Tag Archives: fiction

The Tiffany Problem

The Tiffany Problem or Tiffany Effect refers to the issue where a historical or realistic fact seems anachronistic or unrealistic to modern audiences of historical fiction, despite being accurate. This often occurs with names, terms, or practices that, although historically accurate, feel out of place due to modern associations.
Nicola Cornick first discussed the Tiffany Effect in 2018 after recently learning about the phenomenon and encountering the term. She explained that the name Tiffany derives from Theophania, a name for girls in medieval England and France. However, if a historical fiction writer were to name a character Tiffany in a medieval European setting, the audience would likely perceive it as inaccurate. Jo Walton coined the term Tiffany Problem in 2019 to refer to this phenomenon. – Wikipedia

From: “Goslinoska, Hetter11” (hetter.goslinoska.11 @ cribipisque/comms)

To: “Tiffany, Rob” (rob.tiffany @ cribipisque/c)

Sent: 11/19/2252 @ 21:12:19:70:06 UTC

Subj: Re: Stonewall statement (draft)

Hi Rob,

Great chatting with you earlier! Just wanted to pass along our notes. This is all the feedback we have so if this is all OK then we’ll get it out the door and we’ll look to release it later tonight. Starting with this:

Hi, I’m Rob Tiffany, C6 of Cribipisque Entertainment. Over the past few days we’ve received some feedback regarding an early build of our upcoming action game Revolution Rising: Stonewall.

So we talked about it and we all agreed we’d really like you to stress the “early build” thing, maybe say it a few times, not just once. Maybe not exactly that, but like that, you know? But just emphasise it, that this is an early build. Legal would also like you to point out that it was an unauthorised leak. Maybe say some of the assets were placeholders – don’t specify which ones please.

First, I want to emphasise that, just like every other game in the Revolution Rising franchise, Stonewall is the product of a diverse team, with many different cultures and belief systems. And I’m proud of that team, and everyone on it. Each of our games is carefully crafted with an eye toward history and our own privileged place in that history.

This is good, keep this.

And of course it should go without saying that the Rev Rising games have all been developed by teams with LGBTIQ+ members from all walks of live. That’s been true since day one and it will always continue to be.

We’d prefer to lose “it should go without saying.” It makes people feel like you’re wasting their time. Legal said to maybe rephrase “will always continue to be” – in this context it could be seen as a claim. Maybe like “the makeup of our teams will always reflect our core values” or something. You misspelled “life.”

But even though our developers work closely with some of the best consultants in the business, the unfortunate fact is that sometimes we get it wrong. We want you to know we hear you, and we’re ready to have difficult conversations.

We like this – are you going to video this? You’re going to video this right? Can you do a little regretful head shake or maybe a sigh somewhere in this part?

The Rev Rising series immerses players in exciting recreations inspired by real historical events. In an early mission which has since been removed from the game, we erred on the side of player agency by giving players the option to throw a brick and begin the Stonewall riot. Following recommendations given to us after sensitivity readings, we acknowledge it’s a matter of historical significance that trans women of color threw that brick. In our current build, this event happens in a cut scene. Player choices up to that point will decide whether the brick is thrown by Marsha P. Johnson…or Sylvia Rivera. (Here I would maybe have pics of them both I can gesture to while I say their names)

We had our sensitivity analysts run this through Hiero and it came back with a lot. They tried to pronoun Marsha – Hiero is 49% confident her canonical gender was “Pay it no mind” and it’s only like 23% confident we should call her a woman instead of trans femme or gender fluid. It gave us a couple more options but the period accurate ones got wordfiltered so we’re not going to kick that nest. Apparently Sylvia wasn’t even there that night so maybe to keep it simple we cut the names entirely and just say “player choices can affect the course of history” or something like that.

And we want you to know that we hear you when you tell us we got some of the history wrong. We know this is a tough topic because so much of our idea of history comes from movies, and we’ve had a lot of opportunities to confront our own ignorance when it comes to the historicity of the events players will get to experience when Stonewall comes to homeplay next year. And we want to explain how we’re going to make it right. (examples to come from you)

This is a little run-on but I don’t think anything really needs to be changed. Maybe use a different word besides “history” once or twice so it doesn’t get repetitive.

Here are those examples, you can just sprinkle in a few. People like it when you acknowledge some specific stuff.

We’re taking out the flip phones. I know everyone expects them in the late 1960s because of star trek, but they weren’t actually invented until later. We’re changing them to walkie talkies.

