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Hemingbird t1_itvbrzj wrote

There was a flash of lightning and my mother started counting. She stared out the kitchen window, pouring milk along the rim of her bowl of cereal, and when the thunder came roaring she jumped. "Ten seconds!" she cried. "Divided by five: two. It struck two miles away."

"Fascinating. The milk ..." I pointed at the kitchen counter, dripping. Stella, our cat, frowned at me, her face painted white from the unexpected boon of fortune.

"Oh! Oh!"

It was just the three of us. Ever since I got laid off as a fact checker for the local rag I had been living the greatest fear of people my age: moving back home. To recuperate. To recover. The problem is that while children can learn to see their parents as people, it is impossible for parents to do the same. In their eyes, you will always be a child. Always a burden, whether or not they feel happy carrying it.

Outside I could hear the frog-like song of a banshee. She had gotten it into her head that I liked Elvis, but my mother was the one infatuated with the old hip-shaking rockabilly devourer of peanut butter, banana and bacon sandwiches—Christmas was always hell, always Blue.

A̷r̴e̸ ̵y̶o̵u̸ ̴l̸o̶n̶e̴s̵o̵m̷e̷ ̶t̴o̷n̵i̸g̵h̴t̶?̸

̴D̶o̶ ̸y̸o̴u̵ ̴m̷i̸s̷s̸ ̸m̷e̵ ̸t̷o̸n̷i̶g̸h̸t̷?̷

The banshee was tall and thin; a slender woman. She'd been serenading me for weeks and the only death she heralded was the death of a good night's sleep. Of course, my mother heard nothing. Stella, though: she heard everything.

"No hissing, Stella! I have to clean up this mess. Yes, I know you wanted to lap it all up. Boo hoo. We all got problems."

Of course my mother failed to notice that Stella wasn't looking at the spilled milk and she wasn't crying over it: she was, as was I, infuriated with the banshee frog song cover of the King.

W̸i̴s̴e̴ ̷m̴e̷n̵ ̸s̶a̷y̶

O̶n̵l̷y̶ ̵f̸o̴o̴l̶s̶ ̸r̸u̷s̸h̴ ̴i̵n̶

My boss had wanted me to join the team for a team-building event that included booze, games, and ... boating. I couldn't tell him why that was impossible for me, I couldn't tell him about the dead fish eyes of the mermaids and their seaweed lassos. "You know," he said one day, "there's people saying we live in a post-truth society. And the readers, if there's something the matter with a piece they'll set us straight with an email. They're happy to do the work for us. Why don't you take some time off?"

All my life I'd been living in a post-truth world, filled with banshees, mermaids, werewolves, unicorns, dragons, vampires, and kleptomaniac faeries. They all wanted a piece of me. I told my mother about it when I was a kid but she took me to a psychiatrist who chalked it up to an overactive imagination. "Escapism is common in children with abandonment issues," he said as if I weren't present. "Well these fantasy creatures are all obsessed with me! That's one way of reducing the cognitive dissonance. Maybe my dad doesn't want me but this dragon can't get enough of me. I have a paper published on it, actually. It's called the Harry Potter syndrome." My mother shattered the man's glass-framed diploma over his head and she took my hand, said we were leaving. I had to go live with my aunt for a while after that, but I truly appreciated her support.

"I'm going out for a walk."

My mother looked up at me with a mouthful of cornflakes. "In thish weather? Nhow?"

I shrugged. "You're eating breakfast food right now, aren't you? Maybe we're both messed up. Maybe our internal clocks aren't synchronized with the world out there." Stella meowed and motioned for the front door. She apparently wanted to join me. I expected she had some choice non-words for the banshee.

"B-bring a raincoat. And a hat. And gloves. And—"

"See you later!"

We found the banshee crouched inside a shrub.

Y̷-̵Y̵o̷u̷'̵r̸e̷ ̴h̴e̴r̶e̴ ̴.̷.̷.̷

H̵a̷v̸e̴ ̷y̴o̸u̵ ̵.̶.̷.̶ ̸H̷a̶v̸e̴ ̷y̴o̶u̶ ̵d̵e̸c̶i̸d̴e̴d̷ ̴t̸o̴ ̸m̸a̵r̶r̵y̸ ̴m̸e̶?̷

"What?"

The banshee cleared her throat. She wore a blue, translucent dress that stuck to her like saran wrap. Her hair was long and dark and frazzled. Perhaps I'd give her one of my mother's shampoos. "You're here ... Does this mean you have accepted my offer of marriage?"

