CHAPTER 8

Mae managed to wake up without being so dream-frazzled that she had to run from the attic in a panic. That was good. She could do her normal morning thing. She stretched, yawned, rubbed her eyes. Opened her laptop. Blinked. Something was off. Stop being weird, world!

Oh. Oh weird. Bea's chattrBox icon was different. No more Lost Skeleton Girlfriend cover art. It was a butterfly thing. A cocoon. Just hanging there in the middle of some leaves.

Weird, but it wasn't like Bea was going to pick an icon that wasn't weird. That was just Bea for you. She'd left a message for Mae: "Hey. It feels weird to say what I want to say over chat, so I'll just say this: thanks for dinner last night. Hope to see you at the store today."

Yeah, Mae bet it felt weird. She felt weird about it too, remembering the fact that she'd actually been willing to kill herself for Bea's sake. How could anything be normal for friends after that happens? Could they ever go back to normal? Still, she felt good about how it had gone. Mae'd talked to everyone she could think of, but she'd still been confused. Bea had made things seem so clear, like she always did.

Sure, she'd go to the store. She wouldn't even mess around first, hitting all her favorite spots like she'd been doing before the eclipse. Somehow it didn't seem respectful to fool around when there was something important that felt like it needed doing. Was this what growing up felt like?

She checked the mail before she left, just in case. Her hands reached out to seize the letter from Broderick almost before she'd recognized that's what it was. She opened and read it, nervously, while walking up the Maple Street hill. No leaping today—just one foot in front of the other.

"Mae,

I keep thinking of the word 'miracle'. As if it's a miracle that we were brought together. I know that's not the word for it—the word's a bit obscene in that sense—but the time we spent together felt miraculous. Like an act from above, or maybe from below, that there's nothing like in the world.

I went to find that man's family, the one who helped kill my father and left town. It wasn't easy. I searched in the wrong woods first—that wasted a day. Had trouble sleeping that night. Got better directions from the post office the next day, but even in the right woods, I had trouble. Found what I thought was the cabin three times, but it was always something else. I knocked on a door without realizing it was the wrong cabin. Embarrassed myself. Kept moving.

Finally I reached the right place. I knocked and said hello to the man's wife, told her who I was. She wanted to shove me out, to get away from me. I told her I wanted to help. "Help how?" she asked. So I explained. I could tell the folks in town she needed help. Or I could give her what money I had, stay and clean up. She couldn't turn down money, so she let me stay.

We talked a bit. It was awkward at first, but I met her brood, and I suspect I could name them if I saw them again. I didn't tell her how I knew they needed help, or that they were in danger. I suppose they probably aren't, not any more, since even if the Goat's got his suckers in some other sucker's head, it's only me this family's connected to. If I don't take advantage of their weakness, I don't imagine anyone else will. And I don't intend to. I'll visit again tomorrow.

How are you faring? The plan you mentioned seems like a good one, even if it's risky. It hasn't worked yet, has it? I can still feel him there, or I've been corrupted forever. Have you spoken with him again? Have you been tempted? We should see each other again in any case, but if you need help, I can come straight away and give it.

Yours together in this,

Broderick Yancey"

Yancey, huh? That was kind of a funny name. He was such a good person, though. Mae was jealous and even a little intimidated by how good he was. What if Black Goat was talking to dozens of people across the country or even the world, and out of all of them, Mae was the weak link? Something like Black Goat might only need one weak link. It wouldn't be able to corrupt someone like Broderick, but she'd been right on the brink. Mae didn't trust herself to do the right thing. She wondered what it felt like—being able to trust yourself.

"Hey!" called Selmers from her stoop. "You doing okay?"

Mae was trudging along with the letter in her face, not noticing anything. She put it down. "Hi Selmers. I guess okay is a pretty decent way to put how I am, if you're not interested in really getting in deep."

"Like the nitty gritty, huh? You wanna tell me what's bugging you?"

Mae sighed inside. "I guess there was something weird controlling my life, and I had no idea what it was. Something big and scary. Now I kind of know what it is, but I don't know if I'm better off, or worse!"

Selmers took on a harsh, flabbergasted look. "Controlling your life? You mean the patriarchy?"

Maybe she shouldn't have said anything. "Kind of? No, not really."

"You ask me, it's always better to know your enemies. Do your research. That way, you'll be ready when the chance comes to strike."

"Do you think there's always a chance to strike?"

"There'd better be. Otherwise what are we all in this for?"

"I guess that's a good question," Mae admitted.

