This house had seen better days. Vivian grimaced at the note in her hands, but the address matched faded letters on the mailbox. The house, a small one-story nesting in a smaller, overgrown yard, had been sided with remnants: it was a mix of red, green, yellow, gray--and a rotten black where siding had been torn off to expose the wood underneath. A dingy, smoke-stained blind cut off any view inside through the picture window. The sidewalk bordering the yards to either side petered out here to leave behind weeds and dead grass.
The asphalt driveway up to the carport glistened with newness. Vivian walked beside it up to the front door. She struggled past the rusty screen door to knock on the inner one. No one answered. Before Vivian could knock again, something yowled inside the house. Either her movement or the sound startled the lump underneath Vivian's hoodie; she put her hand on it as it began to shift.
"No," she said, "You have to stay!" The lump continued to move and squeal in defiance of her whisper; Vivian barged through the door.
She stepped into a scene of chaos. Vivian forgot the shape with its sharp claws in her shoulder. This was the living room, but Vivian could see through the open doorway into the kitchen. A coffee table had been flipped onto its side; its missing leg protruded from the shattered screen of a tube TV that hung half-out of the entertainment set. Bookshelves and their contents had been piled where the couch should be; Vivian saw the couch itself thrown partially through the kitchen window.
"Hello?" she called. Silence hung heavy here, punctuated only by her shoulder-lump's chitters. Vivian stepped over a mess of dead potted plants and clay shards. "Is anybody here? Are you okay?" She clutched the shape under her hoodie hard enough to earn a squeak of protest.
"Who's there?" A tall, ragged figure emerged from the hall across the room. She could see the deep bags under his eyes and his wild hair even in this intense gloom. He stepped closer, and Vivian shuffled back over the uneven floor.
"H-hi," she said. "Are--are you Marcus?" He stopped to watch her through the tangled matt of his bangs. The man held his arms too stiffly at his sides, but his hands kneaded at nothing.
"What are you doing here?" he said.
"I, I'm sorry." Vivian held up the scrap of paper. "I found this in m-my mom's phonebook." She held the paper out to let the man read it as he stepped closer. It was an address, and handwritten words: Marcus knows. Marcus can help. The man snorted.
"I can't help anybody. Not anymore." His eyes narrowed at the handwriting. "I thought I knew how to deal with this, but I was wrong. You're Marissa's daughter?" Vivian startled, and her hidden companion chirped.
"Y-yes," she said. "I'm Vivian." She studied Marcus' gaunt face, and then pulled aside the neck of her sweatshirt to reveal the dragon hatchling half-hidden beneath her hair. "This is Eggs. Sh-she likes earlobes." Marcus' eyes glinted in the dim light. He burst out:
"Dragons? You got fuc--sorry. But dragons?" Marcus slowly settled himself on the pile of broken books and shelves. "I fuc--sorry--wish I got dragons! Of course. Can't expect gargoyles or oozes for Marissa's kid." Vivian took another step back; she tripped over the uneven carpet,but she caught herself on the door.
"You, you know my mom?" Marcus began to lift his arm, and then stopped. His bobbing head implied a shrug.
"I know most of the... what did we call ourselves?" His hollow face creased in thought. "Can't remember. Haven't talked to anybody in years. But we all cross paths eventually, us. I knew your dad, too. Satyrs. Died of--liver cancer, I think." Vivian's eyebrows shot up behind her blonde bangs.
"What--"
"And your mom's dad, he had--sirens, right?" Marcus didn't wait for her answer. "Yeah. Died to a sea monster they called up. Didn't mean it, I'm sure. Knew a guy, oozes, reached into his silverware drawer and found a black jelly. Cut himself on a knife he couldn't see. Died of the infection. My great grandpa, gargoyles. Won't let him leave the city. He's still there, waiting for some industrial accident because he can't--"
"Wait!" Vivian jumped at her own shout; something hissed, and kept on hissing. Marcus stared at her with his mouth a black crescent in his pale face. "S-sorry," Vivian said. "What. I'm sorry, what uhm, creature do you have? If I get what you're saying?" Marcus' eyes could have charred stone.
"Mimics," he growled in unison with the persistent hiss. "TV? Mimic. Fridge? Mimic. Every day I wake up? More of my things eaten and replaced by mimics." He tried to lift his arms again, and again Vivian heard that yowl from before she'd entered this scene. Eggs growled in answer. The dragon's baby claws dug into Vivian's shoulder. Even with these distractions, the girl noticed Marcus' shirt collar close more closely around his neck. What she'd taken as a tie now dripped saliva.
"I've been stuck in this for three days," Marcus said. "They used to listen to me. Something happened." Vivian's wide eyes swung around the chaos. Her gaze settled on Marcus' broken face.
"They... they're upsetting Eggs," Vivian said. "I need to go." Marcus' shoulders slumped, and he winced.