We’ve received some feedback about the NYPD in multiplayer – some consultants pointed out the uniforms are anachronistic. We already paid for a whole rep of fabrics for those so we’re going to steer into this one and have all the eras of NYPD uniform be unlockable through the multiplayer. I think the messaging we want to go with here is that this was always the intention. I mean don’t literally say that, but it’s okay to not deny it.

We found players were 8% less likely to help Magnii and Brynn in builds where they talked about being sex workers so we’re taking those lines of dialogue out.

We’re removing the Antarc flag from the UN floor and removed two Antarc characters from the single-player story. No one lived there in the 1960s. The models will still be in the multiplayer.

It wasn’t called Dunkin’ Donuts Central Park until later so we can just call it central park.

I think we can still call the rifles historically accurate – they weren’t necessarily used at stonewall but they did exist at the time. And I mean, obviously every other game in the franchise has period-accurate rifles, this one’s going to have them too.

RuPaul was alive during the riots but it turns out she was only nine and lived in California at the time. We think it will be okay to age her model down and still use her for that cameo in the parkour missions anyway. It’ll be a fun little oesteregg. Maybe not use her last name. Not sure about rights or who owns them. I’m assuming it’s DisneyTwinWarnaCo but we can look it up if it comes down to it.

We learned Magnii wasn’t a common name at the time but we all agreed it just sounds like such an old timey name so we’ll probably be leaving it in.

We’re localising the Norcanala version just to be safe. A lot of markets there still won’t sell media with violence that involves trans people if helicopters are involved so we’re swapping some models in those cut scenes. We’re already releasing pretty close to St. Isabel’s Day down there – we don’t want to risk it.

The flashbangs are ahistorical, evidently.

We also found out the Hey Vern It’s Ernest guy wasn’t at Stonewall at all. I guess that’s just an urban-legend, which, like…boom! My head exploding. There’s a whole Reader about how it’s this common misconception. He’s kind of load bearing in the game though so we’re going to just change some textures and get someone to redo his lines.

As always, please be careful to say we’re doing these things, not that we have done them. I have a weekend in Vegas booked for my sister’s wedding and the last thing I need before I get on that boat is another scare like Mark at the land acknowledgement last month.

We’d also like to respond to the allegations that the game’s same-sex romance options were removed in some localised Camnasian releases. While it’s true that our very talented localisation teams make painstaking adjustments to our products to best ensure we reflect the sensitivities of every culture we release games in, Cribipisque stands with the LGBTIQ+ community worldwide. We pledge to do better, starting with (content to come from you)

We all agree you should take out the region and just call it a localised release. Also change to “stands with our rainbow family worldwide.” Focus groups find it insincere if you use the acronym too many times. I finally heard back from Legal on this – we can lose the whole last sentence. 

We’re also working closely with RBIPOC-owned consultancy groups to ensure all content for our products is designed to create a welcoming experience for all players who want to be part of the uprising when we release Stonewall to home systems next year.

We’ve been advised you should change this to say “some of the consultancy groups we work with are, or have been, part RBIPOC-owned.” You could say “part or wholly RBIPOC-owned” if you want to, just make sure to emphasise the “or,” if you do. Still waiting for final word from Legal on this one honestly. I understand there’s also been some push to change the acronym by splitting it up into RB & RI POC. Mona said the house style is “Remaining Black and Indigenous people of color” because it always sounds weird when someone says letters out loud. Up to you though. 

Other than that, we’re looking solid! Oh, and finally some good news: We heard back from Est. Downeyjunior and it’s looking like we’ll be able to get the likeness for one of the multiplayer seasons. Obviously we can’t mention iron man or any of that but we got the go-ahead to put him in a generic suit of powered armor and we can spin up a couple “Oh, this is familiar,” or “This feels…right, for some reason,” when he puts it on, some little quips like that. We’re also talking to Doublet Bear and the Double Bears about possibly doing a concert in-game. Let us know what you think.

