Tuesday, January 8, 2013
The
grave had changed in the last month, like Monday’s life, it had acquired an air
of abandonment around it. The January snow had already begun to cover the hill
of dirt that once told Monday where to find her friend, but Monday had visited
the grave so often that she knew its location by heart. As she stood in front
of the grave surrounded by the dead, she marveled at the fresh headstone and
envied the dead girl. Just arrived this morning, Alyson’s tombstone,
accompanied by her parents, who lingered only a few minutes before leaving in
their grief. The headstone was a shock. Until this morning, Monday felt like
she was in a fog, that the death wasn't real but until this moment, the arrival
the marker had made the death real. Monday realized in her weakened hungry
state, with no home to go back to, for the first time in her seventeen years
she longed for her own headstone and to join her friend six feet under.
But
then who would look after the dead?
Every
morning since arriving in Syringa, Monday wakes up in one of the abandoned
mausoleum. The January snow had made the graveyard cold but isolating. To pass
the time, Monday started to tend to the dead; she would clean the leaves off
the graves, push away snow, and polished the head stones. The Syringa cemetery
was beautiful, with snow covered lilacs cascading over the hills of tombstones
as the trees blocked the sun letting in only slivers of light. It was the
oldest in Syringa and the high stone wall that surrounded it kept the living
away. This was the perfect place for Monday to hide; but it also made her
lonely.
Monday
knelt in front of Alyson's grave and traced the “G” in “Gram” with her bony
fingers. It was black marble headstone that stood out in the gray sea. In the
polished rock, Mondays own features starred back at her. For someone who lived
with the dead Monday had started to resemble them; she was always small but the
month of eating literal garbage had given her a skeletal frame. Her round face
had lost its chubby cheeks and hollowed out, her peppered-on freckles were
white against her translucent skin, and her scrunched-up face was caked in dirt
and snot from the cold made her feel like a rotting pumpkin; the knotted orange
curls didn't help. As she let her fingers graze over “BELOVED” she caught a
glimpse of her eyes — almond shaped and dark green but bloodshot.
Monday
pulled herself up with Alyson’s grave, and as she looked out into cemetery,
something caught her eyes. There was a boy standing in front of one of the
graves. It was one of the older graves in the cemetery with a stone angel that
towered over the others, her stone wings carved with great detail. He stood at
the grave tall, proper, and with tan skin that poked out from his navy turtle
neck sweater. His hair was the color of cherry wood that hit the back or his
neck with a slight curl. He turned away from the grave to leave as Monday
caught his eye, she felt an urge approach him, just for a hint of human
contact, but stood her ground. They starred at each other as he eyed this withered
girl standing alone in the graveyard. Monday felt embarrassed, she looked
ragged and felt untouchable. Monday wanted to run and hide, but she was afraid
that he would follow. For a moment, Monday thought that he would come over, but
instead, he left something blue at the base of the angel’s feet and left.
Monday
sighed in relief has her stomach rumbled. With all the graves were thoroughly
cleaned off and primed, Monday put her things away in her own tomb and headed
off into town. Syringa was a strange city, the town was shaped like a mountain,
where the rich lived in the peak in their high rises and the poor live on the
outskirts, looking up at the tall buildings in awe. For being a large city,
Syringa was quiet; the surrounding woods separated it from the rest of the
world. Monday had runaway to the city from the not-to-far-away town of
Larkspur, when she had moved to Syringa; she thought that the town was perfect.
To perfect. The streets were clean as were the brick buildings as were the
lilacs that panted the city in purple as were the tall maple trees that cast
holey shadows on the roads. Monday loved the homey town even if its perfect
nature creeped her out a bit.
She
walked past the graveyards stone wall and down to St Lawrence Park. The local park
was empty except for a few people trying to hurry threw the snow covered grass.
