Chapter Text
Spinner ran down wobbly streets, past crooked houses with doors that had as much invitation as the gaping mouth of a beast did, her breath coming out in strained pants. If she were dead, didn’t she deserve not to lose her breath? It felt deeply unfair. Voices followed her, once sharp and melodic but now as tormenting as metal grates rubbing against raw skin.
“Minervaaaa! ~ come home, sweetheart!” the discordantly feminine sound called after her, chasing her with surprising speed and awfully good navigation. Spinner was stuck in a maze of mismatched alleys and streets, tripping on loose stones and bumping into walls when she missed sharp turns around the corners of walls, nerves so stale she couldn’t feel the way her hands clenched or splayed across walls, or how her body lurched forward every now and then, until the town stopped looking like home and started looking like Whistle instead—the town she’d gone to with her father, Billy and Boris after her accident—and after she’d ran through the wrong version of Whistle, she’d stepped right into Trifecta again, with its wider roads meant for carriages and wagons, running circles around the ruins that she barely recognized until she found the train station. The platform was stained with dark splotches and old glass, and it disturbed Spinner beyond screams. Memories were harder here. Harsher. Shrapnel.
You’re a stain on the world,
You always will be, Minerva,
You stupid little shadow of a girl.
Thoughts spiraled, flew into her in the form of darts thrown by men with wolfish smiles as the train station platform morphed into a saloon full of gawking faces and broken piano melodies. She finally felt zings of pain shoot up her arms and legs, fingers stinging with irregular whiplash as she shieled her head and neck, dashing past tables overturning to stop her, drinks and dishes, cards and poker chips, coins and whatever else flying towards her with determination she didn’t know objects could have. She’d burst out the door and right onto some train tracks, whipping her head in the direction of a train whistle right behind her. A steam engine blew past her, through her, as she glimpsed the inside mechanical work of it. Gears, cogs, chains, and pipes were the wind on her face until the train was gone and she was left frozen on the empty tracks in the middle of nowhere, with a maze of houses beyond her still.
At this rate, I’ll never leave. It was a jarring idea, and she desperately wanted to return it to whatever part of her mind it came from. Her heart pounded with the ghosted beat of fear, and she stumbled off the tracks to collapse into the rough grass running down the paths of the new piece of maze she was now trapped in. Lying on her back and catching breath she probably didn’t need anymore, she gazed up at the sky. It was lime green here, and directly above her was a large black void set in the place of the sun. Had that always been there? Was it following her? Is this why she couldn’t seem to hide anywhere? She didn’t know. Maybe she didn’t want to, either.
“There you are, Minerva!”
Spinner sat up so fast her hat didn’t come with her, and she didn’t need to look to know it was that scarecrow again, still dressed up in mom’s skin. She mustered whatever courage she could to stand and face the monster. Her voice shook as she spoke, glared as hard as she could at It, which was difficult considering it had changed into something else now, and Spinner’s hat was sitting on the ground, and not shielding her face like it always had before. It was less a scarecrow now and more like a mutated spider-dog, arms and legs stretched out so far that the burlap material looked ready to tear any second now, head small with rough blonde hair falling down the length of the long neck from the scalp, body twisted to stand like a dog, and extra bony limbs sticking out of the back, useless, seemingly existing for the sake of making anything else deeply uncomfortable as they dragged limply. The face was the worst. It hadn’t changed at all. Painted lips curled into a tiny, once recognizable smile, the nose sat in the middle of the face as always, and the eyes—dear God its eyes—watched Spinner with unnatural focus that made her shiver and squirm all the way inside to out. It was wearing a pale blue dress with white collar and hem, spotless despite the long chase Spinner had forced it to give after she started running.
“You don’t have the right to that name.” she said with as much defiance she could muster up, though it wavered almost instantly. She didn’t feel numb inside anymore; she was Spinner again, in a way.
“It’s just a name, Minerva, I can use it however I like.” It responded.
“It’s mine and I say you can’t say it!”
It clicked its tongue at her, perhaps a sign of irritation. “Such a fussy girl. Always fussy and difficult. Be a good girl, Minerva, for your daddy.” Its tone was too casual, too close to a melody made of things that spooked you in the night.
“Well, my dad ain’t here so I guess you’ll just have to wait until he does.” She said with snarky attitude. It was a wonder how she could manage to be anything but terrified right now.
“I guess we will, then.” It agreed. Spinner wasn’t sure if that was good or bad and was quick to decide when It reached out and snatched her, dragging her through the maze as she screamed and kicked.
“Such a child.” It tutted, unfazed by her behavior. “When your father arrives, he’ll handle your attitude, and then we’ll be a nice happy family again. Wouldn’t you want your mother happy, Minerva?”
“You’re not my mother!” she screamed at It. It didn’t stop, didn’t respond. It simply brought Spinner back through the maze, back to her house, and Spinner could only wonder how anything could find its way in this place so easily. She wasn’t about to ask, though. She was smarter than that.
I liked it better when I was alive. It was a quiet thought, and Spinner was surprised to think it. But it was the most reasonable thought she’d had in a long time.
It took her home and crawled in, the doorway stretching like thin rubber around Its haunches and limp limbs. It took Spinner up to her room and opened the door with much less struggle than Spinner had had earlier. Her room was only partially familiar. Some furniture was missing, and many items were warped or simply transparent, but the yellow flower wallpaper looked the same. It will always look the same. Spinner hated that wallpaper, always had. Her parents had finally torn it off and painted her room blue when she was eight.
“Be a good girl and wait here. your father will be home soon, then we’ll have dinner and be a family.”
“Why are you so obsessed with being a family?” Spinner couldn’t help but ask. It stared at her unblinking for a long time before answering.
“Because that’s what you want. Isn’t it?”
Is it? Did Spinner miss her mom? Yes of course. But asking if she missed mom was like asking if her eyes were still brown, and when the monster left, she investigated a small looking glass hanging on the wall over a dresser. Her eyes were a warm brown, like fresh soil, or like the small, chocolate birthday cake her mom made just for her when she was five years old.
Her eyes were still brown, and she still had mom’s scarf on, but her hat was gone, and she wept until she couldn’t no more.