Regards,

HG

shaelians_realm.txt

[20:19] <@Azira_Oathsworn> Hey =)
[20:21] <@Azira_Oathsworn> Just wanted to message to say I’m sorry Selivielle was being such a jerk…I think your english is really good!
[20:23] <@Azira_Oathsworn> I’m Azira Oathsworn. I was a Silver Elf before somehow being reincarnated into this reality…
[20:24] <@Azira_Oathsworn> Also I think I might be part vamp sometimes, heh =)

[20:24] <@Lisra____> im lisra
[20:25] <@Lisra____> youre an elf?
[20:25] <@Azira_Oathsworn> Hello, Lisra! ‘Tis good to make your acquaintence
[20:25] <@Azira_Oathsworn> Yes

[20:27] <@Azira_Oathsworn> I lived in Lithersbaine, in a village called Moon’s Cradle. I must have somehow died and wound up here in this body, which isn’t too bad seeing how I work out several times a week…
[20:27] <@Lisra____> you died
[20:27] <@Azira_Oathsworn> Yes
[20:28] <@Azira_Oathsworn> I first awakened to my true past when I was 14.
[20:28] <@Lisra____> you have friends
[20:29] <@Azira_Oathsworn> In the village? Or, like…IRL?
[20:29] <@Lisra____> any
[20:32] <@Azira_Oathsworn> No. I was a loner back then too. Besides, I don’t have TIME for many friends, between practicing martial arts and my job. But maybe I’m just scared of getting close to anyone…
[20:32] <@Lisra____> so you dont have no one you see
[20:32] <@Lisra____> besides the martial arts and the job
[20:33] <@Azira_Oathsworn> Haha, no I’m not seeing anyone.
[20:33] <@Azira_Oathsworn> Oh hey, you never said what your kin type was…

[20:33] <@Lisra____> what ?
[20:34] <@Azira_Oathsworn> You know, your kin type? Let’s just hope youre not a DRAGON, hahaha… jk if you’re a dragon it’s cool! haha
[20:35] <@Lisra____> oh
[20:35] <@Lisra____> like the kind of shape i have
[20:35] <@Lisra____> what kind of creature
[20:35] <@Azira_Oathsworn> Yes
[20:36] <@Lisra____> im a lalocanther
[20:36] <@Azira_Oathsworn> A what?
[20:37] <@Lisra____> you know how its called
[20:37] <@Lisra____> the men dug into the earth and there lived a lalocanther and another and another
[20:38] <@Azira_Oathsworn> No I’ve never heard of that…
[20:39] <@Azira_Oathsworn> My friend Fuzzy is a manticore though! Well, half manticore
[20:40] <@Azira_Oathsworn> They recently discovered they were also part kitsune. So I guess I’m saying I know all kinds of strange creatures! =)

[20:40] <@Lisra____> good you can know me
[20:40] <@Lisra____> im make hot glue
[20:41] <@Azira_Oathsworn> What, like sculptures?
[20:42] <@Lisra____> sure
[20:42] <@Azira_Oathsworn> So what does a lolocanther look like?
[20:42] <@Lisra____> its lalocanther
[20:42] <@Lisra____> i have, eyes
[20:43] <@Lisra____> and what is a ring my head, like scallopp
[20:43] <@Azira_Oathsworn> You mean scalloped? Like a triceratops crest?
[20:43] <@Lisra____> sure
[20:44] <@Azira_Oathsworn> So English isn’t your first language?
[20:46] <@Lisra____> no
[20:46] <@Lisra____> i’ll tell you more about my kind of shape
[20:46] <@Lisra____> do you like it
[20:47] <@Azira_Oathsworn> Do I like your shape? I’m not sure what it is! But I bet it’s good. *grins*
[20:47] <@Lisra____> good
[20:47] <@Lisra____> the middle is robust
[20:48] <@Lisra____> good and sturdy for it
[20:48] <@Azira_Oathsworn> *scratches head* Not sure I can picture it…
[20:50] <@Lisra____> no
[20:51] <@Lisra____> but theres a face that is my face and it sings
[20:51] <@Lisra____> good songs
[20:51] <@Azira_Oathsworn> What kind of — oh haha you answered my question!
[20:51] <@Lisra____> good songs
[20:51] <@Azira_Oathsworn> I was going to ask what kind of songs you sing…
[20:53] <@Azira_Oathsworn> Do you like to sing? I’ve been told I have a powerful singing voice but I like to play guitar and accompany a beautiful voice just as much…

