Winterland

by Mike Duran

  “Will the circle be unbroken

  Bye and bye, Lord, bye and bye

  There`s a better home a waiting

  In the sky, Lord, in the sky”

  Moisture etched the panes, the droplets sparkling like honey from the interior glow. Eunice moved closer, drawn by the song. There was movement inside. Eunice hastened to the window, cupping her hands about her face in order to see. Someone sat before a crackling fire, rocking methodically.

  “Who could that be?” Eunice said. “Out here all alone?”

  She swiped condensation from the window, and peered at the silhouette. But she could not make out the singer.

  A bank of fog swept by, rocking the tendrils overhead. Drizzle came with it. Eunice shivered. Perhaps she could warm herself inside just long enough to regain strength for this dreadful journey of hers.

  “Granny Em,” Mordant whispered from behind Eunice. “Mother never wanted ‘er to leave.”

  “That’s not a surprise.” Eunice stepped away from the window. “Granny Em never seemed at home. I mean, not on the other side.” She began meandering around the cottage. “It’s not the kinda family history someone wants to talk about, ya know? I stayed with her when I was a kid. She was a neat old lady. A little eccentric, but… She always liked that creepy old hymn about death and dying. About unbroken circles and stuff. I didn’t think anything of it, till she—” Eunice stopped, perhaps fifteen feet from the door of the house. “Granny Em started to cut herself. Self-mutilation, they called it. Mother finally put her in an institution. I never visited, couldn’t bring myself to see her like that.”

  Mordant was behind her now, unusually quiet.

  “They found her dead one day,” Eunice said. “Curled up in her own vomit. Drank drain cleaner, or something.”

  The asphalt was no longer visible, and the ground was speckled with moss and brackish puddles. Stepping-stones traced a path into the house. Eunice remembered playing hopscotch, as a child, along these same stones. The back door was open and Eunice crept toward it. As she did, the singer’s voice resumed.

  “Well I followed close behind her

  Tried to hold up and be brave

  But I could not hide my sorrow

  When they laid her in that grave.”

  Eunice did not need to look behind her, for she could feel Mordant following closely. His groveling had changed and become a dissonant guttural hum. However, despite her repulsion of the grub man, the mystery of it all carried her forward.

  Eunice stepped into the doorway.

  The cottage was exactly as she remembered it, cluttered and warm. Dusty antiques and quilts in mid progress scattered the place. Her wooden rocker was near the fireplace, Granny Em’s favorite spot. Someone sat there, back turned to Eunice, with a sheet of fabric draped over their legs. As Eunice entered the doorway, the figure stopped rocking and straightened.

  “Granny Em?” Eunice’s breath caught in her throat. “Is that you?”

  She needn’t have asked that question. The long-sleeved lacy dress, white hair yellowed from age, drawn back into a tight ponytail—there was no mistaking it. This was her grandmother.

  But why was Granny Em living inside Eunice’s mother’s world?

  Eunice could smell Mordant’s moldy breath over her shoulder. He was mumbling something about stews and stirring and rot recurring. As she stepped into the cottage, the woman set aside the quilt and stood. But she did not face Eunice.

  She simply stood with her back turned.

  “Granny Em?” Eunice inched forward. “Why’re you here?”

  But the woman remained looking the opposite direction.

  “Granny Em?” Eunice angled her way past a roll-top desk. “It’s me, Eunice. That you?”

  Yet the old woman continued to face the opposite direction. Then the song started again:

  “Will the circle be unbroken

  Bye and bye, Lord, bye and bye

  There`s a better home a waiting

  In the sky Lord, in the sky”

  But the singing did not come from the woman. An old record player, its stylus bobbing atop a warped vinyl album, sat in the corner. It was an old-time gospel choir, she guessed. The kind Granny Em liked. When Eunice came to this realization, the woman turned to face her.

  Eunice stopped in her tracks.

  For she still saw the woman’s back.

  “Granny Em?” Eunice squinted, trying to compute what had just happened. “That you?”

  The woman remained standing with her back to them.

  A sudden emptiness gripped Eunice. “Look at me,” she demanded. “Granny Em, look at me.”

