Violet Vertigo – A Madeline Short

Note: This is the first of four short stories I will be posting on Thursdays throughout October. They’ll all have spooky vibes, but they’re not all about Madeline. I thought she would be the best way to start things off.

The crowds were thinning in New York City. They weren’t thin, but they were thinning. The difference was significant enough to Madeline that the knots in her shoulders were loosening and she found it easier to smile as she left the coffee shop.

She raised the paper cup in her hands to her lips. Tantalizing wisps of steam danced in front of her face. She inhaled, letting her eyes flutter shut as the scent of apple, cinnamon, clove, and nutmeg caused her lips to pull upwards into a grin. The evening air was cool and crisp as the sun set behind towering buildings. The warmth of the cider was welcome, but not necessary.

It was perfect.

She held the paper cup to her chest. The sky had darkened since she left her apartment twenty minutes prior. The forecast didn’t call for rain, but with the overcast and stormy sky, Madeline put her hood up just in case.

Delilah, Madeline’s comic book character, was about to make her annual trip to Earth 327 to fight Turich. Half-lizard, half-wizard, he would take kids from their families and drop them in the middle of Celeste Cove, the city’s deepest lake, on Halloween. The ones who could swim were pulled under as he swam beneath them, tugging at their feet, pulling their costumes, suffocating them. The children who couldn’t swim drowned. Delilah still hadn’t figured out how to keep him from coming back every year.

Madeline hadn’t taken the time to figure it out, either. She was waiting for Delilah to discover it. Madeline would have worked it out by now, but she didn’t have the mental capacity for it. The bounce in her step, the ease with which she could run, lift, and jump, and her ability to stick to walls was still unreal to her. She had assumed she was going mental from spending too much time drawing comics, but Dev, her best friend, had seen it too. He encouraged her to embrace her powers, to train with them. He made her devices for her wrists that she could shoot synthetic spider webs out of. They had multiple modes she could use for combat, stealth, or to travel, but she hadn’t spent much time training. She still preferred drawing comics, but the intent was there. She wore them now to get used to the feeling of cold metal on her wrists.

Madeline sighed, staring at the skyline as she walked. She had stopped working on her comic to get cider, hoping it would inspire her. The reason she hadn’t focused as much on her training was because she wanted to finish her Halloween arc before the season was over. It wouldn’t have the same impact in November, but Turich was throwing her for a loop. He was overused. He was boring. Delilah had fought him four times now. It all felt reused and recycled.

She took a sip. The cider was hot against her lips and warmed her throat. She had decided that Turich’s wizard powers would extend to reality. She had just sketched the panel where Delilah discovers this. He morphs her perception of reality and plunges Delilah out of the lake and into the sky. It wasn’t the first time Delilah had fought without a grip on what was real and what wasn’t. There was this one time, with this warlock named—

Dirty, brown hair, the sharp stench of an unwashed body. A woman bumped into Madeline, knocking her cider, causing it to spill on her hoodie. 

“Hey!” Madeline said, looking over her shoulder. She hadn’t meant to speak; she normally would have kept walking, but she had left her creative space specifically for the cider she was now wearing. “Excuse me!” 

The woman was wearing a stained, tan cardigan tattered with holes. Her hair, though long, was knotted and matted. Her shoulders were hunched forward; there were pus-filled lesions on her back. The woman turned, looking over her shoulder. Madeline’s heart leapt into her throat. 

Her eyes were gold. She had no pupils, no irises. 

And when she grinned, it turned gummy. Her teeth fell out of her mouth and clattered onto the pavement, one by one, like citrine stones. 

Madeline took a step backwards, then another one. The gold eyes were unearthly. Madeline’s skin crawled as the woman turned to face her, stepping towards her. Her mouth opened as her tongue worked, as she tried to force words out, but all Madeline could hear were muffled gargles through the phlegm in her throat. 

At least, Madeline hoped it was phlegm. 

She turned, her hoodie warm and sticky from the spilled cider, and pushed through the crowds. She wasn’t willing to find out. 

She glanced over her shoulder. The woman was there, mouth still agape, frizzy hair framing her face. Her skin was gray. She was following Madeline, moving in a shuffle. Madeline took a breath. Could she sense Madeline’s powers? Or was she only following Madeline because she dared to speak up? 

