Harbinger Island

by Dorian Dawes

  For Veronika, the relationship had been strained, a tie in her life she had never had enough reasons to sever. She made excuses when she could to avoid family get-togethers, and when she couldn't, it was an exercise of clenched fists beneath the dinner table while blood filled her mouth. As she stood outside her mother's bedroom door, seething, a part of her was elated to finally be allowed to admit what she'd secretly known all along. She really fucking hated her mother.

  It wasn't only the homophobic nonsense. That'd be enough reason to distance herself, but not hate. She dealt with bigots from all sides every day of her life from racists to Bible-thumpers. It was how Janessa thought she had any chance of a relationship with her baby girl while holding beliefs that jeopardized her existence. Veronika remembered every Facebook post decrying gay people as degenerate perverts who'd burn in hell, every meme and image mocking her transgender friends and allies. It was a different kind of violence, tiny seeds of abuse littered over a decade, masquerading behind kisses and the oh-so-eternal family bonds.

  Well, violence begets violence. Veronika hissed out a spell through her teeth and watched the bedroom door fly off its hinges. Janessa sat upright in bed, her fingers twitching. A strong magic was seeping into the room, pouring off the furious silhouette in waves.

  "I remember, Momma," Veronika said. She made no move to enter the bedroom. The shadows cast over her face rendered her expression unreadable. "I remember what you did to me, what you did to the other kids."

  Janessa froze. "I see. It was for your own good, you know. Maybe if it had worked, you wouldn't have …"

  "Wouldn't have what?" Veronika's voice was polite, but her words were a guillotine. "Become a dyke? That's the word you used with Aunt Loretta, wasn't it?"

  "It's not right. It's not Christian."

  "And magic is?"

  "The Lord works in mysterious ways, honey."

  "What about torture? Abuse? Murder."

  Janessa lowered her eyes. "We took it too far. Eileen, she got us all fucked up. Got us believing we could save our town and our children. Maybe what we’d done was wrong, but I was so scared for my baby girl."

  "I get it now."

  "Get what?"

  "How she was able to get it done, to convince the mothers of Wakefield to scar and murder their own children. She used your fear, your bigotry. Leaped on it and made you complicit in her cruelty."

  A hissing noise from the doorway caused Janessa's eyes to dart to the floor. She could see black shapes moving in the shadows but couldn't make out their forms. Her eyes darted back to her daughter's silhouette. Veronika moved just enough into the bedroom so that Janessa could see the vindictive smile spreading across her face.

  "What are you doing, child?"

  "Better dead than a dyke," Veronika whispered coolly. "That how it is? I've had to put up with some bullshit in my life, Momma. That ends today. No more Ms. Good Witch."

  The hissing grew louder. Janessa crawled further back in the bed, eyes darting about the room searching for the source of that dreadful sound. She finally glimpsed them, black snakes slithering off the wall and climbing onto the bed, nearing closer and closer.

  "Veronika, please! Don't do this!" Janessa begged. "I'm your mother! I love you! When we came to our senses, we stopped. We saved you, all of you."

  "You abused me!" Veronika roared and the rafters shook. "You murdered that poor kid!"

  "No, no …" Janessa shook her head, her cheeks wet. "It wasn't like that, baby, I promise. Come on, let me go. We can talk about this."

  "You had sixteen years to talk about it."

  Fangs pierced Janessa's thigh. She screamed and thrashed, but only for a second. A heaviness took over her limbs. She was paralyzed. Her eyes turned to Veronika, tearful and pleading as the slithering forms closed over her.

  "The venom won't kill you, not immediately. Just prevents you from moving for several days. Long enough for you to think about what you've done, long enough to feel the pain of my hate. It's my hate killing you, Momma. It's the hate of every gay kid who suffered the indignities brought on them by people who'd no right to call themselves parents. I hope there is a hell, 'cause I like the idea of you rotting there."

