Catfish Lullaby

by A. C. Wise

Her gaze weighed on him. The nightmares were there, crawling just under the surface. It wasn’t fair to let her carry it alone. Caleb reached for her hand. This time, he swore to himself he wouldn’t pull away.

  “Please,” he said.

  Cere’s fingers closed on his, pale against his dark skin. Her touch plunged him into the swamp. Silt-filled water invaded his nose and mouth. Inches away, he caught sight of a muscled body like a gator’s but far too big. The creature whipped around, showing a blunt mouth, eyes bulbous and wide. A fin, the impression of a gill, a claw. A face that looked terrifyingly human. Caleb kicked frantically upward, and as his head broke the surface, he drew in a stinging breath.

  The world was on fire. The earth, the sky, everything. Stark against the flames stood a shadow so massive he couldn’t take it all in at once. His gaze slid away, looking for something else to fix on. Ash drifted onto his face, charred bits of the sky coming away in sticky flakes. Trees grew out of the water, bodies hanging from each, bloated feet skimming the surface where vast and terrible shapes roiled.

  He had to get away. Caleb panicked, batting his hands at nothing.

  “Caleb!”

  How long had Cere been calling his name? His cheek stung. She’d slapped him. Blood threaded from his nose. Not from her hitting him. He thought of Robert, muscles twitching as he lay in the mud beside the creek. He wiped his lip, leaving a smear of red on the back of his hand.

  “We have to tell my dad about Ellis.” Caleb’s eyes felt too wide. Even the scant light coming under the door from the hall hurt.

  “We can’t.”

  “He can help. He’s the sheriff.” He’d made this argument before, and it still sounded pathetic.

  “I shouldn’t have showed you those things, but it’s too late now. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”

  Cere leaned forward, peering at him. Could she see the visions swimming in his eyes? Caleb felt them like an echo, moving beneath his skin. Was that how she felt all the time?

  “Promise me?” Cere took his hand again, but this time no burning sky or tooth-filled water assaulted him.

  “Okay.” Caleb bit his lip.

  Cere let go of his hand. He wasn’t sure she believed him. He wasn’t sure that she should. Shaking, he rose and padded back to his room. He’d gone to her hoping for answers, but he’d been left with more questions.

  He sat in the center of his bed, pulling the covers around his shoulders and wrapping his arms around his knees. He’d promised not to say anything, but he and Cere couldn’t take on her brother on their own, could they?

  He thought of a night about a year ago when he and his dad had played catch out in the yard. They’d thrown the ball until it got too dark to see, and then his dad had pulled the truck around, hit the high beams, and flooded the yard, so they could keep practicing. Caleb had been nervous about making the team, but his father had said they’d practice until Caleb could throw a fastball in his sleep. Insects had swarmed the truck’s lights, wings and bodies translucent as they bumped against the plastic. But they’d never gotten bit. At the time, Caleb felt like his dad had some kind of magic, holding the insects at bay.

  It had been just him and his father for so long. Of course, they’d had his grandparents, but that was different. At the end of the day, it had been him and his dad against the world.

  Caleb eased off the bed and peered out into the hall. Light still flickered under his father’s door. Caleb glanced at Cere’s door, squeezing down guilt. He was doing this to help her.

  “Dad?”

  He almost hoped his father wouldn’t answer as he knocked softly.

  “Caleb?”

  The red tinge of exhaustion haunted his father’s eyes as he opened his door. For a moment, he looked utterly lost, and it struck Caleb that, with his grandparents dying so close together, his father was alone now too.

  “I think Cere knows something about those people who got killed.” Caleb glanced over his shoulder, expecting to find Cere behind him. The hallway stood empty. “Cere thinks her brother Ellis survived the fire. She thinks he did it.”

  Caleb stopped, but it was too late to pretend he didn’t know about the second murder. His father didn’t seem to notice.

  “Caleb, Ellis Royce is dead. We matched his fingerprints to what we had on file from when he and his brother broke into Hilltop.”

  Caleb blinked. If his father had positively identified Ellis’s body, that

  meant . . . Del. Just like Cere had thought at first. Del must have left the doll to make her think it was Ellis.