She assumed the fetal position, her thin fingers wrapped around her thighs like anorexic branches. Her skin was a post-mortem white and her eyes were all kohl. "Uh, no," I said. Stella let out a smug meow.

"Ohh ..."

W̷e̸'̷r̵e̶ ̵c̸a̷u̴g̸h̴t̸ ̸i̸n̶ ̴a̸ ̶t̸r̵a̵p̸

I̵ ̶c̷a̴n̷'̶t̸ ̶w̴a̴l̸k̵ ̷o̴u̴t̷

B̷e̴c̸a̸u̷s̷e̷ ̵I̶ ̴l̷o̸v̸e̵ ̶y̶o̷u̷ ̸t̶o̵o̶ ̷m̵u̷c̵h̸,̶ ̸b̸a̷b̶y̴ ...

Stella hissed. "Please," I said. "No more Elvis."

The banshee looked up at me, stunned. "B-But ... you love Elvis."

I shook my head. "I don't care about Elvis. Never liked him."

She started sobbing and even Stella seemed to feel bad for her, looking up at me with a concerned expression. A bolt of lightning lit up our garden and it didn't do wonders for the mythological girl's corpse-like aesthetic.

"Easy now," I said. "Even if you started howling like Kurt Cobain I still wouldn't be into it."

Her face shot up. "Cobain? Nirvana? So that's what you're into ..."

"No, that's—"

W̸i̴t̷h̷ ̵t̶h̷e̴ ̸l̶i̷g̵h̵t̵s̸ ̷o̵u̵t̵,̴ ̷i̴t̵'̸s̶ ̵l̴e̵s̴s̸ ̴d̵a̴n̶g̶e̸r̴o̷u̸s̴

H̶e̸r̶e̸ ̸w̵e̵ ̸a̴r̴e̵ ̷n̶o̸w̸,̵ ̵e̴n̵t̵e̴r̷t̶a̵i̶n̸ ̶u̷s̴

She looked serious and determined. I sighed. "It's not about the singing. I'm not into ... fantasy creatures. All my life you guys have been following me and I've never gotten an answer as to why."

The banshee stood up and caught some shrubbery in her eye. She wailed. Then she composed herself. "So if I give you the answer, you will marry me."

"That's not what I—"

"If I tell you, you'll let me inside your heart-shaped box. Okay. I will tell you."

Well. I never agreed to anything so I figured if she misinterpreted my silence as acceptance, that would be alright so long as I got a straight answer.

"It has to do with your mother," she said and there was a perfect roar of thunder.

118

Hemingbird t1_itvho8t wrote

"Did you have a nice walk?" asked my mother. Stella gave me a look and raced up the stairs.

"It was ... interesting."

Looking at her now I tried to somehow verify what I had just been told. I was a fact-checker, wasn't I? Well, an unemployed one, true, but a fact-checker nonetheless.

"Was it? That's good."

Her smile lines, rosy complexion, silver hair—these were all pieces of evidence. She wore a moss-green sweater. That seemed irrelevant. Her pants were off-white. Also irrelevant. I would have to do some digging. Maybe start off with a bluff.

My mother took a sip of her coffee. "Oh, I ordered an ancestry kit earlier. DNA stuff, you know." She spat her drink out in shock.

"W-Why would you do that? Those things, haha, they're all scams aren't they? They said so on Charlie Rose."

"Charlie Rose hasn't been on for five years. They aired the last episode on November 17th, 2017."

"Is that right? Well they still had those things back then. Or maybe I saw it someplace else. It's just a scam. That's what I've heard. A guy swabbed the cheek of his chinchilla, and they said he was related to Genghis Khan! Can you believe it?"

"I can't."

She tapped her fingers on the kitchen table and she grinned wildly. "I'm sorry but I don't think the test will work for us. It's a ... genetic mutation. Yes! It throws everything off. You know I've told you about your uncle, the one with the enormous left foot?"

"... Barry? The one who wanted to become a dancer?"

"Yes! Well, he never made it of course. But he took the test. Yes, he did. And, well, the results came back negative."

"Negative?"

"Yes. They couldn't make sense of it. Said our genetic heritage is all tangled up." She shook her head and let out a sigh. "Probably a bunch of cousins and siblings shacking up. Sorry to have to tell you like this. Yes, that's the reason why that ancestry test of yours will be no good. They won't be able to make sense of it because of all the, uh, you know."

"I don't think ancestry tests ever come back negative."

She shrugged. "It happened. So you might as well forget all about it."

