Songzi and Storm

Songzi knelt on the hilltop, face upturned. The moon, an egg nestled in the clouded sky, threatened to crack at any moment — to spill the life that burgeoned within. As its image reflected in her dark eyes, the girl’s hand crept across her stomach. Baby pink nails curled inwards like a shovel, itching to scoop out what lay within. 

This was where she came to think; where the wind whipped the black spikes of her hair, the ocean churned on the rocks far below, and spirits lurked in the building behind, whispering tension into her words. 

Gossamer veil

of moonbeams, sifting,

limning the sail, 

of a ghost boat, drifting,

trapped in a jail 

of water, lifting,

surging, teasing, ever shifting. 

Starlight stares,

but lends no hand,

as screams blare,

so far from land.

The moon, so fair,

is a two–faced sham,

As… 

…sailors sink to a grave of sand? …the ship splinters, oars unmanned? Songzi’s poem fizzled out in her head. It was all wrong. The retired quarantine station was a cemetery of the diseased, not the drowned. Besides, this hatred of nature was unlike her. Normally, she lay back in the grass, pondering light-hearted things like astrology and birth charts, but tonight? The moon leered, mocking her. It reminded her of her Taoist namesake: Songzi Niangniang, a lunar goddess of… of things she was not ready for.

She tried to rustle up a playful poem, something happy she could publish on her blog.

Cumulonimbus

accumulating nimbly.

Clouds hold hands, 

acrobats,

tumbling swiftly.

Rain in their wake,

the patter of applause,

falling on my face—

The thought gave her pause. Droplets whipped against her cheeks, likely smearing her makeup into a glittering Picasso. She should have checked the forecast.

Her lock screen lit up with an image of her boyfriend and herself at anime con, their conjoined hands forming a heart. She didn’t want to think about him or what she had to tell him. She couldn’t, because she was distracted by a notification in a glaring, yellow box:

SEVERE WEATHER WARNING.

High winds and flash flooding expected in Sydney over the next hour. Seek shelter. 

Eyes widening, Songzi shoved the device into her pocket and turned away from the headland. The abandoned hospital loomed before her. It crouched upon the clifftop as if it had crawled there, maw open and awaiting her entry. She swallowed. There was a reason her writing was so much richer in this place, with all the history that enswathed it. But there was also a reason they ran ghost tours here. With the wind picking up so swiftly that the already twisted limbs of the red gums bent backward, there wasn’t time to find shelter anywhere else. The trees groaned, urging her forward. As she fought through the brush, gales buffeting her frilled skirts into a sail, something swept against the back of her calf and she spun, catching only a flash of movement as it disappeared behind a trunk. With the momentum of her turn, she tripped over her loose laces and landed backwards on her hands, a rock slashing her bracelet. Coloured beads tumbled into the mud. 

“Who’s there?” she asked, throat tight as her eyes flickered between every hollow and crevice.

Thunder snarled in answer. Songzi staggered to her feet, leaving the remains of her childhood jewellery behind. 

She cried out as she was wrenched backward by a twig tangling with the ribbon in her hair. She snatched off her beanie and tucked it under her arm as she struggled to extricate herself, fumbling as footsteps grew louder behind her. As a ragged breath approached—

She gave up, snapped the entire branch off, and broke into a sprint as she cleared the treeline and made it to the grass. Only, her feet wouldn’t move fast enough. She ran as if in slow motion, with all the terrible impossibility of a dream, her feet sinking and sucking in the mud.

A piercing howl or scream — she wasn’t sure which — struck her ears, and she battled to outpace it, sobbing as, finally, her feet hit the steps and her fingers found the handles. She slammed the hospital door shut behind her. 

Songzi shivered, catching her breath. Had she really heard a shriek? Had it been the storm? The irrational fear of being followed gradually dissipated.

The drip,

drip,

drip,

of water falling from her sodden hair echoed through the rows of identical beds, sheets still starched and stark in the dark. 

Parasite within,

phantom behind,

stumble into the spirit shrine.

Rain–splattered skin,

storm–confined,

ghostly touches trace my spine.

She sniffled, dropping the branch she was still holding so she could slide off her once-rhinestone-studded, now-thoroughly-muddied boots. She placed a bare foot against the frigid tiles. Trying to distract herself from shaking, she inspected the beanie she had tucked away, finding the fabric drier than the rest of her. 

Ts–ts–ts–ts–ts.

She stilled. The wind whistling against the window panes was unnerving enough without the chattering hiss. Still, she turned, unable to ignore it.

Ts–ts–ts–ts–ts.

 Her eyes jumped to a mannequin adorned with a nurse’s uniform. The outfit, with its apron and bonnet, was almost like a white version of her own, with her gothic doll style. After a long, searching stare, she decided the plastic figure hadn’t moved.

Ts–ts–ts–ts–ts.

Finally, Songzi turned her attention to the source of the sound: the branch. Gingerly, she knelt before it. Under the glistening leaves, a small lump shivered. The creature’s fur lay flat and matted against its body, though its eyes were round and bright, pupils dilated with fear. It wasn’t until she saw the curl of white that she realised it was a ringtail possum. A baby, whose tiny claws gripped the twigs she had broken.

She swayed on her knees, torn between a pang of responsibility and a twinge of revulsion. 

“Where’s your mama?” she asked at arm’s length. The possum quieted for a moment, raising its nose to sniff in her direction. It extended a hesitant paw. 

