torture by a thing that had crawled up from the shadows. A creature that appeared obsessed with frightening children. Eva reached beneath the covers and stroked the cool tentacle wrapped around her ankle. Gently unwound it.

    ¡°Have you ever had ice cream before?¡±

    ¡°Ice. Cream?¡±

    <hr>

    Shogo sat in a very lady-like way on the floor at the foot of the bed. Eva sat on the edge of the bed and kicked her feet. The pair each wielded a spoon and passed the tub of ice cream back and forth. In between spoonful¡¯s Eva would pepper Shogo with questions. Her friend was curious. And yes, I would classify Shogo as a friend. You know those stories about people meeting and immediately becoming fast friends. Same principle. Just one of them is human and the other isn¡¯t. Anyway, the shadowy creature named Shogo answered as best she could. It was a sort of information overload for Eva. She kept storing words away in her mind to check the dictionary later. Shogo held nothing back. That Eva appreciated. She was being treated as her. Not a child. Not an adult. Just her.

    ¡°I¡¯m not changeling or something like that?¡± Eva mustered the courage to ask.

    ¡°You are utterly human.¡±

    ¡°So why¡­ well¡­ you know¡­¡±

    ¡°How are you able to see the many horrors in the dark? That has nothing to do with magic. As I said, you are mad. Just a different sort from your misdiagnosis of Schizophrenia. You see the truth. Everyone sees fear as a child. They just grow out of it.¡±

    ¡°My madness is that I don¡¯t grow up.¡±

    A nod of the head. A ghost of a smile. Eva learnt fast.

    Eva began an unintentional monologue of all the things she had seen and heard over the last five years. Used Shogo as a sounding board for what might have been a genuinely overactive imagination and what was ¡®real.¡¯ Shogo felt the nearby shift. She wasn¡¯t concerned. Paying attention to Eva was far more important. The door swung silently inward. Eva looked up, spoon held to her mouth, conversation stopping. Tawny eyes met Shogo¡¯s not-yellow. The monster flicked her eyes once to the right. The eleven-year-old understood the meaning. She shifted off the bed slowly and out of the line of fire. The barrel of the pistol pressed against the back of Shogo¡¯s head.

    ¡°Whoever you are, get the fuck out of here.¡±

    The monster sighed. No actual threat. What? You honestly think a firearm poses a danger to her? Let¡¯s not honour that with an answer. Winked out of existence. Luther¡¯s arm was shaking. He slowly lowered the gun. Put the safety back on. Motioned for Christina to enter. The pair had heard Eva sneaking into the kitchen to raid the fridge. Decided their daughter was being naughty. She had talked to things that weren¡¯t there in the past. Out of concern Luther had snuck up to the door. This time something answered. Something was in the room with his baby girl. The pistol he always kept on hand was retrieved from the locked top drawer of the bedside table. Post Event you could never be too safe.

    Luther returned the pistol to his room and the locked drawer. Christina smothered her daughter in hugs, kisses, tears and worry. Luther returned and was similarly distressed. The only one calm was Eva. Her parents thought the woman a sexual predator. Paedophile looking to kidnap a young girl. They wouldn¡¯t listen to Eva¡¯s explanation. Couldn¡¯t. Don¡¯t blame them. They¡¯re not ready for this just yet. That will change in the next week. Trust me.

    Shogo stood in the corner of the room and slowly licked her spoon clean. Tongue perhaps a little too long. She liked ice cream. Maybe it was time to try out other foods. The tableau between distraught parent and frustrated child played out as expected. Shogo knew what was to come. Awkward. Interesting. And certainly awkward.

    Guess what comes next.

 At the Motel of Madness

    What do you do when you catch your daughter, in the middle of the night, speaking with a complete stranger that has somehow snuck into her room? Gun. Threat. Hug daughter. Check all locks. Complain to motel management about lack of security. Have daughter sleep in bedroom with wife whilst husband stays in lounge to watch motel rooms safely?

    Morning is for irrational fear. Worry that your child is acting too¡­ well normal. She is lively. Expresses herself. Possible mania. She hasn¡¯t skipped her pills. You know. Her medical regime is carefully maintained and monitored. Time to do what any parent not in complete control of the situation does best.

    Fumble and make it worse.

    <hr>

    The next few days were a blur for Eva. Not a pleasant blur. Or busy blur. Or emotional blur. Literal blur. Spent sleepy and drugged. She had argued vehemently against taking any further medication. Luther. Christina. Neither knew her body had been purged. Simply parents afraid that their daughter was reacting in unfamiliar ways. Eventually browbeaten into submission. At 11 your parents are still your world. Intimidation through overbearing works. Sad. But true. And Eva took the medication. This meant a new start. A new acclimatisation. Her mind plunged yet again into fog, fugue and fear.

    Meanwhile information circulates with the local authorities. It was dark so the description is limited. But the sudden appearance then disappearance can only be one thing. Outsider. Prejudice in the Town is stoked. An unknown breaking into children¡¯s rooms for kidnapping or worse. Imagine how humans react. Who doesn¡¯t love mob mentality?

    Segue. I will again emphasise that Luther and Christina are not bad people. Just fearful parents out of their depth. They¡¯ll get better. Eventually. Baby steps. And a few scares.

    There¡¯s a Sadist in this story too. Remember? More than a few scares.

    The rest of the Town. Less redeeming qualities. They get what they deserve.

    Shogo did check in on Eva. But other matters kept her busy. She would watch. Not act though. Not yet. Still busy with other matters. Fear is important. But dangerous. Strike fear into children. Not adults. They are too stupid. Misinterpret things. Blame Others. Find an easy target.

    This is why Shogo does not waste time with adults. Far too limited.

    She does have responsibility however. A week later the thing of shadows, tentacles and terror returns.

    Mostly to terrorise her ward.

    <hr>

    Warmth. Wrapped around her ankle. Eva cracked her eyes. It was night. Sense and Sensibility playing in the background. Alan Rickman. You¡¯re permitted to go weak at the knees for that voice. Even Lovecraftian entities that lack calcium joints do. The room was sharper than it had been in¡­ Eva couldn¡¯t recall. Hadn¡¯t she just been sitting here talking to her hallucination. No. That wasn¡¯t dreamed up. Luther had seen it too. Seen her too. A kidnapper. Would-be-abuser. Worse. Now just a fever dream. Something lost to medication and sleep.

    Those not-yellow eyes stared into her own. Eva had enough self-awareness to roll her face into the pillow and scream. Suppress the sound. It still carried. Lights burst. Luther came strolling in, wrench often used on the RV now sitting on one shoulder. Here we can see a common trait shared between father and daughter. The same black rings under their eyes when stressed.

    Luther¡¯s intent gaze scanned the room. Nothing out of place. He looked under the bed just to be sure. Nothing there either.

    ¡°You okay, little Candesia?¡±

    Eva popped her head out from the pillow. Empty room. No eyes. Another hallucination. The drugs weren¡¯t working yet. Maybe everything she had been told was the hallucination. Her way of coping with a stranger in the room. There was no way any of that actually happened. That conversation. Her experiences between the two of them. Maybe why she wasn¡¯t kidnapped. The kidnapper realised her prey was mad. Too much trouble to handle.

    ¡°I¡¯m. Okay. Sorry, Daddy.¡±

    Daddy was baby-talk for Eva. She reverted to it only when under serious stress, fatigue or both. Luther walked over, ran an affectionate finger down Eva¡¯s cheek and gently encouraged her eyes to close.

    ¡°Sleep, Eva. You¡¯ll feel better in the morning. There¡¯s nothing here.¡±

    A litany Luther had uttered a substantial number of nights over the past five years. Most of the time he was wrong. But he couldn¡¯t see the things Eva saw. And right now, she couldn¡¯t see anything either. Nothing in the room. Luther walked to the door, flicked off the lights and closed the door behind him. Not-yellow eyes glowered in the corner of the room.

    Luther and Eva were wrong tonight.

    Eva pulled the bedsheets up to her nose. It wasn¡¯t real. She¡¯d just hallucinated the experience. The kidnapper had been there but they had fled. A crazy woman wanting to do horrific things to children. Eva opened her mouth to scream. There was nothing in her lungs. A weak creak. A whimper. Couldn¡¯t this ever just end? Her conversation was a delusion. She¡¯d never spoken to anyone. Her own psychotic, desperate, weak attempt to make a friend and eat ice cream.

    The warmth returned. Gripped Eva¡¯s ankle firmly. A jolt, like a dazzle of lightning through the flesh, Eva¡¯s vision sparkling. The taste of metal in her mouth. Then something rubbery stroking her sole. Eva was better prepared this time. Pulled a pillow from behind her head and pressed it against her face. A few weak snickers and chuckles. Enough for the teasing tickle to register. It ended, the ankle released and Eva rolling to the side of the bed.

    Very slowly the pillow was pulled away. Not-yellow eyes hovered centimetres from Eva¡¯s own. The squeak was fortunately muffled by the hastily returned pillow.

    ¡°Do you have to do that?¡± Eva whispered into the pillow.

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    It was the same off-tune voice. That same strange cadence and diction. Intonation from a throat that had never spoken English. Or any other language. Eva couldn¡¯t recall much of the previous week. The medication had taken that away from her. But she could recall the night she had met the strange woman in the shadows. She could recall their odd conversation. Recall the woman¡¯s assurances that, though Eva was mad, it wasn¡¯t the mad everyone else thought of.

    ¡°Shogo.¡±

    The inky darkness congealed into the form of a pale woman in anachronistic, but very fashionable, garb. She tipped her hood back and gave Eva the barest of smiles.

    ¡°You. Are still ticklish.¡±

    It took Eva a moment to process the statement. Then understood. The girl sat up on her bed. Tawny eyes unimpressed.

    ¡°You do not have to do that.¡±

    ¡°Laughter increases the release of endorphins, which relieve stress and pain. I believed my course of action would assist after your difficult week.¡±

    Eva tapped her tongue against the roof of her mouth. Press X to doubt. Her previous encounter with Shogo had given her a brief insight into how the creature thought, if such a delusion could be entertained. If nothing else, shallow attempt at insight.

    ¡°I know that look. You enjoy me struggling in painless agony.¡±

    Sadist. Guilty as charged. Shogo managed a one-shoulder shrug. Ghost of ghostly smile. Eva doesn¡¯t care that she¡¯s a little mad at Shogo. That look in those not-yellow eyes. She liked that look. No. She loved it. Someone who did what they did and was confident in it. Fearless. Unapologetic.

    Shogo stood and then motioned for Eva to get up. The girl followed, crawling along her bed to the foot. Dangling legs over the edge, Eva kicked them and watched¡­ well now that her mind is operating once again more clearly, her only friend she had. Eva had enough presence of mind to accept and embrace that fact. Yes. Her only friend was either a crazy murderer, a hallucination that could interfere with her at a physical level which, according to the hallucination, nearly impossible. Take psychiatric advice from your psychosis. That always goes well. Or this thing was¡­ whatever she was. Eva wasn¡¯t quite sure. Shogo called herself madness and a monster. The girl wanted some answers. Curiosity drives many things. She kept her voice at barely a whisper.

    ¡°Why are you here?¡±

    ¡°I was busy. Now I am not. Do you like what you wear?¡±

    Press X to swerve off-topic. Eva frowned. Was this loaded?

    ¡°I¡­ I like my pyjamas. I like purple and pink.¡±

    ¡°Liar.¡±

    The little girl¡¯s mouth slowly opened. Her parents said many things over the years. Questioned and doubted much of Eva¡¯s experiences. Everything that was and not there. It didn¡¯t crawl out from the sink. It didn¡¯t whisper in her ear what naughty things her parents had said the previous night. It didn¡¯t tell her the combination to the gun safe. But never had they been so cold or clinical in denouncing her. One word and Shogo destroyed the girl.

    The thing is, Shogo was absolutely right. Eva was lying. What little girl doesn¡¯t like pink or purple? Or unicorns or Transformers because they were cool again. Or Zelda, Breath of the Wild?

    This little girl. Eva looked down at her hands. Clenched them tight. Eyes closed nearly as tight. Breath sharp. It wasn¡¯t fair. How does someone with one word cut through flesh, blood, bone and to the soul?

    ¡°I don¡¯t mind purple,¡± Eva managed. ¡°It¡¯s a nice colour and goes with most things. I like my dark trainers, my overalls and the Zelda wristwatch Dad got for me for Christmas.¡±

    ¡°Lies. All of them.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t fair. How. How did this thing she had spoken to for barely an hour in the last week get to say that? And how did she get so emotional about something so silly? It was just colours and clothes. It made no rational sense.

    Gloved fingers touched the tip of Eva¡¯s chin. She opened her eyes. Shogo stared into her. Not past her. Not at her. Into. Deep. Assessing. Observing. Eva was her whole world, every last fragment and photon of attention.

    ¡°I am not saying you are wrong or should feel guilt for perpetuating those lies. Just be honest. I am not someone you should appease.¡±

    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

    Cold on her cheeks. Twin streaks of cool. Eva realised they were each a tear. How absurd. She got wound up by something so innocuous.

    ¡°Orbitofrontal Cortex unfamiliar with novel serotonin secretions and dopamine receptors not bound to clozapine. You will experience realistic emotional responses.¡±

    Shogo ran gloves fingers over either cheek, carefully removing the tears and looking at her hands.

    ¡°What you are feeling is normal. It is this lack of familiarity with normality that overwhelms you. Your life will be filled with colour now. Colour you cannot describe. Colour from beyond the stars.¡±

    It sounded insane. Which was Shogo. Eva managed a smile.

    ¡°You removed the medication from me again, didn¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°And will continue to do so.¡±

    ¡°My dad is going to love you.¡±

    ¡°He will fear me. Believe that I am a threat to everything and everyone he loves.¡±

    ¡°Are you?¡±

    ¡°I will protect you.¡±

    ¡°And everything and everyone else?¡±

    Shogo¡¯s blank expression was enough. Eva wondered if she should be horrified at the notation. These were her parents that Shogo was so callously talking about.

    Nope.

    This isn¡¯t a black mark against Eva¡¯s personality and choices. Those come later. I assure you. This is a result of someone who has barely existed for the past five years. With even their parents their emotional connections have been stunted if not entirely excised. She trusted and felt no great connection to anyone. Except this shadowy, tentacled and beautiful thing that lingered in her room for the briefest of moments. Perhaps that was its intent. To enchant her with its heart stopping beauty, alien mindset and mystical powers.

    Mission successful. Eva admitted that much.

    ¡°Do you like what you wear?¡±

    ¡°Not in the slightest.¡±

    Shogo nodded once. Resolve. Eva thought she could read this emotion from the borderline expressionless woman. Shogo stood up, took a step back and stretched out gloved hands, clenched them together. When she spread them a pale silk camisole hung between fingers. Eva managed to supress her response. A snort mostly in the nose was all that survived. Shogo tipped her head to one side.

    ¡°If my dad walked into the room right now, with you holding underwear out to me, he would flip his lid.¡±

    ¡°Can you please put it on?¡±

    Seconds. More seconds. Something howled in the distance. Eva finally found her mental balance. She shuddered to think how long it took.

    ¡°Pardon?¡± she managed.

    ¡°Put this on.¡±

    ¡°Do you know how creepy that sounds?¡±

    Shogo tipped her head to the other side. Lack of understanding. Interspecies ignorance. Maybe interdimensional. The Editor will get back to you on that one. Eva leant forward and snatched the offered clothing. Sighed. This was madness. What was she even doing? Exactly what a mad person did. Have delusional conversations with figments and experience events that did not exist.

    ¡°Turn around,¡± she grizzled.

    Shogo¡¯s turn.

    ¡°Pardon?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not getting changed in front of you. Now turn around.¡±

    It took immense self-control for Eva not to raise her voice above the whisper she had been using up until now. Clearly the two needed to have a conversation on social boundaries and mores. Shogo did not argue. The monster was at least courteous. Turned and stood facing the door. With her dignity intact Eva shucked off her pyjama top and examined the camisole. Silk. Probably. The material was incredibly soft. Possibly extruded by a creature from this reality. No silkworms were harmed in creation of this product.

    ¡°How regularly do you eat?¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Eva replied as she examined the exquisite piece of clothing.

    ¡°You appear rather emaciated for someone your age. Weight gain is often a side-effect of antipsychotic medications. Even with appetite-suppression side-effects this should factor into your physiology. Therefore, my concern is you are intentionally eating on an irregular basis.¡±

    Shogo was not wrong. Eva was, well politely you would say scrawny for her age, impolitely you would say skin and bones. Her ribs did stick out too much, there was little meat to her biceps, no curve on her stomach.

    Wait. How the hell¡ª

    ¡°¡ªHow the hell do you know that?¡±

    Eva¡¯s eyes raced around the room. No mirror. She could never sleep in a room with mirrors. No reflections. She checked Shogo¡¯s neck. Sometimes they had extra eyes. Hidden in secretive places.

    ¡°I can sense everything within this room.¡±

    ¡°By sense you mean¡­¡±

    ¡°By your reckoning, I can ¡®see¡¯ you.¡±

    Hurled object. Current properties, +1 smiting pillow of an indignant girl. Bypasses all known forms of damage reduction. The sub-liminal projectile struck Shogo¡¯s head and knocked her forward a step.

    Take note of that. It¡¯s important later.

    Eva clamped one hand against her chest and felt her face burn.

    ¡°Your arm is no hindrance to my sight.¡±

    Hurled object, take 2. Current properties, +5 smiting pillow of righteous wrath. Able to transcend reality in delivering pillowy justice. The super-liminal projectile flew with unerring accuracy and struck the same place on the head. Another step forward. No noise, mind you. This one is rather quiet on her feet.

    With her dignity no longer intact, Eva changed into the camisole. It felt wonderful on her skin. Soft and cool. Then she realised it was a little too¡­ breezy at the front. That moment¡¯s realisation came with a change. The fabric shivered and rippled before adjusting to perfectly fit the girl.

    Even someone as scrawny as Eva.

    ¡°You can turn around now,¡± Eva muttered in a very grouchy voice.

    She wasn¡¯t going to forgive her friend. Even for such a beautiful gift. Even if it felt so nice. Even if it would change size to match her. Even if it would fit when she was 21. Nope. No forgiveness. Not tonight. Maybe next week. Shogo better show up more than once a week. Eva would go back into insanity if she could only appear infrequently.

    Shogo looked her ward up and down. Nodded in approval.

    ¡°Good.¡±

    Tentacles extruded from Shogo¡¯s cuffs and collected the two pillows. The creature handed them over to Eva. A sigh and wordless nod of thanks for that small courtesy.

    Shogo knelt, scooped up Eva¡¯s hands in her gloved own and looked into her. Eva¡¯s face burnt again. Why would she feel so self-conscious all of a sudden? The attention this monster gave her was humbling. What did mad little me deserve to be noticed by something this grand, this powerful, this alien?

    ¡°We will go in small stages. It is not necessary for you to achieve absolute success in one night. It is, in truth, better to moderate steps. Allow for better proprioceptive self-actualisation through psychosomatic projection upon polymorphic metamaterials.¡±

    ¡°Pardon?¡±

    ¡°Maslow. Base line of hierarchy. If physiological needs are not fulfilled then further progress cannot be made.¡±

    Eva plucked at the camisole and sighed. Her friend was going off on those strangely insightful tangents. How she knew so much about psychology, it wasn¡¯t a question Eva felt comfortable about asking just yet. Clarification. Would ask. Shogo would answer truthfully too. That was something Eva knew. Shogo couldn¡¯t lie. Or wouldn¡¯t.

    ¡°Explain in terms an 11-year-old can understand.¡±

    ¡°Why? You are more intelligent and capable than 11. Merely stunted and emotionally crippled. Intellectually you possess enough faculties to grasp my meaning.¡±

    Rip your hands away. Just pull them away from Shogo¡¯s. Break that gaze. You can do it. Be angry at her. She doesn¡¯t have any right to be truthful. So damned truthful. No tears this time. Just. Just breathe.

    ¡°Health, personal security, emotional security and financial security. Do you possess any of these?¡±

    ¡°Mmm.¡±

    ¡°Social belonging: Family, Friendship, Intimacy. Do you possess any of these?¡±

    ¡°Mmm.¡±

    ¡°Do I bother with self-esteem?¡±

    Eva was seeing the trend.

    ¡°I am the key and the gate. You must open the door and step through. The clothing will start at the very base and through it you will reach the pinnacle of transcendence.¡±

    ¡°A little camisole?¡±

    Eva failed at disguising her snark. Intentionally. Shogo didn¡¯t mind. There was that spark of wit she had tasted in the girl¡¯s dreams. A taste she hungered for.

    ¡°Close your eyes.¡±

    Eva did as ordered. Though not without added cheek.

    ¡°I¡¯m in a dark room, wearing unfamiliar undergarments, eyes closed and holding a strangers¡¯ hands.¡±

    Something cool swiped across Eva¡¯s sole. Enough to elicit a choked down giggle. Eyes wide open. Shogo looking right into her. Right eyebrow arched a fraction. Teacher telling off a student in class for playing up. The blush returned; Eva squirmy where she sat before closing her eyes again.

    ¡°Sorry,¡± she mumbled.

    ¡°Apology accepted. Do you like to wear t-shirts?¡±

    ¡°Not really.¡±

    ¡°Truthful. What would you like to wear?¡±

    Sea of images. More a swamp. Morass of memories. Too much time on the road spent reading. Nights under the covers trying not to see the things beating silently on the windows of the RV. TV playing in the background and drowning out the soundless howls. Classical. Antiquated. Anachronistic.

    What Shogo wore.

    ¡°White blouse. High collar. Narrow sleeves, cuffs buttonless and flaring wide over the wrist.

    ¡°Then why aren¡¯t you wearing it?¡±

    ¡°Mum and Dad would never let me.¡±

    ¡°Are they in control of this moment?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t follow.¡±

    ¡°Are they in this very room instructing you not to wear attire of your choosing?¡±

    ¡°No¡±

    Very pouty response. Here was Eva the not-emotionally mature 11-year-old.

    ¡°Reach out, grasp the key and open the door.¡±

    ¡°That makes no sense.¡±

    ¡°How many times did the psychiatrists say that ¡®at¡¯ you?¡±

    Low blow. Natural 20. Crit confirmed for max emotional damage. No counter possible. The monster was on mark. Eva hated that nobody had ever listened to her. Had no mouth and screamed for five years for someone to just believe. The rebuttal had its desired effect. Eva pictured what she wanted. ¡®Reached¡¯ out and took hold of the key. Inserted it into the lock. The hardest part was turning it. How could Eva describe it in terms that the sane would understand.

    No. They wouldn¡¯t. She turned the tumblers on reality, shifted form, function and purpose about, so that when the concept was observed it moulded to her own observational bias. When the final mental tumbler slipped into place, Eva could hear a strange piping tune playing in the background. Lost Woods? No. Couldn¡¯t be.

    Knismesis. Feathery sensation over shoulders, biceps, forearms, wrists. An awe-struck girl of 11 let her eyes slowly open. She wore the blouse. Just as imagined. It fit perfectly. It suited her perfectly. This WAS Eva. One small little piece of her now brought from dream into reality. The little girl felt a trill of joy. Proper frisson. Happy. In this moment, here and now, she was happy. Hold back the tears. She didn¡¯t want her vision blurred as this memory was fixed in mind and held pristine ¡®til the stars burned cold and dead.

    Curious thought bubbles up. Eva looks at the hands grasping hers. Gloved. The mad monsters with no sense of proprietary or decency was holding her hands and showing a child how to reshape her own life, one little article of clothing at a time.

    Gloves. Eva wore delicate, feminine black leather gloves. Those gloved hands slid out of Shogo¡¯s. Clenched and extended. Padded down the blouse to confirm that it wasn¡¯t a delusion. Though tactile and visual delusions were quite common. Padded down enough to enjoy what might have been a delusion. A very pleasant, confidence boosting and aesthetic delusion.

    ¡°The gloves are a nice touch.¡±

    Shogo¡¯s voice, almost, almost surprised. The Teacher approving of their previously mischievous student demonstrating aptitude in a test. The woman got to her feet and smoothed down her dress. Reached out and tapped the blouse once. Everything was back to camisole.

    ¡°Small steps. Once the image has been refined and defined it is fixed. Each night will be another small step.¡±

    Eva grabbed her pyjama top and pulled it over the camisole. This was something she was not explaining to her parents.

    ¡°Will you visit more often?¡±

    ¡°As I can manage.¡±

    Not a definitive answer. Not a commitment. Unsurprising. Eva pressed hand against heart.

    ¡°Was that. Was I performing magic?¡±

    ¡°No. Yes. Resonance. The magic you wear is me.¡±

    ¡°You are never having a conversation with Dad.¡±

    ¡°It is magic for you to mould and shape. You mind creates the outcome when you exert your perception upon the fundament.¡±

    ¡°You are the key and gate, right? In the future. Can I use magic? My own magic?¡±

    Shogo nodded.

    ¡°If you wish. Your mind is already broken. You have good aptitude.¡±

 Beyond the Horrors of Sleep

    You hear their howling calls in the distance. Canines circling hungrily in the darkness. They have scented fresh prey. Prey that you have already claimed. The foolish mongrels have yet to notice, though their noses may yet pick up your alien scent. It is enough time. The power within you is gathered. Focussed. Diffused through your being. Power long enough to complete the deed. 3 minutes to satiate your hunger.

    You rush forward on all fours, limbs carrying you along at an unnatural gate. The shadows draw and guide you forward, letting you flicker between points in reality, close distances in impossible ways. Closer. Closer. Waste no time. Flickers of power remain coiled within your mind. Once close enough you lash out, crushing the mentality of one of the mongrels. It howls in pain, blood gushing from nose, eyes and ears. Before the pack has responded you mentally attack another. Two wounded before you engage. Now they have scented you.

    The five disappear from normal sight. But you do not perceive the world as they do. Colour. Sound. Tactile. Scent. All of this is dross. You know the world in concepts and bounded layers of observed physical laws. Blood. The idea of heat and life force. The pressure as it moves throughout the body. It¡¯s symbolism of injury as death when it leaves a mortal vessel. Desire become reality as your tentacles lash out. Wrap around the mongrel in the lead. Hold and do not let go. The healthy two move to flank. At least they try. They can barely discern your form. Front. Back. Inside. Outside. Your anatomy defies logic. Even the logic of creatures born of umbral fear. They still bite and claw. Lash out. Fangs sink deep into flesh. Tear off fresh gibbets. It hurts. But your flesh renews. As fresh as new. Claws gouge lines of pale white blood into dark hide. Pain flares. Followed by cool relief as it heals. Your body regenerates as quickly as they wound.

    Ignore the two biting into your flesh. It is the one that you have in grasp that needs to die. Tighter and tighter you wind your tentacles. Two about the neck, one around each forelimb. It cannot run. It cannot hide. This mongrel tries to bite back. Not worth fighting it. Just tighten and tighten until the pop. Vertebrae crushed under sufficient pressure. A spasm then stillness. Now there can be revenge. The one with your leg in its mouth is next. Grip it tightly. Crush it hard. The wounded ones are stirring. Packmates found courage after the death of the Alpha. Claim your head and claim that title. Pity. You flick a tentacle out and strike one with a twisted curse. It falls to the ground in a heap. Three remain. The one in your grasp you hold tighter. It knows what is coming. Struggles. Howls. Mewls. Yelps. Pop. Another neck crushed.

