Down the Well, page 8
Mathilde stayed silent, and Lore wondered if she was holding her breath, waiting to see what the older mouse said next.
“Sisters!” Minifred called. “Let’s go,”
The other three mice filed out of the room more civilly than they entered. Before pulling the door shut behind her, Minifred spoke to Mathilde, but stayed fixated on Lore.
“Be downstairs in two minutes.” Her voice was softer, like the steel edge in her tone had melted by the fires of fatigue. “The human clearly stays in the house.” With that, she quietly shut the door, leaving Mathilde and Lore alone.
Mathilde didn’t miss a beat, she jumped back atop the mattress so she and Lore were at eye-level. “Okay, so as much as I hate to admit it,” she sounded defeated, “Minifred is right. You’ve got to stay put, at least until we figure out what happened to our father. Okay?”
Lore looked past Mathilde, and even with the curtain only partially gathered, she could see rows of animal bodies crowding the streets outside. “Then what?” she asked, not looking away from the window.
“We’ll see what the commotion is about first, then worry about that later,” Mathilde insisted.
The statement alone made Lore feel like a caged songbird, but she wouldn’t know the first place to start when walking out into the world beyond the walls of the house. She rocked back on her heels. “Fine.”
“Wonderful.” Mathilde picked at the fraying cuffs of her bright red jacket. “I cannot emphasize enough how important it is that you agreed. For the safety of the townsfolk. But, more importantly, for yourself.” Her eyes flickered away as if she were debating sharing something she shouldn’t.
“Mathilde!” Minifred’s voice boomed.
“Well, I must be off then.” The mouse in question slid off the bed and scampered to the door. She looked back over her shoulder at Lore. “We’ll talk more when I get back, Human. Don’t worry, you’re safe within the walls of this house.”
Lore silently walked around the wooden frame of the bed to pick up the comforter. She pulled it neatly across the mattress. Mathilde shut the door and Lore quickly tiptoed over to the window. She knelt close to the ground so just her eyes and the bridge of her nose butted up against the slate gray window trim. Lore knitted her brow as she watched the animals in trench coats, odd hats, and billowing white sleeves of cotton filed together. She could imagine the townsfolk whispering, gossiping about the what-ifs regarding whatever it was they were going to see.
From under the front porch’s roof, made of dark slabs of wood, she saw the mice shuffle out to meet the crowd gathering farther up the path.
Lore spotted a creature that stood out against the crowd, mainly because they were walking against it, unnoticed by anyone else. Lore watched the figure. A rabbit? No, not quite. She couldn’t put a finger on it. Something about this entire scenario felt familiar but when would she have seen such a thing before? Then, for a moment, it looked up to the window and Lore felt the persistence of golden eyes pressing against her through the glass.
Her face went red, and she quickly backed away from the window. The pink petals on the wallpaper still seemed to blow in a gentle breeze. Lore swallowed the rock in her throat and crawled back over to the window to see if the golden-eyed animal left.
Sure enough, the figure had vanished, and Lore felt the weight of uncertainty on her shoulders. Mathilde’s words echoed in the room. “You’re safe within the walls of this house.”
Lore raised a single brow. If I’m bound to the boards of this house, then I might as well get better acquainted with it.
TWELVE
She stood at the bottom of the stairwell, her hand still gripping the wooden railing tight. Holy Mary, mother of Joseph. There had only been one time that Lore had experimented with psychedelic drugs, and even that didn’t cause this much of a trip.
Her eyes danced over the bright green wallpaper, the white flowers frantically searched for a single drop of sunlight. The deep plum curtains pulled tightly shut gave the room a sort of eerie purple glow. Lore drew closer to the hearth, where tiny figurines rested on the mantle. They were little porcelain mushrooms, each had a different colored cap. She approached the bright, golden flames and let them warm her.
As she reached a hand up to the small hand-painted figurines, a ghostly voice called out. “Look with your eyes, not your hands.”
