Page 8 of Clutching Cthulhu’s Pearls (Time for Monsters)

Is it morning or night? How long have I suffered under Mr. Breyer’s whip? Blood runs down my face, so I can’t see the tiny window at the top of my cell. This isn’t my usual cell. I suspect the one beyond the nursery where I grew up is too close to Hairy, and they don’t wish for her to hear us. Her surprise at the impregnation lab tells me she had no idea about my siblings and me in the swamp. She also didn’t know about the other women…the women I killed with my eggs.

What’s more important than my misplaced guilt is whether or not Hairy knows the true nature of Mr. Breyers. Does she see past the kind mask he wears around humans? Does she know that he yells Bible verses at us and curses our births despite how he helped Leopold create us? His hatred burns more than the welts on my back. I’d strangle him with my bare hands if they weren’t tied within a foot of the ceiling.

“What are you?” He screams as the leather cracks. I’m sure it landed somewhere on my battered body, but I don’t feel the sting anymore. The welts on the bottom of my feet and tentacles will hurt the most as they heal, but it’s too soon for that. The cycle goes: beating on the ground, whipping while hanging, cutting in the chair, and back to the floor. His behavior is always the same…whether my infraction was small or great…or if I’m a hatchling or fully grown.

“A disgrace,” I mumble. My jaw hurts from the fistfight on the way to the cell. There’s a gurgling in my left ear, like when I forget to close the canals underwater, and a grinding when I talk.

“You aren’t one of God’s creatures, and you deserve to rot in hell!”

I must have misunderstood the Bible tales my mother read to me, because I thought you had to sin to rot in hell. In the nursery, she made sure we memorized the Ten Commandments, the Golden Rule, and all the ways to be good. Nowhere did she mention what made a creature God’s or not God’s except that he created everything. Mr. Breyer speaks in riddles, but I find if I repeat him, he stops hitting sooner.

“I’ll punish you on Earth for what you are, what Dr. Guett made you, and what you do to God-fearing women! Tell me you are guilty so you can be redeemed!” His brown eyes flash. His grey hair waves like a white flag, begging me to stop him.

I stay silent, gnashing my teeth together. Once I plead guilty, he will move to the next phase. I must keep him with me as long as possible. Even if I die in this room, Mr. Breyers must sate his lust for violence and anger at me here. He can’t be released until his temper is finished. If he got his hands on Hairy in her condition, he’d kill her and our young.

She’s too fragile for this. I will endure it for her.

“Don’t you seek redemption? Don’t you want to go to heaven anymore? Has the Devil taken you?” He punches me between each question.

I sway in my bonds. My eyes roll around, making the room spin. The effort to focus them is too much, despite the acid swishing in my guts.

“Don’t you dare release hell’s venom on me! You keep that poison inside your hideous self!”

I gulp, but my dry throat offers nothing to coat my insides.

“Why don’t you ask the Lord to save you?”

I glare at him through streams of red and spit at his feet.

“Because if you’re punishing me, it means my family is safe. I’d suffer your wrath for the rest of my days to keep you locked in hell with me.”

Harriett

“You find trouble wherever I put you,” Leopold scolds me as he kicks me awake.

My hair sticks to the floor, where I lie in a puddle of vomit. I stink of acidic filth. My naked body curls inward to hide from his too-observant eyes. He’s seen every inch of my flesh and witnessed my most private moments with Phin, but I’ve been domesticated to hide my nudity from men. Old habits get humans through the worst of trauma, so my feminine manners rush to the forefront of my brain. Plots of escape are shoved out of the way by shame at the state of me.

“You found your new home,” he sneers. “You will live in here once you earn it. For now, get up. I’ve telegraphed the World’s Fair commission to change my exhibit details. I expect their reply in the next few hours—probably with a request to see the state of my work in the flesh—your flesh in particular. This means you must look the part.”

He yanks me to a seated position by my elbow. My head lulls around on my shoulders. He must have drugged me again because I can’t seem to keep myself together. Clouds float into my thoughts when I try to focus. He’s talking, but I can’t make out the words. Do I want to know?

