The Town of Southbridge

first time. It was on the third day, as I was looking for something, anything to drink so I could keep forgetting, I came upon a decanter. It was crystal, with a large amethyst set into the stopper, and the liquid inside was black. I set it on the counter, seeing in the corner of my eye that enigmatic gray lady. I turned to her, and between us passed a silent moment of understanding. Taking a glass down from the cabinet, one of few I had not yet broken, I poured out a toast. A single tear dropped from beneath her veil, and I turned away, walking through the kitchen and into the entrance hall once more. I averted my eyes from the thing on the ground; this was not them. This didn’t count. Outside, past bleached out walls, across long dead grass, I sat down at the edge of the lake. It was so peaceful there, oblivious. Raising my glass, I toasted not to

Jackson Gierhart

the sun, not to love, or light, but to them, as I remembered. My friends. There exists, I believe now more than ever, a distinctive penultimate moment of death. One’s soul has just begun to depart this life, and move to the next, but we remain fully conscious. As the minutes’ pass, the hearing is the first to go. The once clear sounds of the birds becoming hollow and muted. The eyes soon follow, vignetting to a beautiful shade of tinted purple, aligning blood with the deep blues of the sky. In these moments, death is not sad. Death is not evil, but an artist on the canvas of the senses. Deprived of my senses, I could feel the poison.

~ Ethan Pratt

The Town of Southbridge

Content warning: This piece contains violence, incest, cannibalism, vomiting, and seizures. The town of Southbridge was north of the state line, east of the salt lake, and, ironically, south of nothing but hay fields. Despite its seemingly simple directions, it had taken me and my sister nearly two days to find it. Mother’s diary had not been specific; the descriptions of the town had been detailed but the location was vague and foggy at best. In the end, Clarisse and I found it only by chance. Our car had broken down and our map showed no nearby towns, only a blank dot four miles to the north. So we had set forth until a dingy, dustcovered sign cheerily announced our arrival at our destination. The town was small and quaint, and not nearly as bright as mother had described it. The streets were covered in dust, the pavement cracked, not from snow and cold as we were used to in the east, but by the heat of the sun. I remember Clarisse kicking at a stone and mumbling about how it was old and decrepit. While by no means new, I would hardly call it decrepit, and I was sure to remind Clarisse that while it wasn’t the cities of the east, it was the place our mother had been born. As we ventured nearer to the heart of the town, Clarisse fussed about the heat and fiddled with her fingers declaring that something was ‘off.’ While I wouldn’t exactly disagree, I had to admit that the town was rather empty. Dust-covered cars lined the street, and the air was heavy with the sort of silence only found in the vast farm fields of the midwest. So far, of all the buildings we could see, there were only three for the public, a bar, an inn, and a general store. I gestured towards the store and she nodded. *** I don’t remember much of our mother, simply that she was a paranoid woman with thin black hair and brown eyes so faded and brittle they almost seemed like parchment. My clearest memory of her was of the three of us huddled on Clarisse and my bed, Mother’s eyes roving the darkness as she repeated the words ‘Beds are

safe. Beds are always safe. This is your place of sleep. And no creature could ever breach the sacred agreement of sleep.’ Clarisse and I nodded along and agreed despite not knowing what she was saying, or why exactly she would bolt from the bed when she left, trying to evade shadows that seemingly grasped for her ankles from beneath the furniture. And due to her death upon the day of our third birthday, None of these mysteries were ever resolved. Our father was a rather normal man. I never did understand how he met Mother, or why they came together. He was of average build, with dark brown hair and dark brown eyes the color of mud. He was an insurance agent, and a rather poor one at that. Many nights while Mother repeated her mantras he would be downstairs working by only his desk lamp at his paperwork, much to Mother’s disdain. She would always call him up, telling him to come up from the darkness and say goodnight. He never did. Clarisse and I were twins, born less than nine months from the night our parents eloped. However, we looked nothing alike. Clarisse was relatively average height and muscular from years of swimming lessons. I was tall and slender, so skinny my bones jutted out from my face. My hips and joints were knobbly and my abdominal cavity almost outlined the shape and form of my pulsating organs. Where Clarisse had dark skin and hair and eyes like coal, I was so pale my skin was almost translucent, shining almost blue in cold light and my eyes were the same weak gold as Mother’s. Clarisse’s hair was thick, dark, and lovely. Mine was brittle and thin and pale, so delicate it used to come off in chunks every time Mother tugged too hard with the brush. Despite this, despite our differences and the doubtless scientific explanation that must be out there, doctors remained baffled at our conditions. Especially considering that we were both perfectly healthy. It was no matter. Even if we were different in appearances, Clarisse cared for me, and I for her.

