Fiction River: Unnatural Worlds

by Fiction River

  “Not all of them!” Kayla said, defensively. “She knows Swamp People is stupid.”

  “That’s because she knows half the people in it,” Ashley said, acknowledging that on at least that Kayla was right-on. Everyone in Acadiana hated that show. “But seriously, a vampire? Did she switch demographics and start reading Twilight?”

  Here, Autumn decided to chime in: “You know, Madison’s not the only one I’ve been hearing strange things about. Marc and Destiny, too: I’ve heard rumors about those two, weird rumors…”

  “Let me guess,” Ashley said. “Werewolves.”

  “Yes!”

  “Well, werewolves had to be in there somewhere,” Ashley said dismissively. “Anything else? Witches? I mean, what’s a good story without a little Harry Potter these days?”

  “No,” Autumn said, “no witches. But I did hear Destiny Doucet’s a mermaid…”

  “You have lost your damn mind,” Ashley said, not willing to engage their silliness any longer. “Or your grandmother has. Autumn, I know your and Kayla’s grandmothers talk all the time. Every senior citizen in this town does.”

  “You got that right,” Autumn said as she and Kayla turned to walk away. “But before you get all high and mighty, you should know it was your ‘Maw Maw’ our grandmothers were talking to.”

  ***

  Running the last of her four quarter-mile laps around the Nexus High School track, Ashley still couldn’t believe what her friends had been talking about. Not because she thought they were crazy, but because there was some little part of her that knew they weren’t. For one thing, she had heard her grandmother talking on the phone this morning in hushed and whispered tones—and now she apparently knew who with.

  Certainly there had been no talk of werewolves, vampires and mermaids; Ashley would have remembered that. But she did hear her mention the Roux-Ga-Roux, a mythical werewolf-like being that supposedly lived in the swamps. Dismissing it at the time—and largely still doing the same now—she was more intrigued by what else her Maw Maw had talked about: The Raconteur. French for storyteller, Ashley had heard the word on and off for years in town. In a town known historically for storytelling, that made sense.

  But this morning was different, odd. And now that she thought about it, it was a term she’d heard more often of late, each time in circumstances she thought strange at the time. Forming a pattern, they distracted her, which was good. It kept her from noticing the sweat balls forming once again on her spine.

  The first time she’d heard the word had been just before Mardi Gras, when the entire town along with the nation had been engrossed in the disaster in San Francisco. The aircraft carrier Jefferson had struck the south pillar of the Golden Gate Bridge, setting off a cascade of explosions and destruction that eventually caused the collapse of the bridge’s roadway into the ocean. The carrier itself, disabled by the destruction of its command bridge, had then slammed into Alcatraz Island. Hundreds were dead or missing, and even months later, the Jefferson remained beached on its side in the bay.

  Locally, however, the talk had been about someone seen on TV in the moments after the disaster: George Robichaud, the patriarch of one of the founding families of Rencontere more than two hundred years earlier. Missing for more than 40 years, helicopter cameras had filmed him lying in a young girl’s arms, both of them marooned on the island of asphalt still clinging to the north tower of The Golden Gate Bridge, his hands cradling her face. National speculation focused on who these two survivors of the disaster might be. Speaking something to her before he passed out, his words were uncertain to a nation looking for something hopeful out of national tragedy.

  In Nexus, however, there was no debate about what he’d said: “Tell them: The Raconteur has returned”—and within weeks he had. Still in a coma from his injuries, he was now a patient at Recontere Hospital, where from the moment of his arrival, a vigil had been going on outside his window. At first hundreds of people with candles and now just a few, every night there was someone outside his window. Led always by the town elders, the last of The Storied.

  Ashley had been there several times, always with her Maw Maw. Each time Ashley wanted to ask, “Why are we here?” And each time she would stop, once again seeing that look of longing and pain that came whenever her grandmother talked about her history or that of Recontere and Nexus. It was the look Ashley had seen this morning, too, though this latest time it seemed tinged with something different. Ashley wanted to call it hope, but knowing the misery the topic caused her Maw Maw, she had a hard time believing tha—

  “Ashley!” Niki and Portia bellowed together from their seats in the stands. Their make-up shaded from a melt-off, their sneers were symmetric, as well. The rest of the squad now forced to wait for Ashley in the heat, it was almost as if the captains were dragging it out on purpose. “Get your furry ass over here!”

