The raven circled the barren tree tops like a black rag against the sky. It cried once and its friend replied from a distant mountain.

  Micah slammed his shovel into the soil with both hands, penetrating a layer of bruised leaves.After a while his shovel hit something hard. The breeze chilled the sweat on his brow. He crouched and began removing the soil with cupped hands.

  The brownish dome was unearthed first, then the sockets.

  “Hello,” whispered Micah.

  He traced the shape of the skull with his fingers. He dug underneath, freed it from the ground and raised it to his face. A warm tingle ran below his navel. The skull had once had a pretty face on it. It had carried her soul. Her petite nose had covered the tear-drop hollows of the nostrils. Her lips had hidden the teeth, now earth-cracked and rugged.

  Keeping the skull in one hand, he pulled a creased Polaroid from his pocket. A warm bulge throbbed in his jeans.

  She came out from the dirty folds of the photo.

  Micah set the skull on the ground. His eyes focused on the photo. Her pallid shape beside the tree. Her face contorted in a frozen scream. Her breasts resting against her stomach, thighs askew, unveiling a bloody bush.

  Micah placed his thumb on the image of her severed arm. He opened his fly. The zipper’s teeth caught his pubic hairs and bit some off. Cold wind licked the tip of his erection. He began to pound his clenched hand back and forth. He felt like he was in free fall. His penis had been growing lately; it seemed to enlarge each time he and Mama took another girl.

  with every girl he and Mama had taken.

  His muscles spasmed. He closed his eyes as his hand pumped in rapid fire. The free fall came to its end, and almost hurt.

  Gasping, Micah looked down. The skull was now coated with sticky strands. His hand and the tip of his organ glistened.

  He tucked himself back into his pants, wiped his hand on his trousers, and looked around. The burning urge remained inside him, even stronger now. He crouched closer to the skull and peered at the mess he had made. A raven cawed from above as if it knew what was going on, why he suddenly felt so different.

  ***

  The camper was parked behind a hill on an old logger road. Micah returned to the vehicle and placed the skull carefully on the passenger seat. He looked down the aisle and into the back of the camper where the coffin lay. Rasping sounds came from within it. Mama had been growing restless these last few days, awakening before sundown. This night she came out early.

  Micah was seated by the table picking mud from under his fingernails with a hunting knife when she emerged. When he saw the wooden hatch being pushed up he sealed the covers on the window behind him, cutting off the blood-red sunset. The interior turned dark.

  One of Mama’s milky legs stretched out of the coffin. Her skin shone in the gloom. She grasped the sides of the coffin, and the vessel became like a dark maw spitting out the rest of her. She sat naked on the edge, her eyes hidden by raven hair impossible to delineate from the dark. Her lips opened in dry silence. She strode over to Micah.

  Micah rested his knife on the table. Mama sniffed the air and glanced into the front of the vehicle. Her eyes rested on the skull on the passenger seat. Micah patted the pocket of his jacket for the reassuring feeling of the Polaroid hidden inside. He felt as if invisible hands had wrapped around his throat. He swallowed, trying to dispel the sensation.

  Mama leaned toward him. Her blue-veined breasts dangled in his face. She grabbed his hair and yanked his head sideways. Micah screamed. Mama eased her grip, but didn’t let go. She forced his mouth onto her tit. Micah hesitated, then started to suck.

  “My little boy,” said Mama.

  Micah pressed closer and suckled like a hungry puppy.

  Mama played with his hair tenderly now. “They want to hurt us. All of them. Unless you want us to die, you gotta understand.”

  Micah let the warm milk gather in his mouth before swallowing. A sense of comfort washed over him as he savored the final drops.

  Mama clicked her tongue and brushed Micah’s head with her palm. “My little ghoul,” she whispered. “Are you ready to leave?”

  Micah nodded. He wiped his mouth on his moth-eaten sleeve, tasting dust.

