Cicadas whine from their invisible hiding places in the trees. Claire repositions the standing fan so that it blows directly on her like a blast of static. She found the patio outlet this morning while she was sweeping grass off the cement, and now that’s it the middle of the afternoon she’s grateful. It really is noticeably cooler out here in the sea breeze than it is trapped inside Grammy’s house.
Claire has been in town for three days. Audrey’s driven her to the grocery store to buy a few toiletries she left at home, but Claire hasn’t had time to go swimming at the beach with her or really hang out. The chores Grammy mentioned on the first day take a lot more time than Grammy led her to believe. Already Claire has cleaned the house from top to bottom, in addition to cooking Grammy’s meals, helping her in and out of bed, and bringing her the little white pillbox three times a day. No wonder Grammy refused to hire a nurse. What she really wants is a maid.
At least Claire has this afternoon to herself. Finally.
She switches on her Walkman and arranges a sheet of stationery on the old encyclopedia she’s using to write on. She found the stationery in her bedroom, buried deep in the desk. It’s old, with swirls of blue flowers and a yellow tint to the paper. She thinks Josh will appreciate it. He likes old things.
Josh, she writes, leaving off the Dear because it sounds too girlfriend-y. I’ve been listening to the tape you gave me. It’s great! I really
She stops and lifts her head and stares out at the empty backyard, keeping one hand pressed against the stationery so it doesn’t blow away. The music doesn’t quite cover up the hum of the fan. She doesn’t know how to describe this music. She has to make it clear that she appreciates it, but not that she thinks it’s too heavy or dark (which she kind of does).
She turns back to her letter.
like the fourth song (“Prelude to Agony”). The lyrics really speak to me.
She reads over what she wrote and feels revolted. She scratches out speak to me, digging the pen in so deep, the words completely disappear.
captures what it’s like to
Claire sighs. She thought it would be easier to write to Josh, since then she could think about what she’s going to say before she says it, but it turns out that she thinks too much. Maybe she ought to call him. But then Grammy would ask about the charges, and she’d probably tell Claire’s mother about them, and it would be a whole big thing and just not worth it. Plus, what if Josh doesn’t want her calling anyway? Definitely not worth it, then.
The wind picks up, smelling of the sea. Claire can’t hear it over the music, but she can see it knocking the palm trees around. Something ripples in the grass—a shadow, a dark quick movement.
It stops.
That’s when Claire knows that it’s not some trick of her eye. She stays still, watching the dark spot in the grass. It’s too big to be a rat. A rabbit, maybe? A little thrill of excitement goes up her spine. She never sees wild animals in Houston. Well, not anything interesting, just birds and maybe a nutria if she goes to the park.
The shadow twitches again. Claire reaches down and turns off the cassette. She pushes her earphones down so they loop around the back of her neck. The fan pushes her hair away from her face.
Out in the grass, the shadow lifts its head.
At first Claire isn’t clear what she’s seeing. The head is reptilian, gray scales glittering in the sun. But it’s too big to be a lizard or a snake—
An alligator? Are there alligators around here?
She freezes. The excitement evaporates. She remembers a school trip she took last year, out to the Big Thicket, and how the guide warned them about alligators as they were racing down the banks to the river. “Don’t get too close,” he shouted over the shrieks and giggles of delight. “If you hear it hiss, you need to back away!”
Claire isn’t sure if she’s too close right now. Slowly, she gathers up the encyclopedia and her stationery and pen. Maybe she can dart inside and call animal control. Grammy probably won’t want an alligator in her backyard.
She stands up, moving slowly, not taking her eyes off the alligator.
It hisses.
Claire drops the encyclopedia. Her letter to Josh flutters across the patio.
And then the alligator stands up.
Those are the only words Claire has for it—the alligator stands up, on two hind legs, like a person.
It’s about two feet tall, its body covered in thick, glossy gray fur, the scales of its head scattering around its shoulders. A tail curls around its legs, flicking out at the end, catching the light of the sun.