"I guess I'll give Barry a call."

She raised a brow. "You'll what?"

"I'll call him. Ask him about his results. Might be interesting, you know."

I reached for my phone and she grabbed my arm. "No," she said. A few seconds went by. "He's a terrible drinker. Ask him about it and he'll become enraged. He'll come over and he'll beat us. He'll step on us. With his enormous foot."

"Isn't Barry a pediatrician?"

My mother twirled her hair and stared at the floor. "Doesn't mean he's not a mean drunk, does it? Functional alcoholic. That's what they call it. They talked about it on Charlie Rose."

I had reached an impasse. It was clear that she wasn't about to divulge anything.

H̴e̸'̴s̷ ̴t̸h̸e̴ ̶o̵n̷e̶

W̴h̷o̴ ̷l̸i̵k̷e̴s̴ ̶a̴l̵l̵ ̴o̶u̷r̵ ̶p̷r̴e̶t̵t̶y̶ ̵s̶o̸n̷g̵s̷

A̵n̴d̷ ̷h̶e̶ ̷l̶i̵k̵e̸s̴ ̷t̷o̷ ̸s̴i̴n̷g̴ ̵a̴l̸o̴n̵g̴

There was another flash of lightning, followed by an immediate roar.

"Sounds close," I said.

I could see pearls of sweat forming on my mother's forehead. Did this mean that it was true?

"You never told me about my father, did you?"

"What? Of course I did. He was a failed musician from Ontario. He abandoned the both of us before you were even born. I've told you the story countless times."

"What was his name?"

She scoffed. "I've told you that as well, haven't I? His name was John Tremblay."

"Yes ... One of the most common first names in Canada, and one of the most common surnames. What are the odds?"

"Fairly big, I'd say." She squinted at me.

"I guess that's technically true. But it's also true that it's so common that it's impossible to track down a guy like that. There's too many of them. Too many John Tremblays."

"At least one too many, if you ask me."

"That's not his real name, is it?"

She stumbled over her words trying to deny it. And just then there was a knock on the door.

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Hemingbird t1_itvm8j9 wrote

He walked right in with the banshee hanging onto his arm. She grinned. "My father-in-law," she said, tilting her head towards him. "We met outside. I told him all about it, about our upcoming wedding."

My mother dropped her coffee mug and it shattered. "Oh, fuck," she said.

"Lydia," said the man. "It has been ages. You look as stunning as ever."

He did not look entirely like what I'd expected. His lustrous hair and his majestic beard, sure—that was in keeping with what I'd imagined. But the checkered flannel, the mustard yellow beanie, the dirty denims ...

"What are you doing here, Z—I mean, John."

'John' rubbed the back of his neck. "Well I just got back from O—"

"Ontario," said my mother.

"Oh! Right! Ontario." He blinked at her. I couldn't help but roll my eyes. They really thought they were fooling me?

The banshee ran over to me and gave me a wet, slimy embrace. "Husband!" she cried.

My mother stared at me. From her perspective, I had just been hit by some invisible object. She probably assumed it was shock.

"Why are you here, John? Look at the boy. He's having a breakdown. And of course he is: how dare you show up here unannounced after all these years?"

The banshee hugged me. She grinned. "Your father is charming. But not as charming as you!"

"I'll, uh, I'll give you two some space," I said. My mother turned towards me, frowning.

"No, no. He's leaving. Aren't you, John? You just popped in for a second to torture us. And you're leaving. Out, out!"

"Don't be like that," said the man. He walked closer to her. "... Do you still count the seconds whenever there's a flash of lightning?"

My mother's cheeks turned red. "No, that's ... What! Why would I do a stupid thing like that?"

I led the banshee up the stairs to give the two of them some privacy. Well, I walked up the stairs. She hung on to me like a leech.

I̶'̶m̵ ̴s̶o̶ ̵h̷a̴p̴p̵y̸ ̵'̵c̶a̶u̶s̶e̸ ̸t̵o̶d̷a̴y̸ ̶I̵ ̸f̵o̴u̷n̸d̷ ̴m̵y̵ ̷f̶r̴i̶e̶n̵d̴s̵

T̶h̴e̷y̴'̴r̸e̶ ̵i̴n̴ ̶m̸y̸ ̴h̴e̵a̵d̴

We went inside the upstairs bathroom and I handed her a bottle. She looked puzzled. "This is shampoo," I said. I handed her another one. "This is soap. Please. Give them a try."

She nodded her head and opened her mouth.

