Sarah's Mother
A Flash Fiction Story
Content warning: The following story contains a detailed description of a corpse.
The worm inside my brain is tidal to a certain moon. No sun to fry it, no day to drown the night’s creature. Was there ever a ‘day’ and ‘night?’ My waking dreams have abandoned me to a purposeless clock, an infinite dark.
When r/nosleep asks for my soul, I give it with neither question nor worry. Yet it guides me toward something I feel drawing nearer.
* * *
Sarah says her mother’s shoes still wander around but I don’t believe in ghosts. When Sarah stands before a mirror, empty shoes shuffle down the hall. On bright pavement, she follows the click of boot heels. In the presence of reflections, she turns around to find a pair standing nearby, pointed towards her. Always toward her.
The police never found her corpse. The first week of her disappearance, Sarah would stand in her mother’s closet and feel her gravity pulsate in concentric circles. White noise looped her voice over the radio or television. Her dad saw her in the bathroom mirror. After climbing the stairs, Sarah would smell her breath.
* * *
I tell r/nosleep about Sarah’s mom.
Theories pour forth. She is a victim of the ScreenParasite. She's a demon. She is an accumulation of suppressed grief.
‘Ghost’ remains unclaimed. I don't believe in ghosts.
* * *
One day, pools of rainwater gathered on the asphalt of the alley behind their apartment. Sarah said the air simply stopped, smelling of ice. When she turned to go home, her mother’s running shoes lay facing her from across a long, glassy expanse, empty and motionless. Sarah stared at them, not immediately seeing her mother’s reflection stretching across the water, edge to edge.
Trapped in another plane of existence, she’d said.
And when she finally saw the complete form in the still pond, smiling softly upside down and just like her mom used to, Sarah's breath began to break. An extra gasp, a hitch, every so often.
Just enough.
* * *
With each word I read, one of my own vanishes. My screen glows brighter to match the exchange, an intangible blue, as though the moon lies flat in my hand. It cuts through the blackened hush and loops its stolen goods as white noise echoes.
Parasite. Grief. Ghost. Shhhh.
Parasite. Grief. Ghost. Shhhh.
* * *
Sarah’s mother came to the apartment door in the third week of her disappearance. Her face was as though partly melted, mottled black. Holes that maggots had eaten down to the bone flopped gum-pink, rimmed in dark violet. Sweetness came before the reek of feces, fermenting cabbage, and rotten pork belly.
Inhales—even shallow—moved it closer until it clung to the hairs in Sarah’s nose, multiplying like cancer, bringing up the fluid in her stomach in waves. She collapsed to all fours, heaving, her breath hitching and hurling, a muddy puddle of mostly bile 'til at last she collapsed headfirst into the mess.
It splattered on her mother’s bare, pristine feet, and Sarah choked.
* * *
The space between waking and dreaming, day and night, comes closer. My eyes blur the moon’s light and I feel it as the blueing glow steals oil from my pores, color from my hair, oxygen from my cells.
I am a draining battery.
Thirteen percent.
Brightly it shines, this moon, and ever more bright. Something in my brain can sense it reaching for solidity.
I don't believe in ghosts.
* * *
Sarah’s father never left the apartment. He sat watching her drowned corpse bloat and burst, watched the creatures come from some unseen dimension to whittle her down. The sun seemed to never set yet his skin became thinner, his eyes hollower.
A neighbor must have called about the stench. They took him away to an institution.
* * *
Two percent.
The moon ebbs me from myself as I flow to it. I am indentured beyond the possibility of emancipation. A worm bursts through my head, I feel it, as the husk of my face spills into vapor, its static gathering behind the screen.
One percent.
It's solid now, the once blue glow from the moon. I can hear footsteps circling concentrically, the last ripple before the pool goes still.
About the Creator
Mackenzie Davis
“When you are describing a shape, or sound, or tint, don’t state the matter plainly, but put it in a hint. And learn to look at all things with a sort of mental squint.” Lewis Carroll
Find me elsewhere.
Copyright Mackenzie Davis.
