The Fluttering

Melissa stood in front of the old antique shop and thought, This building would look lovely on fire. 

She imagined red flames blossoming out the windows, shattering the glass and curling, licking up the chipped siding to claw at the roof, reaching for the sky with bright orange fingers.

 

Devouring, destroying.

​

A hand landed on her shoulder, and she jumped.

​

Her cousin, Jane, smiled over at her. “Isn’t it great? The crown jewel in Garden Grove.”

​

Melissa looked around the town square. Garden Grove was barely a speck on the map anymore. A forgotten town in a forgotten corner of the state. Most of the shops were boarded up and coated in layers of dirt and debris. But Jane had always been an optimist.

​

Jane looked up at the building and let out a dreamy sigh. “To think all of this could be ours.”

​

Melissa shrugged her cousin’s hand off her shoulder and cringed at the thought.

​

The dilapidated building had a faded wooden sign decorated with butterfly carvings that read, “Old But Not Forgotten.” A wilting red and white sign in the window read, “Help wanted! Young and bubbly, please!” 

​

Melissa said quietly, in case her grandmother was listening through the door, “No one is inheriting this place but the bank, remember? We get what we can, we get out.”

​

Jane pouted just a little. “But shouldn’t we do a full inventory?”

​

Melissa stared, deadpan, at her sweet cousin who was unfortunately detached from reality. “We don’t take inventory of trash.”

​

Jane frowned. “You’re so mean sometimes, you know that?”

 

Melissa started up the steps to the shop. “I just want to go home, Jane. The faster we can assess the value of the junk in there, the faster I can go home.”

 

Jane pouted and followed her cousin.

 

Melissa raised a hand to knock on the door, and fluttering wings danced by her ears. She flinched and ducked instinctively, crouching down.

 

Melissa looked up to see a single gray butterfly dancing along beside them. Just a butterfly. Her cheeks flushed with annoyance, and Jane giggled. Melissa huffed and knocked.

 

When there was no answer, she opened the door. A twinkling bell rang through the shop. 

 

The air was thick and speckled with floating dust. Old chandeliers hung low, threatening to crash down on them. Melissa reached over and picked up a plastic vase, turning it over in her hands. Cheap. Just like everything else in this trash heap. There had to be expensive things hiding somewhere under all this dust.

 

Somewhere.

 

A creaky, old voice cut through the silence. “If you drop that vase, the Queen of England will roll over in her grave and shoot you.”

 

Melissa turned to face her grandmother. “I’ll do my best not to break anything, Gran.”

 

Gran’s face lit up. “Oh, it’s you, dear! I didn’t recognize you with all that makeup on!” She wrapped her spindly arms around Melissa’s waist, and she tried not to recoil.

 

Jane poked her head out from behind a bookshelf. “Hi, Gran!”

 

Gran smiled at her youngest granddaughter. “Oh Jane!’ She toddled over to give her a long hug. 

 

“Don’t worry, I’ll be careful with your things.”

 

“I know. You’re such a good girl. Maybe Melissa can learn a little from you on how to treat my shop.”

 

Melissa gritted her teeth and placed the plastic vase down on an old cabinet. “Where are the clipboards, Gran?”

 

Gran stared at her for a moment, folding her papery hands over her cane. “And what is this project you’re doing?”

 

Melissa held out her hands, looking around at the shop. “We’re taking inventory of the shop.”

 

Gran wagged a finger at her. “I can’t have anything thrown away!”

 

Jane stepped in, “No, of course not, Gran. We would never.”

 

Gran handed Melissa and Jane clipboards with cheap pens attached with tired, brown strings. “All right. I could use the help. Just until I can hire someone new.”

 

Melissa tried to smile. “Sure, Gran.”

 

Jane said, “Why don’t you relax and read your book? Then you can answer questions when people come in.” She took her grandmother by the elbow, and she allowed Melissa to guide her to a spot behind the glass counter filled with cheap costume jewelry and odd buttons and broaches.