  “Then it’s her other brother.” Caleb’s voice rose, and he fought it back down, trying to sound reasonable. “Archie Royce’s body went missing, didn’t it?”

  Caleb licked his lips; he wasn’t supposed to know about that either. The lines around his father’s mouth deepened. Caleb saw the moment he came to a decision, stepping past Caleb and moving toward Cere’s door. Caleb almost tried to pull him back. Instead he crowded close behind his father, ready to make his excuses to Cere. But when his father pushed open the door, the bed was empty, the sheets rumpled, the window open.

  Caleb felt like an idiot. Of course, Cere had gone to deal with her brother on her own. He’d been stupid to think she’d sit around and wait. Except she still thought she was dealing with Ellis. Another thought struck him with a chill—maybe she didn’t care.

  “Cere’s old house.” Caleb moved toward the door but stopped as his father watched him in confusion.

  His thoughts spun, his pulse racing. There had to be something that could help them. A sound on the edge of hearing, an itch at the base of his spine. Caleb dropped to his knees, peering under the bed.

  “Caleb, what are you doing?”

  He ignored his father, wiggling further into the dim space. Dust tickled his nose. The space between the bed frame and the floor was colder than it should be. Caleb stretched, concentrating on the music that wasn’t music, the carving that was a song.

  “Caleb, if Cere’s in trouble, we have to find her.”

  A little further. His fingers brushed the carved wood. It squirmed under his touch. Caleb grabbed it, pretending not to feel the buzzing sensation. There was a rush of displaced air as if Caleb had taken the figurine from some space other than the one under the bed.

  “Okay.” Caleb scrambled to his feet before his father had a chance to ask questions. “Let’s go.”

  Gravel crunched, red and blue lights splashing the trees as they pulled into Archie Royce’s drive. His father had called for backup. Caleb watched out of the corner of his eye. What did his father think was waiting for them? A girl run away from her temporary home or something worse? His father couldn’t deny the murders were real. Whether he believed they’d been committed by Cere’s brother was another matter.

  Caleb’s father scrubbed a hand over his face and climbed out of the car, not even bothering to tell Caleb to stay behind. Caleb gripped the carved figurine, climbing out of the car as well. His father was deep in conversation with his officers; he already seemed to have forgotten Caleb’s presence. Caleb took the opportunity to move toward the house.

  “Cere.” His voice came out as a harsh whisper, but he didn’t dare raise it.

  A faint glow lit the walls, charred timbers casting harsh shadows that shifted weirdly as Caleb picked his way over the broken floor. His breath echoed. It wasn’t just the shadows. The house itself stretched around him. He stumbled, going to one knee.

  He pushed himself up, rubbing ash from his palms. It clung to him like the black rot on the lawn. That seemed like a lifetime ago. Distracted, Caleb didn’t notice the figure until it grabbed his arm, and he let out a yell. A face leered close, eyes full of sick, burning light, mouth a slit in a black, tangled beard. Del.

  Caleb tried to back away, but his feet slipped on the floor. Del smelled of rot mingled with sweat.


  “Help!” Caleb found his voice, hoping his father would hear.

  “Shut up.”

  With his free hand, Del smacked Caleb—hard enough his head rocked to the side, leaving his ears ringing—and dragged him deeper into the house.

  Shouts sounded behind them; two flashlight beams cut through the dark. Shadows jumped, and Caleb was momentarily blinded. He raised his hand to shade his eyes as one of his father’s officers appeared in the doorway, Caleb’s father behind him.

  “Caleb!”

  Caleb’s chest tightened. He’d put them all in danger, and he hadn’t even managed to help Cere.

  “Let go of the boy and put your hands where we can see them.”

  An officer Caleb didn’t recognize spoke as his father took a step forward. Del pulled Caleb closer, the scent of him making Caleb’s eyes water.

  Del snarled, spitting a word old and ugly and not in any language Caleb knew. It flew through the air, a solid clot of darkness—thick and tarry—striking the officer and knocking him flat, his flashlight spinning away.

  “Stop.” Cere’s voice rang through the house.

  A shadow separated from the wall, becoming a girl. For a moment, she had too many angles. Bones seemed to jut from her shoulders, clattering like terrible wings. Then she was just Cere, her chin up, her eyes—which were every color and no color—swarming with gold.

