Dubiously Strange

There are things that natives to the Pacific Northwest grow up knowing as fact. Most of the towns have a name unpronounceable to man, but anyone born in the area can pronounce it with ease. Everyone knows someone who knows someone who has seen Sasquatch. When the sky is clear enough for to see Mount Rainer, which always seems to be looming too close on the horizon, people cheerfully say, “The Mountain is out today!” Sometimes the sun isn’t seen for weeks. These were things that Maeve Pryce learned as a child, but only after she was taught to listen to the stories told by bones found in the forest, and to run from the ones found near the sea. When she moved away from the peninsula a few years ago Maeve thought she was leaving behind the strange and unusual.

            Unfortunately, this wasn’t the case.

            Maeve remembered reading a blog from a search and rescue officer who recounted some of the strange things they discovered while combing the forest for missing persons. She briefly considered starting a blog of her own on all the things she was told to accept as fact as an officer of the Issaquah -pronounced ISS-uh-kwah- Police. During her ride-along as a fresh out of the academy rookie, Maeve was given a list of things that were odd but normal, and to take calls about them as a grain of salt. One of the things was every autumn someone would make a call about a scarecrow being placed in the fields of the abandoned Winterbrook Farm. All the neighbors deny doing it and accuse each other. No one talks about how the elk never go near it, but it’s always gone by the first day of winter. Maeve was instructed to treat it as a harmless prank. Another was that there is a man asleep outside of the community center. He’s always been there, according to officers who have retired 20 years ago. There’s also a woman who calls when she can’t hear anything at night. No coyotes. No deer. No distant trains. This particular story made Maeve the most uncomfortable.

            It was a Wednesday when the call came in. It had been days since it rained, but everything was damp. Code 372 calls, or found item calls, were typically all the same. Empty handbags, cellphones, drugs, even trash. So when dispatch called with a report of a trash bag left at a residence Maeve didn’t give it a second thought as she tapped the coordinates into the dash mounted GPS.

            “Dispatch, this is Officer Pryce 10-97 to that 372,” Maeve spoke into the radio clipped to her shoulder. “No sign of the caller. Over.”

            A persistent drizzle clung in tiny droplets to Maeve’s hair as soon as she stepped out of her patrol car. The scent of mildew and wet, rotting wood was heavy enough that Maeve could taste it.

            The garbled response of the dispatch officer crackled through, “10-4, Officer Pyrce. Over.”

            Many houses in Issaquah had fallen into states of disrepair that they looked like they were abandoned but it was actually quite rare. This was not the case for the small home Maeve stood in front of. It was a relic from when Issaquah was still a mining town. If Maeve had to guess, she would say it was left untouched for at least 30 years. At least until recently. The tall grass and brambles were trampled and broken leading to the door less frame of the front entrance. Tapping her index finger against the rounded corner of the radio Maeve chewed the inside of her cheek. She pivoted where she stood, twigs snapping underneath her boots. She scanned the tree line ahead, and the driveway behind in hopes of spotting whoever had made the call. The rainy drizzle damped her hair and stray strands stuck to her temples and forehead partially fueled her decision to investigate the item in question hidden somewhere in the single story house.

            Maeve clicked on her flashlight and stepped into the damp structure. Broken glass, dead leaves and other debris crunched under foot. To her left was a kitchen that might have been the envy of any 1950’s house wife. Once white painted cupboards and cabinets now grey with grime, and stretched across peeling yellow walls. Maeve leaned her head into the room, her mind conjuring up images of an apron clad mother moping the ugly forest green linoleum floor. Sweeping her flashlight around the room Maeve paused for a moment on the screen door, which was slightly ajar like the wood of the frame had become so swollen it no longer would shut.

            Cutting through the living room with cautious steps, she made her way through the main hallway at a slow pace, making sure to pause at the entrance of each room. The bathroom reeked of sewage and rotting plant life, making Maeve’s sinuses burn. The bathtub was full of framed photos. Holding her hand to back of her nose Maeve peered at the damaged images of landscapes, smiling families, and studio portraits. There were several more still buried, and Maeve couldn’t help but think every photo that had once been on display in this house was unceremoniously thrown into the tub. Somewhere in the back of her mind Maeve knew she was breaking more than one procedure on this call. Each step further into the abandoned house, weaving around forgotten tokens from families long gone, Maeve felt an unease settle upon her like the lead lined blanket you wear during an x-ray. The sort of unease that seeped into the bones.

