SUMMARY: When the world marvels at what appears to be the first case of reanimation. What happens when the 'creature' finds out they're not the only one?
Its just a drabble of right now
The static whirled as Adam sat in the cabin. The spare generator being a heaven sent for his boredom. Despite the fact he only had three channels, news. So his evenings were filled with talk shows and debates. His nearly 200 years of cruel existence now led to this? His years of traveling and many skills wasted on late night television.
He sat in the remnants of a couch, like the home had sat long forgotten by time, and despite it, he stood watching the scene distort and the audio whirl in and out. Nothing new for his nightly routine, since around 88 he had perfected his militaristic habits. No earlier no less.
There it was, a spark... no, that was too cheesy to claim. There, on the late night screen, stood someone just like him. A chimera of parts and a quilt of tones. They walked across the stage, and the world felt quiet just like the night he had last seen his creator. As if everything perfectly aligned once more
A Frankenstein retelling; Birdie is the first successful experiment of reanimation as far as both her and the rest of the world know of. Though, after appearing on a late night TV show, her world begins to change.
It was nearly eight years since the news that left the world agast.
Successful Reanimation.
That faithful year had many clawing to find reasoning behind its success; both scientists and clerics found a mutual ground from it all. Whatever it was, it couldn't be replicated, nor should it be.
"Ma, seriously I don't want to deal with another interview," The emerald green couch nearly blended in with her dress as someone did her makeup. "This is the fifth one this month."
"Birdie, after tonight Carter and I will take you to Spaghetti warehouse." Eliza soothed as she toyed with her now graying hair in the mirror.
"...And we'll take a break for awhile.." Birdie quipped, a name her creator mother had used since that frigid January night. As they sat finishing up for the interview in a mutual agreement.
The stage is bright as Birdie sat watching the TV backstage, the green room snacks helping her stage fright while she mindlessly listen in so she knows her cue. She had almost half an hour until she takes her spotlight.
"Tonight we have a special guest unlike anyone yet. Put your hands together for Dr. Elizabeth Clerval and Dr Carter McCasey." The host greeted the audience, hesitant applause greeting the studious couple. The normal welcome of the host breaks the tension.
"So, someone tell me you two have the answer to life," gasps from the audience as the hosts smile gleams.
Birdie chortled in the lonesome room, this was the debut to the mainstream world. Despite the articles made about her existence it was still a debate if it was an actual story or some clickbait story.
"Yes and no," Elizabeth laughed out, causing more gasps from the audience
"I certainly can say I found an answer." She elaborates, despite noticing the hesitantance on this hosts face. This definitely not some lecture hall.
A few minutes pass with questions both from the host and crowd, many sharing doubts; 'Isn't this that story that pops up on my moms Facebook?' Was common ground for most, as Birdie waited in the wings. Now ignoring the slight stares of the stage crew.
"Ehm... so you say you have your.." the host Choked on his words as their eyes met.
"Well sir, I'd consider her my child." Eliza spoke her voice like silk as she stood. "This is my Birdie girl."
There before the live audience walked onto the stage. Skin tones of ivory, olive and rich copper quilted together all while wrapped in a lush green dress. Hushed tones of the crowd as they glided across the stage. Sitting beside her mother.
"Well.. Hi Birdie." The Host muttered out as he tries to focus his eyes somewhere on her. Her eyes were just off , just ever too saturated and to bright. "So you claim to be the living dead girl..."
The air was tight as many awaited an answer.
"I-I mean uhm," Her words failed her, most lectures didn't have her talking much outside of proving she was alive and could have complex thoughts. "I mean... it's more like girls, like I'm not just like one person I guess?"
A few coughs to break the silence as acknowledging that fact was probably definitely taboo.
They cut to commercial, and the host goes to calm down after realizing the truth in the matter, assuming this was some gag or bit. As she combed through the pitch and blonde hair that curled around her face.
This was a mess.
