Tag: fiction

bottoms dream 6

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Rose’s pulse had steadied. Johnson watched the monitors compulsively, like a father concerned for his daughter–except it was nothing like that.

“Were tranquilizers necessary, Doctor?”

“You tell me, Johnson.”

“Do you have any idea what you’ve created?”

“I believe I do.”

“Please enlighten me.”

“The soul is polytheistic in nature, meaning its divisions are original and natural. Psychoanalysts have attempted to identify these divisions since Freud named the ego, the id, and the superego, but his names were only the first. Jung, Hilman, Lacan – and many a lesser man have attempted to split the psyche. Are you familiar with any of these theorists?”

“Jung identified the animus, the shadow, and the self.”

“Impressive, Johnson. In all these iterations, despite their many differences, there is included the darker side of human nature, the shadow as Jung describes it. That untamed darkness, that animalistic passion exists beneath the surface of the unconscious mind, and we, I believe, have unearthed it.”

“We have created …a shadow?”

“No, no, not a shadow. ‘To call this unformed void of psychopathic darkness in one’s nature the shadow does it only partial justice, because shadow tends to mean moral evil as seen from ego. But chaos refers to a prima material, indicating a peculiar inherent
connection between the worst inert sludge of human nature.’ Do you understand the distinction, Johnson?”

“We’ve unearthed the sludge of human nature?”

“Exactly. The prima materia, what all else is made from.”

“But will you do?”

“Bring them together again.”

“And that will fix her?”

“We’re on the edge of discovery. I will not go back now.”

“Not even if you’ve permanently damaged one of your subjects?”

“They knew the risks.”

“With all due respect, Doctor, I don’t believe you knew the risks.”

“Science calls for sacrifice.” A pause.

“What is it, Johnson?”

“You know, I’m really beginning to dislike that blasted book of yours.”

there are monsters in small places 6

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It’s important to keep in mind that sirens are not beautiful. They don’t even sing beautifully. They just know the right notes to get you to throw yourself into them. They know how to convince you that the world’s a shit show and that everything will be okay, just come to them, they know how to make it better, just sink yourself and they’ll save you.

Sirens are almost never beautiful, and the sirens of Brightview are no different. Hazel sees them before anyone else

“Look, Ray,” she brags, “sea monsters.” Ray gets the balance back in his tottering legs and puts his hand on his hips.

“Those are sirens,” he shows off. Hazel puts her hands on her hips too. “Yeah? Then how come they aren’t singing?”

there are monsters in small places 5

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Ezrah as long as he had lived in Brightview had never seen the top of Deadman’s Boulder – even though Evander would scramble to the top ever since he was seven and Ezrah was three, even though ever since then Evander would sneer down at Ezrah.

“Coming up?” Ezrah would not respond.

“What are you, scared? Do you think there are…monsters up here?” Ezrah still thought there were monsters under his bed, and even though Evander didn’t think that, Ezrah would sleep much better once the monsters decided to move out.

“Monsters?” Ezrah whispered. Thinking exactly of the variety that lived under his bed.

“Oh, yes,” Evander grinned, “big scary ones.” His cruelness made Ezrah feel alone. “Are you gonna come up or are you gonna be a sissy?” Ezrah shook his head and shrank back to be alone somewhere else, every time really convinced that there were monsters up there, big scary ones.

That’s why Ezrah was immediately jealous when he found Ros at the top of Deadman’s Boulder only three weeks since she had come to Brightview. The edge of his voice cut towards her through the wind.

“What are you doing up there? You know there are monsters,” he snapped. “Big scary ones,” he added, only half convinced of it himself. Ros did not get angry at him. She was silent like she had joined the soft green moss lining this rock.

“No there’s not,” she responded after being moss for a long time. “There are sirens.” Ezrah was about to start high school and had long since stopped believing that there were monsters hiding in the jagged peaks, but he had never considered sirens, and he thought had heard something from the peak of the boulder that he could not see. “Come see,” Ros invited. Ezrah paused with his foot on a pedal-like out hang for a second he heard Evander instead of her. “Are you coming?” she asked and the moment broke like water over the boulder.

nightshade 1

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“Grandpa, tell me a story!” Tori said, holding her small hands, up, folded together, a wordless pleased. Grandpa chucked.

“How about,” he said, reaching down to take her hand, “I show you a story instead?” Tori pulled back as he led her to the door.

