Headspace

A person living on the margins of a tiny rural community is witness to increasingly disturbing developments in their neighbors, and their loved ones.

***Content warning: Episode touches upon themes of enbyphobia, queerphobia, bullying, familial estrangement, and contains some gore. Listener discretion is advised.***

Transcript

NARRATOR

Episode Thirty-Five: Headspace.

(Wind sounds, doorbell chime)

NARRATOR

Tay sits behind the counter of the dumpy little Kwik Fill gas station in the dumpy little town of Holbert, playing with one of their green-dyed rattails and texting their friend Lex from Denver – the nearest kindred soul they have found.

They vent shamelessly, and Lex, ever patient, is good-natured about it. It has not been the best of days. In making a rare breakfast, Tay dropped the egg carton disastrously, not only ruining their prospects for eating anything of real nutritive substance today, but necessitating a thorough cleaning of the kitchen floor. Then, leaving for work, the Oldsmobile engine, ever resentful of the cold, was reluctant to start. Barron, Tay’s manager, was less than understanding of their delay, and gave them a rather bitter lecture on the importance of punctuality and responsibility.

The entry bell chimes, and Tay looks up to see Sam Grange walking through the double glass doors. Tay stifles a sigh; Grange always makes a point to talk loudly in their presence about how you can’t tell boys from girls anymore, and always refers to Tay as “she”. He also asks them every time they interact what the delicate vine-and-flower tattoo on their left forearm is supposed to be, and always scoffs at the answer. Sometimes, it is all Tay can manage not to tell him to fuck off back to his shoddy little house and finish drinking himself to death, but such meanness is just a little outside their nature – and besides, even given the dismal pay, they really need this job.

It has been a slow night, and Sam is the only customer in the store. This makes Tay even more uncomfortable; though they know that many in Holbert think more or less along the same lines as Sam, most of them are restrained enough by the superficial Nebraska niceness not to shove it in her face, and Sam is not so reckless as to risk offending anyone who might be a little more influential in the community.

But surprisingly, Sam says nothing at all, just slowly shuffles down the few short aisles, perusing the contents of the shelves with far more deliberation than the limited selection really merits. Tay suppresses the impulse to drum their fingers on the countertop impatiently. The old man shows no sign of finishing up any time soon, and so after a while, they return their attention to the phone screen.

Lex has texted back a meme of a cat hiding its face under a paw, perfectly capturing Tay’s current feeling, and they chuckle aloud unconsciously before realizing that any expression of enjoyment might be taken as an invitation by the shambling customer. Looking up at him in a newly blossoming dread, they find that Grange is still wandering aimlessly around the shop, now staring stupidly at the coffee dispensers.

Tay looks at him a little more closely now, and notices that his red baseball cap is pulled down painfully tight over his scalp, and that there is something very odd in his stance, as though he is on the verge of losing his balance.

Tay reluctantly asks if he is okay, but Sam makes absolutely no response. Even as they think it would be better to simply shrug it off and leave Sam to his own problems, Tay’s nagging conscience draws them out from the shelter of the register counter and closer to the old man, who smells of stale oil and sweat, cheap cigarettes and cheaper beer. As they draw near, they are slightly alarmed to see a thin trickle of blood dribbling from under his cap.

Again, and a little more loudly, Tay asks him if he is okay. Grange slowly turns, and though Tay cannot name what it is exactly, there is something appalling in his aspect and demeanor, a kind of vacancy, almost like he blazed out of his mind.

Fine, he grates hoarsely.

Tay points out the bleeding, and Grange scrubs at it awkwardly, smearing faint traces of red across his forehead.

Shaving, he croaks, offering no further word of explanation, only that dead-eyed stare.