She whirled around, expecting to see a mouse sporting some sort of vintage dress. But there was nothing. Just her alone with the house and the items it held within it. She shook out the eerie feeling that she was being watched and directed her gaze back to the mantle. Her favorite was the teal-capped fungi. They were the smallest items lining the shelf tucked away in boughs of evergreen and elderberries.
Looking with her eyes and not her hands went out the door, as if the idea itself were trailing the mice sisters to the town square. Lore gingerly ran a finger over the glossy paint. Then she gently cupped the porcelain figurine in her palm. The golden flecks in the teal cap glimmered in the dim lighting. She held it close to her face and saw little painted nubs resembling hands, and small onyx eyes. Whoever did this really had an eye for detail. They looked great.
Then the itty-bitty eyes blinked.
Lore dropped the ceramic figurine. She winced, covering her reddened face, and held her breath, expecting to hear the shattering of porcelain. How will I explain this to Mathilde? Hey, sorry I broke your little, living mushroom statue. That didn’t seem like it’d be effective.
After a few passing moments of still silence, she peeked through one eye to find the figurine dusting its stipe on a pile of throw pillows lazily thrown about on the floor. It looked up at her and shook a scolding nub followed by shrill, knife-life cheeps.
Lore knelt down so she could be eye-level with the creature. “Uh, sorry,” she whispered. Then she felt gentle blows against her back.
She turned and saw it was the other mushrooms atop the mantle, hurling beady berries, random rocks, and stray pinecones at her.
“Okay! Okay!” She shuffled backward and felt her butt bump the table that sat between the living room and kitchen. She whirled around to see a pack of stray playing cards spread out flat on the table.
“The girl is lost,” the Queen of Spades whispered to the King beside her.
“I’m not lost,” Lore forced out.
“The girl is in denial,” the Joker blurted out.
“Well, you’re just a bunch of cards.” She huffed and crossed her arms. “What do you know?”
The cards stood up on the oak table and shuffled themselves. “We know many things,” the Queen of Hearts snidely remarked, before a Seven of Spades stood in front of her, then a Jack of Spades in front of it. “The Past—”
The Queen of Diamonds eclipsed the Jack as it—she?—moved to stand in front of the other card. “The present—”
And last, the King of Clubs stepped forward, now the front of the stack. “The future.”
Lore’s finger lingered on her chin as she watched the red backs of the cards dance on the table. “Can you read my fortune?”
The Joker jumped from the deck and jeered, “The human girl wants her fortune!” His words were interlaced with laughter.
Lore sucked on the inside of her cheek, waiting to see what would happen next. After the cards finished their dance, they all laid flat, only showing the ornate sloping and swirling designs of their back. The Joker paced back and forth in front of the card line. “Alright, human. Pay attention.”
Lore pulled out the chair and sat down, her arms crossed, “Okay, you’ve got my attention.”
The card stopped in front of her. “It’s no mere coincidence you’ve arrived here, but let’s see why. Instead of past, present, and future, we will lay a spread a bit more focus on your unique…” he paused, rubbed his chin, and did little air quotes with painted hands, “circumstances.”
Lore rolled her eyes. “M’kay.”
The Joker flipped inside the confines of the card so his bottom side was up and his front side was down. “Now, pick three cards.”
“Doesn’t matter the three, just pick whatever calls to you,” the now-bottom side of the card added. Its tone made them seem a bit displeased about the new placement.
Lore pursed her lips and slid out her first card. She then went to flip it, but the Joker tossed a napkin ring at her hand. “Ah ah.” They waved their four index fingers at her. “Two more!” they announced.
Lore’s face scrunched as she slid two more cards that seemed to giggle at her previous misstep.
“Position!” the Joker called.
The first card flipped itself over. “Three of Hearts!” the card shouted, announcing itself, and toasted an imaginary glass to Lore. “It appears you’re in the position to connect some things and come together with those around you and share.”
“Share what?” She folded her hands together. “I got nothing to share.”
