Hello and welcome to Realms, a sci-fi and fantasy newsletter and podcast. I’m Zach Roush, the creator of Realms.
Today’s story, Brood, is part two of three, and instead of enjoying my narration (if you’re listening, that is) you will be hearing the lovely voice of my friend, Cameron Daxon. Cameron is a writer, editor and occasional creative producer who lives in Los Angeles. He can be reached via LinkedIn for freelance opportunities in writing, voice acting, and more!
As always, this podcast is in text and podcast format. To get these stories in your inbox, subscribe for free.
If you missed Brood Part I, read it here:
At Cleo’s instruction, they took his truck deeper into the forest, deeper than Al thought it should go when he looked at a map of the area. He tried checking his phone to see where they were, but there wasn’t service anymore. Cleo was being lovely, singing along with the country music he’d put on. What were the odds she knew this song? He got the CD from a band from his hometown. And she didn’t seem to be the Indie music type.
Too good to be true, he thought. Nothing new to him. He always felt lucky when a woman spent time with him. So rare, these days, to find a girl he got along with. Wasn’t for any reason he could think of. He wasn’t an extremist, like his brother Dixon, or a recluse, like his cousin Trudy. The last song, Youth Fading Fast ended with its mournful note, not unlike the one the cicadas were singing.
Cleo said, “I’m surprised you know the Sweaty Cowboys!”
Al chuckled. “I’m more than surprised. I’m dumbfounded! That band’s from my hometown. Nobody knows them.”
“I know a lot of music. This way deep in the forest, we don’t get internet or nothing. Radio comes through clearly, and I even get all the smaller stations. Why do you love ‘em?”
Al was abashed. “Well, I suppose it reminds me of home. I’m on the road a lot for work--I represent a chemical cleanup company at all the industry conventions. Anyway, at this old diner in my town, they only play this band’s songs. We’re just proud of them, you know? So, when I hear them, I feel like I’m sitting down on a cracking vinyl cushion and I’m sipping slightly stale coffee from a beige mug. There’s bacon fat crackling, a plate of pancakes sliding, and old men chatting in the corner about how the world’s going to hell. Typical American diner stuff. But it’s home.”
“That’s great. I love that.” Cleo looked out the window. “I like them because they’re so honest. So true. Like that last song: Windows down, wind ripping, heart breakin’; watching you disappear, the one I love and can’t ever leave behind.”
“Yeah. It hurts good, don’t it?” The CD had finished and Al didn’t feel like his drunk heart could take another listen. Too sad, in some ways. Songs of death and taxes, lost loves and long roads. He said, “So, we’ve been driving for a while. Where is this house of yours?”
“Right here.”
“Oh…”
The stalwart legions of trees broke away all at once. A glade bloomed before them, open to the sun like the whole thing was a flower. Al had to stop the truck to take it in; it was stunning. Long grasses stretched a few acres all ‘round, the glade shaped like a wide lima bean. At one “end” of the bean, there was a two-story white country house complete with a wraparound porch, the paint flaking on some of the planks. It stood on a bit of a rise.
“This is beautiful.”
Cleo smiled, the light catching her eyes. She was radiant. Al’s heart pounded. For what it’s worth, hers did too. Not quite for the same reason. “Roll down your window.”
Al did, though he knew the cicada’s song would drive him mad. Then it didn’t.
This glade was silent. Al looked at Cleo like lightning had struck his truck.
She shrugged, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “It’s a bit of magic.”
“Shit, I’d say so. It’s dead quiet here.”
“Yeah, I love it. C’mon. Let’s get on to the house.”
“You got it .” Al paused, seeing that Cleo hadn’t turned away. “What?”
She was looking at him closely, peering almost. She put a hand on his leg. “You’re real sweet. Real honest.”
“I try to be…” he said as confidently as he could. What could he say? She made it easy to be that way? Like he didn’t have to pretend to be so macho or like he had everything together or that of late he stayed up and stared at the motel ceiling, wondering if he should go on or not. It wasn’t the time to have that conversation. It was a different time. Their heads were close. Her lips, not far. Those eyes, drawing him in, like they went on forever into her mind and on and on and deeper. Time to kiss her, right?
Don’t rush things, Al thought. He’d done that before. Shit, with a girl like Cleo, how many others had done the same? Bourbon, music, her smile, enchanted him.
Ain’t nobody perfect, Al warned himself.
He grinned and pulled away, dying a little as he did, hoping he hadn’t ruined something by being too careful.