Okay, Tay says, and retreats back behind the counter. They type a message to Lex about how their creepy customer just got a little creepier, and for about the hundredth time, Lex urges them to get the hell out of Holbert, where there are so few who treat them with genuine respect or care, and many who make them feel unwelcome in one way or another. Lex even offers to give them a place to stay, so that the outlandish rent doesn’t prove too onerous a burden. And once again, Tay replies that if they could afford to relocate, they would, but that there are less than two hundred dollars in their bank account, barely enough to even get them to Denver.

At that moment, Grange finally staggers over to the counter, with a plastic gas canister and a set of bungee cords in hand. Tay rings him up, and he seems to have trouble processing the numbers, requiring Tay to finally help him dole out the correct bills.

Maybe not stoned, Tay decides, but definitely drunk.

Or maybe, they think sadly, as the old man slowly stumbles out into the wind-whipped swirl of snow flurries and darkness, more than a touch of dementia. The bell chimes again with his departure, and in the silence that follows, Tay feels a sort of pity for Sam that they have never known before.

[Short pause]

NARRATOR

When they close up for the night, Tay leaves with a mingled sense of exhaustion and gratitude. They are barely cognizant of anything besides the cold and their own weariness as they pass over the cracked concrete of the little parking lot, but as they get into their weathered, secondhand Oldsmobile, they notice a dark silhouette in the driver mirror. Peering back, they see Grange standing under the orange glow of one of the half dozen pallid streetlights in town, staring blankly into the night with his back to Tay.

They wonder if he is waiting for someone, though the town is small enough that even with age and impairment, he could surely have walked home in the hours since Tay spoke with him. For a moment, they consider again checking in on him, but remembering the awkwardness of their last interaction, and the bald antagonism of those preceding, Tay decides against it, even knowing that guilt will eat at them for hours after they get home.

Just as they are reaching to start the Oldsmobile, the headlights of a turning vehicle flash in the mirror, drawing Tay’s attention back again. A pickup is pulling into the parking lot and alongside the old man, the driver rolling down the window and leaning out to talk. Tay cannot see the driver well enough to make out who it might be, but they too are wearing a cap scrunched too tightly over their head.

The driver hands something in a paper bag to Grange, and then the pickup rumbles back the way it came. As Tay sits there, trying to work out if they have just witnessed a drug deal, Grange turns and begins to walk toward them.

Panicking slightly, Tay tries to turn the key, but as it so often does when the cold comes, the engine sputters recalcitrantly. Grange raps ponderously on the driver’s side window, and reluctantly, Tay rolls it down.

Without a word, Grange proffers the crumpled paper bag. When Tay asks what it is, Grange offers his first real expression of the night: an unnatural parody of a smile, truly awful to behold.

Gift, he rasps simply. Surprise.

The paper bag rustles and crinkles in his hand.

No thanks, Tay says, turning the keys with a wordless prayer. When the engine fitfully roars to life, they say they have to go, and back the car out a little more recklessly than they even intend, forcing Sam to step hurriedly back from the path of the tires. He does not cry out though, or show any sign of surprise or displeasure, only stands staring after the car as it pulls away on Main Street.

(Soft, eerie music)

[Short pause]

NARRATOR

Tay sleeps later the next day than they intend, waking to the buzzing reminder on their phone that they are supposed to have the weekly dinner with their parents before work.

Groaning with the circadian dysregulation of working nights, coupled with a distinct lack of enthusiasm for the impending social call, they rise and look bleakly around the cramped bedroom. Somehow the mobile home looks even more depressing with the light of full day streaming in through the windows, and Tay reflects bitterly that even the rental fees for this sad little place of their own devours most of their paycheck.

After a quick shower, they dress as neutrally as they can bring themselves to do; their parents have been as supportive as those of their generation and locality are ever likely to be, but that still entails a great deal of discomfort and misunderstanding on their part. For a moment, Tay considers cancelling dinner with the excuse of not feeling well, but unless they also call in to work, which they cannot afford, it is too likely in this tiny town that their parents will learn of the lie.

