I can’t take it anymore. With each inhale I smell her blood, thick and coppery in my nose. I hear the juicy squish of the knife plunging into her chest. And feel the satisfaction and elation her death provides me.
I’ve tried everything to avoid sleep: caffeine, energy drinks, sugar, walking the streets all hours of the night, and most recently, amphetamines like Black Mollies and Benzies. But eventually I collapse, only to wake with the stench of violent death hovering around me like a hellish aura.
I enter the bathroom and take a leak. When I bend to the sink to wash my hands, I gasp and stumble backward.
There’s blood under my fingernails.
The Taoist master Chuang Tzu once dreamed he was a butterfly fluttering around a group of flowers. In the dream, he had no awareness of his individuality as a person. He was only a butterfly. He awoke and found himself lying there, a person once again. He then thought to himself, “Was I before a man who dreams about being a butterfly, or am I now a butterfly who dreams about being a man?”
Perhaps Chuang Tzu made an error assuming he was one or the other.
Perhaps he was both.
After checking the laundry room and under the kitchen sink, I finally locate garbage bags in the garage and bring them back with me into the bedroom. I take one and tear along the seams to open it flat, lay it on the floor, and roll the dog’s large body onto it. It’s a German Shepherd, male. Makes me wonder if she got him specifically to be a guard dog. Like maybe her intuition was trying to warn her she was in danger.
This pleases me.
I fold one side of the bag over its body and am about to wrap him burrito style when something flashes, catching my eye. A tag on his collar reflects the moonlight streaming through the top arch of her window. Curious, I take it in my hand and tilt it toward the light. Shock knocks me on my ass. The tag reads: Detritus.
I reel through details of our last conversation. Had I misread her tone? Did I confuse flirtatious words with patronizing ones? Was it possible she wasn’t snubbing me?
She named
Her dog
Detritus.
I think back to a conversation I overheard a week or so ago, while nestled in the corner of her closet. She was lying on her bed talking to a friend on the phone. She mentioned a man she liked but was too shy to talk to. She said he was mysterious, and odd, but in a cute way. I was wounded by this revelation. My envy so vicious, I bit a large chunk out of the inside of my cheek and had to use one of her scarves to soak up all the blood.
Could she have been talking about me? Could Christa have liked me? Had she been waiting all this time for me to make the first move?
I hear myself giggling, which turns into guffaws, and then I’m bursting into hysterics that echo in the dark, laughing back at me. I’m a fool.
I get on my knees and lift my eyes to the heavens. “I’m sorry, for I have erred,” I say. I take my knife from its sheath and stand to hover over Christa’s lifeless body, her mouth hanging open in a frozen face of terror. I dip my fingers in the pool of blood at her chest and smear it across my face like a warrior. A warrior who must now pay the ultimate price for his mistake.
My own screams ring in my ears as I stand over my little lamb’s body and slice open my wrists.
“Mr. Reynolds,” I hear a man shout from a million miles away. “Detritus, wake up.”
My shoulders are being jostled hard. I open my eyes, startled and fighting back until I realize it’s Freddy, the “high suicide risk” attendant assigned to me at the maximum security nut house. I exhale and relax against the sheets, my vision blurred.
“Same dream?” Freddy asks, retuning to his post—a stool five feet from my bed.
I close my eyes and nod, swallowing thick saliva down my throat. “Water.”
Freddy takes a plastic cup and fills it at the sink. “You wantcher meds early?” he asks, holding the cup to my mouth.
I drink, letting the cool water glide down my throat before answering him. “No. No. They make me sleep. I don’t want to want to sleep anymore. I can’t.”
I don’t remember being admitted. My last memory is of standing over Christa’s body, cutting my wrists, which are still bandaged in thick layers of gauze. Turns out one of her neighbors heard me screaming and called 911. I was saved, which is the opposite of what I deserve. Or maybe it’s the precise cruel irony I asked for when I . . . I . . .
