The Bone Forks

“I’ll share a secret with you,” the voice whispered.

“Ooh, we love secrets!” another raspy voice answered.

“Yes, tell us! Tell us the secret!” even more voices responded from somewhere behind me.

“Add coffee to your chocolate cake, or add espresso powder! It will make the chocolate extra dreamy. It will make the flavour pop!” shared the first voice.

That’s the secret? It didn’t seem like much of a secret. Doesn’t everyone know that?

“No, no, it’s a good secret! They use hot water, such a waste!” protested the voice.

I’m sure I didn’t say that out loud. What am I even doing here?

“Try it, try the cake! Can you tell the difference?” The voices grew louder and more fervent.

I looked down, and sure enough, the plate in front of me held a massive piece of chocolate cake. I sat at a picnic table, a fork held in each hand. The red and white checkered table cloth was at odds with the delicately embellished china plate underneath the cake.

The cake itself looked like it had come out of a commercial selling happiness and prosperity. The chocolate buttercream rosettes were flawless. The dark chocolate ganache shone under the -

Wait. Under the what? Where’s the sun? Where am I?

“You’re where you’re supposed to be! Look at that cake! Try this one first, then another, tell us which one has the coffee in it! It’s a test! You like tests!” pleaded the voice again.

I do like tests. Not in the school way, no I didn’t enjoy being tested myself. That didn’t make much sense at all. I liked to test things, try them out, try to understand them. I asked questions, developed ideas then put them together with verifiable outcomes.

Wait. I’m sure I didn’t speak.

Test wasn’t the right word. Why couldn’t I think of the right word?

Where am I?

“Shhhh, it’s going to be fine, no need to worry!” the whisper sounded frantic now, as if they needed their own advice. “The cake will make you feel better, just eat it! What are you waiting for?”

The cake really did look delicious. It was my favourite thing.

Wait. It used to be my favourite thing. It wasn’t anymore. I don’t eat cake like this anymore. Why? Where am I? What is happening?

Experiment. That was the word I lost. I experimented. I liked experimenting.

Was liked the right word? It didn’t feel right. Nothing felt right.

“You worry too much! The cake will make you feel so much better! This is the one that has the coffee in it, I know, I know, the surprise is spoiled, but you already knew the secret!” the frantic voice, once a whisper, grew louder and more pressing.

I sat up straight and tall, no slouching, as Gran would say. The cake beckoned, the forks in my hands the perfect tools to eat the whole piece, a bite at a time.

Wait. Forks?

The voices ran over each other, each urged me to eat the cake. I tuned them out as best I could and focused on the forks in my hands. They weren’t metal. No, they were lightweight and light-coloured, intricately carved. The material was familiar. The two forks were evenly matched in my hands.

I lifted the fork in my left hand towards my eye to better see the carvings. I don’t think that I’m left-handed, but maybe I am? Cake is not my favourite, although it used to be. I like to experiment. Adding coffee to chocolate cake is not a secret. There must be more. I know more than this.

Something tugged at my consciousness. A memory, hidden, recessed and old. I pushed away the voices to allow room for the memory to surface. It did not feel dark. I was not afraid, I found myself filled with comfort. A familiar voice read a familiar story. No, that’s not right. Told, the voice told a familiar story.

Little lost children must not fret. You will have every imaginable desire fulfilled when a home is found in Underhill. Every desire but one...

The other voices became unintelligible as they cawed over one another for my attention. I pushed them back down and peered once more at the fork in my hand.

Amidst the delicately carved flowers was a face. The face was of a young woman, her chin held high as a single tear streamed down her cheek.

My concentration shattered as I recognized the face as my own. The voices surged back in, now they reassured me that I was home and where I belonged.

“The cake is for you! It is your favourite! It is to welcome you home! You wouldn’t want to disappoint your hosts? Of course you wouldn’t!” I missed the whisper, the voice's increased volume hurt my ears.

Wait. My hosts?

The hosts who made my favourite food, with forks carved just for me?

I couldn’t see the sun; I wanted to know where the light came from. The light reflected in the chocolate ganache yet left no warmth.

“We’ve been waiting a long time for you to come back,” a new voice whispered. This voice was soft and melodious, familiar like the memory, but left me frozen in place.

No!

I tried to shout but no sound emerged. A childhood memory, long forgotten, suppressed, surfaced without warning.

I had been no more than six years old. I didn’t live in the country but visited my Gran there during the height of summer. She would tell marvellous stories about pixies and kobolds. It was wonderous and magical and make-believe - until it wasn’t.