When they reach the little house on Ash Street where they grew up, a feeling of grey dread settles over them. It is not that they expect dinner to be actively unpleasant, exactly, just exhaustingly tedious. And when they enter the house, this anticipation is exceeded; their mother asks them to run some leftovers to their Uncle Brent after dinner.

Tay groans inwardly, really wanting to say no, but knowing how deftly their mother would guilt-trip them for doing so. She must sense Tay’s reluctance, because she adds coaxingly that the rest of the leftovers will go home with Tay. And as much as they hate to be so easily bribed, the prospect of free food isn’t one they can pass up.

The rest of the dinner goes much as expected, vapid conversation about local events Tay really just can’t care about, prodding questions about their plans for the future – whether there’s a boyfriend or girlfriend in the picture now, whether Tay has reconsidered maybe going to college or looking for a “more appropriate” job, whatever that might be. It is all well-trodden territory, and Tay’s responses come almost subconsciously. They have long since stopped trying to make their parents understand how limited the options really are here in Holbert, both for jobs and for romantic entanglements, and how little appeal any of them hold. Both of them seem to be stuck in a time decades past, when a summer job could pay for college and housing was something ordinary people could realistically afford.

So, they keep their responses brief, polite, and hollow, until they move on at last to the usual drawn-out pleasantries of a Nebraska goodbye, while their mother loads a combination of old Tupperware and rinsed out, reused sour cream containers with leftovers.

The drive over to Brent’s is not long, but it takes Tay through what is arguably the bleakest part of Holbert: past the two-story red brick school, shuttered long ago, past the dilapidated local grocery store that somehow hangs on even though half the town drives forty minutes to the nearest Walmart for their groceries, past rows of vacant, deteriorating houses.

When they reach the tiny blue house, chipped and peeling, that Brent inherited from Tay’s maternal grandmother, a heavy sinking feeling swells in their stomach. The windows are dark, and they decide that, instead of knocking, they have a good excuse to simply slip the food into the ancient refrigerator where Brent keeps his beer in the little entry hall. Their uncle, like most in Holbert, almost never locks his door.

As they slip inside, there is a slight shifting sound in the living room, just around the corner beyond their sight, and Tay pauses. Without turning on the lights, Brent slowly rises from an unseen seat and moves toward Tay, approaching wordlessly and not even responding to Tay’s tenuous greeting, or the faltering explanation for their presence that follows.

Tay hurriedly slips the containers into the fridge and turns to leave with a mumbled farewell, when they notice something small moving on the floor between their feet and the doorway. At first, they think from its size and the quiet of its motion that it is a cat, but the shape is wrong. There is also something subtly, furtively menacing in how it circled behind them and blocked a quick escape without Tay even noticing.

There’s something out here, they tell Brent. A few beats too many pass before he responds.

Pet, he rasps laconically. The little creature edges just a bit closer.

Unable to tolerate the suggestive vagueries of the darkness any longer, Tay reaches out and flips on the foyer’s overhead light. It floods the little space in a paltry yellowish glow, and blinking, Tay finds themself looking down at something they cannot define. It looks somewhere between a large rat and a tiny monkey – or maybe, Tay has to think for a moment to find the name, a tarsier. There is also some hint of the toadish about the thing, but the worst is the face, evilly pinched and somehow too flat, and even a little too human.

What the hell is that? Tay hisses, recoiling instinctively and almost colliding with their uncle. Though Brent is an unpleasant alcoholic, a racist, and a queerphobe, with little love ever having been lost between them, in this moment Tay almost sees him as a potential protector.

Pet, Brent repeats.

Tay glances back at him now, and in the new light, they see that he is wearing a red cap, and instantly realizes that he must have been wearing it already when they arrived. The mental image of him sitting in the dark, staring blankly at the unlit wall, while this hideous new “pet” padded soundlessly around the house, is too much, and Tay turns to go. The little creature is stealthily creeping toward their leg, and it is all Tay can do not to kick it away as they hop around it and flee out the door. Neither Tay nor her uncle offer any word of parting.