“But you do. You have your perspective,” the Three of Hearts retorted. “And your experience.”
She had more questions but, wasting no time, the card beside it began folding up its edges.
The Joker announced. “Obstacle!”
The second card flipped. “ ’Tis I! Jack of Spades with a message!”
Oh boy, here we go. Lore rested her folded hands in her lap, twiddling her thumbs, and listened to what this one had to say.
“You, a powerful stranger, find yourself in a most mysterious place.” The Jack leaned on the black symbol of his suit for some support as it continued its delivery. “As tempting as it may be to detach, it’s more important to keep your thoughts and wits sharp.”
Lore nodded, taking in what the Jack had to say. Then her eyes followed the Joker card, who was waddling over to the last card. It loudly prompted, “Advice!”
The last card flipped. An Ace.
“Ace of Clubs!” it proclaimed. “To survive this world, you’ll need to be creative when problem-solving because you will face many dilemmas,” the card stated. “But when the opportunity arises, listen to the call to action.”
Lore leaned back on the wooden chair, rocking it a bit. Action, huh? She folded her hands behind her head. Her fingers grazed over a bit of a goose egg and that make her flinch from her own touch. Ouch.
Lore took another look at the cards. “Thank you. This was fun!”
The Joker raised a brow as the other cards shuffled again, waiting for someone else to sit at the kitchen table.
Lore went to the window and pulled back the plum-colored curtain. She watched the animals of the little town file down the cobblestone road in the direction the sisters went.
When the opportunity arises, take action. She gave herself an encouraging ‘I got this.’ She nodded in agreement with herself, lifted the window, and slid into the rose bushes that kissed the side of the Victorian-style house. They’d look better if they were painted white.
She felt a prick or two as she crawled under the rich red roses. She grimaced as she brought her finger to her mouth. The metallic, bitter taste immediately registered on her tongue.
She lay there looking for something else that could conceal her as the animals stood still and silent. That was something else Lore couldn’t quite place. There was a mystery smell floating in the air. Not even the pleasant perfume of the roses could cover up the smell of rotting cabbage, let alone whatever the mysterious odor was.
She quickly slunk behind some trash bins and she overheard some animals that passed by.
“Damn shame.”
“It is. Who knows what will happen to Charmsend now?”
Whatever it was, it didn’t sound like a good time.
Lore slipped between shrubs along the walkway and behind trash cans. Each time her heart raced a little faster like a hamster running on a wheel desperate to reach a piece of snack hanging from a string. Then, as quick as her feet and hands would take her, she made her way under a large blooming hydrangea bush. She concealed herself beneath the bright green and pink speckled flowers.
The animals were all huddled tightly together, not a sound but the occasional wind flapping someone’s jacket or scarf.
Lore leaned forward and noticed in the dirt beneath the shrub were paw prints. She tilted her head so she could get a better look. I wonder who did this? Maybe a young animal playing hide-n-go seek with their friends? She ran her fingers along the cool dirt, and the smell of rot loomed around her nose.
As Lore frolicked through the field of innocent thoughts, she didn’t notice a pair of orange furry hands reaching out. The pair of orange paws barely reached past Lore’s ears when a twig snapped.
She looked up, her breath trapped in her lungs, thinking someone had found her out.
The orange hands quickly pulled back before she could see them.
Lore saw a large skunk muttering something as he walked away. And then, for the shortest moment, there was a gap large enough that Lore could finally place what the smell was.
Emerald green scales were faint against the pool of thick blood beneath the body. Sharp teeth were plucked from the mouth of the stiffening corpse, and they were so pearly white that they sparkled like stars speckled against a red sky. A single eye had been pulled from its socket, still dangling by a pink vein that looks like a brittle thread.
Lore saw a familiar top hat, and when she looked at the animals at the frontmost ring of the circle, she saw the five mice sisters, frozen with agony painted on their faces like they just walked upon their worst nightmare.
Blood began to run off in little streams as the sky broke with tears of its own.