“We’re going into the woods,” she wavered, “at night?” Grandpa chucked again and pulled Tori into his arms

“Don’t you worry, munchkin,” he said kindly, “nothing can hurt you while I’m around.”

The dry fall leaves, frosted over by the first cold snap of the season, crunched under grandpa’s large leather working boots.

His warm arms calmed Tori’s rapidly beating toddler heart and she grew enough courage to pull her face out of his faded flannel and started to notice the night-darkened woods around them. A completely different woods than the daytime woods she played in, completely different trees than the daytime trees she climbed.

No, this was an entirely different world than then the world the Nightshade Forest inhabited in the day.

subtlety & subterfuge 1

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The Kensingtons’ apartments were aglow. The transformed room’s luminescence esteemed the ball in the opinions of the young guests as the most magnificent they had ever seen; but even the less youthful guests could be prevailed upon to assent to its magnificence.

The ball had been arranged on the favour promised by the indulgent Mrs. Kensington to Alice, the youngest sister of Miss Abbott. The favour was not lost on young Alice who now chatted amiably with a group of young men, the former having taken her leave of dancing to catch her breath.

Miss Victoria Abbott herself occupied the least conspicuous corner of the room, enjoying the company of her sister and closest friend Ella. They were at that moment commenting on the quality of the company when a young man whom they had seen often and heard of much more often joined them to make his first acquaintance with the two eldest Abbotts. The young man bowed.

“I hope you will excuse my intrusion,” he began, “but I could not help overhearing your lively commentary on the company I have only recently had the pleasure of acquainting myself. I expect you will forgive my desire to understand your opinions of your friends of many years.” Miss Abbott stiffly but courteously bowed in response.

“Your intrusion is not unwelcome.”

“I thank you. Excuse me, for it seems I have forgotten to introduce myself. I am Julius Kinsley.”

“Victoria Abbott.” Ella curtsied.

“Ella.”

“A pleasure.” Mr. Kinsley’s eyes lingered on Ella before he spoke again, contemplating her sparing communication attributing it to shyness of sudden and unexpeceted company.

“Please, continue your conversation, I meant not to interrupt.” Ella contrary to Mr. Kinsley’s fleeting first impression, began amiably the revival of a tired topic between the two sisters.

“We were simply noticing, Mr. Kinsley, how different some people seem to be at balls and yet how remarkably similar others are.”

“And if you shouldn’t mind telling a stranger, Miss Ella, who were the objects of your observations?”

“Have you had the pleasure of an acquaintance with Lottie Norwood?”

“It may be that I have. I have no recollection of whether we met on the floor or the side of it so much lively company have I enjoyed since my arrival,” Kingsley noted.

“She enjoys whichever is more popular at the moment. She can now be seen to the side of the floor boasting of her latest attachment.”

bottoms dream 4

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Johnson arrived expecting to observe a session, and he expected, as he and the doctor had discussed, one high school volunteer, eyes shut, attached to a complicated set of electrodes. But the full sleep-lab set-up, repurposed for the new cutting-edge research, was formed around two volunteers back to back in the saltwater tank.

“Doctor, would you care to explain?” Johnson brought an accusatory edge into his voice.

The doctor had said nothing of this.

“Ah, welcome, Johnson. Please, have a seat.”

“You still owe me an explanation, Doctor.” The doctor smiled wanly.

“We know what it is to inhabit the unconscious, but what if two were forced to inhabit the same unconscious, the same depths of the mind. Does one mind form to the other or do they grow together? A shared space or a violent takeover? How do they fit into each others’ psyches?”

“You’re telling me they’re dreaming the same dream?”

“Not the same dream, no, but in the same space with the same symbols.”

“What happens when they wake?”

“This is pure science. We are on the edge of discovery, Johnson. We can send them into the depths of their minds, but in all my research, I have been unable to bring the depths up to us.” The question for Johnson was quickly answered but given no explanation. The machine shut itself down with no prompting from the doctor.

Raymond woke up like a sleeping prince, rising gracefully to the surface, but Rose was not so lucky. She moved nimbly kicking to the surface, and ripping the electrodes away from her skin, jumping from the lip of the tank like an acrobat.

Her lip curled as her eyes locked on
the doctor.

“You.” She raised a stone paperweight, jagged and wickedly sharp, from his desk over his head. Her next word was spoken like a spell. “Dolor.” Johnson knocked her down with one blow before she could deliver her pain.

bottoms dream 3

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“‘…and when I love thee not, Chaos is come again,’” Rose whispered into the darkness.

