Rebecca Field

Shelley slips on a once-white blouse in front of the mirror, examines the yellowing patches under her armpits. It’s mid-July and she’s been meaning to sort out her summer clothes for weeks. Everything she looks at seems tired, faded or completely pointless. As she pulls the blouse back over her head, she catches sight of something dark in the wardrobe mirror. 

It’s hard to know when the mole first appeared, she’s never really looked at it, before today. Perhaps it’s been hiding in plain sight for days, weeks or even months. Since Brett left, her focus has changed. She’s let things slide, he would say.

The mole approaches slowly through the bedroom doorway. Sideways-pointing hands too big for its body drag its greasy, fur-covered form across the carpet, stubby tail moving left and right as it advances. A whiskery pink snout twitches, probing the air.

Shelley edges towards the door, keeping her back to the wall, the mole in sight. Its eyes are invisible. She hopes that means it can’t see her cowering in her mismatched underwear, that she has some kind of advantage. Moles are used to navigating in the dark, they probably have a keen sense of smell, an ability to sense vibrations. She must not give away her location. If the carpet was a shade darker she might never have seen it at all, and then what might have happened? She’d have been completely at its mercy. Brett always used to deal with unexpected animals. 

She looks around for something to improvise as a weapon as the mole rears up onto its hind-quarters, blocking her exit. She can’t bring herself to step over it. Can moles jump? Do they hunt in packs? She can’t see any others, but who knows what else might have escaped her attention while her guard was down. She grabs a hairbrush from the dressing table, wields it at arm’s length. Brett would say she looked ridiculous. She can hear him say the word, see the sneering curl of his lip. Did he also once say, ‘You should get that thing looked at, why don’t you take better care of yourself?’ Apparently concerned yet critical at the same time; he was full of contradictions like that. Perhaps that was the day they were supposed to go to that party. 

She’d put on a new dress in the same wine-red as his favourite shirt, thinking he’d approve, that  they’d look united, but he called her ‘pathetic.’ Said he’d rather go on his own than be made a fool of. The mole hadn’t seemed important then, she’d let it slip from her mind as she put on a different dress, one he picked out. At the party he’d barely spoken, then a few days later he moved some of his stuff out, saying he needed space. There’s been barely a word from him since. Without him around, Shelley’s mind feels empty, as if it’s been reset. Perhaps Brett will turn up soon, push her buttons all over again. Maybe next time she’ll turn out different.

The mole continues to shuffle forwards, determined to be acknowledged. It opens its mouth displaying a row of bright, needle-sharp teeth, a pale thrusting tongue coated in thick saliva. It lets out a cat-like hiss. Shelley wrinkles her nose, anticipating fetid wormy breath, muddy claws piercing her skin, teeth sinking into her flesh. It would be so easy to slide to the floor, to shut out everything and let the mole do its worst. Only that really would be pathetic.

Shelley turns her back to the mole, yanks the never-worn red dress from the wardrobe and pulls it on. She examines her figure in the mirror, puts on some heels then runs her fingers through her hair, smooths her hands over the fabric. It’s a perfect fit. She looks good in it. More than good – she looks hot. Why couldn’t Brett see that?

As she puts on her lipstick, Shelley glances again at the mole in the mirror. It’s no longer advancing. Perhaps it’s resting, or waiting for her to make the next move. From this angle it resembles a leaf dragged in from the garden on the bottom of a shoe. A thing easily dealt with then swiftly forgotten. Just a small dark object in her peripheral vision. 

Rebecca Field lives and writes in Derbyshire, UK. She has work in several print anthologies and has also been published online by The Phare, Ghost Parachute, Fictive Dream, Gone Lawn, Tiny Molecules, Milk Candy Review and Ellipsis Zine among others. X/Bluesky @RebeccaFwrites

Read more from Rebecca:

Milk Candy Review – ‘Parallel Blouse’
The Phare – ‘Apophenia’