Read early and get exclusive shorts on my Patreon! This Everyday Anxiety contains
The storm clouds were gathering ominously overhead, and Juniper frowned, checking her phone again. She’d been early for the bus, so she’d been able to catch the alternate, which meant she’d gotten the train before the one she was scheduled to take, and then the walk had taken three minutes instead of fifteen, and now she was 45 minutes early.
Well. She was 45 minutes early to being 15 minutes early, which would have given her five minutes leeway for the socially acceptable “10 minutes early” which was the leeway she budgeted in case of anything making her run late.
And this would be fine because she had books on her phone and there was quite a nice park on the other side of the road, but it was going to rain, and she was wearing a nice dress, and she hadn’t brought an umbrella. She kept lingering at the curb on the corner of the centre’s car park, squinting at her phone and looking around as though she were definitely waiting for someone who was absolutely coming while she made up her mind what to do.
The doors were too tinted to tell if there was a lobby on the other side, but as the first drops of rain spattered against her shoulders she made up her mind and dashed past the cars.
It was thankfully unlocked, and did have a lobby, though it was small and standing room only. There was a sign for toilets, so if she did end up needing to sit down for a few minutes it would probably be fine.
Whatever function was happening before her class was still going; loud, thuddy music reverberating through the cracked door. No light was spilling out, they’d apparently opted for their own, a faint reddish tinge colouring the dark inside.
There was a flash of lightning from outside, and a crescendoing spatter of raindrops against the door—she’d made it just in time.
“Oh thank goodness, you’re just in time,” said a voice from the door behind her.
Juniper jumped, already half turning, to see two people clad in weird red robes with black embroidery, the top halves of their faces covered in black scarves.
“We were worried the storm might have caught you,” continued the one who’d spoken, the two of them striding towards her with purpose.
“Oh, sorry, I actu—” she yelped as the one not speaking shoved something rough and hessian in her mouth, hooking their elbows together.
“We’re running a little behind, so we’ll have to skip the ritual bath,” continued the other one, hooking his arm through her other elbow as they approached the door. “Looks like you got a little rained on though, that’ll count enough. Good work on finding a white cotton dress that looks normal enough to go out in public too!”
She worked her tongue, trying to push the gag out of the way so she could tell them to let her go, that they’d made a mistake, that she was here for the salsa classes, actually, but the bolus of rough fabric was too wide, forcing her jaw open and still bulging her cheeks, not enough give to push out. When she tried anyway something foul and oily hit her tongue, the push of fabric and the rotten taste making her gag.
One of them tutted apologetically, supporting her through the doorway which someone shut and locked behind them.
The gymnasium was cast in a dull, angry red, and there were a lot more people standing around wearing the same kind of robes. The thick, thudding music permeated everything, a pair of speakers at the back of the hall angled away from each other, and as her pupils dilated (what was in the gag? Her head was spinning) she realised that the echoing thuds were from people holding large drums.
She was being pulled, almost dragged—the people holding her weren’t even hesitating—towards the centre of the room, her feet lifted carefully over painted lines that were still glisteningly wet. Candles flickered, bright at the tips but not casting any light in the even red glow from the ceiling.
There was a gym mat in the centre of the activity that she was lowered down onto. She kicked out her legs automatically as her centre of gravity lowered, and someone thanked her cheerfully, sets of hands taking her ankles.
Someone looped more rough hessian around her wrists and yanked, making her yelp.
“Gentle!” said a voice as she stared around, trying to make out anything in the haze around them. “The clove oil will be screwing with her by now, she’s doing this as a gift.”
“Sorry,” said someone, stroking her cheek.
She whimpered behind the gag as her hands and ankles were tied tightly to something in the flooring. It came out as a gurgle and when she stared hard at her feet she could see an iron ring, like the kind used to attach nets for volleyball, that her feet were secured to.
Soft hands caught her head as she dropped it again, moaning in despair as she tugged on the rope around her hands. Her fingers and toes were tingling from how tightly it was secured, and her knees kept trying to lock, no give anywhere. Someone was massaging her jaw where she was clenching on the gag, and then all the drums stopped, every hand dropping away from her in the sudden silence.
The heavy-voiced person standing over her was holding their hand flat in front of them, and then two people appeared to disrobe them in a motion that looked rehearsed without being smooth.
They stepped over her, the red light almost flattening them into the background, and then they sat on her thighs, right below her hips, suddenly the realest thing in the room. Hard, wiry muscle pressed Juniper’s body into the mat below, and her eyes fixed on the tattoos over their chest as they held their hands out beside their shoulders, flat, palms to the ceiling.
“Louise Gooden,” they intoned, voice vibrating up her ribcage and filling the air in her lungs, making her bones rattle. “Today you come to us as a gift. Today you leave this world as a gift. Your soul will dissipate into nothing and the violations of your flesh will birth new life. This is a gift.”
“This is a gift,” echoed all the people around him.
Two more disrobed people approached, placing long, angry looking knives into their upturned palms. Their fingers curled around the handles, and they lifted their arms above their head, points aimed directly at her chest.
She heaved, tongue thick and head swimming with fear and bile, her lungs screaming for as much air as she could pull in, her eyes filling with tears. Surely they weren’t—
It felt like they were making eye contact, even through the scarf over their eyes, and when they spoke, this time it was just for her. “Louise. Thank you for your gift. We will honour this in perpetua.”
A horrible, muffled scream pushed up her throat, and she could feel the muscles in their thighs clamping around her hips as they pressed up onto their knees and slammed the knives down into Juniper’s chest with unimaginable force.
Rory Banks 