  Even Del froze although his grip remained tight on Caleb’s arm.

  “Del.”

  “Heya, sissy.” The words dripped malice, but even so, Caleb felt Del tense. He was afraid of Cere.

  “Let Caleb go.” Cere’s voice was low.

  “Caleb. Oooh, Caleb.” Del crooned, making Caleb’s name sound like an ugly thing. It made him think of Denny and Robert. He shook Caleb, making his already aching head rattle. “This little nigger your boyfriend?”

  Cere didn’t react. She stared at Del, and Caleb felt the air around him crackle. Tendrils of shadow unfolded behind her and one of those shadows lashed the air next to Del’s head, cracking like a whip. Del jerked to the side, shoving Caleb away from him. A smell like ozone lingered in the air.

  Caleb climbed to his feet and froze. Everything froze. It was like it had been in the woods when they’d gone searching for Catfish John. He could see and hear everything, but he couldn’t turn his head, couldn’t speak. His father and the other officers seemed frozen too. Only Cere moved, approaching her brother.

  “This is between kin, Del.”

  “Just right, little sister. A happy family reunion like daddy would’ve wanted.” Del grinned, showing crooked teeth.

  The house expanded, the angles of it gone wrong. The burned walls rolled back, revealing an ashen plane dissected by fallen beams. The house was still there, but the pieces of it didn’t match up. It reminded Caleb of a card game he used to play with his grandparents where each card was a piece of the house the players had to assemble.

  Overhead, scraps of sky had been torn away, showing stars that had no business here. They made Caleb think of eyes, opening and blinking in the dark.

  Caleb still had Catfish John’s carved figure shoved into the pocket of the cargo shorts he’d hastily pulled on before they left the house, but he couldn’t reach it, not with his hands stuck at his sides. But he could still hear it. He strained to catch the weird melody over the thump of blood in his ears while Del and Cere circled each other, wary animals. Cere had said Catfish John had given it to her to call him if she needed him. Caleb couldn’t think of a better time, but would it work for him?

  Catfish John.

  Caleb let them name roll through his head like a bell. He didn’t know how it was supposed to work, but what else could he do?

  “Let them go.” Cere kept her eyes on Del.

  “Or what?” Del’s tone mocked. His tangled beard and matted hair made him look ancient, but somehow Cere seemed like the elder sibling.

  “I know what I was made for.” Cere stepped closer, scarcely coming to the middle of Del’s chest, but he flinched. “Do you?”

  Del puffed himself up, but his voice shook.

  “You are a tool to do our father’s work.”

  Caleb tried to look toward his own father, but the angle was wrong. A shiver ran through the house, charred wood and stone grinding against each other. The leaf-rot and silt scent of the swamp rose around them. Water sloshed in the dark, but Caleb couldn’t see it.

  “You’re nothing without Archie.” Cere’s tone turned as nasty as Del’s.

  Del leapt for her, but Cere jumped back. Shadows engulfed her for a moment, and she reappeared on the other side of him, shaking. Caleb could see the effort it cost her; she was doing her best to hide it, but she was scared. The light in Del’s eyes shifted, a tint of red joining the muddy light like blood spreading through water.

  A hum, a vibration deep in Caleb’s bones. A different kind of song, one that called things out of the earth, out of the grave. It came from Del. Caleb realized his concentration had slipped. He couldn’t hear Catfish John’s song anymore.

  Catfish John.

  He thought the name frantically now, reaching after the threads of unearthly music.

  Del’s song was louder, a horrid wet sound that wasn’t music at all. It was a hand, pressing Caleb down. His legs buckled, slamming him to his knees. The pressure continued. If it didn’t let up, he would shatter.

  A glow gathered around Cere’s skin. She breathed hard, her eyes wide. From here, instead of mossy grey-green or even gold, they appeared black as polished stone. Caleb clung to Catfish John’s name, repeating it in his mind, trying to block out Del and everything else. He tried to remember the way he’d felt in the woods when Cere held the carving in her hands. A lullaby in a tangle of wood, the light of strange stars, cool water to wash away the muck Del called.