"Wanna hear a new poem?"

"Sure," Mae shrugged.

Selmers launched in without preamble, like always:

"Winds blow cold
So all told
Having a hoodie
Feels goodie."

"All right," said Mae, getting into it.

"If you like a hat
Nothing wrong with that
But a hooded sweater
Is ten times better."

"Okay, well," said Mae. "Maybe that's what I'm doing wrong. But I kind of like the cold. It reminds me that I'm here, in the world, and even if the winds blow, I don't go blowing away, and that makes me strong. Even if I'm cold."

"That sounded almost like a poem," Selmers observed.

"Holy cow did I write a poem?"

"I think you accidentally did."

"Well I'll take that as a good omen," Mae decided. "See you around."

"Don't let anyone go controlling your life!" warned Selmers.

"I won't," said Mae, not sure if she meant it. She glanced up at the roof, but Mr. Chazokov wasn't up there. So she headed onward toward the Ol' Pickaxe, thinking of sweaters.

The door hadn't even clicked shut yet before she knew something was wrong. This time Mae didn't have to think about it. It was staring her in the face. "Holy moley, Bea," she managed.

"What," said the shopkeeper. Either she really was oblivious or she had an amazing poker face. Maybe both.

"You're wearing green," said Mae. A long green shirt with squares and triangles on it, also green. Mae halfway thought she remembered that shirt, from years ago.

Bea grunted. "So what?"

"You never wear green. You always wear black."

"Today I'm wearing green."

"Yeah, but—"

"That a problem for you?"

Mae dropped her arms halfway through an emphatic gesture. Was it a problem? It wasn't really, was it? It was just that the world was confusing enough already, and every new confusing thing was like another poke in the stomach. But pokes weren't really so bad, all told. And besides…

"Bea…"

"What."

"Where's your cigarette?"

Bea rubbed her mouth. "What do you mean, 'my' cigarette? You realize people don't go around smoking the same cigarette all day, don't you?"

"Well sure, but… you're not smoking."

"Don't remind me."

"Bea, why aren't you smoking!?"

"Why the hell should I be smoking? You want me to get lung cancer?"

"Well, no, but… it's what you do. You're not gonna get lung cancer, Bea. You're too tough for that."

"Bullshit. I was just too thick-skinned to care. I have lungs. Smoke is a carcinogen. But maybe more importantly, it bothers some people, and this is a public business, and it's 2017. It's not professional for me to smoke on the job."

Mae was so confused, and maybe, just a little, happy? "But then why did you smoke before?"

Bea sighed and didn't answer, even though it looked like she wanted to and just didn't have the words.

"You changed your chattrBox icon."

"So what? People change icons all the time."

"It's a cocoon!" Mae shouted, even though she didn't know why.

"Actually, it's a chrysalis. Cocoons are what moths spin. Chrysalises are butterflies."

Mae threw her arms out. "How in the world do you know these things?!"

"There's actually a tool available to all of us, Mae, for when we want to know things. It's an amazing invention called the 'world-wide web'."

"I know what the web is!" Mae cried. "Why did you change your icon and your clothes and quit smoking all on the same day?!"

"I haven't quit smoking. It's going to take a long time to quit smoking. I'm just not doing it on the job anymore."

"But you are quitting!"

Bea was silent a while. "Yes."

"And you're not wearing black anymore!"

She was silent even longer.

Mae went up to the counter. "What happened, Bea?"

"You want to know what happened?" Bea demanded. "You were there. You happened. I used to think I was hardcore, Mae. I thought I was maybe the most hardcore person in this town. But you blew that away. I'm not hardcore, Mae."

"You are too," Mae interrupted.

"No. I'm soft. I may be hard on the outside, but on the inside I'm nothing compared to you. You're the one who offered to kill someone to make my dream come true. To give up your own life just so mine could be better. You practically begged me to say yes."

"I just want you to be happy," protested Mae.

"You're the most hardcore person in Possum Springs," Bea went on. "Probably by a lot. You crushed me last night, Mae. You broke me. I haven't cried that much in… maybe ever."

"I'm sorry?" said Mae. Was she looking for an apology?

"When I woke up today… I looked at my wardrobe and my black dresses and black leggings and I found myself thinking… What the hell is all this? Am I fifteen? I got dressed like a normal adult and came to work."

"But… the black. It's your style!"

"Who cares about style? Is this Milan? Is this fucking Paris? This is Possum Springs, middle of nowhere, Mae. No one cares about style."