Vomit crawls up my throat. I swallow it down—along with the memory of murdering my soul mate. Yes, murder. Not a cleansing. Murder. For she was An Innocent.
But the prison nuthouse isn’t my punishment, nor are these straps holding my arms to the side of the bed. The dreams are. Every night since I regained consciousness, I relive the morning of a violent storm, where I’m a coroner who gets struck by lightning while splaying open the chest of a dead man. A dead man I recognize even through his pallid death mask.
* * *
It’s me. And clutched in my rigid, bloody hand is a dog collar.
About the Story
* * *
Knowing how much the odd and supernatural influence my writing, it shouldn’t surprise anyone to learn that I was irrevocably fascinated and inspired when, years ago, I first learned of Chuang Tzu’s musings on dreaming and existence. When I was given Debris and Detritus as a writing prompt, I knew they were the perfect characters to tackle this concept. However, in keeping with the delicious thrill of unanswerable, tangled logic, I chose to leave it up to the reader to discern if only one of the characters truly exists and the other is a mere delusion, or if they simultaneously exist in alternate universes and become entangled in a strange twist of fate. What do you think? Are you Team Debris? Team Detritus? Team both? Visit bethteliho.me and share your thoughts. Or perhaps I will find them out on my own . . . when I visit your dreams . . .
* * *
Beth Teliho
Afterword
Patricia Burroughs (aka Pooks)
“Let’s put on a show!”
Okay, the actual words were “This could be an anthology!” but they were spoken with every bit as much energy, enthusiasm, and horrifying naiveté as Judy and Mickey ever portrayed.
I had no clue.
I had no clue what I was doing, and even though I knew I was the last person who should ever be put in charge of organizing something like this, I didn’t realize how freaking much I was the last person who should ever be put in charge of organizing something like this.
I had no clue what was involved in putting together an anthology, getting writers, wrangling stories, and the rest of the process.
I had no clue how these wonderful writers I hand-picked and sometimes begged, bribed, and bullied into participating would deliver fabulous story after fabulous story, and in such an array of styles, worlds, and approaches that my original concept was confirmed.
Yes.
Yes, it is amazing to see how different writers interpret the concept, Rhonda Eudaly’s words, “Debris & Detritus, The Lesser Greek Gods.”
But if I was the Mickey and Judy in this endeavor, we all had the huge benefit of Busby Berkeley (aka Toni McGee Causey) walking onto the set and saying, “Oh, is this what you wanted on the cover? I like that. Will you please let me play with it? You don’t have to use it if you don’t like it.”
Stop right now. Look at that cover again.
Let me play with it.
That is what she calls playing.
You don’t have to use it if you don’t like it.
In what universe would anybody not have to use that cover? Heck no, I don’t like it. I love it.
Of course we had to use that cover. It is every bit the high-kicking, spiraling up a wedding cake, Busby Berkeley cover of all anthology covers.
Thanks for coming along for the ride. I hope you enjoyed the show.
* * *
Pooks
About the Authors
Max Adams has worked with Columbia Pictures, Hollywood Pictures, Touchstone Pictures, Universal P
ictures, Walt Disney Studios, and Tri-Star Pictures on myriad projects “in development.” And is now lobbying her congressman for a “return of fire” medal (something sparkly would be nice). Her produced film projects include Excess Baggage, The Ladykillers, and One for the Money. Her non-filmic writing credits include journalism, short fiction, essays, theatre, humor, and radio. Max is the author of The New Screenwriter’s Survival Guide—and has an almost criminal love of shoes.
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MJ Butler has been writing, directing and producing Internet shows for over a decade. His show The Lonely Astronaut beat out Tim Burton and Kelsey Grammer for “Best Comedic Web Series” and “Strangest Grouping of Nominees” at the U.S. Comedy Arts Festival in Aspen. Conversely, Garry Trudeau beat him out at the 2008 Harvey Awards for “Best Syndicated Strip or Panel” and was heard to cackle maniacally. Entertainment Weekly wrote Butler’s show “The Real Whatever . . . may be closer to reality than The Real World—and it’s loads funnier.” Those and his other videos can be found at TwistedMojo.com.