“Drag—Heavy—Dumb—Mess—” Leopold’s anger accelerates his words, which makes them harder to understand. What’s wrong with me?

“Did you drug me before you moved me? That was a dumb move,” I say, but my words come out in a groan. My lips struggle to make the shapes of the letters.

Oh no, this can’t be good. Leopold removed his shirt. Why did I ever yearn for his saggy, wrinkly body? Was it because he was the only man to give me attention? Was it my wanton desire, marital obligation, or selfish pride hiding the shame of him as my husband in name only? My mind is as foreign as someone else’s, so I have no answers.

He loops his arm under my knees with the other around my shoulders. I roll against him due to gravity, not any effort on my part. My cheek thumps against his chest. There’s a mole the size of a silver dollar inches from my nose, but I can’t turn my face away. He grunts and strains to lift me to no avail. Ironic, seeing as how he blamed my lack of curves for our chaste marriage. After three attempts, he drops me.

“Don’t make yourself heavy!” He grabs my hands and drags me. A screeching sound follows us as my sticky thighs catch on the smooth floor.

“Why am I like this?” My words are still a chorus of moans. Have I lost my ability to speak?

“Your dose is too high. Let me write that down,” he says, releasing my arms to notate my distress in his notebook. My body flops to the floor with a crack. “Dammit, you Dumb Dora, now you’re bleeding! Can’t you do anything right? Just lie there and don’t do anything stupid. Is that so hard?”

I can’t help it. I laugh. My torso shakes with the effort, but the humor blows the fog from my head. He drops me, but it’s my fault I’m bleeding…after he overdosed me on God knows what. My fragile psyche can’t handle the injustice, the absurdity, and the desperation of my situation. What can I do to help myself? Why did I wake on the floor in the first place?

Phin’s nursery. My future home if I don’t find Phin and escape.

Where will we go?

“Let’s try this,” Leopold says, shoving smelling salts under my nose. I try to pull away, but he locks me in a headlock until he’s satisfied. “Pupils finally constricted. You are a simple creature, aren’t you— barely conscious when fully alert. What a wonderful world you must live in with such a vapid mind.”

I let him jab at me because they are just words. The more compliant I am, the less likely he is to restrain or drug me. I know I’m bright, so I don’t need his affirmation. I’m not the one who craves outside validation. More suitors rejected me for the knowledge my father passed down to me than any of my other faults. Nobody wanted a female botanist…except Leopold. He told my father I’d work in the lab with him. I thought he lied, but I guess not. I started as his maid, and now, I’ve worked my way to his subject of study.

This time he lifts me from under my arms, and I can step my feet beneath me. I sway as I stand before him, but it’s better than plastered against his rubbery chest. Why was he ever the star of my fantasies? If I knew what lay beneath his clothes, I wouldn’t have bothered…or did I have a choice? I guess I did, because I chose Phin.

Phin, with his sweet, lipless smile and strong arms. He carried me like a blushing bride from the swamp to this dungeon. Trudging through the murky grounds, he didn’t wear shoes but never stumbled. His breath never labored on the journey. I know because I listened to the steady beating of his heart to calm my nerves. His bright green eyes and the love shining within them grounded me. Now I must endure whatever Leopold plans to save Phin .

One thing is certain, I’m proud of my choice of father for my children.

My shoulders thump against Leopold’s chest, popping my daydream of Phin like a soap bubble. As he walks forward, I must walk forward in lockstep or else get trampled. My arms swing in lazy arcs over his elbows as if I’m strolling through the gardens. Our heads bounce with the large steps, clanking at the temples. Our shadow is one of a two-headed monster, which I hope doesn’t inspire Leopold’s next round of experiments. I can’t let him splice my children and stitch them back together—no matter what births from me.

Leopold reaches for the door and throws it back with a ghastly grunt. The breeze throws my hair, which resettles in sicky clumps on our faces. Leopold spits when a clump lands in his mouth. I hope he tastes how vile I found his little dungeon/nursery setup. My skin prickles as I traverse his regular laboratory without clothes. A macabre kinship shines in the eyes of the hybrids in their cages as if they knew this would be my fate. Or perhaps they revel in my downfall to become what I’ve despised for years.