            There were only two other rooms in the cramped hallway. One room had the door broken in and lay propped up against the dresser. Maeve stood on her tip-toes and craned her neck trying to see further inside through the small opening. It looked like the door had been barricaded from the inside. A shiver passed through her body making the hairs on her arms stand up. A sort of strange expectation settled deep in Maeve’s chest. The type of feeling you’d get when watching a horror film and you’re trying to guess when the jump scare is going to happen. She couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was inside, just out of sight. It took a lot of effort for Maeve to tear her eyes away and continue her search.

            The final room contained the trash bag in question. At least, that was what Maeve decided. Despite the disrepair of the house there was no trash neatly collected in bags. So through the opening provided by the door hanging by a single hinge, Maeve figured the overstuffed black garbage bag sitting among broken dry wall, dirt and dead foliage in the center of the room was what she was looking for. She approached it the same way she would have a snarling dog.

            Stories of strange and unusual occurrences during Maeve’s childhood were as common as skinned knees. Her young classmates would tease her for living in a witch’s house. Sometimes it was a haunted house, or a witch’s haunted house but Maeve knew even then that there was no use arguing against the truth. The lilac smoke from her grandmother’s smoke always twisted in impossible patterns.  Her great-aunt told her stories of her owning an enormous black hound that would focus its energy into lighting fires if it was not walked hourly. Her aunt Aria would give her warnings that seemed strange. Never own a knife without naming it. When walking in the woods don’t think of what is buried under your feet. Be wary of the fog. Strange things like that. Although Maeve would never question her Aunt’s advice, she would stand at the large window in the front room, staring out into the fog and wondered what it hid. Her grandmother would silently drift into the room then, as if sensing Maeve’s curious thoughts and say with a voice like gravel and smoke, “Don’t worry. The strange and unusual will make itself known to you.” Maeve was starkly reminded of this when she picked up the black garbage bag and it burst into a cascade of human teeth.

            “What the fuck?!” Maeve swore, each vowel stretched out as she took a startled step away from the waterfall of varying discolored ivory.

            From the torn opening poured hundreds, thousands of teeth. The sound was like an upturned rain stick. Thousands of small pebbles toppling over each other and the thorns inside the hollow husk of a cactus limb. Instead it was teeth bouncing off each other and the soiled carpet. The cacophonous sound filled the room until slowly trickling to a deafening silence. Maeve stood staring at the astounding size of the pile that had spilt forth on the floor before her. A sudden tightness took hold of her middle, like a large fist gripping her organs. In the light of the flashlight the teeth looked like they were all in various stages of decay. Swallowing against the dry lump in her throat Maeve reached into her back pocket and retrieved a pair of rubber medical gloves.

            “This is fine,” she lied in a whisper, pulling the gloves on with surprisingly steady fingers.

            Routines and protocols flashed in Maeve’s memory like projector slides. Did she treat the teeth like a decedent? Should she suspect foul play? Or should she assume this was just an improper disposal of medical waste? Maeve held her flashlight between her cheek and shoulder as she knelt beside the small sea of brown, black, and ivory nuggets. She gingerly poked through the teeth, brow furrowed as she swallowed dryly. Maeve knew nothing about human teeth. She knew that molars and wisdom teeth were large and flat, incisors were typically pointed and front teeth were sort of uniform in shape. As she traced through the tooth pile she felt like she was looking at the exact same tooth. A shudder wracked her whole body at the thought.

            Maeve swept the beam of the flash light around the room as she slowly pushed herself to her feet. Black mold crawled down the corners of the room from water stains on the ceiling. The walls were bare except for the ivy that had muscled its way in from the broken window, and the occasional dry wall patch. The room smelt sour. The beam of the flashlight fell on the closet door. The wooden frame was warped, and the sliding door were stuck at odd angles like someone tried to force it open. Just inside the dark interior the light reflected off the surface of a white trash bag. Pressed against the stretched plastic Maeve could see the painted faces of dolls. They were the type of baby doll head with the molded or painted hair, and some looked in pretty rough shape. Maeve pressed her lips into a thin line as she considered it. From where she stood in the center of the dank room she could see that the bag only contained heads.

            The first time Maeve visited an antique shop she was maybe three years old. She remembers pointing excitedly at the baby dolls sitting on small wooden doll furniture with their stubby limbs outstretched. She asked her grandmother why there was a store just for old things. Maeve remembers her grandmother smiling then, the slow smile of a woman who has seen otherworldly things, and saying, “Because things that hold so many memories always have space for a few more secrets.” The memory left as quickly as it resurfaced, and Maeve had to force her gaze away from painted lifeless eyes staring at her through the plastic membrane.

