Stepping Out
Jack gets Mabel ready for the Bog Witches party.
Written for Maryellen Brady 💗📚’s World Building Wednesday’s, and Season 2 of Millcreek Village.
The suit still fit. I can’t say I wasn’t surprised. I’d come back from The Below leaner than when I’d left, my skin holding a permanent kind of summer that no amount of scrubbing could remove. I’d grown so accustomed to wearing nothing that clothes felt almost unnecessary, but after nearly a month au naturel, I’d developed a renewed appreciation for pockets.
I had no idea how much time had passed in The Below. To me, it felt like a month, but it might have been longer—or shorter. What mattered was how much time had passed in Millcreek, and on that count I knew nothing. I couldn’t even be sure anyone knew I’d been gone, or that anyone I knew still lived in the area.
Immediately upon my return, I got Mabel settled, then I made a quick inspection of Vivienne’s pool, checking the deep end and half expecting to find another version of me floating face down. I found only water and the smell of chlorine. From the patio door, Ferrel gave me an inquisitive stare. I waved. He thumped his tail once, apparently happy I wasn’t dead. There was no sign of Mrs. Vaughn. As lovely as she was, I counted this as a blessing, knowing that I’d wilt under her scrutiny.
I slipped my watch from the dresser and fastened it around my wrist. It no longer kept time; it had stopped the morning I woke on the beach in The Below. I wore it anyway. It looked good, and after my experience there, I’d become less convinced that time needed keeping.
I adjusted my tie and looked at myself in the mirror. A respectable charcoal suit. White shirt. Platinum cufflinks and a matching watch—expensive enough to attract attention, though the dull finish worked in my favor.
Flashy jewelry was an invitation for crows, especially one crow in particular.
Stabbins.
The little bastard had expensive tastes.
In the mirror, I caught movement behind me. Mabel stood in the bedroom doorway, watching with quiet concentration.
She was… mostly Mabel now.
I’d decided to bring her back with me, hoping the familiar world might help her finish putting herself together. Besides, after spending nearly a month in The Below, the prospect of an empty house felt strangely unsettling.
There had been a time when Mabel existed as pieces—fragments of a person scattered throughout The Below, each convinced it was the original. Reuniting them had proved easier than expected. Persuading them they all belonged to the same woman was taking a little longer. Her body had mostly accepted the arrangement. Her mind was still holding committee meetings.
She wasn’t wearing clothes. Neither of us had seen much point in them until this afternoon. She was not quite correct—in the human sense. Her body possessed all the expected lines and proportions of a woman, but very little unnecessary detail. Whoever—or whatever—had finally assembled her had apparently decided the broad strokes were sufficient.
From a distance she might have passed for perfectly ordinary.
Up close, not so much.
She looked down at the dress draped over one arm, then back at me.
“Party.”
“That’s right.”
“Sandwich.”
“Bog Witch.”
She considered that.
“Bog Witch.”
“Yes. We’re going to the Bog Witch’s party.”
She nodded.
A few seconds passed.
“Sandwich?”
“Very different things.”
She frowned, turning the two words over in her mind.
“You can eat a sandwich at the Bog Witch’s party.”
She brightened.
“Both.”
“Exactly.”
She smiled to herself, apparently pleased the universe had become just a little more organized.
I needed to prepare her for what she might see. Millcreek was anything but ordinary.
“There are going to be a few things there you might not be expecting.”
She waited.
“Crows.”
“Crows.”
“One in particular. His name is Stabbins.”
“Stabbins.”
“He has a habit of stealing shiny things. Watches. Rings. Cufflinks. If he lands nearby, don’t encourage him.”
“Encourage?”
“No.”
“Discourage.”
“Exactly.”
She nodded, filing that away.
“Also, there will probably be dragons.”
She looked at me. “I know dragons.”
“You do?”
She nodded. “Smog.”
I corrected her. “Smaug.”
“Smaug.”
“Right. Smaug.”
“Not smog. Bad air.”
“Exactly. You must know Smaug from the Hobbit.”
She frowned. “Hobbit?”
“Yes. Little people. Large hairy feet.”
I could see her mind turning. “Dildo.”
“Bilbo,” I said, trying to contain a laugh.
“Bilbo,” she repeated.
“Yes. Bilbo Baggins is a Hobbit.”
“…no dildos?”
“At the party? …Almost certainly no dildos.”
“I should not say that word.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“I like it.”
“I can tell.”
She thought for a moment. “Bilbo.”
“Perfect.”
“Less fun,” she said with a disappointed look.