  Janessa wanted to scream, but already the venom had removed her ability to speak. She could only cry as Veronika turned her back on her. Her mouth froze in a permanent scream as she lay slumped against the headboard, feeling every harsh sting from the many bites across her body.

  Veronika locked the door behind her. Tears had caused her makeup to run streaming down the sides of her face, causing her to look a right mess as she staggered like a drunkard into the parking lot. The tattoo on her arm animated and slithered about, uncoiling itself into a translucent yellow snake. It made its way up around her shoulder where it could wrap itself about her neck. She kissed the top of its head.

  "I'll be okay," she whispered. "I promise."

  Witches and Cornfields

  Killing her mother had brought no closure, nor satisfaction. She felt hollowed out, empty. Revenge is fine until it's over; now there was nothing left to exist as a funnel for her pain and anger. She wanted to bring her mother back so she could hurt her again, and keep at it till she stopped feeling so shitty.

  That'd be impractical, of course. She wished she'd at least grilled the woman on whatever it was she'd tried to accomplish. The rituals and magic and abuse were to gain power, but power for what? You don't channel that much energy without the intent to do something with it. Janessa had hoped it'd help protect her daughter from the evils of the world, but she doubted Eileen's plans had been so self-righteous. Kara's descriptions of her mother made the woman sound like one scary bitch. Even her husband had been afraid of her. The type of woman who could amass her own cult to abuse and murder their children is the type with her own ambitions and plots. As sickening as it was to admit, Veronika's admiration of the woman was only exceeded by her hate. Eileen had been planning to use them all for something; Veronika wondered if she might get some sense of understanding or closure if she knew what the fuck it was.

  Kara hadn't been able to give her much information to go on. Eileen had grown up in a dirty town at the far corner of the island called Kerryville. It was a lengthy drive, with long stretches of dirt roads and nothing but cornfields on either side for miles. She'd had to keep the radio blasting to keep her eyes open.

  It was late into the evening when she finally pulled into town, abandoning dirt roads for broken pavement. She pulled up to the rusting pumps of the only gas station in sight. The crooked wooden building looked like it hadn't seen a paint job since the 60's.

  Underbrush had grown up around the rotten siding of the building. She might have thought the whole place abandoned were it not for the eerie, flickering fluorescent lights shining through the dust-covered windows. There was a young man her age sitting inside, leaning over the counter reading a magazine. The ringing of the bell hanging over the door caused him to look up with a startled deer-in-headlights expression and he shoved the magazine quickly beneath the counter. She rolled her smiled at him in an attempt to relax him a little. Probably a dirty magazine or something.

  Inside, the shelves and walls had the typical accoutrements she might expect from a hick-town gas station. There were jars of pickled pigs' feet, pickled eggs, and just about pickled anything you could think of. Rusted road signs decorated the back wall, and antique fridges were sparsely stocked with beer and bottled coke. The gangly kid sitting behind the counter had pale skin, almost as if he'd never seen the sun a day in his life. His reddish-brown hair was a clumpy mess on top his head. He smiled awkwardly at her as she approached the counter. "Welcome to Big Harv's Gas, what can I get for you?"

  "Twenty on pump one if that's all right?" she said. "And directions to the nearest hotel."

  He shrugged. "Just the one. Take a right at the school and you should find it, but you might not wanna stay there. Woman who runs it, Rosie, is nice enough, but whole place feels wrong."

>   Veronika raised an eyebrow. "Wrong? Wrong how?"

  His answer was quick, furtive. "I don't wanna talk about it."

  Veronika kept her grip on her cash as she stared at him, eyes narrowing in a perplexed manner. "Fair enough …"

  He took her cash and began ringing her up. The computer and register looked like a relic from the mid 90's; a big, clunky thing about ready to go up in smoke at any second. He handed her a receipt. "What brings you to Kerryville, if you don't mind me asking? We really don't get much traffic up through here - mostly people heading either to Yellow Coasts or looking to get off the island."

  "Yellow Coasts?" Veronika tilted her head. "Never heard of it."