            Pulling a small notepad and pen from one of the inside pockets of her jacket, Maeve began to jot down the details of her discovery. The trampled grass, the dead leaves in the hallway, the teeth, the doll heads. She never had a good memory for addresses so she circled the words “check GPS” three times. After snapping a picture of the room with her cellphone she carefully stepped in hallway. Despite it being midday the house had grown dark. Through the broken windows and open front door Maeve could hear rain. The house felt different from when she first stepped in. There was a sadness that hung heavy, like it was full of homesick ghosts. The feeling that set Maeve’s teeth on edge before had intensified. The house didn’t feel sad anymore.

            Maeve had almost reached the front door when she heard it. The crunch of broken glass under foot following a door falling shut. Hackles rising Maeve spun towards the sound, hand resting on the Taser holstered to her belt.

            “Hello?” Maeve called into the kitchen she now found herself staring into. Her voice was steady despite the fast pace of her blood thrumming through her veins “I’m Officer Pryce with the Issaquah police.”

            Her flashlight beam cut through the dust that kicked up from her movement as she took a cautious step into the kitchen. There a man wearing loose fitting jeans, and a thick coat with a hood that almost completely covered his face came into view standing near the battered screen door. At least, Maeve thought it was a man. He seemed longer than anyone she had ever seen before, like all his limbs had been stretched out, and he stood at an odd angle. Almost like his legs were stiff and uneven.

            “Sir,” Maeve kept her hand over the Taser as she spoke. “Did you report the found item?”

            Her intuition screamed that he, it, didn’t. Her intuition screamed for her to flee, to seek refuge in the forest, that she would be safe there like she had been so many times before. Maeve desperately wanted to leave the strange and unusual behind with her grandmother and her aunts, the reason she became a police officer. She forced herself to ignore her intuition. She tried to convince herself that this was a totally normal, run of the mill weirdo.

            When the man did not answer, Maeve nodding in the direction of front door, “Why don’t we talk outside?”

            That’s when he spoke.

            “What does it look like when the heart pumps blood?”

            The voice that asked the question sounded like it could be from a real person, but also sounded like something trying really hard to sound natural. Like the voice of an AI, but warmer. Ice covered every inch of Maeve’s skin.

            “What did you say?” her voice cracked with the shock from his question.

            The man, thing, raised its arms. The fingers on the hands bent the wrong way and looked sharp, like the skin was pulled tight against the bone. Maeve dropped her flashlight as she pulled out her Taser. She didn’t know how or when he lunged but her body acted on instinct. Maeve drove the Taser with a solid fist into the man’s solar plexus. In the split second it took her to press the button to send 50,000 volts ricocheting through his system, his flesh gave way like thrusting your fist into dough. The shock made Maeve hesitate, her eyes going impossibly wide as she felt his ribs shift and enclose her hand, almost like his ribcage was trying to bite her. The abnormally sharp bone against her skin made Maeve squeeze the Taser with a shriek. It was a sound Maeve had never made in her life, and one she knew she would never forget.

            The man released Maeve as a strange gurgle erupted from his lips, and he fell to the floor. Maeve dropped the Taser as she hastily checked her hand for any cuts or marks. Angry welts had already started to form, and there was a small hole ripped in the sleeve of her jacket. Fight or flight instinct blared like storm sirens and she dashed to the front door, nearly tripping over the bunched up rug. She needed to get out, away from this whole situation. She had to call for back up. She gripped the door frame as she suddenly felt out of breath.

            “T-this is Officer Pryce, I need immediate back up at that 372!” shouted Maeve into the radio.

            The voice that responded was different than before, a sharp edge of anxiety to the words spoken, “Copy, Officer Pryce. What the hell is happening?”

            Maeve wanted to say it was going to shit. Instead she blurted out, “I have a suspect incapacitated in the kitchen!”

            Sharp cracking and loud pops filled Maeve’s right ear and her head snapped toward the kitchen. She had forgotten to handcuff him. The dispatch officer was asking something but Maeve was already running back into the kitchen swearing loudly. The screen door banged shut, the sound echoing around the empty kitchen. Maeve drew her pistol as she wrenched the door open. She was fully prepared to chase after him, she had even ran a few feet until she saw how he moved. How many limbs he had. With her blood rushing in her ears Maeve stopped. The rain soaked her immediately.

            Inside her pocket she felt her phone vibrate. The dispatch officer continued to shout urgently as Maeve fished her phone from her pocket. The message was from her Grandmother.

            It read, “There is no distance you can go that the strange and unusual will not find you.”

            Maeve turned her face to the sky and shut her eyes. She knew better than to argue with fact.