THIRTEEN
Lore’s heart ached. But as much she felt pulled towards Mathilde, she couldn’t move. Another scent clung to the wet air. Smoke.
Through the crowded cobblestone streets, a tall, thin opossum appeared. Its boney hand resting atop a jeweled cane in hand. “What in the three realities is everyone so concerned about?” he demanded before his beady, dark eyes bolted to the lifeless body. His yellow-stained eyebrows softened as he went to kneel by the dead alligator. “Oh, my old friend. What could have done this to you?” He adjusted the sleeves of his black tailored suit before picking up the alligator’s teeth. Droplets of blood clung to the plucked bones and collected into a small puddle in his palm.
Murmurs broke through the crowd as the opossum slowly rose to his feet, that were in well-polished shoes. “Folks of Charmsend, we truly have a tragedy on our hands.” His voice had a familiar theatrical tone.
Her brow furrowed as she tried to think of who the voice belonged to, but all that came to mind were distant shadows.
“Are the Grayshade breaking through the barrier, Sir Crinkle?” a shrill voice called from the crowd.
“No. The barrier is so strong. We’ve got a murderer in town,” another animal added.
The last statement caused an uproar and the opossum—Sir Crinkle—whipped his thick hairless tail around, a bit impatient.
Lore’s breath hitched, and the sound of the metal staff striking the stones echoed over the crowd and their accusations.
“Folks,” the animal called as he gestured to the others, “we are a but a civil community here. There has to be a reasonable explanation.” He tilted his head to the hydrangea bush.
Lore felt as if her heart has frost lacing over it, sending the rest of her body into a rigid stance. It felt like those two beady eyes were boring under her skin. She couldn’t breathe.
“I fear,” the tall shadow of the opossum began as he stalked over to the bush, “that we may have an outsider among us.”
The ice blanketing her heart slid down the length of her spine.
As Sir Crinkle knelt down in front of the bush, the crowd of animals grumbled. The glimmering stone that looked like it held the ocean lifted a branch. His black button nose was mere inches from Lore’s face, and she could feel his warm breath on her face. The animal’s sparkling obsidian eyes looked past her.
And that’s when Lore felt a sudden thud on her back. She winced and was sent tumbling out of the bush. The pink and green flowers scattered in the air. The combined scent of musk and smoke engulfed Lore like the thick green smoke from her dream the night before.
Sir Crinkle’s staff skidded across the ground like a smooth rock skipping across still water.
Lore steadied herself, the feeling pressed silk between her fingers. When she peeked an eye open, she saw with the displeased creature clearly.
The horde of animals now stared at her. Some covered their gaping mouths, others gasped in fear.
“A human!” one cried from the group.
“A murderous human,” a whisper began.
“But they were all supposed to be dead,” another whisper roamed from loose lips.
Dead? In that moment, Lore felt like they gutted her like a fish. All dead? In that moment, her hopes of finding more humans like her died. But the mice had thought she was an extinct species, so she shouldn’t have been surprised.
Sir Crinkle let out an exhausted sigh as he rubbed his temples. “Human, would you be so kind as to remove your weight from me? It’s rather hard to take a breath of air with you on my chest.”
Lore slid off, her hands still shaking. Her legs felt like jello, too.
The opossum stood again.
Mathilde brought him his metal staff.
“Ahem,” he cleared his throat. The murmuring almost stopped, but not quite.
“Everyone calm down,” he hissed. “This human isn’t a threat, and couldn’t have killed our beloved Gannon last night as it was in my care.”
The crowd choked aloud in their shock.
His onyx eyes drilled into the townsfolk. “This human isn’t a threat. A stranger, maybe, but not a threat.”
Lore saw his gaze fall on her again. She couldn’t even bring herself to stand up, so she looked back down at her hands on the wet ground. Letting the rainwater run down and soak her hair.
“Hardly.”
For some reason, the word stung Lore. I know what he’s doing, but isn’t this a little much?
She felt a hand on her back, and a bold voice spoke.
