Page 60 of What Rough Beast

The upstairs hallway has four bedrooms and a bathroom, all of them simple and plain. A bed, a dresser, and a desk. I change into pajama pants and a hoodie, then dig out my phone and charger. I hear the front door close, and Widow’s feet on the stairs. I left the door to my room cracked, and she pokes her head around the corner.

“Your mom says you have to go to school tomorrow,” she says.

“Yep.” I nod. “Planning on it.”

“Turn the egg before you go,” she says. “And feed the cat.”

“Got it,” I say, comforted by the familiarity of short sentences and sparse words.

“ ’Kay,” Widow says, pausing before leaving. “Glad you’re here.”

“Yeah, me too,” I say.

“Okay, go to sleep,” she says, and disappears.

It’s not good night, but it’s something, coming from Widow Zedeker. On the bed, my phone vibrates with a notification from Rock Bottom. What I told Mom isn’t wrong; I do trust averageamericanmale, maybe more than anyone, after Widow.

averageamericanmale: Sorry if I pushed too hard. I don’t mean to scare you or be weird. Just please don’t stop talking to me. Everything is shit and you’re the only one who gets it

His ellipsis pops up again, disappears. He knows I’m online. He could be sitting in his bed right now, too. Holding his phone, waiting for an answer. I make a decision, typing fast and hitting Send before I can talk myself out of it.

burnedoutgirl: There’s a Sheetz out by the interstate not far from where I live.

I give him the interstate and exit number, which is actually a solid hour away from Bethington, but he doesn’t need to know that.

averageamericanmale: Seriously? For real? You’ll meet me there?

burnedoutgirl: Yeah, it’s a public place, lots of traffic. I’m okay with it. Tomorrow 5PM?

averageamericanmale: Yes . . . I guess I’ll see you then?

burnedoutgirl: Yes.

I settle onto the bed, rotating my left shoulder, the pain resurfacing. I press at the joint now, digging with my fingers to see if I can find a knot in the muscle. Instead, I feel something soft. There’s a weird give under my fingers, then it’s gone, followed by a searing pain across my chest. My heart stutter-steps, staggers. Stops entirely.

“What?” I say, hand going to my sternum.

It flutters back to life, hesitant beneath my palm.

“Wid—” I start, but can’t finish, because there’s something rushing up my throat, and I am not going to puke all over Widow’s quilt that some Zedeker with a weird-ass name made a hundred years ago. I lean over the pedestal sink in the bathroom, puking as silently as possible. I wipe my mouth, walk to the window. The office glows red, and I put my hand to the window, the glass cold on my palm.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

I set my alarm and get into bed, ignoring the twinge of my shoulder as I switch off the bedside lamp. Just as I slide into sleep, I imagine I feel the warm, red light of the incubator filling the room. I smile, unconsciousness tugging at me, dragging me under.

“Good night,” I whisper.

I wake up suddenly, the quilt oddly heavy. I try to get up but can’t; I’m pinned to the bed by antlers. Six bucks surround me, three on each side of the bed. They’re all down on one knee, heads lowered, honoring me while holding me in place at the same time. Archimedes perches at the foot of the bed, wings spread wide, damaged one slightly bent, head rotating when he spots my movement.

“Aus dem Nichts . . .” something whispers.

Out in the hall, there’s a thump on the stairs. I open my mouth to scream, but nothing comes out. My lips are held together by a veil of white gossamer threads, growing closed, binding tighter.

There’s a high, wailing call, Tripod in the corner, gekkering. Arch drops his head, begins to toe-dust. In the hall, on the stairs, the thud comes again. Not footsteps. Something else, uneven, stumbling.

Two skunks scramble onto the end of the bed; they come up on their front legs, tails puffing wide, sentinels on either side of Arch.

Another sound from the hall, closer.