*** The general store was nothing out of the ordinary, the same rows of packaged goods and the back wall of refrigerated drinks and foods. A bell dinged as we entered the store. The entire place was empty. I looked behind the counter for a cashier, but there was nothing except a still fizzing can of soda. On the assumption that they were in the bathroom, my sister and I began roaming the store. I picked up a bag of beef jerky and frowned at the unknown name of the brand. In fact, looking around, none of the food appeared to be made from major corporations. It was all labels I had never heard of, or, in the case of the beef jerky, simply the name of the item and no other descriptors, including nutritional value. But a nearby sign said it was all locally produced. I shrugged and picked out two packs of beef jerky. I was picking out bottled water, only available in glass for some reason beyond me when I caught the first sign of life in the town of Southbridge. It was a father and a little girl. The second I saw them I had to gag and look away to compose myself. They looked dead, in a sense. Their eyes were dull and yellowed at the whites, the usual tinge of red from veins more of a deep, sickly purple hemlock. Their skin was sallow and pale, yellowing at the peaks and grey at the inclines of sallowed cheeks and hanging flaps of skin jiggling from their jaws. They were thin, swamped in baggy clothes that seemed like trash bags against their frames. I glanced back and caught the girl’s eyes. I blinked at her and began to wave my hand in greeting when she glared at me- well, her dull eyes were focused behind me at my sister. The father looked down and tugged her away from the store with a grip so hard I could practically feel her bones grinding at each tendon-less intersection, nerves trapped between nothing but hard, porous calcium. I shot my sister a look. She looked out the window, then back at me in confusion. She opened her mouth to speak when the door in the back slammed open and we jumped, startled. A man no older than his midtwenties darted forwards, a cigarette dangling between his teeth. His flickering eyes widened at the sight of us and he snubbed his cigarette on his palm and headed behind the counter, eyeing us with something between curiosity and caution. While he looked healthier than the people I had seen passing by, his skin was still an ashy grey and seemed scaly with patches of dry skin. His hair was thinning, but his eyes retained a deep, dark brown color.

I gathered the beef jerky and water and headed towards the counter, fumbling for my wallet. The cashier rang me up.

“You’re not from here, are you?” he muttered. “No. My sister and I are just visiting.” He raised an eyebrow. “You look like them.” “Like what?” “Like the people of this town. You must have seen at least a few. Or maybe not. I know I didn’t see at first either. They don’t like coming out in the light. Hurts their skin. My skin too now,” he said. I nodded. I had that problem too. My skin burned easily in the sun. “Well, we saw a few go by.” He looked out the store window. “Hmm. Yeah. They look strange, don’t they? I mean, in the beginning, they always look normal but you’ll see as you stay here.” His eyes fluttered around and he coughed raspily, shaking fingers fluttering at light speed across the countertop. “Uh, how- how long have you been here?” “I’m not sure. Can’t have been more than a few months. I left college, and I needed a job. This was the first town I stumbled upon. But I can’t eat here. Have to eat the food I brought with me, but I’ve been running low. Now- now I don’t know where to go from here. But I’ll probably not be here much longer. Can’t be.” His gaze drifted out of focus and after a long moment, his eyes snapped back to me. “Why are you in town? And who’s your companion?” “My sister and I are visiting. My mother was born in this town and so were we. So we decided to visit, learn more about our roots, you know.” I looked around again and leaned in closer, whispering: “Do you, uh, do you know why all the townspeople look like that?” “Oh don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. And I don’t know.” He laughed a little. “I don’t actually know if anyone knows. I’ve heard a few whisperings- well, not from them but also not from visitors- we don’t really get visitors really- that maybe it was something to do with the water, or their ancestry, and even rumors of a cult! I mean, I’m sure none of that is real and all, but it really makes you wonder…” His gaze grew distant again and then he snapped back to the present. I eyed him warily. “Right. Well, would you recommend the inn? I’m not getting any reception here and I can’t check any reviews…” “Well, where else would you stay?” He laughed and it devolved into a sort of wet cough. I leaned back a bit. “It’s fine. The inn is fine.” “Great.” I backed away and hovered near the entrance of the shop. My sister brought up her snacks and paid, clearly wary of the man. She joined me, and I told her about the inn. I chose to leave out the cult stuff. She already had so many reservations about the town. I didn’t want to give her another. The innkeeper looked just as bizarre as the people who had passed outside. The man was tall and slender to the point of concern, his spine so knobbly and bent over that we could see every single sharp edge of his vertebrae jutting out from his shirt. In all, he seemed nothing more than purpling skin stretched over bones. I eyed him warily but Clarisse treated him like he was nothing out of the ordinary. Sometimes it was easy to forget her kindness. But then again, she had had me for a twin sister her whole life. We stopped briefly at our room, dropping off our backpacks packed with overnight clothes and the snacks we had gotten at the store. I stopped in the bathroom and washed my face. The handles of the sink were jittery and halting and the water that came out was slightly yellow and bitter, but it was better than the grease of travel clinging to my skin. I met back up with Clarisse, and together we descended the stairs into the main entry hall. The man, as skeletal as he had been, had informed us that the inn served a lavish dinner and breakfast to guests. We sat down and I looked around. We were the only ones here. Outside the sun was setting and something shifted. It took a moment for me to realize what had changed, but once I had, I relaxed slightly, although perhaps that was the last thing I should have done. It was nothing inherently sinister, just the sound of people. Although the windows of the inn were blocked by heavy dusty curtains, I could hear more and more

