She Walks in Shadows (16 page)

“No, but it’s not far. Maybe a mile. I mean, he walked here, didn’t he?” Veronica took the man’s hand. “Can you walk home with me? Are you strong enough, Uncle Ephraim?”

At first, he shook his head no, then something about his expression changed — brightened, maybe.

“Not far,” he whispered, apparently agreeing with her.

The sound of a car peeling out of the parking lot made them all look to see Asenath’s dramatic departure. She wasn’t heading in the direction of her house.

“Better get him home,” said Ms. Van Helder.

Uncle Ephraim nodded his enthusiasm.

Veronica had never been a regular visitor at Asenath’s house; not only did her daddy think she should “limit her contact” with her cousin and uncle, the place was just spooky, with its peeling paint and sagging roof. Her father also said the only reason their neighborhood’s homeowner’s association hadn’t served Ephraim a notice was because of his intervention.

Uncle Ephraim had a key hidden somewhere in the deep pockets of his coat. Veronica got the door open and helped him inside.

“Can I get you something to drink?” she said, taking off his coat. It was very warm in the house, and dark; the blinds were all shut and the golden bars of afternoon sunlight that fell over the carpet through the slats didn’t so much brighten the room as they showed the dust motes swirling in the air.

He nodded and shuffled toward a chair in the living room that shared his shabby, ill-used appearance. “Please,” he mumbled. “Water.”

There were no clean cups, so Veronica rinsed out a glass and got him some water with ice. She brought it into the living room and set it beside his elbow on a little tray table.

“I’ll leave my number,” she said uncertainly, “in case she doesn’t — I mean, I’m sure Asenath will be home soon.”

“
Asenath
….”

“She drove away,” said Veronica. “But she was just angry. She’ll be back.”

“Stay.” Uncle Ephraim pointed to the couch. “Please.”

Veronica really, really didn’t want to stay, but didn’t feel like she had much of a choice. “Okay,” she said. “Should I … turn on the TV?”

“Read to me.” The suggestion of a whine in his unsteady voice stopped Veronica’s protest in her throat.

“What should I read?”

“Upstairs,” he said. “
Secrets
. Under Asenath’s mattress.”

“I shouldn’t ….”

“I hid it there.”

Veronica’s skin prickled as she wondered just what in the world Uncle Ephraim had stashed under his daughter’s mattress. What if it was a girlie mag, or something even more disgusting? She decided she might as well do as he said. If it was really bad, she’d give it to Asenath and tell her to get rid of it.

The stairs were dark and cramped. Veronica took them two at a time, but she hesitated before grabbing the knob of Asenath’s bedroom, unsure what she might find inside.

Like Asenath, the room was … different. The antique vanity Veronica had always coveted was still there, but Asenath’s beloved Kaboodle full of makeup no longer sat upon it, nor did the shelves hold the toys and dolls she had brought over to Veronica’s when they were younger. The strange thing was, nothing had replaced the missing items. It felt bare in there, denuded, stripped of its essence as if it had been bleached.

Veronica shut the door behind her, unsure what she was feeling. Sadness over the loss of a friend, yes, but there was anger, too. They hadn’t just grown apart naturally, she and her cousin. Asenath had chosen this path, no matter what she said.

It made her uncomfortable, being in Asenath’s private space, so Veronica screwed up her courage and plunged her arm between his mattress and the bedspring. She rooted around until her hands closed on a slender volume.

“
Hieron Aigypton
,” she read slowly, running her fingers over the tooled leather of the cover. “By Ana … Anacharsis.” She’d never heard of it. It looked very old.

She opened it to the first page, curious to see what it was Uncle Ephraim wanted her to read to him. “
Hieron Aigypton, or Egyptian Rites
,” she read. “Being an unflinching translation of the dreaded rituals detailed by Anacharsis, who was born a woman, lived as a man, and died neither.” She flipped another page. “
Weird
.”

Veronica knew that “rituals” were nothing her daddy would approve of, but just the same, Uncle Ephraim had requested this book …. Veronica pursed her lips, but went back downstairs with it.

“Let us rejoice in the true story of one called Narcissus, whose will was stronger than any alchemy,” she read aloud, after Uncle Ephraim requested she read from the first chapter. After that first line, it became a story — one she vaguely remembered from school, about a beautiful boy who became a flower and the nymph who loved him until she became only an echo.

“I, Anacharis, went to that glen, where the first narcissus sprouted. There I found Echo, who told me his final words. These were they ….”

The language was strange to her. As Veronica mumbled her way through the stanzas, her vision began to blur. At first, she thought it was just the warmth of the room — she was sweating through her warmups — but then her eyes focused and saw only blackness.

She was somewhere that was nowhere, standing at the edge of something that was nothing. Inside the nothing was more nothing, but a denser nothing that writhed — and
laughed
.

“Asenath,” she whispered, horrified. She couldn’t tear her eyes from the abyss. Her cousin hadn’t been lying! Did that mean she had read this book? Seen the sights it offered? Horrified, Veronica regretted all the cruel things she had said to Asenath, all the comments she’d made behind her cousin’s back. It was no wonder the girl had turned away from God — they said He was all-powerful, but Veronica couldn’t believe He had ever been here, at the edge of wherever she was. She wept, knowing He was less than she had believed, if He existed at all.