 

The old woman’s knees shook as she lowered to her seat, and her gnarled hand grabbed hard at her cane.

 

Jane said, “I’ll be back to check on you soon.”

 

Gran pulled out her book, and Melissa and Jane left her behind the register. They wove their way into the maze of dusty antiques with their clipboards.

 

This place wasn’t a shrine to majestic antiquities. It was a trash bin, a collection of all the old hoarded, discarded, useless things her grandmother never needed and the world never needed either. 

 

Melissa held up a porcelain doll with a half-broken face and frowned at her pouty little lips. She wondered for half a second if she’d ever had an owner, ever been loved. Then she placed it to the side.

 

Melissa was looking for the big stuff, the good stuff. If there was anything of worth in there, it was heading home with her, and she’d haul the rest to the trash.

 

Jane’s blonde head popped up from behind a stack of moldy boxes. “Look, Melissa! An original Sky Dancer toy!” She pulled the string, and the little dancer spun, twirling off into the distance and crashing into something. “Oh, sugar–” 

 

Jane ran off after it, and Melissa shook her head. “That’s great, Jane.”

 

Melissa spotted a jewelry box tucked under a pile of old comic books and pulled it out. The comics slid to the floor in a heap around her, adding to the pile of trash in the corner, but she ignored the mess. It didn’t look expensive, but it had a good weight to it and an intricate design to the lid. Maybe it was worth something.

 

As she turned it over in her hand, something big and dark moved in her peripheral vision. 

 

She jolted and twisted around.

 

Grandfather clocks and stacked bed frames stared back at her.

 

Nothing seemed out of place.

 

Still, Melissa paused, listening. Had she imagined it?

 

A shadow moved, and her eyes darted to it. She couldn’t see past the row of bookcases and armoires to the narrow pathway on the other side. The whole place was a fire marshall’s nightmare. 

 

She called out tentatively, “Jane?”

 

But she knew it wasn’t Jane. It was something else.

 

When no one called back, she decided she was just tired. Maybe being around all this death and decay was doing something to her mind.

 

She went back to examining the little jewelry box. Swirled roses decorated the tarnished lid. It didn’t look particularly expensive, but it might be silver.

 

Melissa pulled out the little weight hanging on a silver chain around her neck. She ran the magnet along the outside of the jewelry box, testing it for silver. It didn’t latch on. Perfect.

 

Jane poked her head over the boxes. “Find anything good?”

 

Melissa added the box to the pile of not-worthless things. It was a small pile. “Not really. There’s so much…”

 

She heaved a heavy box out of her way. “Trash.” 

 

Jane held it up a bracelet to the light. The stones shone green, and she smiled. “Ooh, this is lovely.” 

 

Melissa held out her hand. “Let me see.”

 

Jane held onto it. “Why?”

 

“I’m adding it to the pile. Come on.” Jane hesitated but eventually handed it over. 

 

Jane frowned. “I don’t know why you get to hold onto everything.”

 

Melissa sighed, “We’ve been through this, Jane. Because I’m the one that has to look up every single one online. I don’t trust your digital illiteracy, do you?”

 

Jane poked a stack of boxes with her toe. “I just think I should get some too.”

 

“Everything will be split down the middle when we’re done. I told you that.”

 

Jane turned and wandered off into the mess. 

 

Melissa watched her little blonde head bob along through the maze of antiques. When she was gone, Melissa sat down among the piles of stuff and leaned back. It was soft and comfortable enough to relax into. She nestled there and noted everything to her short list of valuables on the clipboard. An antique book, the green bracelet, the silver jewelry box, and a few other bits and bobs she’d have to compare to posts online.

 

She settled deeper into the softness around her. She’d written and crossed off so many things on the list that her grandmother had originally told her to write down that the page was scratched and noted to death.

An “antique” oriental hanging from China that Gran said she’d gotten in the 80s. Cheap knockoff. 

 

A hand-carved wooden table. Ikea.

 

A set of “real” ruby earrings. Red topaz and cubic zirconia.