If the woman was only willing to move that fast, then Madeline would easily outpace her. She would lose her in crowds lingering from summer, especially if she crossed the busy street, and she could head to her apartment without worrying about leading a leper to her home. 

But no matter how fast she moved, whether her steps were quick and agile, the woman was always fifteen or so paces behind her. 

Madeline broke into a run, careful to hold what was left of her cider upright, as she maneuvered past people. Her hood fell back. Her apartment building, made of old crumbling brick and dirty stone, was in sight. The lobby was protected. If Madeline could make it there, she would be safe. She could call the cops and let them know she was being followed. In fact, there would be a security guard sitting in the lobby. She could get help from him. 

Madeline glanced over her shoulder. The woman had blood dribbling down the corners of her mouth. She hadn’t been able to keep up with Madeline’s faster pace and she was about a block away. 

Madeline stumbled to the keypad on the stone to the left of the glass door, her purple hair a frizzy halo around her head. She fumbled with the code. She dared a glance to her right. The woman was moving more aggressively, hobbling faster. Madeline hit the enter button. The buttons on the keypad lit up red. 

No, no, no. Madeline tried again. She put the numbers in, correctly, taking the time to make sure she hit the right ones. 

Red. 

Madeline looked inside. The guard, Cameron, was sitting behind a cherry wood desk, staring down at his phone. 

The woman was closer. Madeline could hear her feet shuffling. 

She pulled the sleeves of her hoodie back staring down at the silver buttons that extended to the middle of her palms. Were they already in combat mode? Would the web splatter on the woman’s face, disorienting her? Or would it pull Madeline closer to her? Madeline didn’t have her spidersuit on. Would this expose her? 

Madeline pulled her sleeves back down and punched the numbers in again. Zero, eight, one, nine, six, two. 

It lit up green and she heard a latch click. She grabbed the silver handle, cold shooting through her hand, and pushed the door open. She turned, heart hammering, and pushed it shut behind her. The woman stumbled against the glass seconds later, her mouth a yawning black pit. Her skin was sallow. Blood dripped onto the pavement. Her gold eyes were lined red. Madeline stumbled back, hand to her chest. 

“Hey!” 

Madeline jumped, squeezing her paper cup, popping the lid off, and causing more cider to slosh out. 

“Geez,” Cameron said. He shifted in his chair as he adjusted his phone on the desk. “What’s got you spooked?”

“Do you not see—” Madeline turned back toward the door. The woman with the tattered cardigan and pus-filled lesions was gone. 

Madeline frowned. 

“Why are you screaming at me the second I walk through the door?”

The best he could manage was a shrug. Madeline huffed, throwing her paper cup away in a trashcan, before walking towards the elevators. She pressed the button to go up, ignoring the tremble in her fingers. The lobby, though inornate, was clean. The black trash can wasn’t overflowing and the dead leaves had been swept off the vinyl floor, but the decorations the kids put up had been taken down. 

Click. Click. Click. 

Madeline crossed her arms as Cameron played with his pen. He was the one who kept advocating to take the Halloween decorations down. They weren’t even that extensive. The walls around the elevators had dozens of stickers on them at one point: bats, eyeballs, bloody hands, vampire fangs. He claimed it was too distracting and they needed to be removed. He was such an audacious man for someone who was plagued by complacency. 

The elevator doors slid open and she stepped inside. She turned, reaching to press the button for the fifth floor, when she got a glimpse of dirty matted hair passing on the street through the windows. She urged the elevators to shut, heart catching in her throat. 

The old elevator groaned as its rusted chains struggled to pull her weight. The lights flickered. Madeline pulled her sleeves down in a small attempt to comfort herself. The last thing she wanted was to get stuck on this elevator with Complacent Cameron being one of the few who could help her. 

It stopped with a lurch on the fifth floor and the doors squeaked as they opened. 

Fog rolled across the tops of her feet, slowly at first as the doors inched open. She took a step backwards. It cascaded in once they opened in full, caressing her shins with sweeping tendrils. Madeline blinked at the dim hallway. Did someone leave a window open? Was someone burning something? Did someone buy a fog machine and leave their door open? Was there a gas leak? 

They were all ridiculous. Madeline turned, pressing her back into the wall of the elevator, and waited for the doors to shut. 

She waited. 

And waited. 

They remained open. 

She pulled her phone out of her back pocket. Her aunt would either know what was going on, or she would be lost in her studies. Recently, she had been entranced by the effects of PTSD on babies in the womb. Really important stuff, truly, but Madeline hoped she would answer. 