On the other side of the country, the chaos of the television was cut to some cheap commercial. A kick to the old box came with a huff as its owner now paced the empty room. The heavy footsteps harmonious with the generator whirls. Adam's mind stirred, 'How after over a century could this occur once again?' He paused, looking back at the TV. There is nothing in this world he'd rather than maybe have a companion that was technically his own kind.
Summary: After her mother's death, Mae must return home to a creature she thought was just in her head.
Cw : parent death, smoking
“This is Thurmond County Morgue; is this Maelyn Caldwell Lark?” A young woman is celebrating her twenty-fifth birthday. The room, formerly filled with bright laughter and friends smiling from heavy-poured shots, now feels cold. An old friend from Mae’s college years offered her a ride home. A small Hyundai Sonata brought an important conversation.
“Mae, I didn’t know.” She said this as the bright neons passed during their drive. “I thought you were disowned or something.” The blonde stared at Mae, her gray eyes looking for a kind confirmation.
“No, my dad drank himself to death, and my mom lost her mind.” Mae snapped, and quickly apologized. The silence was gut-wrenching as the two girls drove downtown. Mae watched the sidewalk, seeing the hoards of people moving on with their lives. The steps of the apartments now cause a larger issue, coming home.
As the dull static in the car came and the music faded, she knew the town was close. Her eyes focused on the sign half a mile down the road—Heron's Landing. As the twisting roads led to town, more and more buildings appeared, including the old bar 'Richie's';’ she remembered dinners there in high school with the Doyle boys from down the road. The downtown of Heron’s Landing felt as if out of a story; the only new thing was the gazebo that was repainted, and despite the hanging baskets of frail & wilted flowers on the light poles, it all fell flat. As she turned off towards Oakland Street, the road turned to gravel.
Mae vowed after college she wouldn't return to the small community; she despised the hushed gossip and their backward minds. Looking back, anytime in school a new student came or a tourist was lost, they were always outcast and hurried out by sunset. Mae reluctantly cleared her mind as she pulled up to her old home, where the peeling white paint clashed with the haint blue porch and the scattered cigarette butts lay in the yard.
“Mae Lark?” A familiar voice rang out, as did the rasp of the sheriff's deputy as he put out his last cigarette.
"Afternoon, Mr. Doyle,” Her voice cracked. “How's the boys?” She said she was ignoring the problem, which was only a few yards away. Deputy Doyle nodded, and they walked towards the old home as her mind wandered. Her mother was now in the county morgue, probably set to go into the ground beside her dear father within the next few days.
He reluctantly cleared his voice, “So, it looks like you'll inherit most everything , all of her belongings will be passed down to you to do what you think would be best.” He straightened his back as the door opened.
Everything is nearly identical to how it was five years ago, down to the mug still sitting on the end table and the house slippers by the door. It felt like a cruel punishment as she stepped further in. The light of the late afternoon sun seeped in from the door, in contrast to the horrid, dark home. Eyes focused on the kitchen table as Deputy Doyle moved into the home, quiet as he observed as Mae almost floated through the home. Her light steps still caused the floorboards to creak as she fell into the old chair.
“Was it peaceful?” Her voice was harsh as the worst scenarios came to mind. Watching the deputy nod, a deep sigh broke the silence in the room. The walk-through continued, leading to the wretched conversation.
“So kiddo,” Mr. Doyle sat beside Mae, his eyes softening on the young girl he saw as his own “Whatd'ya wanna do?” Pale blue eyes meet her own. Neither of them could tell how much this moment meant to each other.
“Fix it up, maybe sell it?” Looking out towards the open door, she says, “I’ll stay till it sells.” As she sinks further into the cracked leather recliner. Mr. Doyle stared at her, and he softened his gaze.
“That’s okay, I’ll talk to the Schulke boys,” he said, patting her back as he stood. “They’re into real estate now, but I need to head out.” As he left, his smile faded, and he walked back to his car.
As the moon rose that evening, Mae sat on the porch, staring out at the woods like she used to with her mother. Peeling the paint from the railing as she takes a drag off of the pack of cigarettes left by her mother in the yellowed deep freezer. She never enjoyed the taste, and while her vape was dead, it was the best way to get her fix. Mae accepted her distasteful buzz; her peace was broken by the quick glance of eyes staring back at her. Something so rare for the area felt so familiar.