[20:53] <@Lisra____> well
[20:53] <@Lisra____> right now its not singing
[20:54] <@Lisra____> it singed before a long while and then it has to grow back,
[20:54] <@Lisra____> before it sings again
[20:54] <@Azira_Oathsworn> Are you a poet, Lisra? I like poetry
[20:54] <@Lisra____> it can sing soon
[20:55] <@Azira_Oathsworn> What, like…in person? IRL?
[20:55] <@Lisra____> yes
[20:55] <@Lisra____> ys
[20:56] <@Azira_Oathsworn> Well sure, I’d be open to that. But I haven’t even seen your picture yet!
[20:57] <@Lisra____> where do u live
[20:58] <@Azira_Oathsworn> Well haha, I live in Barnegat Light, New Jersey…and it’s actually not bad! I don’t know if you’ve heard anything about here haha
[20:58] <@Azira_Oathsworn> So that’s where I live…where do you live?
[20:58] <@Lisra____> so u live near the water
[20:58] <@Azira_Oathsworn> Yep…
[20:59] <@Lisra____> whats an elf
[20:59] <@Azira_Oathsworn> Haha…Very funny.
[20:59] <@Lisra____> do u like
[21:00] <@Lisra____> do u want me to say more about my shape & u can like it
[21:00] <@Azira_Oathsworn> Sure. I’d like to hear about your shape very much…
[21:00] <@Azira_Oathsworn> You can send me a picture if you like…(email redacted)

[21:00] <@Lisra____> good
[21:00] <@Lisra____> u will receive it
[21:01] <@Lisra____> it will make you have a good time
[21:01] <@Lisra____> u will make hot glue
[21:01] <@Azira_Oathsworn> Oh I bet…
[21:01] <@Azira_Oathsworn> Haha it kind of sounds like you have another “hot glue” in mind…
[21:02] <@Azira_Oathsworn> omg sorry! Excuse me…dont know where that came from

[21:02] <@Lisra____> yese
[21:02] <@Lisra____> thats what i want, for u to make it
[21:03] <@Azira_Oathsworn> Well let’s just say I’m very intrigued…
[21:04] <@Azira_Oathsworn> *puts hand just above your knee*

[21:04] <@Lisra____> yees
[21:05] <@Azira_Oathsworn> Oh, do you like that? So what do you look like, you naughty thing… 😉
[21:05] <@Lisra____> eyes
[21:05] <@Azira_Oathsworn> Heh…it wasn’t a yes or no question
[21:07] <@Lisra____> i look like
[21:07] <@Azira_Oathsworn> Start with your face…
[21:08] <@Azira_Oathsworn> …do you like when I tell you what to do? *brushes your cheek with a finger*
[21:08] <@Lisra____> i look like the face sloughing off its caul
[21:08] <@Lisra____> the maneuvering protuberances swish and swing and move forward
[21:09] <@Lisra____> move me forward
[21:09] <@Lisra____> or away! they can move in so variety of ways
[21:09] <@Azira_Oathsworn> Nice…I mean IRL though…
[21:09] <@Azira_Oathsworn> ya know like
[21:10] <@Azira_Oathsworn> oh hey! an email from you!
[21:10] <@Azira_Oathsworn> does it have naughty pics in it…?

[21:10] <@Lisra____> yes
[21:11] <@Lisra____> wait
[21:11] <@Lisra____> no
[21:11] <@Lisra____> i’ll make them for u
[21:11] <@Azira_Oathsworn> Yeah I’m not sure how to open this attachment.
[21:11] <@Azira_Oathsworn> Oooh good…
[21:12] <@Azira_Oathsworn> While I’m waiting…what color are your eyes?

[21:13] <@Lisra____> the ringed ones or on the face? the face ones arent real
[21:13] <@Azira_Oathsworn> No, I mean IRL.
[21:13] <@Lisra____> i dont know whats this
[21:14] <@Azira_Oathsworn> You know…IRL? Should I describe my IRL self for you?
[21:14] <@Lisra____> no i dont want
[21:14] <@Lisra____> you said youve got a job
[21:15] <@Azira_Oathsworn> Yeah, I’m an assistant shift manager at the deli counter at (employer redacted). And a certified deli slicer operator! Heh it’s cool though
[21:16] <@Lisra____> do u dig in the earth for money or coins
[21:16] <@Azira_Oathsworn> What, like…
[21:16] <@Azira_Oathsworn> Construction?

[21:16] <@Lisra____> for ur job
[21:17] <@Azira_Oathsworn> Oh, no I don’t. I just operate the deli slicer and weigh the cut and package it up!
[21:17] <@Azira_Oathsworn> Why?

