K. Marvin Bruce

  “It’s Wednesday!   It must be!” Lindsey was levitating. “No,” Calum calmed.   “There have been saints who levitate too.   This is for your benefit.” “But it’s against the laws of physics!” “Are scientific laws called laws because they can’t be broken or are they simply made up by human beings to describe what they see?” “Then why haven’t scientists described this?” “There have been many, many documented cases.   One guess how scientism responds.” “Ridicule reaction?” “Yes, you’re beginning to understand.   Lindsey is a focal agent in a way that we’ve never seen.” Terah watched her hover two feet above the table.   Her eyes were closed.   She seemed perfectly relaxed, but not asleep.   Hovering might not have been the right word.   She didn’t bob and undulate on the air.   It was more like a David Copperfield magic trick, as if she sat on a flat surface.   Embarrassed at doing so, he looked to see if her jean bottoms were flat...

  Heading due west, using the sun as his source of information, Terah could tell Lindsey was so full of secrets that he’d never really know her.   He was envious of the guys at Dickinsheet—how were they doing now?   Were they still expecting them back with provisions?—they’d met her when she was willing to talk.   Almost as if she could read his mind she said, “The guys will be fine.   They have rules about stuff like this.” “You mean provisioners not returning?” “Once you’ve lived this life long enough you’ll realize there are no guarantees.   Every plan’s provisional.   You ever notice how some people seem to be magnets for misfortune?   Society doesn’t wanna hear about ‘em.   Nobody wants to think that they might end up jobless, homeless, or abused.   But it’s daily life for lots of people.” “So they won’t mind?” “Mind?   You think they’re sittin’ around mopin’ that we’re not there?   Hey, if we can ever help ‘em, we will. ...

  Lindsey kept them moving.   Analomink was a place Terah was certain he’d never heard of.   Lindsey knew where to find provisions, however.   Enough to get them through the night. “Will Wednesday attack?” Terah asked. “How the hell should I know?”   Lindsey finished off the scraps and had Terah heave the trash bag over his shoulder like a pauper Saint Nick.   He was still impressed that Lindsey knew which places put their baked goods out for garbage collection if they didn’t sell during the day.   Like any unspoiled lake Analomink had attracted developers, but out past the Rod and Gun Club no roads gave access.   It was still cold, but at least the snow was gone. “There used to be fishin’ shanties out here,” she said.   “Places for guys to stick their rods and shit.” Darkness had fallen and they had to make their way carefully.   Terah had left his flashlight at Dickinsheet, supposing they’d return.   A half-moon gave half-light. ...

  Terah looked around hungrily for Caileigh.   Instead a massive gust of wind blew a tree down across the abandoned road with a cannon-like thud.   Quick calculation revealed they would’ve been smashed had they kept walking. “My god—how did you know?” Terah asked.   “Did she warn you?” “Who?   Caileigh?   No.   He did.” Heart still clattering like a xylophone, Terah peered ahead and saw no one.   “Who?” “Wednesday.” That didn’t help Terah’s heart.   “Wednesday?   But how?” Tentatively, Lindsey led him forward.   The maple with its still naked branches, covered the entire road and they had to negotiate a way through the tangle.   Terah followed his young leader. “He followed me from the asylum,” she said simply. “But ghosts haunt places, I thought.”   Suddenly he felt ill-equipped.   Not having paid much mind to ghosts, nymphs, and other superstitious things, he’d never read the serious books on the topic.   They ...

  Windquake.   The concept described what it felt like to be in houses literally shaken by the wind.   The spiteful aspect of the weather often forgotten until it arose, aeolian damage could be heard in real time as the gusts became sustained.   As if the sky were trying to tear civilization itself apart.   Dickinsheet wasn’t built to code. Queequeg and Terah rode out the storm in Cicero’s house with his bones.   The place shook like a frightened old man.   No rain fell, but the violence of the wind rocked everything.   “At least with a thunderstorm you know when its done,” Queequeg called out.   The wind would blow itself out only to begin again with even more rage. Terah felt terror.   “It’s like hurricane Sandy,” he shouted above the din.   He’d been in New Jersey for that. “Least we don’t have to worry about losing power,” Queequeg smiled.   Where had he been during that storm?   It’d left an indelible impression on Te...

  Drew, Terah’s best friend at Grove City, tried to help.   “You only knew Wendy a week really.   How well can you really know someone in a week?” Deep inside Terah knew the wisdom of this.   Fred his stepfather had been kind to his three new tweenage children.   For about six months he pretended to be happy and carefree, joking and playing with the boys.   Then the mask fell.   Fred was a bitter and suspicious man.   When it was time to leave for college Terah was ready to go although Fred wouldn’t contribute a cent and Terah would be in debt forever.   Yes, he should’ve known a week wasn’t time to really know someone. He thought he knew Wendy.   Her glances, her words, her laughs all declared she was his.   At the very same time she was meeting Gary on the weekend.   Spending the night in his dorm room at Kent State.   Holding Terah’s hand but holding something else for Gary.   Even after she admitted as much and re...