Unnatural Tales Of The Jackalope Read online

  The car had slowed to a stop, and I only managed to edge it to the side of the road with a quick twist before it faded to a spluttered stop in front of a sign. It listed all the towns with the closest thirty miles away. On the other side there was another one telling me I was fifty miles from the last town I had driven through. Not that I could remember the name for the small place with one street of houses that had been the last I had cruised through.

  ″Shit.″ I want to say it again but it is too loud. Too loud in the silence. I want to find someone but I don′t want them to find me. I want to see who they are before I throw myself upon their charity. I have to keep moving. But I don′t even remember which direction the light was in.

  The light was on when I started walking and then when I had got so far away from the car that I couldn′t easily get back, it stopped. Probably, just someone going to bed. But it was the wrong time for me. I′ve got to keep moving. Surely it must be around here somewhere. If I just get to there I can call someone and work out where my car is.

  I can′t stand still.

  Thumping. On the ground I think. But it could be my heart. Everything I feel inside of me seems to become part of the landscape. I feel cold and empty and the wind chills along my spine. I feel like I′m breathing huge gusts and the winds drag their way around me.

  Thumping again. Probably just an animal or my feet. Or my heart, or my lungs struggling to get all the air inside and out.

  Surely the light couldn′t have been this far away. Or maybe it could. I don′t know anything anymore. Everything I know comes from books. And it doesn′t mean anything out here.

  ″Come this way.″

  My heart stops.

  For a second.

  Someone else is here. A male voice I think. Do I follow it or do I stop? What do I do? I don′t know what to do. I have been looking for someone for god knows how long but now that I have found them I don′t know what to do. My teeth bite my lip but only gently and they are shaking. My hands are shaking and even my legs.

  If it was a woman it would be easier. But...I don′t know.

  ″Come this way,″ he says.

  My legs start to follow the voice. Quiet slow gentle footsteps. Maybe if I get close enough I can see who he is. I can work out who it is and whether to stay or whether to run. I know not to judge a book by their cover, but if they are holding a butcher′s knife that would be enough.

  I still can′t see anything. But it is still so dark.

  ″Come on,″ It is a male voice. Strong and commanding. But young. Or young sounding. Maybe some kind of farmer out for a pleasure stroll? Or not. I don′t know and yet my feet follow.

  Thumping. There is thumping ahead.

  My ears don′t seem to be working properly. Hearing sounds but not certain what they are.

  ″It′s this way,″ he says again.

  I just need to get close enough to see him.

  The ground feels rougher and it is rising. Going up higher. My thighs becoming tired and sore. Careful steps, raising my knees high and lowering them gently. Slow footsteps. I′m sure the light was level. Across the horizon from me, but still I follow this voice.

  ″Just a little longer.″ Maybe I can trust him. I mean he hasn′t hurt me yet. And he could have. A guy out in the desert with a girl, he could have done anything by now and I couldn′t have stopped him. Instead he is just in front of me telling me where to go.

  It feels colder now. I shouldn′t feel so cold now that I have found someone, but I do. It is probably just the night sky turning the desert cold and icy. And windy. I pull my cardigan tighter around me. It hadn′t seemed cold when I left.

  ″Just a little...″

  A footstep. A misstep. And instead of going forward I am going down. Down. Scrabbling at the ground and dragging fingers. Tussocks bristling past my skin. Painful. Nothing seems to slow me down. Then falling.

  Falling. The wind is rushing past me now. No ground beneath me. No earth near me at all. Falling. Falling. Until. Crack.

  ″Longer.″ His words are coming from above now. High up above me.

  The ground is hard and heavy and digs into my body. I can′t move anymore. Everything is awkward. My arms in different directions and my legs scissored out. I feel some pain. But not all of it. I can′t move anymore.

  All I can do is stare up.

  The road had been dark when I was driving along it earlier. I switched off the headlights, trying to keep the car going to get to the next town before I had to stop and refuel. I wasn′t even sure if it would do anything but I had more miles than petrol and I had noticed too late. It was dark. No headlights. No streetlights to see the lines properly. Just the moon and the stars. My car thrumming along.