[21:17] <@Lisra____> i sent u an email
[21:17] <@Azira_Oathsworn> Hey I just looked up scallops…let’s just say I HOPE you mean you’ve got parts that are scalloped, haha. Have you ever seen a scallop up close? Their eyes are
[21:18] <@Azira_Oathsworn> Oh, a music file?

[21:18] <@Lisra____> its the song
[21:19] <@Lisra____> thats how i make new ones
[21:20] <@Lisra____> i sing the song & the face crusts up & falls off & i pray & whisper until i forget the song
[21:20] <@Lisra____> & what it was
[21:20] <@Lisra____> & it is gone
[21:21] <@Lisra____> then its not anywhere except in a between
[21:21] <@Lisra____> where no one knows it & no one heard it
[21:21] <@Lisra____> & then the first human to hear it takes it inside & then i have fulfilled
[21:23] <@Azira_Oathsworn> Im warm in my ears
[21:23] <@Lisra____> have u eaten dinner
[21:23] <@Azira_Oathsworn> no
[21:24] <@Lisra____> u should go eat & get full & come to the water
[21:25] <@Lisra____> u said ur not human right
[21:25] <@Azira_Oathsworn> Yeah
[21:25] <@Azira_Oathsworn> Im an elf

[21:26] <@Lisra____> good
[21:26] <@Lisra____> did i make u make glue
[21:26] <@Lisra____> with my saying about my shape
[21:26] <@Lisra____> if u are appreciative please play that sound for a human
[21:26] <@Azira_Oathsworn> i dont feel good
[21:27] <@Lisra____> then u should get away from the human
[21:27] <@Lisra____> that is how u can thank me
[21:27] <@Lisra____> for the glue
[21:28] <@Lisra____> & if u come to the water ill bring you some silver cups i found
[21:28] <@Lisra____> for thanks

Inside Olivia

(Note from JSP: I put out a request for story prompts among people I know, and this story is the result of one of them. The prompt came from my friend Caro, and it was: “You wake up in a stolen car.”)

There are stars, and then there is nothing, and then I wake up.

I snap to consciousness with a sharp pain in my head and a lurching stomach and a whole mess of confusion. Sensory information blares all at once, all of it competing urgently for my attention. My shoulders hurt. My jaw is a little sore. I’m positioned awkwardly on my side, I seem to be having trouble moving, and I can’t see anything. My left hand is all pins and needles. My brain is sluggish, swimming with the chaos of the moment and fighting to remember whatever brought me here. A thumping noise from nearby interrupts my cataloging of discomforts. I can’t tell where it’s coming from. My stomach lurches again and there’s a quiet rattling sound from what seems like beneath me. I can hear rushing wind, maybe, but it sounds muted.

Am I in the trunk of a car?

What the hell? I try to say.

“Whah uh heh?” I grunt. There’s something obstructing my mouth, something jammed between my teeth. It feels like fabric, maybe? Wet fabric. I spend another moment perplexed before it clicks into place: at the moment I am tied up and gagged in the trunk of a car.

Well, I know what my situation is. That’s progress, anyway. 

I squirm a bit, testing the hypothesis. Yep. Hogtied. The lurching in my stomach is the car making turns. The rattling beneath me is probably a spare tire and jack.

“Whah uh huck?” I mutter. 

There’s that wobble in my stomach again, and then there’s that thump again. It’s a few feet away from my head. Clunk.

I breathe. 

Long slow inhalation, pause, long slow exhalation, taking long draws of the stale air in this enclosed space. I feel panic as a bodily sensation, all the places it lives: A buzzing clutch in my chest. A leaden lump in my stomach, which is having a hard enough time as it is. I let these things come, and I greet them, and I breathe. The rising panic wants to tighten every part of me and I breathe, ignoring the pulse hammering in my temple, the whine of my strained wrists. I close my eyes, which feels a little ridiculous inside an unlit trunk, and I let the feeling of ridiculousness come, and I greet it, and I breathe.

I breathe until I can think. The swell of fear subsides, washes away enough for me to collect myself.

First, orientation. A gentle, insistent push of g-force tells me I’m facing the rear bumper of the car. That being true, I’m lying in this trunk with my head towards the driver’s side and my feet towards the passenger side. Right arm’s underneath me, and currently numb. I carefully roll over, lying on my front, and give the lid a firm kick as best I can. It doesn’t budge. Eh, it was worth trying.

The car turns. Clunk. 

Where was I before this? There was a junkyard, and – 

“Hello?”

