Smoke-Mouth is a dystopian supernatural novella, serialized in twelve projected parts. This is Episode Eight.
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Previously, their journey south took them through a dark canyon full of unexpected dangers.
In this episode, a place of respite reveals a sinister secret.
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Jenny-Dog slept, and she dreamed of Union. Of the womb-red house in Union with a view of the channel and the wide backyard with the garden of wildflowers. The high-tide perfume of Hood Canal turned the summer air to old salt, boat fuel, creosote, woodsmoke.
She dreamed of sitting at a long table with a stack of books underneath her so she could reach her plate. It was too hot inside to eat, so the table was set outdoors in the shade, and no chair was empty. The table was full of neighbors, friends, cousins. The food was laid in mismatched dishes, contributions from every household. Potluck, yes, and luck from every pot.
Jenny could smell her mother’s clothes beside her, her mother’s skin. And somewhere, out of sight, she could hear her father playing the guitar he had made with his own two hands and singing in his soft voice, his good voice.
But even though she longed to hear him sing, she remembered that he was dead. Her father was dead.
He stopped playing. Jenny couldn’t turn to look.
She knew it was a dream. And she knew the friends around the table to be actors and the house to be a plywood setpiece, an elaborate illusion. She shook her head no no no and tried to get up from the table but something unseen underneath it grabbed her foot, tripped her up, sent her sprawling on the grass.
A great weight—a whole mountain’s worth of stone, the giantess herself—held her in place, crushing her down. She tried to scream. She could not.
She looked up to see her father silhouetted against the sun, head haloed by the dark felt wide-brimmed hat he always wore. He reached out his hand to help her, but it was too late.
The earth swallowed her up and picked her gristle from its broken teeth.
*******
When Jenny-Dog woke it was in a bedroom somewhere in the three-storey farmhouse, and her head ached, a dull thudding behind her forehead.
She sat up slowly and looked around. The bed was spacious and soft and the room was cozy and smelled of fresh linens. Jenny was alone in it, still in her own clothes.
She did not remember going to sleep in this room. In fact, she remembered very little after crossing the threshold of the farmhouse. Only the welcoming smile of the golden-haired woman and the fond noise of the party, and the good smell of food and wine.
Did I eat? Jenny couldn’t remember. But she felt satisfied, somehow. If she had eaten, she had eaten just the right amount.
As she pondered this, Jenny heard a tapping sound coming from the window. She slid out of bed and crossed the soft rug to pull the window open. A breeze blew in with the sunshine, though strangely the breeze had no smell.
Pellig was perched on the sill. He blinked at her, a ripple of eyes.
“So?” he said, peering past her into the bedroom. “All’s well, I see.”
Jenny frowned and pushed the heels of her hand against her throbbing left temple. “I reckon so,” she said. “Oh, bastard…I was supposed to bring you food last night. I’m real sorry. Real sorry.”
He shrugged his thin shoulders. “I did a little hunting of my own. But a taste of something other than mouse would serve well, if you’ll be breaking the fast. Where’s your friend?”
Where’s Lula? Jenny was surprised at herself, at the lack of urgency in the thought.
She shook her head. “I don’t know. But I’ll have to go seek her out. I’ll find you later and I’ll bring you something. I promise.”
Pellig hopped away down the roofline as Jenny closed the window, pulled on her boots, and went to find Lula.
The farmhouse had certainly appeared grand from the outside, but Jenny was still surprised at the long stretches of corridors, the untold number of doors leading off to who-knows-where. It took her a long time to find the staircase down, down to the first floor.
Folks were still milling around, drinking coffee and chatting quietly in the front room of the farmhouse. It brought back the uncanny memories—long passed, before the quakes—of the rare times Jenny visited a hotel. The liminal feel of the lobby, a place where people arrive only because they intend to leave.
Most of the fellow guests seemed to ignore her, rapt in their own conversations, but some looked up and smiled genially as she passed them by. All were friendly, at least, but Jenny felt no need to make friends.
She finally found Lula in the enormous farmhouse kitchen with Morgan. The gold-haired woman was busy serving food into dishes and setting it out on the expansive sideboard: quiche and bacon, hashbrowned potatoes, crepes with berry compote and cream, platters of fresh fruit. The food had an exquisite smell; Jenny felt the water in her mouth threaten to spill over.