  A thumping outside and then a thump. Then my car slowing down. Walking out and trying to fix the car to keep it moving. Two horns at the side of the car. Red splashes on the bumper bar.

  All I can do is stare up now. Look up to the moon and the top of the ravine. No man. Just two horns. And a light.

  THE THING INSIDE

  KRISTI PETERSEN SCHOONOVER

  SHE AND REESE HAD NEVER TALKED ABOUT IT, what their dead baby had looked like. They′d both seen it, something Kristina would forever regret, even though she couldn′t quite recall the image; it lurked, fuzzy and blurred, at the edge of memory. She remembered blood, lots of it. She remembered a dripping shape. She remembered the feel of Reese′s large, hot hand around hers and his screaming, as well as a foreign sound that had left her wondering why the doctors had let a tortured cat into the room.

  Then she′d realized the sound had been coming from her own mouth.

  They′d tried to discuss it, a couple of times, but the words had remained unspoken. Then, when she′d gotten pregnant again, that′d been the burial of any further attempt.

  Now, as she sat in the passenger seat of their Grand Cherokee and watched the fleeting Texas landscape as they trundled toward Austin, she wondered what was truly ahead. During the earliest weeks of this second pregnancy she′d fallen into catastrophic depression, spending hours in what would have been their son′s bedroom, all painted robin′s-egg and graced with spruce furniture and stuffed bunnies. It was then that Reese had decided they needed a new environment, someplace in which they could both pack that horrifying, undefined visual in a cardboard box and forget about it.

  ″You comfortable? You′re quiet,″ he said.

  ″I′m fine.″ She rested her hand on her protruding stomach. ″We′re fine. This is just...very different.″

  ″Far cry from New York.″ He reached over, set his hand on her knee. ″No more dark skies. Well, once these fires clear.″

  Despite the promise of sun, they hadn′t chosen Austin; it had chosen them. Reese had agreed to stop firefighting. His brother′s position in the state Fire Protection Office had secured him a desk job processing certifications, and as several thousand acres had been burning for months due to the drought, he was guaranteed overtime. Their new brick house wasn′t too far outside the city, in Bastrop, close to conveniences but isolated enough so Kristina would have peace. Everything had fallen into place so quickly, so cleanly, it′d felt perfect. But the dense gray smoke channeling in the distance, the thick smell of hot tar, soot, and mesquite coming through the A/C vents, and the taste in her mouth—left from when they′d passed the carcass of a charred cow and she′d made him stop the car so that she could get sick under the relentless August sun—was changing her opinion.

  She shifted in her seat. ″Can we stop? I just feel like I could use...a cold drink.″

  He eyed her.

  ″Like juice! Just juice.″

  His gaze lingered before returning to the road. ″Sure. Soon as we see someplace.″

  A Mobil station sign glowed against the smoke from the distant fires, and she laughed at her own surprise—she′d expected some decrepit shack plastered with antelope skulls. See, she thought, this is gonna be fine.

  Reese pulled into a slot next to the han
dicapped space.

  She reached for her door handle.

  ″I′ll get it.″ He whipped the keys from the ignition, climbed out and went around.

  ″I′m not crippled, you know.″

  ″Every little bit helps.″ He held out his hand. She took it and stepped onto the pavement, noticing it felt soft.

  The place was just like every other chain—fluorescent lighting, immaculate tiles, aisles rainbowed with Nutter Butters, Pringles, Oreos; the faint smell of burnt coffee and cherry cleaner.

  Reese squeezed and released her hand. ″I′m going to get the bathroom key. Do you need it?″

  ″No, but give me a minute.″ She′d had no problems with incontinence during her last pregnancy. This time, it had started almost immediately.

  He kissed her on the cheek. ″Get me a root beer.″

  She heard him talking to the cashier while she, not knowing what she wanted, headed toward the back of the store. She neared a long waist-high bin and stopped. Inside, the Lone Star and Dos Equis beer cans on ice gleamed like rubies, emeralds and topaz. She had never been a beer drinker, but on a day like today, a cold can would′ve been a Godsend.

