Excerpt from Michael J Seidlinger's Spooky Novel 'Falter Kingdom'

BY MICHAEL J SEIDLINGER

This is an except from  "Falter Kingdom."

I read somewhere that symptoms shouldn’t start until nightfall. I call bullshit on that because it’s one p.m. and I’m hungry and locked in my room. The doorknob won’t turn and, yes, it’s unlocked.

It’s messing with me and getting stronger and bolder and meaner every day. I send everything above as a text message to Becca, who immediately replies with this exclamation point, three of them actually, and then:

“I heard! That’s like such bullshit!”

Duh. I text back, “I’m home with it.”

“Are you okay?”

“See previous message.”

“Wait, like, you’re stuck in your room?”

“Yeah,” and I add, “It’s cold in here.”

Becca texts back, “We need you to meet someone today.”

“Ditch school and help me. I’m clueless with this shit.”

It’s true. I can’t believe it, but yeah, I really do need Becca’s help. But everything I just said feels so fake, and wrong, and nothing at all sincere. But it’s there, so that’s something.

“I’ll leave at lunch period.”

Good. I want to text back, “I’ll be stuck in a room haunted by some demon, waiting for you,” but instead I text, “Thanks.” And again with the “Love you.”

We both text the same two words to each other.

It feels as strange as ever.

But Becca doesn’t ask about the party the other night. She doesn’t even act suspicious. Maybe she’s caught wind of the Nikki thing but she won’t say anything about it. I think it has a lot to do with how she’s reacted to what’s been happening. For being someone so close to me, she shouldn’t have done that, keeping her distance and stuff. But then she’s also skipping school and she never skips school, so . . .

I’m confused. What else is new?

I know you’re there, yeah.

I can sense it nearby, but it’s weird because I can’t get a make on where it’s standing. It feels like it’s everywhere around me. But it’s also not doing anything. It just wants to keep me here, in this room.

Like if I left the room I’d do something stupid.

I look up from my phone and shout, “Are you protecting me or some shit?”

I hear a creaking coming from the floorboards, kind of like how the floorboards creak when I shift my weight from one leg to the other. A low creak, and then there’s nothing.

I get a text from Brad. I don’t read it.

It’s probably just a bunch of “Bro, you got suspended?! That’s fucking wild! You the man!” kind of stuff.

I try the door, still not budging.

I sit on my bed, laptop open, and I start scrolling through blog posts and other stuff. Just wasting time.

Blaire texts me, “Halverson’s a douche.”

I text back, “Yup. Douching it up.”

Blaire replies, “You’ll be okay.”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Talked to Becca. She’s on her way.”

I read that text again and again. Something about it . . . how it makes me picture everyone I know soaking in the drama that’s probably happening, and they’re all running around, exaggerating their concern, so that they also get some attention. That’s probably happening. And then I think of Nikki, picture her sitting at a table in the cafeteria, watching as Becca and Blaire make a scene. Everyone knows what’s going on.

And here I am, freezing and stuck in my room.

I get a call. When I look, it’s a number I don’t recognize.

Well then, ignore.

But the number keeps calling. I put my phone on silent. I go online and focus on something else.

This is all getting so overwhelming.

Becca messages me online, telling me that I’m not answering her texts.

“Yeah, getting overwhelmed by things.”

“Gotcha,” she types, “on my way. Father James is cutting us like a huge break. I think he’s going to be the one that sees you.”

“Great,” and then I add, “Yeah, that’s really great.”

Becca asks, “Still locked in?”

“Yup,” I type back. Then I add, “Might have to leave via the window.”

“That’s like so fucked up,” she says.

“It is, yeah. I don’t understand what’s going on.”

“But we do know what’s going on though.”

I try to make sense of it, put it in words that would make sense to her: “No, I know, I mean . . . well, it’s just like everything people said about being haunted but it’s also very different.”

Becca doesn’t type anything.