A red scarf is draped around its neck.
Claire doesn’t move. She considers the possibility that she’s hallucinating. But then the creature lifts one hand, the fingers too long and curving in arthritically at the last joint. It points at Claire.
“Girl,” it says, in a low hissing voice.
Claire screams. Blind with panic, she runs into the house, where she slams the door shut and jams the lock into place. The window beside the door is still open, the wind stirring the curtains. She can see the creature—the monster—staring at her through the mosquito screen.
She shrieks again and bangs the window shut. The monster still stares at her. She knows she has to close off the rest of the house, but her fear has her rooted in place.
“What’s going on out here?” Grammy shambles into the kitchen, her hair mussed from her nap. “Screaming and carrying on—I need my rest.”
“Look!” Claire shouts, jabbing her finger at the window. “Look.”
Grammy doesn’t answer right away, and for one terrifying second Claire is certain that Grammy doesn’t see it, that she’s having a breakdown, that maybe this is the reason her parents shipped her out here, she’s having a breakdown and they know and don’t want to deal with it because it would interfere with their perfect, modern lives—
“Oh, hell,” Grammy says. “They aren’t supposed to get this close to town. You’ll need to call the exterminator.”
Silence.
“What?” says Claire.
Grammy inclines her head toward the window. “The monsters. Probably not the most accurate term, but it’s what we call ’em. They’re a nuisance around here. Not dangerous really, not unless you provoke them.” Grammy narrows her eyes at Claire. “You didn’t provoke it, did you?”
“I don’t—I don’t think so?”
Grammy peers out the window. “Oh, probably not. It’s just staring at the house. Damn things. Call the exterminator, they’ll come clear it out for us. The number’s next to the phone. I’m going back to my nap. My joints are hurting too much for this excitement. Wake me up when you’ve got dinner ready.” She moves to go back to her bedroom. Stops. Looks over her shoulder. In the sunlight her skin is chalky and pale. “You probably want to stay inside until the exterminator gets here. We try to keep our distance from the things.”
“Planning on it,” Claire says shakily.
Grammy nods and leaves the kitchen. Claire turns back to the window. The monster is where she left it, standing amidst the yellowed overgrown grass, swaying like it’s being blown by the wind. She stares a few moments longer, waiting for something to change. Waiting for something to make sense. Nothing does.
She goes to the kitchen phone.
A list of phone numbers is written on a piece of paper with an oil company’s logo plastered on the bottom, the handwriting faded and old. The exterminator is four numbers down.
Claire steals another glance at the monster. It’s still there. Hasn’t moved.
She dials. The phone rings two times.
“Hello, Alvarez Exterminators. How may I help you?” The woman on the other end sounds bored. Claire takes a deep breath.
“I have a, uh, a monster”—she cringes as she says it—“in my backyard and, uh, I was told to call—”
“How big is it?” the woman asks.
“What? Oh, I dunno, I—two feet, I guess?”
“Did it speak?”
“Um.” Claire leans up against the wall. She wonders if she fell asleep out in the heat and this is all some weird nightmare. “Yes? It pointed at me and said girl.”
The woman makes a clucking sound. “And the address?”
Claire tells her.
“Very well. I’ll have someone out there in about ten minutes.” She hangs up before Claire can say anything more.
For a moment, Claire listens to the dial tone, hoping it will wake her up. But it doesn’t.
She sets the phone back in the receiver. Then she goes to the window, and her heart leaps: The monster’s vanished. But no—after a second she sees that it’s just crouched down in the grass again. Her letter to Josh is still out there, her pen and papers scattered across the patio. She’ll have to start over. And figure out some way to tell him about the monsters that doesn’t make her sound insane.
She digs her nails into her palms, even though she doesn’t really think she’s dreaming. Her dreams are never this vivid. They tend to happen in black-and-white.