  She moved on, reaching the coolers and grabbing his root beer. She settled on a cranberry juice, made her way to the counter and rummaged through her satchel for some cash. When she looked up to hand her bills to a gangly, flannel-shirted kid behind the counter, what caught her eye was the giant, furry, mounted head of what looked to be a rabbit with antlers growing out of its skull.

  Its malicious stare startled her.

  ″What is that?″

  He looked surprised and stroked his immature excuse for a beard. ″You never seen one?″

  She smiled politely. ″No, we′re new to the area. Moving to Bastrop.″

  ″Well, that′s a jackalope.″ He tapped in a few numbers on the register, which emitted high-pitched beeps. ″Cross between a jackrabbit and an antelope.″

  She laughed but realized it was more out of nervousness than anything else. ″Interesting. Nice sense of humor you′ve got down here.″

  He frowned. ″No, they′re real. My brother, he′s a big dude at UT at Austin, he studies ′em.″

  The cash register drawer sprung open and she heard the schwick-schwick of her change scraping against the molded plastic.

  He put the change in her hand. ″See, they′re actually just these rabbits and they′re all infected with this virus, it′s like a papa-whatever, sorta the same shit that causes cervical cancer, and they all end up like that, all rabid and with horns growin′ outta their heads. They′re mean, they imitate people′s voices, and they get pretty big, too.″

  She dropped the change in her wallet, anxious to get away from him and the thing on the wall. She was sure it was watching her.

  He leaned over the counter and lowered his voice: ″You know, some stupid town in Wyoming claims it′s the capital for jackalopes, but they′ve got nothing on us. The state park in Bastrop, plenty of places for jacks to live there. Wyoming only says that because what the fuck else they got? That skeleton volcano or something?″

  Apparently, she thought, he′s never seen Close Encounters. ″Devil′s Tower, you mean.″

  ″Yeah, right,″ he said. ″Devil′s Tower.″

  She looked at the beast again and shuddered. Something was tugging at her, but she didn′t know what. Had she seen something like this on one of those shows, like the In Search Ofs she used to watch when she was a kid?

  ″Thanks.″ She grabbed both drinks and started making her way to the door. ″I′ll be sure to steer clear of them.″

  ″They are real, you know,″ Gangly Kid called after her. ″They even got a Latin name. Things that aren′t real don′t get Latin names.″ He twisted his body under the overhang where the cigarettes were stowed and pointed to a gold plaque on the mount. ″Le-pus tem-pera-men-talis.″

  ″Thanks,″ she repeated, because she didn′t know what else to say. Then she sat in the Jeep. She watched Reese come out of the bathroom, go inside, come back out again. When he climbed into the driver′s seat, she was grateful.

  ″Did that kid say anything to you in there?″ she asked.

  ″No. Why? He say something to you?″

  She cracked open his root beer, passed it to him, and filled him in on her encounter. ″Did you see it?″

  Reese shook his head and backed the Jeep out of the lot. ″No.″

  ″It was gross. It was all...deformed.″

  He stopped the car and looked at her, and she felt that familiar tension that signaled she′d gotten too close to the flame. There′d been a lot of those moments lately.

  ″Don′t,″ he said at last. ″Just don′t. Just a weird kid, that′s all.″

  Then he jammed into first gear and they were moving again, but no matter how many more disturbing sights they passed—clouds of smoke, the occasional burnt animal—she couldn′t get the leer of that jackalope out of her mind.

  ***

  Their new house was much as she′d recalled, brick-faced and large-windowed, but the grass was dead, and the once-lush mesquites loosed brittle leaves. The tangled branches reminded her of that...thing′s antlers, and it didn′t look as though the trees in the woods that surrounded 2nd Avenue′s houseless cul-de-sac had fared much better.