The call wouldn’t go through. She had no service. The top of her phone said SOS. 

She pressed her lips together and put her phone back. She glanced down at the silver buttons on her palms again. It couldn’t be that hard, right? 

She aimed her wrist at the wall, pressing the button with her two middle fingers. 

Thick opaque webbing shot out, splatting against the far wall of the elevator. It was still attached to her wrist. She pulled trying to dislodge it from herself, but it was stuck in the small rectangular exit holes on her device. 

“C’mon,” she murmured. “Please.” 

She pressed the silver button again and it released, floating down to the floor in a wisp. She aimed it at the wall again and pressed it four times in rapid succession. Two balls of webbing splattered on the wall. 

She could do this. She could walk through the fog and get to her apartment. The image of the woman—yellowing teeth and matching gold eyes—was seared onto the back of her eyelids. 

Ba. Dum. Ba. Dum.

Her heart thundered in her chest and her fingers trembled. She flexed her wrist. She was capable. She was strong. She was smart. 

She was untrained. 

Madeline peered around the corner, studying the swirling patterns that were moving across the floor. The fog had lessened since she opened the door, as if it were slowly dissipating. 

Ba. Dum. Ba Dum. Ba. Dum. 

Her ears strained: the muted rumble of a TV show, the occasional footstep from the floor above her, the argument of the couple three doors down from her. 

Her apartment was halfway down the hallway, fourth door on the right. 

She took a step into the fog. It felt cold, like a breeze was running across her skin. Her jeans felt damp. She rubbed the buttons on her palms with her fingers, scared that she would have to use them but eager to try them out. 

Ba. Dum. Ba Dum. 

When she opened her eyes, her door was only a few steps away. She reached into her pocket with her left hand, pulled out her keys, and kept her right hand ready at her side. 

Footsteps.

Badumbadumbadum.

They thundered towards her. Madeline didn’t look.  She put the keys in the lock and turned, grateful that her fingers stabilized for that moment, and pushed the door open. A squeal was caught in her throat. As she shut the door, she caught sight of the same sallow face and hauntingly gold eyes. She slammed it shut and locked the handle, turned the deadbolt, and chained it.  

She waited a couple of heartbeats, her breath suspended in her chest, as she waited for the woman to bang on it, slamming her palms in a fury of anger, but nothing happened. 

She turned, leaving her keys onto the kitchen counter as she stumbled into the apartment on legs with bones made of pudding. Towering bookshelves and fake ferns in the living room that once felt like home felt odd, out of place to her. 

Ba. Dum.

“Aunt June?” she said. Her voice sounded infinitely smaller than she wanted it to. “I’m home.” 

Aunt June was locked in her office when Madeline had left to get the cider. Madeline assumed she still would be, reading about rates of depression in infants with mothers that have PTSD, and she wasn’t allowed in there. But tonight… 

Madeline went towards the hallway, still shaking, but didn’t get more than two steps. 

Her aunt stumbled out of her office and slammed into the hallway. Madeline paused, still closer to the center of the living room. She wouldn’t put it past her aunt to be drinking, especially on a Saturday night, especially with the stress of her job. Aunt June drank frequently when she was overwhelmed by her clients. 

Madeline wished her aunt could be present for her tonight. Not the other way around.

Aunt June’s long, blonde hair framed her narrow face as she stood, hunched over. She had one hand on the wall, next to Madeline’s kindergarten picture. Her own freckled face and gap-toothed smile mocked her. The bags under her aunt’s eyes were prominent and dark. 

“Hey,” Madeline said. Her voice was soft, not as breathless as it was earlier. “Do you want some water?”

Aunt June’s head snapped up. 

Her pupils were wide. 

“Are you—” Madeline started. 

Aunt June screeched, like nails on a chalkboard, like the tip of a knife on the chrome of a car. Madeline’s skin turned to ice as her aunt charged forward. Madeline stumbled backwards, rushing toward the door. She felt for the handle but—it was gone. The handle was gone. The door was gone. There was nothing but a smooth, white wall. 

She turned just in time for her aunt to slam into her, pinning her against the wall. Madeline barely got her forearms up in time to protect against Aunt June’s snapping jaws. Madeline studied her face. The peridot green eyes, crow’s feet, arched eyebrows, and wrinkles on her smile lines were all familiar. But her mouth, akin to the ragged woman’s, was a yawning black pit. Her teeth jutted out from dark gums like fungi. 