Driving away toward work, Tay’s heart pounds relentlessly and their mind races. They contemplate calling Lex, or even their parents, to talk it through, but decide that surely they are overreacting. Their uncle, always odd and a bit horrible, has just gotten some exotic pet.

Yet even telling themself this, Tay cannot help but connect Brent’s behavior with Sam Grange’s strangeness the evening prior, and these thoughts churn darkly in their mind even as they enter the gas station. Tay barely hears Barron’s story about how Sam was in again today to buy some small tool or other, clearly drunk and smelling like something had crawled into his clothes and died there.

When Mrs. Caine, their kindergarten through third grade teacher, comes in just before closing, sporting a red cap of the like she has never worn before and shambling listlessly down the aisles, Tay feels suddenly very sick. When at last they return home, they cannot even look at the leftovers they pull from their chilly trunk, for fear that the very sight of food will make them violently ill.

[Short pause]

NARRATOR

Tay has the next day off, and despite their determination to relax and enjoy it, their sleep is fitful, and when they wake near noon, they are feeling on the verge of a head cold. Climbing out of bed and trudging wearily down the narrow mobile home hallway, the floor buckling and creaking troublingly underfoot, they make it only as far as the living room before they collapse on the sagging sofa. Tay sits there dully for a long while, trying to collect their thoughts through the fog of sleep deprivation and mild malaise. A sort of listlessness has settled over them, a depressive sense that nothing is worth choosing or doing, because it will come to nothing anyway.

As they sit, fragments of the nightmares that disturbed their sleep resurface in their mind. There was much of the craggy face of Samuel Grange in them, and of their Uncle Brent, and certainly of things that look both vaguely rodent and somewhat simian, with a hint of amphibian flabbiness. But they can recall none of the specifics, nor what woke them in a cold sweat in the deep dark of the wolf hour.

Rousing themselves at last from their groggy stupor, they decide to microwave some of the leftover meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and peas. It comes out still a bit cold in the middle, but Tay can’t be bothered to put it back in, and sits at the little Formica-topped kitchen table. Only a few bites in, Tay discovers their appetite has already deserted them, and they swallow only a few more before they cover the plate and stow it back in the fridge. Sitting heavily at the table once more, they stare dull eyed out the kitchen window. The tattered dreams have receded, but now that final murky image of Brent and his new “pet” keeps flashing through their mind, and so too does that late night exchange in the Kwik Fill parking lot, and the dazed meandering of Mrs. Caine.

Restless and desperate for distraction, Tay turns on the old analog TV, only to turn it off after passing through the five channels they receive half a dozen times, unable to focus their attention. They rise and pace through the trailer house, peering almost unconsciously through every window, though they could not say what they are looking for.

As the afternoon gradually reddens toward dusk, they step outside, having no sense of direction or purpose beyond a need to get away from the trailer. The soft orange sunlight belies the cold of the falling evening, and Tay is chilled before they even reach the edge of their tiny, weed-choked lot. Still, they continue into the quiet streets, unable to stomach the thought of returning to the claustrophobic mobile home. They wander through the mingled poverty and prairie industrialization that is Holbert, as the sun’s final hold on the world slips and fails at last.

Their undirected footsteps carry them toward the gas station, and realizing this, they turn, having no desire to see that place on their day off. A new sense of disquiet hangs over the little building now, after the bizarreness of the past few nights. Suddenly Tay is overwhelmed by a feeling of utter exposure, of having made a grave misstep in venturing out their door, so close to nightfall. In turning to retrace their steps, their eyes pass over the old Sanders place, and there is a flicker of brief movement in the dark window. Nerves growing ever tauter, Tay hurries back home, with an unaccountable certainty their every step is being observed.

