Ike Hamill: Migrators

“Have you had it done?”

“Yes. You remember when I had my appendix out?”

“Kinda.”

“They did an MRI on me to make sure that it needed to come out. You really don’t feel anything.”

“I think I’ve seen it on TV,” Joe said. “What’s mom doing?”

“She’s starting the play,” Alan said. “It’s a big Halloween tradition around here, so we thought we’d give it a try. I’m not sure how scary it will be, but I guess we’ll all find out together. Just remember—I’m right here, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

“I don’t get scared very easily, Dad,” Joe said. “You and Mom jump more than I do when we watch movies.”

“This isn’t happening on TV, bud,” Alan said. He tried to smile.

Across the driveway, over near the bulkhead, Bob was standing just outside the line of borax, watching Liz work. She was crouched near the doors. Folded back like that, the doors looked like arms that wanted to gather Liz down the granite steps into the cellar to hold her in the dark. Liz chanted the strange syllables from the book. The sound swept over to Alan and Joe on the wind.

“Mom read that old book all day,” Joe said.

“Yeah?” Alan asked. His eyes were locked on the black hole that led down to the house’s cellar. The book said that the migrators would be visible during the process. Alan didn’t see anything.

“I slept a lot,” Joe said. “I’ve been so tired ever since those pancakes. Do you think there was something in them?”

“No,” Alan said. “I had the pancakes too.”

“What’s she doing?”

“The play—I told you,” Alan said.

“Yeah, but what is she doing?”

Liz backed away from the bulkhead. She held her hands in front of her and they were white—dusted with the borax. Her feet slid carelessly through the path of blood as she backed up. Her attention was focused on dead grass in front of her. The pace of her chants increased. The wind blew hard and shifted direction. It rattled the windows in the barn.

When Liz was about fifteen feet from the bulkhead, still backing up, she waved to Bob. He scattered some borax across the path leading from the bulkhead and then swung the doors shut. They banged closed with a metal finality. Liz stepped up to the asphalt.

Alan and Joe could hear the chanting clearly now. It sounded guttural and strange.

“Zy-enn al chook schoon deez oom khaloon,” Liz said.

I wonder if it matters what she’s saying , Alan wondered. Could those things really understand any language, or are they just animals?

Alan stood and leaned close to the screen wall. The things Liz was backing away from were invisible to him, but she certainly seemed to be focused on something.

“I’ll be right back, Joe,” Alan said. “You stay in here until I come get you, okay?”

“Sure,” Joe said.

The door squeaked as Alan pushed his way out. Liz continued her slow march backwards along the line of blood and between the boundaries of borax powder.

Bob approached. He had a box of Borax in his hand. It was one of the old boxes from the shop.

“Is it working?” Alan whispered to Bob.

Bob nodded.

“Come here,” Bob said. He pulled Alan right next to the borax path, so his toes were almost touching the line of powder across the asphalt. A gust of wind blew so strong that it almost shoved him over the line. Alan caught his balance. The borax didn’t seem perturbed by the wind at all.

“Now lean over and look down towards your wife,” Bob said.

Liz was still backing slowly towards the bonfire, chanting the phrases over and over. She was a few paces away from Alan and Bob.

Alan leaned over the borax, as Bob instructed. When his head crossed the plane of the powder line, he saw. He couldn’t imagine how Liz kept her sanity in the face of what she was staring at. Just inches from her outstretched hands, three of the migrators crept forward as she inched backwards. Their purple and yellow bruised bodies seemed to glow in the light from the barn. If they were to stand, they’d probably be as tall as a man, but they didn’t stand. They crawled across the ground on their hands and feet. Their elbows and shoulder blades made sharp points and the naked muscles of their buttocks were clenched. As they crept, they would raise a foot and silently swing it forward, even with their hands before putting it back down.

Liz kept chanting but glanced up at Alan. Her eyes were filled with terror.

At her glance, one of the creatures turned its faceless head back. Its body pivoted in an instant and it sprang towards Alan.

He jerked himself back. As soon as his face crossed the plane of borax, the creature was invisible again. He imagined its bruised body just on the other side of the line and he took a step backwards.

“Did you see them?” Bob asked.

Alan nodded.

“Why three?” Alan asked.

“They all came at once. We couldn’t separate off just one,” Bob said.

Down the path of blood, Liz backed through the circle of borax that surrounded the bonfire.

“We have to get ready to close the circle,” Bob said. He handed the box to Alan.

Alan wondered about the creature that had lunged at him—whether it had returned to its brothers. He wanted to ask Liz, but suspected that interrupting her concentration could lead to disaster.

“You ready with the fire?” Alan asked.

“Yes,” Bob said.

Bob moved quickly to the outside of the circle’s perimeter. When Liz reached the far side of the pile of wood—that’s when they were supposed to act. Alan got as close as he dared to the line of borax where the straight path ended and the circle around the bonfire began. He tore the top from the box. There was no need to conserve the powder once he drew this final line. The wind was blowing steadily from east to west. He would have to keep the top of the box very close to the ground to make an unbroken line.

Liz was almost in place.

Bob lit his torch. It was a long stick with an old shirt tied to the end. They’d soaked the shirt in kerosene. It lit fast. The flame sputtered in the wind.

Liz found the other side of the pile of wood and backed up to it. The wind was in their favor. When the fire caught, the flames would blow away from her position. Still, with all the kerosene, she’d have to be careful.

“Go,” Bob said to Alan.

Alan clenched his teeth as he reached the box over the line of borax. It was his job to cut off access to the borax path and complete the circle of powder. This was the only way to contain the migrators. Without this line, they would just flee back down the path when Bob lit the fire. He began to shake the box. The powder blew in the wind. The gusts didn’t seem to disturb the lines on the ground, but between the box and the ground, the wind dispersed Alan’s effort. He reached his whole arm over the line to move the box even closer to the ground.

It was finally working. The powder was completing the circle. When the borax touched the line and extended it, it seemed to lock in. The borax locked in.

“Alan!” Liz yelled.

He looked up to see his wife looking over her shoulder. He didn’t see anything. He kept pouring.

The pain hit his pinky and his elbow at the same time. Every instinct told him to jerk his hand back. He didn’t. He kept pouring the powder out of the box, clenching his hand harder as the pain intensified. The circle was almost closed. Six inches, five inches, four inches.

Alan saw the bones of his own right hand. He saw the skin disappear from the back of his hand where it covered a bulging vein. Blood squirted out into the wind and blew back a fine mist before the vein was sealed by the searing venom of the creature. At his elbow, a tendon sprang from the joint. Alan’s bladder released.