  Enviously, Ashley eyed Niki opening a chilled bottle of water, already knowing it wasn’t for her. It was for Princess, Niki’s perpetual accessory and pet Chihuahua. Four pounds of constant motion and urine, the last thing the dog needed was more fluids.

  Snapped out of her reverie, any thoughts of hope—for anything—were snuffed out by Niki’s next words. “OK, nap-time/lap-time is over: Get your head on.”

  “I’m really not supposed to wear it when it’s this hot,” Ashley said. “It’s 40 degrees warmer in there and—”

  “Are you saying you don’t want to be the mascot?” Niki asked, sounding clearly hopeful. “Because I’m sure there are a lot of other fat girls that would love to hang out with the cheerleaders if you can’t hack it.”

  “No, I can hack it,” Ashley said, refusing to give in. “If I could just get some water.”

  “Fine, but take Princess with you,” Niki said, pointing down at the small Chihuahua at her feet. “And don’t you dare drink before she does. Now get your head on!”

  Putting on her head and taking Princess by the leash, Ashley thought it ironic that Niki was giving her control of the dog. Vision in the suit was terrible; in an effort to make it look like a real tiger they’d made the vision and comfort of the person inside secondary. Ashley was as likely to step on the dog as she was get it water, and while that would be a bad thing for her cheerleading career, it made her smile nonetheless. As many times as the dog had peed on squad members’ personal things, it would be divine justice. Not that she really wanted to kill the dog, but she had to admit Princess was far more suited to satisfying gator snack than ideal pet.

  After getting water for them both, Ashley returned Niki’s pet/accessory to Niki’s shaded spot in the stands and once again took her place at the end of the cheerleading line. Not considered part of their official routines, Ashley was still expected to stand there, in formation. It was another way of torturing Ashley. She knew that Niki and Portia would never let her perform at an actual game. No, Ashley would be relegated to stands to be punched, prodded and kicked by fans of the opposite team and by children from her own town.

  Once again lulled into boredom by the need to just stand there in the heat, Ashley couldn’t help but think about Madison, Marc and Destiny and the rumors that clearly were making their way through town. All around fourteen years old, each was about to enter their freshman year at NHS. That was really all they had in common—that and Farallon Robbins.

  Farallon was the daughter of George Robichaud, and why she had an Americanized version of her Cajun surname no one really knew. But when it was clear George wasn’t going to recover quickly, George’s sister, Jenna, had flown out to California to get Farallon and her half-brother Jayson, to bring them back to Nexus. Both of them odd ducks out of water in the bayous of western Louisiana, they were nevertheless making friends quickly.

  Among Farallon’s most immediate friends, Ashley knew, were Madison, Destiny and Marc Broussard. Not only spending a lot of time with her, they had been spending a lot of time with The Raconteur himself. Not because of him, per se; he was still in a coma. But Farallon had
allowed them into her father’s hospital room, something no other non-family members were allowed to do. Maybe they’d caught some weird disease from him, and the old people in town were letting their imaginations get the best of them.

  Ashley dismissed that thought quickly, however: Her good friend Drew, along with Sabrina Thibodeaux, and even Jayson and Farallon Robbins themselves, weren’t the subject of any rumors whatsoever. Wouldn’t they have been affected as well?

  “Fuzz-buns!” Portia screamed at her, interrupting her thoughts. “Why aren’t you stepping left with us?!”

  Immediately, of course, Ashley had no good answer, though fairly quickly one presented itself. In the heat her plastic feet had stuck fast into the track. And nothing she could do could move them. “My feet won’t move. I seemed to have melted into the track.”

  “And this is my problem, how?”

  “Well, you could help me,” Ashley said, and before even thinking went on, “isn’t that what a captain does?”