Asenath said she had turned away, backed away — Veronica needed to find the will to do the same. But try as she might, she could not tear her eyes from the sight. She felt her foot move. It was no longer
her
foot. She took a step forward, not back. The laughter became louder, and when she went over the edge, it consumed her.

When Veronica awoke, she felt sore and nauseated. She groaned, dry-mouthed and cold, and realized she lying was on the floor.

“You’re awake.” A woman spoke to her. Veronica opened her eyes, hoping Asenath had come home. But it wasn’t Asenath.

It was
her
. Veronica Waite was standing there in her black-and-green skirt and Miskatonic warmup jacket, staring at her.

“What?” she mumbled, not in her own voice but Uncle Ephraim’s.

“You’re weaker than your cousin,” she said, or rather, someone said with her voice, as she helped herself up and into a chair. “Asenath resisted all my arts. I couldn’t take her body. She wouldn’t let me, even though I raised it, fed it, clothed it, for seventeen long years! It was
mine
. The little thief stole it and after she saw what I was about, she made it nearly impossible for me to try again with someone else. But I managed to hide the book, just in case. Good thing
you
came along, my little niece, or I might have been trapped in that awful body for the rest of my days.”

“Uncle?” Veronica was so confused; it was so difficult to do anything, even speak. Her jaws were made of lead. “How ….”

“Don’t worry about it. You don’t need to know,” he said coolly, out of her own lips. “Thank you, Veronica. You always were
such
a sweetheart.”

The sound of a key in the lock silenced them. Asenath came through the front door, looking sheepish. The smell of food wafted into the living room.

“Sorry I took off like — oh, hi Veronica,” said Asenath. She was carrying takeout from somewhere in her arms. “Ms. V said you took Dad home for me … thanks.”

“No worries,” said Veronica brightly, as Veronica watched in mute horror. “It was the least I could do. I’ve been
such
a bitch. Can you forgive me?”

“Of course,” said Asenath instantly. “Veronica … I’m so sorry I’ve been making trouble for you at school. But you have to understand ….”

“You don’t owe me any explanations,” said Veronica warmly. “I’m just glad we’re friends again.

“I brought home dinner. Can you stay?”

“No,” said Veronica. “Mommy and Daddy want me home, I’m sure. Maybe next week?”

“Sounds good,” said Asenath. “Hey — this was really cool of you. Dad and I … after his … his stroke, he ….”

“It’s okay.” Veronica leaned in and hugged Asenath tightly. “See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” said Asenath. “Tomorrow.”

Veronica tossed her hair and strode out of the house, waving once before walking down the street toward her home. Veronica watched her go, barely able to make her mouth move.

“Thief,” she muttered, hoping Asenath would understand.

“Shut
up
, Dad,” said Asenath, throwing dinner on the table. “You’ve already lost TV privileges with that little display you put on at practice today. Don’t make it worse for yourself.” She crossed her arms. “You know damn well what I’m capable of.”

“Stolen ….” Veronica tried to swallow the spit pooling in her mouth, but just dribbled all over herself.

“No more cheer practice for you,” said Asenath. “And if you keep
that
up, I’ll tell our home care worker you’re just too much for a teenage girl to manage — understand? Ugh, stop
crying
.” She made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat. “You and I both know you brought this on yourself.”

BODY TO BODY TO BODY

Selena Chambers

I.

I CAN SEE
already by the prejudice gleaming in your Puritan eyes that coming here was a mistake. Have you never been to Innsmouth? Have you never seen people who are different from you? Of course you have and you tend to not give them the last word, either. But, given your station in life, Officer, I would wager your people were persecuted, too, during the burning days — for the judges looked down upon all that were disposable: not only those who were different, but those who were poor.

I see I have offended you. Good. Maybe you will better listen to me.

My name is Eunice Babson, and I was a servant to Mr. and Mrs. Edward Pickman Derby of Crowinshield House. Before that, I served Mrs. Derby and her father, Ephraim Waite in Innsmouth. I am aware that I and the Gilmans are under suspicion for blackmail, among other things. On that point, I want to make one thing clear: I was never with the Gilmans but against them. They jailed Mr. Derby in the library, and assisted Ephraim in all of his experiments and exploits. True, I uncovered his crime in the cellar and he paid me a fee for silence. But I neither laughed at him when he withdrew his checkbook from his coat pocket, nor could I be heard swearing revenge. I already had my requital years back, before Derby had ever laid eyes on Asenath’s young form.

Every woman’s body is a story, you see. This was a rare wisdom bestowed on me by my mother, whose body suffered unwanted attentions and abuse — a sacrificial trade for a notion of comfort and propriety. That was the story of her body and it ended miserably, as everything in the Ephraim Waite household was neither comforting nor appropriate. Each body that stepped foot inside became
his
body. Except mine. But that is not my body’s story. My story is of servitude. My body has been nothing but a tool for others to employ. It has served those I’ve loathed equally as those I’ve loved, including my sister Asenath.

That’s right. It has been one of many well-kept family secrets, but I am Mrs. Derby’s half-sister. I was the one who discovered Asenath’s body and also the one to save her glow from complete diminishment. However, those two incidents occurred several years apart. To fully comprehend my testimony, I must begin even further back than last Hallowmas past.

I was born in Innsmouth Harbor, in a damp, dry rot shack that was littered with fish scales and fried cod stink. My yard was the sea. In and around it, I discovered as much death as life. My pets were the turtles and crabs I caught while accompanying Mother on her fishmongering up by the pier.