  Mama walked into the front cabin and removed the covers from the windshield. Pale moonlight fell on her skin. Micah sat behind the wheel and reached for the keys, but Mama grasped his wrist before he could turn over the engine.

  “I am starving,” she said. “Feed me first.”

  Micah went to the kitchenette and took a white metallic box from a cabinet. The box clanged against the burner as he set it down. The hinges creaked as he opened it. There were only a handful of syringes left, shiny in their plastic wrapping.

  “We’re almost out of them,” he said.

  Micah tore a syringe from its wrapping and pulled the plastic cap off the needle. Mama watched him expectantly from the cabin, licking her cracked lips and scratching her sides. “Can’t go on like this. I’m starving, getting weaker.”

  Micah approached with the syringe between his teeth and a rubber tourniquet around his arm. He squeezed his fingers into a fist to pop his veins.

  The sight of the syringe made Mama smile. Micah sat next to her with his bare arm braced atop his knee. He positioned the needle above a bulging vein, and prepared himself for a sensation of pain he’d never grown accustomed to.

  Mama grasped his wrist. “Please, let me.”

  He gave her the syringe. A chill ran down his back. He gazed at the moon’s pitted skin and began to drift away, until a sting pulled him back into the moment.

  Mama shivered at the sight of his blood steadily filling the chamber. Once it was full she pulled the needle out. A single drop escaped and ran down his forearm. Mama leaned in and ran her tongue across his arm to lick the rivulet up.

  “Never let anything go to waste,” she said.

  Mama always did as she taught. Theirs was the life of the ravens. Everything had its use.

  She squirted the blood into her mouth as if taking a shot of liquor. Micah ignited the motor and waited for directions. The headlights came on and joined the glow of the moonbeams on the bleak woods.

  “You remember the cabins from two winters ago?” Mama asked.

  Micah nodded.

  “Let’s pay a visit to that couple who passed us the other night,” Mama said. “I’m tired of these worn whores.” She tossed the skull off the passenger seat. Micah watched it roll down the aisle and come to rest against Mama’s coffin, which still loomed open, like a dark maw ready to devour.

  “You’ll get enough bones of your own one day,” said Mama. “Enough to build a house!”

  She tickled his ribs with a spider-like hand, then withdrew to the back of the camper to leaf through her photo album. Micah slid the polaroid from his pocket for a peek at the dead girl’s tits. His pants grew tighter as his penis stiffened. He tucked the photo away and gripped the wheel. The silhouette of a raven crossed the moon’s gaunt face. Two more followed, winging their way towards the mountains.

  ***

  Mike slammed his hand on the screaming digital clock beside the bed. The alarm died and the blazing red digits blacked out for a moment. He yawned and pulled the blanket back over his chest. Lily rolled over beside him and packed herself against his side.

  Mike looked up at the log-built ceiling and smelled the fresh wilderness beyond the cabin.

  “Good to be out of the city,” he said.

  His last word became a yawn. He stretched, muscles still tight from two days spent hunched behind the wheel. But while his body felt stiff, his mind felt anything but. Hours of watching cities and roads stream by his window had cut his head loose from torturous schedules and the burden of managing his mother’s affairs. He hadn’t slept this easy in months.

  Lily blinked in the morning light and ran her fingers down his chest. “It’s the change alone,” she said, as though she’d been reading his mind. “Sometimes we need a change to see what’s important.”

  “Which is?” He asked.

  “This.” She snuggled her face into his neck and slid her silken leg over his until she was pressing down on top of him. “Here and now.”

  “I kinda like where this is heading.” Mike caressed her hips. Lily kissed him and yanked his underwear down.

  During their drive to the cabin, Mike had wondered whether this was really the right time to pop the question. It was such a stressful period in their lives. He kept fidgeting with the ring in his pocket, as if he were afraid it would vanish into thin air, just like their relationship might. There were a thousand possible reasons things could go south. And yet, even after four years together, he and Lily were alright. Better than alright. Lily was the best thing that had ever happened to him. The best thing that kept happening to him, over and over again.