Away from the few lamp poles along the main road, the streets have gone the dim blue-grey of fading twilight. Tay’s steps have quickened to almost a run now. A dark shape, hunched over as though in pain, flits across a twin-rut alley between two rusting trailer homes, and out of sight again. Tay pauses for a moment, listening for any sound of approach, but the darkening town is preternaturally silent. They continue on, passing the yellow trailer on the corner where a new couple from Colorado – the Scharbocks, Tay thinks they are named – have been living for the past four months. It is one of the few houses Tay has seen with lights on, and for a brief moment that is comforting, until they register the shadowy silhouettes cast upon the cheap, drawn shades. Both figures are paused in an attitude of waiting, or maybe listening, standing motionless. On both of them, Tay thinks they can make out the profile of a protruding baseball cap bill.

Turning down their street, they hear the sound of soft footfalls behind them, and Tay breaks out at last into a run. Only when they reach their front door do they turn and look back, trying to assure themself that this is only paranoia and there is truly nothing to fear.

A dark figure stands at the edge of the weedy yard, facing them. In the growing gloom, Tay can make out nothing of their face, and yet they are sure somehow by the posture and by something else indefinable that it is Brent.

They stand and stare at each other. A cold wind rises and moans over the trailer rooftops. At last, with arthritic slowness, Brent turns and walks away. Whether there really is a second, much smaller shadow that scuttles at his heels, or they only imagine it, Tay cannot say. But they do lock their door behind them.

Then they go to their bedroom closet and rummage for the little .22 caliber Ruger handgun their father gave them three Christmases past. At the time, Tay had thought it was a strange and ill-conceived gift, not something they would ever want, but now its weight in their hand is a small comfort, a promise of defense if not of true safety.

Even so, it is a long time before they feel calm enough to go to bed, and longer still before they fall asleep. And they do so with the pistol on the night table and the bedroom door locked.

[Long pause]

NARRATOR

Tay’s shallow slumber is disturbed by a phone call just after five in the morning. It is their mother, and she is audibly sobbing when Tay picks up. Alarm cutting through their grogginess, Tay asks her what is wrong, but their mother has to make several attempts before she can get the answer through their tears: Brent is dead.

No, Tay frowns, that can’t be true.

Mistaking their disbelief for that of shocked grief, their mother tries to comfort Tay through her own intermittent sobs. Tay begins to explain that they just saw their uncle last night, but realizes that this will probably not help, and trails off into silence. Perhaps they were mistaken – what did they really see, after all, beyond a silhouette in the dark?

So instead, they ask how.

Their mother completely breaks down then, and it is a long while before she is able to speak again.

His head, she says at last, brokenly. Some sort of injury, police not sure yet.

Nausea unspools poisonously in Tay’s stomach as they finally accept the reality of what their mother is telling them. Despite their distaste for their uncle, sympathy for their mother overwhelms Tay, and the two of them talk longer and more deeply than they have in years.

Tay offers to take the night off from work and spend it with their mother, but she gratefully declines, saying she knows how much Tay needs the paycheck – which is true. So, reluctantly, Tay drives to the Kwik Fill, already exhausted from a short night and the emotional labor of the day.

As they take over from Barron, he tells them that his day has hardly been less strange. The sheriff’s department paid a visit in the late morning, asking about Tay’s favorite customer, Sam Grange. Apparently, Tay was not the only person that he had been making very uncomfortable lately, and Barron hints that he was even wanted for questioning in connection with some recent local crimes.

On any other night, Tay would be darkly fascinated by this news, but tonight they simply lack the energy to care. Their thoughts remain fixated on their mother, and on their uncle’s sudden and unexplained death.

Only after Barron has left does it occur to Tay that these two things might be related, and for the next several hours, during which not a single customer passes through the door and only a single trucker refuels outside, Tay is alone with the murky implications of that thought.

