Switchers
click, clack, click, clack
Holly watched Laura’s face as she slept. The purple birthmark in the shape of Alaska just above her right eye was the same as her own; it was like watching herself sleep. But why Laura was able to sleep soundly, while Holly was cursed with insomnia, nobody knew. The doctor suggested that amber-colored light before bed might help to stimulate her melatonin production, so her mother placed special nightlights throughout the room, but it didn’t help. Holly was always tired.
At 3 a.m., a light came on in the hallway. Holly watched through the crack in the door as a shadow moved down the hall. Perhaps this was her father getting ready for his morning run, she thought, although 3 a.m. was pretty early to be up. The door creaked open; Holly closed her eyes and pretended to sleep.
Why was her father wearing boots? She squinted, letting in just enough of the scene to conclude the boots were not her father’s—they weren’t boots at all—it was the sound of hoofs click-clacking on the wooden floors. Holly silently gasped and covered her mouth in horror as a creature slipped into the room, its quills making a soft rustling noise as they brushed against the doorframe. Large black eyes surveyed its surroundings.
Laura breathed steadily and did not wake.
The creature’s limbs, which were long and stick-like, reminded Holly of an animal they’d been studying in school called the Spider Crab. Its arms extended well beyond a range that made sense, and when it lifted a picture of a horse from one end of the room and hung the picture on a wall on the opposite side of the room, she thought she might die of fright. But just when Holly was on the verge of screaming out in terror, the creature left, moving slowly down the hallway with a click, clack, click, clack until the silence amplified her five-year-old heart, which beat terrifically.
Her sister Laura did not wake.
In the morning, Holly told her family what had happened, but they dismissed it as a symptom of insomnia. She pulled her father by the arm and pointed up to the wall where the picture hung. “Look!” she said.
“What?”
“It was on the other side before!”
“Maybe you did that in your sleep. Sleeping disorders often—”
“No! I saw it do this!”
“Let’s just finish our breakfast. You have school in half an hour.”
At school, the teacher asked if everyone had had a nice weekend. Most of the kids said yes. Holly raised her hand to tell the class about her terrible night, but then a boy named Brodie yelled, “I saw monsters!”
Holly felt a weight lifted from her. It wasn’t in my head, she thought.
Brodie continued, “Last night, these things came into my room. They took my cat and left two cats in her place.” Brodie started crying. “My parents think I traded her for two cats! I just want Ginny back!”
The teacher and the class tried to console Brodie.
“I saw it, too,” said Holly. “But they just moved a picture of a horse I drew from one end of my room to the other.”
“Holly, now isn’t the time,” said the teacher.
Laura looked at her peas with disgust, as did Holly.
“Why are they so green?” asked Laura.
“That’s what color peas are,” said their mother.
“But last week they weren’t this green,” said Holly.
“Last week, they were in a casserole, so they were cooked differently. Today, they were cooked in a pan with a little wine, garlic, and onions.”
“We’re not old enough for wine,” said Laura. “I don’t want to be drunk.”
Their father laughed and looked over his paper. “You won’t get drunk. It cooks off,” he said, then continued reading.
“Interesting,” said father.
“What?” said mother.
“Well, it says here a certain politician—who shall not be named—dropped out of the race.”
“No fuc—I mean, no way!” said mother.
“Yes! And more than this….” His eyes moved down the paper excitedly. “He’s confessed.”
“To what?” She was on her feet now, staring at their father in disbelief.
“To everything,” he said, handing the paper to their mother.
Holly and Laura didn’t know what was going on, but they giggled at their parent’s reaction. The peas tasted better now that they knew there was wine in them.
“I feel drunk,” said Laura.
“Me too!” said Holly.
That night, Holly slept soundly for over an hour, but the next morning, her sister’s eyes, which were normally green, were brown.
“Your eyes,” Holly said. “They’re brown.”
Laura rubbed her eyes, yawned, and said, “Our eyes?”
Holly ran to the mirror and looked at herself. She had brown eyes, too.
“Maybe they’re cooked differently today?” she said.
Heya, friends! Here is some weirdo flash I wrote over the weekend. I was laying in bed thinking about how scary it would be to wake up in the morning to find a piece of art had been moved, and that thought led me to larger topics. Anyway, I think I’m drunk from those wine-peas.
How do you see the world today?
Love - Seany.
Cooked differently…I’m screaming inside! This was a subtle little infiltrator, and now it’s in my head. How am I supposed to sleep tonight?
Oh man, I love this so much! I love how subtle the weirdness is here. It sort of creeps in little by little, then ramps up quickly right there at the end. Perfection.