    The remaining one attached to your arm sinks its teeth in hard. This time there is pain. Your body can only regenerate itself so fast. You oblige and wrap your whole body about it. A constrictor made of madness, shadows and hungry tentacles. The wounded one chooses to run. A final telepathic lash drops it to the ground. Weakness. Weakness will always be punished. Now you scrabble in mortal combat. One final mongrel and yourself. Brutal. Bloody. Inelegant. Savage. You envelope it¡¯s form, entangle its limbs and begin to twist. Cartilage reaches breaking point. Joints pop and snap. More howls. The air tastes of fear and horror. But it is too late. The mongrel can no longer run. And after such a struggle and so many injuries you feel weak. Time aplenty to nourish yourself before returning home. Hungry. The smell of blood. Your meal whimpers and tries to crawl away on broken limb. Pity. You have none. And this meal will taste good. Piece by screaming piece.

    <hr>

    Scream. Loud enough to spook the neighbours. Dry and wet pressed against tongue and back of throat. Gagging. Eyes swimming in tears pulled wide open. The room was bright. Too bright. Try to flinch. Wake up, foolish girl. It¡¯s time for the nightmare of reality.

    ¡°Eva. EVA! Just breath. Calm down and breath. Stop struggling.¡±

    Luther¡¯s deep voice beside his daughter¡¯s ear. Tears are blinked and reality comes into resolution. Christina is on her knees, knuckles pressed against mouth. Dark skin turned an unhealthy grey. Fear in her eyes. Eva hasn¡¯t seen such fear in a long time. Not since she left school. Or expelled. That is one conversation she¡¯s lacked the courage.

    ¡°Long, deep breaths, Eva. Listen to my voice and keep taking long, deep breaths. You remember, like we¡¯ve practised before.¡±

    Well shit. It¡¯s been one of those. Eva has nightmares. Most nights. But there are nightmares and then there are nightmares. The sort that involves screams and hysteria. The one that lead to neighbours listing noise complaints. Being on the road has its perks. Just you and howling coyote for 100 miles.

    A howl in the distance. Suddenly cut off. The sound of pain attached to that ending.

    Eva sat up straight. Cold water poured over her psyche with that noise. Reality is fixed. Morpheus banished. She is lying on the motel floor. A pillow tucked under her head. Parents honour guard. Either side flanking her. A rag has been jammed into her mouth. A hasty gag. Biting off your tongue. Not on the top-10 list of party games. Spit it out. That¡¯s a good start. But the gag is packed in tight. Eva howls like the coyote and tries to shake out the gag. Parental understanding and plenty of experience. Luther grabs the wag of rag and yanks. With it comes gagging and Eva¡¯s rasping voice. More gagging. Coughing. Whimpering of her own.

    ¡°Bathroom. Now!¡± she manages.

    Christina is on the phone.

    ¡°Tonic clonic,¡± she parrots. Whatever the person on the other end is telling her.

    Hesitates. Looked to her husband. Then she does something right. Gives Eva room. Hey. All parents get to wear the ¡®did right by my child badge¡¯ once or twice a year. Might be five years for Christina. But we¡¯re going in the right direction. Luther is hesitant. Squirming and flailing 11-year-old isn¡¯t everybody¡¯s cup of tea. Finally relents and withdraws. Limbs are sore. Aching. Bruises on knuckles and knees. Head is throbbing too. No time to complain. Pain or not it¡¯s stumbling time. Eva rushes to the bathroom. You know how in anime they show someone being sick as a rainbow and a soft drawn out ¡®bleeeh¡¯ noise. Lies. Fabrication. It''s chunky. Wet. Heaving. Agonising. Face covered in sweat and eyes teary again. The taste is something you never become accustomed to. Even after all that Eva can still taste the hot iron flesh in her mouth.

    Now without a stomach, Eva realised she is warm and damp. Underwear soaked through. Bed-wetting was a thing when she was younger. Justified. You would have too when seeing what any six-year-old never should. Not this. Not now. She¡¯s far too old. Probably. Aching limbs carry the girl back to lounge. She wants to grab some clothes, shower and clean up. Ambulance sirens in the distance. Luther with his hand on Christina¡¯s shoulder. He turns to look at this daughter. Image silhouetted in faint red and blue light.

    ¡°What happened?¡± Eva finally managed.

    ¡°A seizure,¡± Luther said, calmer in his voice than otherwise might be expected.

    Eva¡¯s eyes went wide. Her brain was many things. Broken in many ways. But fits were a first. Bruises explained.

    ¡°How long?¡±

    ¡°Maybe 10 minutes.¡±

    ¡°Wha!¡±

    Also, a first. The Foxe family has become accustomed to medical difficulties. Calluses upon scar tissue. Not prepared for this.

    ¡°Did I just¡­ collapse?¡±

    Eva realises there are gaps. Memories with missing jigsaw pieces. Or memories that do not fit any puzzle. Non-Euclidean pieces on the table this time. No chance to put your hand on the puzzle out of time. Heavy vehicle hits the bitumen outside. Luther opens the door to greet the new arrivals. No chance to change. Even brush your teeth. Time waits for nobodies¡¯ dignity or self-respect.

    The 11-year-old tensed. She had been tensing during the seizure a short while ago. That didn¡¯t compare with now. Hate. Loathing. Utter terror. Hospitals were the one place Eva could never¡­ no. They put her in a children¡¯s psych ward for a month when she was 9. They are lucky she didn¡¯t leave in a pine box. Let¡¯s end that here. You can use your imagination to its most sadistic and horrific worst. Won¡¯t come close to what Eva saw and experienced lurking in the shadows beyond time.

    Anyway. This story is grim enough already. Let¡¯s hustle on.

    <hr>

    At least she wasn¡¯t medically restrained on the ambulance stretcher. Improvement. Ambulance was clean, neat and well stocked. Foxe family are afficionados of Ambulances. Judge the pedigree at 50 paces. Luther rode in the back. Even held his daughter¡¯s hand. The man has seen his daughter messed up. Twisted. Broken. Properly fucked. This has still spooked him. Christina stayed behind to gather things. Overnight bag. Catch a cab later.

    The officers were wonderful. The driver kept Luther calm and reassured him. The woman in the back spoke to Eva constantly. Made sure she felt involved and informed. IV in the arm. Needles didn¡¯t bother her. What was a tiny pin-prick against the enormity of the world? Heart rate monitor watching closely.

    Penny drops. Talk to the girl and make sure she¡¯s lucid. Rational. If Eva stops the stream of sanity, then they know something is wrong. Savvy. Part of Eva approves. Luther just holds Eva¡¯s hand tight. Once at the hospital Eva is rushed past the usual checks and entry barriers. Nobody fucks around when it comes to a child¡¯s health. Good. Humanity showing it¡¯s best.

    The rest is a blur. More medication. More tests. Doctors asking Eva a myriad questions. She answers most of them. No grades for this. Honesty. Where possible. Though explaining that you still taste fresh bloody meat is hard. Luther is grilled too. Eva can tell the moment when her father breaks the news. What Eva is like. Body language. Easy to read. The shift in the feet. Head with more slouch. Now the doctors know. Come to different conclusions. Downhill from here sorry. All those assumptions.

    The things in the hospital. They haven¡¯t noticed. Yet. Eva is focussed on the professional and still kind nurses. She changes into a hospital gown. Showers come later. Soiled undergarments and smell can wait. Camisole is clean when removed. Curious. Check with the eldritch abomination about her dry-cleaning services. Blood samples taken. EEG and ECG booked pronto. You know this is going to end well.

    Life sucks.

    Eva is wheeled into a new room. Away from the buzz of other patients. They want Eva as calm as possible. Shift to a new bed. Plenty of electrodes attached to the chest. More are placed around the head. Eva¡¯s throat hitches up. Nothing left to throw up. But her stomach really wants the chance. Grey. Milky white eyes. Tentacles hanging where a mouth should be. So thin it seems wrong. Panic takes hold. Ever grabs the nurse¡¯s hand.

    ¡°Do I have to?¡± she asks.

    ¡°It will be alright,¡± she reassures. ¡°I know it¡¯s scary. But you can talk to us at any time. You¡¯re a brave girl, right?¡±

    Pfff. Trying to stoke a child¡¯s courage. Reverse psychology isn¡¯t effective on the insane. But too late now. She¡¯s locked in here and they won¡¯t let her out until the tests are finished. May as well get this over and done with. No mercies to be found. Sometimes general anaesthetic is an option. Not this time. They want the brain gloriously clean.

    Fresh IV in the arm. Remain still they say. Time to be squeezed into the tightest circle of hell. Eva cannot hear anything. Still her teeth ache at the sound.

    Then the nails run up her leg. Eva twitches.

    ¡°We need you to hold still please, Eva,¡± a technician says to Eva, watching the EEG output computer.

    Oh, he really should shut up. Bonus points to Slytherin, Eva obliges. The nails glide up, from ankle, to knee, over the gown up the thigh, across the stomach and rest on her sternum. Head pinned in place. Cannot see it. Eyes fixed down, trying to burst out through the cheeks. The thing looms over Eva. Emaciated body against emaciated body. Maggot white eyes hover close to Eva¡¯s own. Up close Eva thinks it worse than human. Four long tentacles hang from a lamprey mouth, crawling along her chest, up her neck and finally resting on either side of her head.

    More twitches.

    ¡°Please Eva, this won¡¯t take much longer.¡±

    Not entirely true. This is confirmed by a tactless technician conducting the EEG not realising how good Eva¡¯s hearing is.

    ¡°30 minutes at least,¡± he says to the doctor. ¡°Perhaps an hour. We need a large time sample.¡±

    The nightmare continues its caress of Eva¡¯s body with thin pale hands, long nails dragging over the hospital gown, scritching sound deeply unsettling.

    [You have good eyes, child]

    Nope. So much nope. 100 pounds of nope in a 10-pound bag.

    [I am so very hungry]

    Eva¡¯s heart rate skyrockets. Technicians and doctors alike can see that. But they need answers. You want ECG? You get ECG! Status Epilepticus is incredibly dangerous. New term. I won¡¯t be rude and interrupt. That will be explained later. For now it''s Eva. Brave girl. Just scared.

    [I can consume you. Make this all end]

    Tentacles stroke her head. Leave strands of mucus in her long hair.

    [Eat your flesh. Eat your mind. Have a body of my own]

    No need for emphasis. But this creature is cruel. Strokes its tentacles all over her ears. Ethereal feelers slide into the ear canal. Wet sucking sounds. Eva is hyperventilating. Maybe the medical technicians should do something. Her medical readings are abnormal. Curious they don¡¯t. Think on that. Callous? Or influenced?

    [Crawl in through your eardrum and into your skull. Crawl into the wet flesh of your mind. Little by little you will die a death of personality. Imagine a child''s innocent smile with my eternal hunger]

    Cronenberg would approve at this point. Long live the new flesh. Tears streak Eva¡¯s cheeks. She is strong. Like adamantine. Horrified. Broken. Tongue coppery where she bites her cheeks. Hands grasp her head. Nails press sharply into cheeks and caress them. Tentacles taste her fear and laps at neck, ear and scalp. Lick the tears. Fingers pull Eva¡¯s eyelids wide. Maggot-white glaring into terrified tawny.

    [You cannot run. I will make a fine meal of you]

    Not once. Not once. Not once. She does not flinch. Eva suffers the creature¡¯s horrific ministrations. A full hour of mental rape.

    Let us cut here. I am certain you are feeling disgusted already.

    <hr>

    Morning¡¯s sunlight touches Eva. Warmth. Bedsheets tucked up to her chin. Eva¡¯s head throbs. Time lost. What happened to the ECG and EEG? Crusty eyes. Maybe she can just lie here. Pretend nothing exists. Solipsistic. Time just oozes by. A door squeaks.

    ¡°Good morning, Eva,¡± a tired female voice says.

    Crap. Well, bite the crazy bullet. Eva opens her eyes. Private room. Not the open children¡¯s ward. Nicely laid out, neutral colours, personal bathroom, little side table and chairs. The bed is comfortable too. Plenty of pillows, freshly laundered sheets and cosy blankets. She¡¯s been bathed and given fresh clothing. The usual medical trimmings. Heart Rate monitor. IV drip. Catheter. Overall, it¡¯s one of the better hospital rooms Eva has woken up in.

    ¡°Good morning,¡± Eva manages to rasp. ¡°May I ask for a drink?¡±

    The woman obliges. Gets a glass of water and a straw. Holds it close. Eva takes short, small sips. Slowly hydrates. Time to gather her thoughts.

    ¡°How long?¡±

    ¡°Pardon?¡±

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    ¡°I lose days. Can¡¯t remember what happens in between. Or don¡¯t want to. Then I wake in an unfamiliar bed. Often restrained.¡±

    The doctor gives a kindly smile. Patted her hand gently.

    ¡°Just a day. Once the tests were over you became hysterical. We couldn¡¯t calm you down. I do not like sedating someone that has recently experienced a Status Epilepticus but¡­ your safety is paramount.

    After you were sedated, we consulted with your parents and, taking into consideration your medical history, put you in this room. You¡¯ve been sleeping without medication since.¡±

    Eva nodded. How the hell is a girl, age 11, so calm about something so shocking? Speaks volumes for courage. Or damage. Or this crapsack world.

    ¡°So, I had a fit?¡±

    The doctor nodded.

    ¡°It is a little more involved than that. I would like to get your parents and we can discuss this together.¡±

    The doctor made to leave. Eva grabbed her hand. The woman hesitated. Her eyes settled on Eva. This wasn¡¯t a stable girl. She looked ready to bolt. Still. Kept her troubles under control.

    ¡°Do you have to go?¡± Eva whispered

    Fair request. The doctor couldn¡¯t see the thing crouched facing the wall in the corner. Can¡¯t blame a girl for trying.

    Curious. The doctor actually listened.

    ¡°Harry!¡± she shouted. ¡°Bring Mr and Mrs Foxe to the room, please.¡±

    ¡°On it!¡±

    The doctor remained by Eva¡¯s side. Ooo, this one might be important. If we¡¯re not a secondary NPC we might need a description. Help with that imagination of yours. Average height, leggy build of someone always on their feet, Caucasian, long brown hair in an unkempt ponytail. Dark eyes and a harried expression. But young enough that the fires of passion burn in those eyes. Give her a decade. Then we¡¯ll have typical jaded doctor. But for now, she¡¯s the best thing Eva has going for her next to a Lovecraftian horror.

    ¡°I¡¯m Dr Schwarzschild,¡± the doctor introduced herself.

    ¡°Evangeline Foxe.¡±

    Eva clasped Schwarzschild¡¯s hand with both of hers. Grip tight enough to induce nuclear fusion.

    ¡°Thank you for not leaving,¡± she whispered.

    Curiosity. Something doesn¡¯t add up. Abuse? Neglect. Parents always on the road. Ruth (that¡¯s Schwarzschild¡¯s first name if you were wondering) will contact a friend in the police force later. Call in a favour or two.

    The rap on the door interrupts. Luther walks in, Christina in his shadow, dark face a shade of grey. The pair brighten when they see Eva awake. Rush over. Ruth is already out the way. She knows what family are like. Both parents hold their daughter tight. No tears. Not from the three. They ran out of tears long ago. Just sharp intakes of breath. Bodies quaking a little.

    Atmosphere. The room finally settles. Chairs pulled up for the three adults.

    ¡°Good news first. I cannot see anything wrong in your EEG or ECG. Bad news. That makes it harder to diagnose the underlying issue. Mr Foxe, for Eva¡¯s benefit, could you explain what happened again.¡±

    Luther nodded. Looked to his daughter.

    ¡°After dinner you took your medication. Said you were going to take a shower. Then mid-stride you just stopped. Looked out the window. Collapsed to the ground. You were lying on your stomach and started groaning and crying out. I rushed over. You didn¡¯t respond. Your whole body was so stiff, the tendons in your neck standing out, limbs shivering. Then you started to jerk about. Your arms and legs were flailing, hitting the floor hard. I rolled your over onto your back. There was a dish-rag in the kitchen so I pushed that into your mouth. I don¡¯t know if that was the right thing to do or not. I was worried you might bite your tongue off.¡±

    Luther sighed and pressed a hand against his forehead.

    ¡°This has never happened before.¡±

    ¡°It might be a negative reaction to the recent change in her medical regime. I would like to send off some blood work to our lab in Calgary. On top of that I want to cease all her current prescriptions.¡±

    Luther made to interject. Christina settled him.

    ¡°I cannot be certain if some contraindications are the underlying cause of this seizure. If she were suffering from an infection then a temperature spike could cause a febrile seizure. This isn¡¯t the case. Right now we have no signposts to try determine why Evangeline had a seizure nor the reason behind its severity. We were lucky, Mr Foxe. Status Epilepticus can lead to permanent brain damage. The last thing you want is another one when you are on the road.

    If we do not know why this occurred then it is best to slowly wean her off whatever medications she is taking.¡±

    ¡°Doctor, with all due respect, you don¡¯t know how ill my daughter is.¡±

    Parenting at its finest. Eva doesn¡¯t take the insult too hard. Not that she considers it an insult. High tolerance to people talking over her.

    ¡°I have complete access to your medical records in Canada as well as your American records.¡±

    Now isn¡¯t that interesting. It¡¯s not like American and Canadian medical services maintain close contact with one another. Methinks the Doctor called in a professional favour or two.

    ¡°Five years¡¯ worth of data to read over the past 24 hours. With all due respect, Mr Foxe, I do know and this is exactly why I am recommending this path.¡±

    Dr Schwarzschild tapped an electronic tablet in her hand.

    ¡°If you are hesitant then I would heavily stress that we at least reduce the dosage of her regular prescriptions and cease the new medication. It will take roughly two weeks for the labs to do a full spectrum analysis of Eva¡¯s blood. We can monitor her closely during that time. See if there are any adverse side-effects or regression in her mental health.¡±

    Take the hint. Take the tablet. Yes, you are her legal guardians. At the very least listen to the medical professional. You know. The person who has spent at least a decade studying their arse off to be in this position to give advice and, say, I don¡¯t know, SAVE LIVES.

    ¡°We can stay in town for two weeks,¡± Luther relents. ¡°Somehow.¡±

    Dr Schwarzschild nods.

    ¡°The Western Budget motel is nice, but pricey over two weeks. I¡¯ll talk to Ethel at the Four Pines caravan park. Organise for you to book a bay with an attached chalet. Sleep is critical for Eva¡¯s mental health so somewhere with comfortable beds and a relaxed atmosphere is a must. Speaking of motels, Rubin is the man who runs the Western Budget. You cannot be driving your RV around town. Ask him about renting his spare i20. The man is a miser but drives a fair price. Knowing him he¡¯ll want $1000 deposit and ID. I¡¯ll speak to Trish at the pharmacy and see what can be done about lower dosage tablets. I¡¯m not a fan of pill-cutters. The dosage is not evenly spread across the pill and smooth blood levels are very important right now.¡±

    Christina and Luther. Sort of poleaxed. At the very least they¡¯re surprised. This level of care. Yes, the American medical health system is a joke. Go out to the middle of the arctic circle and ask someone to hacksaw your leg off. Better treatment and prognosis than America. Sorry. Not sorry to all Americans reading this. I¡¯d rather be called a Communist and pay a little extra in taxes so that I don¡¯t die of sepsis from a paper-cut.

    ¡°Uh,¡± Luther is fumbling with words. ¡°Thank you, Doctor.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re welcome. If you¡¯re ready I can discharge Eva this afternoon. I will need you to return every day for more blood tests and check-ups. I want to monitor any changes over the next two weeks. It is important we get to the bottom of this.¡±

    Luther and Christina hold hands tightly. Another challenge. One more mountain to climb. It¡¯s possible. Eva is impassive. Nothing shaking her. Just one question.

    ¡°Excuse me, Dr Schwarzschild. Is there a library in town?¡±

    The doctor nods her head.

    ¡°Active reader?¡±

    ¡°There isn¡¯t much else to do on the road. I don¡¯t like video games and feel queasy watching television when driving. So, I read.¡±

    ¡°Our RV would be a library if we didn¡¯t trade books in constantly at second hand book stores,¡± Christina explained with a rare smile.

    ¡°The Miskatonic Combined Services Library serves the public as well as the local colleges. You can sign up for membership this afternoon.¡±

    A flicker of light in Eva¡¯s eyes. A small smile. The good doctor does pay attention.

    Luther and Christina leave the room. Privacy for their daughter to change. Oh, don¡¯t worry. We haven¡¯t forgotten the thing in the corner. Eva takes the doctor¡¯s hand again.

    ¡°Can I speak¡­ in private?¡±

    Dr Schwarzschild looked to pair standing in the doorway. They nod their head. Close the door. The moment they are gone Eva motions for some help. All sorts of cords connected to her that need to be removed. No details. Just take it from the narrator. Pyjamas feel freshly laundered. At least it¡¯s not hospital gowns for the umpteenth time. Eva doesn¡¯t say anything to the doctor. Just changes into shorts, branded t-shirt and hoodie. Pink socks and lace-up kicks. Nothing strange.

    Okay. That¡¯s a lie.

    Two things strange. Maybe two-and-a-half. First. Eva¡¯s reaction on finding some clothing in her bag where it is stowed in the built-in wardrobe for the room. More specifically, a plain white camisole. Clutched tightly against her chest. The echo of tears in her eyes. The doctor assumes this is an important gift. Something from a family member.

    Heh.

    The second is Eva avoiding one corner of the room. She looked at it once. When she first grabbed Dr Schwarzschild¡¯s hand. Since then, her eyes have carefully rolled around it. Side-note. The Doctor hasn¡¯t chosen a specialisation yet. For now, she is just a generalist doctor on placement. But psychology does interest her. Eva is a startling case in psychiatry. The very deepest of deep ends of the field. Translation: this physician isn¡¯t weighed down with 10+ years of conceited prejudice yet still has the skills of a psychiatrist. Good combination. She walks to the corner Eva has been avoiding and examines it closely. Nothing discernible. No smell. No bloom of light. No change in texture or permeability when she touches the floor with a loafer.

    Turn around. Eva is watching the doctor. Naked curiosity.

    ¡°Is there something here?¡±

    No response. Slack features. Not even a twitch of the fingers or dilation of the eyes. Schwarzschild is impressed. The girl has learned to mask very quickly. She can still pick it out. No doubt her parents too. Still there. That fear. Just bubbling beneath the surface. Healthy flesh an eggshell thin layer over a barren and rotten core. Gross thought, no? Maybe Videodrome. Maybe Nssu-Ghahnd. Check those references and look for dubs. /lovecraft green post.

    Eva didn¡¯t ask anything of the doctor. And the good doctor doesn¡¯t ask back. She wanted company and not her parents. That raises sooooo many questions. Background checks are high priority, Ruth.

    ¡°Shall I walk you out?¡± Dr Schwarzschild offers.

    Eva, clothing bag over shoulder, accepts the offer. Here¡¯s the half unit mentioned earlier. As they leave Schwarzschild feels a prickling across her shoulders. There¡¯s a small viewing window in the door. A reflection. A pool of shadow in the corner of the room reflected in the glass. Something that makes you feel queasy to look at.

    Sorry doc. Sorry-not-sorry. You¡¯ve been dragged into this. Get ready.

    The two walk through the main entrance. Waiting benches in neat rows for people readying to see friends and loved ones internally. Reception desk manned by professional looking people. The two reach the front door. Dr Schwarzschild crouches down. Looks Eva in the eye. Gives her a slip of paper.

    ¡°Your new medical regime. I trust you to give it to your parents. And I trust you to stick to it. Your first round of blood tests showed nothing. Not a single medication. I won¡¯t ask why or how. I will only ask that you trust me. See you tomorrow, Evangeline.¡±

    Another smile. Blush of embarrassment. Less chance to hide this time. Eva turns and walks over to her family. Right past a parked ambulance discharging its contents. Injured man. Blood leaking from multiple stab wounds. Hate to see what the other guy looked like. Swearing. Just as messy. Several languages. Rather unhappy. Stretcher trundles by Eva as she walked to where her parents were waiting.

    Dr Schwarzschild takes that in. Girl doesn¡¯t care about what they walked past. Man likely in his last bloody moments swearing and howling. Doesn¡¯t blink.

    What the hell was that shadow then?

    <hr>

    Miskatonic Combined Services Library, usually called Miskatonic Library, is a very recent structure. Maybe 3 years old. Already has a modern gothic feel to it. Not contrived. Possibly actual gargoyles living on the rooftop. Five stories tall. Solid construction. All the essentials and little tweaks on the edges. Built for the ¡®modern man.¡¯ Which means the unusual. Elevators for those that cannot use stairs. Natural lightning in some areas. Dark zones for those that cannot adapt. Special lightbulbs that don¡¯t flicker for specialised visual ranges.

    It¡¯s a place that caters to anybody and everybody. Eva herself is busy in the adult section. The Librarian had been kind. Tried to point her toward the children¡¯s section.

    Yes. She does read kids books. But right now, Eva has an itch to scratch. Not the sort of thing you¡¯ll find amidst the Billy B Brown or Kensy and Max.

    Tall stacks loom. All variety of book on display. Unusual. Someone was smart enough to organise Miskatonic Fiction by subject matter. Find what you want at your pace. Alphabetic is a pain and Dewey a nightmare. Young fingers trace over old books. Very old.

    This is a new library, right? The collection of texts is¡­ impressive. First editions. Limited print. Antiquarians wettest of dreams. Actually, nothing wet. It damages the paper. It¡¯s a dry¡ª

    Okay. Okay. I Take the hint. Too crude. No more cheekiness. This library just has far too many old books, even in the fiction section, to make logical sense. The general public isn¡¯t going to be interested or attached. In non-fiction and for college use perhaps. Not this.

    Want to know the odd thing? Nothing here. Well. Nothing that isn¡¯t human. Eva knows old. Knows what haunted or fucked up should look like. Hence hospitals are the worst. But here. Here is shadows, things playing upon mortal imaginations, eerie sounds, creaking wooden floorboards and possibly the most relaxed Eva has felt in ages. What lives here belongs here. And what shouldn¡¯t be here has been chased off.

    Which is a warning in and of itself. Forgive the normally astute Eva for making this mistake. She was lying on the floor in a fit only a day ago. Seizures are not a walk in the park.

    Set the scene. Eva in the classics section. Frankenstein in hand. More tucked under one arm. Dracula. Jane Eyre. Darwin¡¯s Children. That one may hit a little too close to home.

    ¡°Strange,¡± a charming voice observes.

    Turns to see the voice. Pure gap moe right here. Rich, deep voice. Commanding. Assertive. Confident. Presidential or kingly. In its place is an emaciated man. Not Eva is that scrawny. Properly sallow skin, bones and little else. Tailored suit. Wool blend. Probably worth more than the family RV. The man is bald. Actually, he lacks any body hair. Carries himself with poise and grace. Straight back and discerning gaze.