townsfolk emerging from the homes lining the street, the din of muffled conversation, and the faint clink of the doorbell of the general store echoing into the hall of the inn. Our dinner arrived. It was surprisingly fancy for our accommodations. There were three plates in total. A plate of chopped and seasoned vegetables and mushrooms, all drizzled in a dark purple sauce and sprinkled with sugar. A full braised pork chop, pink and glistening with chopped speckles of dark black herbs and spices and glazed with a heavy, fragrant purple-pink sauce. A tureen of warm brown mushroom gravy was provided to each of us as well as a salad of some sort of purple and deep green lettuce, small yellow chopped tomatoes and a blend of purple berries sprinkled over, all brought together with a sweet-smelling balsamic vinegar. I raised an eyebrow at Clarisse, but she was already digging in before I could question it. The meal was delicious, the pork an odd, delightful blend of bitter and sweet, so tender that all but melted on the tongue. The salad was delicious as well, the balsamic a tart fruity touch I had never really encountered before. Clarisse reached for the salt shaker and covered her salad in enough sodium to give a cow a heart attack. I rolled my eyes. She had always loved salty food. She laughed at my expression then shoved a massive bite of greens into her mouth. She chewed, swallowed, and then her face contorted in sudden pain. She swallowed and coughed, bringing her napkin to her mouth and dabbing her tongue. The napkin came away bloodied. “Oh! Are you alright?” I asked. She dabbed at her tongue again and shrugged, coughing wetly once more. “Yeah… Must have bit my tongue.” She didn’t touch the salad again.

That night Clarisse was violently ill. I sat by her side as she convulsed over the toilet, scouring my mind for every scrap of medical knowledge I could muster. Unfortunately, my mind came up empty. Her stomach clenched and squeezed itself inside out, all the contents of her stomach splurging out into the toilet, sending water splashing back up into her face as her throat squeezed and retched bile until the bile was gone and replaced with nothing but dry heaves and after that thick, dark blood. Her skin had lost all its color except for her face, which, splattered with vomit and bile and blood, was such a deep, bright red it almost looked purple. I frantically brought her glasses of water from the sink and she gulped down the yellowed liquid only to throw it up seconds later. Pinkening tears dripped from her eyes, which were so deeply bloodshot they were barely even white anymore. Her pupils dilated unevenly, her eyes flickering around the room so fast I was afraid her tendons would snap and they’d fall from her head into the toilet bowl below. I stayed at her side, terrified to leave. It was nearly three in the morning and she was starting to convulse, her body shaking and seizing, limbs, usually graceful and cautious, jerking in all directions, the sharp sound of bone and skin hitting porcelain. I clutched at her frantically, trying as hard as I could to stop her spasms, but she was only worsening. Blood and bile splattered against the cracked tiles of the bathroom and she gagged, choking on her vomit. I frantically flipped her over, trying to clear her airway. The brownish-red mixture of blood-speckled bile ran across the floor and soaked the knees of my pants. “Shh- Clarisse- please! Can you hear me? Try and breathe! It’s all going to be okay-” A loud thud echoed at the hotel door and at that instant, I suddenly registered the swarming drone of voices. The door thunked again and the lock rattled. I fell still, my sister convulsing in my arms. Outside I could hear a swarm of countless people battering the door, the weak, faltering thuds like the sounds of a thousand bony hands prying at the wood, trying to pull the door from its frame. In that split second in the town of my mother surrounded by those who bore her resemblance- I heaved my sister into my splintering arms and dragged her convulsing body towards the bed. I piled her on the sheets and hauled myself up just as a ghostly white, bony hand jutted out from underneath, grasping for my ankle. I screamed and yanked my foot up as an abnormally long and slender bony body dragged itself out from beneath the bed frame, its form nothing more definite than crumpling ricepaper stretched over long white, brittle bones. It stood, stretching to a full height of eight feet, looming over and staring down at us with sunken white eyes, its purple-lipped mouth contorting in a