I agreed. “Significantly less fun.”
“All right,” I said. “Why don’t you start with the undergarments while I finish getting ready.”
She looked down at the small pile of clothing in her arms.
“Undergarments.”
“Yes. Put those on first.”
She nodded and disappeared into the guest bedroom.
I finished buttoning my cuffs, dabbed a little cologne behind each ear, then attempted to convince my hair to behave.
“Mmm.”
I looked toward the doorway. Mabel stood there wearing the panties correctly. The bra, however, had somehow ended up around her waist.
“No, no.” I motioned for her to turn around. “The bra goes over the breasts.”
She considered this obvious new information. “Breasts.”
“Correct.”
She slipped it over her head and turned back toward me. The cups sat several inches too high.
“Lower.”
She adjusted.
“Wait. You don’t really need the inserts. They’re just there to smooth things out, and you don’t have nipples, so…”
She looked down.
“No nipples.”
“No nipples,” I confirmed.
“Nipples,” she said, then again. “Niiiiiiples.” She drew the word out as though she’d discovered an especially satisfying sound.
I smiled. “It’s a fun word, but not something you should say at the party. Probably.”
She nodded, touching the front of the bra.
I reached inside one cup and pulled out the foam insert. Then the other. She watched with complete fascination. Then something seemed to connect.
“Mabel’s Pasties.”
“Pasties? I suppose that’s one name for them. I’ve always called them inserts.”
“Gaijin.”
It suddenly felt like she was skipping pages. Gaijin basically meant “not Japanese.” On that point she was technically correct. I just wasn’t sure how we’d gotten there.
“I’m not following.”
She pointed toward the nightstand. I followed her finger. American Gods. The paperback sat exactly where I’d left it.
“Gaiman,” I said. “Neil Gaiman.”
She frowned.
“Gaijin.”
“Gaiman.”
She tried again.
“Gaiman.”
“That’s it.”
She looked quite pleased with herself.
“Mabel’s pasties.”
We were back to square one. Then it dawned on me, she was referring to the meat-and-vegetable hand pies served at a restaurant named Mabel’s in the book American Gods.
“Very clever.”
“Extremely,” she said.
“A bit obscure perhaps.”
She shrugged and smiled. “I like words.”
“I know you do.”
It was time for the dress. It was a beautiful shade of jade green, and had simply appeared in the guest room closet alongside a small collection of more casual clothes. The dresser was much the same, filled with underwear, bras, and socks. Every single item was exactly her size. I had no idea how any of that worked, but I was grateful all the same.
“Arms up.”
She raised them without question, and I slipped the dress over her head, guiding it gently down over her shoulders.
“Good.”
She smoothed the fabric with both hands.
“There may be someone there named Maple.”
“Maple.”
“Don’t get confused.”
She considered that.
“I’m Mabel.”
“Exactly.”
She frowned. “Maple, like the tree.”
“Yes. Or the syrup.”
I paused.
“Actually, forget the syrup. That’s derivative. The syrup comes from the tree.”
She nodded solemnly.
“Tree.”
“Right. Maple is a person, but also a tree.”
She thought for a moment.
“Tree person.”
“No.”
“Person tree.”
“No.”
“Person named Tree.”
“A person named Maple.”
“Like the tree.”
“…Exactly.”
Now that that was settled, it was time to go, I gave the room one last look, checking to make sure I had everything.
Watch.
Wallet.
Keys.
Mabel stood patiently beside me, hands folded in front of her new dress.
She looked… beautiful. As beautiful as someone freshly assembled from fragments could reasonably expect to be. I adjusted the collar of her dress, smoothing a wrinkle that probably didn’t exist.
“You look beautiful.”
She looked down.
“Really?”
I stepped back.
“You do.”
She studied me for a long moment.
“Love?”
I stopped. She didn’t mean love as an emotion. And she wasn’t referring to her and I. She meant someone else. One particular person. Someone important to me.
Miss Rumor.
I glanced toward the front window, though I wasn’t sure why. “No,” I said quietly. “I don’t think she’ll be there.”
Mabel’s smile faded.
“Perhaps…” I began. The sentence refused to finish itself. “…perhaps it’s for the best.”
She considered that for several seconds, then nodded once. “Perhaps.”
I picked up my keys.
“Come on,” I said.
“Let’s go to the party.”
An amazing read. I love the mysteries here.
Oi Jack, you know how to make me giggle. I love this so much & I am happy Jack is back. Can't wait for Mabel & perhaps Maple to cross paths?! If we fund Maple that is...