They toured the house. It was old. The house wasn’t even on a concrete foundation. Al got the feeling that they were doing a bit of a dance. Giddy love and bourbon were making them skittish. As Cleo showed Al the parlor, a room oddly filled with leaves and dirt, Al did a double-take. There wasn’t a floor, not at all, just a hollow maybe six feet down.
“What’s going on here?”
Cleo explained quickly, “Renovating. Thinking about putting in concrete floors. I hate how the wood creaks in the winter winds. Sounds like nails on a chalkboard. Scares me half to death.”
“That’s a modern look, for sure. Would concrete look good with the rest?” He didn’t know what to say. He wondered aloud if a little more alcohol might improve his nascent timidity.
She smiled, but not half as big as before. “I’ll make us some drinks. Meet ya on the porch.” It was like she read his mind. He smiled and allowed none of the relief he felt to show on his face. Outside, he reached for his smokes. He found none, of course.
“Shit.” Gum, then. He chewed through the flavor in two licks. “She’s acting differently. What the hell did I do wrong?”
Cleo stepped out and Al nodded at her stiffly. All the smoothness was gone. Where did it go? Where had it evaporated to? The suave cowboy he’d been at the bar had hung up his hat and put up his boots and now-
“Mint Julep Lemonade. Personal recipe. Learned it awhile back.”
“Thank you, Cleo.” They stood there, quietly sipping their drinks. “Mind if we sit?”
“Yeah, here, around the corner’s the best view.”
Two rocking chairs waited for a couple of love-drunk people if they could be found. Al settled in, happy to avoid Cleo’s eyes. He took a sip and smacked his lips. Tart drink. Heavy on the bourbon. “How long have you held this land?”
“Oh, generations,” Cleo answered wistfully. “Longer’n America, certainly.”
“How so?”
“My blood’s always been here, in one form or another. The world around always changes, but this glade remains itself. As do I. As do we all, I guess.”
Al sipped and nodded. Nodded and sipped. The quiet persisted over the grasses, waving in the wind and looking like simmering oil, or shimmering metal. Reminded him of timelessness, somehow.
Al cleared his throat. “Listen, about, you know, almost kissing.” He couldn’t look her in the eye. “I’m not that forward. Not my style.” She watched him. It urged him onward, and he sort of let it all out. “I get scared, you know? Most men would jump off a cliff to even talk to someone like you. But me? I’d let them jump. I’m just not that type of guy. I don’t need to jump to, you know, the physical stuff.”
She didn’t answer, persisting only in her watchfulness. The wind tossed her hair lightly.
“ I…Shit. I messed it all up. I shoulda kissed you. I—”
“Stop, Al.” He clapped his jaw shut, sipped his drink. A breeze came through, stirring the humid air. Cleo let the wind speak to her, even tilting her ear to it. She sighed. “It’s strange. To not be expected to just get on with it, I guess. Threw me off. Most men I bring just get it over quick. But your fear…your caution. It’s respect. I ‘preciate it. It saved you, to be sure.”
“Saved me?” From sheer embarrassment? From ruining what this was?
Cleo put her glass down, got up from her chair, and offered a hand. “Let’s try that kiss. You have my permission. ”
Al was shocked. Was this…? No. Enough wondering. Enough questioning. He briefly considered slapping, pinching, and biting himself. He settled for downing the drink. It burned. It burned and fired him up and…
He coughed and said, “Just to be clear, the kiss…and?”
“Yes, and.”
Their eyes locked. They’d found it again, that delicious magnetism. They pulled it taught, pulled themselves toward each other until they met body to body, lips to lips. Equal force enough that Al bit his lip. He flinched away and laughed. Cleo laughed too.
Al demurred. “A bit….”
“Fast?” Cleo said.
“Yeah. But, again?”
Their eyes locked. They’d found it again, that delicious magnetism. They pulled it taught, pulled themselves toward each other until they met body to body, face to face. Equal force enough that Al bit his lip. He flinched away and laughed. Cleo laughed too.
Al demurred. “A bit….”
“Fast?” Cleo said.
“Yeah. But, again?”
They kissed more gently, like caressing the petals of a tulip. Al wrapped his arms around her and they leaned against the porch wall, the heat rising in that simmering afternoon. They were hot as the air, hotter. The buzzing, buzzing, buzzing, rising and falling. Was that song in his head or outside of him?
An urgency called desire pounced.
They made a stumbled entry into Cleo’s home; a shirt dropping here, jeans there, two pairs of boots. Al hadn’t felt like this before. Not for some time. A pause, a panic. Al, going back for the wallet, making sure he had… Shit. Maybe I should ask…
He looked at her halfway up the stairs, mostly naked. His heart pounded.