  Granny Em turned again, and this time Eunice’s stomach dropped. There was no mistaking it.

  The woman’s front… was another back.

  Eunice stumbled backwards, colliding with Mordant who snuffled excitedly. Perhaps it was an optical illusion, as so much of Winterland appeared to be. Yet Eunice was sure the woman had turned around. Twice. Nevertheless, the woman’s elbows, palms, heels, and white ponytail still faced Eunice. She’d heard of people being two-faced, but no-faced was another category.

  Her grandmother had become the Lady of the Perpetual Back.

  A wave of nausea swept over Eunice. For the inverted person was walking toward her. The movement was wholly unnerving, giving the appearance that Granny Em—or whatever Granny Em had become—was walking backwards.

  Eunice shook her head and began edging toward the doorway. She was going to throw up. “The circle,” she muttered, swallowing hard. “The unbroken circle. It needs to be broken. The circle needs to be broken.”

  Mordant yelped as Eunice fled from the warm cottage into the fog, coughing and gagging as she went.

  “Joseph!” she skidded to a stop, peering into the mist. “Joseph! God, what’ve I done.”

  Mordant waddled after her, blathering something about the benefits of immobility.

  “The stream,” she said frantically, scanning the clearing. “The stream!”

  A flutter of wings sounded. Wooden branches snapped and tumbled to the ground. She stumbled back as the harpies burst from the treetops and disappeared into the fog.

  “Joseph!” Eunice called. “Help! Help!”

  She ran blindly, Granny Em’s empty face burning holes into her brain. What did it mean? Was it really her grandmother? If Eunice had brought her own reality with her, then maybe she was the one in need of being saved.

  The hellish opera began its symphony, filling the air with distant shrieks and lamentations. She dodged leafless trees and hurdled chunks of asphalt in the direction she believed she’d last come.

  “I can go back,” she panted. “I can go back.”

  As she was about to cry out for help again, Eunice smashed head first into something and fell flat on her back.

  “Joseph,” she slurred. “I’m hurt.”

  Eunice groaned, gathered herself, and rose up on her elbows. Her forehead throbbed. Was it possible to actually crack your head open in your sleep?

  The fog cleared enough to make out a vast tower before her rising precariously into the flaming sky. She’d run square into a lighthouse. Or the Washington Monument. And from a window, high above, someone was watching her.

  NINE

  Eunice gingerly tapped her forehead and checked her fingertips for blood. But there was no time to worry over her physical state. She blinked hard, sat up on her elbows, and then traced the white crumbling wall in front of her with her eyes. Higher and higher. The tower tilted precariously, shifting in the breeze, creaking and groaning something terrible. Chunks of plaster and stone clattered to the base of the structure.

  “How’d you—?” Joseph stood panting before her, appearing as if out of nowhere. “You found it!”

  “Did I?” she said woozily.

  The fog was gone, as was the Swamp of Mlaise. Eunice struggled to her feet, scanning her surroundings. Things had changed again. Before her, an arid plain now stretched. The tarry rivulet
cut a path into the parched ground, a black vein tracing its way down the gray earth to the basin. Behind her, the misty shroud of Mlaise had withdrawn and draped the withered treeline like a curtain. How had she gotten here? And where was she?

  “I thought I’d lost you,” Joseph said.

  “You did,” Eunice answered sarcastically.

  “Hey, I told you not to listen to him. So how’d you find your way?”

  “I dunno. I guess a cottage on the freeway in the fog with my dead grandmother isn’t exactly my picture of a dream house.” Then she stared up at the tower. “But what’ve I found?”

  “It’s the Plains of Cinder,” Joseph motioned to the broad flat basin that now stretched before them. “And this,” he pointed to the rickety spire, “is the Tower of Industry. Built exclusively by one Reverend Ash.”

  Eunice peered at Joseph. “Ash?”

  “Reverend Ash,” Joseph said with exaggerated haughtiness. “He’s particular about that.”

  “I suppose that was him up there.” She pointed toward the window in the tower. It was empty.

  Without looking, Joseph nodded. “He knew we were coming. He’s been watching us. Got an obsession for detail, you could say. And he won’t like the idea of having to come down.”