“Let me try to explain.” But the explanation doesn’t come. I type out something that doesn’t make sense so I delete it. I’m at a loss. Then I ask, “Who’s driving you?”

Her reply: “Jon-Jon.”

I should have known. I mean, it’s not a bad thing, I guess.

I type back, “Cool.”

She knows me well enough to know that when I reply “Cool” it means the opposite of cool. She knows my mannerisms but she doesn’t know how I’m really feeling. And that’s what makes me think of Nikki as the real reason I’m going to keep doing this. I’ll break up with Becca when this is all over and Nikki and I are together.

Becca types back, “We’re heading out now. Be there soon, like ten minutes.”

“Okay,” I reply.

I lean back in bed, laptop on my stomach, hands in my pockets to keep them sort of warm.

I wait—wait for something to happen.

I look at my phone next to me; the screen’s lit up, people reacting. People are always reacting.

If anyone’s confused by this, just think of how confusing it is for me. I’m full of mixed emotions. I want it gone but I also know that none of the attention would be there if it weren’t for the demon.

I think, “You are the reason I’ll be remembered.”

I expect something to happen, but nothing does.

I stare at the screen, watching the social media feed scroll with the latest from hundreds of people I follow.

Nothing happens.

I start to count each breath I see.

Then there’s the sound of someone messaging me.

I blink, realizing I hadn’t blinked in a good minute. Hands out of the pockets, I lean forward and read the message.

“They are outside.”

I look at the name of the sender but the name is mine. It’s my name.

I don’t know what to say, so I say, “Thanks.”

“The door is open.”

I read the message and then look at the door, wander over and give the doorknob a tap, then a slight jostle.

It’s open.

I look over at the laptop, breathing out a sigh that I see as a little plume, a cloud in front of my face.

When I look back the sender appears as “offline.”

I don’t have time to react though because whatever that was, it was right. They are outside. Jon-Jon’s car parked behind mine, Becca looking up at my bedroom window, waving.

I look at the phone and see a few missed calls.

Oh yeah, it’s on silent.

I switch the ringer back on, notice over two dozen missed calls and more than a handful of text messages. I run downstairs, taking along my laptop and the power cord too, because, well, I’ve learned my lesson.

At the front door, I shove the laptop in my book bag and I leave the house without looking. I don’t get a real chance to think about what happened until I’m sitting in one of the back pews of the church, waiting to be seen.

I put all the pieces together. And then it sort of makes sense, but not really. I was messaging myself?

Was that you?

RELATED: Interview with Michael J. Seidlinger on Gifs, Gender & the Apocalypse

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Michael J. Seidlinger is an Asian American author of a number of novels including The Fun We’ve Had and The Strangest. He serves as director of publicity at Dzanc Books, book reviews editor at Electric Literature, and publisher in chief of Civil Coping Mechanisms, an indie press specializing in innovative fiction, nonfiction, and poetry. He lives in Brooklyn, New York, where he never sleeps and is forever searching for the next best cup of coffee. You can find him online at michaeljseidlinger.com, on Facebook, and on Twitter (@mjseidlinger).

An Election-Day Reminder That You Are *Literally* Making History Right Now

BY LISA MARIE BASILE

When my grandmother was young, she emigrated to the United States from Sicily, where she was surrounded by the squadristi, or Blackshirts. She came from a place where beautiful lemon trees pocked the land but poverty was real and oppressive. Speaking no English, she made her way to America's East Coast and eventually joined the Women's Army Corp as an X-Ray technician. I can't imagine how difficult that may have been, but I do know that my grandmother had a choice. And she chose to come to America. And she took advantage of it. 

Likely because of the extreme prejudice Sicilians faced at the time, she felt it pertinent to change her name - from Concetta Maria to Mary, to adjust to American customs, to become part of the whole, to be less...Sicilian. But despite all of this, she was after opportunity, a new life, freedom. It's the sentimental story we hear time and again about America and its open arms. 