  “Listen, fatty-fur,” Niki said, now clearly asserting her authority. “When you can jump higher, move faster and cheer better than anyone out here, you can be the captain and decide what one does. But until you feel like officially challenging me for the job, don’t tell what my job is. Got it?”

  “Yes…” Ashley said, still very mindful of her predicament. “But could I please get someone’s help getting unstuck?”

  “Well, since you asked so nicely,” Portia said, clearly having no intention of returning the favor. “Princess, go help her.”

  Watching the dog, Ashley was at once impressed and horrified: Almost on cue the dog lifted her leg and peed on Ashley’s leg. Still stuck to the track and basically blind, Ashley could do nothing but listen to Princess’s collar bell jingle as she felt a warm, wet feeling crawl down her left ankle. Getting more embarrassed by the minute, suddenly being Madison and forced to wear a burqa around didn’t seem quite so bad; at least as a vampire she’d have a reason for things to suck.

  Finding herself laughing inside the costume at her own terrible pun, Ashley once again was glad she had Maw Maw in her life. Deciding to make the best of it and not give Niki any satisfaction, Ashley refused to move even the slightest. Instead, she took the offensive—of sorts: “I’m impressed, Niki. How’d you train your dog to do that?”

  “I didn’t train him at all,” Niki said to Ashley, as if that meant more for her brains than the dog’s. “It’s just a matter of taste I guess, and I must say I’m surprised.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because I would have thought you didn’t have any,” Niki said, once again staring at the dog. “But clearly Princess likes something about you…”

  Having no idea what Niki meant, Ashley still couldn’t see what was going on through the tiny eyes of the costume. Soon, however, she got her answer as she heard a jingling collar and felt a warm trickle down her other ankle.

  ***

  Dawn arrived early the next morning, Ashley thought to no one in particular as she awoke the next day. This was good, as it was a pretty stupid thought. Cracking her eyes open, however, she had some idea of where the thought had come from: She could see the sun rising outside her window.

  A true believer in the value of summer vacation, Ashley was lucky if she rose before lunch, much less breakfast. And yet there it was: Dawn breaking over the trees—and the ruins of the rice co-op. It had burned down less than a year ago, and true to Nexus form it was still a debris-filled heap, with the emergency fencing even having fallen down in places. She heard it made a nice homeless shelter.

  This morning, however, it made a nice silhouette for the oranges and pinks of dawn, and as the ambient light crept through the oak tree outside her window she could even see a couple of robins high in their nest. She had to admit, there might be something to this morning thing.

  Stretching her arms out, Ashley was surprised they didn’t ache. (By the time Autumn and Kayla had finished yanking her out of the asphalt yesterday, Ashley was surprised her fingers were still connected to her wrists.) More, Ashley was taken aback at the sight of her arms: They were furry.

  That was a first: She was so tired last night she’d fallen asleep in the costume. Except that made no sense. Her Maw Maw had peeled her out of the costume.

  Confused, Ashley tried to clear her head by rubbing her eyes. Again, shock: Not only had Maw Maw never gotten her out of the costume, Ashley had actually fallen asleep with the head on.

  What the hell?

  Sitting up now in bed so she could get the head off, she gently tugged on the ears and muzzle to make sure she wouldn’t damage it any more than she must already have. (She could not imagine how many laps she might get if Niki and Portia could tell she’d slept in the costume.) Not even budging, however, Ashley found herself tugging harder and harder until she found she was actually hurting herself.

  What the hell?

  Deciding she’d better get to her mirror, Ashley swung her legs out of bed and jumped onto the floor—and nearly bounced out of the room. Crashing into her bedroom door, she heard a sickening crack as her shoulder crashed into the hardwood frame next to the doorknob. Pushing herself off the floor, she expected to find her collarbone broken. Instead, she found the doorjamb shattered and splintered, and as she rose to a standing position she found no aches whatsoever. Even the pains from yesterday’s miserable practice were gone.

  Making her way slowly to her full-length mirror, Ashley stopped to look at herself and saw what she expected—and what she could not have imagined. She was in the costume all right, head-to-toe. But it wasn’t a costume anymore, it was her.