"I do," said Mae pitifully.

"Said the girl who wears the same worn out orange T-shirt every single day."

"I can't stop wearing it now," she pled. "It's what Black Goat looks like in my dreams. This null symbol. If I want to save it, I have to stay on the same wavelength."

"I very much doubt the cosmic horror cares about your shirt."

"Does this mean you're happy, Bea?" Mae blurted. "Does the chrysalis mean you feel like you're reborn?"

Bea sighed slowly and thought for a while. "Yeah. I guess it does. I'm empty now. I'm a girl without a dream."

"Wait. Wearing green makes you more empty and black is less?"

"I was dressing all gloom-and-doom because I was resentful. I'm still working through it, but that's the best I can figure. I resented everything that had been taken from me. Mom. Dad's love. The house. The future. The goth stuff was my way of hanging on. But that's gone now. College is gone. You took it from me last night."

Mae felt both incredibly guilty and incredibly proud at the same time. The dissonance made her shake. "I did?"

Bea put her hands on the counter. "What did you think I was crying about for twenty damn minutes, Mae? I was crying out college. I was letting it go. Before last night, I could tell myself that if only there were some way, any way I could go to college, I'd take it, and damn everyone and everything else… only the world just wouldn't let me have it. And then you came along and gave me a chance. You showed me exactly what the price was. You dangled my dream in front of my face with a tremendous price tag I wasn't willing to pay, and I realized I wasn't… as hardcore as I thought. And if I wasn't willing to pay the price, any price… then there was no way I was ever going to go to college. And I had to accept that, Mae. I had to finally accept that, last night. I let my dream go last night. I cried it away. It felt terrible, but today… I woke up and googled an image of a damn chrysalis."

"But you kept the ankh," Mae observed.

"I like the ankh," said Bea. "It means 'life'."

Mae was stunned. She had no idea how to process this. "Are you mad at me?"

Bea stared at her.

"Bea, I'm scared. Are you mad at me, or… should I be running?"

"Mae. I needed this. I needed to face reality. I was stuck in a tunnel I couldn't reach the end of. You smashed the tunnel. It's gone now. The light isn't in the far distance… it's all around me." Bea closed her eyes tight. Then she opened them, smashed open the counter door, and marched toward Mae. "Give me a fucking hug."

Mae gave her a fucking hug. They hugged so hard.

"I love you," said Mae.

"I love you too," said Bea.

"Still straight though, right?"

"Still straight. You didn't crush me that hard."

"Just checking." Mae shut her eyes, gave one last squeeze, and let go.

There was a little telltale squeal that punctured the night as the door came open. That was good. It would make it harder for robbers to rob this place. And it was like a little pathetic herald for the little pathetic girl standing on the stoop, wondering if she could come in.

"Oh ho! Mae Borowski! I should perhaps have guessed."

"Hey Mr. Chazokov. I know it's late. But I figured you're probably not a morning person, and you did say something once about… hot chocolate?"

The astronomy teacher took in the sight of her, together with the situation. He chuckled haplessly and stood to one side of the door. "You might have disturbed the Forresters, showing up after dark. But they've gone to bed." He gestured inward. "So you are in luck! Come in."

Mae came in. "It's been a weird time."

"Since when? Since the eclipse?"

"Since then, yeah. And before that."

"How long before?"

Mae thought back. She took in the ordinary furnishings—the bookcase with stuff that wasn't books on it, the credenza and tables and sofas with things sprawled on them. It wasn't a neat house, but it wasn't smelly or anything either. Just used.

"I dunno," she answered. "I guess since I was thirteen."

The older man's brows went together. "We are talking an unusually long weird time."

"A weirdly long weird time."

"A troublingly lengthy time of weirdness. Your friend Greggory told me about your incident with the baseball bat. I had seen you carrying it around with you this past week—you do not have it tonight?"

"I gave up on the bat," Mae explained. Then she realized he had no idea why she'd been carrying it at all, and decided not to get into it. "But yeah, that was some scary shit, and it happened again when I went to college, and… I'm a messed up kid."

"You are done with schooling and grown up. If anything, you are a messed-up lady."

Mae didn't like the sound of that quite as much. "I don't think I'm a lady. Ladies don't play bass and… do the things I do. I think I'll stay a kid a little longer."

Mr. Chazokov shrugged. "As you wish. Will you join me at table?" He walked into the dining room, where a wood table with leaves folded under sat against a wall near a window. Mae plopped into a chair.