    Those eyes. They are not found in any mammal ever to have evolved. Their colours keep shifting. Iris is wholly absent. Nothing but rainbow chameleonic sclera and pupils that aren¡¯t close to terrestrial.

    ¡°How so?¡± Eva asked.

    ¡°You aren¡¯t in the children¡¯s area.¡±

    The man pauses. Glances down at shoes buffed so bright they could be obsidian mirrors.

    ¡°Then again you don¡¯t belong there any more than you belong here.¡±

    It¡¯s not a threat. Casual observation. Accurate too. Frankenstein is now a shield clutched tightly to Eva¡¯s chest. This isn¡¯t a hallucination. This is all too real. A man but not. Something else. Maybe.

    ¡°You are something like¡­ no you are not,¡± Eva stumbles.

    The man smiles. It would be charming. On any other face. Eva checks the shadow he casts. Just as tall. But stouter. Not that putting two nails together is much. Still 100% more than before.

    Gloved hand resting patiently on the shoulder. No point on giving a reassuring squeeze. Contact is enough. Eva doesn¡¯t need to ask who.

    ¡°She can see the truth.¡±

    The man snorts.

    ¡°Truth is very relative.¡±

    ¡°Truth is truth and lies are lies.¡±

    ¡°Lies are what you make of them.¡±

    The man runs a hand over his bald scalp.

    ¡°We¡¯ve had this talk before, shadow. Neither side is going to give.¡±

    Now it¡¯s time to get angry. Adults talking over Eva. Parents talking over. Doctors talking over. The attendant at the gas station talking over. Someone who Eva, sort of, trusts, talking over. That¡¯s a line she draws.

    ¡°What is going on!¡± Eva demands in a huff. Even stamps her foot. Acting her age for a change.

    Shogo¡¯s eyes flick down. The man too. The gaze of the inhuman on the human. The man smiles again. To anybody who didn¡¯t see the truth he would probably be handsome and charming. He is both anyway. To the discerning and crazy eye of a small child.

    ¡°Your guardian has been poking around the town. Caused mischief here or there. Cleaned up some trouble lurking on the outskirts. I found only bodily fluids. It must have been quite the meal. I could not pin her down. So, her attachment to you is useful instead.¡±

    Eldritch abomination. One step forward. Reality quivers along with it. Cloak pulled around Eva. It crawled down her shoulder. A tumble of inky tentacles. A latticework of shadowy flesh flowed across her back. Eyes flick up. Want to know the safest place in all of reality right now? Shielded beneath that cloak. [God] looks at that space and decides, ¡°Nope. Gonna direct my omniscient, omnipotent power elsewhere¡±

    The man raises his hands. Proper appealing gesture. Sincerity rated at 20%.

    ¡°No harm intended. I just want to talk. But later. Maybe without blackmail material standing before me. You have your rules. I have mine. We need to find some common ground. Or this becomes a turf war. And I own this town.¡±

    A cloak of tentacles. Proper Gucci flesh and lidless eyes gazing at everything. Hanging from Eva¡¯s shoulders. One bad move and you lose a finger. The man takes the hint. One step back. That¡¯s all. A message. Enough.

    Shadowy mist and now a fabric cloak. Shogo nods her head.

    ¡°She leaves unharmed. Then we talk. I have questions. You were human. What changed?¡±

    The man in the suit checked a cufflink and nodded.

    ¡°Fair deal. Go up to the circulation desk, young lady. Get yourself a library card and some books.¡±

    And who takes the advice of someone definitely not human anymore? Riveted in place. Eva looks to Shogo. Gloved hand leaves the shoulder. Should it hurt more that Shogo is sending her off? Yet another person holding secrets.

    ¡®We talk later.¡¯

    For context that¡¯s purely inside the head. Ears on strike for this one. Does the bluff succeed? Eva isn¡¯t sure. She¡¯s confident in her poker face. Not so confident with the man. He seems the sort to walk into a room and own everything within it. Know exactly what is going on. ¿ÕšÝÕi¤á¤ë for the Japanese. Copy-pasta that one into a web browser if you need an explanation. Go on. I¡¯ll wait.

    Back? I¡¯d say duck out and get a drink but we¡¯re about to close. Might as well sprint for the finish. Eva takes her five books up to the front counter. Luther and Christina have a card ready. Let their daughter loan what she wants. Easy. Done. Sorted. Another day done. An almost, possibly, maybe kinda functional family leaves the building. At least the image does. Parents flanking their daughter. All looking exhausted. Black rings under their eyes. Shoulders slightly slumped. But good enough to pass for greeting card happy family photo moment. Ignore that last 24 hours.

    So just what in the court of Azathoth was that man? Good luck. Story for another day. We¡¯re fixated on Eva right now.

    Oh. That reminds me. Who was paying attention? How many books did Eva take out?

 The Hunger in the Dark

    Have things gotten better since last time? Well that depends on your definition of better. Is Eva no longer stuck in a drug induced stupor coasting along on life until one day she realises her life is measured in 3 digits and nothing has ever come of it. Not even purpose. Not even creation or genitor of the next generation. Simple inertia and little else. A poor life indeed.

    That much has been stolen back for the girl.

    But Maslow is a harsh man and she certainly needs more to make it a life worth of¡­ well being a life. So let us dive in and see where in the journey she is at. Maybe it''s time to demonstrate a little of what our unhinged protagonist is capable of.

    The Four Pines caravan park is quite possibly the comfiest and certainly cosiest place Eva has ever lived. Her memories prior to 6 are something of a blur. Which is sad. They would constitute more than half her life and the half where she wasn¡¯t seeing things nobody else could. The best bits edited out and the dross left behind. Dross that tastes like acid, blood, salty tears and heartbreak. Yes, heartbreak has a flavour. It is very close to depression but with more tang, like a frisson of sorrow.

    Check with the thing that tasted Eva whilst she was at the Hospital. It certainly enjoyed all the flavours.

    Okay previous sentence comes across as somewhat ick. Tough. I¡¯m leaving it there. Needs to be underscored what reality is like. Proper reality. Not the delusion the sane people all subscribe to.

    Back on track. Apologies. Lousy week. Peer into one of the cosy little chalets built to one side of a caravan berth and you will see an industrious girl with multiple textbooks splashed out over a wide table. Stacks of exercise books ready to be filled. At this point in the day Eva is filling her head with knowledge. She¡¯s good at that. Always has been. Should have seen her in her school spelling bee. First year in grade school. Talented. Articulate. Outgoing. It¡¯s up on stage ready to accept her award that it all falls apart. Yup. Right in front of every parent and student in the school along with local news media and various stakeholders. If you want to destroy your life before it has ever begun that is quite possibly the perfect location.

    Fast forward five years and Eva is still the model student. Christina might be the teacher but she grants no mercy to her daughter. Sink or swim. So piled high is Eva¡¯s sole demonstration of output. What can she cram into her head this week? Well, the answer is the sort of knowledge that high schoolers break out in a sweat during finals. Feel the crunch? Those final exams to get into the college of your choice. Crystalise that into ink and scribe it upon pages. Then bind those pages and put them on Eva¡¯s table.

    Kid¡¯s smart.

    Luther is not quite a helicopter parent. More a hang glider catching thermals and swooping over his daughter every half hour or so. Would piss you off real fast. Lucky for Luther his firstborn is a very focussed student. When she is compressing knowledge into digestible formats, then going through the exercise books and filling them out methodically, reality is a distant distraction. Study. Now that is something. A pattern. Routine. Rote. It is the singular constant outside of Eva¡¯s condition. She¡¯s a one note person. When not being prodded, poked and probed it is learn and apply.

    Another swoop. Hang glider at 4 o¡¯clock. Check that the four walls and ceiling haven¡¯t caved in. Just Eva, a cup of juice and pencils. Always pencils. She hates writing in pen. Feels too permanent. Doesn¡¯t allow for correction of errors. When something is whispering in your ear or tugging at your arm it is hard to write neatly. The text book is closed. Exercise book completed. Mathematics. Double differentiations. Aced it.

    Kid¡¯s real smart.

    ¡°Do you want to take a break, Candesia?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m good.¡±

    Total dismissal. Eva is in the zone. Distractions are to be politely brushed off. English. Use a book loaned from the library. To Kill a Mockingbird. Open the next text book. Open the next exercise book. Open your mind to more knowledge. Eva is voracious. More to see. More to do. For Luther this is actually a little scary. His little girl is normally exhausted by this time of morning. A midday nap should be looming. That¡¯s been their routine for years. When your child is a one-stop pharmaceutical dispensary then no surprise. Now weaned off almost everything we get to see the verve and energy of Eva. Think about it. When you¡¯re a medical zombie and still able to do so much, imagine the possibilities when not steeped in anti-psychotics with a tincture of anti-depressant. Think they could make a brand of tea like that? Decaf Heartbreak. Certainly would sell.

    ¡°Putting the kettle on.¡±

    ¡°Mmm.¡±

    Take the hint, Dad. Luther fishes out cups. Yes. Plural. Starting to push his luck. Alright then. If he wants to butt in then don¡¯t look so surprised several paragraphs down. Two tea bags. Not Heartbreak brand. Save that for tonight. Just plain old chamomile. Hang glider in a holding pattern. Kettle huffs and hisses. For all you tea afficionados he puts cold water in the cup first. Then the hot. Then the tea bag. Luther is cultured. Carries over the steaming cup to his daughter and puts it down in what little clear space there is.

    ¡°Maybe you should take a break.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m good.¡±

    Luther sits down. Rests his cup on the table. Puts a hand on Eva¡¯s shoulder. Firm enough to draw her out of the Zen realm of study.

    ¡°Take a break, Candesia.¡±

    Deep breath. Inhale. Centre. Exhale. Where have I heard that before? Promise I¡¯m not plagiarising. Raiden gave her approval. Eva is now Luther¡¯s sole focus. Mania. Possibly. Actually, not at all. Not distracted. Not mind racing a million miles a minute. This is focus. Calm. Control. Eva knows what she wants and is going to get it.

    A whisper.

    ¡°Thank you.¡±

    Eva picks up the cup and cautiously sips at it. Doesn¡¯t like her tea scalding. Tongue still sensitive at that age. Inhales the steam. Smiles. Very small. Enjoys the sensation. Odd little actions like these. Stark to Luther. This isn¡¯t the daughter he has known. Innumerable tiny ways she feels different. If your child wasn¡¯t your whole world for five years then you wouldn¡¯t notice it. Alarm bells to the parent. But Schwarzschild is monitoring closely. Almost time to go for daily blood work and other tests. A week of this and no change. No seizures. No obvious reactions to illusionary stimuli. For one week Eva has been a normal 11-year-old girl.

    As normal as any girl studying English with a foreign language book as the reference.

    Okay. Back up. Quickly. There¡¯s something Luther missed. Christina too. Can¡¯t blame them. Been so keyed up over the last week. It was a happy family outing to Library after medical discharge. It was pointed out that the collection of texts at Miskatonic Library was unusual. Old copies. Originals. Foreign languages interspersed. They organised a library card and she approached the circulation desk with five books. That¡¯s a win. Probably should have checked the books. And don¡¯t look at me. I didn¡¯t say what languages those texts were in. Unreliable narrator is intentionally unreliable.

    So here is Luther sipping his chamomile tea. Yup. That one that¡¯s meant to help calm the nerves. Heh. Sipping his tea and actually looking at the book Eva has chosen for her English homework. Luther slowly reaches out and picks up the novel. It has the silhouette of a bird on the front. Title in a language he cannot read. Seems vaguely familiar.

    ¡°What is this?¡± Luther asks cautiously.

    Tea. Sips. Little else. Eva is in another world.

    ¡°Eva?¡±

    Another sip.

    ¡°Eva.¡±

    Startle. Wide eyed. Reality back in focus.

    ¡°¤´¤á¤ó¤Ê¤µ¤¤¤ª¸¸¤µ¤ó¡±

    Book slips out of fingers. Fortunately, a desk awaits. Not much noise. Set aside the cup of tea, Luther. Time for that punch you¡¯ve been waiting all week for. He takes the hint. Stands up and moves to look over his daughter¡¯s back. The English exercise book. Lying open. All the questions are in English. Very generic. Allow the student to use whatever novel they like. Up to the teacher or tutor to judge answers against source material. Small catch. All the answers are not in English. Not baby scribbles either. Eva stopped writing in weird wiggles years ago. Strange scrawls made on paper that were uncomfortable to look out. Luther took all the doodles, threw them in the firepit one night. Seemed the right thing to do. Just something made up by a child¡¯s imagination.

    Right.

    RIGHT?

    This is clearly a cohesive language. Luther recognises the consistency of form and structure. Regular application of symbols. Not a child¡¯s random scribbles.

    ¡°What is this?¡± Luther asks in a low voice.

    ¡°My homework.¡±

    Timid. Quiet. Eva hasn¡¯t been like this all week. Parental intimidation, even incidental, is not something easily overcome. Plenty of imprinting from a young age. Beware the entity that provides for your existence. Heavy is their wrath. Unquestioning thou shalt be.

    Until the answers lie beyond the gates of sanity.

    ¡°What does this say?¡±

    One dark finger pointing at a particular paragraph. Or Luther assumes it is a paragraph.

    ¡°Atticus represents a man shaped by his convictions, but not blind to the consequences of them. He understands that not all other men see the world as he does. But as a man of principle, a man of law, he believes it is hypocritical to treat anyone different. This could be seen as an extension of the idea of ¡®all men are equal before the law¡¯ or¡ª¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Eva. I¡¯ve heard enough.¡±

    ¡°Did I do something wrong?¡±

    ¡°I think I¡¯ll speak to your mother. Can I take this book and the novel?¡±

    ¡°Sure.¡±

    ¡°Just enjoy your tea. I will be back.¡±

    Very subtle parenting right there. That won¡¯t leave your child worrying over just what could be wrong. They¡¯re little empathy sponges. Don¡¯t try to obfuscate. It only leaves them more anxious. So there is Eva in the morning sun stewing on what she could have done wrong. Long shadows are cast in the daylight. A lonely girl at a table. A cup of hot tea. A lonely expression.

    Door creak. Both parents now. Christina looking incredulous. Eyes flicking between the books held in either hand. She sits to one side of Eva. Luther the other. They knew it wouldn¡¯t take long for the backsliding. This however was not quite what they expected.

    ¡°Eva,¡± Christina starts, ¡°Do you know what this is?¡±

    ¡°My. Homework.¡±

    Timid before. Now microscopic. You¡¯ll need a shotgun microphone to pick out the words. Read the mood everyone.

    Christina lays out both books. Unlike Luther she knows a little of what is going on. Perks of being a retired teacher.

    ¡°This is the book you loaned out from the library, yes?¡±

    ¡°Yes. Mom.¡±

    ¡°Have you read it yet?¡±

    ¡°Yes. Mom.¡±

    Lean forward. Cup your daughters chin in one hand. Lift her head up so you can gaze in those eyes. They hold nothing but fear. Conditioned response. Frightened tawny eyes stare back. Innocent. Honest. No lies.

    ¡°And now you are completing your English homework?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    We¡¯ll need Daredevil to hear that tiny squeak.

    Teacher on a path of discovery. What is going on. Check the rest piled up. Eva has been busy. A whole morning dedicated to knowledge. Economics. History. Geography. Mathematics.

    Oh God drop that book!

    There are things written in there that have Christina yelping. Chair squeaks as she backs up. Luthor catches his wife¡¯s arm before she falls. Curiosity gets the better of him. Who doesn¡¯t want to crouch down and inspect the thing that scared your normally cool-headed wife? Everybody let us guess how well this goes. There are numerals where there should be. Calculus, algebra, double differentiation. All the maths that is expected of a 17-year-old. It¡¯s just the extras. The annotations next to parabolas or sin-waves. Numbers and formulas in the margins around graphs. A sticky note filled with complex numerical sequences that leave Luther wanting to rediscover what he ate for breakfast. Non-Euclidean geometry at it¡¯s finest.

    Oh god drop that book a second time!

    Eva hops off her chair and dashes to her father. Doesn¡¯t know any better. Only that both parents are suddenly shouting in fear. Clamp onto a leg. Fear is infectious. Wonder what is wrong. In the broad morning sun a family are gripped with fear. One of miscommunication and mistrust.

    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    <hr>

    Eva watches the needle push through her flesh and into the vein. Do any of you give regular blood samples? Or donate blood? If it¡¯s the later you are a champion. Please keep doing that! Just make sure it¡¯s red blood you¡¯re donating. The white kind isn¡¯t in high demand. Back on track. Eva is watching the needle pierce flesh. Morbid curiosity. She¡¯s become the connoisseur of phlebotomy. The nurse gets a 6 / 10. Accurate puncture point. But too quick with the needle. Poor angle. Stings pretty bad. Pain tolerance for this girl is¡­ unusual. And for a girl that waves at ¡®usual¡¯ when they float past each other on a sea at storm, that should say something. Great thing to do for a midday laugh. Take off your shoes, sit in a hospital bed and have someone take multiple vials of blood.

    Want to guess the colour of blood that flows up the needle? Should you ask the nurse or Eva? You will get different answers. Eva bits her lip nervously. Now she¡¯s uncomfortable. Just don¡¯t say anything. People won¡¯t notice how hard you bite your lip. The white blood that oozes between worried teeth.

    Latest samples withdrawn. Put pressure here. Hold this. Cotton swap. Medical sticker to seal the hole. Hopefully nothing else leaks. Eva is left on the sterile white bed in the cold room. Her arm itches. The pain isn¡¯t fading. Quick glance down. The sticker has fallen off. Pale blood is oozing everywhere. Eva thinks quick. Clamps a hand down. Pressure is too much. The sticky substance pushes through the gaps between palm and forearm. Oozes between fingers and starts pooling at the elbow.

    A wet, sloppy noise from beneath the bed. Wheezing. Lapping. Hungry. Now the blood is dripping everywhere. The bed shudders. Shakes. Nearly knocks Eva off. She leans over the railing. Something is twisting and coiling beneath. In a doctor¡¯s lab coat. Mostly human. The rest hands. Shadows in eye-twisting places. The bed rocks again. Blood. Droplets. A faint rain upon the lino floor. That gets some attention. Shoes are knocked skittering across the floor.

    ¡°Eva.¡±

    Wide eyes go back to the door. Dr Schwarzschild in doctor¡¯s coat. Warm smile. Genuine. Not manufactured.

    ¡°Was Harry a bit rough with the needle?¡±

    Hand still clamped hard on forearm. The doctor walks over and slowly stretches a hand out. Body language. Careful approach. Approval. May I enter your personal space? You are the one in the control. Eva let¡¯s her wrist be grasped. Her hand is very slowly, very gently peeled away from the forearm. She¡¯s gripped it so hard a bruise is forming.

    ¡°If it stings you should speak up. I¡¯ll speak to Harry if you like.¡±

    Shake of the head. Let the arm rest against her chest. Cradle it. Oh, context. Eva is at the Hospital for her daily check-up. Fresh blood work. No EEG. Not after last time. Various cognitive tests. One-on-one time between doctor and patient. The first day Eva was taken to the private room she had originally woken up in. Her eyes hadn¡¯t left the corner of the room. Getting answers had proved¡­ difficult. The doctor took Eva on a tour of the various hospital rooms. No parents. She was firm on that. Holding the girl¡¯s hand, the pair went on a tour of the house of horrors. Room after room was rejected. Until this one. So for the last six days Eva has been seen in this private room. Generally relaxed. More alert and coherent. Focus on here and now.

    The panic in Eva¡¯s eyes that Ruth (that¡¯s Schwarzschild¡¯s first name if you¡¯ve forgotten) cannot miss. A look of guilt. It¡¯s time to throw gasoline on the embers. No choice mind you. This is something that needs to be tackled.

    ¡°Your parents are a little concerned.¡±

    Understatement, doc. Don¡¯t hedge. Get in there.

    Dr Schwarzschild pulled a chair over and sat down.

    ¡°I¡¯ll ask some questions. Can you answer them as honestly as possible? These aren¡¯t questions your parents have proposed. These stay between you and me. I want to understand. And I want to understand by speaking to you. Not at you.¡±

    She really is a keeper.

    Ruth placed an exercise book on the bed and flicked it to a random page.

    ¡°You are a smart young lady. Which is why I¡¯m surprised there are so many spelling and grammatical errors¡±

    A finger tapped on several lines.

    ¡°Are you having trouble concentrating?¡±

    Eva shook her head. Truth. Elder Gods honest.

    ¡°I thought I was doing well,¡± she whispered.

    Ruth reaches out. Again, very careful. Approval. Personal space. This girl is very conscious of everything around her. Of anything touching her. Tawny eyes on hands hovering above the bed railing. Something catches the doctor¡¯s eye. Attention elsewhere. She¡¯s up and strolling to the opposite wall. Picks up the purple sneakers. Walks back over. Places them on the edge of the bed.

    ¡°You don¡¯t like these, do you?¡±

    De. Ja. Vu.

    Honest answer this time. A shake of her head.

    ¡°A bit too colourful for me too. But please don¡¯t throw them across the room either. Anyway, about your homework. It¡¯s not like you to be so sloppy. I know how smart you are. The past week has demonstrated that.¡±

    Eva isn¡¯t sure what to do with the praise. Or the concern. She just looks at the needle arm and sighs.

    ¡°I was a little distracted. Sorry. Is it serious?¡±

    ¡°Your parents seem to think so. What about you?¡±

    The lips are getting nibbled again. What colour blood? Hmmm.

    ¡°I think¡­ I¡­ well¡­¡±

    ¡°They worry too much.¡±

    No audible agreement. Just a micron nod of the head.

    Ruth smiles. Nods in agreement.

    ¡°So how about we allay their fears. Besides, I always loved To Kill a Mockingbird. If you ever have the opportunity, watch the film. It is a beautiful interpretation.¡±

    Talk of books. That will ease any fears. Eva licks her lips and sits a little forward. Dr Schwarzschild goes through the various spelling and grammatical mistakes Eva has made. Compliments her on the small insights she has made. It is a pleasant hour of the afternoon. Eva gets to have a mature conversation with someone. And the good doctor can gauge her patient¡¯s mental state.

    She is distracted once. The bed shifts slightly. The wheel locks aren¡¯t in place properly. Quick break to crouch down and check. Don¡¯t want the bed rolling off. Sniff the air. Tang of blood. Maybe the cleaners need to be more thorough with their mopping. Not something Ruth likes. Cleanliness matters. Back in her seat presents another worrisome thing. Eva¡¯s expression. She is looking just at the doctor and nothing else. The conversation continues.

    <hr>

    The door closes. Both books under one arm. Dr Schwarzschild is all business.

    ¡°Harry. I want you to stay with Eva. Don¡¯t strike up conversation with her. Just do some paperwork. And watch the underside of the bed.¡±

    ¡°The¡­ uh underside?¡±

    ¡°Just do it, Harry.¡±

    ¡°Yessm.¡±

    Long strides. Hair streaming behind. Office. Two worried parents. A desk pilled with psychology texts. And language dictionaries from ten years ago. Dr Schwarzschild closes the door behind her. Drops books on desk. Plants herself in a leatherback seat and steeples fingers.

    ¡°Your daughter''s grasp of Japanese is remarkable for her age. I¡¯m glad I had my old study guides tucked away. I¡¯d always thought they might be useful if any tourists ended up in hospital. A self-serving justification.¡±

    Luther sighed and pressed fingers to temple.

    ¡°We¡¯ve never taught her Japanese. She has never studied it.¡±

    ¡°Just a little Spanish,¡± Christina adds.

    So about the nuclear weapons on the desk. The good doctor fingers one open. Goes through the pages. Neat, cursive writing. Hiragana. Katakana. Kanji. Half the answers Eva gave the doctor when they spoke earlier were in decently fluent spoken Japanese. Nothing to suggest she was even aware of it. Complete engagement with other individual in conversation. No ideation or distraction. No ticks or distorted observations. Just a normal eleven-year-old discussing her homework.

    ¡°I have no answer,¡± Dr Schwarzschild admits.

    Well shit doc, nobody would. This goes beyond the realm of odd and straight into batshit crazy country. No logic in this place. You¡¯ll need a Silver Key to get any proper insight. And those aren¡¯t found in cereal boxes.

    Married couple grip each other¡¯s hands. Share a mutual look. The same look expressed many times over the last five years. Time to do what they always do. Act on Eva¡¯s behalf, medicate her further and ignore the simple truth.

    What truth? Easy. Sometimes there just isn¡¯t an answer. And that is perfectly okay.

    <hr>

    Eva finished the shepherd¡¯s pie and sat back. She wasn¡¯t putting weight on anytime soon. But her pallor was the best it had been in years. No longer a mini-Machinist. There¡¯s a horror image for you. Little light in her eyes too. A family of three at the dinner table. Freshly baked by Christina. Getting a little bitter. Enough time to learn the oven and get a feel for the local ingredients. Luther looks distracted. Chalk it up to the latest job he is working on. At least Eva does.

    ¡°May I be excused?¡±

    A little more timbre in that voice. Not assertive. Oh no. That takes time. And¡­ yeah, we¡¯ll get to that. Don¡¯t shoot the narrator. I didn¡¯t write this. She is sounding at least a smidgen more confident.

    ¡°Going to read?¡± Luther asks.

    ¡°Frankenstein.¡±

    Well isn¡¯t that a cheery tale. Eva picks up the book. Double-check. Yes this is in English. Homework still hasn¡¯t been returned. Maybe Eva will realise what is going on. Maybe she won¡¯t. The best thing her parents can do is muddy the waters. Parents more stressed than usual. This one they cannot control. Completely missed by Eva. Oh boy this can only end well. Once in her own room Eva tosses the book onto her bed and starts exploring every nook and cranny. Hungry. That is the expression. Nothing for the past week. Not a peep. Not a whisper. Not a lidless eye. Withdrawal. What has happened to those not-yellow eyes?

    ¡°Shogo?¡±

    Tiniest of whispers. No illusions. No delusions. Parents likely with ears pressed against the door.

    ¡°Shogo?¡±

    Plaintive. Needy. Sad. A little broken. Not a great day. So much stress. So many questions. So little answers. A child left in the dark. Not the sort of dark she finds comforting. A cold dark. Analytical. Preying. Looking for something. Well, if she¡¯s going to be alone then alone she will be. Eva checks the wardrobe for pyjamas. Bright purple. Not her favourite. Far from it. But they will do. At least she has the camisole. Layer of protection. Memory to ward against the things that stalk her.

    Out the room at a good march. Christina is already in the bathroom. Sigh. Delayed. No reading just yet. Lose yourself and not realise it¡¯s 11pm. Besides with the drugs the brain clocks out in 15 minutes. Maybe another night. Check the evening regime. New ones. Unfamiliar shape. No box. No labels to compare against previous prescriptions. That¡¯s new. They¡¯ve never hidden this before. A glance up at Luther where he is washing the dishes.

    ¡°Is this everything?¡±

    Polite. Entreating. An out. Let Dad explain what is going on. Pff. Yeah right.

    ¡°Yes. Your mother should be finished soon. Just take them now, please.¡±

    Eva knows her parents. Know what stress looks like. Neither self-medicate fortunately. This is virgin territory. Crazy uno reverse territory. Luther sounds like the unstable one.

