#thread; miles & beck; 03 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aalt-ctrl-del · 7 years

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03 _ Straw Spun to Silk

First - A Gentleman in a Coat

Chapter 03 - To Pursue a Variable Clause

At the bottom of the ditch….

Lay nothing, but rubbish and rotted leaves packed into the cement floor. At one end of the trench slumped the dividers, and the entrance to the storm drain. “Am I meant to see something?”

“We part ways here,” Spate insisted. “I can return you home, or you can wait here.” He glowered on the open entrance of the runoff, the tunnel extended beneath the road and deeper still. A low, whining rasp emitted from his ribs.

“Sterling’s down there?” Chad chirped, leaning over the edge further. When confronted with the sharp angle he began to wobble, but stole back his balance quickly.

“That is where I will seek him,” Spate hissed. “You will not go.”

“I will,” Chad asserted. He began down the pockmarked slope and busted cement, but carefully. “C’mon.”

“It’s not safe in there,” Spate growled. He darted downward and snatched Chad by his shoulder. “You stay out here, I seek.”

“I’m not letting you stumble onto my brother, in that dark place. He’ll be petrified!” Now face-to-face, as it were, with Spate, Chad noted that it’s neck was like a wound fiber, oily and slick. It didn’t glisten like the fluid in his nostril, but it oozed – like wet fur. He forgot his protest, and gawked.

Spate looked beyond Chad, into the sewer – Chad could smell the decaying vegetation and noxious fumes of the sludge liquefying. Or could that have been Spate?

“You will not be safe,” Spate pressed. But Chad shook his head vigorously.

“You’re not going without. No-no-no, I want to be there.” Chad tucked his head back and fought the bite of tears. “I’m going, and you can’t stop me.”

“Do you not think you’re getting ahead of yourself?” Spate grumbled. “I will seek your brother. And when I have seen what I will find, I’ll return to you. All you need do is make your offer.”

But Chad shook his head harder, and turned his head down. He pushed passed Spate, and took one of the black aqueducts. He only stopped at the edge where the light cut away completely, to look back at Spate. No doubt the creature could perceive he was crying, there was no hiding that fact. Chad waited and waited, hand open and out.

Spate relented, and stooped down to enter the low ceiling of the passage. The radiance evaporated out of his coat and skull entirely, leaving only the glimmering pits of his eye sockets. Chad felt the familiar grip constrict on his hand, and the lead of the creature as it brushed by him.

In a thread bare heave, it said, “Stay close to me. I can see the walls, the floor, the perils. You cannot.” His guide drew Chad into a halt, and they delayed progress for a short minute, or two. “Was he hiding from someone? Or something?”

“How do you know he came in here?” Chad plucked, first. Spate didn’t move.

“I can smell him. He is on the coat, and he came this way. Who was he hiding from?”

“Our parents,” Chad offered. But Sterling never came down into the tunnels and sewers beneath the town; they were off limits. All the kids knew that. Who wanted to spend their time in the filth, when there were miles and acres of land to explore? “You followed him across town?”

“I strolled ten miles to find those smores,” Spate affirmed. He pulled Chad along, gently.

“You went ten miles for smores? I mean, walked all that way?” The ideal that Spate could smell something, anything, boggled his mind; let alone track across the countryside for a food.

“Smores are good,” Spate hummed. He raised an arm and rubbed across his snout.

“Me and Sterling had a bunch of them during the summer,” Chad explained. “We did a lot of camping – practically lived in the woods.”

“The reason for why I became so lost,” Spate uttered. “He’s been here and around, and everywhere it seemed.”

“Yeah,” Chad sighed. He remember all the adventures he and Sterling went on, barely two months ago. There wasn’t a connection, there was no reason; Chad thought of how frequent they went on. He scarcely recalled a night in his own bed; he and Sterling were out under the stars or with friends. There was so much to do, and so little summer to experience everything.

He did remember how upset their parents were whenever they got in, at home. Mason would yell, Abigail would cry. His mom, Lorraine, would talk firmly to them, but only after Mason was spent with his hollering. It was like Sterling couldn’t do anything right, though he wasn’t bothering anyone. He slacked on his chores – Chad was fully aware of this in Sterling’s absence – but he came home. That’s what mattered. He came home, and he was there, safe.

“I don’t want what happened to the Kelvin’s girl to happen to Chadwick!” Mason boomed, all but in Sterling’s face.