In his spare time, he enjoys writing about himself in the third person.
* * *
Toni McGee Causey writes dark mystery-suspense as T.M. Causey. Her first full-length novel in this genre is The Saints of the Lost and Found.
As Toni McGee Causey, she is the author of the critically acclaimed and nationally bestselling “Bobbie Faye” novels—an action/caper series set in south Louisiana. She is also a contributor to the USA Today Bestselling anthology Love is Murder as well as the Killer Year and the Do You Know What It Means to Miss New Orleans anthologies.
She and her husband, Carl, thrive in the French Quarter, where they’re not the craziest ones on the block. Sometimes, they’re not even second craziest. Together they are remodeling a beautiful historic property right in the heart of the Quarter. Details about this project are featured on her blog.
Want more news, contests, prizes? Check out her Facebook author page—and for exclusive free short stories/gifts, sign up for her newsletter. Your email will never be shared, traded, or sold.
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Rhonda Eudaly lives in Arlington, Texas, where she’s ventured into several industries and occupations for a wide variety of experience. She’s married with dogs and a rapidly growing Minion© army. Her two passions are writing and music, which is evident in her increasing hoard of writing instruments.
Rhonda has a well-rounded publication history in fiction, non-fiction and script writing. Check out her website for her latest publications and downloads.
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Mark Finn is an author, an editor, an actor, and a pop culture critic. He is a nationally recognized authority on the life and works of Robert E.Howard (his biography of REH was nominated for a World Fantasy Award). In addition to fiction writing and the occasional comic book script, Finn is a contributing editor to Skelos: The Journal of Weird Fiction and Dark Fantasy, and one of the four hosts of The Gentlemen Nerds podcast. He lives above an old movie theater in North Texas with his long-suffering wife, far too many books, and an affable pit bull named Sonya.
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Melanie Fletcher is an expatriate Chicagoan who currently lives in North Dallas with her husband the Bodacious Brit™ and their five fabulous furbags: JJ, Jessica, Jeremy, Jemma, and Jasmine. When not herding cats, she turns into Writer Girl and has membership cards from SFWA and RWA to prove it. Her speculative fiction spans over two decades and ranges from the humorous to the dark. When not writing SF, she also writes specfic romance as Nicola Cameron and is currently finishing up the first book in a new SF romance series, Intersection (Pacifica Rising 1). She is continually fascinated by handsome older men who take off their clothes in the name of art and enjoys celebrating them in her stories.
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Jeanne Lyet Gassman holds an MFA in Writing from Vermont College of Fine Arts and resides in Arizona. Her debut novel, Blood of a Stone (Tuscany Press), received a 2015 Independent Publisher Book Award (bronze) in the national category of religious fiction and was a finalist for the New Mexico-Arizona Book Awards and the 2015 Independent Author Network Book of the Year Award. Her short work has been nominated for Best Small Fictions and the Pushcart Prize. Additional awards include fellowships from Ragdale and the Arizona Commission on the Arts. Jeanne’s short stories and creative nonfiction have appeared in Queen Mob’s Tea House, Hippocampus Magazine, Altarwork, Hermeneutic Chaos Literary Journal, Literary Mama, Red Savina Review, Switchback, Barrelhouse, and The Museum of Americana, among many others. Visit Jeanne at her website.
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Antioch Grey is an English author and lawyer who lives in London with her collection of shoes. She has no cats because she doesn’t trust them not to be plotting against her and would rather keep a pet blond. In her spare time, she drafts elaborate plans for formal poison gardens. Other interests include chocolate and classical statuary, but not at the same time because there’s nothing worse than chocolate smears on statues. Connect with Antioch Gray at her Facebook page.