    ¡°Please.¡±

    No need to reinforce. Eva takes the tablets. Feel sour as they go down. Poison to break the nerves. Shatter the pins that hold the thin skein of reality in place. Or is that skin? Unpleasant metaphor.

    ¡°Can I go outside to get some fresh air?¡±

    ¡°Keep the door open and don¡¯t leave the porch.¡±

    Yup we are in alarm bell territory. Luther never lets Eva out of his sight unless she¡¯s in a confined, controlled space. Eva doesn¡¯t like this. Glances around. Nothing in the corners of the chalet. Not under the table. And the thing squeezed in the tiny gap between refrigerator and alcove wall hasn¡¯t moved in days. It just likes to watch everyone and snatch up crumbs that fall whenever food is removed from the fridge. Mostly harmless and hungry. It¡¯s fun to count how many eyes it has. Keeps changing every day.

    ¡°I¡¯ll¡­ be outside.¡±

    Quick feet. Out into the night. Porch light illuminates RV and chalet. Moths buzz around harmlessly. Yellow light washes out colour. It is pleasant. Cool. Fresh air after a day of study and hospital tests. Whatever is going on inside is uncomfortable. Eva cannot take the atmosphere. Oppression. Fear. Parents haven¡¯t been this scared since she was 7. Early days of drug induced catatonia broken up by bouts of terror and screaming. Bloody saliva. Larynx worn so hard. More drugs. More sedatives. Help ignore the rain of hungry shadows with wriggling eel mouths that come with the storms. Splatter against the RV windscreen before wipers send them squeaking away.

    More screams. Those were the days. Such a vocal range.

    Now Eva has more pluck. Actually, only in the last week has she found any. A pluck. Inchworm thing craws up onto the concrete. Hand with too many fingers dragging itself along. Eva watches it approach. Narrows eyes. Stomps on it. Hiss and pop. Reduced to shadows that crawl back to where they belong.

    Now it¡¯s too much. Trickle of something new. Barest thread down the back. Still molten fire but measured in Planck lengths.

    Anger.

    ¡°Where are you?¡± Eva pleads.

    Fingers tug at the hem of the camisole beneath the animal print t-shirt she wears. Not since the Library. Faint inclinations. Sensations. And recently a feeling of being watched. Nothing else. Not enough. Not nearly enough. Junkie needing that fix. Validation that it is real. Or at least a little real. Real enough. A thread to hold onto.

    ¡°Ðê¤Ä¤­¡±

    Fire turns to ice. Fingers go up to lips. Alien. Unfamiliar. Foreign. And completely understood. World turns sideways. Down to your knees you go. Eva panting. Skin is slick. Sweat. Maybe something else. Vision blurs. Nose drips. Sudden onset flu. Something in the lungs too. A hacking cough. Blood in her hands. Pale white flecks.

    ¡­

    Whimper. Vision now right side up. Words percolate inside. Not all in English. Not all in Japanese. There should be a headache, right? That¡¯s the clich¨¦. Clutch your head in pain. Shudder as the psychic onslaught continues. Deluge of information. Barely hold on. Tetsuo!

    None of that. Just gritted teeth as the sloppy scraps of foreign knowledge hit the wet mental kitchen floor. Mop that up later. Might want to use some brain bleach too. Images in there nobody wants to recall.

    Lights flicker. Moths are gone. Eaten. Powder from their wings falls from the gutters. Whatever is hiding up there was hungry. Hungry like the shadows. Hungry like the crunch of shoes on gravel. Time to rearrange thoughts. Think in English. Easier for the reader. Eva on hands and knees. Looking up at hunger in a doctor¡¯s coat.

    This is new. Bad new. Run to Dad new. They don¡¯t follow her. They haunt her. They mouthlessly scream. They jump scare. They lurk. They taunt. They don¡¯t chase. They don¡¯t pursue. They with too many sleeves and too many hands crammed into tight pockets. They with missing head and only darkness within the tall collar of the coat. They with their mortician pallor skin and anaemic coat. They that make not a sound but the crunching of polished shoes splattered in blood on gravel.

    ¡°Help.¡±

    It¡¯s a whimper. Tiny. Tinny. The barest gasp. They block the path to the open front door. What¡¯s beyond hyperventilating? Super Saiyan ventilating? Eva gets up and tries to stare it down. Feet now on concrete, sand crunching beneath polished shoes splattered with blood.

    ¡°Help.¡±

    Scrabble backward. Back away from the door. They between Eva and the door. Between safety. Put a wooden porch pillar between you and whatever it is. Withdraw carefully. Another pillar. Then another. It approaches at the same pace. Forcing Eva away from family.

    ¡°Help.¡±

    A little louder now. Maybe enough. Awareness. Blooming. Something approaches. Fast. Fast as a nightmare.

    Heavy footfalls. A face of fury. Luther in the doorframe. Pistol in hand. Understanding not necessary. Something is threatening his daughter. Let his rational mind process the details later. Just be the caveman and protecc.

    ¡°Help me, Daddy.¡±

    ¡°This way,¡± he growls.

    Eva withdraws to him. Now it is just the thing at the far end of the porch. Take careful aim.

    ¡°Whoever you are. Fuck off. Now.¡±

    It stands stock still. Quivering. Shocked. A step back. Sand on shoe. Crunch. Pistol gripped in both hands. Luther is anger. Fury. Something threatened his daughter. His little Candesia.

    ¡°Run,¡± he warns.

    It doesn¡¯t move. Indecision. Longing. If you could attribute that to some stranger in a coat. Luther let one stalker get away. In the same week. He won¡¯t hesitate again. The stranger. A step forward.

    There isn¡¯t the sound of a gunshot. You would think that noise wipes all else out. It¡¯s actually silence. Profound silence. A silence of footsteps running from the bathroom. Then screams. Christina rushing over. Putting pressure on the wound. Shouts for help. A neighbour opens a door. Shocking tableau. Rushes for the phone. 911. Just Luther standing stock still.

    ¡°You made a mess this time.¡±

    A woman beside Luther. Flanking. Parallel. Features mostly obscured by her cloak. Blonde hair peeking out the bottom of the hood. Glasses on her nose. He cannot see the eyes. But he can feel them on the gun.

    ¡°Slowly put the safety on.¡±

    Obeys.

    ¡°Now lower the gun slowly to the ground. Let go. Slowly stand up.¡±

    Obeys.

    Luther cannot move. Whatever arrests him. It will not let go.

    ¡°You shot her.¡±

    Luther cannot move until the ambulance and police sirens. Just the smell of iron. The tang of gun smoke. The whimpers of his dying daughter.

 The Strange Hospital in the Mist

    Beep

    Beep

    Beep

    Hiss

    Beep

    Beep

    Hiss

    A rhythm. Heart-rate monitor. Ventilator doing its job. Tube down the trachea.

    Beep

    Beep

    Beep

    Hiss

    Hospital gown. Central line. Catheter. Chest tubes. Drainage for lung. GSW (gun shot wound) through chest rather than gut. It isn¡¯t pretty. Complexion more grey than brown. Can¡¯t see the eyes. Taped shut. Probably bloodshot. Deep rings under eyes.

    Beep

    Beep

    Hiss

    Doctor constantly monitoring. Parents being interviewed by police in a separate private room. A bit complicated. Neither one allowed to visit child without authorised prior approval and supervision. Turned ugly. Plenty of questions. Mobile lifestyle now under intense scrutiny. Domestic abuse. Coverups. They want answers.

    How do you explain that your child is deemed mentally insane when you just committed something equally insane?

    Guilt. That¡¯s what radiates. A hospital choked with guilt. It¡¯s been 8 hours since the surgery. Sedation afterwards. Stress and pain with direct ventilator line into lungs. Try waking up with that down your throat. Ewww. She should be resting for another few hours at least. Eva dodged death. Her lung was a spiderweb of shredded tissue and rupturing. Crimson blood everywhere. Soaked into the gravel and concrete of the RV parking lot. Police with sirens and lights. Asking many questions. Ambulance officers doing what they do best. Save lives with a shoestring and a prayer.

    The Elder Gods appreciate the supplication.

    Beep

    Beep

    Beep

    Hiss

    Gloved fingers very gently stroke through hair. Cautious. Concern. Love. Or at least a concept of love that might be understood by 3-Dimensional carbon-based lifeforms. Tangentially. Run a thumb over brow.

    No noise. But you can hear the shape the lips make. The inaudible ¡®I¡¯m sorry.¡¯ Then gone. And with it the world tilts a little off centre.

    Eyes wide open. Dead eyes opened. Is this a murder trial recounted? Let them flick around. Tape ripped apart. Can¡¯t speak. Only gagging. It isn¡¯t pleasant. Not painful. But still horrific. Nurse comes over. Two. All old fashioned in white uniform and peak cap. Doesn¡¯t matter where they stand, the silhouette of the buzzing light above always shadows their faces. Fuss over Eva. Check her clothes. Check pulse at her throat. Fingers caress the flesh. Affectionate. Explorative. Hungry.

    Eva wants to cry out. To moan. Ever experienced dream paralysis? Awake but can¡¯t move. Try that turned up to 11. Strange medical professionals examining your body. Checking the calf just before the slaughter. She¡¯s A grade wagyu beef. Body manages an involuntary shudder. This spooks the nurses. Pull back. Someone approaches. Head blots out the light. All in shadow. Masculine. It¡¯s the shoulders. Puts a hand on Eva¡¯s.

    ¡°You¡¯re fine now,¡± he reassures.

    Puts a second hand on her arm. A third on her throat.

    ¡°Eva!¡±

    Eyes roll in their sockets. Great time doc. Schwarzschild at the door staring in surprise. There is no way Eva can be awake. She¡¯s so heavily sedated that the ventilator is needed. Even without the near-lethal damage to her lung she¡¯d be mechanical lung girl for the next day or two. The doctor rushes over. Checks small monitors. The drain for her chest. Lifts her finger and hover¡¯s it above Eva¡¯s head.

    ¡°Follow my finger around. Blink twice if you understand.¡±

    Blink. Blink.

    Finger of doom slides around. Eva is cognisant. Aware. Starkly conscious. Disgustingly so. She really doesn¡¯t want to be. Quick test ends.

    ¡°I will be right back.¡±

    Well, she isn¡¯t going anywhere doc. Captive audience. Ruth is out the room. Returns far too quickly with a man in scrubs. Looks perturbed. Must have been interrupted. Dinner break. Then he sees Eva. Swears.

    ¡°How long?¡±

    ¡°Uncertain. I came in for a routine check-up and she was staring at me. I¡¯d say fully lucid.¡±

    Other doctor makes a face. Runs hand over face.

    ¡°We cannot further sedate her. Blood tests. Full workup. I¡¯ll talk with the anaesthetist. You dropped an interesting one in my lap, Ruth.¡±

    Weak smile. Neither looks pleased.

    Eva¡¯s next two hours are not pleasant. They keep her on the respirator. Get her sitting up. More blood. More needles. Examine the surgical wound. They¡¯re healing. Fast. Unnaturally. Normally it¡¯s several days before the drainage tubes are removed. Now. Well now is now. Get them out now. That¡¯s unprecedented. Other doctors on rotation come in too. Leave just as quickly. Conversation in the corridor. Hushed tones. Still carries. Eva can hear everything. The raw sounds of raw surprise. Lack of consensus. None happy. But all acknowledging they need to act. Schwarzschild makes the call.

    Eva is awake. But in pain. A great deal. Body shudders. Kept sitting up. Plenty of pillows. Don¡¯t want her lying down for too long. Especially now. Ventilator out next. Raw sounds. Whimpers. Tears. Plenty of crying. Nobody would blame her. She¡¯s grasping the bedsheets. Clawing at them. It hurts. Her whole body and nothing they give her helps. Ragged breaths. A lung functioning when hours ago it was pulp.

    ¡°Mommy.¡±

    Quick glance between professionals.

    ¡°Daddy.¡±

    Okay now who is going to ignore that? She¡¯s all of 11 and very unwell. They all know her medical history. The girl isn¡¯t hysterical. But she¡¯s about as distressed as someone can get short of having their puppy shot in front of them and the blood rubbed into their face.

    Segue. Back in our first chapter I said that Eva had very little connection with her parents. That still holds true. Right here. Right now. They are the only things she can cling to. The last things for a very terrified girl to grasp.

    ¡°I¡¯ll speak to the Sergeant,¡± Dr Schwarzschild offers.

    Quickly out the room. The wait is longer. More tests. Spiro. Pain tolerance. Cognitive function. Eva passes them all. This is one for the medical books. She¡¯s enervated, weak as a soggy peach and frightened. Give the girl her parents. For pities sake.

    Door creaks open. Tall, confident woman in jeans, collared shirt and gun at the hip. Don¡¯t screw with me gaze. Looks at Eva awake, up, tears pricking the child¡¯s eyes.

    ¡°Ahh shit.¡±

    Good first impression. But accurate. Looks over her shoulder.

    ¡°You have five minutes.¡±

    Takes a step to one side. But keeps eyes fixed on the new arrivals. Medical professionals shuffle out. Courtesy. Also, nobody wants to be a fly on this wall. The story has circulated already. Just the Sergeant leaning against the wall. Christina and Luther rush into the room. Then come to a sudden halt. Just what the hell do you do now? Both are and are not responsible for what happened. Nearly lost their daughter on the operating table.

    ¡°Mommy.¡±

    No hesitation now. Christina is on her knees and sweeping Eva in as gentle an embrace as she can manage. Her daughter¡¯s bare chest is a horrific pattern of surgical gauze, tape, stitches, tubes and more. Hard to find the best way to hold someone. Parents can find the way if they try hard enough. Just let your daughter weep into your shoulder.

    ¡°Say nothing,¡± the Sergeant warns Luther.

    The man nods. Cautious steps. Kneels before his daughter. Her arms look so thin. Frail. No strength to even lift themselves. Luther doesn¡¯t have to do anything. Eva pulls him in close and cries. None of the family says anything. Just weeping and sobbing. Huh. Surprising. Guess this family does have some tears left.

    Sergeant watches all of this and takes mental notes.

    <hr>

    Wretchedly awake. That¡¯s how to describe it. Eva feels foul. The most awful, horrendous and atrocious sensation in her 11 years. Eva¡¯s been through things that few in 100 years have gone through. This should give you a good measure. No number of pain-killers or milder sedatives can put more than the softest of dents in the pain and nausea she is experiencing.

    Clarification. Only physical. Mental. We aren¡¯t even getting close to the fucked up psychological stuff she has endured previously. Being shot is psychological little league.

    Reading is out. Not right now. More than three words leaves her spinning in the laundromat used by the gods. Same for watching anything. Eva spends those long, drawn-out hours with nothing but her broken body for company.

    There is one thing to break up the monotony of the horror. And that is various apparently important people asking her questions. Eva gives the same story over and over. She stepped outside. A stranger approached her. She backed off and called for her father. He appeared and missed his shot. No, her parents have never hurt her. No, they haven¡¯t physically harmed her in any way. Yes, they have been on the road for several years. Yes, they provide for all her educational needs. Yes, she is aware that she is unwell.

    They expect a different tale. Some decide that since she¡¯s already mad then her testimony cannot be believed. Not unless it matches the narrative they want. The rest are simply confused. Confused you should be. It matches Luther¡¯s narrative. Somewhat. He thought his daughter had retreated to his side. But apparently that was wrong. There is wrong. Much wrong. Wow. So Wrong. Very confusing.

    Compare the testimony. Have the confident interrogators do their thing. Looks like it¡¯s just a truly horrific collision of events. Nobody at fault. Please note I said ¡®nobody at fault¡¯. Not nothing at fault. Very important distinction.

    Eva isn¡¯t allowed solids yet. But the doctors want her up and moving. At least if she were several days post-surgery then walking would be recommended. Now it¡¯s barely a day and she¡¯s up. Trudged all the way to the opposite end of the hospital. Rebuild stamina. Shadowed by a police officer. Got one of those funky little poles on wheels to push around. IV bag, chest tube and catheter all dangling off it. Medical staff are amazed. She was exchanging business pleasantries with the grim reaper and now...

    Well now is scary. Now is not normal. Nothing normal about Eva. Hasn¡¯t been for years. Slow, halting steps. Forty years in the hospital desert before you find your way back home.

    ¡°Would you like a hand?¡±

    First offer of help all afternoon. Medical staff have been repelled. Cannot explain it. Do their job professionally. None like that. Nothing beyond that.

    ¡°Thank. You.¡± Eva rasps.

    Throat still sore. Raw. As though her ability to speak is slowly being stolen away. A woman takes the pole. Another nurse. Can¡¯t quite lift your head to see her face. Just the hem of their dress, stockings and white shoes. They move on ahead. Eva keeps pace. Step after step. Feeling a little stronger with each stride.

    ¡°You are recovering quickly, Miss Foxe. You will be right as rain in no time.¡±

    The nurse moves faster still. Now it¡¯s a struggle to keep up.

    ¡°Wait. Please.¡± Eva gasps.

    No rest. No chance. No empathy. Now the pole and the nurse are at least a metre ahead. Can you feel all those cables plugged into your body starting to stretch. Feel the place where they plug into your insides tugging. Tension a revulsion that has you retching. Glance around. Where¡¯s the police officer? They¡¯ve been so intent on hovering and now they are absent. Just a corridor lit in pale light, either end disappearing into shadows.

    ¡°You must keep up, Ms Foxe. You do not want to fall behind.¡±

    Now the nurse grabs the cables and gives them a tug. Pull on the chain to encourage the dog to walk a little faster. Can you imagine the sensation? Your organs are wrapped in a choke chain and being pulled upon. Eva gasps and moans. Is it pain? Is it nausea? Is it a sensation that exists that the physical body can model for the human mind?

    Knees hit the ground. Hands next. Eva gasping. Choking back bile.

    ¡°Hurry up, Ms Foxe. I need you back in your bed.¡±

    Tug on the tubes again. Now she vomits. Oh, by the way, vomiting isn¡¯t good for you post operation. Not good at all. On hands and knees she is compelled to struggle forward. Vision blurred with sweat and tears. Bile pooling on her chin. Cold linoleum beneath hand and knee as Eva slowly inches forward. All she can do is gasp, pant and endure the horror. Only at the door does the tension on the cables slacken.

    A cold hand rubs Eva¡¯s neck. Give the little puppy a scritch to reward them.

    ¡°Well done, Ms Foxe. The doctor will see you soon.¡±

    Not much in the stomach to bring up. Eva can only collapse onto her chest. Heavy footsteps. Impatient in their gait.

    ¡°I take my eyes off you for one second and¡ª Fuck someone get a doctor!¡±

    Squeak of shoes on lino. People crowding around the ill child. Carefully lift her up. Carry and place her in bed. More people fuss. Plenty of questions. Attending officer is given the grilling of his short career. It may end up being shorter. The Sergeant reappears on a warpath. Eva cannot hear most of what is said. You cannot mistake the atmosphere. Question. Questions. QUESTIONS. How did she get away? Why is she back at her room? How could she move from one end of the hospital to the other so quickly? Everybody is starting to believe the girl is a weirdness attractor.

    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    The afternoon is a crimson blur. Pain washed around the mouth with saliva. Itchy lungs. Have you ever had itchy lungs? It is a thing. You can feel this fibrous sensation crawling around the organ. Leaves you wanting to cough and bring up whatever is slowly crawling around your insides. Evening assessment is that the drainage tube comes out.

    Luther and Christina are allowed to return. Each clutch one of Eva¡¯s hands. Give her reassuring looks. Tell her to look into just their eyes. Focus on them.

    You do not need the sound of a chest tube being removed described. Nor do you want to know just how long that thing is. Happy to describe nightmares from beyond the wall of sleep. Not going to touch that one. Look it up if you want. Don¡¯t eat beforehand.

    Everything is sorted. Eva is sealed up. No more leaks. Might want to check the rest of the kitchen of the mind. I did mention those wet memories left on the floor. They haven¡¯t begun to decay. Entropy does not reach into these places. Quiescent puddles of consciousness distinct from your own. Other thought. Belonging to other. Belonging not to the current owner.

    <hr>

    Eva spends her evening sitting up. The idea of lying down is the stuff of nightmares. Food time. She shouldn¡¯t be eating yet. Her unprecedented rate of recovery overrides that little rule. Soup and jelly. It¡¯s a surprise for Eva. She didn¡¯t think that filling her stomach with anything would end well. Instead, she is ravenous on a primal level. Her body is hungry. Hungrier than she thought. Hungrier than natural. The small bowl is gone in a minute. Held out pleadingly to the attending officer to bring back more. 2nd. 3rd. 4th. They stop at that point. The doctors are concerned she will vomit. Perhaps the connection between mind and satiety has been damaged due to medication and stress. Perhaps she just needs to replace what is missing and is ravenous. All note that she clears the four bowls, licks them clean. Yes, actually uses her tongue and licks them clean. Which gets a raised eyebrow from the officer. Desert does not survive. Large gelatine cubes. Too big for her mouth. Trying to use a spoon on the thick gelatine only sends it wibbling around the bowl.

    ¡°Can I have a fork?¡± Eva asks softly.

    The nurse obliges. That tool isn¡¯t much better. Spearing the jelly and eating bits of the cube is messy. Better options. Uses her fingers to eat faster. Plenty to eat. Disconcerting for those observing. But a sign of good health too. Bowls and spoon returned for cleaning. Jelly riddled fingers are sucked and licked clean.

    Stomach is still grumbling. Eva will accept what the doctors tell her. Wait until morning for more food. She could eat all night if it were possible. It feels good. That empty space now topped up a meagre portion. Sleep. Sleep won¡¯t come. Sleeping sitting up isn¡¯t easy. Worse when your soggy mind is being scrapped over bare unsealed concrete. Eating was a distraction. Now Eva cannot escape the bleakness that is reality.

    ¡°Can I ask you something?¡±

    Eva¡¯s question. Not the police officer. Mind you they have plenty. This girl is strange on so many levels.

    ¡°Mmm?¡±

    ¡°What is going to happen to my Mom and Dad?¡±

    Ooo now this one you want to dodge around. Sergeant will kill you otherwise. Not even close to your call.

    ¡°They¡¯re helping us in understanding what happened.¡±

    Snort. Derision. That gets the officer¡¯s attention. Been slouched in their chair in the room. That noise. That isn¡¯t the sound a little girl makes. That¡¯s the sort of jaded cynicism a thirty something has spent many years polishing.

    ¡°Liar.¡±

    ¡°Pardon?¡±

    Eva sighs. She is in too much pain. She is stretched too thin. Her patience has run out. ¡®I have no fucks left to give.¡¯ Get our your ukulele.

    ¡°You think my parents hurt me. That Dad shot me intentionally. That Mom has Munchausen by proxy.¡±

    And how the hell does she know things like that? Kids smarter than he pegged.

    ¡°We only want to get to the bottom of what happened.¡±

    ¡°Ring. On your finger. Lock screen on your phone. You have children. Three sons. Some stranger appears on your doorstop. Your son cries out for help. What do you do?¡±

    The officer has stopped playing on his phone. His attention is on Eva. Her bloodshot eyes peer into him. Her body animated with a crackling verve. That gaze. It¡¯s hard to break.

    ¡°You be in his position and then judge my Dad. Accidents happen. Things go wrong. The world is not perfect. It¡¯s a broken egg with rotten yolk spilling onto the earth.¡±

    Eva repeats the mantra.

    ¡°You be in his position and then judge my Dad.¡±

    ¡°I understand young lady that¡ª¡±

    Interruption. Phone was on silent. Vibrates in his hands. The husband is calling.

    ¡°I¡¯m at work so you¡­ yes I¡­ no that¡¯s¡­ what do you mean intruder? No. No. Sorry. Okay just take a breath. Someone there? Her. She¡¯s good. Walk me through what happened.¡±

    Officer doesn¡¯t want this aired before the girl. Partly out of a sense of privacy. Partly out of a sense that maybe she had something to do with it.

    Coincidence? Nah.

    He¡¯s gone from the room. In the corridor outside. Nobody can walk in and out without going by him. Not directly guarding the patient. Instead, he¡¯s on the phone trying to calm his understandably distressed partner and understand what happened.

    Cue Eva alone in the room. Hunched slightly forward. Exhausted but unable to sleep. Eyes closed. Mind focussed on the singular act of breathing. The slow beep of various monitors for company. And the squeak of another doctor on the rounds.

    ¡°A quick check-up,¡± the voice assured. ¡°This will not take long.¡±

    Fingers pressed against Eva¡¯s wrist to read her pulse. Hey. Do you remember the fork from earlier? Do you think Eva is smart enough to arrange for a weapon? Would she put on a show and be messy with her food. Draw attention to something a little uncomfortable like how she eats so people don¡¯t pay as much attention to what she does with the utensils. The Eva from the first chapter wouldn¡¯t have had as much gumption. Now is a different story.

    Fork + hand = inhuman howl. Eva doesn¡¯t look to see who it is. Just rolls out of bed and onto the floor. That hurts. Pain is stars in her eyes. Black and white vision. No sound. No time to waste. It¡¯s under the bed and pulling out all the tubes, cables and widgets attached to her body. Please note that you should never, ever yank out anything put inside you. The doctors and nurses know how to do that safely. Less caution thrown to the wind and more caution tossed into a wind turbine. More pain. More stars. White blood oozes from the wounds. Fork still brandished, Eva leans out enough to plunge the weapon into someone¡¯s foot. Enough force and it¡¯ll go straight through leather. Another inhuman howl. Black blood on the tines.

    Scamper out and into the hallway. Lighting is failing. Yellowy and inconsistent. Long corridors with doors cracked on either side. Flickers of light and television peer through. Eva doesn¡¯t know where to run. Only that she should run. Bare feet leave footprints of sweat and white blood on the lino. Something to track her by. And not enough time to stop the bleeding or turn the adrenaline down.

    ¡°Shogo.¡±

    pant

    ¡°Shogo¡±

    Pant

    ¡°Shogo¡±

    Audience, please note who Eva is calling for this time. This entreatment goes unanswered. Past the unmanned nurse¡¯s desk. Past the rooms where the beeps of heart monitors echo outward. A flicker. Motion at the end of the corridor. A wheelchair for patient movement. Something is moving it. An orderly so tall its shoulders touch the ceiling, forced to perpetually stoop. It¡¯s long body and wide shoulders loom forward over the wheelchair. Spindly arms reach out from the ceiling to grasp wheelchair bars and push it forward. Eva comes to a halt. She cannot see the face of the thing pushing the wheelchair, obscured in the shadows of the tall ceiling.

    A thought. Percolation. An interesting possibility.

    ¡°Excuse me,¡± Eva asks. ¡°Can I ask where you dispose of soiled clothing?¡±

    A clawed hand lets go of a handle and gestures at an intersection.