“The Kelvin’s were rubbish parents – they isolated that girl from everyone, and that’s why no one was there—”

Chad winced, in the present. He clutched Spate’s arm to his chest, the same way he held Abigail (and shushed her) while his father and brother howled.

“That was not the concessive argument,” Spate presumed. The eyes did not glimmer down at Chad, but focused off on the corridor extending ahead. The creature spoke as if it witnessed the entire ordeal, though Chad was certain it couldn’t – he insisted it couldn’t.

“No,” he wheezed. “They had a lot of grievance.”

“You believe bringing your brother home will amend your woes?”

Chad shook his head. “I just need him to come home. I miss him. I’m worried about him.” For a long while there was quiet; the two walked on, but neither conversed or made sound. Spate’s footfalls were light, and Chad leaned on the creature that guided his hand.

The corridor opened up enough that Spate could proceed without hunching over Chad. Still, the passage was narrow and Chad with Spate kept hip to elbow; it offered Chad some stability when he felt his shoes skidding on the polished cement. At intervals they passed beneath open sewer grates, and noises from the city street above; of cars chugging by, or pedestrians stepping on the panels.

“I will do what I am able,” Spate offered. They came to a feed off and a ledge; a grate high in the road overhead offered some traces speckles of glitter on the walls, and pecked out the diluted colors on Spate’s coat. He took Chad under the arms, and lowered him to the surface no less than seven feet below. “Tell me about your brother. How was he before the arguments and spite?”

“Where do I begin?” Chad watched Spate, as the creature plopped down beside him. He held up his hand, and felt the familiar grasp; Spate gave the pathway a careful examination.

And sniffled.

“Why do you feel it necessary that you find him? Are there not people that do that?”

“Yeah,” Chad admitted. “But they haven’t found him yet.” He wanted to say something more, but he didn’t know how to put it. Chad didn’t understand his parents behavior towards him, why there was such venom when he made the slightest error. Even Sterling was not expected to be on beck and call for their sister, despite his love for their youngest sibling. It was just, Sterling could do more with Chad, and Chad had a closer knit connection with Abigail. “I think my mom and dad miss him too, but they don’t know it? I’m sure they do, but they do it wrong.”

“That sounds about right,” Spate murmured. “Parents can be like that. They’re emotional, and they don’t understand at times what they’re feeling, or how to express it. It gets all… mushy, and spikey. Hmm.”

Spate halted at an intersecting pipeline, and sniffed. Chad coughed.

“Sewage. Smells like death,” Chad concluded. “Are we lost?”

“No,” Spate replied. But his attention was detached, his eyes glittered in the absolute black. The coat shifted when he turned back – to Chad, it felt like the creature was uneasy, if not uncertain. “Stay close to me.”

“Is something wrong?”

“No,” Spate offered. “Can you see?”

“Only your eyes. They glow.” Chad tightened his hold on the hand and wrist, and leaned more onto Spate. “It’s perfectly dark… we must be, deep? I don’t hear the cars anymore.”

“I know the way back,” Spate eased. “Don’t fret getting lost – I travel roads, I travel the unknown or forgotten paths. Tell me more of your brother – what do you two do together? Only you two together.”

From there it was easier to get into topic about his brother, without gushing completely to the eerie creature. Chad suspected the thing didn’t actually care, but Spate was interested in alleviating his discomfort. Or, possibly understanding where and what his brothers interests lay, would aid in Spate locating him eventually. But Chad didn’t understand why Sterling came down into this intolerable place, unless he absolutely didn’t want their parents to find him.

Chad explained the reason behind the mask he was wearing, the wood carved imp with the stain tie. He talked about the time his brother taught him to swim, and how they built a treehouse – how the treehouse scheme didn’t pan out, so they built a shack in the woods. But then an old guy creepy guy was using it as a home, and none of their friends ever went back to that side of the woods. Sterling was fun to be with, he taught Chad how to have fun, and gave him permission to be a kid – but that person was gone.

“He abandoned me,” Chad mumbled.

“I don’t believe that was his intent,” Spate hissed. He didn’t mean to sound strained; he swung his snout around. The chute was a straight shot, with no bend and no intercepting passageways. “He could have felt he was doing harm to you, and wanted to remove himself. He doesn’t sound like the person that would mean to hurt you.”

“But he did. I don’t care if he meant it or not, he abandoned me and Abby.” Chad stole his hand from Spate and crumpled down; hands around his bent legs, and face pressed into his knees. Spate shuffled around him, the meager plip-plip encircled him as the thing moved.

