What if your childhood pet made you sick? Young Sarah has to tackle this dilemma when a deadly disease spreads among her community's animals. Does she give her friend up to die, or risk her own life?
Good day, Scribes!
I wrote this story at the start of the pandemic (insane how it's been going on for 2 years now), when the craze of pets carrying and getting sick with COVID-19 was spreading wild, before the panic died down with facts. And it got me thinking: would we be able to withstand the isolation of quarantine and lockdown if we had to give up our pets for the sake of public safety? What would children choose to do if given the decision? Would they put their lives on the line for their beloved animals?
And that sort of wondering is why I write. Mostly short form because the constraint allows for a more powerful punch to the story. Sometimes, a thousand words is more suited for a topic than a picture would be. Not everything can be conveyed through a painting. Especially not this steampunk story.
I had a pet once. Evel, I called him. A not-so-little mouse. Until they took him from me and destroyed him. And not just my pet, but everyone’s. I’m sitting at the doctor’s office now, a mask covering most of my face, and watching the tears fall from the eyes of the other kids in my town. We’re all here to get tested. And if I’m cleared, I get a new pet just like Evel. Except, it wouldn’t be Evel.
“Sarah Janse van Rensberg?” The doctor calls my name as he stands by his office door and scans the waiting room. I get up and follow him in. “Sit, please?” He gestures to the slightly cracked leather chair at the end of the room. He doesn’t wait to see if I listen. He turns to collect his medicine bag from his desk.
He pulls my chin, opening my mouth, and presses a stick in—a glass tube with silver pet blood inside which sends a chill down my tongue. The blood creeps up the tube and I count the numbers it passes.
35, 36, 37…
It stops at 39. The doctor grunts and removes the stick and shakes it. I thought he’d put it in his bag, but instead, he jabs it into a weird machine. It looks like a grandfather clock, much like the one in the hallway at home, but different. Almost human. Grandfatherly, like how I remember mine. I shiver.
The machine chimes and spits out a slip of paper. The doctor nods as he reads it.
“Looks like the bugs were in you, but they’re dead now. Just some lingering corpses. You’re clear.” He looks up at me and adjusts his monocle. “Talk to Ms. Hatchet about getting your new pet.” He presses a stamp on my arm, leaving a green check mark on my skin, then returns to his desk.
I don’t wait. I jump off the chair and rush out of the office. Not that I’m excited for a new pet. I only wanted Evel. But that machine in there makes me tremble. I don’t want to spend another second more in the same room with it.
An older woman bumps into me as I turn the corner and catches me before I fall backwards.
“Careful there.”
“I’m sorry, M’am.” I look at my black Sunday shoes, shiny under the bright lights, a contrast to the bland grey and white frock I have on. Ma had spent most of the night polishing them for the doctor’s visit.
The woman lifts my chin until I look up. “Why the hurry, dear?” She looks at my arm. Probably making sure I did the test.
“I…” Well, I can’t let her know I’m scared. The kids are listening and they’ll tease. “Looking for Ms. Hatchet. For a new pet, M’am.”
“Oh.” She chuckles and takes my hand. “You’ve found me. Come, child. Let’s see what we have for you.” She leads me down the long corridor to a bright room at the far end of the building. We pass the swaying doors and all along the walls are shelves with sleeping pets.
“What kind of pet was your last one, dear?”
“A mouse, M’am. Brown pelt and black eyes. His name was Evel.”
Ms. Hatchet rubs her finger over her lips then smiles. “I know that one. You may have his parts back, if you’d like to bury him. Or you could donate him to be recycled?”
The thought of Evel being made into a new pet disgusted me. Ms. Hatchet must have seen it.
“But you don’t have to.” She holds her hands up. “He’s your pet.” She clears her throat and surveys the room. “Now, what kind would you like? Another mouse or maybe something different?”
I don’t know what other kinds are like. I’ve only ever had Evel. I grew up with him, since my second birthday. If I could, I’d never have another pet ever again. But people think you’re strange if you don’t have one. And kids tease.
“Another mouse, please, M’am.”
She reaches up to a high shelf and brings down a mouse, the size of her hand. It’s smaller than Evel was. “How about this little guy?” She reaches to the side of its grey pelt and flips the switch. Its nose starts to wiggle, making its fish-wire whiskers twitch and bounce. Its ears, though bigger than Evel’s, are perfectly round and begin to move.