    ¡°Thank you!¡±

    Eva is running again. Very helpful orderlies at this hospital. Adrenaline is still keeping spirits high. Enough to cushion the pain of every footstep. The agony that bounces around her chest as weight shifts from heel to heel. We¡¯re in 1950¡¯s television country. Monochrome vision. Colour is optional when in this amount of distress. But the directions are good and Eva finds the biomedical waste disposal room. Clothes covered in patients¡¯ blood are not things to be lightly handled. Incinerate them to be certain. Too many diseases to share with your fellow humans. Lucky that someone was late today. Not too many people appear with sucking chest wounds so those clothes have been put to one side.

    Our friend the fork makes their return. Tear at the plastic again and again. Oh Elder God, mother. Blood. Blood! Spill out the contents. Jeans. Hated purple shoes. Fluffy socks. Clothes on the chest would have been cut straight off. One bisected animal print t-shirt. One bisected camisole soaked in white blood. Eva¡¯s out of her hospital gown in seconds. They are never flattering. Pulled on, with much groaning and difficulty, the camisole. The cut down the chest tugs at Eva¡¯s heart. The gown is back on. Blood still fresh against her skin. Smells of copper and something else. Foreign. Alien. A warning to the animal part of her brain.

    The walk back to her room is much slower. Adrenaline has run out. Focus has run out. Pain killers are probably low too. Eva stumbles and leans against the wall. Hears a heart monitor stop. The orderly appears from the doorway, an indistinct misty grey person on the chair. They leave in the opposite direction. One sticky footstep. Two sticky footsteps. Three sticky footsteps. Eva up against the wall as she stumbles forward. Streaming into the corridor. The light from her own room is flickering and crackling. Sometimes stadium spotlight white. Sometimes slasher film lightbulb yellow. Always inconsistent. Mustering her courage, the 11-year-old leans against the doorframe and confronts it.

    A man. A doctor. A physician. His coat with too many sleeves, with too many arms, crammed into far too few pockets. Leather shoes with blood splatter tapping impatiently. No head. Just an impossibly tall collar and whatever beneath hidden in darkness. Body language is impatient. Agitated. Hungry.

    ¡°Where have you been, young lady? It is not safe to walk the halls alone at night. Now please get into your bed or I will have you restrained.¡±

    One step into the room. Tug the door shut. Now just the two of them. Or it should be. They melt in from the darkened corners of the room. Nurses in anachronistic garb. Faces lost in the shadow of their peaked hats. Restraint jackets in their arms. Eva knows those. Fears those. They are an anachronism and long discontinued. But their intent is scarred upon her soul. Her heart is racing. This will work. It has to work. Shogo cannot lie.

    ¡°It was you in the corner of the room,¡± Eva whispered. ¡°After the fit. Facing the wall. Forgotten. Alone. I noticed you. Then others. You wanted me back. You needed me back. An excuse for you to exist again.¡±

    The fork is Excalibur. Noble Phantasm of the broken and tired. Clenched tightly between bloodied fingers.

    ¡°This was all you. You got hungry. You were tired of being forgotten in the corner. You fed and then drew me back.¡±

    Excalibur is levelled at the enemy.

    ¡°If you want to hurt me, then hurt me. But never. Ever. Hurt my family.¡±

    Three against one is poor odds. Against someone freshly out of chest surgery, exhausted, bleeding yet again and partially drugged, where¡¯s the towel? Eva still fights. Feral. Ruthless. The fork draws black blood from the angry women. One bodies her against a wall, the other rips the weapon from hand and shoves a hand into a sleeve. Eva screams and hisses. She hasn¡¯t fought this hard against medical staff in 2 years. That ended badly. 2 months in a locked ward. No chance this time. Eva yelping in pain as both arms are shoved into sleeves and locked against her chest, then tied around her back. Ties on the back are pulled up. In moments Eva is now helpless. Panting. In pain. Afraid. Defiant. The darkness of the room does not match that in her eyes.

    ¡°Maslow¡¯s,¡± Eva gasps.

    ¡°Pardon?¡±

    Eva shudders and coughs up white blood. Maybe something has torn inside. She doesn¡¯t care. Now. Now is when she pushes back.

    ¡°Please pick up the patient.¡±

    The nurses have Eva on unsteady feet. The world is oil, white blood from burst capillaries and salty tears. The good doctor leans in.

    ¡°What did you say?¡±

    ¡°Psychology. Psychiatry. Maslow¡¯s hierarchy of needs.¡±

    Five pairs of the doctor¡¯s hands pin Eva¡¯s head and lift her chin up to look at the face that is not. The voice from the collar rumbles.

    ¡°I do not need to be lectured, young lady. The physiological needs are air, water, food, shelter, sleep and clothing.¡±

    Lip bitten so hard it bleeds. Darkness in Eva¡¯s eyes. Mirrors the darkness in her heart. She glances down. At the straightjacket. At what is hidden beneath the jacket. What is now very inaccessible. The one thing Eva was lacking.

    ¡°A gown isn¡¯t clothing,¡± Eva taunts, ¡°Substitute with a camisole. So what comes next?¡±

    ¡°The. Safety Needs,¡± a feminine voice replies. ¡°Specifically personal safety.¡±

    Coiling darkness to match Eva¡¯s eyes. All ceiling lights commit suicide. Not-yellow eyes take in the room. Many of them. Only the faintest green illumination of the heartrate monitor. The last light of the damned. A pair of screams. Nobody sees what happens to the nurses. Just their high-pitched squeals. Bloodied caps are tossed into the green light. A sound like celery being chewed by a massive maw.

    Now all the eyes fixate on the doctor. The thing swerves back and forth. Many arms reach out to ward off whatever might strike. Out from the darkness stretches hungry tentacles. Angry limbs grabbing at whatever might impede them. Restraining the doctor. They pull all at once, myriad arms taught, fingers spasming.

    ¡°You are not allowed to feed,¡± the oddly toned voice reprimands, ¡°you are not allowed to slake your thirst. This one is my ward. And mine alone.¡±

    Eva is dropped by the five hands. Lands hard. Has enough time to look upwards. She thought it would be dismembered. That is not the case. Instead, black tendrils worm their way through its chest, from collarbone down to coccyx. Grip the flesh either side and tear apart. Bisected. Cruelly. Beautifully. A mess of black viscera, organs that exist in no terrestrial organism and warped bone. All of it starts to hiss and fade into shadows. A nightmare returning to whence it came. Shogo is beside Eva. Does not undo her bindings.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    ¡°Where were you?¡±

    ¡°I promise to explain later.¡±

    ¡°Twice. You said that.¡±

    ¡°That is fair.¡±

    Shogo looks up, not-yellow eyes fixed on the closed door.

    ¡°Why the hell are you on your phone?¡± a voice raged.

    ¡°I¡¯m¡ª¡±

    ¡°You should be in that room watching my daughter!¡±

    The door swung inwards with a boom. Enough force to shake the hinges. Luther looks down. His daughter locked in a straight jacket. Bile and blood line her mouth and splatter the floor.

    ¡°Evangeline!¡±

    <hr>

    The Sergeant¡­ hmm I guess she is going to appear enough that the woman deserves a name. I hate being put on the spot. Clement. Last name. I¡¯ll think of a first name later. Sergeant Clement is trying to stare down the looming form of Luther Foxe. Rather than his earlier rather loud self, he is right now quite calm, collected and all the more intimidating.

    ¡°Why was your officer outside my daughters¡¯ room? Why was the door shut? Why was she not under visual guard? Why did I find her with all medical equipment removed from her, roughly, painfully, dangerously? Why was she in an antiquated restraint jacket?¡±

    ¡°We are investigating.¡±

    ¡°The hospital has internal surveillance. What do the tapes say?¡±

    ¡°There appears to have been a power spike that interfered with cameras at that time.¡±

    Luther walked away, ran a hand over his head before spinning to look at the Sergeant.

    ¡°My wife and I are under suspicion for harming if not attempted murder of our daughter. And under your duty of care this has happened to her. I am certain that if word got out of what happened earlier this evening then serious questions will be asked of your police department. And the hospital. Perhaps you should spend less time investigating me and more time trying to locate the people who are actively harassing and assaulting my family.¡±

    Sergeant Clement took a slow, deep breath. She was not going to commit to anything. Not this early on.

    ¡°We will be doubling the guard. And reviewing all evidence.¡±

    Luther shrugged.

    ¡°The hospital have offered to install a temporary cot in my daughters room so that Christina or I can be with her at all times. How both the hospital and your officer failed to notice anything¡­¡±

    Oooo. Now Luther is really trying to be politically savvy. Because let us be honest. Anyone would ask the question of ¡°How the fuck did you fucking fuck up so fucking bad, you incompetent fuck-wits?¡± That¡¯s Queen''s English too.

    ¡°Anything amiss.¡±

    No quite as coarse. Still as loaded.

    Sergeant Clement took another breath. This was going to be a complicated case. She knew enough already from Schwarzschild. Complicated family. Complicated history. Now their complications were in her town. Stirring up complicated things.

    <hr>

    Eva is fast asleep in her bed. Face a mask of peace. Slow, soft breaths in and out. Christina holds her daughter¡¯s tiny hand and smiles ever so faintly. At these moments Eva looks almost normal.

    ¡°Your daughter will never be normal.¡±

    The opposite side of the bed. A woman of average height and build. Eyes that are yellow but not. Cloak with the hood pulled back covering her body. Normal person reaction. Scream for the officers. How did they not notice her come inside the room? Door is closed too. Curious. That is meant to stay very firmly open.

    Not normal person reaction. Christina blinks back tears and nods.

    The strangers gloved hand grips Eva¡¯s other hand. There is the same tenderness and love that Christina has. A complete stranger cares as much.

    ¡°You are the one Luther saw on our first night.¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°What do you want with my Eva?¡±

    ¡°She doesn¡¯t belong to you. Has not for a very long time.¡±

    Those words are English. But the accent is strong. Hard to pick. Still intelligible.

    ¡°She is my daughter.¡±

    ¡°She is her own person. You are yet to grasp that.¡±

    ¡°I just want to protect her.¡±

    ¡°Then stop pretending that nothing of the past five years has been real.¡±

    Crinkled brow. Confusion. Or is it.

    No.

    It couldn¡¯t be.

    Oh, you have to be fucking kidding me.

    ¡°Eva is very ill.¡±

    ¡°Eva is insane. That does not make her wrong. That does not make her a liar. Or invalidate the events around her. Were you running towards a destination? Or from a past?¡±

    Christine shook her head.

    ¡°No. No that isn¡¯t the way it is.¡±

    ¡°Liar. You and Luther need to ask hard questions. How much do you love your daughter?¡±

    Christina leans in close, presses the fingers of Eva¡¯s hand against her brow.

    ¡°I¡¯ll do anything for her.¡±

    ¡°That assertion will be tested.¡±

    Christina nodded. Rests arms on knees, head in hands. Stares at the floor. Strange thing on the lino. It looks like¡­ a liquid. Dried up. Lean down and scratch at it with a nail. Get some of it caught beneath the nail bed. Examine up close. White. But smells like iron. Like blood.

    Further confusion. Why take your eyes off a complete stranger in the same room as you? Christina looks around. The other woman is gone. Check the door. It¡¯s open. Two officers standing to attention. No phones out with this pair. Cannot afford that sort of screwup again.

    Deep breaths. Slow, deep breaths. Pat Eva¡¯s cheek.

 The Statement of a Lost Boy

    Smell the greenery. Spend too much time in bleach ¡®n antiseptic land and your nose will atrophy. The smell of death is distinct. Doesn¡¯t matter what side of the divide between normal and unnatural. Everyone can smell death. Wired. Animal brain primal. Caution. Recoil.

    Penderghast bought the hospital recently. As in a year or two before the Foxes arrived. Putting it through a slow renovation. This sort of stuff takes time. Either shut the place down or take your time dragging it kicking and screaming into the 21<sup>st</sup> century. One of the first changes was the central courtyard. Hospital is a big rectangle. Previously a kingdom of concrete in the donut middle. About as appealing as tooth decay. Easy change. Psychological change. Lenin would love the brutalism. Everyone else passes. You want healthy bodies, healthy minds, get something alive out of the operating theatre and into there.

    Now it¡¯s fresh, alive, growing, ferns and planter beds, grass and water. Might be a good idea for a place when you¡¯re fighting back death. Just advice. Don¡¯t take my word for it. Neat little gardener''s shed in the corner too. Fits the aesthetic.

    Two people in the atrium gardens right now. One is a young boy in jeans, t-shirt, sneakers and an unimpressed expression. Kicking a football (the English kind) around the grass. By themselves. Clearly not happy about that too. The other is seated on one of the stone benches. In a hospital gown, jumper, pants and slippers. Long brown hair in a simple ponytail. She watches the boy and chomps on an apple. Eyes don¡¯t leave the ball as it¡¯s kicked around.

    Freeze. Stop the story. There is only so much in media res before you are completely uncertain what media exactly you have been res into. Timeline and explanation. It has been two days since Eva was found trussed up in an antiquated straight jacket. A very complicated two days.

    Firstly. How the hell did anybody get their hands on a medical restraint device that hasn¡¯t been used in a very long time? Secondly, how did they get past the police officer guarding the door to the private room, lock the door and tie Eva up in it without anybody either seeing or hearing anything? Thirdly, why in the darkest court of the blind daemon sultan would anybody do something like this?

    The best part is that after two days nobody has any answers. Constable Seers, the one meant to be watching Eva, is facing all sorts of complicated disciplinary action. If anybody could solve the riddle of what to blame him for. He has been taken off protective duty. Hasn¡¯t been seen at the hospital for two days. The Foxe¡¯s are not doing that much better. With the targeting of Eva by a malicious third party now crudely demonstrated, the authorities have warmed, or perhaps thawed, to the recount Luther gave of an unknown person stalking Eva and trying to kidnap her just before she was accidentally shot. Nobody knows who this third party is, of course. They might find fleshly pieces of it in the corner of Eva''s hospital room. You¡¯ll need moonlight and a candle made from the wax of rendered human flesh to see them. The smell is like a bacon and eggs breakfast. Perfect to bring out that morning nausea.

    Eva was interviewed and interviewed and interviewed and interviewed until Dr Schwarzschild intervened and told everyone to leave the recovering girl alone. All she would say is that someone broke into her room and tied her up. Never saw their face. Which is technically true. They didn¡¯t have a head. Therefore, no face to describe.

    Nobody knows what really happened. The police were derelict in their duty. The Foxes appear to have not tried to execute their daughter due to 5 years of stress. One great big mess. The mystery of how Eva was targeted again. All swirling around the drain until being sucked under. That is, until a fetid gas of possibility comes burbling up the plumbing of reality and belches into existence.

    So, it is two days later and the girl who should have still been in ICU is sitting outside in the morning sun. No cables plugged into her. No fancy drugs. Half the stiches already removed. An inexplicable mystery that everyone finds tantalisingly horrific to grasp. Just what can go wrong now?

    The boy sighs. Loudly. Good for that. He¡¯s been sighing for the last half hour. The girl knows he has. Been watching him play and listening to him sigh since he arrived in the courtyard. She doesn¡¯t get up to greet him. Doesn¡¯t make eye contact. No acknowledgment of his existence. Eyes only on the ball.

    She doesn¡¯t need to see him. Already knows who he is. Too awkward to make conversation. She¡¯s responsible after all.

    Crunch

    Sound of a tasty apple. This noise punctuates the air every few minutes. Small nibbles around the flesh. Deeper and deeper. Can you find the rot in the middle? Chase down the worm into its home. Swallow the writhing thing whole. Hear it scream down a lightless cavern before landing writhing in an acid pond.

    Eva disregards the final shrieks and throws the stem into the garden. The boy¡¯s intense desire to ignore her for the past half hour is cute. The twist is that she has no idea how to approach him either. Eva has encountered children so little that it¡¯s a foreign concept. Talking to the psychologist about the ink blots and why the middle one is currently holding a scalpel moments before the man suffers a papercut, that she can do. Talking about ponies, sports, your favourite videogame or anything that a normal child might. Prepare to see a very adorable and flustered deer in headlights.

    Thump

    Football rolls over to Eva. Accident? Excuse? Manipulative third party (I¡¯m voting the later). Stops right at the girls slippered feet. The boy wanders over. Gives Eva a sullen expression.

    ¡°Are you going to kick it back?¡± he huffs.

    Well as you can see this charming young gentleman is the epitome of sophistication and wit that sends men and women to their weakened knees.

    Weak kick back. Enough to get the ball rolling. Heh. See what I did there? Comes to a halt closer to the boy than Eva. That should be enough. The boy stomps over and picks up the ball. Glares at Eva. No response. Lean back. Enjoy the puffy white clouds floating in the clear blue sky. Perfect afternoon. Just the right temperature. Air not too dry or damp. Maybe too bright. A lifetime spent under artificial light. Day star is harder to control. But the long shadows are a comfort.

    ¡°Were you the one that was shot?¡±

    Still staring at clouds. Much better than staring at dumb children.

    ¡°You¡¯re the reason my Papa is in trouble.¡±

    Prince charming.

    ¡°Your father is the reason I was bound in a straightjacket, medical equipment torn out my body, lying in my own vomit and blood.¡±

    The boy glared at Eva. No retort. Can¡¯t really rebuke something like that. Eva glances down at her hands. Thumbs twirling around one another. Trying to find the right words. The right thing to say. Talking to children is so hard.

    ¡°But I¡¯m sorry you were scared.¡±

    Whisper. That Eva is good at. The boy does hear it. Eyes go wide.

    The boy had heard Eva was weird. Weird rating 3 right now. Papa found her unnerving. Dad is angry that Papa is on administrative leave. Been taken from protection duty. Constable Seers did something very naughty.

    Attention. Intangible. Something pressing hard against the back of the neck. It crawls through the bushes. Snakes under ferns and over small ornamental ponds. Eva turns to face it. Looks through the tiniest of gaps to stare at her constant guardian. An officer that failed to meet her eye. The other police officer stares back. Both now silently followed her every move about the hospital. Eyes meet eyes. Eva doesn¡¯t blink. Goes back to the boy.

    ¡°Do you hate me, Joshua?¡±

    Weird rating getting to a 5 now. Would Papa have talked about home stuff around her? Maybe something caught on a phone conversation perhaps. Joshua wants to back off. Run from the crazy. Flee if it¡¯s infectious. Yet still. There¡¯s something. It draws. It tugs. He knows he should be afraid. He is. But still curious. Cautious. Delicate balance.

    ¡°Joshua!¡± a deep voice echoes across the atrium.

    Moment is broken. The boy leaves. Glances cast over his shoulder. Eva watching him. Eyes taking him in.

    ¡°Say hello to Max and Edward,¡± Eva whispers.

    No reasonable way Joshua would hear that. Reasonable is currently laid out on a slab in the morgue. Right beside rationality. Sanity has the toe-tag. Which of course means Josh hears every word. Really wishes he didn¡¯t. Weird rating now at 7.

    This is what you get for being a little shit.

    <hr>

    A shivering body. A sad bed. Blankets pilled overtop. Knees tucked up against chest. One lonely girl in a lively hospital. Two police officers outside. One hovering mother in a cot at the end of the bed. One girl who feels so lonely she might just crack in two. Tugs at the hem of her camisole. Worries at her lips until it bleeds. Licks away white blood. Wound already healed.

    Christina emerges from the private bathroom. Fresh from the shower and looking a little perkier. Comfortable pyjamas. Damp hair worn loose. She pulled a chair up next to Eva. Not hard to read the mood.

    ¡°Do you want to talk about it?¡±

    Eva glanced toward the open door. The two police officers standing to attention. One watching the corridor. The other the room. The Foxe¡¯s are not getting personal time anytime toon.

    Eva shook her head.

    Christina pulled her daughter in close. Kissed her forehead.

    ¡°I won¡¯t tell you to sleep. I know that is never pleasant. I¡¯ll just tell you to rest.¡±

    Eva nodded. The lights flickered off. The beep and click of medical equipment. This girl should have still been in ICU. The medical miracle known across the hospital. Something in the water maybe. Essence of Dagon and mineral salts. Now up, walking, eating and soon to be discharged.

    ¡°Liar.¡±

    Whisper. Too many whispers lately. Not as though Eva has ever had a voice. Now it¡¯s just become apparent to her how little voice she had before and how much she should actually have.

    ¡°I am only late.¡±

    Gloved hands cover Eva¡¯s eyes. Best she can do is clamp a hand over her mouth to hold down the squeal. Then huff. Pull her gloves off. Turn around to see Shogo leaning against the wall. Hood down and soft blonde hair framing her striking face.

    ¡°They¡¯ll hear you,¡± Eva hissed.

    How do you react to something like that? What is the rational, reasonable thing to do? Reach out and tickle the flustered 11-year-olds underarms. Eva tenses and readies for the shriek of laughter.

    Nothing.

    Lots of nothing.

    She can feel the fingers. Contact with skin. Tactile recognition.

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t tickle,¡± Eva said despondently

    The light changes composition. Dusty. Grainy. Illumination from the corridor flickers. Eva sees several small things scuttle by. Turns her head to see a wheelchair parked just outside the open door.

    ¡°It¡¯s okay. She is with me.¡±

    The wheelchair and its enormous orderly move on. Eva rubs her chest and sighs.

    ¡°A hallucination.¡±

    A mutter. A curse. Perhaps something worse than ever the c-bomb. Eva is certainly unhappy. Approaching miffed. Eventual destination is angry.

    Legs swing off bed. Bare feet land on lino and pad over to the empty cot. Mother is absent. Just a large pile of sheets over some unseen form. A small stuffed toy rabbit atop it all. The sheets breathe. Slow inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Dreamy sounds of the sleeping bedding. Eva snatched the rabbit and wrenched its head off. Stuffing and wriggling things tossed onto the ground. Drop the body. Launch the head into the empty corridor. Let the skull skuttle away on rabbit ears into the waiting emptiness of the hospital. The body suffers a worse fate. Dropped to the group. Stomped upon. Flesh pulverised. Black innards explode. Stain the cuffs of pyjama pants and squeeze between toes. A kick sent the wet ball of crushed organs skidding across the floor. Come to a stop beside the bed. A whimper. Slow cries as the corpse crawls into the shadows under the bed to die.

    ¡°Your penchant for theatrics is impressive. To discern that you are not lucid and to take command so viscerally is impressive.¡±

    ¡°You taught me,¡± Eva growls back.

    Angry child in motion. Footsteps disintegrate lino and crack concrete beneath. The room quakes with each step. Lights flicker and burst. Eva zooms in on Shogo. In her tawny eyes is something rarely seen. Hands like the wrath of Elder Gods. Things crawl up the walls. Each with three pairs of eyes looking for safety. Vision fills with static. Your ears can hear across the entire AM spectrum. Tonight at 11, UFO sittings and ghost hauntings. Stories of livestock half-eaten and crops turned to rotten pulp overnight.

    ¡°They kept putting pressure and pressure on me. Thought that while we waited for the final report from Dr Schwarzschild I might break apart. I had the seizure and then it all does start falling apart. A stupid self-fulfilling prophecy. It¡¯s like they want me to be broken. So, when something happens, something I had nothing to do with, they point to it with confidence. They¡¯re the ones that broke. And Dad shot me. He shot me! Yes, It looked like me and me like It. He couldn¡¯t tell who was who? I nearly died. I can still feel myself drowning. Each breath like gulping crimson water. Then I awake in hospital again. Something in my throat. Breathing for me. I can¡¯t move. It kept trying to get to me. To make me break. And the pain wouldn¡¯t stop. It still hurts so much. I can feel things crawling inside the wound. Swimming around my shoulder. It tormented me. Had the nurses drag me around the Hospital. Then It tried again. I had to get out of bed, pull all those cables out and run away. I thought of the camisole and what you had told me and how I could protect myself so I just ran and ran. I found the clothing and came back. I couldn¡¯t be certain it would work but It was affecting everyone now. I had to make a stand.¡±

    There were breaths taken. Somewhere. Don¡¯t use the punctuation as a frame of reference. Just assume she keeps speaking until your lungs are empty. Eva glared up at Shogo and clenched her fists tightly. Fingernails cut half-moons into palms.

    Shogo kneels, pulls Eva into an embrace and lifts her up. One hand crooked beneath her bottom. The other to hold her close. Eva struggles. Writhes like the things beneath Shogo¡¯s collar. Cannot break free. This might be Eva¡¯s hallucination. But Shogo¡¯s resolve is unbreakable. Growling. Hissing. Like a cat that found no home in Ulthar. Eva doesn¡¯t want this. It isn¡¯t fair. You cannot just undo it all with.

    With.

    Stupid.

    Annoying.

    Warm.

    Shushing.

    Reassuring.

    Then all is normal. Eva is crying. This is different from crying with her parents. That was primal. Instinctual. The baby animal wanting its parent¡¯s protection. This is the weeping of someone gone through too much with too little. Eva just grips Shogo¡¯s cloak tightly and bawls her eyes out. Head buried in the warm, comforting and boneless shoulder. Ugly crying. Genuine tears. Black streaks on dark skin. Arms clutched so tightly around the odd woman they¡¯d crush the air out if she possessed lungs.

    Then lots of sniffling. Lucky Shogo has a very delicate lace handkerchief. Fibre. Unknown. Origins. Best not explored. Looks like cotton. Plant not terrestrial.

    Shogo tries to put down the emotional heavyweight. Eva grunts. The high pitched tut says ¡®not on your life.¡¯ Universal sound. Found across cultures and species. Holds on to Shogo tighter. Sympathy. That does exist in those not-yellow eyes, hidden behind glasses. Just what purpose do they serve? Let her see in wavelengths that other humans do for point of reference when talking?

    Shogo paces slowly around the room. Take the baby for a walk when they don¡¯t feel like sleeping just yet. Eva rests head against the best-supporting actor for what would be a collar-bone.

    ¡°Where were you?¡± Eva asks all pouty.

    ¡°Being near you is a danger.¡±

    ¡°How?¡±

    Fair question. Still quite pouty.

    ¡°In this town. Around this town. They are waking up. No. They have always been there. What is different now is the radiance. The glare is bright enough to reflect off the prism that is reality and allow them to come into focus. I have been hunting and eating. It is dangerous for you. A somatic transfer whereby sensory input-output, or the best analogue for them, translocate to your mid-brain. We share some limited psychological framework. However, our biologies have no evolutionary commonality. This leads to a cognitive dissonance whereby you are incapable of safely processing unintentional proprioceptive experience.¡±

    Eva chewed her lip and chewed the knowledge. Pieces of puzzle that needed to be shuffled around the board until they fell into place.

    ¡°The seizure.¡±

    Eva turns and presses her face into Shogo¡¯s shoulder.

    ¡°So. It¡¯s. Your fault,¡± she mumbles.

    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°No. Yours.¡±

    Eyes peer up from where they are pressed close to the black bolero jacket. Actual innocence.

    ¡°Me?¡±

    ¡°Who do you think is the radiance?¡±

    Less time needed to chew.

    ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡±

    Shogo walked Eva back to her bed. Settled her down amidst the sheets. The girl was still very clingy. Obliging, Shogo sat down and rubbed her gloved hand in small circles over Eva¡¯s back. The sensation was reassuring. Eva didn¡¯t want to admit it but her eyes were tired. The lids were lead barely held up. The emotional outpouring left her enervated. Strangely satisfied.