In the middle of the circler park was a stature of St Lawrence whom looked out
at the restaurants that were surrounding the park; they were the nicer
restaurant in town that Monday rummaged through the trash to find her next
meal. Out of the ten restaurants around the park, Monday had already been
chased off from three and was moving onto the next one. Le Veau was a high
class restaurant that Monday would never dare to go in the front but found that
back unsupervised. When she reached the restaurant she snuck around to the back
to see if the coast was clear. Once there was no sign of anybody looking,
Monday lifted the lid to the dumpster. The smell of filth push Monday back, but
she pressed on hoping to find something to eat. She sifts through the piles of
trash before finding scraps of what looked like chicken and asparagus. When
Monday reached for it, the meal felt cold but lacked the normal amount of dirt
from the trash she usually encountered. Planning to reheat it in the sun,
Monday pulled it out of the dumpster.
“I
wouldn't eat that if I were you.” The lid to the dumpster came crashing down on
Monday’s head as she quickly backed out. Monday saw stars as a man pulled her
to her feet. Disoriented, Monday looked up to see who startled her. The man was
short and broad with a fat stomach poking out from his flannel coat. His white
hair stuck out in all directions from underneath his filthy, floppy hat. He
pointed to the food in Mondays hands. “Are you going to eat that?”
Monday
hugged her food and nodded her head; the motion made her pounding head hurt
more. The man looked at her with his glazed over eyes. “This place poisons the
trash.”
“What?”
Monday asked, clearing her head. The man reached over and took the food from
her hands and pointed to something on the meat; Monday could make out fine blue
powder. Monday felt her heart sink, her first meal in three days and it could
have been her last. “Why would they do that? I could have been killed.”
“It
keeps out the rats, both rodents and people. They figure that if you get sick
from eating the food, you won’t come back.”
Monday
looks back at the dumpster. “They could kill someone. What If I ate that and
then came back again. Isn’t there something that the police can do about this?”
The
man chuckled. “You think that the law is our side? You must be new around this
town.” He held out his hand and gave her a big smile. “I’m Pat. Pat Reilly.”
His teeth were yellow and crooked but his smile seemed genuine. Monday shook
his hand. “Monday. Monday Caldecott.”
Pat
chuckle, “Who named you? Tuesday?” Monday gave him a weak smile as Pat kept on
staring at her. “What are you? 13?”
“17,”
Monday replied. Pat smirked at her, “Let me guess. A Runaway?”
“Orphan,”
Monday half lied. Pat gave her a pity smile, “Shame, a little girl like you
alone in this world? You best keep low at night unless you want to attract
unwanted attention. One wrong move and a Nightling could get you.” Pat picked
at the rat poisoned chicken and even took a bite as Monday looked confused.
“What do-?”
Pat
looked back to her. “You may not be able to eat this but I can. 20 years of-”
“No
I mean the Nightlings. What are they?”
“You
have no idea what they are?” Monday shook her head. Pat sat down on a crate.
“You don’t live in this town without knowing what they are; they are Syringa's
history. Nightlings are creatures of the night who hunt people. Legend has it that
the devil himself sent them to do his bidding. Nightlings roam this town and
keep everything at bay. They're what keep the city safe at night…for a price.”
“They
just sound like a myth,” Monday said, “People don’t really believe that?” Pat
looked at her surprised. “You don’t look that dirty so you must be new to the
streets. I've lived here for twenty's years; I know this city like the back of
my hand. Syringa is the safest city you’ll ever find and it’s the Nightlings
you can thank for that,” Pat lend in close to her, she could smell her dinner
on his breath, “Between you and me; I've seen things around here. I've seen
them in the flesh if that’s what you can call what is on their skins. You have
to believe in them if you want to get by in this town at night. ”
Pat
chewed some more on the poisoned meat as he looked away from her lost in a
thought. Monday wanted to leave and find food elsewhere but didn't want to go
by Pat. He seemed friendly but unhinged. Pat chewed quietly as Monday thought
she could hear other voices near. “People like us don’t last long on the
streets. We are the first ones they kill. I've seen one; they’re coming after
me soon.”
Pat
looked at her with a sudden crazed look, “You have to look out for them kid.