“This gets us nowhere,” Spate rumbled. “Wick? We are looking for your brother, but I cannot leave you.”

“Go!” Chad barked. “Find him. Scare the piss out of him! Then come an’get me.” He curled down tighter into his ball of self-pity. The monster actually sounded concerned for his well fair, and that made Chad feel justified with his utter resentment.

He shouldn’t be down here hunting for his brother, so his own life could go back to normal. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Things shouldn’t have changed between them. Chad sniffled. He wouldn’t cry, he wouldn’t….

He sniffed, and drew his head up. Spate was still there, prowling around him; Chad could make out the brim of his hat and the sharp edge of his nostril. But something else was on the stagnant air encircling him. Chad sniffed at the air with purpose; something he had avoided doing up to this point, given their location. His mind buzzed.

“Do you smell that?” To Chad’s surprise, Spate could sniff normally without the slucking nauseous wet snuffle.

“Are you keen to something?” Spate muttered. “I smell everything.”

“But that smell that doesn’t belong.” Admittedly, it was bizarre discussing fragrances with a creature, but it could track for miles and miles. He wanted to be sure he wasn’t losing his mind. “Smells like… candy. Sweet treats. Apples? It smells delicious.” Chad wobbled, but made it to his feet without flopping over. He put a hand out and caught the belt that looped Spate’s coat waist. “Is that what you smell normally?”

“No….” Spate droned. He held still and glanced around, at the curving walls surrounding them, closing them in. “That’s not what I smell. And I don’t like this.”

“What was that song you sing? Sweet treats grant favors, breads and tarts gift protection?” Chad pulled on the belt, and Spate followed.

“That’s not how it goes. And I don’t sing it.”

“Yes, you do.” Chad put his free hand out, anticipating something more than the humid and dank air to greet his fingers tips. It was balmy like the mid-summer festival, he went there with his brother to see the attraction cart and see the animals from around the world, brought to their small town. Sterling got him caramel apples and cotton candy. They went on rides together – just him and his brother. Their parents gave them the money, but they didn’t want to go. Sterling insisted he take Chad.

“The carnival!” Chad blurted. Spate was in the middle of humming something, but Chad cut him off. “That’s the carnival I smell! You can’t smell that? It’s just like I remember, when Sterling and I went last year.” He released Spate’s belt, when the creature snagged his wrist. He was pulling along now. “Are you sure we’re still in the sewers?”

“I am certain,” Spate growled, tone cutting deep. “I don’t smell anything, other than the sludge, and rot, and—” Spate planted his boots down, and yanked back on Chad’s wrist. “No. This is time to leave. We shouldn’t be here.”

“No,” Chad rebuked. “I want to see what it is. I can smell the carnival – I feel like I’ll turn a corner, and there’ll be the rides, and animals, the vendors selling food. Maybe, it could be where Sterling went! Leggo! I can almost hear it!” He twisted his wrist in the spindly fingers, whining in the back of his throat as the claws dug into his skin. “No!”

“We are not staying— Wick!” Spate lashed out, grasping open air. Chad tore free and in a blink gone. Spate never anticipated the boy’s desperation; he was only trying to reframe from slitting wrists. “Come back! It’s not safe!”

“Then keep up!” Chad whooped back. He rushed, full tilt. His footfalls clattered and reshaped over the curving walls, slapping back against his ear drums with their rapid beat. His heard hastened to overtake the pitch. He could hear the screams and laughter of the carnival goers on their rides, the rumble of the sugar spinner as it blew clouds and threads of spun candy. The showman heckled customers, daring them to win prizes or hang their heads shame. It was all here, every ounce of the fond, warm memories.

A careening squeal splint up along his spine – it might’ve been Spate, it might’ve been his own excited yowl as he rode the box coaster for the first time.

Chad could tell where the path bent, by the tilt of the floor and his shoes skidding. It saved him from plowing face first into a cement barrier, and he regained his pace long before Spate had gained on him. The ground continued to dip below his shoes, and Chad did forfeit his stride to avoid losing his balance completely and toppling. He raced down the slope and stumbled, when the floor of the channel elevated abruptly under his flying feet. He did lose his balance, but might’ve regained his composure if not for the lumpy bundle he stamped down upon. Chad did a graceless somersault, and somehow made it to his butt without cracking his head open or scattering his teeth.