I think of the many today who would like to come here but cannot. And the many who, as law-abiding, good people, come here to face struggle and assimilation shame and prejudice and deportation. I think of how we could, tonight, potentially see a man in power who would truly further thwart that opportunity and shirk the very idea of unity and acceptance. Who could even further destroy what America was supposed to stand for. 

As an American with a great deal of family and friends from different countries, I have had the pleasure to travel and experience many other cultures. I have always been welcomed and embraced. But when I think on the way we treat certain foreigners — and the way we treat our own people — it is a devastating blow. It is appalling. And today — literally today, November 8 — we are living in a time in which many people think it's perfectly okay to say we should ban peaceful Muslim individuals from entering, to say we should build a wall against Mexico, that it's okay to behave as if women are objects, where it's reasonable to be embraced by the KKK. 

Thinking back on my grandmother's life (and the lives of millions of others), I am certain that what this country wants to stand for, is, at the very least, opportunity and diversity. This, I think, is the real American dream. But it doesn't seem to be a reality. From colonialism to Donald Trump, hatred has been on tap since the get-go. It seems we really are divided. It seems the American Dream is only available to the privileged, to the predisposed, to the hard workers who were born in the right skin color, with the right sexuality or religion. It feels like an illusion. And for many, it seems that this is the right way to function. 

In one day, we vacillate back and forth — we go from feeling nauseated by reality to existentially energized by hope for the future. We have been on a roller coaster for almost a year. And it's not stopping anytime soon. 

But I want to remind people that today we came together and voted for our future in one of the most important elections in modern American history.

Supporters of Hillary and protesters against Trump: We worked hard, didn't we? We really, really tried. We rallied. We shared our stories and created million+ member Facebook groups and took sticker selfies and asked our family to register and vote. We made it known that bigotry and hatred is not okay. We are a wild engine of hard work and resilience, despite being objectified and hurt via media and Donald Trump. Lots of us tried. We had opposition — from Trump supporters, from our own kind, from third-party supporters, from our own families and our own cognitive dissonance. Many of us didn't like our choices. But we still fought for the future and for what is decent. Conviction was not in short supply.

And while we know that no candidate is perfect, today we got to do what we have never ever done before: we voted for a woman — for President of the United States. We got to say no to the man who wants to build physical and metaphorical borders. We did that. 

Through all of the madness and frustration and endless, grating, painful Facebook debates — and through all of the traumatizing rhetoric we've heard coming from a presidential nominee — we have still managed to get to an important place. It should seem like just another day, because in other parts of the world, women are already leaders. It should seem like no big deal. But it is a big deal. It's a big deal and we are witnessing it. 

96 years ago, women got the right to vote. That means it took 96 years to see a woman on a Presidential ballot. And that's why taking a moment to appreciate this day is so important — to remember that, even though change occurs at a sloth's horrible pace, it is happening. It is a fight that will continue years and years after Hillary Clinton (assuming she wins) leaves office. And many of you pushed for it.  

But we know the racism, sexism and division in this country isn't over. We know it all so well by now. It's loud and clear and in the streets and you can taste it. We know it's not stopping tomorrow. Which is why we're going to keep pushing for change. Like we did during this election season.

Take a moment to remember how hard you worked to support your values and beliefs, even if you don't support Hillary. And especially if you do. 

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Lisa Marie Basile is a NYC-based poet, editor, and writer. She's the founding editor-in-chief of Luna Luna Magazine, and her work has appeared in The Establishment, Bustle, Bust, Hello Giggles, The Gloss, xoJane, Good Housekeeping and The Huffington Post, among other sites. She is the author of Apocryphal (Noctuary Press). Visit her at www.twitter.com/lisamariebasile.

Watch Marilyn Manson Read William Blake

BY LISA MARIE BASILE

WELP, here's Marilyn Manson reading William Blake's Proverbs of Hell. (You can read along below). Happy Halloween. 