Lula was sitting at the counter, her hair down around her shoulders, nursing a cup of coffee.
“Good morning!” said Morgan, looking up with a wide smile, perfect teeth.
Wolf-teeth.
Jenny paused for a moment, not sure where that thought had come from. She shook her head to clear it away.
“Morning,” she said.
“Did you sleep well?”
Jenny nodded. “Log-like. Heavy. Very well, I mean.”
Lula glanced at her. There was something wary in her wide eyes, but she didn’t betray that to Morgan. “True. I slept almost too well,” the fool-girl murmured around a smile.
Jenny crossed to the big picture window in the kitchen’s breakfast nook. Tintagel Farm wore the hues of late summer well. The sun rose over the valley, spilling thin lines of giltwork gold over the rows of wine grapes, the distant foothills, the treetops. They glimmered with dew, pretty as a painting. A perfect respite from the dark woods beyond the distant fence.
“You two are welcome to stay as long as you like,” Morgan said busily. “And the whole property is available to you for walks, for rest. You’re welcome to whatever fruit and produce you find on the land within the fence.”
“Very gracious of you,” Jenny said.
“Not at all. It’s my pleasure to offer this place as an oasis in this valley. I only ask that guests not trespass in the barn; it’s full of dangerous equipment, sharp implements, other such things. But you may explore the rest of the land and the house as much as you wish. My home is yours.”
Lula looked up, then. “You’re kind, but we won’t be staying long,” she said. “We’re on our way to Smoke Mouth and we’ve tarried long enough already on the way.”
Morgan considered this, carrying a tray of sliced pineapple to the sideboard, the scent of the fruit surrounding the kitchen like sweet-sour incense. “To Smoke Mouth, eh? What a journey! I’ve made it many times, though never on foot. That’s a true adventure. Especially these days.”
Jenny poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down next to Lula at the kitchen counter. She waited to make sure Morgan wasn’t looking before sliding some cooked bacon into a napkin, then into her pocket for Pellig.
“You’ve been to Smoke Mouth?” Jenny asked, making conversation.
“Oh yes,” Morgan said. “I have kin at Spirit Lake, you see. In fact…if you can wait until tomorrow, I would be happy to drive you the rest of the way there.”
Lula’s wide eyes brimmed with hope. “You’d do that?”
“Certainly,” said Morgan. “Happy to.”
“Does it have to be tomorrow?” Lula asked.
“I’m afraid so,” Morgan replied. “I can’t just pick up and leave my guests unattended, you see. But my farm assistant returns tomorrow from their own time away, and I can leave the farm in their capable hands so I can take you to Smoke Mouth. Easy.”
Lula seemed to hesitate, as though waiting until tomorrow was out of the question. But before she could say anything more, Morgan added, “It’s truly no trouble. Just think…if you leave here on foot today you’ll still be a day or two away from the mountain. Just wait until tomorrow and I can cut that time down to less than three hours, and no walking.”
Jenny and Lula glanced at each other. Jenny waited for Lula to nod; the whole journey was the fool-girl’s dream, after all.
And Lula did nod, after a brief pause. “Yes,” she said. “We’ll wait until tomorrow. Thank you, Morgan.”
“No trouble,” said the golden-haired woman, her sharp knife slicing cleanly through a fragrant cantaloupe melon. “No trouble at all.”
*******
Jenny and Lula went walking after breakfast and found Pellig keeping hidden around the little shed that housed the farm’s well. The angel was wary, ensuring that he was not visible from the farmhouse.
“Brought you bacon,” Jenny said, kneeling down and pulling the napkin from her pocket. She set it down before the angel and he eyed it.
“I thank you,” he said. “I shall eat it later; I filled up on a vole while I waited for you. When are we moving along?”
Lula said, “Morgan, the land-owner here, has agreed to drive us the rest of the way, but she can’t do it until tomorrow.”
Pellig blinked. “I see. And the roads are drivable all the way there? She’s certain?”
“She says she’s driven it many times,” Jenny said, feeling the need to stoke the fires of hope in Lula’s eyes. “She has kin there.”