  ″Home sweet home.″ Reese busied himself with his keys. ″Wait here. I′m going to open us up.″

  She watched as he approached their stained-glass front door, then heard rustling and turned toward it: the cul-de-sac. There, at the edge of the woods, a cat-sized brown something moved.

  Her breath caught in her throat.

  It turned to look at her. It was a jackrabbit. Just a normal jackrabbit, chewing thoughtfully. She chided herself. Of course there were going to be rabbits. The realtor had said there was lots of wildlife, and beyond the woods was a lake, and there was a nice state park—

  The state park in Bastrop, plenty of places for jacks to live there.

  She heard the thwuck of the front door. ″We′re in!″ Reese yelled.

  Startled, the rabbit leapt into the woods.

  Reese emerged, opened the back of the Jeep.

  ″How far are we from the state park, exactly?″ She reached for a box marked KITCHEN.

  ″Oh, no. You′re not carrying a damn thing.″ He waved her away, hefted the box into his arms. ″The park′s a few miles north. Why?″

  ″No reason.″

  He eyed her with what she took to be mistrust.

  She followed him into the house, but when the smell of varnish and fresh paint nearly overwhelmed her, she stopped.

  Reese put the box on the counter. ″You okay?″

  ″Yeah, I just—strong smell.″ She took a deep breath. ″It didn′t bother me when we saw the house.″

  ″′Cuz you′re further along now. Come here.″ He settled his arms around her. ″It′s going to be different this time. You′ll see.″

  She kissed him on the mouth then, grateful for the taste of him, like root beer and pine. It′d seemed to her like months since they′d really enjoyed each other; after she′d gotten pregnant again the focus had been on being careful, taking it easy, keeping her calm, and, finally, moving. They leaned against each other in the quiet and then she heard, from somewhere, thump.

  She pulled away from him. ″What was that?″

  He shrugged. ″Acorn or something on the roof. House is only one floor, remember?″

  They′d purposely chosen a one-story; Reese hadn′t wanted her climbing stairs this time around.

  Still, something didn′t seem right, and even though she was grateful that she′d never have to worry again about getting the call that he′d been killed on the job, she wished he didn′t have to start work for at least a week so she could settle in before being alone all day.

  It′s going to be different this time, like he said. Don′t you trust him?

  ″Now.″ He rubbed her arms. ″I′m starving. Don′t suppose anyone delivers subs out he
re.″

  She laughed. ″I don′t suppose anyone delivers decent subs out here. Maybe we should settle for barbecue.″

  ″Too spicy for you.″

  ″No,″ she said. ″I think I′m craving it, actually.″

  She heard it again: thump.

  She trusted him. She just wasn′t sure if she trusted herself.

  ***

  It wasn′t as if there was nothing to do, but during the day Kristina still wished she weren′t alone. She emptied boxes, stowed towels, organized pots and pans, and decorated their bathroom with the Caribbean-themed ensemble populated by festive (frankly, creepy) stick figures that Reese had bought with cheer-up intentions.

  The house was almost too open; there were so many windows that from any room she could see the lawn and surrounding woods. The Texas light was different from the light in New York, however. There, afternoons were soft gray, chick, or lavender; here, they were golden-olive-rust: if heat had a color, this was it. There was something stark about it, stark and unforgiving. Even the shadows were too bright.

  They hadn′t brought much furniture, because Reese wanted new things, and she hoped they would buy them soon, because, despite her unpacking, her footsteps still echoed. In a vain attempt to absorb sound, she left emptied boxes in the rooms instead of shuffling them to the garage. She′d just finished the few in their bedroom when she found one Reese had top-shelfed in their master walk-in. When she reached for it, she couldn′t quite grab it, and it crashed to the floor and broke open.

  Out spilled the baby clothes she′d gotten for her shower.

  She remembered that morning, being caught off guard not because her few friends had surprised her, but because, in her superstitious family, no one ever threw a shower before the birth—it was considered bad luck. At first, she′d faked her glee; eventually, though, the tiny booties, burp cloths, and elephant-and-bunny patterned jumpers had assuaged her discomfort, and by the end of the day she′d been excited.