    ¡°You are the moon, Eva. A soft glow in the darkness. Smothered for too long. Too much light and everything burns or flees. No light and they lack coherence. Definition.¡±

    ¡°Not everything is bad,¡± Eva said, considering the odd but innocuous entities in the hospital.

    ¡°True. Your dangers are from elsewhere. There are also hunters that can see the palest light at the edges. They come from the other horizon looking for you. I kill to clear away ambitious predators. Until you are ready.¡±

    ¡°I am ready?¡±

    ¡°Yes. Then you will be what they fear. Not I.¡±

    Weighty words for Eva to consider. Right now, she just wanted to rest. Properly rest. She leant forward, resting chest against knees, letting the fatigue wash through her. Shogo took a blanket from the end of the bed and draped it around Eva.

    ¡°Now you won¡¯t be able to rub my back,¡± the girl mumbled already half asleep.

    A single blonde eyebrow arched delicately. Tendrils crawled from the shadows where they pooled around her feet. Up into the bed. The sensation of warm fingers gliding up and down her back. Eva knew that part of her ought to be horrified. The rest approved of the gesture.

    ¡°Sleep well, Eva. We will meet properly soon. In the interim, practice.¡±

    Those words in their strange cadence sunk into Eva¡¯s dulled mind.

    ¡°I can¡¯t sleep without him.¡±

    The sleepy girl cracked an eye. Christina had her phone torch on. Out of bed and scrabbling around on hands and knees. Busy searching around the room. No subtlety.

    ¡°Oh sorry,¡± she replied. ¡°I just cannot find Cottontail.¡±

    A faintly wicked smile. The smile is faint. The wicked part certainly isn¡¯t.

    <hr>

    Greenery. Chirping of birds. Buzzing of insects. The smell of water and fresh air. All that¡¯s ruining it is a pouty boy and his football (reminder, the English kind).

    Slurp

    The girl is happy though. It¡¯s an orange today. Silent screams as the skin is peeled off. Pluck out it¡¯s organs one by one. Masticate and crush the children within the soft flesh. Suck blood from fingers and start again.

    Thwack

    Again, the low thump of a football being kicked across the green. It comes to rest beside slippered foot. Eva doesn¡¯t kick it back this time. She¡¯s too busy arranging the flayed skin a small pile and licking palms clean of blood.

    ¡°Were you going to kick the ball over?¡±

    Demanding with an extra serving of indignance. Eva turns back to the boy. Joshua. Josh. J. A few ways of framing the individual. Right now. Hurt. That¡¯s what she sees. Tawny eyes fixed on his. Josh walks over and picks up his ball. Stares at it. Glances to the other end of the atrium. Something small and innocuous. New reaction. Resolve. Swallow something. Maybe pride. Maybe fear. Sits on the stone bench next to Eva. Yeah. Totally casual. I just ended up happening to sit next to you. No other spaces available sorry.

    ¡°You were shot.¡±

    ¡°You brought this up last time.¡±

    ¡°Where?¡±

    Eva pointed a spot a few centimetres below her clavicle.

    ¡°Dad shot me here.¡±

    ¡°Okay wow. How do you just casually say that your Dad shot you?¡±

    ¡°Because it¡¯s the truth.¡±

    ¡°You are the weirdest girl I have ever talked to.¡±

    ¡°How many girls do you talk to?¡±

    Shots fired! That was a quick one. Could be interpreted in several ways. Best assumption from Joshua¡¯s steadily reddening face is that WW3 has just been announced.

    Then laughter. Josh is rocking back and laughing. Gives Eva a grin.

    ¡°That was harsh,¡± he says with mirth.

    Eva shrugs. But there is a little sparkle in her eyes.

    Josh blushes. An odd sort. Not shame. But still embarrassment.

    ¡°I know this sounds super weird and I don¡¯t mean to be a¡ª¡±

    Eva snags her collar with two fingers and pulls it down a little.

    ¡°You want to see the wound?¡±

    The boy grins. Leans forward for a look. Inspects the gauze and stiches from the front. Eva obliges and moves the collar around. Clear view from the back. Bullet went clean through. Just missed the shoulder blade. Josh whistles in appreciation. It does look very cool.

    ¡°How the hell are you up, walking and talking?¡±

    ¡°Lucky.¡±

    ¡°Luck has nothing to do with it. Okay, so Papa is a police officer. Dad works here as a nurse. I hear about stuff all the time. That¡¯s how I first heard about you. The girl that should have died. Then next day Dad¡¯s talking about how you¡¯re up and awake and walking and stuff. It¡¯s just¡­ that doesn¡¯t happen. I¡¯ve had Dad come home after a shift when someone has died. He¡¯s got this look. Papa¡¯s job is really intense too. They both work¡ª¡±

    ¡°¡ªwith death.¡±

    Eva is scoring extra points for tact. Josh nods.

    ¡°Yeah. I¡¯m not a nurse. I¡¯m not a cop. But I have parents that are and you learn things. You shouldn¡¯t be up and fine. That¡¯s weird.¡±

    Josh looks down at his ball. He doesn¡¯t sound so proud to say what comes next. But it is what everyone is thinking.

    ¡°You¡¯re the weird girl. With weird stuff that goes on around her. You¡¯re supposed to be crazy and have all the doctor¡¯s confused. The spooky girl that knows stuff.¡±

    Eva scratches her cheek absently.

    ¡°Do you want to know a little secret?¡±

    Nothing said. But Josh¡¯s intense expression is all that need be said.

    ¡°I knew what you asked already. The funny thing is, when people know you¡¯re insane, they don¡¯t filter. They let down their guard. Think that I won¡¯t hear what they¡¯re saying. And it is harder to hear them with all the other noise. But I can still hear. I still listen. Your Papa didn¡¯t consider that I was listening to all his incidental conversations with fellow officers and medical staff he clearly knew. I saw the lock screen with you, Edward and Max on your Papa¡¯s phone. There¡¯s nothing spooky. Just a little deductive reasoning.¡±

    Eva twiddled her thumbs. The mystery dispelled.

    ¡°So why are you here and not with your brothers?¡±

    Josh blew at his fringe.

    ¡°Edward is at basketball practice and Max is at some afterschool STEM program thing. He¡¯s super smart so this is meant to help him in High School. Papa is on administrative leave. Which means he gets paid but stays home. And I don¡¯t¡­ want to be there right now.¡±

    Now isn¡¯t that something to say. How tactful shall we be?

    ¡°You don¡¯t look like someone who is beaten by their parent.¡±

    Nope. Straight to the point. Normal reaction should be shock at such a statement. Coming from Eva, it¡¯s more statement of fact. Affirmation of confidence.

    ¡°I think you¡¯re the first person that has been that honest. No Papa doesn¡¯t get angry at me. At us. He¡¯s angry at himself. If he saw me around at home, he would be angry that he¡¯s not out working and protecting the community, protecting us. He feels like an idiot because he allowed you to be hurt.¡±

    Josh growls and thumps the stone bench.

    ¡°What happened?¡±

    ¡°What has your Papa said? What has your Dad said?¡±

    ¡°They won¡¯t. The one time they¡¯re being super secretive.¡±

    Eva smiled. The idea that she had so unnerved people was deliciously delightful. That smile was unnerving Josh right now. Still. He doesn¡¯t flee. Seems the brat has some spine.

    ¡°Your Papa should have been watching me. Instead, I was being tortured in my room. Bound in a straight-jacket and made to scream.¡±

    ¡°You hold back, don¡¯t you? But you also hide things. Stuff people won''t believe.¡±

    Joshua¡¯s look is more appraising now. Taking in Eva. Assessing. Re-evaluating.

    ¡°You¡¯re afraid of causing trouble. You might get punished if you do.¡±

    Eva shakes her head. It¡¯s not like that. Genuinely it is. The problem is perspective. Eva could say a lot of things. But she sees and hears more than anyone else. Perspective is paramount. You cannot talk about something not there. Or you can. But that just leads to more psychiatric sessions and an increase in your medication dosages. Say goodbye to another few weeks of your life as you adjust.

    ¡°Well don¡¯t hold back,¡± Josh declares. ¡°You¡¯re the weird girl who got shot. I don¡¯t think anything you say would outdo that.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    Eva twiddles her thumbs. Takes a deep breath.

    ¡°I was angry. Your Papa was the cause. I told him to be in my Dad¡¯s position and then judge us. I¡­ think I was the reason why Shogo may have suddenly lashed out. I don¡¯t know. She didn¡¯t tell me much last night.¡±

    Eva¡¯s voice dropped down.

    ¡°I was too busy crying.¡±

    Josh raised both hands.

    ¡°Hey slow down, slow down. Too much information and not enough. What do you mean Shogo lashed out? Who is Shogo and what do you mean by lashing out?¡±

    ¡°Shogo is family. She¡¯s tall but not. Dresses old fashioned. Even wears a cloak. Sometimes has the hood up. She has these beautiful eyes that aren¡¯t yellow or gold or orange. They sparkle behind her glasses.

    Sorry. I get distracted.

    It may have been her. I don¡¯t know. It¡¯s just that when I got angry your Papa¡¯s phone started ringing and I¡¯m guessing it was your Dad. It sounded like something had happened. I¡¯m worried that his family, that you, might have been targeted. And if that did happen then I¡¯m so¡­¡±

    Eva trails off. All birdsong is dead. Not a buzz of insect. Not a slosh of water. Not a crunch of footstep or hum of conversation. Everything is still. Just Josh staring at her with all-too-wide eyes. Clutching his ball and staring at her.

    I think that spine of his just melted. The boy was off the stone bench and backing away at double time. Military retreat with spherical weapon at the ready in case the enemy approaches. Then turn tail and flee.

    Eva all alone in the atrium. Uncertain. Certain. A line was just crossed. Oops.

    <hr>

    Ink blots. Not very original. But always entertaining. Eva has done this puzzle plenty of times. Dr Schwarzschild and Eva in a private consultation room. Two low seats, a table between them with glasses, juice and open books. Two lampposts in the room. One that provides light. Glowing. The other that consumes it. Gloaming. Eva considers whether to go and turn that one on. It¡¯s all too bright in this room. Photophobia is unusual for her. Some medications caused very adverse side effects. But that was discomfort or pain. This feels different.

    ¡°You¡¯ve completed these sorts of test before, I believe,¡± Dr Schwarzschild observed.

    ¡°Mmm.¡±

    ¡°I just want to gauge your current mental state.¡±

    ¡°Thank you for not lying.¡±

    ¡°What do you see?¡±

    Eva rubbed her sore eyes and stared at the paper. It was just ink blots. For once just ink blots.

    ¡°Ink. Paper. Binding. Real leather cover. Failed psychology exams. Failed attempts at emigration to other countries. Unsatisfying posting to a town far from home. Failed attempt at sparking relationships with men or women. Then a girl, a patient, appears and the glimmer of a challenge rises.¡±

    Eva looked up. Dr Schwarzschild¡¯s face was shrouded. Stark shadows cast by the gloaming lamppost. A wriggle with too many limbs and not enough joints scuttled across the floor. Struck the lamppost and sent it toppling forward. Eva moved without thought. Springing faster than someone so injured should. Tried to catch the falling furnishing. The gloaming lamppost fell through Eva¡¯s hands and shattered on the floor, sending fragments of inky lightbulb sputtering across the carpet. The shock sent the wriggle sprinting. It hit the glowing lamppost. Sent it rocking and falling. This one Eva caught, head whipping back, her other hand flicking out to catch it.

    The light in the room took on a static quality. A crisp, crackling that hissed before retreating. Ruth took the lamppost from Eva¡¯s hand and set it upright. Frowned. Rubbed her hand. Turned back. Silhouetted against the light.

    ¡°I think that test produced some results.¡±

    ¡°Sorry.¡±

    Eva settled into the seat. Curled in on herself. Hands clasped together. Fingers knitted. Thumbs pressed against the opposite palm. Enough pressure for nail to pierce flesh. Then a very gentle hand on her shoulder. Very little pressure. The unspoken question. May I enter your personal space? Eva looked up. The room was blurry. Neither lightbulb nor fickle ambience at fault. She sighed. Another awkward encounter. Normally she was so careful. Guard up and words carefully chosen. Her edge was slipping. Ruth was crouched in front of Eva. Hand still very light on her shoulder.

    ¡°Thank you for catching the light before it fell.¡±

    ¡°You are. Welcome.¡±

    ¡°How did you know it would fall over? The base it quite wide. Nothing short of a major earthquake would send it tumbling.¡±

    Thumbs pressed harder against palm. Blood dribbles down. Pain is a sharp shock. A balm. A way to handle the awkward questions. A delaying measure whilst she tried to talk her way out of the situation.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t ask about why I jumped up early. Why I tried to catch nothing.¡±

    Eva¡¯s voice was smaller than all the empathy her previous psychiatrists had ever show her. Microns. Planck lengths. I''ll check her case files and give you accurate SI measurements.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what that was about. It doesn¡¯t matter to me. What matters is that you saved me from being struck on the head with a metal pole. I am thankful. I also want to know how you knew.¡±

    A quick scan around the room. The wriggle was now tucked in a corner and already burrowing into the umbra. Body and too many limbs disappeared into the darkness.

    ¡°I just did.¡±

    ¡°If you are embarrassed then you should know that¡­ Eva, your hands!¡±

    Warm drips of emotion slipped down slick palms. Pooled at the blade of the hand. Gathered in drops of joy, sadness and shame that fell to the carpet. A quick glance down. Her thumbs had pressed too deep. Eva spread her hands wide with a low cry of embarrassment. You don¡¯t really want to bleed all over your doctor¡¯s fancy carpet. Leads to all sorts of awkward questions and expensive cleaning bills. Dr Schwarzschild was already up and at a cupboard, grabbing a box of tissues. She started dabbing at the glistening hands.

    ¡°With bleeding this bad,¡± she muttered, ¡°I may have to stitch¡­¡±

    Her voice trailed off. Coherent medical thought processes currently experiencing tachycardia. Eva¡¯s hands were covered in blood. Too much. Self-inflicted wound and deep. The cleaners may as well give up now. The stains on the carpet are fairly expansive.

    Clean palms.

    Unblemished skin.

    Not a single layer of skin disturbed.

    Eva was glad at that moment her skin was dark. It helped hide the flush of hot shame and embarrassment on her cheeks. Dr Schwarzschild turned Eva¡¯s hands over several times. No cuts or wounds. Yet with bleeding that profuse there had to be a significant injury.

    A quick snatch. Eva pulled her hands back and wrapped them against herself. Looked at the doctor as though they were foe. The moment when you start weighing up what little you should say. Speak up and have them lock you away for months. A gamble. But maybe. Just maybe. It¡¯s desperation and fatigue. Bone weariness sunk in deep after nearly two weeks of struggling and suffering. A little spark. Mad desperation and aching loss.

    Shall we gamble and roll the dice?

    ¡°What colour is my blood, Dr Schwarzschild?¡±

    ¡°Pardon?¡±

    The doctor was halfway to the bin. Mind going over all the sanitation protocols needed after the session. Cleaners and expenses. Her movement was arrested by Eva¡¯s grip. Slender black fingers contrasting against the doctor¡¯s pale wrist. The girl was barely more than a skeleton. With the grip of a creature from the deep. Eva spun around, pressed her back against the doctor¡¯s chest and pulled the wrist out a little further. With her free hand she knocked away the wads of tissue. Placed her small hand into Ruth¡¯s. Chirality matching. Small fingers contrasting against the larger hand.

    ¡°What colour is my blood?¡±

    Ruth wasn¡¯t given a second chance to answer. Eva let go of the wrist and weaved her other hands fingers through the gaps between the mirrored hands of Eva and Ruth. Gripped tight and sandwiched the doctor¡¯s hands in-between.

    It was a curious moment. Ruth had been studying various forms of mental illness in her spare time. She hadn¡¯t lied to Luther with her assertion of reading a 5 year long case file in 24 hours. Many a free moment since their first meeting over a week ago had been spent trying to unpick the mystery that was Eva. Evangeline. Evangeline Griseo Foxe. She ticked all the boxes for someone who was seriously mentally ill. Yet she also displayed, in brief moments, a level of clarity and lucidity that was at odds with the various diagnoses. Ruth could see where people would diagnose her as having a severe and disturbing form of psychosis.

    Perhaps she had not appropriately distanced herself from this child in a professional capacity. It tugged at her. That niggling doubt. That infectious madness. Sorry doc but you were dragged into this the moment you looked back at that window and saw something in the reflection. A memetic virus. A basilisk hack. A soma transfer that sent little worms burrowing into the softest, fleshiest and deepest corners of your psyche.

    Put another way, the good doctor is screwed.

    The discarded tissues were pink to deep crimson where the blood had been blotted. Her hand. Those palms. A deep caramel. They should be crimson where they had not been cleaned. There were no cuts or abrasions. Just clean flesh. And blood that was too thin. Almost oily. Not. Red. The colour. It. It. It. Was. Not. Red. So that.

    That.

    The blood. Colour.

    It should be soaked in haemoglobin. Tinted in oxygen and iron.

    It.

    It is.

    The blood.

    Spirals and whorls of blood. Twisting and spinning. Don¡¯t stare at the hand. It draws you in. Your mind aches. Your vision swims. Balance is twisted. Warped.

    The blood.

    It is.

    Not.

    Red.

    Ruth choked back a gasp. Wrenched her head away. Eva¡¯s grip was slack. The doctor stumbled backward, leaning hard against the back of a chair and trying to catch her breath. Her heart had given up pretending anything was normal. Given half a chance it would evacuate her chest. Cold sweat coated the woman. Vision turned crimson. Ruth walked over to the windows of the room to check what was wrong. The corners of her eyes were starbursts when the capillaries had burst. A tinge of blood filmed her eyes. Likely from the soft tissue of the eyelids.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    It was the tiniest of little voices. Ruth breathed out slowly. There was a rational explanation for all of this. Even if the rational was irrational. She turned and faced Eva. The girl was all alone in the gloom of the room. When had the room turned so dark? The floor was streaked with shattered fragments of umbra that drank up the light. Standing against the opposite wall, pressed hard against it, was a child doing their best to disappear. Light. Shadow. Texture. Everything behind Eva writhed. It wasn¡¯t aggressive. It wasn¡¯t hungry. There was no desire to harm. Eva was a blot in the storm of uncanny. She clutched fists by her sides and stared hard at the ground. Tried to bore a hole through bloodied carpet, liner, concrete, sand pad, soil, rock, mantle and finally solid metal core. Halfway through a chunk of ringwoodite Eva heard a firm voice. It called out over the rumble of the mesosphere. Out over the whispers of shadows sharing further secrets. Things that the doctor would never voice.

    ¡°It is not red.¡±

    Eva looked up. Dr Schwarzschild had recovered her composure. The hand that Eva had grabbed was now curled tight.

    ¡°This may go some way towards explaining how you have recovered so quickly from what should have been a lethal gunshot wound.¡±

    ¡°Mmmm.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps we should end our session here.¡±

    ¡°Mmm.¡±

    Eva was careful to negotiate her slippered feet around the shards of gloaming glass when exiting the room. This little shuffle was not lost on the doctor. What left her more disconcerted was Eva¡¯s shadow. Where her shadow passed over whatever she avoided, little fragments of something glassy and sharp winked up at the doctor.

    <hr>

    Heart. Pumping. Loudly. Deafening. Slipper after slipper. Eva¡¯s mind is focussed on one thing. Her success. In the sea of silence someone listened. For a moment. The briefest twinkle in the night sky. And it was enough.

    Enough.

    It was bloody enough. Eva knew that she saw things that weren¡¯t there. Heard or felt or smelt them. But there was much more that was there. That she could see. When you pulled back the veil of reality, the veil of sanity, existence was a twisted shadowy realm where anything and ANYTHING was possible. Now someone else knew. Someone else had seen just beyond the edges. A brief peak. They believed her. Or at least hadn¡¯t shoved needles into her arm and left the girl catatonic for two months.

    Yes, some people already know. And so actively reject that knowledge that they harmed a then 9-year-old girl. We may go back and explore that story one day. Sorry but there is no karmic justice. It doesn¡¯t end well. Just another plank leading up to the current story.

    Eva is caught up in her own little world. Footstep after footstep. Autopilot as she digests everything. She had shown Dr Schwarzschild. Given her the briefest insight into what the world looked like to Eva. Maybe the doctor would listen to her. Maybe it was enough to get¡­ no her parents wouldn¡¯t listen. Not that easily. It was, however, a start. A beginning point. Eva¡ª

    ¡ªran straight into someone. Floundered backward and landed hard on the ground. It took the girl several seconds to process what had happened. Her mind could not catch up with her body. Everything was a scratchy, writhing blur of noise and sensation. Finally, she realised that it was outside her private room. Josh was standing there with a shocked expression. A nurse ran up and knelt beside Eva.

    ¡°Are you okay, Ms Foxe?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m fine, Harry.¡±

    Harry gave Josh a look that would have Sisyphus running down the hill with his boulder chasing close behind. Josh raised both hands pleadingly.

    ¡°I called out to her several times. She just didn¡¯t hear me. Barrelled right into me.¡±

    ¡°And this is what you call apologising?¡±

    ¡°Sorry, Dad. Sorry, Eva.¡±

    Okay. Back up. Process that one. Then again, we met Harry way back in Chapter 3. He¡¯s appeared in the background since then so this does count as foreshadowing. Harry gently drew Eva to her feet. Checked for any pain, strains or tightness before escorting the girl the last few steps to her room. Josh walked to the doorway but progressed no further. Watched his parent walk back down the hallway. Eva¡¯s room was thankfully free of Christina and Luther. It gave Eva the opportunity to sit down on her bed and begin to untangle the last hour.

    ¡°I never told anyone the full details.¡±

    Those weren¡¯t Eva¡¯s words. She looked up to see Josh standing in the doorway and watching her carefully.

    ¡°Max and Edward heard the noise. Someone sneaking around the backyard. Dad grabbed a flashlight and stuck his head outside. Shone it around. They didn¡¯t see anything but an inky shadow. I saw it though. Those eyes. They looked at me. Into me. I¡¯m never going to forget them. All I told anyone was that I saw someone. Just like Max. Just like Edward.¡±

    Josh looked down at his feet. At the invisible line.

    Outside. A corridor. The general hubbub of a hospital. Normal. Everyday. Average.

    Inside. Quiet. Shadowy. Twisted. Tones of the unnatural and strange.

    Josh took a breath. Met Eva¡¯s gaze.

    ¡°Can I come in?¡±

    A single nod. A binding geas. Remember no dog meat and be nice to people. One step past the threshold. Josh ran hands through his hair and tried to shake off the embarrassed look on his face.

    ¡°So¡­ uh¡­ when are you getting discharged?¡±

    ¡°Likely tomorrow.¡±

    ¡°Cool.¡±

    Lonely seconds ticked by. Eva sighed and pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes. She was tired. And short on patience.

    ¡°You aren¡¯t interested in girls so this isn¡¯t an awkward love confession. What do you want?¡±

    ¡°Wait. How the hell? I mean. Come on¡­ fuck.¡±

    Josh laughed again. Cheeks aflame with embarrassment. But laughing.

    ¡°You¡¯re not secretly a masochist?¡± Eva mumbled.

    Josh laughed even harder.

    ¡°No. No it¡¯s not that. You just. You are nothing like what anybody described to me. Plenty of Dad¡¯s friends come over to our place after work for drinks. I had to see you for myself. I wanted to be angry at you. For what happened to Papa. Instead, you¡¯re just so¡­ you.¡±

    Eva wanted to tell the boy ¡®That makes no coherent sense.¡¯ She wanted to shove him out the room and get some sleep. Read a book or two. Maybe watch some period piece drama. Her words were raw.

    ¡°Why are you talking to me?¡±

    Josh shrugged.

    ¡°You¡¯re weird. And spooky. And interesting. And honest. And I want to be friends with someone like that. You have to meet Imogen.¡±

    Josh turned and gave a wave.

    ¡°See you tomorrow then. Hopefully you¡¯re out by then. I want to show you around town.¡±

    Eva was left all alone in her room. Staring at the empty doorway. A cold trickle ran down her back.

    ¡°Friend?¡±

    The corpse under the bed chuckled at the bad joke.

 The Transition of a Lonely Girl

    Zip up the travel bag. Have a little trouble getting the zip around the corpse hair leaking out. Eva shoves the strands in and hopes her curious action goes unnoticed. A quick check over the shoulder reveals Christina watching her carefully.

    Welp. Screwed in the first paragraph. We can only go downhill from here. What you think it¡¯s uphill when you¡¯re at your nadir? Silly reader. There is much, much further into the fundament, into the bedrock of reality, you can dig before true despair can be mined for trace elements and 21<sup>st</sup> century rare minerals.

    ¡°Come along, Eva.¡±

    Christina doesn¡¯t press further. Unusual. Welcome. Has Eva on careful edge. After an unusually swift recovery, complete with a lack of scars or discernible organ damage, Eva has been given discharge permission. She certainly won¡¯t miss this hospital. But it was one of the better ones. Eva takes her mother¡¯s hands and says goodbye, hopefully finally, no back-sees, to the private room she has stayed in for nearly a week. This hospital wasn¡¯t the worst she has ever been to. Only twice has something driven her to mental collapse. Her two-month stay in an old psychiatric ward is still the winner for likeliest place for hell to come bursting out from a parallel dimension and consume all in its path in an orgy of psychosis and anarchy. Rip and Tear!

    Mother and daughter walked down the halls, various medical staff giving polite waves or smiles. Christina returns the kind gestures. Eva is keeping her eyes fixed forward. She has no desire to see into any of the rooms. See the other occupants of the hospital, both long-term and very recent departures.

    Christina nearly has her arm yanked off. Eva has frozen in an intersection. Eyes staring down an empty hallway. Mum knows her child well. These moments when Eva is disconnected from reality. A single wheelchair parked against a wall. Eva gives a low bow. Then is pulling her mother forward. Whatever happened, whatever her daughter¡¯s fractured mind conjured up, it seems satisfied.

    Faint squeak. Rubber on lino.

    Christina only has a moment to glance back before they are past the intersection. The wheelchair now in the middle of the hallway.

    Discharge is more paperwork. Declarations. Payment. Sign off for medications prescribed and follow-up appointments in the next week. Eva leaves her mother alone. Let the veteran strut her stuff. Even gives advice on some areas that need refining and clarification. You can always polish a document. Administration staff take notes. Another chapter completed. Another footnote in an otherwise listless life. Back to the caravan park. Back to a few days¡¯ worth of medical tests. Then back to the road again. To another unseen destination. To a grand panacea that does not exist. The Foxe¡¯s continue the search for what might save their daughter from whatever ails her.

    Spoilers. It has anaemic orange eyes and an excellent taste in cloaks. Also likes spooking children.

    Speaking of which.

    ¡°Hey. Eva.¡±

    The distracted girl dragged out of her stupor. He melts out of the crowd. Hospitals are always busy. Pell-mell of activity, smelling of fear, hope, death and desperation. Standing in an odd little sea of calm is Josh. Complete with awkward smile. Raises one hand half-heartedly.