Claire closes the blinds. Then she goes around to all the other doors in the house and locks them. She turns on the TV with the sound down low so that it won’t disturb Grammy. There are only two stations out here, both local stations that crackle with static. Neither show anything interesting, but she leaves The Golden Girls on to have some noise in the house. Her head buzzes. She’s come to this house every other Christmas for the past seventeen years and not once has she seen a monster. Not even heard someone talk about them.
She thinks about her mother during those trips, fussing in the car as her father drove the family down the highway. Her brother would turn on his Walkman right away, but Claire didn’t always feel like listening to music, and sometimes she listened to her parents’ conversation instead. I hate going to this place, her mother would always say, flipping through the magazine in her lap. You know how it is.
Her father grunted in reply.
You know how it is. Claire always took that to mean that Indianola was dull and backward, a time capsule stuck in the 1960s. Or that her mother hated the way Grammy insulted their life in Houston, complaining that Claire’s mother had to be the breadwinner, that she didn’t have time to maintain a proper home.
But maybe her mother meant something else. Maybe she meant monsters.
Monsters her mother didn’t even bother to warn her about when she dropped Claire off. Although that would be like her, wouldn’t it? She was probably too wrapped up in some client or other to mention it.
Claire kicks at the ottoman sitting in front of the chair and it skitters across the room, just as the doorbell rings.
She switches off the TV and goes to answer it. She expects a middle-aged man in coveralls, or maybe a priest, but instead she finds a girl her own age, tall and pretty and brown-skinned, with tangled black hair and dark liner around her eyes. She holds a big metal cage.
“You called about a monster?” she asks.
“You’re the exterminator?” Claire blurts it out before she can stop herself.
“Yep. Julie Alvarez.” She holds out her free hand. Claire shakes it. Julie grins at her. “Did you just move in or something? Isn’t this Mrs. Sudek’s house?”
“I’m her granddaughter. I’m helping her out this summer.”
“Oh. Tight.” Julie shifts the cage from one hand to the other. “So where is it? Out back, I guess? I didn’t see anything when I drove up.” She jerks her thumb over her shoulder, toward a big white van with a plastic sculpture of a cockroach perched on top.
“Yeah. Out back. You can come through the house.” Claire holds the door open and Julie shrugs and walks in. She’s not wearing a uniform, just hot-pink shorts and a Nirvana T-shirt knotted at the waist. Not what Claire expected at all.
Claire leads her through the house. When they get to the kitchen, Claire opens up the window blinds, her heart pounding. The monster’s still out there, the scaly curve of its head poking out above the grass.
Julie sets the cage on the floor and presses one hand against the window, peering out. She gives a nod like this is all familiar to her. “And you said it spoke?” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a notepad. “Says here it called you girl?”
“That’s what I thought it sounded like…” Claire’s voice trails off. The way everyone, from Grammy to the receptionist on the phone to this girl Julie, is treating the monster like a normal everyday thing just convinces Claire further that she’s having a breakdown.
“No, that’s good.” Julie smiles at her again. It’s a nice smile, genuine and warm. Not like Audrey’s weird strained smile. Audrey. She didn’t say anything about monsters either. “If it can talk to you, that means I can talk to it. Should have it cleared out within the next few minutes.”
“It won’t hurt you, will it?”
Julie looks up at her. “We’ve got an arrangement.”
Claire doesn’t know what that means: Julie has an arrangement? Or the town does? Is that why no one’s ever said a word about the monsters to Claire before? But Julie doesn’t explain, only opens the door. Heat rushes in. Through the window, Claire sees the monster stick its head up.
“Hey there,” Julie calls out, swooping down to pick up the cage. She ambles outside and pulls the back door shut, but Claire can still hear her, her voice muffled and fuzzy. “You know you’re not supposed…” And then Julie moves too far away from the house, and her words become too indistinct.