  Eunice put her hands on her hips and glared at Joseph.

  He shrugged. “Your mother wants him too. What can I say? He’s not gonna come down on his own. They never do.” Joseph moved a step closer, a sparkle in his bad eye. “It’s why you’re here, Eunice. You’re supposed to do this.” Then he stepped back, brushing nonchalantly at his clothing. “Besides, like I said, you can leave whenever you want.”

  “I'm not sure I like that option anymore.”

  “Why? Because it’s too easy?”

  “No. Because it’s too tempting.”

  Joseph arched his eyebrows. “So would you rather have no freedom?”

  She looked at him long and hard. “Anyway. So who is he, this Reverend Ash?”

  “No!” Mordant sloughed up from behind her, casting a frightful gaze up at the looming tower. “Missy! You don’t understand. It’s Ash’s fault. All of this! Sights n’ binds! Woulda never happened without him. Blew it up, he did. Zmpff! Loosed the cannons. Oh-h-h. He started the whole thing.”

  She extended her hand to halt his advance.

  “Brrph!” Mordant stumbled to stop. “He stole ‘er! Didn’t play fair. Mlaise—it woulda never happened. She woulda stayed put. Mordant was ‘er first love. Never woulda left him. Aw-w-w. Now the Trench, the beasties. Prfk! It ain’t fair!” He stomped his foot. “Ash’s fault, I tell ya. Ya got the wrong one, Missy. The whole time, ya got wrong one. Mordant can go free. Yes! Back to burrow. Ash—he’s the one you want!” He pointed all four of his hands up at the tower and spat.

  Eunice peered at him. “I told you to stop calling me Missy.”

  A proud smile blossomed on Joseph’s face.

  Mordant huffed and turned away pouting.

  Eunice heaved a great sigh and looked at Joseph. “Is she up there?”

  “Your mother? Oh, no. She’s at the end of the road. It’s just him—Reverend Ash. He doesn’t share Industry with anyone. It’s all him.”

  She cast a dark silent look at the precarious structure. “So what do I have to do?”

  “You have to go up and get him.”

  “Go up there?”

  He nodded.

  “All the way?”

  He nodded again.

  “You can’t just beam me up?”

  “Get real, Eunice.”

  She drew a deep breath. “Okay. Then you’re coming, right?”

  “Of course!” Joseph clicked his heels.

  “And him?” Eunice motioned to Mister Mordant. The creature stumbled forward, wringing his hands, pleading with Eunice to have mercy on him. She silenced him and without waiting for Joseph’s response, said, “All right, he’s coming.”

  “Ain’t made for heights. Ert! Mordant can’t climb!”

  “Well,” Eunice said, “Mordant’s gonna learn.”

  Joseph led the way around the structure and as he did, a great gust of arid air blew up from the plains and struck them. The awful sun flared on the horizon and the Tower of Industry shifted, its timber and plaster dissenting against the blast. Eunice shielded her eyes against twigs and particles of sand. As the gale died, she looked behind her. Mlaise had vanished, taking her ghastly grandmother with it. Was it ever really there to begin with? Together, their gazes rose up, up into the fiery sky of Winterland, to the tilted spire.

  “This thing’s gonna collapse,” Eunice said

  “You would think.”

  “And someone lives here?”

  “It’s amazing what people learn to tolerate, isn’t it?”

  Eunice scowled at Joseph.

  He began hiking around the perimeter of Industry, picking through the debris until they reached a massive wooden door, tall and narrow.

  “What’s that?” Eunice leaned closer.

  On the door hung a long scroll, consisting of what appeared to be lists. At the top of each page, in large handwritten letters, were the words

  RULES FOR ENTRY

  After which followed an itemization of requirements. She cleared her throat and read aloud, “Hygienics: Wash hands. Trim nails. Deposit nails appropriately. Wash hands again, giving attention to cuticle depth. Trim nails again, as needed. Antisepticise. Proceed to fumigation. Huh?” She looked at her hands. They were filthy from the bog and several nails were broken. But it would take more than a manicure to comply with these demands. She continued reading, her tone growing more perturbed. “Inspect clothing. If any of the following have been encountered in the span—general decomposition, either vegetative or corporeal, feces, or carbon emissions—purification is required. Discard clothing and proceed to—”

  Eunice stepped back, riffling through the parchments on the door. Hundreds of detailed statutes specifying everything from the type of footwear allowed in Industry to unbecoming conduct once inside.