“What’s wrong?” Madeline asked. Her heart beat wildly in her chest as she struggled to keep her aunt’s teeth away from her face. Then, her aunt’s crow’s feet melted. Her cheeks dragged down and down and down until they fell off and landed in the floor with a distinct splat, like ice cream melting off the side of a cone. Madeline’s stomach churned. She pushed, as hard as she could, and sent her aunt soaring into the living room. She landed on the wooden table and shattered it into a dozen pieces on the carpeted floor. 

“What’s wrong?” Madeline asked, the words coming out in a raw scream. Her aunt’s face was melting off in chunks, landing on the floor with a hiss. Steam rose from the places her flesh landed. She stood, stumbling to get her feet under her. Her breathing was labored; each breath caused her shoulders to heave. Madeline took two steps forward, aimed her wrist—

Aunt June flung herself at Madeline, tackling her to the ground. Madeline’s head barely missed the edge of the table in the entranceway and slammed into the ground. Madeline groaned as she raised her arms to cover her face. She knew she needed to defend herself, but she couldn’t bring herself to hurt the person who raised her. 

Aunt June clawed her sides. 

Her nails, always perfectly shaped and polished, ripped Madeline’s hoodie to shreds and tore her skin. Madeline screamed as her aunt’s face, still melting, dripped onto hers. A smell like rotten leather made her gag. Madeline could see her orbital bone, white and covered with tearing, pink muscle fibers. The teeth on the right side of her jaw could be seen; Madeline could count each rotten root. Aunt June was making an awful noise, as if she had something stuck in her throat. It was a low growl, a garbled tangle of syllables. 

Aunt June bit Madeline’s arm, the one covering her face. Madeline winced at the sharp sting of her teeth and the feeling of her own skin being pulled. She pushed against the pain. She pushed as hard as she could. She felt her flesh tear from her arm, felt the rush of cold air hit the exposed wound, before it grew hot and wet. 

Aunt June was laying in the floor on one of the legs from the table in the living room. Madeline walked forward and picked her aunt up by the collar of her shirt. Her aunt thrashed, struggling against her, and her arm throbbed in protest, but Madeline threw her against the wall. Before Aunt June had the chance to fall into the floor, Madeline flicked her wrists, pressing both buttons as fast as she could, webbing her aunt to the wall. She stuck there, wiggling in her cocoon, while Madeline’s stomach heaved. Blood dripped down her arm, around her web shooter.

A chunk of half-melted flesh, red and viscous, slid from her aunt’s jaw and landed in the floor. 

Madeline turned her head and lost her cider. 

Aunt June was groaning, turning her head back and forth. Her fingers flexed. Madeline’s sides stung. 

“I need you to talk to me,” Madeline said, voice thick with sick, but she knew it was useless. Aunt June screamed, a sound so raw and guttural that Madeline’s hair stood on end. This was not her aunt. 

Aunt June began to dissolve, black mouth stretching open, dripping past the synthetic web and landing in the floor. Pink and red goo covered the carpet as she dissipated, dripping, steaming, and the webs hung loose on the wall. Madeline watched, horror struck, as her aunt turned into a puddle, bones clattering, then evaporated into nothing. There was a beat of silence.

“What?” Madeline’s eyes stung with tears. Confusion muddled her brain. “What just—” 

The world tilted. 

The entire apartment turned sideways. Madeline fell, racing towards the windows. Furniture slid. Cabinets in the kitchen opened and loosed dishware, forks, and knives towards her. She reached her right arm forward, the unharmed one, shooting a web towards the wall—which was now the ceiling—but in her panic she accidentally pressed it twice and released. The web landed in a splatter on the wall. Her stomach lurched as she continued to fall. She aimed and pressed it again. Her shoulder smarted as the web stuck this time and she quit falling. Her toes were only a few inches from the glass. 

Madeline looked down, swaying slightly. A chair slid, clattering against the glass, cracking it. Madeline watched as ceramic plates shattered on it. A wooden stool from the kitchen cracked it further, splintering the sunset. The sound echoed around Madeline’s skull. 

Madeline felt her arm give a little. She looked up, breath catching, and saw the web wasn’t sticking to the wall entirely. It was loosening, second by second, heartbeat by heartbeat.