“Interesting.” Pellig leaned his head back to preen a wing-feather back into place. “Well then, I suppose I can hide out for another day.”
Lula tilted her head. “It might not be necessary, Pellig. You’d likely be welcome inside. Morgan seems nice enough.”
“Thank you, no,” Pellig said. “Best not to hang one’s hat on ‘seems’. I’m happiest in the open air. If you’re content waiting until tomorrow, then we’ll wait until tomorrow.”
He turned to sidle back into his hiding place.
“Enjoy your bacon,” Jenny said, standing.
But he did not look at her, and he did not reply.
*******
Jenny and Lula spent the rest of that day in exquisite rest. Tintagel Farm opened her arms to welcome them, full of beautiful corners to explore. The wine grapes swelled on the vine, their dusky skins fragrant. The copses of trees and small ponds dotted around the property were perfect for sitting and daydreaming, and the sky above was clear blue.
Jenny caught herself standing on the hillside looking down at the dark valley below, the thin ribbon of road leading south. She hoped to see a snip of pale tail, hear the snort of a ghostly mare, but there was nothing there. Only the road. Only the shadows.
I’m sorry, Ellen, she thought. Be safe. Run fast. Come back to us.
When darkness drew in again Jenny and Lula spent their evening in the farmhouse with the other guests. None seemed interested in long conversation, or any chat beyond the surface. Just fellow travelers, passing through. Jenny learned some of their names and then forgot them just as quickly.
Though she was wary of people and had been for some time, the guests of Tintagel did not bother her. They were barely people and expected nothing of her. Paper-thin.
Why can’t all people be like these?
Jenny and Lula ate hearty at supper, drank deeply of Tintagel’s own wine, and went back to their bedrooms to sleep in safety, knowing that the next day they would be—at long last—at the foot of Smoke Mouth. The journey was nearly over.
But as soon as Jenny fell asleep in her bedroom, she dreamed again, as if the house itself longed for her memories.
This time, she dreamed of Wolf’s Head. The great lawn outside of the meeting-place where a large pyre belched smoke into the air. The congregation had gathered there, bringing things to burn, to cleanse themselves of their former lives. They could not be free until they loosed themselves of their chains.
They cheered each other on as they hoisted beloved objects into the flame: clothes, jewelry, furniture, letters, books.
Jenny stood at a distance and saw her mother at the pyre. Though her mother’s back was to her, Jenny knew what her mother had brought to the flames.
No. No, not again.
Jenny tried to scream, but it was consumed by the walls of Tintagel. She tried to beg her mother not to do it. Not this time. Not again.
But it was already done.
Her mother reached out and threw the guitar into the pyre. The guitar Jenny’s father had made with his own two hands. The flames licked the stained cedar and ornate inlays of maple and snapped the steel strings like red-hot whips. The hungry smoke climbed into the sky, shuddering with ecstasy as it bore witness to Jenny’s pain.
No no no no no no
Jenny pitched forward. Crazed with anger, she longed to push her mother into the pyre. She longed to be rid of the pain.
Be cleansed! Be cleansed!
But as soon as her hands struck her mother’s spine they pushed right through. Her mother vanished like mist, and Jenny fell face-first into the fire.
The congregation of Wolf’s Head roared with pleasure.
*******
The next morning, in the farmhouse bedroom, Jenny woke with a strange weakness in her limbs, as though she had been swimming for miles and miles. Her arms and legs were heavy, and her head still ached.
The journey’s catching up with you, Jenny-girl. You’re not as spry as you used to be.
She went downstairs to seek out Lula and found her in the kitchen with Morgan, just as she had the previous morning. Morgan was pulling cinnamon rolls out of the oven, fat spirals of buttery dough. The smell was intoxicating.
“Morning,” said Jenny.
“Morning,” said Lula. She didn’t look like she had slept well. “You all right?”
Jenny shrugged, poured herself some coffee. “Too many dreams.”
Lula looked at her for a moment, but chose not to say whatever she was going to say. Instead, she turned to Morgan. “What time will we head on to Smoke Mouth?”
Morgan frowned, confused, and pulled the oven mitts off of her perfect hands. “Did we not agree that we would go tomorrow?”
Jenny nodded slowly. “Yes, but that…that was yesterday.”