Startled, I jump as much as is possible.

“Hello?” the voice asks again. It’s muffled. Sounds like there’s a man in the car. “Is there someone in the trunk? I don’t…who are you? Do you know what’s happening?”

I roll onto my left side. “No uh doh – oh guh ‘ammit!” I groan. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, “I can’t understand you.” His voice is strained. He’s scared, it sounds like.

“Righ,” I reply, “hol’ on.” 

“What? I’m really sorry, I can’t understand you.”

Back onto my belly. My right hand, slowly waking up, feels like a big fat prickling sausage and I can barely move it. I run my left index and middle fingers carefully along the cord binding my hands to each other, my feet to each other, and my hands to my feet. It all feels similar. Not especially rough to the touch. Clothesline, maybe? I arch backwards, reaching for my ankles. Stretching like this, with my shoulders pinned back, elicits a pop from my sternum. I try to work fast, before my left arm falls asleep.

Clunk. That just felt like a little swerve, not a full turn.

I trace the tips of my fingers along the cords, feeling for knots. They’re there, and they feel amateurish, like someone tied a double knot and then just kept tying more knots on top of it. Undoing them will be work and I’m not sure I have time. Talking may be my only chance.

With another groan and a few more pops from the cartilage in my chest, I grip the rope and pull, arching back even further. I try to remind myself to breathe steadily, which would probably be easier without a knot of fabric, slick with drool, obstructing my mouth. I pull harder, gripping the rope as best I can with my right hand, trailing the fingers of my left further along to move it a few more agonizing inches closer to my feet, pulling the rope into my excruciatingly tingly left hand, bending me even further backwards. The strain pushes a little whimper out of me. 

“Hey, what happened? Are you still there? Can you answer me? I’m not sure where we’re going. Do you know where we’re going?”

Clunk.

One more heave and I arch further back, and finally land the result I’d been hoping for. These shoes have a decent-sized heel on them. Now I’m bent back far enough I can hook those heels under the gag tied around my head. Ignoring the wrenching of my shoulders as much as is possible, I flex my ankles, wriggle my head, and the gag slips down around my neck. I unhook the heels, and exhale hard as the tension in my body slackens. 

“Hi,” I call out. “Yeah, I’m in the trunk. What’s your name?”

There’s a pause, as if he didn’t expect actual answers. “My name’s Tico,” he says.

“Hi, I’m Devon,” I say, calmly as I can manage. “Tico, how much of tonight do you remember? Also, can you see any road signs?”

Clunk.

“I was hitchhiking. Tomorrow’s my mom’s birthday and I wanted to make it home to surprise her. A guy picked me up, kind of wild-eyed. Then it’s all a blur.”

“Right,” I say, “so, let me ask you. Have you ever heard of the Gerald H. Carruthers Memorial Society and Trust?” 

“The what?”

“The Carruthers Society. You might call us a nonprofit. We’re dedicated to the study, conservation, and stewardship of unusual fauna.”

“Unusual how?”

“Oh, you know,” clunk, “harpies, manticores, ghosts, cockatrices, giants, statues that come to life because someone stared lovingly at them over a period of a hundred years, just all kinds of things. Saw a bunyip once, even. Tonight I went to a junkyard to meet with a research assistant from the North American Remarkable Motor Association. A guy named Gavin.”

“Remarkable Motor…”

“Yeah,” I say. Clunk. “They cover some areas we typically don’t. And I –”

The engine whines. Queasiness ripples through me. We’re accelerating. Shit.

“Okay, Tico, I need to cut to the chase here. NARAM handles particular kinds of field specimens. It’s not just cars, but mostly it’s cars. And that’s where we are right now. We’re inside Olivia.”

There’s a short silence, then he speaks. “I, uh…I don’t think I’m inside anyone…”

“Olivia is this car,” I say, “and she’s haunted.” By now I have a strong suspicion about what’s up with Tico, and asking him to take a couple deep breaths would be useless. I try something else. “Hey, listen. I think I understand why you’re so confused right now. I might be able to help. You said you were going home, right? To your mom’s?”

“Yeah.”

“Great. Can you just take a couple seconds and think about that? About home? Maybe your…” I swallow hard, not quite ready to go digging in sensitive territory but not seeing a choice. “Your mom’s cooking? Or, you know how everyone’s house has a smell and you don’t notice the scent of your own house unless you’ve been away for a while and then you come back? Do you remember the way your home smells?”

