Stickless

By J.R.R.R. (Jim) Hardison

Stickless is a dark fantasy novella of absurd and surreal dread.

 

In a world where the clothes and accessories you are born wearing determine your social status and worth, Starla is one of the stickless, the lowest of the low. She has been magically banished to the mythical Vanish—a winding, eons-old prison littered with the corpses of its previous prisoners. Deposited with a misfit group of unfriendly companions in which she is seen as the most inferior member, she must fight to escape both devastating traps and deadly foes. But if she is to unlock the riddle of the Vanish and the mystery of the ancient goddess, the Abstract Woman, she must also face the dark, absurd prejudices of her companions and herself. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.R.R.R. (Jim) Hardison
• Release date: Oct 28, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393985181

Book preview

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

My special thanks to Janet Hardison, Pat Jackson, Amanda Bennett, Christopher Barnes, Rachel Petrovich and Matt Hiebert. And to Eleanor, Clara and Maria, upon whom I inflict the early versions of everything, sorry.

DEDICATION

To everyone who feels a weird attraction to that tunnel-boat-ride scene in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory and knows full well that dreams, and life, can be like that.

CHAPTER ONE: The Big Empty Room

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With a bang and a cloud of cinnamon smoke, a man appeared in the Big Empty Room. Starla shrank back into the corner, watching. He staggered and looked around, but he didn’t turn far enough to lay eyes on her. He wore a tan overcoat, white shirt, gray slacks, gray socks and black leather shoes. In his right hand, he clutched a tan walking stick. Starla exhaled, realizing through the act that she had been holding her breath. He was the complete package. A just-perfect Jasper. She swallowed hard, a stumbling in her chest. The surge of joy was followed by a stab of guilt.

Gardener Greg! Jasper exclaimed. He wrinkled his nose at the spicy-sweet scent of the brown smoke expanding in a ring away from him. Starla watched it dissipate as it rolled out toward the featureless, seafoam green walls, as it sank toward the seafoam green linoleum floor. The room was so big, and they were all alone inside it. All alone ... together.

Jasper raised his eyes and Starla followed his gaze upward. She could see no ceiling to the space, just the walls gradually fading into a uniform brightness maybe a hundred feet or more above her head. Indistinct specks wheeled and soared in the glow like distant birds. Starla felt dizzy and focused back on Jasper to steady herself. Strong jaw; thick, dark brows; refined nose. A handsome profile. He looked older than she was, ten years maybe. But did that matter? If this was to be their room ... her heart fluttered again. He continued to turn, and she crouched back into her corner. She could never be worthy, could she? She willed herself to fade, to dissipate like the ring of rose-scented, pink smoke that had billowed out when she had first appeared. Don’t see me, she thought. I’m not ready. Not yet. But he continued to pivot.

Just before his eyes found her, a second loud report tore the air. Starla almost screamed.

A woman appeared in the big room, ten feet behind Jasper. He jumped at the sound, clutched at his chest with his free hand. Starla watched as the pomegranate smoke ring from this new appearance expanded past Jasper at waist height. Noticing it with a start, he spun to face the lady. He dropped his hand to his side with exaggerated casualness. She stared at him and he stared back, brow furrowed in confusion. Starla stared as well, the sense she’d been trying to make of the situation yanked out from under her.

The newcomer was also wearing a tan overcoat, white shirt and gray slacks. In her right hand, she also held a tan walking stick. She offered Jasper a tentative smile, but he frowned.

You have no shoes or socks, he said, pointing to her bare feet with his own stick. Starla saw it then, too, the pale, naked flesh. She held her breath.

I thought this might be the After, Jasper said.

The After, the barefoot woman said, the hope painful in her voice, eyes scanning the space.

But you’re not a Josephine. I don’t get it. You’re a Betty. Why would there be a Betty in the Jasper After?

Betty’s smile collapsed like a ruined soufflé. Her cheeks flushed. She looked down at the nakedness of her feet and tears splashed her toes.

I’m sorry, her whispered words came faint to Starla’s ears. Betty sat down, hunching forward so that her feet were hidden beneath the cascade of her long blond hair. Her tears speckled the light slate of her slacks, shoulders shaking as she wept. Jasper watched her. He shook his head.

Typical, he snorted. Now Starla’s eyes welled, too. She wrung her hands.

Another bang caught all three by surprise. Starla contained herself, but the sound drew Betty back to her feet with a shriek. A man had appeared in the big room, right between Betty and Jasper. As the newcomer’s lime smoke ring rolled away, it was clear that he wore a white shirt, gray slacks, gray socks, black leather shoes and held a tan walking stick in his right hand. But ... Starla frowned.

A Cody! Betty gasped. She and Jasper pulled back from the man, pointing with their sticks.

No overcoat? Jasper asked the air. So now there’s a Cody here, too?

Cody opened his mouth to speak, but Betty shook her stick at him.

Keep quiet, coatless!

But— Cody tried.