"I may be done with school, but that doesn't mean I know anything," she said.

The teacher went into the adjoining kitchen and took down a saucepan. "Ahh. But you know something important. You know how little you know. That is an important first step!"

Somehow, this pitiful bit of praise made Mae tingle. "You think that's something?"

"It depends," said Mr. Chazokov, peeking back into the dining room. "Does your lack of knowledge lead you to desire to learn?"

"I'm not sure. Sometimes I'd just rather play video games."

"Yet you are here. With your teacher from yesteryear."

She nodded. "Yep."

"And you went to the great American eclipse! Miss Borowski, I have been waiting to hear about your experience! Have you come at this unexpected hour to tell me about it?"

Had she? Mae plopped onto the couch, finding it saggier than she'd expected. "Actually, I think I came here looking for comfort. I maybe shouldn't have. I should've just tried to go to sleep, but something about my attic bedroom scares me these days… and I didn't want to wake up my parents… and somehow I had this feeling that I could come here, and it would be all right…"

The teacher nodded solemnly. "If I have made you feel comfortable, I am glad," he said. "If you need a place to come, Mae Borowski, do not be afraid to come to me." He sat down in a chair and instantly looked so comfortable that Mae felt comfortable by proxy, like it was contagious.

"I do want to tell you about the eclipse, though," said Mae. "First, though, I want to ask you a question. Do you believe in magic?"

Mr. Chazokov leaned forward after a moment as if he hadn't heard right. "You are asking a science teacher if he believes in magic?"

It did seem pretty dumb, huh? Mae's dumbness sense was pretty numb. "Uh huh," she said.

He thought a moment, then spread his hands magnanimously. It reminded her of Broderick, the way he did that. "Of course I believe in magic, my young friend. For what is magic, except for the idea of what we don't yet understand? Magic tells us that what we don't know how to do, can still be done. And that is certainly true, isn't it? This cell phone in my pocket… if it were new to you, would you not call it magic? It seems impossible to one who has never known it, and yet…" He turned the phone on. "It can be done."

"So you're saying magic and science are the same thing?"

"Not at all, my friend! Science is how we learn more about what is around us. Magic is what we can do with that knowledge, if we are very smart and very lucky!"

"But…" Cell phones and stuff like that weren't what she meant, but how could she distinguish without tipping her hand? "Did you ever hear folk stories? Back in the old country? Like, the kind about magic creatures and forests and mountains and spells?"

He nodded. "I enjoy that kind of story very much. Your grandfather was an excellent storyteller—did you know that? I expect you did."

Mae was surprised that he knew. "I did know that. He used to read me books without even having to read them. He was awesome and I miss him."

Mr. Chazakov nodded deeply. "Jacek was a friend of mine. He had such stories, and such opinions! Nonsense, some of his opinions were. But such beautiful nonsense. I think sometimes that I should be used to missing people, now that I am the age I am. But I'm not used to it yet. So many old men, gone at once, in a snap, last October." He snapped his fingers. "A secret society, they said. Some kind of irresponsible society that got themselves stuck in the old mine when the elevator broke. Some of these men, I knew. None of them were true friends, not like your grandfather was. But they were still people in town that I knew. They were a part of Possum Springs. Then suddenly, all gone." He sank deeper in his chair. "I miss them. They were cranks and grumps, yes, most of them, but I miss them just the same."

Mae was too afraid to say anything about them. She tried to find something to say, but…

"But you were asking about stories," Mr. Chazokov remembered.

Oh. "Yeah. When I asked about magic… I really meant, is there any chance those stories could be true? Do you ever think they might be true?"

"Does it matter? It is just as the dusk stars, is it not? They teach us through their stories. That much is true. Unless you are a historian, what can it truly mean to say that Sterling the Seer was a real person or that he was only a symbol?"

"Sterling… he was the one who got thrown out when the king hired an astronomer, wasn't he?"

Mr. Chazokov nodded. "The king had no more use for him. He had found a better storyteller."

Something niggled at Mae. "Was… was the astronomer Adina Astra? There can't have been all that many female astronomers back then."

"I believe that Sterling predated Adina by a generation or two," said Mr. Chazokov. "Perhaps the king's astronomer was Adina's mentor, or her grandmother."

"I think it matters," Mae said. "Whether the stories were true. You never know when something out of fairy tales might show up and demand to be taken seriously."

Mr. Chazokov suddenly looked serious. "Is this what has happened to you, Mae Borowski?"

