Squamous with a Chance of Rain by Alexis Hall

Author:Alexis Hall [Hall, Alexis]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Riptide Publishing
Published: 2014-10-29T16:00:00+00:00

My dearest Miriam,

It seems you must forgive me yet again for having importuned you with a letter written in a moment of emotional turmoil. I woke early to a terrible headache and one of those crystal-bright days that so often follow in the wake of a storm. I confess I lay awhile in bed in a state of nervous agitation, but then I remembered I am not sensitive and I do not possess a nervous disposition, so I got up, dressed, and set out again for the woods.

Astonishing what a little light and common sense can do. The whole area looked quite different this morning. Even pleasant, though of course we are winter struck, and thus the trees are bare and the scene is one of austerity rather than anything more conventionally charming. But in the wake of the storm, everything seemed renewed somehow, clear and cleansed. And while I found what perhaps may once have been a temple, it was little more than a few tumbled stones, and what I most certainly did not find was the corpse of a deer, the corpse of anything at all, or any sign of there ever having been a corpse. Not even a stain upon the stones. I suppose the rain might have washed the blood away, but what of the body? Surely that would not have just . . . vanished?

And now I begin to question what I saw. It was dark, after all, and perhaps I was suffering some imbalance of mind. Could I have imagined it? But it was so vivid—I recall it still, the eyes, the ruined throat, and the blood. There had been blood on my hands. And on my dress. I rushed back to the house only to learn that my clothes had already been taken to the laundry as they had been drenched and covered in mud. Mud? How could I have mistaken . . .

Was I mistaken? I have heard that laudanum can occasionally induce hallucinations in the patient. Perhaps I should moderate my dosage. But it has done me such good, I cannot believe it could be harmful. Oh, what is the matter with me, Miriam?

If nothing else, at least I have found my whistle again. It was in my bedroom all along.

I remain, or so I believe,

Your loving Jane

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