Over-coat-less! Jasper cut him off, enunciating each syllable with disgust. Starla could guess what was coming next. Jasper leveled his walking stick at Cody. This—

Excuse me, Starla interrupted, stepping from her corner. She strode toward them with all the confidence she could muster. All eyes turned to her and it wasn’t enough. She looked down at her own tan overcoat, white shirt, gray slacks, gray socks and black leather shoes. She tried to imagine herself as they must see her. Her resolve withered, but she was committed now.

Hello, she said, looking up and forcing a smile. She stopped near Cody and held out her left hand to shake, her right behind her back. Though she tried to hold her extended hand steady, she was sure the others could see her tremble. Cody peered around her.

She’s got no tan walking stick, he cried. Not even a small one!

"Has no tan walking stick," Betty corrected.

A Starla, Jasper pronounced, the sneer marring his otherwise handsome features. Starla brought her empty hand out from behind her back. Her eyes couldn’t bear the weight of his disapproval. The weight of all their disapproval. She felt so hollow she could burst like a balloon. Fly apart in pieces. Little bits of air and nothing. If this was supposed to be the After, she’d been lied to. Lied to since she was a baby. Lied to by the people she was supposed to trust the most. Lied to about Gardener Greg, about Little Greg, about everything. She dropped her gaze to the floor. The tears were hot on her cheeks. Hot as anger. They blurred her vision. She wiped them away. And there were Betty’s bare feet, naked and wrong.

Barefoot Betty! she yelled, pointing with her left hand. Bare feet, bare toes! Weak and soft and full of woes! She sang the old rhyme. Jasper joined in, his rich baritone echoing in the big room. The sound of his voice backing hers gave her a fierce, sick feeling.

Betty threw back her head and let out a wail. Her sobs stole the smile from Starla’s face. As Starla faltered, Betty wiped at her eyes. She pointed her walking stick at Cody.

Coatless! she shrieked.

Stickless! Cody yelled, pointing at Starla.

Variants! Jasper thundered.

The final bang was a huge noise like a freight train hitting an atomic bomb. A cloud of lemon smoke bloomed at the center of the room.

The four squinted, peering through the yellow vapor. The three with sticks raised them defensively. The cloud roiled outward in a perfect sphere. At its epicenter stood a being. She wore a tan overcoat, white shirt, gray slacks, gray socks and black leather shoes. In her right hand she held a black walking stick with silver caps at either end. Jasper, Betty, Cody and Starla stared in awe. The being had a throw pillow the color of orange peel tied to her head with a rainbow ribbon. As they watched, the cushion slowly changed hue, as if blushing, until it was a deep, bloody red. Cody and Betty made the sign of the Box.

I am the Abstract Woman, the being intoned, her voice mighty and imperious.

Starla couldn’t breathe. She fought the urge to make the sign of the Box herself. But what good would that do? It was the Abstract Woman. Starla recognized her from the crumbling statues in museums, the photos she’d seen of the finger paintings on cave walls, the carvings etched into sacrificial altars, the descriptions from ancient religions now mocked as superstition. If she were real ...

Before Starla could come to terms with the implications, the Abstract Woman spoke again.

"This is not the After. You are not dead. You are in the Eternal Prison, a place you call the Vanish. But it is not as you were taught. You were not brought to the Vanish by the design of Gardener Greg. Gardener Greg has no power here! You have been brought here by the Other Force. Here you will remain forever and forever, as prisoners." A scent, sweet and dark, wafted from her as she spoke. Cherry jam and blood.

Unless..., she continued, you can escape. The Abstract Woman raised her arms to make jazz hands and a thundering boom shook the pillow on her head. Everyone jumped. As the echoes of the blasts chased each other into the glowing sky, the Abstract Woman lowered her hands. Jasper, Betty and Cody lowered the tips of their walking sticks in respect while Starla bowed her head and wrung her empty, empty hands.

Please, your majesty, Jasper asked in a small, quavering voice. How can we escape? Starla grimaced. It felt wrong to hear a Jasper speak like that, like a Stewart.

There is only one way, the Abstract Woman pronounced, her voice filling the vast space like the sound of an ocean. Only one way to escape from this Eternal Prison. She whirled and pointed with her stick at a door which Starla had not noticed until that moment, or which had just appeared. Taped above it was a piece of notebook paper. Written on it in red marker was the word HOPE. Lightning flashed and thunder roared.

Through that door lies your only hope, the Abstract Woman cried. But be warned! Through that door lies danger and hardship designed to shake you to the nooks of your hearts and the crannies of your souls. Only the most noble, the most strong, the most disciplined and the most clever can possibly survive. You will face tests. Tests like you have never imagined! Take care and learn the lesson each test teaches lest you be destroyed by your own folly. Learn and be reborn. Fail and die!

A bolt of scintillating energy stabbed down from the white void above, as blinding as six million lightbulbs. It smashed into the floor where the Abstract Woman stood, and its brightness was too