She took a deep breath, then nodded. "I want to tell you everything! But I'm afraid to. I told some of it to Pastor K, and she didn't really believe me, and I'm afraid you won't believe me either."

He seemed troubled. "I would like to say I will believe you, but I cannot promise that. We cannot choose when we are believers and when we are skeptics. But I can promise you this. I can promise I will listen, and I can promise I will not belittle you for what you say. I will listen very seriously." He stood up. "But first! It is time to add the milk to the cocoa, and I cannot simply boil it. I must stir. Will you join me in the kitchen and tell me your story there, where it is warm?"

That actually sounded pretty good. Mae followed him into a well worn kitchen with tools hanging everywhere. The stove was burning under the saucepan. She could smell chocolate.

"You want to know what happened to those old men?" she asked. "What really happened?"

Mr. Chazokov peeked back over his shoulder. "This is something you know?"

"Yeah. But you can't tell anyone about it. Not my parents. Not the town council."

"My mouth is sealed."

So as he tended the cocoa, Mae told him everything. About the abduction at Harfest, her weird dreams, the cat in the desert and the things beyond emptiness. She described her trip to the historical society and how she ventured into the woods, into the old mine. She told him about the cult, the hole in the water, the attack in the elevator. Then she told him about the eclipse in Turtle Rapids and how it plunged her into darkness again. She told him about how Black Goat still called to her, desperate for someone to eat, and how it had known just what to offer to make her actually consider doing it. All the while, they sat and drank, and Mae's hot chocolate had vanilla and marshmallows in it, and she shivered even though she was warm and realized she was incredibly glad she'd come.

"I got this letter from Broderick today," she said, and dug the letter out of her pocket. He read it while sipping hot cocoa.

"This is very strange," he said. "Very strange. I am at a loss. I cannot think all these things are true, but I also cannot imagine you would lie about them in this way."

Thanks to the hot sweet liquid in her, Mae wasn't bothered by his doubt. "I'm not a horror story writer. I couldn't make all this up if I wanted to."

"Perhaps not, but your brain could, I suspect," the astronomer replied. "You have your grandfather's imagination, Mae Borowski. But that I already knew."

"So what… you're saying maybe I dreamed it all up? Maybe I'm crazy?"

"I hope not, my friend. But then again, perhaps I should hope you are. Would that not be better than for us to be surrounded by a world unseen, populated by cruel and terrible beings?"

Mae didn't know. "Maybe it's better than being surrounded by nothing at all?" she suggested.

Mr. Chazokov sat back in his chair with a heavy puff of air. "That is true. That is a point. Perhaps it is better indeed." He took a long, slow sip of cocoa, as if to drown his fears.

Mae plucked a warm marshmallow from her cup and slipped it into her mouth. She felt it with her tongue as it started to dissolve.

"I never knew what your kind had against me," said Sterling. "I'm not a proud man. I don't believe you did it particularly to spite me. I'm not that important. But you hurt me and everyone like me, in all the palaces and the noble halls of the world. And I still don't know why you did it."

Adina was brought up short. "Why we did what?" she asked.

"Measured the paths of the planets and the brightness of the stars!" he replied. "Declension and azimuth, magnitude and hue… why did you have to watch so closely? To pin numbers on them? Why did the stars and planets need decimal points?"

Adina hardened herself against the sympathy she naturally felt. "To know for sure. It's all too easy to make up a story and believe it's true if you don't test it. We tested the sky until we found its true stories. And we'll continue to do so."

"But why?" beseeched Sterling. "Were the old stories not good enough? Why does it matter what the stars truly do? Can we reach up and touch them, either way?"

"It matters," said Adina. "I don't know how, but it matters. The truth always matters, in the end."

"How do you know that?" asked the seer, sitting forlorn, nearly beaten.

"I don't. But when you start to piece things together, new kinds of understanding often just emerge. You can't know how or why, but it happens."

"That sounds a lot like faith," observed Sterling.

"It is faith, I suppose," said Adina. "Faith that knowledge is worth something."

He faced her. "If you're willing to put your trust in faith, why wasn't the old faith good enough?" he begged, suddenly spirited again.

To her startlement, Adina found herself unable to formulate an answer.

A/N: Sorry about the delay in putting out this chapter! My excuse is that for several weeks I've been really, really lazy.

The next chapter should be out next Monday. Will it be the final one? I honestly don't know.

Did I use the word 'weird' enough in this chapter? Is there anything else that strikes you, whether about this chapter or the story in general? Please tell me—I love getting comments!