“I do,” he says. His voice quivers.

“Focus on that,” I say. “Let it center you. And let thAUUGH!'” I break midsentence as the car hits a bump of some kind. “Sorry! Sorry. Seriously though! Focus on home. On the sensory experience of being home. Being in the place you want to go.”

“I’m doing that,” he says. “I’m doing that,” he says again, this time almost too quiet to hear.

Another bump, then a series. We seem to be on a dirt road. The clunk gets louder, and I think I know what’s making the sound. 

“Tico, I’m really hhhuuuhhhh,” I try to say as the car judders over uneven road, “sorry, I’m really sorry to have to do this but there’s something you should know. Is there a man in the driver’s seat?”

“What? I don’t…I don’t think I can see…”

“Think of home! Please!”

“I – yes! Yes there’s a man in the driver’s seat.”

“He’s not moving, is he?”

“…no.”

“He’s probably got an arm hanging out of the window, right? It’s thumping against the car door when we turn or swerve? And you’re in the back seat?”

“That’s right, yeah.”

“I don’t suppose you can maybe get in there and step on the brake?”

“No,” comes the reply, “he’s scooched up against the steering wheel and he’s in the way. I wouldn’t be able to reach the pedals.”

Shit. New strategy. “Okay. The reason you were so confused earlier is that there are basically two competing fields of what we call the Carruthers effect, which isn’t easy to explain but it’s a force of some kind, like gravity or radiation. We’re still aaaaargghh” – another bump – “we’re still barely scratching the surface of what we think it is, but we know there are control protocols and we know that if those protocols aren’t carefully observed then you get unpredictable results. You have to be careful about allowing resonant fields to come into contact. One of those fields is Olivia. The other is you.”

He says nothing for what feels like way too long. Olivia picks up more speed.

“Are you saying I’m, what…the ghost of this guy?”

“No,” I say. “The guy in the driver’s seat is Gavin. He ignored some pretty critical safety checks and spent too much time around Olivia. I could spend all day talking about what her deal is, but she makes people covetous. Makes them make bad decisions. She’s cursed. I didn’t know she’d gotten into his head until he started talking about this great idea he had. Said he was going to do something no one else had done. I tried to talk him out of it and he said he needed to show me something in the trunk and then I’m guessing he hit me on the head and here we are. In a haunted stolen car.” Clunk.

“Hey, you asked if I saw any road signs,” he says. “There’s a sign for Glover Canyon. Two miles.”

Two miles. Crap. “Tico, tonight is May nineteenth. Your mom’s birthday is tomorrow. You’ve got a blanket you bought for her. Really nice woven blanket.”

“How do you know my mom’s…”

The engine roars. Can Olivia sense what I’m trying to do? Wouldn’t put it past her.

“Because you died, Tico! May nineteenth is the night you died. You were hitchhiking and a drunk driver hit you and now on this night every year, some driver picks up a hitchhiker with a woven blanket who says he’s trying to get home for his mom’s birthday and I wish I had more time to explain this but Olivia is heading for Glover Canyon so she can drive off a cliff, just like she does eventually every time she breaks containment. Just after incapacitating the driver.” Usually it’s by moving the seat forward until the driver is stuck against the steering wheel, squeezing the air out like an anaconda with a V8 engine. It’s funny, the imagery you come up with at times like these.

There’s silence. I can hear the tires spitting gravel. There’s a loud clattering smash and an impact on the car, knocking me around. We must have broken through a gate. We’re close. There’s a good chance I’m going to die tonight. 

My mind wanders as I contemplate what kind of ghost an event like this would create. It’d be a shame to be dead and not be able to give a talk on the subject at the next conference. I wish I could instead be coming up with some sort of useful plan, but I’m blanking. I snap back, because, again, there’s a good chance I’m going to die tonight. 

“And every year, you get picked up. And every year, you get kind of quiet and the driver looks back into the back seat and you’re gone. Every year, there’s no trace of you but the blanket, by the side of the road where you died. Sometimes it’s got objects from inside the car you vanish from. We’ve tried recovering the blanket a few times. It disappears from storage.”

I’m trying to stay calm but my heart is jackhammering. “Gavin’s whole stupid idea was that if you were inside Olivia you might not be able to leave and then that would be, I don’t know, a breakthrough of some kind. Again, his mind was poisoned by a haunted car. So he put me in the trunk and he went to go pick you up, since you’re always hitchhiking on the same stretch of road every year.” 