Just as they are beginning to lock up, there is finally a sign of life at the doors, three sharp raps on the tempered glass. Looking out, Tay registers the deputy’s uniform before they see the face. They only know the woman by sight, from her occasional stops for coffee and gas. The deputy knocks again, giving Tay a brief smile as they reluctantly unlock the door and let her inside.

Politely and professionally, the deputy, who gives her name as Michaels, explains that she is following up on the day’s previous inquiry. Tay tries to clarify that they have little to add, and weren’t even aware of developments until they came into work that evening. Deputy Michaels nods and smiles, then proceeds to question Tay nevertheless. While her questioning is not overtly aggressive, Tay soon perceives a hint of suspicion, if not of guilt, then at least of withholding. Finally, Tay relates falteringly their unusual exchange with Sam in the parking lot, and the deputy listens attentively, nodding and taking an occasional note. When she asks why Tay didn’t report it sooner, they answer honestly that they weren’t really sure what they saw, certainly not enough to risk antagonizing already unfriendly neighbors.

Deputy Michaels stares at them inscrutably for a long moment, measuring the answer, then finally gives a brief nod. After a moment of silence, she asks if Tay was aware that Sam Grange is dead. Tay’s shock at this news is apparently so transparent that Michaels visibly relaxes, and asks if they know of any connection between Grange and their recently departed uncle.

No, Tay says slowly, then in a sudden flash of insight asks if their deaths were similar in some way. Michaels replies that she cannot .ake any comment on that at this stage, and though her face is schooled and calm, Tay is somehow certain that their intuition was correct.

Seemingly satisfied, Michaels terminates the interview shortly afterward, wishing Tay a good night and informing them that her department may be in touch again. As an afterthought, she offers condolences for the loss of their uncle.

All the drive home, and for hours afterward, the thought of Grange lying on the cold parking lot concrete, skull cracked open and eyes staring glassily skyward, keeps running through Tay’s mind. And as they slowly, all too slowly, drift into sleep, their mind cruelly adds further detail: a crumpled paper bag lying beside his freezing corpse, and an evil, pinched little face peering out, red teeth glistening in the frosty moonlight.

[Short pause]

NARRATOR

It is not even three o’clock when their mother calls again, and Tay has to take a moment to manage their irritation before answering, reminding themself that she is grieving. When they do pick up, any residual anger dissipates immediately, so naked is the fear in the muted voice on the other end.

Their father is acting very strange, the middle-aged woman says unsteadily, not at all like himself. She is afraid that something is seriously medically wrong with him.

Tay tells her that they will be right over, almost as frightened by the thought of their mother behind the wheel in this state as they are of leaving her alone to deal with whatever situation is unfolding, even during the five minutes it will take to make the drive over to Ash Street. They make her promise to call the sheriff’s department if their father does anything to make her feel unsafe, and then they say again that they will be right over before hanging up.

Throwing on a coat and shoes over their pajamas, they tuck their phone into their left coat pocket and hesitate for only a second before taking the loaded Ruger and stowing it in the other. For the first time, they wish fervently that Holbert was big enough to have its own police force rather than relying on the sheriff’s department, headquartered in the county seat forty minutes away. Stepping out into the bitterly cold night, they pray silently that for once the Oldsmobile might start without rancor, and for once, it does.

Tay has only been on the road for about a minute when the red and blue flash of police vehicle emergency lights erupt in their rearview mirror. Swearing, Tay pulls over, angrily certain that they were driving under the speed limit.

The deputy saunters slowly to their car side and taps on the window. Tay sees with dismay that it is not Michaels, but a younger man with a crew cut that she has never seen before. As Tay rolls down their window, waiting for an indication of why they were stopped, the officer asks what they are doing out so late. Tay struggles to contain their impatience as they explain that their mother is waiting for them, and seems to be in some distress.

In a slurring drawl that makes Tay wonder if he is from out of state, the deputy says that there seems to be a lot of distress going around lately, and suggests that maybe Tay knows what he is talking about with an unnerving hint of a smile.

