Homesick

by Nino Cipri

  Merion wanders over to the south side of the apartment and looks at his painting.

  Jeremy stands next to him. He doesn’t ask What do you think, even though he always wants to know what Merion thinks.

  They look at the painting for a long time.

  Jeremy doesn’t say: If you had to resort to cannibalism, would you eat your mother or your father first?

  He doesn’t say: Would you rather have a parasite that controlled your brain or singing mushrooms that grew out of your armpits?

  He doesn’t say: Which will happen first, will the supervolcano under Yellowstone blow up, or will the San Andreas Fault crack open and spill San Francisco into the sea?

  He says, “I think I’m in love with you.”

  “Okay,” Merion says. Then he puts a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder, turns toward him, kisses him.

  His mouth is like an apricot. Closed: warm, firm, lightly furred on his upper lip. Open: wet, tart, hot.

  Jeremy’s knees feel a little weak, so he sits down in the chair next to the easel. Merion takes this as an invitation to sit down in his lap, straddling Jeremy’s hips. His weight is heavy, pressing Jeremy deeper into the wooden chair. Pinning him there.

  “What if I’m a woman underneath my clothes?” Merion asks.

  “That’s fine.”

  “What if I’m a man?”

  “That’s fine, too,” Jeremy says.

  “What if I’m neither? Or both?” Merion asks, leaning closer. The chair creaks under their weight. “Or what if I’m a monster? What would you do if I took off my shirt, and you saw scales or tentacles or tumors with tiny, scowling faces?”

  Jeremy has always distrusted words. They pretend to be straight-forward but shimmer like heat waves rising off the pavement. He likes images because they never pretend to be the whole story. Beyond the borders, an entire world is left to the imagination.

  “I’d ask to paint you,” Jeremy answers. “Merion the monster, in repose. With cupcake.”

  Merion laughs deep in his chest, happy.

  In Jeremy’s closet, the poltergeist pauses while pulling a shirt off its hanger. Something catches its attention, and it drifts out of the confines of the closet. It ignores the two figures sharing a single chair, pressed chest to chest, mouth to mouth; if one of them is a monster, the poltergeist doesn’t care. It picks up the apricot pit from the saucer, examines the scrap of pink flesh clinging to it. It feels like a raw bone, the violent remainder of something that was torn away, chewed up, devoured.

  The poltergeist hovers near Jeremy and Merion like a distant ending, ignored but insistent.

  WHICH SUPER LITTLE DEAD GIRL™ ARE YOU?

  TAKE OUR QUIZ AND FIND OUT!

  Everyone knows and loves the Super Little Dead Girls™! These feisty girls are all gutsy, gallant, and gung-ho about fighting monsters and undead menaces, but they’ve got their distinct personalities too. Take our quiz to find out which Super Little Dead Girl™ is your super alter ego!

  1.) On a Friday night, where could a potential murderer or evil spirit most likely find you?

  A. At a sleepover at your friend’s house, painting each other’s fingernails and listening to that new boy band you’re all obsessed with. You don’t think about the open window, how the curtains flutter in the summer breeze like a beckoning hand, how the lamplight shines like a beacon in the dark night.

  B. In bed, covers pulled over your head and a flashlight tucked into the crook of your shoulder, a book of ghost stories resting on your legs. All of your attention is on the fictional horrors captured in printed text and inky drawings, and none is on the arcane ritual that’s begun in your basement.

  C. In the graveyard by the train tracks, and yes, you know this is a bad idea, and yes, you know that Becky and her little clique were probably lying when they said they’d spent the whole night here. You’re not going to back down now, though, not when she bet you five dollars.

  D. Underground. You’ve been sleeping in the dirt for far more years than you ever walked above it.

  2.) What do you hope your last act as a Living Girl would be?

  A. Bargaining with the killer, telling him he can have you if he lets your friends go.

  B. Writing out the name of the cult’s leader in your own blood. Not that it’ll do you much good; the sheriff’s in on it, too.