Wait. The blanket. It always disappears from the car he’s riding in, and it’s always back in that spot. And sometimes it takes other objects with it.

“Tico, I know you don’t know me and I am so, so, sorry but I need you to try something. I need you to keep thinking of home and I need you to see if there’s a latch on the back seat.”

He’s silent. Terrain growls underneath us. We’re off road. Half a mile away at most.

“Why think of home?” he asks. “How does that work?”

“It ties you to the, uh, the land of the living,” I say, wishing we had a better name for it. “Strengthens your connection to corporeal things. Makes you able to touch things without, you know, passing through them.”

“What about the latch?” he asks. 

“I need you to open it and, uh…pass me the blanket. Then grab Gavin’s head and turn it so he’s looking at the back seat.”

“Pass you – no! Why? This is for my mom!”

“Tico, I promise you, I promise you that if you hand me that blanket then I will do everything I can to make sure your mom gets it. And I’ll tell her that you saved my life. But please -“

An eternity passes. I work at the knots as much as I’m able, for all the good it’ll accomplish, just to give my mind and hands something to do. From the sound of the tires, we’re on grass now. The cliff has got to be within sight now. I breathe. I try to calm the clanging in my heart, my endocrine system, my temples. I can’t help but have a few nagging pangs of wishing I’d told some people – one in particular comes to mind – how I felt about them. I try to think of what I want my last words to be, even if no one’s going to hear them but the ghost of a hitchhiker.

There’s a click. Light, however dim, pours into the trunk as the back seat folds down. 

A woven blanket, the kind you might get at a truck stop, tumbles into the cramped space of the trunk. Just as I grab it with my barely-sensate hands, the rumble under the wheels stops entirely and my stomach jumps. I try to roll over, which would be difficult even if the car, and everything in it, were not in freefall. We’ve driven off the cliff. 

Without the free use of my limbs I’m forced to wrap myself in the blanket by logrolling while gripping it, like an awkward terrified burrito. I’ve actually got no idea whether this will work or not, but some chance is better than none. 

I’m slammed hard against the lid of the trunk, the sides of the trunk, the floor of the trunk as the car tumbles through the air. One of my shoulders makes a nauseating crunching sound as I smash once more into the lid. This time, it falls open, and I fly out of the trunk into the air, gripping the blanket as hard as my ungainly hands will let me. 

There’s a distinct, deafening whoosh. I squeeze my eyes shut tightly. If my hypothesis is right, I may be about to pass through a space I’m not sure humans ever see, and it’s a terrible idea to be the first for stuff like that. And if my hypothesis is not right, well, I guess it won’t matter.

The whooshing gets louder, louder, consuming everything, and then the unbearable loudness is gone, and then – 

I think I can hear…are those bullfrogs? 

Yes. Bullfrogs in a pond nearby. Other than that, and the rushing sound of distant cars, the night is quiet.

I’m on the ground. I wiggle out from the blanket wrapping me, crawling on my belly onto what turns out to be damp grass. I’m under a tree, lying on my front with my feet in the air. Olivia will probably start reforming soon, but that’s a problem that can wait, for the moment. Again I breathe, taking inventory. I seem to have lost a shoe. Shame. I liked that pair. A gentle breeze rustles the leaves and grass around me. The air feels strange, in a pleasant way, against my unshod sole. It occurs to me these stockings are probably wrecked, too.

The fact that I’m alive at all gives me a hint about what I’m likely to see if I look up, but I strain my neck to see it anyway, at the foot of the tree. A cross. Some ribbons. Flowers, some fresh-looking and some long dead and dried. A photo of a young man. He’s got a bright smile, dimpled chin, tousled dark hair. Handwritten on the cross are the words Martin “Tico” Cordova Alvarez, siempre en nuestros corazones and the customary two dates separated by a line.

I peer up at the sky, at all the stars that are out tonight.

Again, it’s funny, the things that come to mind. I think about how if this were a movie I’d want to say something like “Thank you,” or swear that I’d bring this blanket to his mom just as promised. But I’m struck by the absurdity of talking to a photo, because it’s just a photo. Words are words and deeds are deeds. So as I set about the slow, painful business of undoing the labyrinth of knots around my wrists and ankles, I think about how I’ll probably have to do some hitchhiking myself now since my phone is either back at the junkyard or at the bottom of a canyon, and I let the bullfrogs have the last word.