Year's Best Weird Fiction, Vol. 4 by Helen Marshall

Author:Helen Marshall [Marshall, Helen]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Horror & Supernatural Fiction
ISBN: 9780995094970
Amazon: 0995094977
Publisher: Undertow Publications
Published: 2017-10-02T22:00:00+00:00

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Some people came to the house once. They wore stiff green coats and woollen hats though it was a hot summer. I knew I made them nervous because I looked like him; I walked and talked the way he did. I did not want to let them in but beneath their coats they were bunched with muscle, thick at the neck and shoulder. Their bodies were heavy devotion. They wanted only caffeine-free—I did not have it—they would not drink the beer I gave them. They sat on the edge of the sofa, tipped forwards onto the shined toes of their shoes. When I moved my hands or face I could see them wince; I looked like a mistake who’d stolen his shape. I wanted to tell them that was not the way it was.

What can you tell us about him?

I got out the photos I keep in the drawer. He did not like them to be taken, most were of the back of his head or the flat of his hand raised in protest. There were scabs on his knees, his nose broken from when he fell off his bike. They were not interested in that; did not want to see him that way.

Tell us about the things he did, they said and I knew what they wanted me to say. One got out a notebook and balanced it on the huge bridge of his knee, held the pen in his fist.

What did he do to the heating? They tilted further forward.

He didn’t do anything to the heating.

What about when you had meat, one said. He stood, legs splayed.

Nothing happened when we had meat, I said.

Maybe, the one with the notebook said, you didn’t notice when the meat was better than you first thought, more free range.

An easy mistake, said the other.

I would give them nothing. They got desperate. They asked if he ever saved roadkill.

Maybe he fixed your washing machine or television when it broke.

They didn’t break, I said.

People came over the years, though they quickly learnt I was no good for it. Some mornings there were threats: soft, stinking packages pushed through the letter box, broken windows. They wrote things on the Internet I will not repeat. They came less and less. I was no good as a mythmaker. Never have been.

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