I gasp when he opens the door to the hallway. The audacity to walk naked through one’s house! Basking in the moonlight while using the shadows and tall reeds to preserve modesty is one thing. Trapsing around in broad daylight is quite another. How indecent!

How wonderful.

I’m free from the shackles of society. Why should I obey the insufferable housewife rules and roles if I can’t have the glitz and glamor of sidecar cocktails and speakeasy dancehalls? I’d strut to my private rooms if I didn’t want to keep Leopold unaware of my growing strength. My back arches to lean heavier onto him.

“Sleep it off,” he yells as he pushes me across the threshold of my bedroom. I fall to my hands and knees to play the part of the overdosed, delirious patient. “Tomorrow, you must look your best. I mean it, Harriett. Local scientists are visiting to inspect my findings on behalf of the World’s Fair Commission. You must be the shining assistant you were for your father…except without speaking. Yes, your role is the demure mother…like the silent vessel of feminine grace and charm. Can you do that?”

“Yes,” I croak, rubbing my belly to soothe my hatchlings. They’ve had a traumatic time in my care, but not for long. We must escape tonight before more people are involved in Leopold’s madness. If Leopold manages to ship off Phin and me to a city lab, I’ll never see my lover again. I may as well kiss our hatchlings goodbye, too. Once I birth them, I’ll be disposable.

How could I return to polite society knowing my family would be prodded and poked by civilized men for the rest of their lives? Or worse, what if they try to take the project from Leopold, and he kills us to prevent the transfer of proof? While the arrival of World’s Fair officials and God knows which scientists excite Leopold, I’m brimming with dread. I must get out of here, but where is Phin? Do I dare ask?

The lock clicks, barring my chance to ask. I crawl to my bed and pull my nightgown to the floor. With my weight on one end and my fingers gripping the other, I tear it into bandages. The locked door blocks my way to the bathroom for a proper bath, so the wash basin will have to do. My knees scream in agony as I balance on them. My dressing table never seemed so tall.

Water sloshes over the sides of the washbasin as I lower it to the floor. First things first, I rinse a bandage to lay against the wound on my head. Next, I’ll— Nope. Rational preparations are for tea parties and summer soirees. I dunk my head into the bowl and scrub my hair vigorously with my nails. The water is pink when I raise my dripping head.

At least I smell better.

I secure the wet tie beneath a few dry ones before securing the rest of my hair. Hopefully, Phin will think I’ve fashioned a turban instead of bandaged a wound. I can’t have him fighting with Leopold as I attempt to escape the house with him. My elbow has a gaping wound where a scab must have rubbed off when Leopold dragged me across the floor. I waste precious moments wrapping it so blood doesn’t accidentally seep through my blouse.

At my closet, I’m frozen with indecision. What does one wear when trying to flee for their lives? Do I wear durable leather? Lightweight linen? Maybe my most expensive dress in case I must sell it. Maybe my gardening trousers, to blend in with the people who live on river barges. My flapper dresses would attract too much attention, so I whisper my fingertips over them in farewell.

Clad in a billowing nightshirt and heavy gardening pants, I strip the bed. The duvet is too thick to be tied into my rope but will be the perfect landing pad, should I need one. With tentative touches, I ease the window open and chuck the fluffy quilt onto the ground. The hardest part is sliding the bed to the window without making enough noise to wake the dead. Every few inches, I pause and listen for approaching footsteps. If someone catches me, I’ll be strapped to that table for the next ten months.

I will incubate the eggs like a full-term human pregnancy, right?

Hurrah! My bedsheet rope ladder reaches the ground. The tip lightly grazes the top of the overgrown grasses. I don’t hesitate to swing one leg outside. Wrapping my rope around it, I’m ready to descend. Easy as pie.

By the time someone checks on me, I’ll be long gone…but what about Phin?