I leaned between the porch rails as I tried to draw my front yard. The sun shone onto the porch, hurting my eyes as I went to take another look into the yard. There I saw the bright orange eyes of a dog double my size and its pup. I took my scraps from snack time and tossed it between the railings.
“Mama, the big dog is back!” I yelled from the porch, and my mother soon grabbed me and hid me in my room. Her graying hair pulled back in a hurried manner, and something within her amber eyes told me to stay quiet. As she walked away, I heard our new deep freezer slam closed and the screen door swing open.
“Mama! What are you doing?” I yelled as the silence grew to be uncomfortable and as I left my hiding spot. I crept towards the window, seeing my mother throwing some of my dad's old leftovers from hunting season. I want to scream at her; she can't get rid of everything he left, and as she throws the gizzards into the yard, the dog leaves.
“Maelyn Caldwell!” Mama yelled at me as she turned to come inside. Her cigarette almost fell from her lip as she ran in. The wooden spoon stung when it smacked against my palm. It felt like falling on the sidewalk, as I rubbed my hand. My mother kissed my forehead and sent me to my room.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” She spoke lovingly as she sent me to my room with teary eyes. Soon reminding me that dinner would be done soon. I go back to coloring, just as I did before, sipping on the honeysuckle tea she left for me.
The eyes peered at Mae through the bushes, and she stared back from the porch. The creature moved towards the steps of the porch, about to cross the threshold. As they stood a yard away from each other, neither party wanted to look away. Soon the creature stared up at her, about to take the last step. Seeing the pale blue porch cover, it walked away, as if it were no longer concerned by her.
“You motherfucker! I know you killed her!” Mae yelled as the creature she grew to hate from birth roamed back into the woods. Her tears pooled in her eyes as her curses echoed through the holler. Neither of them would accept this disrespect, and as Mae walked into her mother's old bedroom, she heard the familiar cry of a coyote, and that monster heard the sobs of a woman who had lost everything.
The days melded together with every passing moment. She had spent a whole day confirming every detail of the funeral; she was never religious despite her mother’s prayers, nor did she remember where her father lied, though her mother was beside him. After that day, she refused to leave that porch, watching the cigarettes become hidden by falling leaves as she scavenged through the aged kitchen for whatever her mother had left. Her old high school hoodie, now stained with the same blue paint as the porch and sickly yellow of nicotine as she worked through another pack of cigarettes. Every night was greeted by the laugh of a coyote and its eyes glowing from the brush. ‘Tomorrow,’ she thought to herself, ‘I’ll deal with it.’ The same thought greeted her for nearly a month as she laid back into her divot in her parents bed.
The morning came with a sudden awakening as the door abruptly knocked. The sun had only just started peeking through the window of the kitchen, and as she peered from it, she saw the kind smile of Isaiah Doyle with a pack of donuts from ‘Georgie’s’.
“Can I come in Caldwell?” He joked as Mae opened the door. “I heard about your mom and all; I'm sorry.” His eyes were somber, like those of his father, as he sat down with her on the porch. They shared a cigarette and watched the wind move the trees.
“So how's the big city living?”
“Sucks ass, honestly.”
“I bet, especially the traffic.”
“You think that's still worse than having your whole family's issues aired out by a coach?”
“Eh, gossip is gossip.”
“Fair enough, how about you get a wife ‘n kids?”
"Nah, that's Jay’s thing right now.”
The two laughed, having both seen the Facebook posts his wife made three times a day, and as the morning dragged on, Mae decided to ask.
“So your dad made ya come?” She said this before sipping on her coffee.
“Nah, the old man did tell me that you're back, but I just wanted to help.” Something in his voice felt off to Mae, and yet it was a small comfort. Her curiosity caused her to ask, just in hopes that the gossip would be helpful at some point.
“Has your dad said anything ‘bout any animal calls?” She needed to be specific: “Like big animals, or like more people coyote hunting?”
“Uh, no? Why?” He said this while taking a drag.