  "Eh, gated community that's almost like a town in and of itself. Weird, business-y type people. They keep to themselves. So yeah, you gonna be in town a few days?"

  "It seems likely," she said. "I'm looking up some old family friends. Are you familiar with the Kiernan family?"

  He shook his head. "Not really - but you could ask my dad when he comes in tomorrow, he'll know."

  "Ah, Big Harv, I take it?"

  "No, that'd be Grandpa. Dad is Bernie, and I'm Donovan."

  She extended her hand. "Well, Donovan, I'm Veronika. Good to meet ya."

  There was a rather strange moment that stuck out in Veronika's mind. She caught notice of his wrist as the sleeve pushed back, revealing the skin beneath. There were visible marks and bruises. He caught her looking and flinched, withdrawing his hand immediately, smiling in an awkward manner and coughing a little.

  "Thanks for shopping at Big Harv's," he said, completely dismissive. He'd made it clear through his tone and body language that the conversation was over.

  Veronika's shoulders bristled as she backed away, nodding. She turned and whispered a brief incantation under her breath. It was a simple spell, a minor divination cantrip to allow her a closer look beneath the counter. He'd appeared paranoid and scared to hide whatever that magazine was when she first walked in. Normally it wouldn't bother her, but the conversation was strange enough to put her on edge. A brief vision came to mind of him flipping through it. It was some retail catalog full of elegantly-dressed women dancing in pearls and satin. He would draw his fingers over the long hems trailing around the floor and sigh wistfully.

  She put the thought out of her mind and continued to her car. As she pulled out of the lot, she could see him watching her through the window. His eyes were wide and shaking, like a frightened animal's.

  His directions were at least accurate and she was able to find a motel a short way down the road. Definitely the kind of cheap, single-floor place someone might spend a night or two while passing through and nothing more. There was a small, fat Indian woman working behind the beige counter. She had a star tattooed on the right side of her neck.

  The lobby was the kind of sparsely-decorated ugly mess she would expect. The walls were covered in pastel-green wallpaper with a faded, scarcely discernible floral pattern. The mauve cable carpets clashed horribly with the rest of the décor, and there were visible stains at every corner.

  "We've been waiting for you," the Indian woman said in a slow monotone. Her voice was hollow, other-worldly. "What are you seeking?"

  "Room for the night," Veronika said.

  There was a pause from the woman. There were bags under her eyes, and her skin had a faded gray quality to it. She sighed and grabbed the key to room 103 from behind her. Her fingers hovered briefly over to the key to room 102 next to it, and then grabbed it as well. She handed both to Veronika. The air felt choked with dust.

  "My name is Rosie. Enjoy your stay."

  She asked no further questions, didn't even take Veronika's details. Instead, Rosie turned and walked into the office, closing the door behind her. She ignored Veronika's protests.

  Veronika held the keys in her open palm and looked at them, taking a moment to brush her fingers over the cool metal. She squeezed her hands around them so that their jagged edges made little dents in her skin. She walked with them clenched tightly in her fist as she left the lobby and into the cool evening air. The sidewalks and walls had mold growing along the edges; they were clearly in need of a pressure wash. Each door was painted red and had a similar faded, unwashed quality.

  Veronika came to door 102. This door appeared to have a fresh coat of paint, causing it to stand out from the others. She tried peering in through the window but the blinds were closed on the other side. She was only able to catch faint glimpses of flickering light from the television set, casting the room in a grayish-blue glow. It made her nauseous, and her imagination ran wild with everything that might lie on the other side. With a deep breath to steady herself, she inserted the key into the lock, turned it, and opened the door. It creaked and groaned like something out of an old horror movie. She'd always enjoyed those pastiches and tropes, but was never frightened by them; at least, not until now.

  She could identify the sick feeling that settled in her gut. That old house had creaked too. Every little footfall had caused the whole building to moan in the most painful way. With the memory of that sound came all the horror and the sickness associated with it. There had been so much blood that week; blood and barbed wire.

