Noc-turn was the street you took when the air around you got heavy, your limbs dragged and a hole opened in your chest. Most humans didn’t know about it until it decided they were supposed to know. It was how they kept this place secret.
Maugry knew about it. But she wasn’t human. She was put together by the crows. Maugry was part of different wholes, ones that didn’t necessarily fit together. Her left arm was heavier than her right, one leg slightly longer than the other, and her face was a sight out of Frankenstein itself.
Noc-turn was where she spent most of her time. Her world was distorted anyway, two different eyes from two different people, which made it hard to focus on one thing at a time. The street never looked the same. Sometimes it was cobblestone, sometimes brick or cement. Sometimes it was a dirt road in the forest. The hue between dusk and night caught the seams of liminal space, keeping Noc-turn in an eternal blue-hour state. It was just dark enough that when Maugry walked down the street, littered with carcases of birds, the signs that hung from the doors blurred together.
She inhaled. Maugry didn’t mean to stumble down the dim ally; she never does. The stumbling steps, the fearful eyes with the accusatory word monster splashed across their pupils, the weight of her own immortality — it dragged her away. The pungent smell of rot filled her nose and she was drawn to it.
There were always dead birds in Noc-turn.
The air was too thick for them to fly. It was a place where gravity reached its clawed hands from the ground and wrapped them around your throat to choke out whatever air was left in your lungs. Once you were down, suffocating on your own grief, the shadows would come out of their hiding spaces and enter through your pores, sucking the light from within and leaving only a bone-dry carcass in its wake.
Birds were too free for this place, and too fragile to make it to the other end. Humans, however, were frequent visitors. They were stronger than the birds. They would inevitably shake themselves free and run as quickly as they could towards the dying sun, some so frail from staying in the Noc-turn they couldn’t do much more than crawl.
Maugry tried to help those she could. Because of the distorted light, humans didn’t regard her in such a disgusted manner. She could grasp them under the arms and hoist them from the shadows grip, set their gaze forward and push. Few ever looked back, some stumbled and fell down again. Maugry has carried a few herself before, far enough that the shadows disperse and the light on the other side burns red welts in her skin, but brings out an angelic glow in humans.
She couldn’t save all of them, though. There were so many people in the Noc-turn all the time. Although Maugry wasn’t the only one lifting them to their feet.
Cats roamed the street of Noc-turn, silent creatures whose eyes glowed green and yellow and blue. They had a magic of their own, and would use it to guide people out of the space.
This was Maugry’s purpose. This was why she lived as an undead. The shadows had already eaten her, taken her inner light in her lives before. She was but her own shadow, a memory only she carried.
“I hear… singing,” the woman in the yellow dress mumbled distractedly. Maugry gripped her with unfaultering hands.
“Yes, my dear. Go towards it,” she replied to the ghost-faced woman, using all her minimal strength to keep her from falling back down. The echo of Maugry’s voice sounded like the creatures who put her together. It was hoarse, she croaked out the words as if she was merely mimicking. It reminded her of the birds.
“Who is that? Who is singing?” the woman asked, her own warm, fleshy hands jumping to grasp Maugry’s.
“That is your hope.” She watched as the woman’s legs firmed up beneath her, and Maugry slowly let go, watching as she dragged herself towards the sound only she could hear.
This was a place of silence. Any words that were spoken were eaten by the thick atmosphere unless you were inches away from the person. The suffering that happened here was not loud. It was the type you accidentally stumble into on a friday night at the bar when you realize no one's listening to you and your friends are busy having lives of their own.
It took a while for people to notice your absence.
And when they do, it's usually too late.
Written for @monthlywritingchallenges Moon-June! This one was Nocturn. My own original writing, mostly just to explore this character I created. I hope to write more, but I'll have to wait for my brain to cooperate. Tips and kind critiques are appreciated! trying to improve!
romaincrisis
ellievsbear
gamechangershow
andulkaphoto
turnnoffyourmind
yousharknotpass