"N-No. Not like that. Take a shower. Wash your face. Wash your hair."

I opened the door to leave.

"Will you not be joining me?" she said as she slipped out of her dress.

"Uh, no. No, I won't."

She let out a faint groan. Then, thankfully, I could hear the water running. That banshee really needed a good wash.

Stella came over and sniffed the closed door. She looked up at me. I shrugged. "I didn't invite her in. Don't blame me."

C̸o̴m̷e̶ ̶a̶s̵ ̸y̴o̶u̶ ̸a̴r̷e̸,̶ ̷a̴s̴ ̶y̸o̴u̴ ̸w̵e̵r̷e̷

A̷s̷ ̷I̴ ̸w̸a̷n̴t̶ ̷y̴o̷u̸ ̶t̶o̵ ̷b̴e̴

Her singing was as terrible as ever. But then I heard something else.

87

Hemingbird t1_itw1yj1 wrote

The sound sent a zap all the way down my spine. It was my mother and my presumed father. They were ... laughing.

As I headed down the stairs, accompanied by the ever-curious Stella, I felt sick. Minutes earlier my mother had been all fire and brimstone and now she was having a good time? I did say I'd give them some space, but I was hoping it would be the kind of space like an arena, a boxing ring, the Colosseum.

"You haven't changed a bit! Still perky in all the right places."

"Oh, stop! At least you haven't changed. That much is clear."

I cleared my throat. "Having a good time, are we?"

They stared at me like a pair of embarrassed teenagers. "Sweetie," said my mother. "There's something we need to tell you."

The man nodded firmly. "It's long overdue. We should have told you ages ago."

"You're Zeus, the god of sky and thunder. And I am your son."

John Tremblay—or Zeus—nervously adjusted his beanie. "Y-You knew?"

My mother couldn't stop gaping.

"That banshee you brought into the house? She spilled the tea. Told me all about my father, king of the Olympians, and how there have been rumors of an open seat. Do you know how long they've pestered me? With their proposals and their singing and their—"

P̶o̴l̵l̴y̸ ̵w̶a̷n̶t̸s̴ ̷a̷ ̸c̴r̸a̴c̶k̴e̷r̷

M̷a̸y̷b̴e̵ ̶s̶h̵e̸ ̵w̵o̷u̷l̴d̸ ̵l̷i̴k̶e̷ ̸s̴o̷m̶e̷ ̷f̵o̵o̷d̷

I nodded my head towards the stairwell. "You hear that? That's the sort of stuff I've been dealing with."

My mother blinked. "I can't hear anything."

"Well ..." said Zeus. "You can't blame a father for wanting to check out his son's bride."

"She's not my bride. She's a banshee."

"That's a bit harsh."

"No. She is literally a banshee."

"Oh. Ooof ... I was standing outside, just keeping a watchful eye on things in the form of a bird, when she leapt out of a shrub. Said she was to be my daughter-in-law. Said the details had been all taken care of. You know, I thought she seemed a bit down and about but I didn't know—"

"Who are you guys talking about?" said my mother. "A banshee? Like in folklore?"

Zeus snapped his fingers and there was a shrill whelp from upstairs.

"Wait," said my mother. "The shower is running. But you're down here. So who is up there ...?"

That was when the banshee came walking down the stair, looking nothing at all like a horrific thing of folklore. She was wearing one of my mother's dresses, scarlet red, and it gave her a sheen of Freudian elegance. "I hope you don't mind ..." she said. "I found it in a closet. Mine was all wet."

I couldn't speak. I couldn't think. The air around her seemed to pulsate with every step she took. No, that was my beating heart. I tried to breathe.

Zeus clapped my shoulder. "Not bad, son," he said. "Not bad ..."

The banshee ran over to me and grabbed my hand with tears welling up in her eyes. "Husband." She looked up at me.

"Y-You got married?" My mother shook her head in disbelief. "You were only out for a few minutes! I know you said it was an interesting walk, but this ...!"

Her hair smelled like coconuts.

"My name is Raethshael. You can call me Rachael ... If you want to."

Zeus removed his beanie and used it to wipe his eyes. "Takes you back, doesn't it? Ah, to be young and in love."

"He's thirty," said my mother.

Zeus nodded. "So young ..."

Stella wandered down the stairs and meowed harshly.

"Who is she?" said my mother.

The banshee looked at her with a blank expression. "I'm Rachael."

Clearing his throat, Zeus said, "Ah, I went ahead and removed the layer between the land of Myth and the land of the Other Stuff. That's why you can see her. Well, I'm glad you was spared the first look! She looked like something the cat dragged in."