grating shriek. The door splintered on its hinges and I sobbed, hugging my sister to my frail chest. The figures- the same as the creature from under the bed- they swarmed forwards, filling the room with rasping cries and grasping boney hands- what flesh they had either hanging limply from boney forms or stretched so tight over rib cages I could see their beating purple-black hearts and lungs beneath. I clutched my sister and closed my eyes, my mother’s words running through my head, my sister’s blood and bile soaking the back of my shirt as she seized.

“Beds are safe beds are always safe beds are safe beds are always-” I was too terrified to notice that one of Clarisse’s legs had fallen over the side of the tiny twin bed as she jerked. The swarming crowd all screamed in unison- a deafening sound like bones splintering under a hammer- and grabbed her, pulling her limp, jerking body from my arms. I clung to her desperately but they pulled her so fast that I almost slipped off the bed had I not relinquished my grasp. Her head and neck hit the ground with a deafening crack and I gasped wetly in horror, sobbing as foam beaded her lips and they dragged her away, watching me with eyes that were nothing more than boiled yellowing whites in sunken holes. They smiled, thin, papery lips a vivid pink against the skin so translucent I could see their purple veins surging with contaminated blood.

They left in a wave, dragging my sister with them. I huddled in the bed and wept, trembling as I clutched at the vomit-covered blankets, staring at the door, waiting for them to come back. “Beds are safe beds are always safe” I stayed there all night, paralyzed with fear. It was only when dawn colored the sky a deep, bloody red that I dared set foot on the ground, ready to yank it back if something surged from the darkness to seize my ankle. I needed to escape. I needed to get away from this place. They didn’t like the light. The day was coming. I could run for it. Escape the town and get back to the car. I ran to the window and threw it open. The town was as empty as it had been yesterday. I pulled myself out onto the roof and slid down, hopping onto the bins below and then landing with a thud, my ankles smarting at the strain. I took off running, too scared to look behind me. I could feel the anger building in the town, I could feel the rage at my escape, at my survival last night. My feet ached and burned as they slapped against the already hot cracked pavement of the road. Glass cut my feet but I kept going, my dark thick blood barely even leaving a trail. As I ran I could hear doors begin to open and I chanced a look behind me. They were emerging, not the strange, grotesquely long and slender and pale abominations from last night, but the ones that still looked vaguely human, all spilling from the buildings and swarming after me. My heartbeat so fast I feared it would crack my ribcage and send blood spilling into my lungs. I sobbed and ran faster. I was almost out of the town- not the way we entered but the opposite way, the south way- I was almost there. The buildings around me ended and beyond that, there was a bridge spanning an empty dry river and just past that the sign for the town limit. If I could just get there I would be safe I knew itThe ground beneath my feet turned from cracked pavement to wood and I sobbed in relief I was almost