They’ll find you, and they’ll kill you! They fly around with these large wings,
preying on people down below. The last thing you’ll ever see is their
beady-black eyes that match their beady-black hearts.” Monday looked around to
find a quick getaway when the back door to the restaurant opened; a man caring
a bag of trash dropped it when he caught site of the two of them. He called
back into the restaurant. “Jim, call the cops again! That guy is back and
brought a friend this time.”
Not
wanting to wait for Jim to call the cops, Monday ran. Pat reached out and
caught her by her arm. He locked eyes with her. “You’re not leaving me with
them. They’ll kill me; I’m a marked man from what I’ve seen.” Monday wormed her
way out of his grasp and ran as fast as she could as she heard Pat yell out to
her. She ran through the empty streets, not looking back as she desperately
tried to get away. She wanted to further herself as much as possible from Pat
and restaurant in fear the police would catch up to her. As Mondays heart raced
and her breath became ragged, all she could think was the same six words over
and over in her mind; I cannot go back home.
As
she ran, the buildings had changed from the mossy elite bricks to the more
eclectic ones of Martha Street. The buildings were painted bright colors over
the cracked bricks that made the older buildings mix and match creating a mob
of color. The further Monday ran, the more fatigue set in. She stopped to catch
her breath, hunger had made her weak and the sweet smell coming from the blue building
she lend against taunted her to look in. Inside she could see a man move around
cleaning up, but between the man and the window with the words Borne Bakers
spelled out in large blue letters; Monday saw something that made her mouth
water.
In
the middle of the window on a pedestal, was a wedding cake. Decorated with a
nature theme, the cake was a cream color with acorns and berries sprinkled
around the tiers as blue hydrangea flowers wrapped the cake. Around the cake
were cream cupcakes with little acorns and hydrangea on top, they were made
with such precision that Monday swore that the mini bees hanging off of the
cake were swarming them just for a taste of the sweat nectar that Monday so
desperately wanted herself. Monday rested her head on the glass just staring at
the mouthwatering masterpiece.
The
world swirled around her as every breath felt like an ice cold dagger ripping
her apart from the inside. Monday felt the world start to fade. She vaguely
heard a bell somewhere as the world lost focus. Monday slide down the glass and
curled up against the brick underneath it hoping to blend into it as a few
people walked by, barely giving her a second glance. All she needed was
something to eat. She tried to look up into the passing people’s faces but her
head was throbbing. Monday felt wobbly as she heard the bell go off again.
“Shut up you stupid bell,” she muttered and looked up. A man that looked to be
in his early 30s, stood over her. Everything about him seemed stretched; he was
tall with a long neck and long limbs that seemed to stick out of his black
slacks and his long neck adorned with a Star of David stuck out of his blue
shirt. Monday looked up at his brown apron, Borne Bakers stamped on the front
in the same blue letters as the window, and then up to his face; his raven
black hair was slicked back and gave his hawk like face an added edge, the same
hazel eyes that now bore down on her. “No soliciting. I don’t do hand outs and
I've had enough vagrants scare away customers.”
Vagrant,
is that really all I've become? Monday thought. Monday wanted to move but
didn't have the energy to stand back up. He reached down to Monday as she
wormed her way out of his reach. “You have five seconds to leave or I’m calling
the cops,” the man grabbed Mondays arm and pulled her up to her feet, she tried
to run but fell over herself. She couldn't run this time; she looked up at the
man as Monday felt tears coming but didn't want to cry. “Please don’t call the
cops. All I need is something to eat and I’ll go. If you have anything that’s
stale I’ll take it and be out of your way. I don’t have any money but I’ll find
a way to pay you back just please don’t call the cops. Please!”
The
only thing holding her up was his grip on her arm as Monday felt weak again.
Monday couldn't tell if her speech worked as the man looked at her with a
puzzled look. He looked around and pulled her inside, Monday gave up fighting,
hoping that whatever he did, didn't involve the cops. He gently put her down in
a wooden chair, “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” He sounded like he was talking
to a lost puppy, given Monday’s current situation wasn't too far off, but it
did comfort her a little. Maybe he would hurt her after all.