Tay hardly has to feign their confusion.

Yes, sure seems to be something afoot, the deputy drones. Some contagion, maybe, or an influx of organized criminal activity. He stares down at Tay, as though waiting for a confession. Tay opens their mouth to reiterate that their mother is expecting them, when they see the trickle of blood that has just begun to dry on the side of his neck, and recognize the deadness in his gaze.

Without thinking, Tay starts up the engine and shifts into drive. There is a sickening crunch as the left rear tire rolls over the deputy’s foot, and yet he doesn’t flinch or scream in surprise or pain, only shouts after them, We need you.

Panicking, Tay races toward Ash Street, definitely speeding now and beyond caring. When they reach their parents’ house, the windows are all dark, and the sight of their childhood home strikes them as uncharacteristically unwelcoming. It takes Tay a moment to summon the nerve to exit the car and walk up the drive toward the front door, and knock.

No answer is forthcoming, not even on the fourth attempt. Tay pulls out their phone and dials their mother, and while they can hear the faint ringing of the phone inside through the door, there is no answer and no other sound of movement within. Drawing a deep and ragged breath, they open the unlocked door and fumble for the light switch. The foyer and the family room are empty, and the house is utterly silent, even after Tay shouts to their mother.

Dread fills their stomach like a gallon of cold India ink as Tay steps farther inside. There is no sign of life downstairs, and they call out again and again as they ascend to the second floor, then peer into each of the rooms.

When they reach their parents’ bedroom, they know before they even reach for the light that this is where the horror waits, spiderlike and hungry. Perhaps they unconsciously perceive some out of place shadow in the darkness of the room, or register some soft, liquescent sound, or perhaps it is some subtler and nameless sense. But they know that it is undeniable, inescapable.

With a final flick of a switch, they reveal the form of their mother, cruelly bound to a chair with bungee cords and duct tape and what appears to be 9-gauge electric fencing wire. She stares up at the ceiling light unblinkingly, no life at all in her eyes. The thing crouched upon her shoulder, gnawing at the back of her head, is hatefully familiar.

Tay screams. As the small abomination turns from its grisly work, Tay turns and flees down the stairs, almost falling twice in their reckless haste, and out the door. They do not even pause as they throw up their meager dinner on the wintry yellowed lawn.

Wait, a hoarse and garbled voice cries from behind them, and Tay does not immediately recognize it as their father’s. They only turn when they reach the Oldsmobile’s door, to find their father lumbering across the lawn toward them, mouth hanging open grotesquely. Tay shouts at him to stop, and, with a half-strangled sob, asks what he has done to their mother.

He does not answer, only continues toward them in his ungainly manner, a faint burbling sound issuing from his open mouth.

Tay fingers the handgun in their pocket, but even at this extremity, they cannot use it, not on their own father. They open the door and throw themself behind the wheel. As they struggle to start the ever-treacherous engine, their father throws himself sprawling over the windshield. In doing so, he dislodges the cap on his head, revealing a gaping wound in the back of his skull. Within, something grey and opaque pulses gently.

Tay stares, aghast. The mass in the open wound looks like it is composed of many small, jellylike orbs, and from its placement, must have either integrated itself with or wholly replaced his brain. It reminds them horribly of oversized roe, or of frog eggs.

Even as their unravelling mind makes these appalling connections, the substance in his wound begins to squirm more fitfully, and he gurgles loudly as the first of the grey orbs ruptures and tiny inchoate limbs emerge.

Tay whimpers in grief and revulsion, and throws the car into reverse, backing wildly out of the drive. Their father – if it is indeed still their father – slides off the hood and slumps limply to the earth. For a long moment, Tay looks at him while the Oldsmobile sits idling askew upon the street. Aside from the wriggling in his open skull, there is no movement from their father.

Shrieking helplessly, Tay shifts into drive, and leaves the house that can never be home again behind them.