"That would be best," he said. Vivian left the way she came, again skirting that too-new driveway up to the road. There she turned back.
Marcus' house was breathing.
The asphalt driveway up to the carport glistened with newness. Vivian walked beside it up to the front door. She struggled past the rusty screen door to knock on the inner one. No one answered. Before Vivian could knock again, something yowled inside the house. Either her movement or the sound startled the lump underneath Vivian's hoodie; she put her hand on it as it began to shift.
"No," she said, "You have to stay!" The lump continued to move and squeal in defiance of her whisper; Vivian barged through the door.
She stepped into a scene of chaos. Vivian forgot the shape with its sharp claws in her shoulder. This was the living room, but Vivian could see through the open doorway into the kitchen. A coffee table had been flipped onto its side; its missing leg protruded from the shattered screen of a tube TV that hung half-out of the entertainment set. Bookshelves and their contents had been piled where the couch should be; Vivian saw the couch itself thrown partially through the kitchen window.
"Hello?" she called. Silence hung heavy here, punctuated only by her shoulder-lump's chitters. Vivian stepped over a mess of dead potted plants and clay shards. "Is anybody here? Are you okay?" She clutched the shape under her hoodie hard enough to earn a squeak of protest.
"Who's there?" A tall, ragged figure emerged from the hall across the room. She could see the deep bags under his eyes and his wild hair even in this intense gloom. He stepped closer, and Vivian shuffled back over the uneven floor.
"H-hi," she said. "Are--are you Marcus?" He stopped to watch her through the tangled matt of his bangs. The man held his arms too stiffly at his sides, but his hands kneaded at nothing.
"What are you doing here?" he said.
"I, I'm sorry." Vivian held up the scrap of paper. "I found this in m-my mom's phonebook." She held the paper out to let the man read it as he stepped closer. It was an address, and handwritten words: Marcus knows. Marcus can help. The man snorted.
"I can't help anybody. Not anymore." His eyes narrowed at the handwriting. "I thought I knew how to deal with this, but I was wrong. You're Marissa's daughter?" Vivian startled, and her hidden companion chirped.
"Y-yes," she said. "I'm Vivian." She studied Marcus' gaunt face, and then pulled aside the neck of her sweatshirt to reveal the dragon hatchling half-hidden beneath her hair. "This is Eggs. Sh-she likes earlobes." Marcus' eyes glinted in the dim light. He burst out:
"Dragons? You got fuc--sorry. But dragons?" Marcus slowly settled himself on the pile of broken books and shelves. "I fuc--sorry--wish I got dragons! Of course. Can't expect gargoyles or oozes for Marissa's kid." Vivian took another step back; she tripped over the uneven carpet,but she caught herself on the door.
"You, you know my mom?" Marcus began to lift his arm, and then stopped. His bobbing head implied a shrug.
"I know most of the... what did we call ourselves?" His hollow face creased in thought. "Can't remember. Haven't talked to anybody in years. But we all cross paths eventually, us. I knew your dad, too. Satyrs. Died of--liver cancer, I think." Vivian's eyebrows shot up behind her blonde bangs.
"What--"
"And your mom's dad, he had--sirens, right?" Marcus didn't wait for her answer. "Yeah. Died to a sea monster they called up. Didn't mean it, I'm sure. Knew a guy, oozes, reached into his silverware drawer and found a black jelly. Cut himself on a knife he couldn't see. Died of the infection. My great grandpa, gargoyles. Won't let him leave the city. He's still there, waiting for some industrial accident because he can't--"
"Wait!" Vivian jumped at her own shout; something hissed, and kept on hissing. Marcus stared at her with his mouth a black crescent in his pale face. "S-sorry," Vivian said. "What. I'm sorry, what uhm, creature do you have? If I get what you're saying?" Marcus' eyes could have charred stone.
"Mimics," he growled in unison with the persistent hiss. "TV? Mimic. Fridge? Mimic. Every day I wake up? More of my things eaten and replaced by mimics." He tried to lift his arms again, and again Vivian heard that yowl from before she'd entered this scene. Eggs growled in answer. The dragon's baby claws dug into Vivian's shoulder. Even with these distractions, the girl noticed Marcus' shirt collar close more closely around his neck. What she'd taken as a tie now dripped saliva.
"I've been stuck in this for three days," Marcus said. "They used to listen to me. Something happened." Vivian's wide eyes swung around the chaos. Her gaze settled on Marcus' broken face.
"They... they're upsetting Eggs," Vivian said. "I need to go." Marcus' shoulders slumped, and he winced.
"That would be best," he said. Vivian left the way she came, again skirting that too-new driveway up to the road. There she turned back.
Marcus' house was breathing.
"Marcus' house was breathing." Damn that seems grim. The idea of a girl finding a dragon in an egg carton was so innocent and cute. Now a man is being eaten by his tie!? I love it.
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