Monday
looked around after he left her alone. The room itself was nice, the walls were
blotched a burnt orange color that gave color to the hard wood floors. On one
wall was wooden counters, beneath them were smaller cakes designed similar to
the large one in the window. On the wall behind the counter was a massive
blackboard with prices written in yellow chalk. As Monday sat by herself, with
only the noise from the small TV hanging in the corner stuck on the news, she
tried to imagine what the man was going to do with her now that she was inside.
A few moments later he came back and put a slice of cake in front of her.
“Sorry
about that. My husband gets mad if I don’t try and scare off the solicitors.
The cake is a few days old needs to go out, but it looks like you need it more than
the dumpster does.” The man picked up his broom from the corner and went back
to sweeping as if nothing had happened. Monday looked at her food then back to
him. He looked up to see her not eat and looked confused, “Something wrong?”
“I
almost ate poisoned food this morning. I’m kind of weary of food now?” The man
came over pinching of a piece and ate it. Monday still didn't touch the cake,
“I can’t pay for this now, but I’ll find away.” He shrugged, “You can have it.
It’s on the house.”
“Thank
you Mr.?”
“Borne.
You can call me Ezra though.” He went back to work as Monday gave into hunger
and ate. It was a stale carrot cake but the relief off filling her empty
stomach is all she cared about. It hurt to have something on her stomach but it
also felt refreshing. Ezra left the room again and came back with the rest of
the cake and a glass of water, sitting it down in front of her. He sat down in
front of her, as Monday devoured another slice. “How old are you kid?”
“I’ll
be 18 this summer.” Monday said taking a sip of water. Ezra shook his head
sadly, “What’s your name?”
“Monday.”
She said going back to her cake. She started feeling full again but kept eating
fearing this could be her last meal for a while. Ezra He laced his fingers
together on the table and lend forward. “If you were this hungry why didn't you
just go to a shelter?”
Monday
forced down her bite, “I can’t go home. If I got to a shelter now, then they
might find me and send me back. The way I look at it I only have to wait until
I’m 18 and they won’t look for me anymore. If I can just stick it out till
then, I’ll be okay.”
“You
almost passed out in front of my shop. Is your home life really that bad?”
Monday looked down at her plate and pushed it away, feeling ashamed. “Please
promise me you won’t call the cops. I’ll leave and never come back. I just
can’t go home.”
Ezra
pursed his lips and sighed. “I should, but I won’t. Feeling better?” He asked.
“Yes.
Thank you.” Monday said. She didn't know what to say to him, she played with
her hands in her lap. She looked up at him, feeling lost. “Why did you do that?
You could have sent me away like everyone else.”
“I
hate seeing people suffer. It drives my husband crazy when I try to help everyone
out.”
“Husband?”
Monday asked. Ezra held up his left hand reveling a wedding band. “Michael, my
husband of 6 years this month. You’re eating our left over anniversary cake.”
“Did
you make this?” Monday said. Ezra laughed leaning back in his chair balancing
it on two legs. “God no! I can make better than that store bought crap. It’s
only here because I hate eating my own cakes” Ezra got up and went behind the counter;
bring back a piece of cake with him. “This is my work. Try it.”
Monday
felt a little sick but tried it anyway, it was a pumpkin spice cake and the
taste melted in her mouth. “I don’t know why your hate eating your own cakes.
This is the best cake I've ever had. Why would you hate eating this?”
Ezra
smiled. “You spend hours or even days working on something just to destroy it.
I can’t do that to my work.”
“So
you make cakes but hate eating them?” Monday asked. “Doesn’t that seem
pointless to you?”
“Probably,
but people make things all the time that they never enjoy.” Ezra said leaning
forward in his chair. “So what were you doing this morning that almost got you
poisoned?”