Morgan smiled, and it was a patient smile. “You are mistaken, friends. We agreed that I would take you tomorrow to Smoke Mouth, when my assistant arrives. I know that time can pass strangely here at Tintagel. As I said, the place has never quite been the same since the quakes. But please enjoy all that the farm has to offer until then. You’ll be on your way soon enough.”
Jenny glanced at Lula, but Lula shook her head, as if to say not here, not now.
So they ate their breakfast with no complaint, and brought a slice of roast beef out to Pellig, rolled in a napkin.
He emerged from the well-house looking a bit cross. “So,” he said, “what time will we be heading on?”
Lula sighed. “She’s changed her mind. It’ll be tomorrow, not today.”
“No, she didn’t change her mind,” Jenny said. “She’s trying to change ours, and that’s worse. I know she said it would be today.”
“Even so, we don’t have a whole lot of choices.” Lula was wringing the brim of the wide-brimmed hat in her hands, looking over her shoulder and down into the valley. “I don’t think I can face that valley or those horrible woods again on foot, Jenny. I’m just so tired.”
Jenny couldn’t disagree. She felt like her limbs were full of wet sand.
But it was Pellig who spoke up. “This woman, this Morgan…why would she lie to you, if not for her own gain?”
“Maybe she misunderstood,” Lula said. “Maybe her farm assistant was delayed in coming back. There could be many reasons, not all of them sinister.”
Jenny pulled the napkin with the beef out of her pocket and set it down before Pellig, but he stepped back from it.
“Aren’t you hungry?” she said.
Pellig shook his head. “Mice and shrews will do me well for now, thank you.”
“Fine, then.” Jenny kicked the beef into the grass beside the well-house. “I’m too tired to stand here and argue. Be ready to head on to Smoke Mouth tomorrow.”
Pellig glared up at her, but said nothing, and Jenny did not wait to find out if he would make a reply. She turned and went back to the house, too full of fatigue to wander the beautiful hills of Tintagel, and Lula trailed along behind her.
*******
In the middle of the night Jenny woke in the dark to the sound of the bedroom door creaking open. There was no light beyond, in the hallway.
Jenny tried to sit up and found that she could not move. Only her eyes blinked in the gloom, wide and white and afraid.
Within moments of the door opening she heard something sliding through the bedroom doorway. It was the sound of someone crawling, pulling themselves along the floor with their hands. One hand at a time, heavy and laborious.
Thump, shoooooof. Thump, shooooooof. Thump, shoooooooof.
“Jenny…”
The deep voice sent shockwaves of panic through Jenny as the smell of cigarette smoke wafted into the air, spinning tendrils around her nose, her lips. Catching in her hair. Nausea tasted like tin on her tongue.
Thump, shoooooof. Thump, shoooooooof.
“Jenny, please…”
“You’re dead,” she whispered. “You’re dead. You’re dead.”
“Jenny…why…?”
A hand appeared on the edge of the bed, beside Jenny’s legs. A searching hand, like a spider, grasping for purchase. The skin of the hand and arm were blotchy with bruising. Jenny whimpered as it flexed and pulled the weight of the body up, up, until his face loomed over her. His waxy face, dried blood crusting around his unshaved cheeks and chin, frozen in long streaks from his ears, ringing his empty eyes. The smell of cigarette smoke was overpowering.
“You’re dead!” she screamed, but the walls of Tintagel swallowed the scream. “You’re dead! I killed you, you bastard! You bastard!”
He sighed, a rattling sigh that trembled like a horrible laugh.
And then he fell on her.
Jenny woke with a start.
It was daylight, not nighttime at all. A dream, yes. Another dream. But somehow she still felt the weight of the corpse upon her, an incredible weight, a deep fatigue. She wasn’t sure if she could get up.
She eventually dragged herself out of the soft bed and down the stairs to the kitchen. Once again, Morgan was cheerily putting food onto platters. Pancakes with all of the toppings anyone could ever want. Jenny felt sick.
Lula was nowhere to be seen.
“Good morning!” Morgan crowed. “Did you sleep well?”
Jenny shook her head slightly, but said, “Yes, yes…where’s Lula?”
“I haven’t seen her this morning yet,” Morgan said. “I imagine she’s sleeping in a bit.”