    ¡°You¡¯re all dressed to leave.¡±

    He of the incalculably potent observation skills. Though to be fair he¡¯s only seen her in hospital garb. Back to her regular animal print t-shirt, hoodie, jeans and sneakers.

    ¡°Mmm.¡±

    ¡°What are you doing tomorrow? Are you free to go out?¡±

    No mono-syllable response this time. Genuine raised eyebrows. Confusion. Confuzzlement even. Eva doesn¡¯t have a response to that. She¡¯s never really looked to the future. Each day is just inertia dragging her forward. The only pegs in the calendar of life are medical appointments. How is anybody supposed to respond when someone asks the entirely unreasonable question ¡®what are you doing tomorrow?¡¯

    Eva looks down at her shoes. Starts doing her best to grind the toe of one through the lino. Then up at her mom. Christina is still processing paperwork.

    ¡°I. Uh. Well.¡±

    Nervous trill. Confused cross-firing of neurons. Eva knots her fingers together and looks up at her mom again.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know if I¡¯d be allowed.¡±

    Now what are the odds of several discreet elements crashing into each other in perfect confluence? What is the statistical likelihood of very interesting variables connecting in just the right way to achieve an otherwise impossible outcome?

    Ask the one in the rafters with their tentacles moving the puppets around the stage.

    ¡°Hello, Ms Foxe.¡±

    Both children turn to see Dr Schwarzschild in casual clothes. Out of her hospital scrubs she looks almost normal. Still careworn but more human. Everyday clothes. Hair worn loose. Wearing glasses too.

    Eva gave a small bow.

    ¡°Thank you for placing me in your care, Dr Schwarzschild.¡±

    The good doctor almost clasps hands in front and returns the bow.

    Almost.

    Okay it¡¯s mostly nervous but you cannot blame her. She¡¯s started to get a peek behind the veil and see what the writhing, fleshy tissue of reality really looks like. Also, it should be pointed out that Eva did not address the good doctor in English. Ruth adjusts her thinking, switches gear and responds in Japanese.

    ¡°It was my privilege. I am glad for your swift recovery.¡±

    ¡°Thank you.¡±

    The doctor¡¯s attention glides to Josh. Likely she knows him well through Harry. Switch to English.

    ¡°You are not causing trouble, Joshua?¡±

    ¡°No ma¡¯am. I was asking Eva if she wanted to play.¡±

    ¡°Oh?¡±

    ¡°Tomorrow is Sunday so I thought Eva might want to go out and have some fun. She has been in hospital for a week.¡±

    ¡°And Eva is still recovering from very serious injuries.¡±

    ¡°Well. Yes. But. You know. She is pretty tough too.¡±

    Roll Will save not to snort with laughter. Natural 20!!! Can¡¯t blame the doctor. Nothing about this girl is normal. Normal cannot be found in the same room, house, street, suburb, city, nation, continent, planet, solar system and onwards. Maybe a nearby galactic cluster. Will get back to you on that one. Describing Eva as tough is like describing the ocean as mildly damp.

    This does get the dice rolling in Dr Schwarzschild¡¯s head. A very distinct possibility. An important one too.

    Ruth kneels and looks the two children in the eye. Contemplative expression.

    ¡°I think it would be unreasonable for Eva to go wandering about so soon after discharge. With someone she has only just met. Doubly so as we have an active kidnapping investigation case.¡±

    It¡¯s a sly look. Josh is too oblivious. Eva however can read it. Something just about the corners of the eyes and touching the furrow between eyebrows.

    ¡°However. With an escort there might be a possibility. I believe your idea of fresh air, some light exercise and a change of scenery holds genuine merit.¡±

    Ruth stands up and rolls her shoulders. Eva remembers this body language too. When they had first met. Ruth calling out her parents and demonstrating just how far she would go for her patients. 24 hours to digest 5 years. That same aura is evident. A woman committed to an ideal and unflinching.

    Should we feel sorry for Christina? Surprise flank attack from a doctor with both interest in her patient and morbid curiosity regarding the world that Eva is revealing to her.

    Nah. She deserves it.

    Something unseen watched the curious exchange between two adults and two children. I did say ¡®speaking of which.¡¯

    <hr>

    Sunday dawns. It was cool enough to justify wearing a scarf, jacket and toque. Eva laced up her shoes and took a deep breath. This was untrammelled possibility. An impossibility not conjured up by the feverish delusions only a month prior.

    It was also completely and utterly petrifying. Eva managed to keep her heart from exploding out her chest, rolling on the bedroom floor, crawling aorta over aorta into the cupboard and hiding for the rest of the day. She flopped onto her bed and took a deep breath. Then another. Breathing exercises, she had learnt long ago.

    Oxygen was not enough.

    Eva was at her very not emotionally mature 11-year-old shining best. She swallowed down the rising fears and mined her memories for how to settle nerves. Chest heaving in and out. Oxygen. Need more oxygen. Fabric rustling against flesh.

    Eyes open.

    Crazy. No. Not crazy. Crazier than most crazy thoughts. But also, rationally proactive and reasonable. Eva was staring at her hands. She hadn¡¯t tried anything since that wonderful night long ago. It actually hadn¡¯t been that long ago. A week and change. Which was all the more frightening.

    Distracted. Eva and we are getting distracted. Mostly me distracting you. Eva stares at her hand and tries to recall what was said. Perhaps mortal eyes are a distraction. Lids close over weak flesh and blind ocular nerves. See the world in reverse. Feel the pulse behind it all. The heartbeat of noisome darkness that slips through the cracks in the fundament. In that indescribable, undefined umbra Eva brings will to bear. An image is a collection of consensual concepts and identifying markings agreed upon by the collective. By obscuring the observation of the collective you can redefine the image. A strange piping tune filled Eva¡¯s ears. Shogo was the key and the lock. Eva was beginning to understand that such an appellation applied not only to the curious entity. Reedy piping and heartbeat competed with one another for attention as Eva grasped the key and twisted it. Reality shifted about the tumblers of the lock.

    Eyes open.

    Eva was lying on her back on the bed. Lifted hands to admire her hands. Small feminine black leather gloves. A curious little smile. Eva was quick off her bed and into the communal kitchen/lounge. Her parents were seated at the kitchen table. Dark circles under their eyes. Looks like neither of them were blessed with a good night¡¯s sleep. Stress, worry and trepidation regarding the unknown make for very restless bedfellows. They probably spent half the night lying next to each other and discussing all the possibilities that today brings. All the dangers and fragments of reality that lie outside their slippery control. 5 years. All that time policing Eva¡¯s every move. Every meeting. Every moment of study. Every brief reprieve when she does something fun or entertaining for herself. Every TV show. Every book. Every medication.

    Cry havoc and let loose the divergent anarchy of possibility!

    ¡°How are you feeling?¡± Luther asks.

    Eva rubbed her biceps and gave a weak smile. She cannot lie to her parents.

    ¡°Nervous.¡±

    Neither of them notices the unfamiliar gloves. Their minds are fixed on the future. Not the present. Luther is the first up and kneeling before Eva. He places reassuring hands on her shoulders. Who they are reassuring¡­ now that is up for debate. He hands her a simple mobile phone in a leather cover, money stored inside for today¡¯s use¡­

    A first of her entire life. They have never trusted Eva with a mobile device. The one time she handled her father¡¯s, it started speaking to her in tongues nobody with a single trachea could manage. That was a week spent under the covers in her room, pillow clamped tight over her head, not leaving even for dinner. Dry meals and fruit that isn¡¯t messy to eat. Avoided the mistake in future.

    ¡°You will stay by Ruth¡¯s side the entire time. Promise me that. If you feel uncomfortable at any time insist that you go home. If for whatever reason you are separated ring me straight away. I¡¯ve locked the phone to ring myself, your mother and emergency services.¡±

    This isn¡¯t reassuring. This isn¡¯t helping prop up your daughter. Also skipped adding Ruth Schwarzschild to that list of numbers. Smart? Round 2. Let us see how Christina fares. She nudges Luther back, crouches and embraces Eva. Familial intimacy is rare. This close physical contact is not forced. Or tokenistic. No obligation to give support. A mother genuine. Feeling for herself. Her family. Her daughter. Pull back enough to look Eva in the eye. Warmth. Fear. Quivering confidence. But enough. Just enough in those dark eyes.

    ¡°You¡¯ve been brave for so long. Be brave today. Enjoy yourself.¡±

    For Shub-niggurath¡¯s sake, she is going out with her friends for the day.

    Everyone¡¯s fear is justified.

    Eva wriggles out of the hug. Turns to the front door. A knock. A voice calling out her name. Prescience. Not bad. The adults in the room don¡¯t miss that little fragment. Give each other a look. Look back to Eva. Glance down. The morning sun filters through the windows. Haloes the young girl. Motes of dust dance in the beams of light unusually yellow. Dust that coalesces into unknown words in a script never written by human hands.

    The girl cautiously takes a step forward. Then another. Fledgling leaving the nest. She sucks in a breath. Enough oxygen this time. Walks to the door and opens it. Dr Schwarzschild is standing on the porch, rugged up for the morning chill, the cold air warmed by her smile. It touches eyes and aura. Genuine. Earnest. There is caution in her shoulders. Tempered with curiosity and the impression of an aunt wanting to dote on her niece.

    ¡°Good morning, Eva.¡±

    ¡°Good morning, Dr Schwarzschild.¡±

    A single shake of the head.

    ¡°We are outside the hospital. Today I am Ruth. No Ms or doctor.¡±

    ¡°Yes¡­ Ruth.¡±

    Swallow that word like a cephalopod refusing to be squeezed down a narrow oesophagus.

    Doctor and child look to the Foxes by the kitchen table.

    ¡°I am certain this excursion will yield positive benefits regarding Eva¡¯s physical and mental health. As her treating physician I have her best interests at heart. If there are any complications, I will contact you promptly.¡±

    Luther inclines his head. Christina looks close to tears. Luther addresses the pair.

    ¡°Have fun, the pair of you. Remember our agreement, Dr Schwarzschild.¡±

    Oooo. What did Ruth say to him yesterday? An agreement of sorts perhaps. A pact. Promise. Something else. Maybe blackmail even. Negotiations we the reader are not privy to. Use your imagination. Weigh up what you think of Mr and Mrs Foxe. That can be the guide for the conversation between the three.

    Waiting outside is Ruth¡¯s car. Nice little hatchback. You decide the badging. I don¡¯t know enough about cars to describe the finer details with any semblance of accuracy. Ruth opens the passenger side door. Eva accepts the polite courtesy and hops inside. Clicks her safety belt on. Looks out the side mirror and takes everything in. Cool day. Crisp air. Slightly cloudy skies. Perfect day for play and exploration. Ruth gets in the driver¡¯s side and starts the car up. They leave the trailer park and get onto the main road leading into town. Ruth doesn¡¯t say anything. Lets Eva settle into her own skin. The girl watches the scenery wander by. Remember Chapter 1? Eva has never cared for what is outside the vehicle window. Now she is soaking everything in. Each of the buildings. Each of alleyways with the nameless things moving within. Each of the pedestrians. Each of the nameless things moving through the crowd. Each of the businesses patroned by the people of the town on this bright morning. Each of the businesses empty of people and patroned by nameless things.

    Eva takes it all in. Eyes unblinking. Heart pounding. Missed your chance to make a break for the cupboard. Now it is a prisoner within cruel ribs and a diaphragm with no key. Eva turns back to watch the driver. Ruth¡¯s eyes are on the road. They have arrived in suburbia proper. Shops all around. Busy streets. Intersections with traffic lights. Crosswalks. People. The press of people. The hive of activity. Families bustling about. What¡¯s the collective noun for teenagers in small groups? An exasperation of teenagers. Plenty of those about the place.

    Keen eyes spot a sign indicating parking lots. Ruth pulled down a side street and found them a quiet little space snuggled at the rear of several modest sized buildings. Collected piles of rubbish and dumpsters sit against walls. One last free bay. They park up. Eva stares at the door handle. She can¡¯t even reach out to grasp it. Gloved hands are frozen on her lap. Gaze held prisoner by that plastic handle.

    The door opens. A hand proffered. Eva swallows and takes it. Doesn¡¯t let go once outside. The car locks with a soft beep and flash of lights. Ruth strides around from the back of the car. Raises an eyebrow. Eva drops hands by her sides and clenches into tight fists. Walks over to the adult. There isn¡¯t a question. No chance of an answer either. Eva¡¯s eyes dart about. Feel the buildings around her. Maybe a cage. Maybe a safe haven.

    Check back with me at the end of chapter.

    It is Ruth¡¯s turn to take Eva¡¯s hand. You can feel bones beneath the flesh of this appendage. Eva flinches. Stock still. Catatonia. The doctor waits patiently by her side. Eventually she relaxes her gloved fingers. Takes a single step. Ruth matches pace.

    One. Two.

    One. Two.

    One. Two.

    One. Two.

    Step by unsure step. A pace begins. They exit the carpark and breach the bubbling roil of civilisation. Eva cannot help steel taught tendons. Short, shallow breaths. There is so much noise. So much motion. So much to smell. Synaesthetic overload. The turbulence of humanity whirring about. Across the street is a park. Their meeting place. Eva is guided to a crosswalk and flinches as every rumbling vehicle passes by. A break in traffic gives her the opportunity to cross. Ruth perfectly matches pace. Each tiny step mirrored.

    Okay so author¡¯s bias. Almost all trouble on the road is caused by some individual with tiny genitalia driving a sedan they have installed a large exhaust upon and possibly a spoiler on the back. Both superfluous and indicative of the planck length genitalia. So one useless, pathetic, spineless, noisy, prokaryotic pieces of shit, obviously driving faster than the speed limit, roars up to the crosswalk, breaks at only the last second and leans on the horn harder than they lean on alcohol to help blur the memories of every time they fail to make a deep and meaningful connection with another human being. Eva shrieks. Hands clamped against ears and knees giving out. Eyes pressed right shut. All she can do is kneel on the ground and try to drive away the cacophony assaulting her.

    Remember that there more terrible things than the impossible that lurk in the shadows cast by the insanity of reality.

    Us.

    Another author bias. People put up with most things. Let the pathetic maggots of life get away with so much. Give them so much rope they really ought to do the species a favour and hang themselves. Except when it comes to children. Primal. Base instinct. Pick on children. Cause them harm. All but the vilest will rise. Hard. Fast. Caveman protective. You want to see an angry sight? Strike a child in front of a group of men. Never seen someone get fucked up so fast.

    So guess what happens when everyone sees the nervous child drop to the ground, hands against hears, shrieking, tears blurring her face? A great many people take interest. Multiple men in caveman mode walk up to cave. No more horn. Now the worm is afraid. People shouting at them. Very coarse words. Warnings to leave the child alone. To get out the car and face some swift justice. Drumming around the campfire before animals were domesticated. When the things lurking in the darkness still had meaning. When the campfire was the only bane to horrors.

    Ruth makes a swift decision. Disregard personal boundaries. Scoops Eva into her arms and covers the final metres of the crosswalk. Quick steps have her in the large park. Tall trees ring the perimeter and muffle the sounds of civilisation. Here dogs bark and children let out squeals of laughter. The thump of various sports balls kicked or caught. Friends lazing about engaged in low conversation about favourite topics or all things salacious.

    Okay excuse the crudity but have you ever walked through a park and listened in on the conversations? Seriously. SO much is about human reproduction. No shame. None at all.

    Segue. Back on track.

    In the shadow of a maple is respite found. Ruth is on her knees, slowly easing Eva down. Hands don¡¯t leave the girl¡¯s. The grip is an anchor on reality. A place to let Eva hold on to and know it is real. Or as real as her often fragmented mind is willing to believe. She isn¡¯t laughing so there is only so much faith you can place.

    Ruth lets the child squeeze out tears. Steady her breathing. Tremors turn to faint twitches. Oxygen. Just enough. Something bumps her legs.  One eyelid peels open. Vision filmy. A black and white object. Eva is not Ms Marple. Though as an aside she really likes that series. It¡¯s very easy to determine that culprit. The soccer ball is nudged away. Two blurs flank the tall figure of Ruth. The other eyelid. Glassy vision comes into focus.

    Josh in warm clothes. Jacket and jeans. Unknown girl next to her. Wildest red hair Eva could imagine barely held in check with a ribbon at the neck. Strands that want to break free and consume everything in the Black Woods. Intense green eyes. She¡¯s tall. Tall as the doctor and the same age as Eva. In a jumper, skirt, thick stockings and boots. The fingerless gloves are a curious touch to the ensemble.

    Eva finishes clearing her eyes. Something like this doesn¡¯t leave her too embarrassed. Accustomed to having meltdowns in public. Doesn¡¯t make them any less unpleasant. Usually her parents shepherd her off. Now it¡¯s up to her.

    Josh crouches and raises an eyebrow.

    ¡°Everything okay?¡±

    How can one boy be so capable of observation? Truly it is a gift. Expression change. Card flip.

    ¡°No. No it isn¡¯t,¡± he mutters. ¡°Can I help at all?¡±

    Head shakes. Resigned. It¡¯s up to the one wading through the swamp to climb their way out. Don¡¯t be a horse. That¡¯s all Eva can focus on. Ruth is still holding her hands. Grip them tight. Focus on the warmth. The reassurance. Confidence. Empathy. This is your day out going at your pace.

    Lean against the tree. It¡¯s too tall, the crown hidden above the clouds, branches thick with sparkling green leaves. A shadow claws amidst the branches. An inky rodent with too many eyes and suckers where claws should be. Has curious little titbits of knowledge that fall amidst the sigh of the wind through the leaves.

    Eyes return to Midgard. Eva smiles to the doctor and takes slow, deep breaths. She glances to Josh.

    ¡°Thank you but I will be fine.¡±

    Gaze shifts to the new girl watching Eva like a meal. A cat. Denizen of Ulthar thinking about how to eat all those rats in the walls.

    ¡°Eva Foxe,¡± she introduces herself.

    The girl blinks. And utters not a syllable in return. Imogen chews a lip. Looks Eva up and down. Still meal territory. Actually, might have upgraded from rat to salmon. Very yummy crazy girl to devour.

    ¡°Did we want to get going?¡±

    Eva¡¯s voice is uncertain. The shock from minutes ago is bleeding away. The doctor carefully stood, drawing Eva to her feet and helping pat the dirt and leaves from her back. Their grip loosened enough for Eva to step back and curl gloved hands together behind her back. Look intently at the ground. She doesn¡¯t breach the mantle this time. A polite cough. Josh gives an awkward smile and gestures around the park.

    ¡°What did you want to do first? We can kick the ball around. Go for a walk. Look in the shops. Eat breakfast.¡±

    The last one. The last one. That last one! Eva has never gone to a caf¨¦. Ever. Her world was limited to evening restaurants where every move and action was carefully curated and policed. Managed by parents that knew the moment their daughter dipped too deeply into the dark whorls of unseen and unbidden delusion. This was an opportunity like no other.

    ¡°I¡¯d. I¡¯d. Like pancakes.¡±

    Bite your lips hard enough to draw white blood. Such a simple request and such unsure words. Nobody is blind to this. Stranger still is the unbound joy that glistens on those eyes as they rise up to look over the assembled group. She isn¡¯t asking for a house. For a car. For a dream job. For a pretty dress or fancy shoes. Not even for a pony. The awkward and equally excited girl is borderline euphoric at the idea of eating pancakes.

    Joshua¡¯s laugh is what breaks the ice. Ruth smiles gently next. It¡¯s only Imogen that remains poker faced. Okay so does she have resting bitch face or is something else at play? I guess we are forced to read the proceeding paragraphs until a definitive answer is given. Assuming this story is kind enough to give a definitive answer.

    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

    ¡°Follow me,¡± Josh announces.

    The leader apparent snatches up his ball and heads off in one direction. Everyone is close behind. A triangle formation for one singular purpose. Josh the spearhead. Ruth to one side. Imogen the other. Eva in the middle. Unspoken agreement deciding their course of action. The timid girl is not accustomed to people. Certainly not crowds. Someone leaning on their horn is enough to breach her walls. Right now, she needs all the support she can get.

    And fortunately, the captain of all that is obvious comes through in the moments that count. A quaint little caf¨¦ sits opposite the park. This early in the morning there are only a few regular seated. Some brave the brisk air. The rest hide inside around and bask in a wall fireplace¡¯s generosity. Josh leads the group over to a table for four. Even pulls out the seat for Eva. Okay so he cannot read the room and speaks the obvious. But it seems he¡¯s found his manners. And they aren¡¯t half bad. I might warm to this boy.

    Eva picks up a menu and studies it furiously. Her eyes don¡¯t leave it. Just ignore the distractions and search the contents. Everyone else glances over their menu. Josh fishes out a wallet and starts counting up how much he has saved. Eva notices and pulls out her phone. She pops it open the case and takes out a note. Hands it to Ruth.

    ¡°Will this be enough, Ms Schwarzschild?¡±

    Robert Borden winks up at the doctor. Whether the doctor sees it or not is up for debate. She is too busy swallowing her surprise.

    ¡°This is more than¡ª"

    ¡°I¡¯m paying for everyone.¡±

    It¡¯s Eva¡¯s first genuine smile for the day. Her face warms enough to melt the nervous expression from earlier.

    ¡°I¡¯ve always wanted to have a meal with my friends.¡±

    ¡°If¡­ you insist.¡±

    Josh puts his wallet away. Imogen is still blank as off-white wallpaper. Everyone picks their meals. A waitress is flagged over. Eva cannot look the woman in the eye. Her eyes roam to either shoulder as she struggles out the order.

    That¡¯s the easy part done. The next bit is a little trickier. Just what the hell is everyone going to talk about? Josh isn¡¯t sure where exactly he stands. Imogen is silent at the grave. And Eva is clearly distracted. Outsiders would assume she is overwhelmed with stimulation. You and I both know it¡¯s something else. Several somethings.

    ¡°What else would you like to do today, Eva?¡±

    The doctor breaks the ice. Eva studies her gloved hands. Her eyes have an awkward film to them.

    ¡°Could we go shopping? I¡¯ve never been into a shop before. And maybe an ice cream. Also, could I kick a ball? Just anything that friends would do on a day out.¡±

    Josh chuckles.

    ¡°That sounds like fun.¡±

    Eva¡¯s glance flicks sideway. Imogen hasn¡¯t said anything. She¡¯s just watching Eva intently.

    ¡°Are¡­ we friends?¡±

    Josh shrugs.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think there is a list we have to tick before we decide to be friends. I¡¯d like to be yours. Imogen too. I think Dr Schwarzschild is already.¡±

    There¡¯s a curiosity in that paragraph. Perhaps a lie. Let¡¯s tease that out and see what truths we can pry free. Eva is the first to go. She looks to Imogen.

    ¡°Do you want to be my friend?¡±

    Imogen took a slow deep breath. Josh was the one to save the situation.

    ¡°Badly. Imogen couldn¡¯t stop talking about you last night over chat. It¡¯s just she¡¯s super shy around new people. Completely freezes up.¡±

    Our red-head now has a red face to perfectly match those lustrous curls. Imogen pressed cool hands against her cheeks in an attempt to freeze away the blush. It was so cute that even Eva, tense as coiled memory metal, had to smile a little. It wasn¡¯t just her that was nervous. She reached out a gloved hand and very slowly, very carefully rested it on Imogen hand. Tapped the bare fingers unconsciously. Imogen flipped her hand over, palm now up and curled her fingers to grip Eva¡¯s own. Her voice was¡­ so deep and raspy you thought someone had dripped caramel topping over rum and raisin ice cream whilst the bowl smoked a cigar. Think Kate Mulgrew and you¡¯re pretty close.

    ¡°Sorry.¡±

    Eva giggled. The girl next to her was just as bad as she was. The giggle was bitten off when food arrived. Eva stared at the table. The plate of hot pancakes, genuine maple syrup, butter, blueberries and cream. Let me confirm that this is not maple flavoured syrup. The real deal. Something most people have never consumed, let alone Eva. She picks up her cutlery and readies for the feast. Except that she¡¯s armed with a spoon. Chalk it up to general ignorance. Cake you can eat with a spoon. Ice cream obviously. Pancakes have a little more density. Knife and fork are essential. Ruth leans over ready to say something. Shuts up very quickly. Eva is angling the back of the polished spoon. A warped mirror reflecting what lies behind. Watching the waitress go to grab the next order from the kitchen. She¡¯s fine. All human. It¡¯s the indescribably shape clinging to her back. Indistinct shadow. Bubbling tendrils like ink falling through water, but defying gravity as they ascend towards the ceiling. The thing. The head possibly. Or maybe an extra section of body that has grown outward like a cancerous growth, turns back to look at the spoon. Eyes. Beyond the necessary two. Deeply sunken. Maybe centimetres. Maybe thousands of parsecs. Lost deep in the face. More than one globe a blackness. Eyelids that never open.

    Eva shudders and puts her spoon down. Ruth clamps a hand over her mouth. A boon she hasn¡¯t eaten yet herself. Josh doesn¡¯t miss the exchange between the two. But in these moments that survival reflex kicks in. He knew not to say anything about Shogo when she stalked his garden. He knows now not to press. Imogen. Well, she¡¯s said one word so far. We needn¡¯t worry about her.

    Pancakes. Back to pancakes. Fluffy. Soft. Not soggy. Perfect texture. Perfect thickness. This is paradise. Careful drips of maple syrup. Top with berries and consume. Side dish of ice cream. Or plain butter. Oh, shoot I forgot to mention that the butter is from an actual cow. It hasn¡¯t been tampered in any way, shape or form. An almost manic grin is plastered on Eva¡¯s face. Nothing can wipe this away. The others have chosen bacon and eggs. Their food is going cold. The entertainment at the table courtesy of Eva is beyond par. The look of joy that bubbles away. Shifting expressions of bliss as the tongue crosses the elysian fields. She is rapturous and those at the tabled are enraptured by the performance.

    Fork skewers pancake and points in Josh¡¯s direction.

    ¡°You have to try this!¡±

    Eva is a gentle and polite girl. But she is also woefully ignorant of certain social mores and norms. Which makes her all the cuter. Naive is adorable. Captain obvious demonstrates his good manners yet again by not saying anything. Just leans forward and accepts the offered food. Chews and swallows. His expression is appreciative.

    ¡°They¡¯re as good as ever.¡±

    No response from Eva. Fork has been reloaded and pointed at Imogen. The redhead is a deer caught in headlights. Looks between Josh and Ruth. Josh shrugs. Ruth has an incredibly unsympathetic smirk. Tentatively lean forward and accepts the offered food. Chew. Rolling around mouth. Savour the syrup before swallowing. Licks her lips.

    ¡°Wow. They are good.¡±

    The timbre of her voice is the perfect gap moe. Extra greasy bacon is twirled around her fork and offered back.

    ¡°Here.¡±

    Eva accepts without thought. Chews on the bacon. We have yet another face for the album of delight. Really should take photos and put them online. Would win all manner of prize. There¡¯s an award for most adorable not-chipmunk, right? Ruth doesn¡¯t escape the maple and pancake justice. Forewarning lets her composure be retained. She pulls her hair over one ear, leans forward and accepts the offering. Clear enjoyment. An appreciative nod.

