Anchor Point

When Amphitrite answered the call to join a job with only the stipulation that she not speak and only intervened at the sound of a scream. She took the job and its incredible pay package and benefits with a grain of abyss salt. 

She received her first shift on a day where she really ought to be hibernating. Rubbing her exposed arms, she inspected the uniform. It was classy, and she suspected incredibly expensive. It was confirmed when she saw the barely perceptible stitches belonging to the brand ABON. It would have taken not just her whole life’s salary but possibly every cell in her body in order to afford this uniform. A half-cloak that would hang from her right side. A flared skirt, followed by tights. Pockets and places for knives, needles, other small trinkets. All of it was there. Gloves that exposed her index fingers, those protected by artificial talons. 

Most curious of all was the mask, beaked it would cover most of her face. Except it would leave her bottom lip and one eye exposed to view. One of her coworkers, another owl. Had a similar mask and uniform - except their mask had exposed their nose only. No beak. Though the nose of the person was hooked to a certain angle. 

She slipped into the satin. Having been instructed by a beige calling card to come in naught but a black jacket - also supplied by the establishment she found herself now in. They had been very clear she should not bring anything but herself to work. No shoes either. So she had reluctantly kissed Loic farewell before putting on the jacket, knowing full well if the wind blew too harshly: someone would see she was completely nude. 

Even getting there had been a journey in itself. She shuddered at the mere thought of having to ever sip the supplied tonic - something to alter her voice, so all that would come out were hoots; or at least that’s the only thing that the clients would hear. Her co-workers would understand her, so would her higher ups. Diadems. She had spotted one at work, the jaunty crown on their head. Unique, all of these crowns. Made of fine metal and jewels. 

As she picked up the mask, she looked at herself in the mirror. She had the colouring of a small barn owl. Her coworker had looked like a harpy eagle. She wondered about the significance about the different owl types. The mask itself was weightless, it didn’t even feel like she was wearing one. The boots were snug and heeled - but she could tell they were made to be able to bolt at full speed at. 

This whole establishment was a sight to behold. The staff areas, in which she was now being led through, were bland and white. She was handed a kit, inside were simple implements for healing field injuries and providing simple food and drink to their clients. More specific aids could be summoned quickly with the bracelet she was given. 

Her first night was about to begin. Starting first and foremost in a space known merely as the orchard. Rows upon rows of trees, all of them ripe with delectable fruits and blossoming blooms. The sky above clear, not a cloud in sight. She could not see if there was anything beyond, save the hedges at the very end which she had been warned against touching. Told to sit in one of the many nets above the top of the trees. She would wait for the scream. 

“What do the diadem do?”

They follow. They observe. They decide. We are here to ensure all is well and they are not disturbed.

How would she know if her job was done? The other owl had said the Diadem would call for her by her owl type. Then she would be replaced by another owl of the same kind. 

The small hour glass stitched into the net was only just about an eighth spilt when an ear-splitting scream ripped through the sweetly scented air. Her eyes roamed over, but there was no movement besides the diadem who seemed to stalk through the trees in a zig-zag manner. This one crowned with a three-pronged horned mess. It looked heavy and the diadem wearing it seemed to hop and skip. Their weapon - used for decisions. Was a curved sickle shaped blade. Which they tossed and swung around like a rag doll. 

The diadem didn’t seem all that bothered by the scream. Going out of sight only to be replaced by another diadem wearing their crown as a collar rather than atop their head. Amphitrite blanched. They were covered in blood. Gleeful murder screaming from their pores. She decided she didn’t want to come across them.

This time the scream came from below her. She only saw the briefest of movements. Someone running. Unceremoniously throwing herself out of the net. She landed feet first just as the individual seemed to trip on the deep roots of an orange tree. 

“Ow! Fuck! My ankle! Fuck!” 

She waited till the person had a chance to assess the damage before approaching. 

“Do you need something?”

It came out as one long hoot. Right. No words to the clients. This was going to be hard. 

