5: Creatures of the soil
Dearest guests, welcome back to Café Blablabla. I’m Adrienne Anderson, your host. I know, I know, I’m sorry about the rain. It’s our fault. We could have done something – we could have cancelled it. We could have seeded the clouds elsewhere. We’ll get someone to sweep it away.
I have unfortunate news: tonight’s episode has been postponed. You probably knew. The chef has been missing for days, maybe weeks. We’ve lost track. No, it’s nothing to worry about. Some old grudge. We should have known. Chefs are so sensitive. We shouldn’t have let the door swing shut. But we’ll find a way to get in the building, out of the rain at least, I promise.
There’s no reason for her to be the only one who has the keys; that’s just how it’s always been. If I squint through the window I can see her clock on the kitchen wall, the one she loves, its hands wiping the numbers clean.
I remember the first time. I remember she wrote me. She said, go next door, go to the neighbors, The Maw has keys too. The originals. Before you enter look down and you’ll see an outline of the old cellar doors. They’re hidden. Stretch out on the sod.
I stretched out on the sod. Grass grazed the backs of my hands and the gap of skin at my ankles. The soft wet blades felt artificial, not plastic but not plant either, awoken by the weight of contact and now needling for something they’d recognize as blood. The doors unhinged beneath me.
The sensation of falling came right away. On the other hand it came not at all – gravity merely disengaged and I felt neutral, buoyant, light or heavy as air. My mind knew I was standing still sideways, but the basement approaching at invisible velocity broke the spell, met me with a dull crack, the sound of a stapler punching through too many pages at once.
Careful there, came a voice. Two big eyes blinked, then four, six, eight.
Pain echoed and I rolled to meet the eyes.
We don’t normally have visitors, came the voice again. In the background, I heard whispers: We are the ground, we are the ground. We give the lightning where it needs to go…
Upstairs in the kitchen, pleased with the memory, the second hand smiled from 9 to 3 and the door unlocked itself.
