vignette from "Strawberry Milk" Strings of Pearls
A figure hovered above her, half-swallowed by the darkness pooling in the corner. Its antlers twisted like gnarled branches, strung with cobwebs and strings of pearls that clinked softly—a dissonant melody breaking the stillness. Its elongated snout curled unnaturally, giving it the silhouette of something ancient and subhuman. It didn’t move, yet its presence pressed down on her, a weight she could neither see nor escape.
The bed began to tilt, its old metal frame groaning as it slid toward the corner—toward it. No matter how hard she struggled, her body refused to move, pinned by an invisible force that clamped her chest tighter with each shallow breath. She tried to scream, but her cries snagged in her throat, her mouth sealed by the heaviness of the air.
As the distance closed, the figure sharpened into focus: a wolf-like body, malnourished and grotesque, curled into a fetal arch. Its spine jutted outward, a row of broken daggers pressing against paper-thin, ashen skin. From its antlers hung pearls that shimmered faintly, clattering like mock wind chimes in a room without wind. The cobweb ribbons twisted with each subtle sway, close enough now to brush her cheeks—their delicate caress at odds with the growing terror.
Her bed lurched forward. The creature tilted its face toward hers, revealing a dry, crumbling surface—like paper-mâché left too long in the sun. It didn’t blink. Its hollow sockets swallowed her reflection. She clenched her eyes shut, but the darkness only made it bloom larger in her mind, tendrils of fear coiling around her lungs.
A crack. She opened her eyes just as it dropped—limbs rigid, a mannequin tumbling from some invisible shelf. It didn’t land; it hovered inches from her face, its maw splitting impossibly wide. Jagged rows of teeth gleamed, dripping with warm strings of saliva that plastered her hair against her skin. She gagged, her throat tightening under the pressure, until her ribs felt ready to splinter.
Its breath was fetid. Its mouth gaped wider, eclipsing her vision. The clattering of pearls striking its antlers grew louder, a rhythm that matched her panicked heartbeat. Each strike sent tremors through her body, sharp and cruel, as if mocking her helplessness.
Its teeth found her skull. A sound—wet, brittle, final—cracked through her head. Pain bloomed in white bursts. The pearls kept clattering, the noise swelling until it devoured every other sound, until all that remained was a single ringing note.
And then—silence.
She woke gasping, the air cold and sharp in her lungs. Her hands flew to her face, trembling as they traced her features—damp with sweat and something else, but whole. She sat up, stomach churning as her fingers came away slick with a warm, gluey smear across her forehead and cheeks. Saliva. Thick ribbons of it clung to her skin, reeking faintly of rot.
The room swam in darkness. She turned on the light.
The walls were bare. The corners were empty.
But her chest still ached, as though the weight lingered—watching.