The person, was terrified of looking at her. In fact they were trying very hard to look everywhere beside her. Which was funny, because there was nothing against the clients looking at owls. It was the diadem they should avoid looking at. 

Reaching into one of many pockets, this one with small grey-silver pills. Painkillers. If the artificial appearance was anything to go by. Placing two of them as well as a small bottle of water on the ground. Amphitrite sorely wish she could examine the ankle. But something told her, that this client would not welcome it.

Taking their non-movements as an indication that there was nothing left to do. Amphitrite started on her trek back towards where her net was. 

She could hear them limping, the opening of the bottle of water being opened. The pills being swallowed. A series of hard inhales. She turned to look over her shoulder. 

“Where am I! Please! There has to be a way out. Help me!”

She wished she could. But she did not want to lose this job. She swallowed down her sympathies as the original horned diadem emerged. She ducked her head in reverence and forced herself to keep moving.  

It was later when she was once more forced to roam the rows and spotted a child. That she realised that the diadem who had killed someone was the least of her worries. The child, was crouched over something. Rabid noises of flesh being torn. It was only because of the colouring - snow owl. That Amphitrite realised what she had stumbled upon. She took one step closer. But was frozen in place by the crow of the space. Two fingers on their lips. The child continued to feast. 

She did not hesitate to blow the whistle. 

When she did. Not one. Not two. But seven different diadems, including the horned and gleeful murder one emerged. This stopped the child. The child cackled. Standing up and hissing over the snow owl corpse. Amphitrite had to covered her own mouth to stop herself from being sick. Now she could see. The child had been feasting upon the innards of the claimant who had been one of her nameless coworkers. They seemed to move as one. Because the next thing Amphitrite’s nerves detected was the none to pleasant sensation of blood splattering. Except none of it got on her. Rather the trees, which had been so pretty were now barren and the child - still alive, still frothing at the mouth with gore; yowled and kicked with fury. 

“Go back to your net barn owl. Your presence is no longer needed.”

The one who wore their diadem as a collar ordered. It came out as a hiss. Something the  child couldn’t have understood. She didn’t bother to wait for the order to be repeated. She ran.

Perhaps she should have asked more questions, especially in regards to the policy of a staff abandoning their post and resigning. Except there was no policy and no one allowed her to return her mask or her uniform and never return. Perhaps it would have been wise to have done some research before she ever accepted the role and the stipulations it carried.

Amphitrite could not get the sight of the cannibal child out of her mind. The grotesque laughter, the spittle, the torn apart individual that was at their bare feet. 

She wondered if she might take up another role. Again, she was told she was too new. She would have to get used to being an owl and then maybe she would be considered for another role. One that might not even exist yet. 

At the end of the night, her mask and uniform were returned to the mannequin, and rather than walking out in naught but a jacket. She was given clothes, a simple black turtleneck, an oversized sun hat, a caramel brown leather bag, dark forest green slacks and a pair of sneakers. Again all of it screaming ABON. 

She left the way she came, unlike the entrance to Anchor Point which the client’s saw, the staff were greeted instead by the following words carved into stone, a single out of place metal lantern with a barely perceptible lick of light inside. 

We watch. We wait. We soar. We plummet. We hold no answers. Our questions untouched. We are all, the helm of stability. Our responsibility is not to ourselves but the greater scheme. We pay no price, we gain no reward. We are who we must be. Nothing more.

It turned out, when she finally fell atop the mattress inside the place she called home, that she had been inside of Anchor point for an entire week. Enough time had passed that Loic who had told her he was off to hunt had come and gone. How that had been managed? She could have sworn the clocks and other time implements inside the place were accurate. It hadn’t felt like a week. 

She received another beige calling card. They were pleased with her efforts. Her next shift would be in two days. Her arrival time would be just as the sun began its descent into the vastness of space. She would not see the likes of the orchards again; for she had been given another room. This one labelled: the cliff.