More stories by Antioch Grey appear in Immanence, Thoroughly Modern Monsters, and Teeth Long and Sharp.
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Claire M. Johnson attended the California Culinary Academy in 1983 and worked as a pastry chef in San Francisco and Oakland for several years. Set in the restaurant world, Ms. Johnson’s first novel, Beat Until Stiff, was nominated for the 2003 Agatha Award for Best First Novel and was a Book Sense pick. Her second book in this series, Roux Morgue, received a starred review from Publishers Weekly.
Recently, Ms. Johnson decided to jump with both feet into the world of dedicated Janeites. Using the mystery writing world as a backdrop, Pen and Prejudice is a modern pastiche of the Jane Austen classic, Pride and Prejudice, but instead of our witty, playful heroine and attractive but arrogant suitor willfully misunderstanding each other while attending balls and dinner parties in the nineteenth century, they metaphorically duke it out in the twentieth at mystery writing conferences. Ms. Johnson currently works as a Technical Editor. In her spare time, she bakes pies.
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Michelle Muenzler, known at local science fiction and fantasy conventions as “The Cookie Lady,” writes fiction both dark and strange to counterbalance the sweetness of her baking. Her short fiction and poetry can be read in numerous science fiction and fantasy magazines (full list and links), and she takes immense joy in crinkling words like little foil puppets. Michelle is an SFWA member and represented by Howard Morhaim of the Howard Morhaim Literary Agency.
If you wish to lure her out of hiding, you can friend her on Facebook or chase her down at a local SF/F convention, where she will ply you with hundreds of home-baked cookies while gleefully describing the latest horror she’s written. She supposes you could also contact her through her webpage, but she finds electronic cookies far less tasty than real ones.
* * *
Robin D. Owens RITA® Award Winning author Robin D. Owens has been writing longer than she cares to recall and has published twenty-eight books, five novellas, and three short stories (including “HeartStones”).
She credits the “telepathic cat with attitude” in selling her first book, HeartMate, published by Berkley, December 2001.
She loves writing fantasy with romance or romance with fantasy, and particularly likes adding quirky characters for comic relief and leaving little threads dangling from book to book to see if readers pick up on them (usually, yes! Reader intelligence is awesome!).
She also spends (too much) time on Facebook and will answer questions and interact with fans there.
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Irene Radford has been writing stories ever since she figured out what a pencil was for. Editing grew out of her love of the craft of writing.
A member of an endangered species—a native Oregonian who lives in Oregon—she lives with her husband in Welches, Oregon where deer, bears, coyotes, hawks, owls, and woodpeckers feed regularly on their back deck.
A museum-trained historian, Irene has spent many hours pr
owling pioneer cemeteries, deepening her connections to the past. Raised in a military family, she grew up all over the US and learned early on that books are friends that don’t get left behind with a move. Her interests and reading range from ancient history to spiritual meditations to space stations, and a whole lot in between.
Mostly Irene writes fantasy and historical fantasy, including the best-selling Dragon Nimbus Series and the masterwork Merlin’s Descendants series. In other lifetimes, she writes urban fantasy as P.R. Frost or Phyllis Ames and space opera as C.F. Bentley. Lately she ventured into Steampunk as Julia Verne St. John.
If you wish information on the latest releases from Ms. Radford under any of her pen names, you can subscribe to her newsletter. (Promises of no spam, merely occasional updates and personal news.)
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ChandaElaine Spurlock, after working as a personal assistant, executive assistant, and landman’s assistant, decided to assist herself by becoming a ghostwriter—which is a totally real job. Under various names (which she can’t tell you), she has written blogs, articles, flash fiction, short stories, and novellas in every genre from homeopathy to Amish romance to horror. Usually for Someone who (she still can’t tell you) watched their deadline scream by without so much as batting an eye . . . until a nice young editor stepped out of the shadows, politely cleared his throat, and said to Someone, “We’d like our advance money back.”
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