 

She sighed and lowered her clipboard. What an absolute waste of time. She wasn’t sure how much digging she could do before she gave up altogether. Years of promises that this place was a goldmine. All just lies.

 

The softness behind her seemed to wrap her up, and everything grew quiet.

 

The thing behind her was warm.

 

It enveloped her, holding her.

 

Then it whispered in her ear,

 

Thou mettest…

 

Melissa jumped up and spun around, her heart thrumming in her chest. She shook hard, but the thing she was pressed against was just a teddy bear. Large, blank eyes stared off into nothing, and the tawny fur was matted with what she hoped was just dirt and mud.

 

Jane appeared holding a box of cigars. “Look what I found!” Before Melissa could say anything, she bopped off towards the front counter. “I’m going to go show Gran!”

 

“Wait–” but she was already gone. Then she spotted something shiny trapped underneath a wooden box.

 

Melissa crawled forward, wedging herself between a broken grandfather clock and a china cabinet coated in dust. She winced as dust bunnies drifted down into her hair and clogged her throat. She reached until her shoulder strained but kept reaching anyway. Her fingers found the chain, and she pulled the necklace free. 

The chain shimmered gold with a pendant shaped like a compass pointing east and a rusty brown key. A little slip of paper was attached that said:

 

Thou mettest with things dying, 

I with things newborn.

 

Melissa blinked. How bizarre.

 

She ripped the paper off and crumpled it, adding to the growing trash pile in the corner. She looked around at the room and ran a hand through her hair, leaving streaks of gray dust among the brown.

 

There was just so. Much.

 

She heard a sound, like fluttering, stared. What was that? She followed it to the wall. Melissa reached up, putting her hands to it. It felt mad, but she could feel something there, just on the other side. Crawling and scratching.

 

She brought her ear to the crinkling wallpaper, just close enough to listen.

 

On the other side, the softest fluttering.

 

Then a whispered scream.

 

She jolted back, staring at the floral pattern as if it could answer for the sound, but it didn’t say a word. 

 

She left the room, wishing she’d never heard anything at all.

 

The day wrapped up, and Melissa had only managed to get through one room in the house. She took her box of spoils and hid them around the side of the house. She said goodnight to Gran and Jane, leaving out the front door and slipping down the alley to get the box.

 

A voice spoke from the back porch of the house next door, “You come around here before?”

 

She turned and found a young man standing on the porch with an old woman smoking a cigarette. He wore a simple t-shirt and dark pants, and the woman looked to be his grandmother in a pink floral mumu and a lack of shoes. She glared but said nothing.

 

Melissa answered, “Not often. My grandmother owns it.”

 

He scoffed, “Ruth is your grandma? I didn’t think she had kids.”

 

I don’t have time for this. “Well, she does.” 

 

She turned to leave, but he stepped off the porch, following her, his hands in his pockets. “Hey, listen. You should be careful in there.”

 

“I know. I think I got tetanus three separate times today.”

 

He stopped her, putting a hand on her arm, and she turned on him. The look in her eyes must have scared him, because he took a step back. He said, “Sorry. I just mean… Strange things happen in that place.”

 

She blinked, staring at him. “What do you–”

 

He turned to walk away. “I hear things. Just… be careful.” He left, walking back through the alley to the back porch and the woman with the cigarette. 

 

Melissa watched him go for a moment, then took her box of treasures to her car.

 

Later that night, Melissa sat under the glow of her laptop, her head held in her hands. A deep, creeping desire to cry tugged in her stomach. “Goddamn it, John. I don’t understand.”

 

John sighed on the other end of the phone. “I don’t know what to tell you, Mel. We knew that place wasn’t worth anything.”

 

Melissa felt the stress bubbling up, threatening to form tears. She took a shaky breath and willed the emotion out of her voice. “There has to be something here.”

 

John said, “She’s been collecting trash for most of a century. Maybe you should cut your losses and come home.”

 

Melissa sighed. He was probably right. 

 

Behind her, something shifted. 