(Doomful music)

[Short pause]

NARRATOR

Through the lifeless streets, Tay drives as slowly as their wrecked nerves will allow, wiping at the tears that have nearly blinded them. Only at the last moment do they see the child that darts across the street in front of them.

Tay slams on the brakes, feels the tires begin to skid out of their control. The car stops just short of the girl, and Tay remains frozen for a moment, struggling to catch their breath and calm their racing heart. The girl, no older than eight, is wearing nothing but one-piece pajamas, pink with little white and blue frosted donuts, and pale blue slippers. A little stuffed lion dangles from her left hand, and her cheeks are deeply flushed from the cold.

Hands shaking, Tay opens the door and steps out into the frigid night, looking intently at the girl in their headlights for any sign of injury to her head. Tay is relieved beyond words to see none. They ask the girl falteringly if she is okay, and she replies that her mom and dad are different now, that they scared her very much. Then she begins to cry.

Tay runs to her, takes her up in their arms, and holds her tightly. Tay doesn’t know her, but thinks she might be the daughter of the Scharbocks. Carrying her to the passenger seat, Tay helps her in, saying that they will go somewhere safe. It occurs distantly to them that this likely legally qualifies as kidnapping, but there is no way they will leave a child alone in this hellish town after what they have seen tonight.

Just as they close the passenger door, there is a ragged screech from somewhere behind them. Tay begins to hurry back to their own side, and the cry is echoed imperfectly from the other side of the street, and then a third, shriller shriek issues from the shadow of the little Holbert post office.

Panic rises biliously in Tay’s throat as they jump into the driver seat and slam closed the door. Pallid shapes in various states of dress emerge into the paltry, greenish glow of the few thoroughfare streetlights. Tay tries, and fails, to stifle a small whimper as the things that were once neighbors, even family, lope awkwardly toward the car. Tay recognizes their mother, half-dried blood caking her neck and staining the collar of her sweater. Despite wearing no coat, she seems wholly oblivious to the cold.

Tay shifts too quickly into drive, the car jolting forward uncomfortably and making the girl bleat with surprise. Stomping on the gas pedal, Tay steers them away from the gathering mob, and out of town.

Only after they have left Holbert miles behind them does Tay pull over and dial Lex. It is several rings before they pick up.

What’s going on? Lex asks, voice tinged with worry.

Tay struggles to maintain coherency as they try to explain the events of the last few hours, but the words tumble out in torrential bursts. Tay says that they need Lex’s help, that they need to take them up on that offer of a place to stay.

Christ, Lex breathes, it’s happening there too, isn’t it.

We’re coming, Tay says, refusing to acknowledge what Lex has just said, unable to cope with the implications.

No, Lex replies, sadly and sternly. Do not come here.

Silence stretches in the car.

At last, Tay whispers a question: Where am I supposed to go?

There is such boundless, abiding sorrow in Lex’s voice when they reply that they do not know.

The girl no longer cries, but has curled up in the passenger seat as though asleep, hugging her lion tightly. She is not asleep, though, only too drained and terrified and confused to engage with the world any further, and so she curls into a ball and buries her face into the lion’s soft fabric fur.

The car’s engine stutters fitfully for a moment, the lights dimming briefly, before it resumes its accustomed rhythmic rumble.

The call is still open, but neither Lex nor Tay speak further. Tay drives on, while in the streets of Holbert, figures stand in the icy dark and wait. They wait for someone new to come, someone who will not be quick enough. They wait for the things in their heads to finally bear fruit, to cease their strange mimicry of neural structures, and erupt into new life.

(Wind sounds)

[Darker Pastures Theme - Outro]

NARRATOR

Story, narration, and music by Lars Mollevand. If you enjoyed today’s story, please rate, review, and share. Thank you for listening. We’ll meet again… in darker pastures.

[Darker Pastures Theme - Outro - Continues]