“No reason; I just wanted to make sure before I start working on the place.” She kicked her feet up onto a broken crate on the porch. “I heard some howling last night, and my mom had some issues keeping goats before.”
“Heh, y’know these geisers say those things bring nothing but trouble.” He snickered as he put out the cheap tobacco on his boot. He moved towards the paint, he was always a good samaritan in Mae’s eyes. The two inseparable growing up, but when graduation came the distance became too far and the two became strangers again.
After hours of working on simple repainting, Isaiah stared out into the woods, seeing the sunset through the trees. They had only made headway on painting the railing on the porch and its stairs, and he had called it quits for tonight. She watched as he loaded up his truck and made his way home, the rattle of gravel and tires fading and the sky becoming gold, which had an influence as she cleaned herself up for dinner. She hid her grown in roots with her dad’s hat as she grabbed the keys to the silverado, having to stop herself from trying to tell her mom bye.
The beat-up Chevy truck shambled into town, the radio fading in and out as she traveled the gravel road. The sunset had painted a purple hue on the sky as she stared back into the rear-view mirror. The tree’s hiding the home, as if it never existed. Lost in thought, the squeal of the brakes startled her, despite it being an action of her own.
"Jesus,” She hissed, watching the deer stand and stare back at her. Its antlers looked bloody as it began to stride into the woods, Mae glared at it as it faded off into the distance. Her drive was accompanied by a faint country song from a time that had passed. She decided to ignore the chill in the air as her windows let in the breeze. She watched the street lights turn on through the trees as she entered town. The old bar’s hazy glow from the aged neon in the evening drew her in like a moth to the flame. She heard the music and commotion from the parking lot as she walked in, a bell being the only thing greeting her. Mae swerved, nearly hitting two boys running past, their cleats still muddy from a football game. She sat down on a stool at the end of the bar, tracing her fingers on a carved name on the counter. ‘Virgie & Clem 1987’ Mae smiled, staring down at the etching as a server came up.
“Number 8, To-Go please.” Soon, waiting for her order, she watched as newly turned strangers went on about their evening rituals. Men play pool while their wives chase children. The simple disorder brought an ounce of amity to her day.
“Caldwell!” A loud burley voice broke the trance. She stared at the man with pitch hair. He soon picked up a smaller boy who was nearly identical to him, despite the eyes.
“Jay?” She watched as the young boy squirmed in his arms.
“Who else?” He laughed. He moved his boy to his hip as another one stood behind him. The brown haired boy soon ran off back to his mother.
“Yeah… So this your boy?” Motioning towards the child. He nodded and sat in the booth beside her.
“Not all of’em, I coach the bitty league.” He trailed off, watching the bar. “Sorry ‘bout your mom.” Mae shrugged as the older waitress brought a to-go bag to the table. The two exchanged a hug as she moved towards the door.
The clock on the dash read 10:00 p.m. as the truck sputtered to life. Her radio turned static, as she turned off onto the road. She looked back on the simple days as she passed the high school that hadn’t been renovated since her mother graduated. The old wall in the back still dividing the dead from the living.
“Jay! C’mon slowpoke!” I yelled as I climbed over the back wall into the cemetery. Isaiah caught me as I jumped onto the other side. We sat upon headstones, waiting for Jay to cross along with us.
“Finally!” Isaiah laughed as his brother landed, soon guiding us to the patch of overgrowth.
“So why here?” I yelled out, my eyes making note of how many graves share my last name. As we find a mausoleum.
“So dad told me when our Pap died, the animals acted weird.” One of the brothers whispered.
“And?” I lowered my voice, as we sat on the stairs.
"Well, they say they come to this part of the town.” Jay specified. “But that's what the old folks say, but what’d they know?”
We laughed, soon fading as we heard sirens.
“Fuck! Book it!” Isaiah yelled out as we scattered, and I laughed as I hopped the fence, running into the woods.
Mae turned down the road, passing the only graveyard town. She slowed her truck to a near halt as she watched. She was trying to remember where her father was buried.
