The Adventures of Marcy Cutler

The Burning

When Marcy woke up, she was, surprisingly, uncomfortably warm. It was a cold, dry night in Conception Bay South, even though it was nearly May. Her skin was rough and dry, presumably because of the icy, moistureless winds, and her thick blankets itched. Marcy opened her eyes, and immediately closed them. Her vision was blurry, and her surroundings were dark, with vague orange auras. Squeezing her eyes tightly shut to clear her vision, Marcy heard a vague rustling. As she slowly opened her eyes, she ran an uncomfortably itchy hand through her short brown hair. It felt bizarrely dry and coarse, and as she squinted into the obscurity of her room she saw lines of flickering orange lights. Fire, thought Marcy. She needed to get out. She needed to get her family. She needed a plan. Fire, thought Marcy, with a little more urgency. She pulled herself out of her temporary paralysis, and leapt from her bed and rushed out into the kitchen. The fire was worse here. She took a breath to calm herself and breathed in smoke. Bent double, and coughing, Marcy ran past her TV and barged into her parent's room. The bed was completely ablaze, with only the slight appearance of blackened flesh showing that the room had once been occupied. Marcy screamed incomprehensively, as hot tears joined the sweat and ash covering her face. Choking, Marcy ran to the kitchen to get some water. She had just discovered that for some reason the kitchen sink wasn't working when the roof collapsed.

This time, Marcy awoke facedown in cool, wet mud. As she breathed, the air was free of smoke, and instead had an earthy aroma with a vague smell of wilted flowers and cannabis.
This was the scent of the graveyard next to Marcy's house. How did I get here? Marcy asked herself. She opened her eyes and looked around, then down at herself. Her pale skin seemed oddly unburned, and Marcy was wearing a warm black hoodie that she didn't remember putting on. Fire, thought Marcy. She pulled herself to her feet and ran back towards her house. As she came over the hill, Marcy saw that the roof of her house had collapsed completely, destroying the walls, but extinguishing the fire within. In the distance, she heard a siren. One of the neighbours must have called the fire department.
"You owe us one, kid." Marcy spun around at the sound of the voice. Behind her stood two young women of around seventeen, not much older than Marcy wearing long black dresses and leather jackets, and lipstick. The first one, seemingly the one who had spoken, was of medium height and build wore dark rimmed glasses that were concealed on one side by long grey hair. She had light brown skin and an amused expression on her face. The second one was shorter, with very pale skin and dark eyeliner and lipstick. She was scowling at the ground, not meeting Marcy's eyes.
"Wh-who are you?" Marcy stuttered. She hated it when she did that. The first woman smiled.
"It's a terrible thing, what happened. I'm so very sorry." The woman didn't look very sorry. She seemed to be anticipating something rather amusing. The shorter woman spoke for the first time.
"Unfortunately, a sacrifice was needed. It's just such a... a shame that they left a spawn behind. Of course, maybe you've been chosen too... only time will tell, I suppose." she said, smirking.
"What the fuck are you talking about!? Where are my parents!?" Marcy swung her fist towards the pair, but it seemed she had misjudged the distance between them and she fell on the damp earth. The women kept smiling.
"Your parents are dead, you stupid girl. As for what's going on, well, that's what we want to find out, isn't?" The second woman said cheerfully, pushing black and purple hairs away from her eyes. My parents, Marcy thought and waited to be crushed by a wave of despair. But she wasn't. My parents... are dead, Marcy thought. But she wasn't even sad. She was just... numb. She couldn't feel anything. The first woman seemed to notice this and examined Marcy.
"Ah. They did want you for an errand or two. Interesting."
The second woman pulled a handgun out of her jacket pocket. It was ugly, black and pointed directly at Marcy. She leapt back in fear.
"Holy shi-"
"No, Grace."
The first woman held her arm out, blocking the gun. "It wouldn't be fair. Not yet. I'll be watching you with interest, Miss..?"
"C-Cutler. Marceline Cutler." Why the hell did I say that?
"Next time, Marceline!" Grace said cheerily, waving the blocky gun. The two mounted a motorcycle that Marcy could have sworn was just a tombstone.
"No, wait, hold on-"
But they'd already vanished into the early morning mist. How were they riding a motorcycle in dresses?