Inner World, Jimena Yengle, 2023.
My Pretty Kaiju
D.W. Davis
Rylee knew it was bad when her dad called her into the living room.
“Rylee! Get in here!”
Apollonia was unpredictable, even Rylee’s dad knew that. Hadn’t he told her so himself? So whatever Apollonia had done this time wasn't Rylee's fault, not really. She’d told Apollonia to behave.
Rylee skulked into the room, trying to hide behind her blond bangs. She could feel her parents’ eyes on her, could hear the news on the TV, the national news, which wasn’t good, nope, that wasn’t a good thing at all. They couldn’t blame her for this, surely.
“We told you, Rye,” her mom said.
Well, maybe they could. But they shouldn’t.
“Rylee,” her dad said. He paused until she looked up to meet his eye. His scowl was hidden by the goatee he’d started growing, which she thought looked funny. He raised a hand and pointed to the TV.
Rylee looked. Watched the footage, endless scrawls of words along the bottom of the screen. She couldn’t make out all of what was going on; partly because she didn’t understand, partly because there was just so much with all the split-screen video footage. She recognized flames, that buildings were on fire. And people seemed afraid. The anchor, framed in the bottom left of the screen, was calm. Almost, Rylee thought, bored. She thought she’d seen him reporting on stuff like this before, though not all of those were Apollonia’s fault. After all, she wasn’t the only one.
“Call her,” Rylee’s father said. “Get her back here. Right now, kiddo.”
Rylee thought of balking. She was halfway through coloring the dalmatian purple with yellow spots. She prided herself on not using the colors people expected her to, and also never going outside the lines. That was harder to do with crayon than some people thought. Her mother said she had steady hands, whatever those were. Her father called her a budding artist, whatever that was. She just knew a purple and yellow dalmatian was more interesting than the real thing.
But she could tell by her father’s face that her coloring book would have to wait. He had his Serious Dad look going. Rylee glanced at the TV again and sighed. Apollonia had really messed up. No, it was more than that: she’d screwed up, as her dad would say when he thought she wasn’t listening.
Rylee blushed at the thought as she turned and trudged through the house to the back door. On a hanger next to the door was the horn her father had found on the beach a little over a year ago. Carved from bone, he’d said. The horn—that’s how Rylee thought of it, though her mother had remarked it looked more like a flute—was about as long as Rylee’s forearm, with two small holes halfway up. Her father had cleaned it out and said, “I bet it’s one of those things. That calls them, you know.”
He had been right. Rylee’s father was usually right.
Rylee slipped her sandals on, then opened the door and walked out onto the porch, then down the steps to the grass. She could hear the waves lapping in the distance; the sound usually relaxed her, but she still had her father’s angry face in her mind and the flames on TV flashing before her eyes. Apollonia didn’t mean any harm, they all knew that, but even Rylee was old enough to know that was no excuse. Like the time she’d shattered her grandmother’s vase by throwing a rubber bouncing ball as hard as she could against the wall. She hadn’t meant to break the vase, but the vase had broken just the same, and her mother had been sad because it was an heirloom, which Rylee intuited to mean beyond value. She supposed there had been plenty of heirlooms in those buildings Apollonia destroyed, and perhaps other things as well. She thought, people, then shoved that thought away. She didn’t even want to think about it.
The sun had almost set; just a thin yellow line graced the far horizon. Rylee smiled at it, relishing the cool night air. Part of her wanted to go down to the beach and run her toes through the sand, but that wasn’t why she was out here. Instead she headed up the hill to the cliff that overlooked the sea. She reached the top, lined with grass that came up to her knees. When they’d first moved here three years ago, she’d been afraid of snakes. Her father had smiled and said there weren’t any, and anyways there were bigger things to be worried about, weren’t there? The way he’d said it made her laugh.
And, yes, okay, she’d been afraid of Apollonia that first time. But both of her parents assured her the creatures did not hurt those who summoned them. And the second time, Rylee had no fear at all. She’d gawked at Apollonia, until her mother suggested the creature should have a name, since Rylee could now summon her at will. Apollonia had waited patiently while Rylee mulled it over. When Rylee finally settled on a name, Apollonia had bowed her head in acknowledgement. “You have a new best friend,” her father had said. “A little old for you, but I think it’s all right.”