The day I walked behind her cottage and fell between the worlds was the day I should have given up everything. Gran’s stories, her voice, kept me safe. I remembered what I had to do.

If I could remember then, why can’t I remember now? I didn’t fall this time, I shouldn’t be stuck.

“You’re almost back with us forever,” the voice needled me, “Try the cake, it will make you feel better, chocolate always does.”

No, not since, not since what? Chocolate doesn’t make me feel better, not anymore. I can’t remember the last time I ate chocolate cake.

I needed to leave. The rest of Gran's story was important somehow. I tried to quiet my mind and push out the others, but the icy melodic voice filled me with fear. The frantic pounding of my heart drowned out everything else.

Fight or flight, fight or flight, fight or flight! I was frozen, I needed to leave, I needed to act.

I couldn’t move out of my chair, the cake beckoned. I pushed as far back as I could but was unable to make my legs respond.

“Something’s wrong! Her heart rate is sky-rocketing, this didn’t happen with any of the others. We need to get her out of there!” said another new voice, one that sounded very far away.

I tried rocking my body out of the chair, to no avail. It remained firmly planted on the ground. My swaying motions had minimal impact.

“No more time to waste, you need to try the cake, my dear. I’ve been patient, but my patience only goes so far,” she warned.

At that, I felt pressure on the back of my head. She, or something, was pushing my face slowly down towards the cake. I struggled to fight back, it was like hitting a brick wall. The cake on its delicate plate rose up to meet me.

“It won’t disconnect! I can’t get the interface out of her hands, it’s stuck! She’s got some sort of lock-grip on it. And if I cut the power manually, she’ll be lost in there, we have to get her to disconnect!” I heard from the very concerned, far away voice.

Icy laughter rang all around me, the cake now mere inches from my nose. They were going to force me to eat it. I desperately tried turning my head, to no avail. The iron grip that pushed me down prevented me from twisting away.

“Cara, if you can hear me. Cara, you have to let go. Let go, please. Please, it’s the only way,” the far away voice whispered at the edge of my hearing.

Let go, let go, let go. How? How do I let go? I don’t want to stay here.

Why do I have two forks?

I turn my gaze towards the strange, lightly coloured, out of place utensils. I am holding on to them tightly as if my life depended on it.

Let go.

I forced my arms down to the table, willed my thumbs to lift ever so slightly, relaxing my grip on the forks.

“No!” Rage filled the icy voice as I put all of my effort towards opening my hands. My fingers twitched.

The chocolate cake, once tempting, now consumed my full vision and filled me with fear. The tip of my nose pushed into one of the buttercream rosettes. I did not have long before my face would be forced down. I calmed my mind and renewed all of my focus towards my hands.

My hands opened, the forks dropped to the table. I pushed myself away from the cake, away from the voices, away from the strange table and the light that felt wrong. Everything went dark.

As consciousness returned, I heard the far-away voice imploring me to wake up, to open my eyes. I obliged. The voice belonged to a middle-aged man wearing glasses and a white coat. The relief written on his face gave me comfort.

I pushed myself up to a seated position to take stock of my surroundings. The floor was cold and hard while the bright fluorescent lights hurt my eyes. At least it wasn't light pretending to be the sun. He offered me a hand up.

“Cara, what happened in there? We couldn’t get you out,” he asked.

“Cara,” I tried out the name. It felt right, it felt like it was mine. The man's brow furrowed and he would not let go of my elbow.

I continued to survey the room. The lab, yes, that’s what it was. The machine was set up in the center, an obsidian box with equipment to monitor it.

The machine.

Everything came back in a rush, who I was and what we were doing there. The machine was unearthed during an archeological dig in Wales. It appeared to be a highly sophisticated computer. I was part of a team conducting research on it over the past year; we developed a method to interface with it directly. Others had tested it without issue, describing a virtual playground that answered questions in an immersive reality.

We suspected that the machine was extraterrestrial, it seemed to be the only logical explanation. Now I knew the truth. It was very much of Earth, and I’d been in it once before. Gran's stories saved me then.

“Tell them never to eat anything, don’t let them eat anything!” I yelled.

Already the concerned looks from the rest of the research team alluded to a bleak future. They would never listen to me. It was simpler for these educated minds to trust in a vast universe of possibilities, why would they believe in fairy tales?

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Hello! If you enjoyed this fun piece of speculative fiction, please consider sharing and leaving a ❤️! For another story with a dash of science mixed with mythology, I'd recommend checking out the below story. Thanks! -Christina