He said, “Any…you know, ‘no-nos’ or?”
She laughed. “Get up here!”
He smiled. She smiled. Bare feet raced up creaking stairs, lovers giving chase. Their footsteps soften on a long hallway rug. When had Al last felt so safe in his own skin?
They reached a doorway at the end of the hall. They smiled and went through.
The cicadas were calling through the glade, their vibrations reaching through the air, touching everything, delving deeper and deeper, even into the frames of that old house down to its bones. Something was awakened. Something was released. Two beings were awakened and freed and changed by the touch of skin, that oldest of remedies oft-replaced for cheaper things.
Something had changed indeed.
Darkness. An aching head. A dry tongue.
“Ah…shit.” Al sat up. “Cleo?”
Not in the bed. Not in the room.
“My head…” It was ringing. Buzzing. “Those goddamn bugs… Don’t they only sing during the day?”
“Yes,” Cleo said. Her voice sounded clear but oddly distant.
“Cleo? Where are ya?”
Silence. Except for the cicadas. He sat up and put his feet on the floor. A leathery material met his soles. A leather rug? Weird. Hadn’t noticed that, but Al hadn’t been particularly focused on decor before.
“Light…” he groaned. He found a lamp on the bedside table. Didn’t work, but he found water. He drank. It was stale and dusty, for some reason, but his throat was salved. His head cleared a little, restoring higher cognition. “How long did I sleep?”
“Long enough.”
“Cleo, are you playing hide and seek?” He rubbed crusts out of his eyes and looked at his feet.
Cleo’s face was there between his feet.
“Jesus!” He almost jumped out of his own skin. He was on top of the bed, staring at the thing. “Cleo? What the hell is this?” Nothing. “Cleo!?”
He jumped over it and went to the window, pulled away the dusty curtains to look at the thing on the ground. It looked like Cleo, to be sure, but on second glance, more like an empty sack made in her likeness.
The more he looked at that naked, deflated skin bag the more queasy he got. Was this part of some fetish? Some sex thing Al hadn’t signed up for?
“I’m getting kinda weirded out here….”
“I’m waiting.”
“But where are you? Your body’s…here?”
Al was ready to jet. He hadn’t meant this to be a one-night stand, but if this got any weirder…
He said, “I’m not a judgmental person. I met plenty of people into--uh--unique things. It’s just not my thing.” He racked his brain. “Maybe we can have some coffee and talk about this?”
No response. The cicadas sang at a higher pitch for a moment before dropping off. The cup on the table shook so hard from the sound it fell before Al could catch it. Water dumped over the Cleo-thing, dripping and pooling like it would on skin.
Al looked away and decided he should find his pants and get the hell out of dodge.
“Levi’s are downstairs, I reckon.” He didn’t relish the thought of leaving the semblance of safety he had in the room, but there wasn’t any way in hell he could stay up here.
Old wood creaked. Groaned. Every step. The house wasn’t the same as before. The walls! Had they been so moldy, so decrepit? Had the furniture been so eaten and musty? Another bedroom. Had that been there before?
He cracked it open. A copy, almost, of the one he’d left. Another bed. Another set of strewn-about clothes. Another sack of skin, and…Bones. Bones on the bed. Cast in the forge of the falling sun.
How much time before dark?
“I gotta get out…I gotta leave,” Al uttered and slammed the door. Where were the stairs? How had he gotten so turned around? Had he been roofied? Drugged? Or just too drunk to function? Ah, right, they’d gone to the bedroom at the end of the hall. Stairs were to his left, then. He walked slowly in the half darkness until he reached them. He took the stairs slowly, trying to peer around the bend. Found his jeans on the bottom step. Keys and wallet still in there. Nothing missing, except his underwear. He looked around for Cleo, or, rather for what had potentially used her skin..
Nothing. Nobody. Sunset on pale walls. Chair rail scuffed and decrepit. Soil and dirt and what looked like half-eaten roots everywhere. This wasn’t the same house. Couldn’t be!
Al rasped, “Where the hell am I?”
“Come to me.”
“Where the hell are you, Cleo?”
“The parlor.”
Thank you for reading Brood Part II: The Glade!
Do you have any inkling of what or who Cleo is?
Do you think Al’s found true love?
What did you do when you experienced love that was “too good to be true”?
Catch the final episode next month! You won’t believe what happens next. Subscribe to get it in your inbox!
Until next time, Realm Walkers.
-Zach
Brood Part II