Songzi’s eyes widened as she read its intention. “No, not me!” she squealed as it scampered towards her, leaping onto her skirt. She just managed to stop it from reaching her hair by enveloping it in the beanie. 

“Ugh.” She scrunched her nose as she felt it squirming within the make–shift pouch, but peeked in at it — at him, she realised.

“You’ve got to go back out there. I’m not keeping you, okay?” she whispered, pausing when she noticed a smear of red on the once-pink fabric. The marsupial favoured one paw, its miniscule fist clenched in pain.

Nuh–uh. She was not going to play nurse to a borderline rat. She considered opening the doors and shaking it out of her hat, but…

Well, they were in a hospital. It wasn’t his fault he was here, but hers. And it’s not like she had anything else to do while she waited for the downpour to pass… 

Sighing, she set the pouch and possum down on one of the beds and began canvassing for supplies. First, she untangled her ribbon from the branch; she could use that to bind the cut, since bandages would be far too large. 

Hmph. Her outfit was really deteriorating. Blush, bracelet, boots, bow, and beanie gone, she was left with only a studded belt for an accessory, ruining the balance of cutesy and edgy she had so carefully crafted this morning, back when such things seemed to matter — before she had taken that test… 

Not letting her mind wander, Songzi re–focused on the task at hand. She would need something more sterile than her ribbon to put against the baby’s cut. Rummaging through a dish of medical supplies, she found a piece of gauze. Storm — she supposed that was what she had named him — let out another cry. 

“Oh shush, I’m coming back,” she assured over her shoulder as she reached for a pair of scissors. But, as she snipped the dressing into a small square, her body was overcome with stillness. Inexplicably, she felt the presence of some other being in the room. Maybe that breath she had heard outside hadn’t been so imaginary…

A curtain rustled.

“Hell—” her tongue tripped on the word as she tucked the gauze into her pocket. “Hello?”

A hand fell on her shoulder. She whirled, screaming, but it was just the mannequin. Its plastic body clattered to the floor, face-down. The arm that had touched her splayed out.

A beat of silence followed. Had it — moved on its own? Had it been knocked over? White–knuckled, Songzi strangled the scissors in her grasp. With her left hand, she slid off her spiked belt, giving her the option of a short or long–range weapon.

Shadows flashed against the pillows, silhouettes cast by the wind-whipped branches outside.

A tray of scalpels overturned and scattered. Lightning flickered like strobe lights at a manic party, illuminating a blur of red. There were those footsteps again, swift and light, silencing for a moment as the creature jumped and landed on the bed.

The fox revealed itself. Teeth bared, it lunged for Storm. 

Songzi screamed. Without thinking, she lashed her belt at the attacker, catching it across the face. The beast yelped but didn’t back down, going again for its morsel. 

Songzi dropped the scissors and grabbed for the pouch. The fox’s teeth sunk into her hand, and she shrieked but ripped free, stuffing Storm down the front of her dress.

The fox snarled and leapt, but she reacted with instincts she had never had before. In one deft movement, Songzi wrapped her belt around its neck, pulling taught. She grunted as it fought against her, but she managed to loop the leather into a collar. The fox panted, unable to move as she dragged it by the neck to a bedpost, tying it down. With Storm against her chest, she ran to the second floor, locking them both in a room, in case their faux poltergeist got free. 

Blood dribbled from the punctures in her hand, but with the adrenalin, she felt no pain. Storm came first. His scratch still trickled. Gently, she wrapped the gauze and ribbon around the wound, grimacing in empathy as he winced. Finished, she tucked him back and got to work bandaging herself. As she did, she felt Storm wriggle himself into a comfortable position, until she could feel the flutter of his heartbeat against the pounding of hers.

Soon, there came a faint pop, pop, pop. Looking in, she realised he was sleeping — and snoring soundly, tiny paws outspread. Carefully, Songzi reached in a pinkie, touching it against his palm. Reflexively, his paw curled around her, as if he were holding her hand. Despite herself, she couldn’t help the smile that snuck across her lips. 

Songzi now knelt in a simple black dress. Moonbeams spilled over her, soft as milk. The window looked out onto the rooftop of the level below, the sky above becoming visible as the clouds cleared. 

I have finally heard 

all my hearts beat in sync:

A first, second… third

as mother moon winks.

Her luminous light

belaying my strife.

No longer too bright,

she fills me with life.

“Shhh,” Songzi hushed as Storm cried again. Only… he was still snoring. The sound wasn’t coming from him, but from outside. On the rooftop, a round shape toddled back and forth.

Hesitantly, Songzi cracked open the window. 

“Hey,” she whispered, and the larger possum stilled. “I think…” she drew the pouch from her chest, “I have something of yours.”

She gave Storm a tickle under the chin and his eyes blinked open. His ears pricked as he heard his mother’s cries. Uncertainly, he gave Songzi’s palm a lick. Her stomach twisted.

“It’s okay, go to her.” She scooped him out and set him on the rooftop. He ran to his ma, paws sinking into her fur, chomping onto a tuft for good grip.

The mother regarded Songzi for a moment, calling once more. The young woman nodded, happy to see mother and child together. The two possums turned and padded over the other side of the rooftop, disappearing against the backdrop of the moon. As its image reflected in her sparkling eyes, Songzi’s hand caressed her belly.