  Presently he decided: tonight was the night. Lily was the one for him, right here, right now. Holding out for perfection would only make him lose what he already had.

  ***

  Mike stopped to drink from his canteen and take in the sight of the woods. In the sun’s dying light the lake below glimmered like a golden abyss.

  “It’s funny, the way the mind works,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” said Lily.

  “Remember that woman we saw, on our way here through the woods? Well, for a second, when I saw her, I had this sharp, sinking feeling, like something had happened - something with Mom. And I thought, what if that’s her ghost, appearing to me?”

  Lily took his hand in hers. “Mike, you gotta stop blaming yourself. Stop worrying. Things just happen, that’s life.”

  Mike let her words sink in and felt some of the stress drain away.

  She leaned her head against his shoulder. “Whatever happens, you’ve taken good care of her, just like you’ve taken good care of me.”

  “I take good care of you, huh? Like this morning?” He gave Lily’s bottom a pinch.

  She laughed and folded her arms around him. “Let me guess, you’re gonna take care of me tonight, too?”

  He gave her nose a soft bite. “As these mountains are my witness.”

  “Okay, soldier. Lead me home.” Despite her words she led him down a steep trail which provided the quickest route back to the cabin. Aware he was watching her, she jiggled her butt and received a welcome slap in response.

  By the time they got back dusk had settled upon the still lake, and only the golden shards of the mountainside remained of the passing day. Lily bypassed the cabin and walked straight to the dock at the edge of the lake. She stripped off, adding her naked form to the landscape.

  “Wanna join me?” she said.

  “Sure.” He nodded towards the dark cabin. “I’ll just go get our towels and put the lights on.”

  “That stuff can wait. Come on!”

  She ran up the creaking steps onto the jetty. Mike turned and headed towards the cabin nonetheless. He had something that couldn’t wait. His fingers were aching to get hold of the engagement ring. Lily was right - he worried too much. But it was time to stop worrying, and start living.

  He heard a splash behind him as Lily dove headfirst into the water, but he didn’t turn. Instead he quickened his pace toward the cabin in the mountain’s long shadow.

  Lily resurfaced and looked at the rugged woods sloping from the mountain to the edge of the lake. From the water level everything was radiant with the blue of evening. Banks of mist hung over the water. The wet hair covering her ears muffled everything, but she could still make out the sound of her name being called behind her.

  “Lily!”

  She turned toward the dock, where Mike was crouched, waving her over with frantic movements. His expression was hard to make out in the dim light, but there was something about it which made her unsettled. She swam toward him, his beckoning hand saying faster, faster! She reached the dock and brushed her wet hair from her ears to hear him clearly.

  “There’s a boy,” he said, as Lily began to pull herself out of the water.

  “What do you mean, a boy?”

  “In the cabin. Come up, now.” Mike helped her onto the dock, then turned, as if sensing something she couldn’t see.

  An explosion ripped the night apart. Lily flinched. Her ears hissed in the aftermath.

  Mike twitched and fell backward, striking his skull against the dock beside her feet.

  Lily saw - a boy? - at the base of the dock, his face shaded by a hooded raincoat. He aimed a handgun at Mike, even though Mike was already on the ground, so still, his expression frozen, his eyes open on a living nightmare from which he would never awake.

  ***

  The woman stood handcuffed to a stout wooden pillar in the center of the cabin. Her tear-streaked features shone beneath a dirty light bulb which cast deep shadows under her chin and breasts. Micah circled around her, watching her through the Polaroid camera.

  “What are you doing?” she gasped.

  The question compelled Micah to lower the camera. For a moment his naked eyes met hers. Then he raised the Polaroid back to his face and zoomed in on her breasts by slowly stepping closer.

  “Why?” she asked.

  Micah said nothing. Heat flushed his face.

  “Why’d you do that to him?” she asked.