 

She spun around, staring at the dark spaces and shadows along the wall. Something there unnerved her.

 

Like it was watching her. Closely.

​

She slowly rose from her chair.

​

The shadows stared back, and a prickle ran the length of her spine.

 

Then a slam as something fell. 

 

Melissa jumped, putting a hand to her chest. 

 

The pile of worthless artifacts she’d stolen away from the shop slid to the floor. The necklace she’d taken the day before with the compass symbol and the key glinted in the light.

 

She held the brass key up, peering closely at it. Along the rim, it read, 

 

It will also fall.

 

Melissa said, “Maybe…”

 

She did a quick search online for anything related to Garden Grove and that quote.

 

“Thou mettest with things dying, I with things newborn.”

–The Winter’s Tale, Shakespeare

 

Garden Grove used to show plays and live music in the square. Hundreds of people would come from the surrounding area, and even people from the nearby city. But the biggest festival they did was the Butterfly Festival. Children would dress up, everything would be decorated, and they’d release thousands of butterflies.

 

Then it all just… stopped.

 

The butterflies symbolized good luck and transformation. They’d represented Garden Grove for decades before the money dried up.

 

In the corner of her eye, something moved. She let out a little scream, dropping the necklace. This time she was sure she saw it. 

 

John said, “Are you still there? Hello?”

 

Melissa snapped out of it and said, “One more day. Let me look through the shop tomorrow.” She picked up the necklace and looked at the little compass pointing east. The frame of the compass looked almost like a little house. “There’s one more place I want to look.”

 

The next morning, Melissa stood outside the antique shop. The dry, tall grass around the sagging porch danced in the early morning, dappled with dew. The windows, like drooping eyes, stared back, lonely and sad.

 

Gran’s antique shop looked just as decrepit and worn down as the other boarded-up shops, the only difference was the “open” sign hanging on the door and the “help wanted” sign in the window.

 

Instead of walking into Old But Not Forgotten, she stared at it for a while, rubbing the compass token between her thumb and forefinger. She imagined the insides of the old house, each room attaching to the next, piled to the ceiling with unsellable crap. She pictured the winding rooms, and the windows lined up with the layout until she made it to the east side of the house. 

 

There, the interior map fell apart in her mind. She counted the windows. Two on the front. One high. Two low. One round. Four more. 

 

Something was off. Maybe there was a room she didn’t know about. 

 

Gran called out through the screen door, “Morning, dear!”

 

Melissa shook herself out of the daze. “Morning. Is Jane here yet?”

 

Gran started back inside the shop, taking small, careful steps. “Yes, she’s just making me some tea.”

 

Melissa considered asking her about the layout, but didn’t want her grandmother to launch into another painful history of the old farmhouse. “Great. I’m going to get started. She can catch up with me when she’s ready.” Melissa found her clipboard tucked away on the bottom shelf where she’d hidden it the night before.

 

She turned to leave, but Gran stopped her. She asked, “Have you talked to John?”

 

Melissa paused, internally kicking herself for not fleeing the room faster. “Yeah, last night.”

 

“How is he?”

 

“Fine.” Melissa felt unnerved. Any personal questions were usually a trap door into some other failing of hers. 

 

“I wish you two would make up already. You’d make beautiful kids.”

 

Heat flared in Melissa, and she swallowed the first few words that came to mind. “John and I are fine. We’re not having kids, because we can’t afford it.”

 

Gran scoffed. “Can’t afford it? We had two kids dead-broke. When we got married, we only had twenty-nine thousand dollars to our names.”

 

Melissa snapped, “When I got married, I had twenty-nine thousand dollars of debt.”

 

Gran pressed her lips together hard.

 

Melissa sighed, “I have a lot to do, Gran.” 

 

Gran leaned over, trying to get a look at the clipboard. “Did you need some help? There’s some glassware you might miss if you–”

 

“It’s fine, I’m sure I got it.” She didn’t wait for the old woman to respond before taking her clipboard into the next room. She started for the east side of the house. That part of the house was so full of boxes and furniture, there was no way Gran could navigate it to argue with her. 