I look into its eyes, seeing my reflection on the black-tinted glass domes. And I wonder what thoughts it’s having. It’s a new-born, the first time it’s been activated, and I’m the first thing it sees. It reaches for me like I’ve seen babies do for a bottle. It tilts its head, just like Evel used to. But it’s not Evel.
“Go on,” Ms. Hatchet says as she holds the pet out. I reach for it and its cold sharp claws hook onto my skin as he crawls into my cupped hands. I’d gotten so used to Evel that it no longer hurt. But this did hurt and I know it’s not the claws.
Ms. Hatchet hands me a plastic bag and a pity smile. I peer in and see a mess of cogs and springs and wires, the blood completely gone. And I catch the glint off a glass dome. Even dead, Evel’s eye still sparkles.
“Thank you,” I manage to whisper as the sobs threaten to break free. I scan around me, particularly at the door, to make sure there was no one else. Kids like to tease.
I finally get home, racing past the white-picket gate and into the front yard. Ma greets me at the door, but I storm by and don’t stop until I’m in my room and the door is closed. I’m still mad at her for reporting me, for making the Pet-Keepers come and kill Evel. It’s her fault I had to get a replacement.
The bag hits the floor with a clank when I drop it. I grab the new pet by the sides and throw it onto my bed. It bounces on the mattress twice then falls off and onto the carpet. I feel guilty for doing that. It’s not this one’s fault. But I can’t seem to care. I slump to the ground, pulling the bag closer, and begin to take the parts out. Laying them spread against the rough carpet, I can piece Evel to how he used to be. I just don’t know how to get his blood back or where to find the smoke that goes into the cracked tube I’m rolling between my fingers.
From under my bed, the new pet scurries toward me. It reminds me of how Evel’s bum used to waddle and I stifle a giggle. It sniffs at the parts and looks up at me, tilting its head to the side. It’s alone in this world. And I’m its only friend. Only family. It never had a mother, not like I do. The factories never made family pet ranges.
“I guess I can’t leave you nameless forever.” I sigh as I try to think of something. It has to fit. This one deserves that, at least.
The mouse turns its head to look at Evel’s heart, now only a broken glass tube. Its fresh-from-the-factory left eye is cracked, no longer the perfect dome it had been a few moments ago. I grimace, the guilt of what I did becoming worse. A pang that strikes at my chest and brings tears to my eyes. Now I definitely owe it a name.
I lean forward and scoop it up, burying my nose into the side of its pelt. “I’m sorry, Maverick.” I breathe out hard as I hiccup between sobs. Maverick fits. And he seems to think so, too. His whiskers tickle my cheek. I slump to the floor, cradling him and Evel’s parts as I fall into the dreams of Evel alive.
When I wake, it’s a new morning. Dull and overcast. I’m still clutching Maverick, though his pelt has some of my drool sticking to it. I pull away and take a better look at his grey fur, now stained with red. I wipe my mouth and look at my hand. Mostly water, but there’s a bit of blood in there. My heart sinks. The doctor said I was clear. This is like when I first got sick, when Evel was the one who wrapped his black tail around my wrist instead of Maverick.
My door swings open and I turn to see Ma standing there, a hand covering her mouth.
“Oh, Sarah!” She gasps as she sweeps forward and touches my cheek. “Not again.” I think I wasn’t supposed to hear that but Ma isn’t good at keeping her voice down when she’s upset. She shifts her eyes and looks at Maverick. A frown buries into her face. She reaches for him but I jerk my arm away.
“It’s not his fault!” I scream and I don’t know why.
“Sarah, please? We have to make sure. Just a test. You saw how quick it is, this one will be fine.”
“Like Evel was?” I jab my finger at the parts on the floor and glare at Ma. She closes her eyes and sighs, folding her hands on her lap. I hope it hurts. I remain silent, letting my words do their work. Ma always said I could be so stubborn.
“Okay. But will you then get tested again, at least?” She doesn’t look up and suddenly my anger turns to sadness. I know what she’s asking. If I go back and the doctor finds the bugs, alive ones, the Pet-Keepers will come. Then Ma wouldn’t be the one who takes my pet away this time.
She rocks to her feet and starts picking up Evel’s parts. “I think we should bury him.” She sniffs and wipes her face before continuing. “He was a good pet and he was family. Maybe out back under your tree?”