“Four rows, back to the rig-” Two eyes stared back as the creature stood perched upon the headstone. The pale blue eyes glowed against the headlights. Her heart plummeting into her stomach, the gravel under her tires hitting the bed of her truck.
As the truck accelerated, she reached into the depths of her mind for the route home. The speedometer read 50 mph as she made another turn. The tools and paint in the truck bed banged against its walls as the headlights showed on the dark road. The creature was no longer in the rear view, and a feeling of both dread and unrest washed over her. Mae moved to turn on the radio, hoping the dull noise of an old western song would lull it; it was only static as she turned to check her mirrors once again.
“God damnit!” Whatever this thing was, it kept up with her, its shoulder meeting the bottom of the window as it galloped beside her. The beast slammed into the truck, its bed opening as tools flew out.
She rolled down the window, tossing whatever she could reach out. The road was about to split; she needed to figure out this turn or she’d be lost all night. Her brights are shown on the street sign for Oakland Street.
A swift right turn; dust and gravel flying as she nearly fishtails. The pale blue eyes of the beast met hers as they turned. Her window was still rolled down as she screamed.
“Come and get me, ‘ya son of a bitch!” She hissed out, a crooked smile on her lips. The truck made an ungodly noise as the tires scraped against the street. The lights of the truck created a peak of her home in the trees. She raced against this beast, the two in an unholy competition.
The woods were silent besides the gruff howls and snarls of the beast and the roar of an engine. As the distance between them and the house soon shortened. Neither of them wanted to reach this end, as a deer ran into the road ahead. A quick swerve was the closest to safety she could have.
Tires squealed, a whine from a dog, and the feeling of rain on her face.
She lay there on that road, her bleach blonde hair now red. Her face was swollen and bruised. No one would know where she’d be until morning if that were the case; she closed her eyes, hoping death would be like her mom tucking her into bed. She closed her eyes and waited.
She felt the warmth on her face, and as her eyes opened, she saw pale blue eyes. Their glow illuminated the worn face of the hound, its scarred face, and the graying around its snout. It gently cleaned her face, and grabbed onto her coat. This monster, something Maelyn hated: was dragging her home. It may have been just delusion or wishful thinking as she lay in front of the dew covered stairs to the porch, but the beast lay beside her.
It stared at her as she drifted in and out of sleep, but Mae would have sworn she heard her mother talking to her dad once more.
Daybreak came, and she heard a car door slam. She heard the voices of Mr. Doyle and Isaiah yell as she lay in the grass, and the familiar sirens soon after. Mae would have sworn she saw the beast named Grief sitting on her porch like an old dog as an ambulance took her away.
The smell of beer and flowers float through the air,
In decades to come her white dress will be a light yellow from cigarettes smoke.
For now she is smiling and dancing like a child once again, as she twirls in her dress.
The ringlets in her hair remind her mother of the curls she had once had when she was just a baby. Her laughter reminds her father of the child he raised.
She has her fathers eyes, full of wonder. He was her age when he married her mother.
She has her grandmothers smile, sickening sweet. The southern twang they share is something only they can understand.
Her eyes are gleaming in a way that could out shine the heavens.
A dress she will only wear once, the bottom now light green from her backyard celebration and a makeup stain on the inside.
She stands in the yard, her flower girl on her hip, taking in the beauty of today.
Burn my throat to drain the memories that come to haunt me, the memories of sleepless nights fearing what would lurk outside my window. I see the figures that used to lurk in my childhood bedroom and once again they will find me.
Dark figures that disappear within a glance, hidden within the smokes blur. I’ll shake my head and remind myself that i’m just tired and seeing things once more.
I’ll walk back from the party still reeling from the noise, to be welcomed by the silence of the West Virginia woods as I imagine what lies behind the brush, whether it be a monster of myth or a monster of humanity.
As I make my way back to my room, I hear the laugh of relatives passed as they see the cycle continue, drink to forget the things you see even if it means you hear them.
Oh how the dead use the living, every cigarette reminds me of a moment and a memory. Still I’ll sit on that porch while they smoke while I ignore the eyes that stare back at me from past the treeline
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