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Comments (10)
Ok Damn Wow... I'm so happy you recommended this one to me, Mackenzie! (Sorry it took me so long to get to it. Family holidays take a lot more time and attention then we think they will.) Your description of the corpse was incredibly vivid! I thought for a moment that I could actually smell the rot from her 'ghost'! Absolutely adored the counting down of the precents too! Each one filled me with dread as I read it, slowly watching Sarah's life wind down... down... down... Masterfully crafted! The way that the shoes followed her, always right there, waiting. Creeping closer yet seemingly never toucher her, and the way that the smell comes close on their heels was breathtaking! I wound up breathing through my mouth as I read just in case the smell crept into my own room. And that last line "I can hear footsteps circling concentrically, the last ripple before the pool goes still" was awesome! I was enthralled from start to finish! And the questions! Oh! The questions! What really happened to the mother? Is the Parasite coming for the father now that he's locked away or is his fate simply the insanity? Sometimes I feel unoriginal just saying that I was blown away, but I did my level best to try and describe exactly how you made me feel with this one :) You asked for another scary one? Well well... which one, which one... I think I'll pick one that involves smell also. So, for your reading pleasure may I submit "Rain." I hope you enjoy ;) https://vocal.media/fiction/rain-ai1r70uhz
For these three stories together (the falling, the art thief, and this one), my main feedback would be: spell things out more, hold the reader’s hand. It is always difficult to see your own text through readers’ eyes, since you have the complete vision in your mind, one that automatically fills in all the gaps in the text—whereas the reader’s mind is a blank slate that only has your words and nothing else. That total blankness is good to be ever mindful of. [Reading your three stories was helpful regarding my own writing as well (outside Vocal), because I tend to write in a highly elliptical fashion, being a strong believer in “less is more”; I now look at my own texts afresh with the same concern of probably omitting too much.] Puzzlement can mean tantalizing mystery, drawing readers closer—your art thief story reaps the benefits of this salutary effect—but it can also risk detachment: the blank stare of disorientation. The more the reader struggles to piece things together, the less they are immersed in the story itself—and immersion is especially indispensable in horror. Of course, we want to be open-ended and invitingly ambiguous, and to avoid flatness and redundancy; but I would reserve said open-endedness to the symbolic level of the text and to its hidden layers—not its surface, i.e., the interrelations of its concrete elements (e.g., events). In the case of this story, it was only your extratextual explanation that made me realize the Sarah story was something read by the MC and not something simply happening simultaneously (even if they are ultimately revealed to take place in the same world). To be fair, “With each word I read” suggests the former—but it could also just refer to the responses received on “r/nosleep”; indeed, if I recall correctly, that is what I assumed when first reading this story. And the sentence “She is a victim of the ScreenParasite” left me a bit puzzled: did the same thing happen to Sarah’s mother as to the MC? or is this just a bit of exposition about the main story? is the implication that many Reddit posters have suffered from the same as the MC? ––– I do think that this story is too short for dread to have the proper time to gather [as a storm gathers]. In the typical horror movie scene, a character exploring a dark house walks slooooowlyyyyyy, so that the viewer’s anticipation has plenty of time to build. I don’t know whether I can extrapolate that flash fiction in general is less suitable for horror (perhaps that is not so); but here I feel we’d need to form a stronger bond to the characters—and have an atmosphere that slowly swaddles us, seeping into our hearts—for the grossness to have the desired effect. Perhaps text differs from visual media in this respect? After all, one simple image can be quite creepy or unsettling on its own (here’s one: https://shorturl.at/dltZ3). I love the idea of empty shoes pointed towards a character, and a ghostly reflection in water: these are striking and delectably eerie images, which could work really, really well—but only after the reader is fully absorbed by the events. So, ignoring the Saint-Exupery rule here, I’d add a lot of words into this story. ––– With “the husk of my face spills into vapor,” my imagination short-circuits [I’m a robot, apparently]: while I understand the words individually, in their literal & figurative uses, I struggle with their amalgam. There is a vapor into which (something of) the shell-like remainder of the face falls or flows? My mind can roughly sketch this scene by granting enough poetic licence, but the effort detracts from vividness. ––– Despite the critique above, the language in this story is the strongest of all three IMO. “The worm inside my brain is tidal to a certain moon.”—that is a wonderful opening sentence, bordering on poetry, that really grabs the reader. There is delightful assonance and fresh expressivity in “loops its stolen goods,” and the description of the body was admirably sensuous. I think horror first and foremost feeds on mood and on being lifelike; and a cornucopia of sensuous details, and of evocative metaphors, contributes to both. Also, the pacing was great; if anything (for the above reasons), I would slow it down somewhat, if only to add even more evocation.
This gives me very Eldritch horror vibes; I absolutely love it, and the fact that you infuse so many layers into your style.
You're descriptive writing is off the charts. Seriously. I can "see" and "smell." Truly amazing. I will admit, I'm not familiar with the Reddit format, so without your info in the critique request piece, I would not have figured out what was going on here.
It took me a couple of paragraphs to really understand what was happening but when I got it I was totally pulled into the story. I really believe that horror works better in a longer form but, that being said, I think that this story works very well. Your descriptive voice is a pleasure to read.
I had to read this through twice to begin to get the sense of what you were quite brilliantly going for here--& that was after reading your request for critique, lol. I'm not sure how long it would have taken for it to sink in had I not read what you said when introducing it to us. As to length, not that it couldn't be longer, but the short version makes it feel a little like Poe, a bit cryptic & unsettling, leaving us not quite sure what is going on, forcing us either to abandon making any sense of it or to return to it over & over again. As to thriller or horror, I think it could be either. It depends upon how one reads it & if it ever leaks off the page to affect/infect not only the MC/narrator but the reader as well. Thriller--it's mostly about what happens to the MC. Horror--that ink begins to bleed into our veins. This is my first encounter with the Reddit frame narrative. It took me a bit to begin to understand what was going on--which is okay, especially since I'm usually pretty slow on the uptake--but I would say it definitely works. As I indicated previously, the format is a big part of what forced me to go back & reread, to ponder over each section in order to decipher its meaning. For someone who wants a quick read & to be done with it, this may not work. For someone who likes to be challenged by what they read, this serves as a goldmine. They will long treasure & return to this.
First- thanks for the content warning! ☺️ Second- geeeez you are good at this descriptive and scary stuff!! 🤯
This was a very eery and engaging story Mackenzie! It had vivid imagery and extraordinary symbolism embedded within the fibres of its plot! I am both creeped out and in awe of your story telling ability and descriptive language! Wonderful work!
She is an accumulation of suppressed grief. That line was very deep. I think everyone experiences that in one way or another. I loved your story so much!
I still haven't read the story but already am foretasting some real good stuff! Am I right?😄