  C. Not peeing yourself when you see the red eyes glowing in the dark.

  D. Forgetting. You do not wish to remember your life, and you flinch away from the shades of memory that still haunt you.

  3.) What’s your secret weapon?

  A. You can raise other Little Dead Girls out of cemeteries, lonely roadsides, shallow graves, basements, and abandoned refrigerators. They crawl out and fight alongside you when you call them.

  B. You can run your fingers along one of the spells carved into your skin, as if the scars are Braille that only you can read, and activate it. You’ve called down storms and ravens and blood-hungry mists to fight your enemies.

  C. You transform. The sight of your scales, claws, wings, and teeth sends most bad guys running—though you like it better when they don’t run.

  D. Your voice. You speak above a whisper and can shatter a man’s spirit. You speak louder than that and can shatter his skull.

  4.) What’s the first thing you do after becoming a Super Little Dead Girl™?

  A. Storm into the courtroom where Old Mr. Larrieux is being tried for your murder, and tell everyone who the real killer is.

  B. Burn your parents’ house to cinders. They traded you for eternal glory in the afterlife, so they should get their reward as soon as possible.

  C. Eat Becky. You warned her to quit shoving you or something terrible would happen.

  D. Scream. You thought it was finished. You did not want to come back. Your grief levels the ghost town where you were buried more than a century ago.

  5.) What’s the second thing you would do as a Super Little Dead Girl™?

  A. You want to hug your parents and your little sister. Instead, you lead the police to where you were buried. You tell them the name of the man who did this to you. You narrate what he did to you in cold detail and explain where they can find him. And then you tell them to leave you alone in that ugly patch of trees off the highway where he buried you. They’re too frightened to disobey. You sink to your scabby knees and dig your fingers into the loose dirt and gravel that covered your body. It feels like a thunderclap is building in your chest, and when you open your mouth, it tears out of you, echoing down the long, lonely road.

  B. You’re nearly to the sheriff’s house when you hear the call, and the symbols carved into your palms start to glow. You try to ignore it, but your revenge suddenly seems small, less important. Someone needs you. You write the sheriff a quick note on his garage door before taking his car. Your blood is tackier and harder to write with than when you died, so it’s just one word: Soon.

  C. You come back to yourself with your fingers wet with Becky’s blood and your belly full and distended. Salt and copper coats your lips. You get up and start to run, impossibly fast, not even realizing that something is guiding your steps, bringing you together.

  D. You accept that it’s happening again. You believed it was over, that you had earned your rest. You had hoped and prayed and fought for this to never happen again. But when you hear the call, you begin to make your way toward your sisters, feeling them like warm light on your cold, papery skin.

  6.) What do you have instead of eyes?

  A. Crushed daisy petals and Skittles.

  B. Shards of obsidian. Sometimes they fall out like sharp, black tears.

  C. You actually still have eyes, but the pupils are X-shaped.

  D. Windows to the Void.

  7.) What’s your worst subject at school?

  A. Math! UGH.

  B. Gym! THE WORST.

  C. English! GAG.

  D. Lunch. Even the other Super Little Dead Girls™ hate watching you eat.

  8
.) What’s the worst thing about being a Super Little Dead Girl™?

  A. Your parents haven’t been super accepting of the new you. Actually, they can hardly bear to look at you. Whenever she sees you, your mother clutches at her chest like she has a gaping wound there that matches yours. Your father actually fainted when you came into the courtroom during the trial. They won’t let your little sister see you at all, though your mom allows phone calls. You know they’re scared of you, that they can’t look at you without thinking of what happened to you. You want to scream at them that you’re still you, you’re still here. But while your screams raise the dead, they don’t do much for the living.

  B. You don’t like that you’re always going to be a little girl. You had plans for getting older. They were sort of vague before you died: famous scientist, fabulously wealthy, married, et cetera. But since you were ritually sacrificed, those plans have gotten clearer, even as they’ve drifted firmly out of your grasp. You can see the woman you were going to become: the no-nonsense haircut and the sensible shoes you’d wear to the lab, the home you’d build with your spouse, with lots of land where you could walk the dogs you would rescue from the pound. It feels like the longer you’re dead, the more you know about the life that you should have led.