    ¡°Josh is correct. Good as always.¡±

    ¡°You know this place?¡±

    Eva has a tinge of surprise in her voice. Boy and woman nod back.

    ¡°It has a well-deserved reputation. Everyone comes here. Everyday man and women, families, retirees and millionaires.¡±

    Head gestures towards the front counter. Set up like a bar but serving the non-alcoholic kind. All manner of fancy tea or coffee. People sit there hard at work on a laptop. Perhaps reading text book or novel. Perched shoulder to shoulder with patrons is a man so thin he could fit through the tines in a fork. Eva tenses a little. Right now she wants a cloak of dark tentacles more than ever. Of course, he felt the gaze. The bald man with his sallow skin and eyes far too dark looks over his shoulder. A smile that is all tip and no iceberg. Leaves his half-finished espresso and casually walked over.

    ¡°Good morning, Ms Foxe.¡±

    Eva inclined her head.

    ¡°Good morning, Mr Penderghast.¡±

    Ruth is the one to raise an eyebrow. Josh and Imogen can only gawk. How does someone as¡­ well she¡¯s an outsider and it¡¯s unlikely they would have¡­ but surely it¡­

    Nyalothotep doesn¡¯t weave plans this complex. Who else would know the richest man in town if not the country? Nobody is quite sure of his net wealth. Enough to make oil barons wince. With the influence to prove it. He gestures with a finger and politicians come scuttling over. Never in public. Never seen in the light. An umbral presence much as he demonstrates now. A body so malnourished of attention it warps flesh and sinew into emaciated concepts.

    The two children settle on taking it in stride. Who else but Eva would know this man?

    ¡°Did you enjoy your books?¡±

    ¡°Yes, Mr Penderghast. I was in hospital for a few days so my parents returned them. I¡¯m hoping to go to the Library this afternoon to see if I can to get some more out.¡±

    ¡°We have a broad selection of languages if you find yourself lacking a challenge.¡±

    The furrows in her brow spell ¡®what do you mean?¡¯ Ruth doesn¡¯t clear her throat. That would be far too rude. More like discovers a Nameless Mist and softly exhales it. Just enough. Barely.

    ¡°Good morning, Mr Penderghast. I wanted to thank you after the fact for the donations you have made towards the newly renovated and upgraded children¡¯s wing and private rooms. It has made a significant improvement on the quality of life and recovery of our critical patients.¡±

    Mr Penderghast gave the softest of bows. It looked enough to snap him in two.

    ¡°I am a very privileged man. Giving back to the community that has done so much for me is the least I can do.¡±

    Eyes never leave Eva. Polychromatic. Oil slick on black.

    ¡°Courtesy and manners. I have always believed in them. One should always treat their guests with courtesy and manners.¡±

    We can all see what he¡¯s says. The double entendre. That¡¯s smooth. Very smooth. Sliding off the oily sweat of Shub-niggurath. Pinpricks run over Eva. Anything could try to break into her mind. An open pit to of writhing chaos. Only a fool would try to step into that abyss knowing they could never leave. Instead the eyes slide down to her sternum. The chakram of passion and life-force. Indescribable force presses against her, compressing sternum, gripping ribs in jaws that devour stars. But can the stars fight against the nameless moons? Gloves are gone. Fingernails devour flesh and mark eight gibbering half-moons in palms. Moons turned pale with blood. Vitae follows the palmistry life-lines and writes runes in scripts older than humanity into the crook of the palm.

    Penderghast feels the full rebuke. A stumble back. No surprise in his eyes. Genuine respect. Acknowledgement of a battle fought and lost. He loves it. Revels in the moment. The scene is broken when Josh takes Eva¡¯s hand. He cannot fathom the illimitable confrontation. But he can read body language. Penderghast is a blank slate. Eva is pure terror.

    This would be so cute, a boy holding the hand of a girl and looking to defend her, if he didn¡¯t soak his hand in bleached plasma. Josh gripping Eva¡¯s twitching hand. Felt the too oily fluid ooze between digits. In that moment he could see the waitress and what haunted her. Mr Penderghast he could not fully see. Amygdala responded appropriatly and sent orders to the adrenal glands. Flushed ready for fight or flight.

    Respect for the boy. He deserves some. Fight wins over. Stares down the most important and easily scariest man in the town. In the county. Probably the country. The world is a big place so I wouldn¡¯t rank him that high. But certainly influential. Inverse is where his temporal power holds true sway. The waitress his mind processes. The same animal response as Ruth has experienced. Holds his nerve.

    ¡°Has everyone finished their breakfast?¡±

    Josh doesn¡¯t skip a beat. Eyes fixed on Mr Penderghast. Now he¡¯s challenging the man. The courage only a child can summon when staring beyond the mountains of madness at what horrors lurk.

    ¡°I¡¯m done.¡±

    Two words from Imogen. More than enough. Ruth pushes her plate back. Eva says nothing. Just stands up with Josh still holding her hand tight.

    ¡°It was a pleasure to see you again, Mr Penderghast.¡±

    All manners from the shaken girl. He is equally calm and controlled in his response.

    ¡°The pleasure was all mine. I hope to see you soon Ms Foxe. With company too.¡±

    ¡°Shogo has been busy. I¡¯m sure she would find the time since you asked.¡±

    Nobody had asked. A knife in the dark. Paring back the skin. Mr Penderghast let a smile touch his gaunt cheeks. Nothing more said. Just turning back to his coffee.

    Ruth moves to pay the bill. The rest escape the caf¨¦. They don¡¯t flee. That would be admitting too much. Outside Eva finally withdraws her hand. The eight moon have already set beneath the horizon of the palm. Pale fluid stains the skin. Joshua too. Imogen notices the injury and pulls out a handkerchief from a pocket. Then notes the unblemished skin. Doesn¡¯t say anything further.

    ¡°What now?¡±

    Imogen¡¯s clipped question fills all their minds. After the brief encounter with Mr Penderghast their thoughts are occupied by other things. It is Imogen who leads them again.

    ¡°Shops. Clothing.¡±

    Eva brightens. Again the three form an arrow and protect her. Some members of the public don¡¯t appreciate having to move out the way. Accustomed to being rude and barging through whatever they want. Josh doesn¡¯t care and runs straight into them. Harsh word or rude gesture. He stares them down. After what he has seen this morning, a petty mortal won¡¯t freeze nerves.

    A large department store dominates a street. Everything within from pots, pans, electrical goods, cleaning products, household needs, pillows and more. Eva takes one look and shudders. The last thing she wants. Next to it on the corner is a cosy little shop. Specialised in the quirky, quaint and unusual. Chique in its own defiant way. It calls to Eva. The mannequins of woman in antiquated outfits. Jewellery that belongs in another century. And those shoes. Oh those shoes.

    Josh smirks and points at the front door.

    ¡°Head inside. I¡¯ll go looking for a place that sells ice-cream.¡±

    Ruth offers to escort Josh. Or the desperate and tactical chance to escape standing around whilst women look at clothes. Hmm. Shouldn¡¯t she stay with Eva? Flustered by the breakfast. Critical error

    Oops.

    Eva is a different person. Flitting between dresses and skirts. Comparing waistcoats, single and double breasted. Cuffs long and short. Dark stockings and more about those shoes. The boots that lace up the front. The generous would call it anachronistic. The unkind would say it belongs in a trunk covered in cobwebs before it is thrown into a refuse pile.

    There is at least one girl in love. Dark eyes sparkle. Genuine gemstone shards of light twirling in too wide pupils. Hungry. Searching. Half the mannequins are¡­ well they do seem to be staying in place. The other half point at Eva accusingly. Other¡¯s rude gestures. Some make motions for the girl to hang herself.

    You wonder why Eva has her parents do her clothes shopping. Why she endures wearing the cute animal prints and other ghastly clothes. This is why. What has changed? The shadows around Eva push back. The mannequin makes a threatened gesture. The shadow it casts. Feel sorry for it. Eva is a storm. Inky cyclone. Shadow reaching out and rending. Just as Shogo had. Nurses chewed and swallowed. Doctor ripped asunder. Has the shop always been this bright? Did someone turn off the dimmer? No probably not. The shop assistants are certainly surprised.

    That¡¯s what you get for threatening her.

    Eva trails fingers over fabric that shudder in fear. The predator has been let loose. They know. The mannequins that did not behave are now all dead. The clothes behave much better. They know their place. To be worn by their betters. The screams of flayed cotton a gentle susurrus in the background. Finally. Eva stops at a particular outfit. Long brown skirt. It looks right. Would go well with her white top. Eva just has to remember how to shift the camisole. Tease apart the gaps in reality, turn the key and make reality bend. Add a waist-coat. Delicious. This is something different. The fabric sings. Whispers decadent secrets. Ones that make Eva¡¯s face feel hot, though she cannot show a blush.

    ¡°You. Like this?¡± Imogen. Good with the monosyllables. We are progressing.

    The mannequins kindly bend down and hand over their wears. Eva accepts and thanks them politely. A few odd looks from the other humans. The inhuman appreciate the predator is behaving.

    Imogen. Nothing. The rock is patient.

    Now it¡¯s time to try everything out. Small catch. Change rooms. Back of the shop. That¡¯s where predator meets another. You can feel it. Dozing. Languid. Ready to swallow whole. A thing sticky with years of discarded garments, disappointed looks in the mirror and the shock when fantasy does not meet reality. I¡¯m not fat. It¡¯s the clothes. I¡¯m not anaemic. It¡¯s the clothes. I¡¯m not dying of cancer. It¡¯s the clothes.

    Changing booth mirrors remember. There are the real repositories. Remembers every wicked expression it has ever born witness to.

    Two stalls for a small shop like this. One occupied. It¡¯s a little duckling not sure how to swim. Staring at the pond, wondering about the Rusalka beneath the waves. Shogo is a safe tickle. This thing will latch on and drag you down into the black depths. The last thing you will want to do is laugh as bitter water fills your lungs. Wait it out. Leave the empty stall for other people to go ahead of the predator now cowed.

    Beside her is Imogen, watching the stalls patiently and tapping one foot. Finally, the first stall opens and a customer exits. Both girls walk in. Eva does a quick circle and then begins to strip. She will be semi-naked before a total stranger in moments. Then again this is a veteran we are talking about. So much time spent in hospitals, nurses checking her for possible self-inflicted wounds, which never existed thank-you very much, doctors wanting to assess her physical health, that she gave up all pretence of shame years ago. Imogen finds this surprising but makes not comment. Her mind is on other things. As Eva undresses she asks the burning question.

    ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°Why what?¡± Imogen replies

    ¡°Why wait? We could have gone into the other stall. Normally people would have¡­¡±

    ¡°Forced you to do something uncomfortable.¡±

    ¡°But it¡¯s not real. You can¡¯t see it. It¡¯s...¡±

    Swallow. Take stock. Speak an untruth.

    ¡°It isn¡¯t real. Just my imagination.¡±

    ¡°So what?¡±

    That stills Eva¡¯s hands. She slowly turns to look Imogen in the eye. It is the first serious Imogen has expressed. The first genuine reaction. Our duckling is even less certain now.

    ¡°I don¡¯t care if it¡¯s real or not, Eva. And it¡¯s not my job to force you to believe that either. What matters is you. If you are more comfortable, more settled, waiting for another booth then I¡¯ll wait. Your health matters. Me humouring you costs nothing and makes you a little happier. Right?¡±

    Whoa. She¡¯s¡­ really emotionally mature. Smart too. Josh wasn¡¯t lying. Imogen can talk when she¡¯s ready to.

    Eva pulled on the russet brown skirt. Did up the zip on the side. Next was the high-collared shirt and grey neck scarf looped under the collar. The coffee and caramel check corset followed, brass button flashing brightly. Imogen helped slip the sleeves of Eva¡¯s long tan coat. Both girls looked in the mirror. Looked at an age and style that had long since faded from the fashion zeitgeist. Eva bubbled in it. Twirled once. Twice. Three times. Her gloves perfectly matched.

    ¡°You have a strange taste in fashion.¡±

    Eva gave no response. Her eyes were fixed on that reflection. On the reflection of how she felt. How she saw herself. Clothes are do not just keep the elements off you. They are a statement. They are armour. They gird you against the horrors of the world. They are threads of willpower and confidence interwoven. Ragy¨­ was right.

    ¡°It¡¯s certainly a look. Not complete. You need some dark stocking and knee-high boots. Vintage style.¡±

    Good advice from Imogen. She¡¯s really warming to this more than three word sentence thing. Must be catching.

    It came unbidden. Hypnosis. Imogen intonation. Cadence. Low volume. The timbre of her voice sent a chord through Eva. Not the girl¡¯s intent but the outcome. Waiting with a stranger. Given guidance. Taken into an unfamiliar room and ordered to undress. These were all routines Eva knew. They were ingrained in her mind as mnemonics. Muscle and grey matter moved as directed.

    She could not help it.

    Conscious effort was hard. Eva could only work with simple, small things. What she had already been guided. Cognisant understanding would have been impossible. Beyond the wall of sleep, beyond the net of rationality with hooks biting bloody deep into conscious flesh lay possibility and impossibility rendered to wax. The key she inserted into the lock and twisted it. Only tarnished silver this one. By common agreement still permitted by the lurker to step up to the threshold and open the gate. A susurrus. Hounding whispers. Unintelligible. Imogen flinches. Wild, wide eyes search the booth. The gate obeyed. Remove the key and let light stream though the keyhole. Let it illuminate the fundament. That which might be shaped by perception. One who¡¯s axis of reality is tipped changes parallel communally accepted cognisance.

    Stockings the colour of fading autumn leaves. Boots up to the knee. Eva stumbled as her centre of gravity shifted up with the soles of the shoes. Flail and fall into Imogen. The taller girl kept Eva upright. Then slowly ease the girl back. Hands firm on her forearms, grip almost too tight. Imogen. Eyes not leaving Eva. Not a casual thing. That which bored into her. Questioned everything she knew and saw. Left her doubting consensual reality.

    Eva cocked her head to one side. She lacked empathy to grasp what was wrong.

    ¡°It looks pretty good. The boots and stockings. Match just like you said. You really are good at fashion.¡±

    ¡°They. Just. Appeared. There was this whispering and they were just¡­ there.¡±

    ¡°Oh. I get lost sometimes. Maybe it isn¡¯t. Maybe it¡¯s real. It was this time? Shogo will be really pleased. I¡¯ve gone from a shirt and gloves to stockings and boots.¡±

    Imogen¡¯s grip slipped. Eva pulled back and admired the boots. Ran her fingers down the leather. I always warn you not to ask what material these various trinkets are made from. And I never hold back. This is goat leather. Five legs give you plenty to work with. Eva looked up and let a soft smile settle on her lips. It matched the wider than normal eyes and slightly unhinged glint.

    ¡°I think I¡¯ll take this.¡±

    Just as quick Eva begins to undress. Neatly folds the clothing. She reaches for the boots before frowning.

    ¡°How do I undo this?¡±

    Talk about most awkward thing to mutter. Eva dropped onto her rear and offered a boot up.

    ¡°Could you help take this off?¡±

    The flip in dynamic was profound. The inversion of attitude. Imogen looked down at this little girl who had just¡­ who had¡­ who shaped¡­ her mind could not find words. There were no words on any terrestrial language. Some might have called it by gross, simplistic or infantile terms magic. Eva certainly could do something and Shogo had agreed in a desire to ease the concept into a 3D, linear, mortal mind. But to someone who was for all intents and purposes sane this was beyond her ken.

    So, she did the very rational thing, reached out, grabbed the boots and helped tug them off. That¡¯s what friends do right? Put both beside the clothes. The mistake was putting her back to them. Because turning back revealed absence. Whipping head around and the stockings were gone. Eva was dressing herself in clothes and fibres of this dimension. Except that camisole. It had a pearlescence that made vision ache and stomach bubble.

    Imogen is now focussed. Involved. Entranced.

    ¡°You. Are. You are real?¡±

    Eva stops. Fully dressed bar sneakers.

    ¡°Pardon?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve always wondered. Never seen it. But it just felt. You are real.¡±

    ¡°Yes. I am right here.¡±

    Fingers in knots. Eva doesn¡¯t follow. Two lane conversation. Imogen in the automatic pulling up beside Eva in manual. Still struggling to get out of second gear.

    ¡°No¡­ you don¡¯t understand.¡±

    Imogen. Silent again. Very silent. Whips open the changing room curtain. Doesn¡¯t storm. More like slink. Eva left alone to do her shoes. Alone again. Trudge. Counter. Pay for clothes. Not realise how much the notes she is handing over are worth. Take the changing. Jam in pocket withv wriggling darkness hungry for metal. It¡¯s been eating plastic all day long. Metal tastes like blood. Loose change is meal for the clothing soul.

    Redhead. Waiting outside the front door. Arms by sides. Then changes. Hand grips other bicep. What to do. What to do?

    Lucky. Today is her lucky day. One daft but earnest boy. One logical Doctor. Both initiated into the secrets. Wear the pin and gather on Friday nights for Bingo and blood of the eternal mother. Intuition. Not a predator. A guide. Eva digs thumbnail in palm. Hard. Good at this by now. Bleeding herself. Haematological logic. Takes Imogen¡¯s hands in her own. Palms pressed together. Black on white. White blood and white flesh.

    Looks like we¡¯re initiating another poor soul.

    Imogen glances around. Sees the world. SEES the world. The mannequins flinching. The people walking down the street. Everyone else slinking down the street. Power lines hanging overhead. Silhouettes hanging form the cables, fibre nooses tight about umbral throats. People play in the park, kicking various ball sports around. It¡¯s large. Has more than four legs. Double as many eyes. Not sure if that¡¯s a tail, a stinger or perhaps another head. Chasing around the park. Leaping up to catch the frisbee of human bones tossed down from the heavens. A hand, cuffs and sleeves the whorls of purple, bruised flesh. No. Not the colour of flesh. Those cuffs are flesh. Reach down from the clouds to take the rattling bone frisbee. Mouthless shadows scream from in between femurs, skulls and ribcages.

    Retch.

    Correction. Vomit. Happens to everyone the first time. Right of initiation. Part of the safety induction. Food in your stomach is a luxury. Breakfast up and on the sidewalk. Imogen can¡¯t stop. She¡¯s coughing. Spluttering. Crouched and in a bad place.

    Cool. Not warmth. Cool. Cool is good. Eva doesn¡¯t rub her back. That would work if you were throwing up because it¡¯s physical. Instead Eva places cool hands on either temple and does something. Does Eva run cooler than most? Imogen doesn¡¯t care. Those fingers. They feel like diluted heaven. Put it in a can and sell the miracle cure for a small fortune. Then get hit by copyright from some mega-corp that never came up with anything. They just have high-priced lawyers. Silicon Valley much?

    Even daemons fear that justice. Correction. Injustice.

    Slow. Slower. Slowly. Breath. Feel bad. Imogen opens her eyes. Everyone¡¯s eyes are on her. Human eyes. Two a piece. Some have four. We¡¯ll still count them. And a few of the others. The hanging ones even comment on what caf¨¦ Imogen must have eaten at earlier. Cool fingers retract. A water bottle under Imogen¡¯s nose. No fool here. Just takes the bottle.

    ¡°Wash your mouth out.¡±

    Not request. Instruction. Imogen does so. Spits out the water. She¡¯s heaved up public pancakes. This is small bile potatoes. Then up to her feet. Still wobbly. Cautious of taking that hand again. Eva feels heat on her face. Scrubs hands on jeans. Nervous. Mentally curls in on herself.

    Initiative. Imogen takes Eva¡¯s hand. The world doesn¡¯t slant 90 degrees again. One dose is enough for her mind today. The pair walk the street in silence. Imogen wanted to see if it was all real. Confirmation. Tick box. Complete the coupon for one free tour of Ry¡¯leh.

    ¡°Sorry,¡± Eva manages.

    Imogen shakes her head. Still processing. Still understanding. Strange. Stranger. Strangest.

    IS that reality? Perspective. Synaesthesia of senses that do not exist in any mortal frame.

    ¡°Wow.¡±

    Pretty good start. Hey! Don¡¯t criticize Imogen. As far as responses go I reckon that¡¯s pretty damn good. What else do you say to seeing that? Something witty. A smooth response. Calmly process the oil-smear universe that rots behind the shadows when you flense them from the pallet of proprioception. No. Bullshit. I wouldn¡¯t. You certainly wouldn¡¯t. Everyone would react the same. Shock. Barf. Clean up. Try to process. Realise you can¡¯t. Then admit ¡®wow.¡¯ That is it. End of story.

    ¡°Mmmm.¡±

    Best Eva can manage. Pretty good actually.

    ¡°So. Is that all¡­¡±

    ¡°Sort of. Sort of not. I think it is. But I¡¯m also wrong. I can¡¯t really tell.¡±

    ¡°So you treat it all as.¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t you get distracted?¡±

    ¡°Mmmm. Practice. Keep my eyes fixed elsewhere.¡±

    ¡°Ah.¡±

    The pair arrive at the ice-cream store. Ruth is waiting outside. Checking her phone. Sees the two girls and waves them over. Vanilla ice-cream. Imogen paler that the frosted desserts. The Doc doesn¡¯t say anything. It¡¯s the look. That look. She knows it. Has worn it. Sympathetic flesh on the face morphs to mirror. The shadows at the corners of eyes deep as Noctis.

    Three indoors. Josh is ordering. Bold. Assume you know everyone¡¯s tastes.

    Salted caramel.

    Yeah. Good choice. I¡¯m really warming to this guy. It¡¯s his turn to pay. He walks over, hands full, cones laden with icy goodness. Sugar overload ready and weaponised. Tongues lap at the delight. Imogen a little slower. The cool down Imogen¡¯s throat whisks away the sting of bile.

    Outside and walking down the street. Maybe back to the park. Maybe some window shopping. Delta formation again. Imogen is now at the rear. Josh is not following. Glances to Ruth and then Imogen. Eva shakes her head. There¡¯s enough body language to warn even Captain Clueless.

    Glance. One. Two. Three. Eva enjoying her ice-cream. The sun on her skin. The brisk weather. Glance. One. Two. Three. Not good. The purple arm and best doggo have gone. Fled? Something else. An umbrella. A woman. With her umbrella popped open. Protecting her head. No precipitation. You cannot see above her neck. Disingenuous umbra shading blots it out. Neat clothes. Pumps. Handbag tucked under one arm. Umbrella. Things hanging from it. Wiggle. Twist. Dangle and drape over shoulder. Caress a head you cannot quite see. Viscous. Long tendrils of slime between the dangling appendages. Some of the translucency makes it past the umbrella¡¯s shading protection. Sizzles in the light.

    ¡°Uhm¡­¡±

    Eva. She needs an idea. Fast. To get away.

    Wait.

    No.

    No more running. She did this before. And it brought trouble home. Gunsmoke and the tang of blood fills her nose. Different. Now it¡¯s time to try something different.

    Eyes dart about. Spot just the right place. Eva wraps an arm around Imogen¡¯s. Flinches. Ready for another unenchanting chance to see just past the rotting veil. Doesn¡¯t happen.

    ¡°Imogen. She was ill earlier. Maybe we should take her home?¡±

    Ruth. Smart enough to start putting it together.

    ¡°Do you want to go home? If you are feeling unwell please do not feel obliged to stay out with us. I can drop you off now.¡±

    Imogen just nods her head. Exactly what Eva wanted. Josh keeps quiet. He¡¯s suspicious too. Follows the hint thought. All four. Heading back to the carpark. Traffic is suspicious. High beams now on, illuminating things crawling along walls, mockeries of shadows cast by the four bustling. Shadows that grab at the cracks and seams in brick wall buildings. Slowing their movement. They can feel their bodies being pulled back.

    Snap. Eva exerting. Unconscious. Whimpering and the shadows are pooled around their feet. Strange considering the sudden nail yellow flickering of lights. Cars start turning corners and blocking their movements. Each one insistent on taking shortcuts to nowhere and blind alleys.

    Pumps click on concrete. Pursued. Prey. Eva is prey. Everyone around her is soft, supple meat before the main meal. What does she do? Can she face it. Courage with friends by her side. Or a fate worse than-

    -The world whirls by. Oblivious. Wavelengths do not align. They are out of step with it all.

    Pumps clacking. Closer. Closer. Too close. Eva can feel the breathing down her neck. The slick slime vapourised and filling the air.

    Breaks into a run. Cries from her friends. No. This is too much. It is real. It isn¡¯t. Where¡¯s the line between the two? Get a scalpel of horror and part virgin shadows on Plato¡¯s wall. Hear the screams of from the hands behind the fire as they are bloodied, torn off at the knuckle.

    Manholes rumble and shiver. All up the street. Eva doesn¡¯t care. Dashing between people. Running into and barrelling on. Every metal cap bursts into the air. Geysers of mother earth blood, fouled black as midnight¡¯s 3am bile after getting drunk on too many murders and bringing up their last wracked breaths and panicked screams.

    Eva let¡¯s out a shriek and skirts around the foul fountains bursting forth. Crosses the street without looking.

    You know what comes next. It¡¯s standard. Clich¨¦ even. Car hits running person. But this time gravity has been bribed and physics tied up in a corner, cleave gag to keep it from shouting Newton¡¯s three laws. Eva rolls over the bonnet and continues running. Turns the corner into alley where the carpark is. Reaches the car and slumps over the door. Broken bones aren¡¯t an issue. Torn tissue and crushed muscle are an inconvenience.

    Pumps clacking.

    That is our inconvenience.

    Whip around. Face your fear. Eva cannot tear her eyes away. The horror dangles from the underside of the umbrella. Maybe eyes within that viscous darkness. Press yourself again the car. No. That¡¯s stupid. Vehicle equals cover. Eva scrabbles around and hunches down. Watches her pursuer. Stutter. Stop. Stutter. Stop. Stutter. Movement is all frame-rate loss. Sorry but you have reality CPU issues. Might be time to upgrade. Get water cooling too. Use the black bile earlier.

    Eva curls into a ball and begins to rock back and form.

    Pumps clacking.

    Wet slime dripping on her shoulder. It¡¯s right there. Eva curls on herself even tighter. Going to form a singularity under the pressure. Hyperventilating. A hand grips her shoulder.

    ¡°GET AWAY FROM ME¡±

    ¡°Eva?¡±

    Raspy voice. It takes an epoch. Eva opens her eyes. Everyone is clustered around. Looks of concern. Eva is mess. Her body is starting to ache. Face all tears and snot. Clothes torn where she hit the cat.

    Eva pulls away from them. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear.

    ¡°Eva,¡± Ruth begins with gentle movements. Smart enough not to approach. Everything open and visible. Just reassurance. ¡°Eva we are here.¡±

    Eva pulls out the phone. It¡¯s survived everything. Well isn¡¯t that good odds. Hits the a number her parents had left in it. Not even one ring and Christine has answered.

    ¡°Take me away.¡±

    That¡¯s all Eva can manage.

    That¡¯s all this chapter can manage.

    Looks like Shogo¡¯s plan didn¡¯t work.

    Ahh well there¡¯s always next time.

    Wabisabi. Right? Except if you¡¯ve run out of gold.

    And after testing Eva¡¯s mettle how do we know there¡¯s any metal left in her?