  Veronika placed a shaky hand against the doorframe to steady herself. She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing, trying to shake away the awful images. Not for the first time, she wished those memories hadn't resurfaced. All that locked-up, built-up trauma was wreaking havoc on her psyche. She pushed the door the rest of the way open. On the west side of the room was a television raining static. The carpet still had the tell-tale signs of long brown smears of blood in a trail leading from the bed-spring to the bathroom. The mattress had been removed, likely to be replaced at a later time. Most of the furniture appeared to have been moved slightly away from the walls and covered to make way for failed attempts to clean the beige carpet. Rosie was sitting on the edge of the bed frame. Veronika hadn't even noticed her at first, and was so startled by her appearance that she didn't even question how she'd gotten into the room. The way she sat, so motionless and sad, made her almost look like she belonged here, as much part of the decoration as the vacuum cleaner sitting beside her.

  "It's not as horrible as it once was," Rosie said, her voice taking on the droning quality of someone who has seen too much and shared too little. "And I suppose, in time, even the memory will fade. Still, I can tear out the whole carpet and I'll always see blood on the floors. It can't be helped."

  "What happened?" Veronika asked, stepping into the room.

  A blast of cold air hit her as she stepped over the threshold, causing her to shudder involuntarily. Veronika squinted as the room seemed to grow brighter for a scant second. Rosie stood and walked to the bathroom. She turned and pointed to the open door behind Veronika.

  "The killer came in through there. I've already had the door fixed," she said quietly. "Mr. Hapshat was sleeping during that time. He was woken by the sound of his room being broken into, and there was a brief struggle. I had to replace the lamp as well.

  "The killer managed to stab Mr. Hapshat several times in bed. That's why there's no mattress right now. He then dragged Mr. Hapshat's body across the floor to the living room. You can still see the trail, unfortunately. Having this carpet bleached was a waste of money.

  "Right now, there's no curtains in the bathroom, or even a mirror. The curtains were splattered with blood as the killer used a hacksaw to remove Mr. Hapshat's limbs and head from his body and then strung the whole thing up on wires. He also smashed the mirror. We should be getting a new one in tomorrow.

  "I liked Mr. Hapshat. He was one of our few regulars, and he was always so kind. That last night, he was very much afraid of something. I didn't ask, of course. The man was entitled to his secrets, of which he had many. I knew some of them, like about his mistress in Yellow Coasts. I think he may have gotten involved in something that came back to bite him in the end. Poor man."

  "Murders don't
happen often here, do they?" Veronika asked.

  "Not in the way that you might think," Rosie said. "And no, I won't explain what I mean by that. We know you're in town for a specific purpose, and we will see that you are unhindered in it, so long as you grant us one favor."

  Veronika tilted her head, confused. "What's that?"

  Rosie sighed. "When you see us again tomorrow, it won't be me. It'll be another. She wants to help you. Don't speak to her of Room 102. She liked Mr. Hapshat a great deal."

  "What's her name?"

  Rosie closed her mouth, and furrowed her brow. "Such a strange thing to ask. She is also Rosie. She is the other. It has been some time since we were whole."

  Veronika shook her head. "I don't understand."

  "That changes little, I'm afraid."

  With that she turned and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind her, very much in the same way that earlier she had departed into the office. Curious, Veronika followed behind her. She stopped abruptly in front of the bathroom door, then flung it open.

  Inside, she saw one flickering violent image. A corpse strung up on wires as Rosie had previously described. Blood stained every corner of the bathroom. The shower curtains had been draped over the corpse. With the way the limbs had been severed and wired back together, it made the thing appear almost as a ghostly puppet on strings. Veronika took several steps back, clamping a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming. She turned her face away from the gruesome sight. When she turned back, the image was gone.

  Exhausted, Veronika turned on her heels and slowly marched out of the hotel room. She more or less stumbled to the next room over. She made sure to double-check the lock on the door before bed, and to check the closet, bathroom, and even beneath the bed. There were no monsters to be found.