“And when can we get going? On to Smoke Mouth?”
But Morgan shook her head and laughed, sharp white wolf teeth, pouring amber syrup into a small white serving pitcher. “My goodness, is there no brain at all between the two of you? We agreed that it would be tomorrow, my friend. You must be even more exhausted than you thought, to be so confused.”
Tomorrow. Tomorrow. I suppose so, yes.
Jenny was too exhausted to argue. The corpse was draped over her shoulders, his hands and legs dangling down. She thought about skipping breakfast and going back to bed, but she needed to find Pellig, let him know about the change of plans.
When she found the angel at the well-house he was standing at its doorway, waiting for her.
“I didn’t bring food for you this time,” she murmured. “I’m sorry.”
He glared at her, but seemed unsurprised at her condition. “The food is cursed, I know that now. I’ll touch it not. Come with me, Jenny.”
He passed her by and strode on his small legs as fast as he could go. Jenny followed him as best as she could, her own feet dragging, her shoulders heavy.
The angel led her around the farmhouse and across the yard to the barn. It was a large structure with no windows, silvery with wear and the bleaching of the sun. There was a red sign on the big door that read EMPLOYEES ONLY - KEEP OUT!
But Pellig did not pause. He led Jenny around the side of the structure to a small door.
“I had to sneak in through a mouse hole to unlock it from the inside for you,” he said. “Go on. Go in. See what your Morgan is really up to.”
Jenny almost refused him. She almost turned on her heels and went back to the farmhouse. She longed to go back to bed, to sleep for days and days. But under the angel’s many-eyed glare she pushed open the small door and stepped into the darkness of the barn.
It reeked of molding hay and urine. There was no light within, only the thin rays of sunlight that managed to slip through cracks and crevices in the old building. Around her the barn boards settled and creaked and old horse tack and farm tools hung from the beams in a breeze-less stillness.
As Jenny stepped further inside, she became aware of the shuffling and breathing of other bodies within. Many, many other bodies.
It was only when her eyes adjusted to the darkness that she realized what she was looking at. All throughout the barn were people. They sat against the walls and support posts of the barn or lay on the floor. Their heads were bowed, and nothing held them in place except what appeared to be a great weight of sorrow, a deep despair.
Despite her own exhaustion, Jenny felt her heart quicken, the pulse in her neck fluttering with panic.
“What is this?” she whispered.
Behind her, Pellig said, “There’s dozens in here, men and women and children and all. I had my suspicions. Your Morgan is collecting souls, collecting people who happen to wander past this farm. She lures them in. For what purpose, I don’t know.”
“The other guests—”
“They aren’t real. You and Lula are the only beings of flesh in that house, aside from Morgan. The rest are all illusions. It’s all an illusion. And the food she makes is hollowing you out so she can take you, bring you here to stay. She needs you to stay and eat as long as possible until you’re too weak to fight back.”
Jenny made her way further into the barn. As she neared each of them the people looked up at her, but there was no expectation in their eyes for rescue or help. They had passed beyond hope.
Only one of them spoke. And the voice was soft and unbelieving.
“Jenny?”
She turned, and saw a thin man sitting against the outer wall of an old horse stall. His arms were folded on his knees and his right hand was missing, the arm ending at a roughened stump at the wrist. Despite the darkness his eyes pierced the gloom, saw her clearly. Knew her.
And she knew him.
She approached him, wondering if this was also an illusion. But he was real enough. She could smell his sadness, his sweat. She could remember his voice, the softness of his hand on her back, the kindness of his eyes.
Still, she stood at a distance. Poised like a deer to run.
“Joe,” she said, and his name was unfamiliar on her tongue from long years of refusing to speak it aloud. “What happened to your hand?”
He stared at her face as though it might disappear if he blinked. He did not seem to comprehend her question. “I looked for you. After the quakes. I tried to find you.”
She shrugged. “I didn’t want to be found.”
“You know this man?” Pellig asked from the floor, near her feet.
“I do,” Jenny said. “Pellig, this is Joe Tuesday, the Prophet of the Prairie. For a time, I was his wife.”
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Like the Red Queen, jam tomorrow but never today.
Ahhh interesting. Wasn't sure which direction this place would go.