"Expect poison from the standing water..." Musician and poet Marilyn Manson reads at Dark Blushing, a poetry evening inspired by the exhibition "Luminous Paper: British Watercolors and Drawings" at the J. Paul Getty Museum. On screen is Blake's watercolor "Satan Exulting over Eve," from the Getty Museum's collection: http://www.getty.edu/art/gettyguide/artObjectDetails?artobj=75 Introduction by Amber Tamblyn; music by Timmy Straw.

Read along:

The Proverbs of Hell, from The Marriage of Heaven and Hell by William Blake

In seed time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy. Drive your cart and your plow over the bones of the dead. The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom. Prudence is a rich ugly old maid courted by Incapacity. He who desires but acts not, breeds pestilence. The cut worm forgives the plow. Dip him in the river who loves water. A fool sees not the same tree that a wise man sees. He whose face gives no light, shall never become a star. Eternity is in love with the productions of time. The busy bee has no time for sorrow. The hours of folly are measur’d by the clock, but of wisdom: no clock can measure. All wholsom food is caught without a net or a trap. Bring out number weight & measure in a year of dearth. No bird soars too high, if he soars with his own wings. A dead body, revenges not injuries. The most sublime act is to set another before you. If the fool would persist in his folly he would become wise. Folly is the cloke of knavery. Shame is Prides cloke. ~ Prisons are built with stones of Law, Brothels with bricks of Religion. The pride of the peacock is the glory of God. The lust of the goat is the bounty of God. The wrath of the lion is the wisdom of God. The nakedness of woman is the work of God. Excess of sorrow laughs. Excess of joy weeps. The roaring of lions, the howling of wolves, the raging of the stormy sea, and the    destructive sword, are portions of eternity too great for the eye of man. The fox condemns the trap, not himself. Joys impregnate. Sorrows bring forth. Let man wear the fell of the lion, woman the fleece of the sheep. The bird a nest, the spider a web, man friendship. The selfish smiling fool, & the sullen frowning fool, shall be both thought wise, that    they may be a rod. What is now proved was once, only imagin’d. The rat, the mouse, the fox, the rabbit: watch the roots; the lion, the tyger, the horse,    the elephant, watch the fruits. The cistern contains; the fountain overflows. One thought, fills immensity. Always be ready to speak your mind, and a base man will avoid you. Every thing possible to be believ’d is an image of truth. The eagle never lost so much time, as when he submitted to learn of the crow. ~ The fox provides for himself, but God provides for the lion. Think in the morning. Act in the noon. Eat in the evening. Sleep in the night. He who has suffer’d you to impose on him knows you. As the plow follows words, so God rewards prayers. The tygers of wrath are wiser than the horses of instruction. Expect poison from the standing water. You never know what is enough unless you know what is more than enough. Listen to the fools reproach! it is a kingly title! The eyes of fire, the nostrils of air, the mouth of water, the beard of earth. The weak in courage is strong in cunning. The apple tree never asks the beech how he shall grow, nor the lion, the horse,    how he shall take his prey. The thankful reciever bears a plentiful harvest. If others had not been foolish, we should be so. The soul of sweet delight, can never be defil’d. When thou seest an Eagle, thou seest a portion of Genius, lift up thy head! As the catterpiller chooses the fairest leaves to lay her eggs on, so the priest    lays his curse on the fairest joys. To create a little flower is the labour of ages. Damn, braces: Bless relaxes. The best wine is the oldest, the best water the newest. Prayers plow not! Praises reap not! Joys laugh not! Sorrows weep not! ~ The head Sublime, the heart Pathos, the genitals Beauty, the hands &    feet Proportion. As the air to a bird of the sea to a fish, so is contempt to the contemptible. The crow wish’d every thing was black, the owl, that every thing was white. Exuberance is Beauty. If the lion was advised by the fox, he would be cunning. Improvement makes strait roads, but the crooked roads without Improvement,    are roads of Genius. Sooner murder an infant in its cradle than nurse unacted desires. Where man is not nature is barren. Truth can never be told so as to be understood, and not be believ’d. Enough! or Too much!

Via Poets.org.