American Elsewhere - By Robert Jackson Bennett Page 0,236

seems so,” says Mrs. Benjamin gravely. “I cannot pretend to understand all of it… but it seems so.”

The woman’s breath is now shallow. “I’ll see Her,” she whispers. “I’ll see Her and She’ll see me and we’ll be happy again… it’ll be like the past… never happened.”

Mona studies the dying woman. “Think you’re just going to jump ship out of that body?”

The woman’s face is still, but her eyes twitch to look at Mona.

“If you’d just killed a few of your kin, I wouldn’t have cared,” says Mona. “I don’t give a shit about your family squabbles. But you had to drag me into this. Me and my—my dead little girl…”

The woman tries to mouth something. It looks like she’s saying, Mother’s wishes.

“I don’t give a shit what Mother wanted. You’re pathetic. You’re all… you’re all so goddamn pathetic.”

And she turns the box over.

The pale little skull falls through the air.

The woman’s eyes go wide and track it.

And the second it touches her chest…

All three of them become aware of a fourth person in the room with them, who has apparently appeared without any of them knowing it: it is as if this person, who strikes such a strange figure in his ragged, mud-smeared blue canvas suit, and his wooden rabbit mask, has been here all along, and someone has merely turned on a light behind him, outlining his figure and alerting them to his presence.

The room is now two rooms. First the light changes, very subtly: it turns a faint yellow, the color of old parchment. And if she really looks, Mona thinks she can see old, worn stone in the shadows, and somewhere above them is a high, vaulted ceiling…

The woman mouths, No! No!

And then things go

dark

The other side.

Mona opens her eyes, and looks.

A tiny blue-and-white form stands on a black plain.

It is a measly little gangrel, a capering little clown.

It cowers and covers its head, whimpering.

The pink moon hangs above it, fat and swollen.

Yet something dark and spindly rises up, crossing the face of the moon…

Something is standing on the horizon.

Mona can see a long, thin skull, a skull like a needle, and two long ears.

It is huge. The size of skyscrapers. Miles of brambly, dark hide.

And its eyes… so huge and yellow, yet so human, and so angry.

The tiny blue-and-white figure waves its arms. There is a tinny scream:

“No! No! Please, no! Momma! Momma, please!”

The immense, dark thing cocks its head. Its yellow eyes roll.

Hands appear in the darkness, thin and clawed.

“Momma,” whimpers the little figure.

The hands clench. Quiver with rage.

The huge thing dives forward.

A spray of gore, a shriek. Something dark pools on the rocky field.

Whimpers in the dark.

Then…

There is a gasping sound. The air shudders. They are back in the little room at Coburn.

Mona and Mrs. Benjamin look down. The skull is still on the woman’s chest, but she is utterly still. The man in the rabbit mask is gone.

“I’ve never seen any of my family members die before…” says Mrs. Benjamin. “That was…”

“Fast. Real fast. Are you all right?”

“I have been stabbed several times, so—no.”

Mona starts to help her up. “Why the hell did you help me?”

Mrs. Benjamin appears to pout just slightly. “Well. Perhaps I’ve assumed the role of a cranky old woman a little too thoroughly. Sabotage comes to me very naturally, it seems. Or perhaps I don’t like to see people causing havoc.”

“Whatever the reason, I’m grateful. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

They return to the lens chamber to grab Mona’s rifle and some rounds. Then they make their way out. Mrs. Benjamin has to lean on her as they move. “So what happens now?” asks Mona.

“Well… if that Ganymede person was correct, it is possible for Mother to manifest here in some form, but She would be bound to this place, to Wink. Because Wink is not quite here and not quite there. She would need to meld or merge with some element of this side. Only then can she make the full transition.”

“Meld or merge with my—my daughter.” She says these words, though she cannot believe them.

“That is correct,” says Mrs. Benjamin dourly. “The child is young, and weak—Mother can force Her entry.”

“If that were to work, would she… what would happen to the baby?”

Mrs. Benjamin’s eyebrows rise as she considers it. “Well, for one thing, I would not imagine she would look much like a baby at all, after that.”

Getting up the ladder to the roof of the mesa proves quite hard: Mrs. Benjamin has to