But Dev promised—

The webbing gave out. Madeline dropped. The glass cracked underneath her tattered converse, spreading in different directions. Below her was the city, a drop she could survive if she could use her web shooters properly. She took a breath, squeezing her eyes shut as the glass shattered beneath her. She fell, stomach rising into her throat. 

She felt the coolness of the autumn air.

And then the murky embrace of water. 

It was like someone poured lemon juice on her sides and her left arm. She winced and looked up. Through the haze of the water and wisps of blood trailing from her arm, she could still see her apartment, with its pieces falling around her. A lamp, a nightstand, another stool, and a blender were falling but when they landed in the water they morphed into pieces of bodies: a small, outstretched hand waterlogged with dirty water, a torso with a pirate’s shirt, a foot with a pink, glittery sandal. They sunk past her, down towards the gray sky. She could hear her own heart beating. She tried to swim up, her tattered hoodie weighing her down, purple hair wrapping around her neck, but it felt endless. It felt cold. 

Her lungs were burning. She swam faster, desperate for a breath of air. She kicked her feet, waved her arms, but to no avail. 

A dark shadow moved past her. She looked towards it, down and to the left, but it wasn’t there anymore. All she could see were the stone buildings submerged beneath her. It reminded her of Atlantis, if God had tilted the world on its side. 

Something grabbed her foot, yanking her down. She screamed at its suddenness, the last of her air leaving her lungs in a flurry of bubbles. Her eyes were burning. Her ears were full of water. 

A calloused hand had its grip on her ankle. 

She struggled, but she wasn’t strong enough underwater. She held her arm up, pushing her silver buttons, but they didn’t work. They were waterlogged. 

She was yanked upside down and dragged up and up and up. It felt like she was soaring across the side of her building, before she was thrown out of the water, and through the broken window of her apartment. She landed on the broken pieces of her table with a groan, the world righted again. The fall air, once pleasant when she had her cider, was uncomfortable and cold against her soaking, wet skin. Hair stuck to her face. She coughed, sucking in the sweet, sweet autumn air.

Something landed in her apartment with a loud thud. Water sprayed. 

Madeline forced herself onto her elbows.

He wasn’t wearing a cloak. And his scales weren’t green. They were deep purple. But his eyes, his eyes were rimmed with gold and his tail was strong behind him as he slammed it into the floor. Madeline started as the world shook. 

Turich.

“How are you—” Madeline’s words were cut off by a fit of coughs that made her sides throb.

“I own reality,” he said. His words were stretched out. He knelt beside her weak, half-drowned body. He grabbed her face with his rough hands. His fingers ended in pointed claws that pressed into her skin, drawing blood. 

“This is impossible.” She felt tears leaking out of her eyes. “Where is my aunt? Is she okay?” 

He tilted his head to the side, his pointed teeth visible through his crooked grin. He had no eyebrows, no facial hair. His entire head was made of tiny purple scales that refracted the setting sun, like the shell of a beetle. 

“You are my creator,” he said. His forked tongue slipped between his teeth. Madeline turned her head, recoiling at the rancid smell of rotten fish, but his grip tightened on her chin and he made her look at him. “I had to tessst you. Your mental fortitude, your tenacccity.” His grip tightened with each annunciation. “I had to test your ssstrength.” 

He slid his hand from her chin, raked his nails down her face, and planted it on her neck. He squeezed, lifting her up. The veins in her neck were bulging her head felt full, her eyes protruding. He slammed her down. Madeline heard a crack as black spots swam across her vision. 

“I must say,” He leaned down towards her. The pressure on her windpipe increased. His face was a blur. She couldn’t breathe. “I am quite… Disssappointed.” 

He got close enough that his scales brushed the wound on her cheek, agitating it. She whimpered. 

Turich pulled away, mouth parted, golden eyes narrowed. It was a look of disgust that made Madeline feel small, weak, and insignificant. He grabbed Madeline by the neck again, still kneeling in the floor, lifting her up. This time when he slammed her down, her vision went black, and her body stilled. 

When Aunt June found her later in the night, she was curled into a ball beside the unbroken coffee table, soaking wet and bleeding on the carpet. 

Note: What did you think? How do you feel about Turich? I would just like to take a moment and shoutout this short story for giving me the villain of my book. He seems pretty cool.

Look forward to next week’s short story! It’s not about Madeline, but I think its still pretty good.