People’s arms were dropping off. Again. It was something to do with the air—outside. People were concerned!
Kathe had developed a system of duct tape, slings, and a high-fiber diet. She wanted, nay *needed,* to see the lake, catch the quick orange bruise of sunfish across the silken bottom sand.
I can’t be-*lieve,* said Carl, her husband, that that’s worked for you. He lifted his own elbow, tested his own shoulder, for symptoms of ill repair. So *far,* he added. So far.
Kathe rolled her eyes. Carl, I hate you. She fluttered her lashes. Carl, I love you. Carl? I’m off to the beach.
Yessir, he saluted, heart tabulating a beat at the twinge in his brachialis.
Outdoors it was cool, bright, the ochres and wines of autumn. The sidewalks were swept fresh, the lawns mowed, the gutters whisked and hosed. If a worker lost just an appendage or so—so her neighbors supposed—such was the cost of such a fine city.
The lake and its waves stood just 300 steps ahead. Already in her veins she felt the tightening of joy. The holler of the gulls. The green tang of the fish. The blue world a-slosh in its bowl.
As she stood at the scrim of things, toes bathed in the shingle, she thought she felt a tug at the elbow, a gap at the cuff, a dropping of sinew. But by curse, by Carl, or the cults of Melanesia, she’d throw out her arms profusely and wild.
The Curse of Eldritch, Illinois
People’s arms were dropping off. Again. It was something to do with the air—outside. People were concerned!
Kathe had developed a system of duct tape, slings, and a high-fiber diet. She wanted, nay *needed,* to see the lake, catch the quick orange bruise of sunfish across the silken bottom sand.
I can’t be-*lieve,* said Carl, her husband, that that’s worked for you. He lifted his own elbow, tested his own shoulder, for symptoms of ill repair. So *far,* he added. So far.
Kathe rolled her eyes. Carl, I hate you. She fluttered her lashes. Carl, I love you. Carl? I’m off to the beach.
Yessir, he saluted, heart tabulating a beat at the twinge in his brachialis.
Outdoors it was cool, bright, the ochres and wines of autumn. The sidewalks were swept fresh, the lawns mowed, the gutters whisked and hosed. If a worker lost just an appendage or so—so her neighbors supposed—such was the cost of such a fine city.
The lake and its waves stood just 300 steps ahead. Already in her veins she felt the tightening of joy. The holler of the gulls. The green tang of the fish. The blue world a-slosh in its bowl.
As she stood at the scrim of things, toes bathed in the shingle, she thought she felt a tug at the elbow, a gap at the cuff, a dropping of sinew. But by curse, by Carl, or the cults of Melanesia, she’d throw out her arms profusely and wild.