“That’s Shakespeare, English playwright. You like?” Her voice may have been low soft but her smile was loud, stretched wide to the right side of her face. She grinned at the darkness and its silence, and cupped her hands. “Flamma.” The crypts filled with a low white light.

Briefly she considered the fresh grave, but she had no interest in robbing a man she had respected, although he would make such an easy target. She drummed her fingers on the waiting tomb of the second prince. “Chaos has come…but what will chaos do?”

Raymond had seen the symbol on the wall above his parents’ bed. He had recognized it, but only in the distant recognition of dreams. As in, he knew what it meant, but he could not account for his knowing. An urge also plucked straight from his dreams pulled
him down to the crypts at a run. Royalty never rushes. It was a favourite aphorism of his brothers, but like most flowery things the crown prince said, Raymond doubted it and its sincerity.

Raymond too was royalty, but Raymond would rush through the crypts as though the deceased Castells were in mortal danger – and maybe they were.

His memories of Rose were vague and obscured, but they all pulled him his heart down in a deep melancholic dread. As his footsteps descended into stony tombs, the crypts fell dark and he caught the whisper of “nox” as it trailed up to meet him. The second prince of Castell may not have remembered Rose or the threat she posed, but he remembered one word, which and he threw this word into the darkness.

“Traitor.”

Rose, unresponsive, edged closer in a cascade of light footsteps. Raymond no longer rushed as dread dragged itself through his stomach. But he could not hold back his legs as they responded to her irresistible pull. The dread that she inspired closed his throat and choked him.

“Flamma,” Rose hissed. A shock ran through them as white light filled the crypts: surprise, recognition–, like high school friends cast in opposing roles–except it was nothing like that.

Their heads twitched and they swam up from the deep.

bottoms dream 2

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“’Concern with depth leads us in practice to pay special attention to whatever is below. This has been so since the beginning of psychoanalysis, and its notions of suppression, subconscious, and shadow.’ That was James Hillman. Do you understand?”

“Not really, Doctor, but please go on.”

“Very well. You’ve heard of sensory deprivation tanks I assume? These were thought to transport one into the subconscious mind. Though they are a primitive technology, simply salt water and a blindfold, they really do take subjects somewhere else.

“The problem with this method, however, is that it only offers only entry into the depth of the mind, admission, if you will, but we propose to offer a guided tour.”

“And you think your technology method can accomplish this?”

“Easily. We have located areas of the brain only active during REM, responsible for dreams and only dreams. Stimulating these areas with a mild electric current during sensory deprivation with a mild electric current brings the dreams from their depths. We
can finally access whatever is below.”

“Induced lucid dreaming?”

“In a gross simplification, yes.”

“And you think with this technology you can access the…subconscious?” The doctor picked up his dog-eared paperback again.

“‘Jung considered the fantasy images that run through our daydreams and night dreams, and which are present unconsciously in all our consciousness, to be the primary data of the
psyche.’”

“Hilman again?”

“You catch on fast, Johnson.”

bottoms dream 1

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Raymond knelt in dark torch-lit crypts.

His sword hung gilded and decorative at his side as his parents decorated the room with their own useless and empty words. The king pulled his eyebrows together to deliver his poetic eulogy, the queen pushed sobs through her mouth and tears through her eyes to mimic grief, Adrian, the crown prince, maintained his stoic composure, letting it crack so as to pretend it difficult, but only Raymond, the second prince gave into a deep melancholy like his heart was a stone sinking into his boots.

It would not appear that way, but the second prince was the only member of the royal family whose mourning for the late Prince Henry Castell was sincere. The late prince had been a bitter old man and a quick enemy of the insincere.

“A great man has died today, and we deeply mourn his loss,” Raymond’s father
continued. The king had only ever thought his uncle a royal annoyance, useless and unsavory. Amid the empty ring of false condolences, the stone relief was lowered over the remains of a the misanthropic royal. He would have given laughed bitterly at his own insincere funeral. It was not as he had wanted, but his protests had died with him.

The funeral party departed to feast in honor of a man they had despised in life, and Raymond Castell walked alone in these empty crypts. He ran his fingers over the feet of his own marble relief, waiting for his death and his own flowery eulogy. He imagined his brother
giving it and he imagined him meaning not a word.

His head twitched to one side, hitting him like an electric shock or the sudden absence of a current. He twitched again and swam up from the deep.