  C. Definitely the paparazzi. These creeps follow you from school to home and even to the Super Little Dead Girl™ secret hideout. They sneak up on you and shout HEY FREAK and IS IT TRUE YOUR MOTHER HAD SEX WITH THE DEVIL. They think you’re a fake. Then they think they’ll outrun you. Then they think they’ll be able to reach you and call you back, the sweet little girl that’s still buried somewhere deep inside. They don’t realize that you’re not buried; you’re in bloom, in control the entire time. But ugh, paparazzi taste terrible and they give you wicked farts.

  D. You can feel the void reaching for you, trying to drag you back to your shallow grave. You long for it as much as you dread it. You reach with one hand for your new sisters, and with the other back toward the dirt where you belong. You want to rest again in that cool embrace of the grave, but your work is not yet finished.

  9.) What’s the best thing about being a Super Little Dead Girl™?

  A. Your friends, for sure. They’re your family now.

  B. Having friends. You were kind of a loner before. (Also, the library at your secret hideout is huge.)

  C. Friendship, duh. (Also, free pizza from corporate sponsors.)

  D. Good company. You do not walk this path of suffering alone. (Also, the music of this century is wondrous. Rihanna and Sia “give you life,” as the saying goes.)

  10.) What are your future hopes and dreams as a Super Little Dead Girl™?

  A. You want to protect people—not just other little girls, but not-so-little girls, boys, and even grown-ups. You really wish grown-ups would do better at protecting other people and not, like, making more Little Dead Girls. That would make your job a lot easier.

  B. You want to know why you’re all here and how this happened. You’ll never grow up to be a famous scientist, but that doesn’t mean you can’t run experiments on your own. And you want to understand all the spells on your body, especially that one between your shoulder blades that you can’t quite reach.

  C. You’re going to Disneyland! No, seriously, you’re going as soon as the Super Little Dead Girls™ lawyers sort through the liability issues, and you’re taking the other Girls with you. You all deserve a vacation from fighting evil every other day.

  D. Your job is to prepare your sisters for what is coming. They think they know horror, that they know betrayal, that they know the shadowed depths of their souls. They don’t, not yet. You have read the signs, and you know the Darker Days are returning. They must be ready when the war begins again.

  MOSTLY A:

  You are Sadie! The undisputed leader of the Super Little Dead Girls™, you have a quick temper but a big heart (which everyone can see, since your killer sawed open your ribcage). You would do anything to protect your friends, and you choose justice over revenge— most of the time, anyway.

  MOSTLY B:

  You are Madelyn! You’re the brainiest of the Super Little Dead Girls™ and usually the smartest person in a room. You’re more cynical than some of your friends—finding out your parents are part of an evil murder cult will do that to a girl.

  MOSTLY C:

  You are Akemi! You never have and never will back down from a challenge. You’re the brawn of the Super Little Dead Girls™, and the one that stretches the “Dead” part of your group’s name to the limit. You’ve still got a heartbeat, after all—three of them, even!

  MOSTLY D:

  You are Jane Doe! You’re the oldest of the Super Little Dead Girls™, the most mysterious, and indisputably the deadest. You don’t open up easily, not even to your closest friends. You won’t win any beauty contests, not with most of your face rotted away and all those strange extra teeth, but you’re fiercely loyal and scared of nothing.

  Be sure to share your results with your friends, and sign up for our newsletter to get your daily dish on the cutest and fiercest team that ever faced down necromancers, demons, and school dances. And remember: friendship never dies!

  DEAD AIR

  Entry 1.

  [Beginning of recorded material.]

  [Laughter.]

  Voice: Wait, are you actually—

  Nita: Time is, uh, 9:42 in the morning, September 22nd, 2013. This is Nita Rosen, interviewing subject by the name of...

  Voice: Jesus, I really did not think you were serious.