After moving in, her father had installed a wooden fence along the edge of the cliff. Rylee leaned against it now, staring down at the waves lapping at the beach. She sighed, wanting to enjoy the moment but knowing she couldn’t. This was a Grown-Up Moment, where she had to act older than her age. “You’ll have to now,” her mother had said. “Not all the time, just occasionally. It’s like having a dog, sort of.”
Rylee lifted the horn to her lips and blew. As always, all she heard was a dull, wet sound, almost like blowing a raspberry. But she knew the horn made sounds for the creatures alone, and the sound carried a long way. She often wondered how far. Across the world? Where did the news report say Apollonia had been? She couldn’t remember.
She dropped her arms to her sides and waited. Looked down at the sea again. The waves were almost black at this hour, but they were still beautiful. She’d been so excited when told they were moving to the ocean. After the last destruction, her parents had decided the city wasn’t safe anymore. Her mother insisted ocean front property values had gone down over the last ten years (again, whatever that meant) even though there was no reason for it, at least not in rural areas. So they’d moved out here, and Rylee fell in love with the sea instantly. She wanted to be a sailor when she grew up. That way, she could travel with Apollonia, maybe keep her out of trouble.
Rylee swatted some gnats away from her face. She didn’t like waiting. She was impatient, she’d been told many times, by her parents and teachers. Only her art teacher, Miss Sommerset, seemed to approve. “It just means you can’t wait to get to your future,” she’d said with a wink. Rylee liked the sound of that. Her future.
Below her, the current shifted. Rylee focused her gaze intently on the water. It was a subtle change, but she knew what it meant. She watched as the gentle waves slowly picked up speed, becoming increasingly turbulent over the next several minutes. Before she knew it, the water roiled like there was a hurricane approaching. Rylee smiled.
A few hundred yards off, something broached the water. A dark, scaly dome, backlit by the sunset. It grew and grew, until Rylee could see Apollonia’s massive yellow eyes, each bigger than Rylee’s head. Then came the creature’s jaws, almost human, except protruded and full of rows and rows of teeth. By the time Apollonia reached the cliff, her entire upper half was out of the water—black and gray, covered in spiny scales, her four upper arms braced against the cliff side. She towered over Rylee, but leaned her head downward so that Rylee could reach up and pet her snout. Apollonia liked affection. Most of them did.
“You’ve been naughty,” Rylee said. “Haven’t you?”
Apollonia huffed. They could learn human language, though most experts agreed the creatures had an intuitive understanding of human emotions, largely based on vocal and facial queues. Like a cat, Rylee’s mother had said. Or psychic, her father had added, in a manner that suggested he hoped he was joking.
“I know it’s not your fault,” Rylee said. “I’m not mad. But a lot of people are. I had to call you away before you…destroyed more things.”
Apollonia huffed softly. Her breath was just strong enough to push Rylee back a step. She giggled.
“I’m sorry. Were you having fun?”
Apollonia made no reply to this, just watched the little girl with intent interest.
“You need to find new ways to have fun. You all do. Do you have any games? You probably don’t have TV, do you? There are some movies I think you’d really like.”
Apollonia shifted slightly. The cliff trembled.
“Can you stay at sea for a while?” Rylee said. “Unless I call you, of course. Or you just want to come here. You can come here even if I don’t call you, right? I wouldn’t mind if you did. I don’t want to make you come here if you don’t want to. I’m sorry I had to call you tonight.”
The creature’s head dipped in for another caress.
“Thank you for forgiving me,” Rylee said. “Please stay at sea for a while, so people can calm down. And maybe tell your friends? I know they don’t mean any harm, either. We’re so small.”
Another huff, even softer than the first, just enough to ruffle Rylee’s hair.
“I love you too,” Rylee said. “I’ll see you soon.”
After a hesitation, to see if the girl had more to say, Apollonia gently pushed herself away from the cliff. As she turned, her tail brushed the cliff base, causing the earth to shake once more. She headed out into the water, disappearing against the sunset as slowly as she had emerged from it.
Rylee watched Apollonia leave, fighting the urge to call her again because she knew it wasn’t right. You can’t abuse this privilege, her father had said. You have to respect them.
Long after Apollonia had completely disappeared beneath the sea, the water still thrashed in her wake. Rylee watched, imagining again herself aboard a sailboat, far out at sea, perhaps against this very same sunset. Wind in her hair, the water beneath her, her friend swimming by her side, off towards her future, their future.
Rylee knew it was bad when her dad called her into the living room.