  Something rotting crawled past Caleb, something that looked like an animal turned inside out. He thought of Del on the train tracks. He imagined Del, torturing animals and burying them all over Archie Royce’s property. The dead thing slithered past, followed by another and another.

  Caleb look away, focusing on Cere instead. A faint tremor ran beneath her skin. Del’s song pulled at her, trying to break the dam and set the darkness free. Even Caleb could feel it, sluggishly rooting around the edges of his mind.

  Cere clenched her fingers, answering Del with a note of her own—high, piping, and strange. Was this the magic Archie taught, or was this something else? Slick shapes writhed in the air. Caleb’s upper lip tickled. Blood threaded from his nose, but this time he couldn’t wipe it away. It fell in fat, crimson drops to the ash-strewn ground.

  “Give up.” Cere spoke between gritted teeth. “Archie is dead. You don’t have to do what he says anymore.”

  Del let out a roar, an almost human sound in contrast to the weird of his song. His hand flashed out, catching Cere’s cheek. She spun with the blow, losing her balance and hitting the ground. Her song cut off.

  Caleb gagged, a taste like wet and rotting leaves clotting his tongue. Catfish John. He tried again to focus on the name. Cere climbed to her feet. Had she made Del angry on purpose to distract him?

  Caleb’s fingers twitched. His muscles ached. If he could reach the carving . . .

  Cere lashed out not with shadows but her own fingers, hooked like claws and tearing at Del’s skin. Her narrow chest heaved. Even if she was trying to distract Del, her own concentration was spread thin. How long could she fight him off, hold herself together, and keep everyone still and safe out of the way? Her body was still human even if she’d been born to channel Archie’s private apocalypse. Eventually she would wear down.

  Catfish John. Caleb focused on his breath, his pulse, let the name match their rhythm. His fingers twitched again. He almost shouted with relief. Another twitch. A sliver of motion.

  Cere’s breath came in shal
low gasps, but at least, Del seemed to be tiring too. The air around them crackled and burned, and Caleb caught glimpses of the things he’d seen in Cere’s nightmares. The torn patches in the sky showed blood red now. Cere flickered, becoming the pregnant woman from Caleb’s dreams and then something else entirely. A vast, scaled creature, the crown of her head scraping the broken sky.

  Caleb squeezed his eyes shut, feeling a rush of victory when he realized he could. He closed the distance to his pocket and yanked out the wooden figure. Its curves felt warm and smooth beneath his touch.

  “Please.” He fought the word past his lips. “Help her.”

  He opened his eyes, clenched his jaw. Light bled from Cere’s skin, making it look almost translucent. Shadows moved beneath its surface like terrible bruises. She shuddered, curling inward like she could hold onto everything by making herself small. Del grinned, his face horribly lit with triumph. The ground heaved. One of the remaining sections of wall cracked, showering them with brick dust.

  “Please,” Caleb whispered, hoarse. “Catfish John.”

  All at once, the pressure lessened. Caleb sucked in a breath. Cere had resumed her song, and now a third voice threaded between Cere’s and Del’s, between the dark shapes crowding the air. It wasn’t anything human, yet it was comforting. Safe. To Caleb, it sounded like his mother’s barely remembered singing, tasted like his grandmother’s persimmon jelly, felt like sunshine on his shoulders as he and Mark lazed by the creek. It was his grandfather’s stories and playing catch with his father.

  Cere froze, crouched and looking up at her brother. Del froze too. Caleb realized he could turn his head now.

  Catfish John. Here, actually here. He’d answered Caleb’s call.

  Catfish John’s music rose, steady and rolling as he approached Archie Royce’s children. Cere straightened and took a limping step, her posture speaking pain and longing. Her skin cracked, bits of her flaking away to ash. Everything she was holding inside wanted to come out and devour the world even when Del’s song fell still.

  Caleb could almost see Catfish John clearly, but even this close, something about him seemed to resist the eye. Grey skin, the downturn of his mouth. He wore an old hunting jacket, collar turned up, but it couldn’t quite hide the slits in his neck. Gills. Or maybe just scars, marks of violence done against him for being different. Catfish John was both and neither—a man who just wanted to be left alone, a being older than the world.