 

She followed the winding path and counted the windows. Two on the front. One high. Two low. One round. Four more. She stopped. Where were the four? She stared at the blank wall. Something was off. 

 

Melissa counted them again.

 

She traced the outline of the wood panels, searching for something. She didn’t know what. There. Her fingernails found the tiniest ridge between two pieces of wallpaper. It just looked like warping from humidity, but cool air danced across her fingertips, giving away a secret.

 

Melissa followed the ridge down, her fingers pressing into the wallpaper until it gave, revealing a small keyhole. She lifted the necklace out of her shirt and tested the key.

 

Click.

 

Melissa pushed open the door, and it led to a hollow, forgotten space. Dust floated in the air, and the smell of rot and dead air filled her. Chills ran down her spine.

 

A fluttering sounded from within, heavy and large, like a beast flying through the darkness. Melissa’s mind immediately went to bats. Then fluttering exploded around her. Hairy, black wings scraped her face and hair, sharp fangs flashed, and she let out a scream, falling backwards. 

 

But she looked up to find butterflies escaping in a burst of jewel-like color, not bats. She blinked up at them, her mouth falling open in shock. 

 

Why are there butterflies?

 

The door shut behind them, and a tower of boxes fell over on her. They hit her stomach, her ribs, her shoulder, her face. She let out a wheezing groan.

 

Gran’s voice came calling and getting closer. “Dear, are you all right?”

 

Melissa shoved the boxes aside. “I’m… fine.” 

 

Her grandmother came around the corner, maneuvering through the maze of antiques with surprising agility. “Are you sure? You made quite a mess!”

 

Melissa crawled out of the pile of boxes, pushing her hair out of her face. She sat up and saw the clipboard on the ground between them. 

 

She moved to grab it, but Gran was faster.

 

Grandma Ruth’s eyes wandered the mess of scribbles on the clipboard, and Melissa’s stomach dropped. It was too late.

 

Gran’s face twisted with rage. “You liar. You don’t respect this place, this hallowed ground, this institution!”

​

Then her Gran stood up straight, and a rage burned through her eyes that Melissa had only ever seen glimpses of.

 

Gran grabbed a heavy vase, lifting high, suddenly not nearly as fragile as before.

 

Melissa stumbled back, raising her arm over her face. “N-no, Gran! What’re you–”

 

Gran brought it down on Melissa's skull.

 

Everything went black.

 

---

​

Melissa tried to open her eyes, and pain lit every part of her head.

 

She woke to the ragged sound of her own breathing echoing in the darkness. She opened her eyes, waiting for them to adjust to the light, and her head throbbed. Spikes of pain drove deep into her skull with every pulse of her heart. Her fingers delicately examined the wound, and they came away wet. Copper filled her nose, and she forced herself to sit up. She blinked, peering through the shadows.

 

There, in the middle of the room, lit only by the faintest light shining through curtains on the opposite wall, was a coffin.

 

Melissa pressed herself against the cold wall. She took careful steps, her hands shaking and searching for a way out. There was nothing.

 

Then fluttering began. She thought of the jeweled butterflies from before, but the sound grew into a roaring swoosh swoosh. 

 

Melissa put her arms over her head, curling into a ball. Something brushed along her spine, and she let out the softest whimper. Silence filled the tomb again.

 

She slowly rose, shaking.

 

Then Melissa noticed something.

 

The coffin’s edge shimmered gold. Could it be real gold?

 

She took tentative steps forward in the dark across dusty tile. She stepped up onto the altar - but it wasn’t an altar, was it? 

 

As she approached the coffin, she found it was lifted on a daias. She leaned forward and jewels glittered up at her from the gold trim. Excitement rushed through her, washing away the fear.

 

This was what she’d been looking for. Melissa moved closer, and a grin lit her face. She reached out to touch it, and the creature swooped again. This time she felt its wings brush against her ever-so-lightly. 