Claire leans up against the window, her chest tight. Julie drops the cage in the grass. Stands with her hands on her hips. The monster lifts its head a little higher and bares its teeth. Claire tenses, certain the monster’s going to attack—but no, it’s only speaking.
Julie gestures at the cage. The monster stares at her. She crosses her arms over her chest, hitches her shoulders. Points at the cage again. The monster doesn’t move. She throws her hands up. Her voice raises, loud enough that certain tones seep through the window, but not so loud that Claire can make out what she’s saying. Claire realizes that she’s no longer frightened, exactly. She watches the window like she’s watching TV, with a morbid, confused fascination. Julie’s trying to negotiate with a monster, with some—animal. Claire doesn’t think there’s any way this can work, and yet it’s clear that Julie has done this before.
Julie crouches down in the grass. The monster perks up its head and tilts it at her. Julie slaps one hand down on the top of the cage. Points off into the distance. Shrugs.
And then, to Claire’s amazement, the monster trundles into the cage.
Julie closes the latch without any rush. She picks the cage up with one hand and sets it down on the patio. The monster’s curled up inside like a cat, head resting on its claw, staring forlornly off into the distance.
The door opens and Claire jumps away from the window.
“Christ, it’s hot out there.” Julie wipes her forehead. “Not much better in here, though. No offense.”
“My grandma doesn’t have air-conditioning.”
“Aw, suck.” Julie points her thumb toward outside. “Anyway, I got it. I’ll haul it off to the power plant. I’m not sure why it was down here. They aren’t supposed to come into town. Part of the deal, you know?” She shrugs.
Claire stares at her. She understands each individual word, but all strung together like that they become gibberish. Power plant? Deal?
Julie’s staring at her and frowning. Heat rushes into Claire’s cheeks. She looks down at her hands. Her heart’s beating a little too fast, even though she’s not scared anymore.
“You didn’t know, did you?” Julie says.
“What?” Claire looks up at her.
“About the monsters? You said you’re just here for the summer?” Julie shakes her head. “This stupid town. They expect everyone to just know when they pass the city limits.” She rolls her eyes.
Claire stares at her. “No,” she finally says. “No one ever told me anything. I mean, I’d been coming here for Christmas, and my mom grew up here—”
“Oh, well, it would’ve had to be Mrs. Sudek who tells you.” Julie shifts her weight from foot to foot, looking antsy and uncomfortable. “The farther you go from town, the more you forget.”
“Forget?” Claire stares at her.
“The monsters, yeah. I don’t know how it works. Just that people who leave, when they come back—we have to remind them. And no one does because everyone in this town’s an asshole.” She sighs. “Basically, we’ve got these monsters that live out in an old power plant on the edge of town. They’ve been here since forever, pretty much. Way back in the day they made a deal with the townspeople to stay on their own spot of land.”
“But—” Claire shakes her head, trying to piece everything together. “So they’re endemic? Just in Indianola?”
“Dunno,” Julie says. “Probably not, since they aren’t anywhere else around here.”
“So where did they come from? They had to come from somewhere!”
“Yeah, no one really knows. They’ve just sort of—always been here. That’s what my dad told me. Anyway. They aren’t supposed to come into town, but sometimes one of ’em disobeys. I’m authorized to round ’em up and take ’em back to the power plant.”
“Power plant,” Claire says slowly. “So…but…maybe that’s where they came from?”
“Nah, they moved there in the thirties, I’m pretty sure.” Julie shrugs. “No big deal. Makes it easy to stay away from them, you know?”
The world’s been invaded by dream logic. Monsters living at a power plant, people losing their memories. Were there monsters back in Houston, and Claire can’t remember them, now that she’s come here? She feels dizzy and sick. She wants to talk to Josh. He’d tell her the truth. He’d tell her if monsters were real or not.
“They shouldn’t bother you again.” Julie smiles. “And if they do, all you’ve got to do is give me a call.”
Claire nods. She thinks she might throw up. The world’s been uprooted. The rules are broken. She understands nothing.