“Rylee! Get in here!”
Apollonia was unpredictable, even Rylee’s dad knew that. Hadn’t he told her so himself? So whatever Apollonia had done this time wasn't Rylee's fault, not really. She’d told Apollonia to behave.
Rylee skulked into the room, trying to hide behind her blond bangs. She could feel her parents’ eyes on her, could hear the news on the TV, the national news, which wasn’t good, nope, that wasn’t a good thing at all. They couldn’t blame her for this, surely.
“We told you, Rye,” her mom said.
Well, maybe they could. But they shouldn’t.
“Rylee,” her dad said. He paused until she looked up to meet his eye. His scowl was hidden by the goatee he’d started growing, which she thought looked funny. He raised a hand and pointed to the TV.
Rylee looked. Watched the footage, endless scrawls of words along the bottom of the screen. She couldn’t make out all of what was going on; partly because she didn’t understand, partly because there was just so much with all the split-screen video footage. She recognized flames, that buildings were on fire. And people seemed afraid. The anchor, framed in the bottom left of the screen, was calm. Almost, Rylee thought, bored. She thought she’d seen him reporting on stuff like this before, though not all of those were Apollonia’s fault. After all, she wasn’t the only one.
“Call her,” Rylee’s father said. “Get her back here. Right now, kiddo.”
Rylee thought of balking. She was halfway through coloring the dalmatian purple with yellow spots. She prided herself on not using the colors people expected her to, and also never going outside the lines. That was harder to do with crayon than some people thought. Her mother said she had steady hands, whatever those were. Her father called her a budding artist, whatever that was. She just knew a purple and yellow dalmatian was more interesting than the real thing.
But she could tell by her father’s face that her coloring book would have to wait. He had his Serious Dad look going. Rylee glanced at the TV again and sighed. Apollonia had really messed up. No, it was more than that: she’d screwed up, as her dad would say when he thought she wasn’t listening.
Rylee blushed at the thought as she turned and trudged through the house to the back door. On a hanger next to the door was the horn her father had found on the beach a little over a year ago. Carved from bone, he’d said. The horn—that’s how Rylee thought of it, though her mother had remarked it looked more like a flute—was about as long as Rylee’s forearm, with two small holes halfway up. Her father had cleaned it out and said, “I bet it’s one of those things. That calls them, you know.”
He had been right. Rylee’s father was usually right.
Rylee slipped her sandals on, then opened the door and walked out onto the porch, then down the steps to the grass. She could hear the waves lapping in the distance; the sound usually relaxed her, but she still had her father’s angry face in her mind and the flames on TV flashing before her eyes. Apollonia didn’t mean any harm, they all knew that, but even Rylee was old enough to know that was no excuse. Like the time she’d shattered her grandmother’s vase by throwing a rubber bouncing ball as hard as she could against the wall. She hadn’t meant to break the vase, but the vase had broken just the same, and her mother had been sad because it was an heirloom, which Rylee intuited to mean beyond value. She supposed there had been plenty of heirlooms in those buildings Apollonia destroyed, and perhaps other things as well. She thought, people, then shoved that thought away. She didn’t even want to think about it.
The sun had almost set; just a thin yellow line graced the far horizon. Rylee smiled at it, relishing the cool night air. Part of her wanted to go down to the beach and run her toes through the sand, but that wasn’t why she was out here. Instead she headed up the hill to the cliff that overlooked the sea. She reached the top, lined with grass that came up to her knees. When they’d first moved here three years ago, she’d been afraid of snakes. Her father had smiled and said there weren’t any, and anyways there were bigger things to be worried about, weren’t there? The way he’d said it made her laugh.
And, yes, okay, she’d been afraid of Apollonia that first time. But both of her parents assured her the creatures did not hurt those who summoned them. And the second time, Rylee had no fear at all. She’d gawked at Apollonia, until her mother suggested the creature should have a name, since Rylee could now summon her at will. Apollonia had waited patiently while Rylee mulled it over. When Rylee finally settled on a name, Apollonia had bowed her head in acknowledgement. “You have a new best friend,” her father had said. “A little old for you, but I think it’s all right.”
After moving in, her father had installed a wooden fence along the edge of the cliff. Rylee leaned against it now, staring down at the waves lapping at the beach. She sighed, wanting to enjoy the moment but knowing she couldn’t. This was a Grown-Up Moment, where she had to act older than her age. “You’ll have to now,” her mother had said. “Not all the time, just occasionally. It’s like having a dog, sort of.”