 

Melissa let out a scream and grabbed at the curtains, tearing them from the rails. Fear ripped through her, and light burned into that dark space. The walls were painted black and dusted with what looked like tiny, shimmering scales.

 

She shuddered and realized the scales were all over her, clinging to her skin, her clothes, her hair like fine fairy dust. Revulsion washed through her. She started to brush off the tiny scales, fighting the nausea crawling up her throat.

 

A soft fluttering, and she turned to find the coffin was open.

 

A light floral scent dusted with death flowed up and over the edge of the coffin, filling the room.

 

Soft breathing came from the open coffin.

 

She forced herself to stand, imagining the coffin was a treasure that might make all of this worth it. This might be her only chance at a life. She couldn’t turn back now.

 

She stepped forward, and Melissa slowly peered over the edge of the coffin.

 

A body lay there on the deep purple silk.

 

Icy fear trickled down her spine.

 

A woman, shriveled and dried, lay there like a jewel in a jewelry box. Her face, once beautiful, was curled up and hollow. Her skin clung to her elegant cheekbones, her dark hair drifted over the pillow.

 

Then Melissa’s eyes landed on two silvery sheaths underneath the woman. She had two beautiful wings, delicate like a butterfly. They were folded beneath her and stretched from her shoulder blades all the way to her ankles.

 

Melissa leaned over, peering at her. It had to be a prop from an old movie or for traveling circuses a hundred years before. She imagined kids crowding around the coffin, dropping bits of popcorn and cotton candy on the sculpture, but the pieces of the story didn’t quite fit. 

 

A part of Melissa felt that what she was looking at was real. Enough that she was too afraid to reach out and touch the creature.

 

Because that’s what it was.

 

A creature.

 

A voice cut into her thoughts, “You want to see the real treasure of Garden Grove? It’s this. The Butterfly Queen.”

 

Melissa spun around and stared at Gran, but she didn’t seem like Gran anymore. Her tired face was hard, her eyes were steely. “I really hoped you wouldn’t be the one.”

 

Melissa’s voice shook, but she couldn’t figure out why. “Wh-what do you mean?”

 

Jane appeared, looming out of the darkness.

 

“Jane! What’s going on? What is this thing–?”

 

Jane’s face was different too. “I think she’s perfect, Gran. She’ll get everything she ever wanted from you.”

 

Melissa stared. “Wha–”

 

Before Melissa could say anything else, Gran shoved her.

 

She slipped on little scales and fell back into the coffin. She crushed the woman laying there, and dust sprayed around her. In that split moment, she realized it wasn’t a movie prop. Or a sculpture.

 

She laid in the collapsed body cavity of a dried corpse.

 

The broken ribs wrapped around her own.

 

The crispy, hollow teeth dug and caught in her hair.

 

The wings, those terrible, beautiful wings, fluttered around her.

 

And the coffin slammed shut.

 

Then there was darkness.

 

Screaming.

 

Melissa screamed until the air was gone, her throat could produce nothing else. The water and youth pulled out of her flesh and she was hollowed out and empty like the great Pharaohs in their tombs.

 

Until she wasn’t Melissa anymore.

 

Then the coffin slowly opened.

 

A face emerged, twisted and gaunt. She floated up into the air, and her butterfly wings rose around her in an elegant champagne waterfall of gold and purple. 

 

Gran grinned brightly and turned to leave the secret room. Jane held the door open for her and watched the monster in her new cage. Jane gave her a little, devious smile before she locked the girl-transformed in her tomb to crawl and flutter and rot.

 

Outside, the store brightened. 

 

Gran took down the “help wanted” sign in the window, and the town changed, like a breath of fresh air floated through Garden Grove to wash away the decrepit past. The Butterfly Festival returned, tourists swarmed, and Garden Grove flourished. 

 

When Gran passed, Jane took over Old But Not Forgotten. It became her legacy to protect, her secret to hold, her curse to continue.

 

All the while, the Butterfly Queen fluttered.

 

Fluttered.

 

Fluttered.