He leaned hard to his side panting, chest heaving and heart pulsating. The carnival, or what smelled of that glorious place in his memories, saturated the bottom of the channel. A finely spun crease of light glimmered down from… some storm drain high above, illuminating a clump of driftwood and discarded shirts. He felt the moist cement under his palms, the grit, and the muggy vapor clingy to his cheeks – he knew this was the sewer, filled with unwanted runoff, chemicals, and… organic waste.

But it smelled exactly like the carnival. Apples and caramel, and cakes, roasted popcorn and peanuts. It was that long ago summer, before his family began to go at each other’s throats; angry and hateful all the damn time. Chad sniffled and shook.

He was utterly lost.

In the dark, somewhere to his left, a warbling timbre chittered. There might’ve been an animal, as lost as he was—

“Wick,” Spate wheezed. The light glistened wetly along the side of the creature. He hastened his pace, and reached Chad in two springs. He hefted the boy upright and examined him over, eyes glittering – catching light and cutting fragments. Chad realized the light in those socket pits was something green or jaded. “You’re lucky you didn’t plummet into the void! Are you hurt?”

Spate didn’t await and answer. He jerked his snout back and examined the area over – the grip on Chad’s shoulder’s stiffened, and the creature shifted him aside. Softly, it uttered, “You can’t see where you are, can you?”

Chad scrubbed his nose on his sleeve, similar to the way he’d seen Spate do – the mimicry was lost on him. “No,” he whimpered. Something else occurred to him, as he tried to peer over Spate’s arm. “Barely, a little. A little bit ago, I was sure there was light. I could see… where I was going.”

To the side, where the quirky trill lifted from, Chad saw something – a flicker of movement. A flash of vibrant color pulsed in and dissolved out, similarly to dawn hues rippling throughout the skyline in the early autumn mornings. And then there were eyes, piercing blue, aquatic and glowing. They looked so human, and friendly. But they were watching him.

“What is it?” Spate rasped. “Are you all right?” His boots ground on the silt as he shifted – Chad imagined the creature twisted its skull backwards, and leveled sights precisely with those human eyes.

“Who’s that?”

“Who? What?” Spate bit back, tenor jittery. He stole one hand from Chad’s shoulder, and spun around fully. A pause. Spate sniffled, and edged over. “What is there? Describe what, and where. Be clear.”

Chad shuffled behind Spate’s back. Something about those eyes and their unnatural attention; wholly too focused, the gleeful expression totally absorbed into those glowing yellow spheres. Chad was certain a moment ago, they were blue.

He shoved his face into Spate’s coat, and blindly pointed. “There! That tunnel! Look! You don’t see that?”

“I see nothing. I smell nothing,” Spate responded, slow and careful. He offered a long, calculated gap, wherein he moved back. Chad followed his step without detaching. “You need to tell me, what it is you see.”

Chad didn’t want to meet the gaze. He feared the face would be right there, he would have an abrupt and terrible introduction to the owner of those eyes, and it would terrify him into insanity. But he looked up, barely relieved the piercing gape was no nearer, nor further away. For a spell, Chad was mesmerized. Up until he realized, Spate wasn’t breathing, or doing much of anything. Chad wound his fingers into the thick slick of his coat and belt.

“A person.”

“Just a person?” Spate croaked.

There was more definition to the figure, filling in the gaps around those eyes; a face and head, a set of fanning shoulders; along with whimsical, eye-catching colors, hues and tinges that could warm the soul of Scrooge. If the whole assemble was not orphaned from his typical home, or so out of place in the sewer.

“A… clown,” Chad ventured. Because that’s what the person was, they were a clown, in clown garb; with wild hair and makeup, and a fiercely large grin. It might’ve been hilarious, if he was not staring straight through Spate and at him. That wasn’t unusual. That wasn’t….

Chad’s breath hitched, and he shrank further behind Spate’s solid shape.

Spate saw nothing. And that was the problem, since something was obviously there – he detected a palpable and straightforward, near insatiable craving. There was the tunnel Chad directed him to – perceivable, dank and uninviting – however, not the aforementioned character. Not a vision or… if he waited, and focused; burned his glower into the swarming dull grays that tumbled forth from the murk, rupturing into black billows of unraveling gloom, unwinding veils as thick as sheets, and as physically stalling. Something. Something was there.

“You’re afraid of the clown?” Spate presumed.

“Yes,” Chad squeaked.

“Why?”

“Because he’s not afraid of you.”

That was the nail in the coffin. Whatever was there, was watching him too. And he couldn’t see whoever lurked and waited, biding time for him to make the first wrong move.

Next - Bells Chimes and Orange Rhymes

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