“I
was eating out of the garbage behind Le Veau when I was warned it was it was
poisoned. He sounded crazy, but I thought it was best not to try it,” Monday
said. She thought back to Pat. On the surface he didn't seem sane, from
screaming about myths and eating poisoned food, but the fear in his eyes made
Monday rethink. She looked Ezra in the eye. “He kept going on about these
things called Nightlings. Do you know what they are?”
Ezra looked
surprised. “It’s Syringa folk lore. Everyone knows the stories. Why?”
“The
man who warned me about the food told me about them. The way he talked about
them made it seem like the town was obsessed?”
Ezra
shook his head, “It’s just a tourist trap that they use to bring people in. You
must be new to town if you've never heard of them. Some people in Syringa live
in this wired fear of them. It’s just a local legend.” Monday lend in with
interest, “What’s the legend?”
Ezra
rested his chin on his hand, and told the tale with despondent tone, “Men by
day, monsters by night. Nature sent, for sin to fight. Heaven fallen, Hell’s
delight. Blooded revenge, Man’s demon hound. Bitter hearts and bitter bound.
Gifted with angels flight, has become the Nightlings plight.”
The
story captivated Monday but broke her heart. She could identify with them and
from what she could tell, Ezra could to. Ezra looked back to her and shook his
head. “It’s just some tourist gimmick that parents tell their kids to make them
behave. The town treats them like hero only because they claim it's what makes
them safe.”
Monday
didn't believe in fairy tales or myths, she believed the world had enough evil
in the world to need a villain for heroes to fight, but the Nightlings seemed
believable. Lonely creatures with bitters hearts. “They sound tragic to me,”
Monday said meeting Ezra's eyes. He gave her a sad smile. “They probably are if
they existed.”
Monday
finished her cake as Ezra finished sweeping the bakery as the sun started to
set casting an orange glow throughout the bakery. Ezra put the broom down, “I
hate to kick you out of here but I need to run a few errands before it gets too
late. You understand right?”
Monday
nodded and got up ready to leave when Ezra asked her to wait. She waited for a
moment as he disappeared back into the kitchen and came back with a paper bag;
he scooped up the leftover cake and handed it to her. “It’s not much but it
should tide you over for another day or two. If you want, you can come back for
more.”
Monday
looked down at her bag, she felt a chill come over as her eye started to water,
but she held tears back. Monday hung her head, not wanting to meet his eyes
“Why would you want me to come back? I can’t pay.”
“Because
I know what it’s like to hit rock bottom. If you want to pay me back, then you
can give me a smile.” Monday looked up at him and gave him a small, genuine
smile. Ezra smiled as he placed his hand on her shoulder leading her out of the
bakery.
After
they said their goodbyes, Monday stood outside the shop for a few moments
enjoying the setting sun until the streetlights flickered on and the sky faded
to black. The wind picked up and chilled her to the bone, but Monday didn't
shiver from the cold; with Ezra’s kindness, nothing kept her safe right now.
Monday wrapped her jacket around her, holding the bag close to her so that her
food would go cold.
It
took Monday awhile to find her way back after wandering through the empty
streets. The passing people hurrying home may have ignored her, but their
presence brought her back to thoughts of Nightlings. Monday wondered about the
city, she wondered if even those who didn't believe in the myth stayed inside
to hide from them. By the time that Monday made it back to the graveyard, dusk
had passed and the moon was the only light. The darkness, Monday admitted, gave
the cemetery a sinister edge as the creepy glow from the moonlight cast off the
headstones; the city’s only noise calmed down and let the imagination fill in
the void with creeks that echoed, giving Monday goose bumps as she wrapped the
coat around her more. As Monday went back into her makeshift home, she decided
to pay Alyson one last visit before she turned in. On top of her grave was
something new, a gift.
It
was a single rose with vibrant blue pedals, the bright pedals had an unearthly
beauty to them, captivating Monday, as they seemed to glow in the moonlight.
Monday picked it up (someone had trimmed away all of its thorns), she turned it
over in her hands admiring it, but as she wondered who had left it, she heard a
voice from somewhere in the graveyard.