  “This is impossible.” She gaped at Joseph. “I can’t do all this. If I tried, I’d be here for days.”

  “You’d be here forever,” Joseph said drolly. “Which is the point, I guess.”

  “So how’d my mother ever get in?”

  “She didn’t. But it wasn’t for lack of trying.”

  “Next you’re gonna tell me that the road to hell is paved with good intentions.”

  Joseph sighed.

  “Okay,” Eunice said. “So what are we gonna do?”

  “There’s only one thing you can do.”

  The scroll of laws rustled dryly as a breeze swept past. Eunice had never been one for rules. Not that she was a rule-breaker. Compliance with a set of rules had not freed her from chemical addiction. Vows and pledges had been no substitute for simple surrender. She was powerless to heal herself—that’s how the credo put it. And it was that admission that stripped the Law of its power. As long as these ridiculous decrees remained posted, her mother would be bound.

  Eunice stared at the scroll.

  Then she marched over and snatched the parchments off the door. One by one, she ripped them in half, releasing them into the breeze. The sheets skittered across the earth, disappearing in a puff of smoke as they went. After the last page had completely vanished, Eunice stood listening to the lonely howl of the wind across the Plains of Cinder.

  The door creaked open behind her.

  She jumped at the sound, thinking that maybe the tower was collapsing. Mordant yammered something about heights and the fools who attempt them. She ignored him, crept forward, and poked her head inside. The smell of must and mold was so strong that she staggered back, coughing.

  Eunice flung her arm over her face and prepared to enter. As she did, the molten sun flumed on the horizon, rocking the earth. Mordant stumbled back blubbering as Eunice clung to the doorway. Chunks of plaster clattered to the earth around her. Suddenly, Joseph shoved her through th
e doorway as a block of mortar thumped the earth where she had been standing. The quake rolled to a stop. She had fallen inside the Tower of Industry and knelt as a cloud of dust settled around her.

  And she was sure she had broken another nail.

  Eunice bustled to her feet, choking against the grit. Joseph hurried inside, yanking Mordant through the narrow doorway.

  “We have to hurry,” Joseph said. “Your mother—” He glanced worriedly outside.

  Eunice stared up into the heart of the structure. It was hollow, ribbed with beams and braces. A narrow stairwell followed the interior walls, rising precariously, snaking this way and that like something out of a Tim Burton nightmare. The serpentine steps disappeared high above.

  “He’s up there?” Eunice groaned, unable to keep herself from sounding disheartened. “All the way up there?”

  “C’mon!” Joseph summoned Mordant and marched to the steps. “We don’t have time.”

  The stairs were unusually steep. From the size of them, Reverend Ash had to be ten feet tall. The higher they climbed, the more sheer the steps became. Mister Mordant took to slinging his arms over each step and hoisting himself over the edge, complaining between every exaggerated breath. Up above, a pale light grew and she could make out windows and a vast platform.

  Eunice caught herself thinking about the scroll of laws she had destroyed. It wasn’t the first time she had broken someone’s rules. But she did not anticipate the guilt and fear that now possessed her as a result of that act. Whoever Reverend Ash was, he could rightly hold her to account, which most likely involved torture racks and iron maidens.

  The building seemed to sag under their weight. One step after the other, the party plodded skyward. The ascent became so difficult that even Mordant stopped speaking. Maybe it was better her mother had never made it inside. Along the way, they passed skeletal remains draped with spider webs. At one point, Joseph stopped to clear away a dusty oxygen mask. He kicked it and it sailed into the tower, dropping soundlessly to the bottom. By the time they reached the final step, Eunice’s mind was swirling. Above them stretched the underbelly of a wooden attic. The stairway led to a single iron-hinged hatch. Joseph heaved the door open and it clanged on the other side. Then he hoisted himself up and reached down for Mordant.