  She had become the tiger.

  Opening her mouth to scream, Ashley could hear her voice coming out; it sounded the same as it ever had. But where there used to be a mascot’s black fabric void, there was now a tongue and a tiger’s teeth to match. And now, once again looking at herself in the mirror, Ashley could see that where a mascot had cold, plastic eyes, she still had hers: green and deep.

  She definitely owed Kayla and Autumn an apolog—

  CRASH!

  Before Ashley could even think about it, she had suddenly sprung sideways and out through her bedroom window. Shards of glass bouncing easily off her fur, she found herself flying into the branches of the oak tree outside. Feeling completely in control of her body while feeling no control of her urges, she found herself circling and climbing the trunk all at once, madly moving towards something. And then she saw it—and then she didn’t.

  Like popcorn from a bag, Ashley began mindlessly crunching before she even realized what she was doing. Finding herself actually licking her paws, she decided chewed robin was a lot like Maw Maw’s coffee: Good to the last drop. It did not, Ashley noted bemusedly, taste like chicken.

  Almost nauseated, and yet feeling very satisfied with herself, Ashley moved back down the tree and pounced back into her bedroom. Sitting now on her haunches, she gazed at herself again in the mirror, this time a robin’s carcass hanging out of her mouth. A third errant foot sticking out of her teeth, she knew she’d eaten more than one. Transfixed, she didn’t even notice her Maw Maw’s reflection materialize in the mirror until Maw Maw was completely in sight. Spinning around, Ashley couldn’t even begin to think of what to say—and she didn’t have to.

  “Oh, Cherie!” Maw Maw said, tears in her eyes, a broad smile on her face. “Vomment ça vas?”

  “How am I feeling?” Ashley asked. “That’s all you have to say?! I’m a tiger! I just leapt out the window, ate a bird family, and then jumped back in! Doesn’t that bother you?”

  “I never liked robins, anyway,” Maw Maw said, her quiet voice beginning to calm Ashley in spite of herself. “Vomment ça vas?”

  “What is it with feelings? I’m feeling…! I’m feeling… I’m feeling great, actually,” she said, as she considered her furry paws and felt her tail starting its slow swing back and forth. “Maw Maw, what the hell is going on?”

  “The Raconteur has in
deed returned.”

  ***

  For generations in Recontere, Louisiana, the Raconteur had not so much told stories as created the people to live them. Some became Roux-Ga-Roux, werewolf shape-shifters. Others became nearly translucent, their glowing skin becoming “The Dancing Lights,” or Feu Follets. These “myths” of the swamp and more were The Storied of Nexus, living a life unlike any other. Truly, Joie De Vivre in its purest form.

  And then it stopped. The latest Raconteur, George Robichaud, had disappeared in the early 1970s. With him went the stories and the characters his family had always created to live them. The last generation, that of George’s father, were the last Storied. Years passed, generations grew older, and soon tales were created to explain why women like Maw Maw were so different than their children and grandchildren. Burdened with a secret they could share only amongst themselves, they grew quieter every year as their grandchildren moved away and their generation died—and Recontere died with them.

  Children like Ashley grew up knowing the words Joie De Vivre, but never really living them—until this morning, when Maw Maw explained it all.

  Now, there was one thing Ashley wanted to do.

  ***

  Running around the track before cheerleading practice—Niki said her costume looked like she’d slept in it—Ashley walked to the end of the cheerleading line when she was done, just as she had dozens of times before.

  “Fur bag!” Niki bellowed. “Go get my dog some water!”

  Happy to oblige, Ashley took the leash of the suddenly quivering and back-pedaling dog. Straining on her leash, it seemed Princess had decided that strangling herself was preferable to being anywhere close to the terrifying scent coming from Ashley.

  “What the hell is wrong with you, dog?” Niki asked without an ounce of compassion, as the dog began to whine even louder. “And what do you want, fuzz-wuz?” Niki sneered, clearly impressed at her ability to call Ashley a different name every time.