Rylee lifted the horn to her lips and blew. As always, all she heard was a dull, wet sound, almost like blowing a raspberry. But she knew the horn made sounds for the creatures alone, and the sound carried a long way. She often wondered how far. Across the world? Where did the news report say Apollonia had been? She couldn’t remember.
She dropped her arms to her sides and waited. Looked down at the sea again. The waves were almost black at this hour, but they were still beautiful. She’d been so excited when told they were moving to the ocean. After the last destruction, her parents had decided the city wasn’t safe anymore. Her mother insisted ocean front property values had gone down over the last ten years (again, whatever that meant) even though there was no reason for it, at least not in rural areas. So they’d moved out here, and Rylee fell in love with the sea instantly. She wanted to be a sailor when she grew up. That way, she could travel with Apollonia, maybe keep her out of trouble.
Rylee swatted some gnats away from her face. She didn’t like waiting. She was impatient, she’d been told many times, by her parents and teachers. Only her art teacher, Miss Sommerset, seemed to approve. “It just means you can’t wait to get to your future,” she’d said with a wink. Rylee liked the sound of that. Her future.
Below her, the current shifted. Rylee focused her gaze intently on the water. It was a subtle change, but she knew what it meant. She watched as the gentle waves slowly picked up speed, becoming increasingly turbulent over the next several minutes. Before she knew it, the water roiled like there was a hurricane approaching. Rylee smiled.
A few hundred yards off, something broached the water. A dark, scaly dome, backlit by the sunset. It grew and grew, until Rylee could see Apollonia’s massive yellow eyes, each bigger than Rylee’s head. Then came the creature’s jaws, almost human, except protruded and full of rows and rows of teeth. By the time Apollonia reached the cliff, her entire upper half was out of the water—black and gray, covered in spiny scales, her four upper arms braced against the cliff side. She towered over Rylee, but leaned her head downward so that Rylee could reach up and pet her snout. Apollonia liked affection. Most of them did.
“You’ve been naughty,” Rylee said. “Haven’t you?”
Apollonia huffed. They could learn human language, though most experts agreed the creatures had an intuitive understanding of human emotions, largely based on vocal and facial queues. Like a cat, Rylee’s mother had said. Or psychic, her father had added, in a manner that suggested he hoped he was joking.
“I know it’s not your fault,” Rylee said. “I’m not mad. But a lot of people are. I had to call you away before you…destroyed more things.”
Apollonia huffed softly. Her breath was just strong enough to push Rylee back a step. She giggled.
“I’m sorry. Were you having fun?”
Apollonia made no reply to this, just watched the little girl with intent interest.
“You need to find new ways to have fun. You all do. Do you have any games? You probably don’t have TV, do you? There are some movies I think you’d really like.”
Apollonia shifted slightly. The cliff trembled.
“Can you stay at sea for a while?” Rylee said. “Unless I call you, of course. Or you just want to come here. You can come here even if I don’t call you, right? I wouldn’t mind if you did. I don’t want to make you come here if you don’t want to. I’m sorry I had to call you tonight.”
The creature’s head dipped in for another caress.
“Thank you for forgiving me,” Rylee said. “Please stay at sea for a while, so people can calm down. And maybe tell your friends? I know they don’t mean any harm, either. We’re so small.”
Another huff, even softer than the first, just enough to ruffle Rylee’s hair.
“I love you too,” Rylee said. “I’ll see you soon.”
After a hesitation, to see if the girl had more to say, Apollonia gently pushed herself away from the cliff. As she turned, her tail brushed the cliff base, causing the earth to shake once more. She headed out into the water, disappearing against the sunset as slowly as she had emerged from it.
Rylee watched Apollonia leave, fighting the urge to call her again because she knew it wasn’t right. You can’t abuse this privilege, her father had said. You have to respect them.
Long after Apollonia had completely disappeared beneath the sea, the water still thrashed in her wake. Rylee watched, imagining again herself aboard a sailboat, far out at sea, perhaps against this very same sunset. Wind in her hair, the water beneath her, her friend swimming by her side, off towards her future, their future.
D.W. Davis is a native of rural Illinois. His work has appeared in various online and print journals. You can find him at Facebook.com/DanielDavis05, or @dan_davis86 on Twitter.