  Micah remained silent and peered at her through the Polaroid, moving his gaze up and down her body. Every detail of her skin burned his insides, inviting him to touch her - but he didn’t. He wanted to photograph her, to collect every detail of her - but he couldn’t. He’d run out of film if he started shooting before Mama arrived. But perhaps just one -

  He snapped a single image of her crying face. Her grief made it impossible for him to memorialize her beauty in any other way.

  All at once a sense of disquiet rose up in Micah, stemming from a feeling he couldn’t - wouldn’t - bring himself to articulate. He fled from the cabin. Her scream followed him, then died behind the wall.

  “She’s gorgeous.”

  The sound of Mama’s voice shrank Micah’s heart. She walked from darkness into moonlight, her ribcage drawn with stark shadows on her sides. Soil rustled as she dragged her favorite scythe alongside her, its blade plowing a furrow in her wake.

  “The male?” she asked.

  Micah fidgeted with the camera hanging by a strap from his neck.

  “Dead,” he said. “Shot him.”

  He placed a finger on his chest to mark the spot where he’d shot the man, though he couldn’t be sure of the exact location of the wound. The moment of the shooting was hazy, now that he tried to recall it. A foggy stretch until the details of the woman’s body were seen through the camera. He felt distant from himself. Strange and unfit inside his chest.

  Mama hefted the blade onto her shoulder, holding it with both hands like she was about to hit a baseball. Micah placed his finger on the Polaroid’s trigger, but almost couldn’t feel it. He followed Mama into the cabin and raised the viewfinder to his eye.

  The woman was struggling to escape her bonds. With a flash Micah caught the terrified first contact between her and Mama. The camera buzzed and spat the photograph on the floor.

  The camera flashed again as Mama’s blade came down and sliced so deep it almost cut the woman’s left arm off.

  Blood gushed. The woman screamed. A third flash found her struggling so hard against her bonds the strip of flesh connecting her wounded arm to her trunk began to rip.

  Mama hefted the blade and took a swing at the woman’s uninjured side. Her right arm came off just below the shoulder and fell to the floor in a shower of red. Mama’s blade bit deep into the pillar and stuck there.

  Micah took the woman’s picture again. Agony had twisted her features; she barely looked human anymore. She let out an animal scream and fled towards the cabin door. Her severed arm trailed after her, still handcuffed to the other.

  “Get her!” Mama screamed as she tried to wrench her blade from the pillar.

  Micah dropped the Polaroid and let it dangle from the neck strap as he gave chase. He was halfway across the room when he slipped on the blood-splattered floor and fell to one knee. As he went down he reached out and grabbed the woman’s severed arm as it trailed after her like a pet on a leash. The woman didn’t stop, not even when the slack on the handcuff chain ran out.

  For a moment the strip of flesh tethering her half-severed arm to her trunk grew taut; then it stretched and snapped like cheap leather. Micah found himself holding a pair of severed arms bound by handcuffs. He watched as the woman, still running, tore through the doorway and into the darkness beyond.

  Micah leapt up and followed the woman outside. She wasn’t screaming anymore. She lay face-down and motionless with blood gushing from her stumps. Micah straddled her legs; his hands slid across her bloody skin as he turned her onto her back. Mama emerged from the cabin with her blade hoisted; her shadow fell upon them like an image of the reaper descending.

  The woman was still alive, but barely. Her wide eyes stared up at Micah. He looked away and realized his hands were on her breasts. The woman twitched. Whether she sought to welcome death or somehow escape it, Micah didn’t know. He only grasped tighter, feeling her hard nipples against his palms.

  Intense heat surged into his crotch. He moaned as his pants filled with stickiness. He sank into a fetal position beside the woman, who stared into his eyes. Her body moved, not because she willed it to, but because Mama’s blade was in her belly, carving her deep enough to feed the earth with her entrails. Micah’s bliss turned to sickness. For a moment he hoped the woman would wake. The northern wind blew across his face, indifferent to who it licked.

 

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