I bite my bottom lip. She’s trying to change the subject. She always does this when she has a plan. I just don’t know what it is. “What about a headstone?”
“I think we can make one for him, hmm?” Her smile is warm so I nod. “Come, let’s put him to rest.”
I follow her out and into the backyard. Maverick still clings to me, his tail coiled between my fingers like a knot. I hold him close to my chest, more for my comfort than his. He snuggles, whiskers tickling and ears twitching. Ma puts the bag down on the grass and starts to dig a hole. I look up the tree where my club house is. I think I’ll be spending more time here now so that Evel isn’t alone for too long.
My cough makes Ma jump and she drop the shovel near her feet. She stares at me. The worry on her forehead says everything. I force a smile and she nods. We don’t talk much, we don’t have to. Ma knows my thoughts enough so words aren’t needed.
She picks up the bag and shakes out the parts into the grave. The clinks and clanks of Evel’s clockwork echo. Ma is crying now, too. But she gets up and covers the grave.
“Here.” She walks to the shed and pulls out a thick slab of iron. “I think this is perfect, don’t you?” I just nod. I’m not sure how I feel about it but it’s better than nothing. Ma slams it into the loose soil of the grave and wiggles it deeper in until it stands by itself. “Iron lasts forever,” she mumbles.
Ma has been pacing up and down the house all day. She mutters to herself, stops and cries, then paces again. I’ve been in bed all weekend. My chest is sore from coughing and I’m dizzy. Ma looks worse than I do, her hair a wild mess and deep blue rings cradling under her red eyes. She’s been crying a lot. I hear her talking to someone, maybe on the telephone. Some words reach me. ‘Doctor’ and ‘test’. She sounds scared.
The feeling of heavy lead drops into my belly. I look down. Maverick’s still sleeping, his rhythmic breathing vibrates on my tummy. It helps with the pain. He’s more clingy than Evel was. I can’t help but wonder if he knows. As if he hears my thoughts, he lifts his head and faces me.
I look into his good eye, seeing my reflection on the perfectly tinted-glass dome hiding the machine of his brain behind it. If I stare long enough, I can see the cogs turning. I often wonder what he’s thinking about. If he could think, that is. And if his thoughts were the same as Evel’s might have been now.
Maverick tilts his head in that curious way. He must be thinking of something. But my reflection catches my attention again. I look away and wipe my finger under my nose. Blood. Maverick nudges my hand until I show him. His velvet tongue flicks out and laps up the red stain, streaking it further across my skin.
I giggle, cupping a hand over my mouth to catch the cough that came with it. With a heave, I get up, Maverick clinging to my arm. I need to find somewhere to hide him. I can’t go through it again, I don’t want another replacement. I run out of the house to the backyard, grabbing the shovel beside the patio deck, and race across the lawn toward my tree.
Evel’s headstone has begun to sink into the ground, lopsided. I won’t fix it. It’s just how he’d have wanted it. I put Maverick on the top of the iron slab, that glossy eye always staring, and I strike at the ground. The soil is still loose, at least, so I don’t have to dig much. They’ll never think to look here. I scoop Maverick into my hands and bring him close for a kiss. His whiskers tickle my cheeks as he wiggles his nose.
“This isn’t good-bye,” I whisper, hoping he understands. “It’s just a ‘until it’s safe’ thing, you know?”
He tilts his head again, to the other side, and his ear twitches.
“I knew you would.” I stroke his back, following the pelt’s natural path until my finger feels the switch on his right side, near his belly. “Dream of nice things.” I hold back my tears as his ear stops twitching and his whiskers droop. His tail sags and releases its coil around my pinky.
Ma calls my name and I startle, almost dropping Maverick. Gently, I lower him into the grave and cover him with the soil. Ma’s voice sounds scared. I’m scared, too. After one last look, I lean forward and kiss Evel’s headstone.
“Look after him for me?”
I know he will. Maverick is his brother now. Even if it’s never safe again, at least he’s not alone. Not a maverick anymore. I run back inside, coughing violently as I do. Ma is looking in the kitchen and I sneak past. I grab my mask and polished black shoes then get back in bed. I cough again, a wet one that sprays over my white sheets.
I won’t cry. Won’t be like the other kids. Let them tease, poke fun at my missing mouse. I won’t be sad. I won’t be alone.