there-

Then the bridge caved beneath my feet and I fell, crashing down to the dry riverbed below. *** When I woke I was tied tightly to a wall. The second my eyes opened I sobbed. I was so close. I was almost there. I was beneath the bridge and all around- shadowed from the burning rays of the midwestern sun were the abominations from last night. They towered above me, all looking down with those blank yellowed eyes sunken deep into their skull, their bodies no more than grey translucent skin stretched over bones and pulsating organs pumping purple underneath their bones. I pulled at the ropes and hung my head, sobbing again. “She is awake.” I raised my head at the words and looked around, my eyes blurred with nervous tears. The swarm of creatures parted, all of them raising their head to the sky, opening their gaping mouths, and shrieking. My throat squeezed at the sound and I couldn’t keep my body from shaking. I gulped and blinked, trying to clear my eyes. The crowd of abominations circled around, spreading out to surround a long, dining room table spread with plates and plates heaped high with purple and red berries, mushrooms of all shapes and colors, rotting beef and pork dripping with yellow and purple glazes and covered in glass shards, and goblets overspilling with

dark purple wine. Bound on the table, her throat slit and stuffed with berries, lay Clarisse, her body bare and slathered with purple juices. Her eyes were gouged out and filled with flowers, her stomach cut open to act as a tray for an array of fruits and a swarm of wriggling chittering bugs. I let out a frantic sob and writhed against the ropes until they cut my wrists and blood dripped down my arms in ticklish beads. “Calm, my dear child. Calm. She was an imposter, acting as your sister. She was of no real value. Simply a frantic ploy by your mother to rewrite fate.” I looked around for the voice, but all the forms were still, simply standing tall and staring down at me with barely quelled hunger in their eyes. And then I saw it. At the end of the table in the seat opposite me was a pile of skin, lacking all bone and substance. Nothing but organs, pulsating and purple beneath a thin layer of pale, translucent skin. The only solid part of the creature was its head, which retained its skull mounted to the chair with nails, its esophagus trailing down into its lungs and stomach. I bit back the urge to vomit and tried my hardest to focus on its eyes- the only part of it even relatively close to human. They were sharp, metallic gold. I shuddered. “What do you want with me?! Who are you?” The creature laughed, a deep booming sound that echoed throughout the underside of the bridge. Around me, the abominations chittered, their throats clicking like bugs. “I am the father of this town. I am your father. And your mother’s father. And her mother’s father before that. I am the Creator. I am the Maintainer. I am the Feeder. I have brought this town to life. I made the people of this town and I have provided for them since I found this fruitless town. I have fed them and taught them how to survive when all the earth offers up is poison. I began this town and I have made it what it is today. I have bred the people of this town until each generation grew stronger- heartier- until they could survive even the consumption of holly leaves and glass. We are the strongest race to roam this earth. And you, my daughter, are blessed enough to share our gift.” My head felt hollow. “You’re my father? I- But what about my mother? What did you do to her?” The abominations all shrieked and I sobbed, the sound grating and pressing against my ears. They pressed closer, so close I could feel their tainted breath against my skin. I tried my best not to breathe. “Your mother knew her fate. She was simply foolish enough to try and escape. She was foolish enough to believe.” Its voice darkened. “Belief is foolish. Nothing more than a feeble last resort. The last line of defense for someone so ignorant as to not know the rules of our world. You see, the thing about belief is that it only works if it is unintentional. Your mother did a good job growing you, imbuing her filthy charms into your bare mind. Your sister, however…” It chuckled darkly. “Your sister didn’t believe it. Then again. The pureeaters never know quite how. But you listened to her, and your belief in your safety- your act of tying it to an object- that’s what made it work. But the thing about belief is that if someone tampers with it; if someone ever explains how it works, it will forever fail because the user will understand too much for its power to work. And your mother didn’t care enough to teach you any other lines of defense. You have nothing left, my child. You are mine. Your mother thought she could escape- thought that if she ran far enough and that if she found someone else to bed within the night of your conception that she could overwrite my power and escape. The fool. Heteropaternal superfecundation. You are my child. Your sister was not. Your sister was the product of some filthy pure-eater. That’s why she was so weak. She couldn’t even stomach a single meal. You on the other hand… you ate our poisoned crops as if it were the finest, purest meal of this world. You are the strongest one of them all, and you shall be the next to keep the bloodline of this town strong and tainted and ensure that Southbridge shall live on forevermore.” The voice darkened. The abominations chittered once more and pushed the table forwards, towards the wall. One took a knife and began to carve into Clarisse’s raw flesh, partitioning it onto plates and another slathered it with a rich, deadly purple sauce and yet another sprinkled it with mushrooms and berries and toxins. It laughed once more, the sound echoing endlessly in my ears. “Now you look hungry, my child. Shall we eat?”