  Nita: So you thought I made you sign a release as, what, foreplay?

  [Laughter.]

  Voice: I was, like, four tequilas deep by the time you walked in and probably at five when you waved that paper in my face. I would’ve signed my soul away to...uh, I didn’t actually sign my soul over, did I?

  [Rustling paper.]

  Nita: Maybe you should read this again. It’s a standard release that says you’re willing to be interviewed and to have this interview used in a published—well, a hopefully published art project. Thing. I’m not sure what it’ll look like exactly.

  Voice: Seriously? Okay. What’s this project about?

  Nita: It’s an ethnography of the people I fuck.

  [Moment of silence.]

  Voice: Wow. That’s. Okay.

  Nita: Scared off yet?

  Voice: Are you gonna play this is front of, like, some crusty old sociology professors?

  Nita: It’s art, not sociology. Or it’s sociologically influenced art. If you read the release, there’s a description.

  Voice: “Documenting the erotic discourse of...” [Laughs.] This is pretentious as shit.

  Nita: Duh. How else am I gonna get funding?

  [Laughter.]

  Voice: So if I say no...

  Nita: I turn the recorder off, make us some breakfast, and shred the release form. Bid you a nice goodbye and maybe ask for your number.

  Voice: Maybe?

  Nita: No promises either way.

  Voice: So no pressure.

  Nita: That would be unethical.

  Voice: I think most ethics boards would object to an author having sex with her subjects, but what do I know.

  Nita: That’s why it’s art and not science. So?

  Voice: All right. Hit me.

  Nita: Okay, so time is now 9:44 in the morning, September 22nd, 2013. Do you want to be referred to anonymously, or...?

  Maddie: Maddie. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.

  [Laughter.]

  Nita: Oh, no, the pleasure was all mine. So, first question, what’s the first thing you noticed about me in the bar last night?

  Maddie: Oh, wow, okay. Um. I think I saw you from the back first, so—

  Nita: Was it my ass? I have a great ass.

  [Laughter.]

  Maddie: No! I mean, yes, you have a great ass. No, that’s not what I noticed first. It was your shoulders and neck. The way your hair got stuck to the sweat on your
neck when you were dancing.

  Nita: Oo-kay, that sounds really unsexy but—

  Maddie: I wanted to bite you. In a good way. Just put my teeth on this tendon right here and...

  [...]

  Nita: Mmm. That’s nice. That’s...yeah.

  Maddie: Did you have another question?

  Nita: [Clears throat.] Why did you come out last night? Were you hoping to get laid?

  Maddie: I was hoping to dance, drink, have fun. Get out of my head for a while, I guess.

  Nita: What was in your head that you were hoping get away from?

  [...]

  Nita: You don’t have to answer questions you’re not comfortable with.

  Maddie: Okay, I’m gonna not answer that one.

  Nita: Totes fair, totes fair. Were you out alone last night?

  Maddie: I was by the time you got there. A couple of people I knew from work had come with me, but they went home early.

  Nita: And you stayed.

  Maddie: Didn’t have any other plans for the night. And like I said, I wanted to, you know—

  Nita: Get out of your head.

  Maddie: Yeah. And get laid, I guess. I mean, I don’t know if I put it like that to myself, but if we’re gonna be blunt about it, yeah. I wanted to find somebody. Or at least dance with somebody.

  Nita: Just like Whitney, huh.

  Maddie: Who?

  Nita: Seriously? You don’t—okay, we’re gonna deal with that later. But I will say that you are a serious outlier in my study, at least with your knowledge of eighties music.

  Maddie: Ooh, an outlier. I like the sound of that. Though I’m curious about how many other subjects you’ve, uh, interviewed.

  Nita: We can talk about that later, too. All right, this isn’t a normal question for my interviews, but...Can I ask about, uh—

  [Static.]

  Nita: What the hell?

  [are you sure you]

  Maddie: Something wrong?

  [want to]

  Nita: Yeah, the recorder’s being weird. Piece of crap.

  Maddie: What were you going to ask?