Otherless

By Ferris Wheel Fox

Marcia Gordon, a future cult leader, starts an arts and crafts club at her high school.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ferris Wheel Fox
• Release date: Sep 28, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005891312

Ferris Wheel Fox

Ferris Wheel Fox has a particular fondness for ideas with a good risk of failure that could easily be romanticized. Marketing books with elevator pitches instead of blurbs, for example. Or giving those books away for free. Or naming oneself in the manner of a band rather than an author. They write psychological, experimental, and dark comedy novellas with the hope of catering to the strange people they love most in this life.

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Otherless

Copyright © 2019

All rights reserved.

Fortunately, this is a work of fiction. Names, characters, business, events and incidents are the products of the author’s morbid imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Dedicated to everyone who has given me a bad feeling

Turns out I have an anxiety disorder

So it’s probably me, not you

Gordon can’t set an alarm because she doesn’t want to wake anyone before leaving the house, so she doesn’t sleep. She sits up in bed and thinks her thoughts. Every now and then, less frequently as the night wears on, a car rolls down the street. Its light in the room, washing over her, and out again. And her thoughts unspooling. Air conditioner on and off and on again. Ticking clock. Refrigerator humming. Faucet dripping, but not enough to notice in the waking hours. And her thoughts.

She puts her feet on the cold wood floor and doesn’t mind it. Not like her little brother Robbie, who got a rug because he whined so much about it. Their parents should have asked him what it meant to him. What he would do for it.

His room is at the end of the house. Her room, actually a den, is between the kitchen and the entryway, separated only by thick curtains. Temporarily, her parents said. Five years ago. Six in May. Robbie’s sixth birthday coming up already. But she wouldn’t want walls put in, anyway. Moving through the curtains, she can come and go without being noticed.

None of them will wake up before she leaves. In fact. A note on the fridge wouldn’t hurt. So as not to receive any worried phone calls from her mother.

She eats. Checks the time on the microwave— plenty of it— and catches her reflection in its door. Gordon in the microwave: placid.

No mirror in her room. How she prefers it. She puts on her jeans, t-shirt, and hoodie. Slides her satchel over her shoulder. A steady figure. Substantial. Not like her thin father who seems to stumble about as if always caught by an unexpected wind. Her short hair, new as of a month or so ago, feels good in her fingers. She stands by the curtain, motionless for several minutes, thinking. Then it is time to get moving.

Gordon pulls the front door shut softly. She doesn’t want to turn the key, but will they make a big deal of it later? No longer allowed to leave the house until someone else is around to lock the door? She locks it. Wonders if they hear. If they will come out batting questions at her. Leaving so early, won’t you eat with us, how did you sleep, don’t you want a ride? Gordon ready with an answer to each one. But no one comes.

Soft light and stillness outside. After a couple blocks of walking, she unzips her hoodie. There’s the long way through the woods. Time enough for it, as well. She steps off the sidewalk and cuts through someone’s yard to get to the trees beyond. A perfect morning to wander through. Damp here. Darker but still clear, and her movements quieter on the soft soil. All of the underbrush cleared away for suburbanites. The rabbits are out and unhappy to see her. People aren’t supposed to come around so early. They stare at her fixedly as they eat their food, ready to escape if need be. One of them does run.

You scared him, a small voice accuses her.

Gordon finds a boy standing some ten feet or so to her right. As frightened as the rabbits. He must live in the house there. To be so timid. He wouldn’t have wandered far. He’s young, but old enough that he probably doesn’t feel it anymore. When she doesn’t move or say anything, he becomes accusatory again:

What are you doing out here?

I live here.

Yeah, right.

She sees he took her literally. Younger than she thought, perhaps. I do.

Did you run away from home? Looking at her as though he might respect her if the answer is yes. Sizing her up.

This is my home. I’m the witch of the woods.

No, you’re not. That’s stupid.

I am. You shouldn’t tell anyone you saw me. I don’t like people to know I’m here.

He stares at her, skeptical, maybe nervous. I’ve lived here my whole life, and I’ve never seen you before.

That’s because I prefer to stay hidden. I walk between the branches. I move under the dirt. The rabbit showed me to you. He’s playing a prank on me. What’s your name?

You’re crazy. He seems to be captivated. How far is he from believing her? Does he already, but he’s too scared to show it?

I’ve never seen you here before, either.

The boy shrugs and says sarcastically, Maybe the rabbit was hiding me.

Smarter than she realized. Clever, actually. Noises from the house distract them; someone calls out, Garret! He turns.

Gordon smiles. Is that your name?

Garret looks at her uncertainly. Part of him does believe, isn’t that right? He asks, Are you for real?

Don’t tell anyone you met the witch today. There are consequences for speaking of a thing like me.

His eyes flick down and up again, a micro reaction to the worry she’s certain he feels. Garret leaves without saying another word.

She has an errand to run, anyway.

Stephanie’s Stationery hired Gordon for a part time cashier position six months ago. An easy enough walk. Close to the school. Saturdays and Sundays all morning, Wednesdays a couple hours in the afternoon. Until last night.

Kara had been the one to call. Juliet wouldn’t have done it- never able to start a confrontation. Always quietly walking to the back room when the customers got angry. Kara spoke to Gordon’s mother first, and what did she say to her? Strange to still have a landline. Her parents enjoyed intercepting phone calls. Kara asking, is this Mrs. Gordon, I’m looking for your daughter Marcia, may I speak to her please— and what else? But Gordon’s mother hadn’t looked or spoken any differently since then.

We just want the postcards back, Kara had said once Gordon got on the line.

What cards?

Please don’t draw this out, Marcia. Always saying please when she was angry. We have you on camera taking a pack of postcards out of the store last night.

This is how Gordon learned they had installed security cameras. Which they would do, with a string of thefts ongoing, but someone should have told her. How dare they record her without her permission. Watch her in secret, pause and rewind and watch her again any time they wanted to because her image belonged to them now.

And how dare they confront her with it.

It’s a misunderstanding, Gordon had said. I thought I paid for them. I can pay for them on my next shift.

Long silence after that. Embarrassment, she’d thought, for having the audacity to make such an accusation against Gordon. Who had been with them for half a year. Who worked well with the customers, kept everything tidy, did as she was told.

It’s obvious what’s going on here, Kara said. Please don’t make it worse than it is. The thefts didn’t start until after we hired you. And I’m not saying— this part in response to something Gordon could not see— perhaps Juliet in the room with Kara, giving her an objecting look, I’m not saying you stole anything other than the postcards. We don’t have proof of that, but you can see how it looks.

How bad it must look on video. Gordon through the aisles, browsing. Examining. Choosing. Sliding the pack into the pocket of her hoodie. Did they keep the recording after Kara fired her over the phone, or did they delete it?

To be seen when you think are in private.

Gordon unlocks the door to Stephanie’s Stationery for the last time. She sees the camera now, and she waves, holding the postcard pack. She places this on the front counter along with ten dollars, then writes a note:

It really was a misunderstanding.

She gazes around the room.

Gordon wants to tear the shelves apart and use them to beat the windows broken. She waves again on her