Chauve Souris or (Chiroptera the Bat)
By John Palisano
Antoinette unfolded the letter and read it under the moonlight. Bathed in blue, she thought the clearing looked painted from the light of the moon. Fifty paces across and find the two stumps, she knew. Blood will mark them, the letter read. Then fifty paces ahead and you’ll find the midnight ones. Down at the bottom of the letter, they informed her of her role in the charade.
Chauve souris, also known as the bat. A transformative night’s to come for you. Don’t tell a soul. And soon, you won’t need to! Come out the night of the blue moon in a week’s time.
Levange was far from Paris or any of the other big cities Antoinette felt drawn to, but Mama needed her attention. The constant cries for help with every small thing. Bedridden since Antoinette was a young girl, Mama always warned her: “You’re lucky I’m still here. The dark plague only took part of me.” The parts that allowed her to tend to herself, thought Antoinette. All the houses closed up tight as soon as the sun started down. No one ventured outside. Every so often, Antoinette heard rustlings and voices outside, but her mother had said, “It’s the creatures of the night rustling. The ones who carry the plague. That’s why we keep our doors and shutters shut. We don’t want one of them getting inside.”
The letter appeared on their step one November morning, addressed to Antoinette. She’d read it and hid it. Who had dared venture outside at night? Who had written it? Who’d even known of her? She thought it must have been the woman with the long blonde curls from the village. Was her name Nadia? Natalia? No matter. Antoinette knew she must go, and knew she was tasked with creating her mask. Chauve souris—the bat! She knew just how to create it. She’d use the leather pieces she’d saved from Pa’s old shaving apron. He’d been in the ground for twelve years. Surely, he wouldn’t miss it.
So, Antoinette waited until Mama fell asleep to work on her bat mask at her window’s sill, the moon her only lamp. Lighting a candle or lamp could wake Mama. Antoinette needed the night to spend with the midnight ones. Finally, it would be something for her.
She drew on the leather using a piece of white chalk. She cut careful and slow, a little at a time, so as to make each line pure. When she extracted the mask, she oiled its edges and let it sit. After a few nights, the mask was shiny and soft—ready to wear.
Antoinette spotted the pair of stumps, cut down fresh. Coated in glistening blood, their surfaces shone. Antoinette adjusted her mask, touching the bat-shape at the top. “My little chauve souris, fly me away from Levange!”
Several steps Into the woods Antoinette spotted sparks and lights and figures moving free. The smell of hay goats carried on the wind. When she got closer, she saw others who appeared to be dancing. One was dressed in black silk, from head to toe, with white stars made of shining beads threaded through. Even their face was covered in a shroud. What did their letter tell them, she wondered. Another person hid behind the head of a beast. She wasn’t quite sure what, though, because it looked like parts from several things. A woman wore long fringes that looked like seaweed. When Antoinette stepped closer, she swore she saw dark lines at the sides of her neck. She looked like she could live some of the time in the sea. Behind her, there were others, all with similar gills and dressings. Animals roamed without a care. Goats and chickens ran amongst the midnight ones, all of them around a large fire.
Antoinette smiled when she spotted the woman with long hair—the one she’d thought had led her there. Her curls bounced as she danced around. She and the others sang a song in a language alien to Antoinette. Even so, the melody soon stuck in her head. She sang along, her other life with Mama not far from dead.
A twenty-meter slit opened in the ground, the earth around pushing upward. The mound rose once more before a giant black orb came forth. It rolled from side to side and regarded the scene. Everything shook. The animals scurried off as a few of the midnight ones fell and split. One reveler closest to the underground eye had their middle broke open. Their insides moved to and fro. Like clay made from pink and grey, the guts rose up and were soon remade. Slithering white tendrils swirled and curled around this new thing, while Antoinette gasped, others would sing.
Two others split open and changed. The ones beside her danced, hollered and laughed.
Her back hurt as though she’d been struck in her middle. She felt warm fluid drip out and coat her from shoulders to feet. The pain was intense; she dropped to her knees. The eye regarded her, staring her down. “Who has hurt me?” she said. “Was this all a sick trick?” She bowed her head, ready to pass out. Her arms felt pulled back from her shoulder bones. They stuck out her back and in came the cold. Her skin crept as her bones broke free. She saw in her shadow the fire projected on the ground, her bones going end over end like they were walking on their own. They stacked and made a framework she’d soon recognize: a pair of long wings like those of a bat.
Her flesh oozed and stretched, covering her bones. Antoinette thought maybe she’d been drugged, but couldn’t be sure.
The eye in the ground blinked. The things it had made rose and walked. They looked human again, but also, they did not. They kept the same shape, but the details were murky. When they walked, their movements were jerky.
A cold, hard wind blew across the clearing, so strong, in fact, it caught her wings.
She lifted, only a meter at first. Then she was up higher with the second cold burst. Her back stretched and she flapped her wings. It felt like she’d always known how—it felt like her everything. She rose to the treetops, the cold night air rushing around. She looked back down at the eye, then ahead, across her beloved Levange town.
Far away, over the mountain range, she spotted a dark light cutting through the sky. Black against even the night, the pitch dark beam signaled her like a moth to candlelight. She knew it came from the depths of the Golfe du Lion and the Méditerranée mer, far away if she’d have to travel by foot or wheel. Antoinette felt her heart deep within, the dark light called, pulling her in. She flew over treetops, and far past Levenge. She flew past the roadways, mountains, and inns. She crossed over the mountains as easily as a hawk. How big am I now? I am small or large? She couldn’t tell but soon cared not. The ocean’s salt air and the sound of the waves—everything went silent as she approached the dark rays.
Chauve souris, also known as the bat, found her new mission, and then she headed back.
Back to Levange where she knew what to do. “I’m going to make more.” And she flew and flew and flew.
AUTHOR BIO
Author John Palisano has a pair of books with Samhain Publishing, DUST OF THE DEAD, and GHOST HEART. NERVES is available through Bad Moon. STARLIGHT DRIVE: FOUR HALLOWEEN TALES was released in time for Halloween, and his first short fiction collection ALL THAT WITHERS is available from Cycatrix press, celebrating over a decade of short story highlights. NIGHT OF 1,000 BEASTS is also now available.
He won the Bram Stoker Award© in short fiction in 2016 for “Happy Joe’s Rest Stop.” More short stories have appeared in anthologies from Cemetery Dance, Space & Time, PS Publishing, Independent Legions, DarkFuse, Crystal Lake, Terror Tales, Lovecraft eZine, Horror Library, Bizarro Pulp, Written Backwards, Dark Continents, Big Time Books, McFarland Press, Darkscribe, Dark House, Omnium Gatherum, and more. Non-fiction pieces have appeared in BLUMHOUSE, FANGORIA, BACKSTREETS and DARK DISCOVERIES magazines. He is currently serving as the President of the Horror Writers Association and has been featured in the LOS ANGELES TIMES and VANITY FAIR magazine.
Say ‘hi’ at: www.johnpalisano.com and http://www.amazon.com/author/johnpalisano and www.facebook.com/johnpalisano and www.twitter.com/johnpalisano