Stella frowned.

"The rumor is true," he added. "I have been doing some thinking, up there on the Olympus. We live in a post-truth society, I'm not sure you have heard?"

"... I'm familiar," I said.

"Good. You see, there are a lot of mythological stories out there. Way too many of them. It's hard to tell what's fact and what's fiction. I see the irony, don't worry. So I was thinking, wouldn't it be nice to have someone around who could sort the fake myths from the true ones? Someone to help us sort this fantastic mess out."

"Uh, what do you mean?"

"I'm talking about you! We could use a bright young man like yourself up there. And we'll have a grand wedding feast, of course! Well, officially you're just the guy I hired for the job. It's ... a bit tricky."

"Hera," said my mother with a scowl.

"Right. Hera. She doesn't know about this. Doesn't know about ... you. Or your mother."

Rachael squeezed my hand. "We'll get to live up there? On the mountain? I've always wanted to see a mountain."

Zeus let out a thunderous laugh. "Mountain! Well, it's more like a kingdom. And it's up in the clouds, not on the actual mountain. Can you imagine?"

"I can't," I said.

"And neither can I!" screamed my mother. "What's all this? You're going to take my boy up to some cloud palace? Along with this woman I've never seen before? No. I won't allow it. This is absurd!"

There was a prolonged silence. "All these years, when you counted out the distance from my thunder bolts," said Zeus. "Were you asking yourself whether I was close?"

"What? Of course not. It's just ... something to do."

"Take your anger out on me, sweetheart. Not on the boy."

"I am taking it out on you!"

"I think I should get to say something," I said. They stared at me. Zeus, my mother, Rachael, and even Stella. For a moment I pictured myself thirty years older, still living with my mother. I shuddered. "Maybe it won't be so bad."

"What?" said my mother.

"I've always had my head in the clouds, haven't I? Why not try it out. I might like it."

"Yes!" cried Rachael. Then she cleared her throat and Stella's hairs all stood up on end in anticipation of the song of the banshee.

Wise men say

Only fools rush in

But I can't help falling in love with you

It was beautiful. Her voice was like velvet. She stared at me with a look of tender love. "Y-You sound different."

She smiled. "I guess you were right. It really did help, drinking that 'shampoo'."

"You drank the shampoo!?"

"Yes. The coconut drink. It was bitter ..."

"That's ...!"

My mother was shivering. She look about ready to punch a banshee.

"That's Presley! That's the King!"

"My favorite ..." Rachael said shyly.

My mother moved her hips, and Rachael moved hers in return. Soon they were both dancing and singing. It was terrifying.

"She's wearing your mother's dress," said Zeus.

"Yes."

"Using your mother's shampoo."

"... Yes."

"You know, there's this guy I know who has experience with these things. I'd love for you to meet him."

I gulped. "Oedipus ..."

"That's right! You guys know each other?"

"I've heard of him ..."

He knocked the air out of my lungs with a clap on my back. "That's my boy! That's why I want to hire you as our fact-checker. You have a mind for these things."

Zeus joined the dance floor while Stella and I stood watching the three of them shake their hips from the sidelines. Rachael grabbed my arm. "Husband. Let's dance."

Stella groaned a caution. I thought about uncle Barry and his enormous left foot. In the end, I relented. Zeus conjured up a sphere of ball lightning and it danced above us in wild circles. We joined hands and awkwardly moved together in a frenzy for what felt like hours and hours.

It was the most fantastic night of my life.

62

S1eepyZ t1_itwst6p wrote

I paused for a couple seconds when I read Oedipus, trying to remember who he was, then I remembered in quick succession he killed his father, then, “Oh shoot, he married his mother”. 10/10 story

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Raziel_Soulshadow t1_itx6vlr wrote

Hah, this is amazing! Definitely has some percy jackson vibes and I love it.

5

NoProblemsHere t1_iu2hqmx wrote

Eh, I'm sure Hera will get over it. Not like it's the first bastard child he's ever had.

2

Pinkbeans1 t1_itvfe09 wrote

Now I have Elvis stuck in my head, with a mix of Nirvana. It’s going to be a weird day.

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NotAMeatPopsicle t1_ity2748 wrote

Finished reading the whole thing. This was awesome. The breadcrumbs you left behind... Loved it. Look forward to reading more of what you write!

3

re_nonsequiturs t1_ity31et wrote

I like the story.

I Love the commitment to how you wrote the voice

2