Garrett Cook here. Writer, editor, Wonderland winner, Bizarro Showdown winner. Longtime Bizarro. Proud to be here, taking the reigns of Flash Fiction Friday. In the coming months, you’ll see handpicked stories from Bizarros old and new and weird folks in the periphery of the community. First up is an author exemplifying passion, eccentricity, and fearless individualism; in short, one of my favorite people. Here’s Bitter Karella.
This Household Believes in Science by Bitter Karella
Santa Carossa was a beautiful little seaside town on the California coast, where
windswept Monterey cypresses perched on the sandstone cliffs above the breakers and
the tide line was demarcated with the rubbery bodies of by-the-wind sailors, beached by
the retreating surf and littering the shore like a flotilla of spent condoms. The sky above
was pitch black, starless, blank except for the blood red disk on the horizon. Miranda
wasn’t sure whether it was the sun or the moon, but whatever it was it only gave off an
anemic light that reflected off an ocean thick as congealed blood.
Miranda’s father liked the community quite a lot when the family first moved to town,
proclaiming that it had “good politics” as evidenced by the “This household believes in
science” signs erected in front gardens. His infatuation soon faded, though, when it
became apparent that most locals did not believe in science to the extent that he did,
and his experiments met with suspicion instead of acceptance. It was Miranda’s fault.
She foolishly described the family’s weekend ritual to a classmate, who told a teacher,
who reported it to the principal. There was an inquiry, but, when it was complete, there
was nothing to suggest Father’s behavior was more actionable than any religious
patriarch’s. Nevertheless, Father took it as a warning of things to come and removed the
girls from school. He was an esteemed scientist and would continue their education
himself.
Miranda was happy to be removed from school at first. But in time, as her world shrunk
to just the house on the beach she shared with her Father and sister, Miranda came to
miss the noise and bustle.
Here’s how it went. Father would instruct Miranda in math and English, both of which,
by Miranda’s estimation, he was very bad at. He would also instruct her in biology,
which Father claimed to be very good at although Miranda noted that his lessons
contradicted her teacher. Weekends is when they did the ritual. Father would summon
Miranda and her sister into the backyard, where he would scrub the marine snow into
their hair and lather it against their skin. The marine snow was white and grainy; it felt
prickly against Miranda’s face like a paste made from ground-up sea shells. After
application, the three of them would lie in the yard for hours, until the sun had baked it
into their skin, after which Father would spray them down with the hose. Miranda was
the older sibling, so she reached the age of reason first, upon which she demanded that
she be allowed to apply the marine snow to her own body; Father’s continued attention
in this regard struck her as suddenly weird and sordid. Mother was never involved in the
ritual because, by this time, Mother was already living at the aquarium. Father worked
at the aquarium and he promised Miranda and her sister that they would all join Mother
when the time was right.
“Most people are too enamored with physical sensations to acknowledge the truth,” said
Father. “Only the elect who can leave behind the comforts of the human form, who can
adapt to the new world of darkness and silence, only those few will find new life as the
old world dies. We must return to the waters which were once our womb.”
Even secluded from other kids, Miranda began to suspect that Father was not quite right
in the head. Puberty was long overdue. She waited eagerly for the painful swell of new
breasts, the first crimson drops of menses, even the eruption of tell-tale zits across the
topography of her face. None came. She stared at herself in the mirror and she hated
her thinning hair and the fleshy barbs budding at the corners of her mouth and the
golden tinge of her eyes and she knew, she just knew, the marine snow was to blame.
Boys usually travelled in packs along the beach — emboldened by numbers, they would
shout and throw rocks if they encountered Miranda or her sister. But if she found one
alone, she knew she could ensorcell him. There was no great trick to it. She found a boy
with a car, who agreed to take her inland in exchange for favors. His name was Buster.
He balked at the hard plates forming across her chest and belly and she grimaced when
his fingers caressed where her sides were tender with the eruption of sharp papery
scales. But her lips were soft as worn leather and that pleased him well enough.
“I thought you didn’t have hair,” he said in breathy giggles when he was upon her and
the coarse bristles of her cunt scraped his lower belly.
Later, Miranda was quiet and said nothing as the car ascended the eastern hills, leaving
Santa Carcossa and the black ocean behind. Buster eventually found her silence
unnerving and abandoned her at a gas station at the border of an inland county, where
she used a payphone to ask Father to retrieve her. Miranda’s sister sat in the backseat of
Father’s Tesla, staring with her beady yellow eyes. Father was disappointed, so
disappointed, but he blamed himself.
“I’ve delayed too long,” he said. “We should have returned to the waters long ago. But I
wanted you to be ready.” Miranda’s sister squealed and flopped in excitement at the
news, the frilled slits in her throat throbbing.
The aquarium was closed to the public, something that Miranda had never realized, but
Father had a special key. The tanks held only stagnant black water, except for the shark
display in the back, which billowed with clouds of white marine snow on the swirling
currents and occasionally ropey coils of scaled flesh emerged from the murk to press
against the glass. Father placed a hand on Miranda’s shoulder and hunkered down on
his haunches to whisper into her ear.
“Go say hi to your mother.”
Bitter Karella is a genderfluid transvestite goblin and creator of the three time Hugo-nominated microfiction comedy account @Midnightpals on Bluesky. Her novella “The Ballad of Horse Girl” is available as half of Split Scream 5 from Tenebrous Press. His first novel, “Moonflow”, debuts from Orbit’s new horror imprint Run For It in September 2025.
This post may contain affiliate links. Further details, including how this supports the bizarro community, may be found on our disclosure page.