“Thought
you would leave me there to die.” Pat stumbled out from behind a mausoleum. He
was twenty feet away but even from a distance Monday could tell he was drunk.
He locked his eyes on her as he staggered over. “Leave me to the Nightlings?”
“I
didn't leave you to die.” Monday said, staying calm. He came closer to her, his
eyes glossy eyes were cold, and “I had to escape.”
“And
leave me to the Nightlings!” He was now starting to scare her; there were no
houses nearby so no one could hear her scream.
“It
wasn't the Nightlings who were after us.” Monday said as her voice began to
crack. “It was only the owners.”
“They
are part of them. They all are. Everyone could be a Nightlings. You can’t trust
anyone.” Pat stepped closer to her, so close that Monday could smell the
alcohol on his breath, “You could even be one. You have the eyes for one.”
Monday
stepped back as he raised his hand to her face. Pat stepped closer again. “You are
one aren't you?”
“I’m
not, Pat,” Monday said moving away, “They don’t exist.”
“LIER!”
Pat said lunging forward; Monday moved away and ran as Pat chased her. She was
faster than him but she knew her last meal would only carry her so far. She
dodged graves as she heard him yelling for her just a few steps behind, the
cold cut through her throat and every breath painful, but she had to keep
running. As she saw an open mausoleum, she made a quick turn to shut herself
away behind the safety of the Iron Gate, but before she could make it she felt
Pat grab her hair. Her head jerked back, as he pulled her back onto the ground.
Monday tried to crawl but he grabbed her foot and pulled her back.
“You're
not leave this time Nightling. You can’t hurt me!” Pat said holding her down.
Pat pinned her down and she kicked at him, but he was too intoxicated to care,
“Please Pat! I’m not a Nightling! Please let me go. Please Pat!” Monday kept
pleading as Pat glanced over to a rock lying nearby. He reached for it, as Monday
closed her eyes and started to cry.
The
end never came. She heard Pat scream and the weight on her chest lifted. Monday
opened her eyes and looked around to where Pat had gone; she turned her head
and saw him staring back at her, twitching, as blood gushed out of an open
wound in his neck. Monday felt frozen in shock as Pat fell over, his eyes
looking out in horror. The horror intensified, when she looked up and saw what
had killed him; she backed up into a tombstone.
The
creature was thin and bony. The size of a man, its leathery wings matched its
pale skin and the stretched out behind it, creating a shadow over Pats body.
The creatures pointed face was covered in blood as it dripped down its face,
fangs, and leathery ears that poked out from a mop of bloody, dark hair. It
snarled at her and she let out a small gasp, the creatures black eyes felt like
as if they were borrowing into Monday; she felt her heart race as she pressed
herself even more into the head stone. Thankful she had something to hold her
up.
The
creature crawled over to her and knelled down in front of her. The metallic
scent of blood filled her mouth and she started to gag. The creature seemed to
study her, as Monday wished that it would kill her and end this nightmare. It
reached out a hand and held her face its bloody claws dug into her skin, then,
to her surprise, it spoke in a harsh and familiar voice, “I didn't expect to
find a Fledgling to night.”
Monday felt around
her and found the rock the Pat had almost killed her with. The creature seemed
to back up a bit, as Monday seized her only chance and hit the beast against
the side of his head, she then dropped the rock and ran as fast as she could.
“Monday!” The creature hollowed, she heard it stumbled for a moment. Before
chasing after her. She looked behind her; it was running on all fours like a world
and was gaining on. At that moment, Monday didn't think of Fledglings or Pat or
even Alyson in her own grave, but with her own hopeless escape. Monday turned
to see how far away the gate to the cemetery was, when she ran head first into
the stone wing of the angels grave. Monday fell to the ground and she fell
unconscious; the last thing she would remember was the monster looming over
her, uncertain of what horrors it would bring.
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1 comments:
Great start. I'm hooked already. Keep writing.
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