{"id":820210,"date":"2025-11-12T09:00:00","date_gmt":"2025-11-12T14:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/reactormag.com\/?p=820210"},"modified":"2025-11-10T11:08:56","modified_gmt":"2025-11-10T16:08:56","slug":"the-belle-of-the-ball-stephen-graham-jones","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/reactormag.com\/the-belle-of-the-ball-stephen-graham-jones\/","title":{"rendered":"The Belle of the Ball"},"content":{"rendered":"<post-hero class=\"wp-block-post-hero js-post-hero post-hero post-hero-vertical\">\n  <div class=\"container container-desktop\">\n    <div class=\"flex flex-col mx-auto post-hero-container\">\n      <div class=\"post-hero-content\">\n                  <div class=\"post-hero-tags font-aktiv text-xs tracking-[0.5px] font-medium uppercase\">\n                                                        <span class=\"mr-3\">\n                                      <i class=\"inline-block w-2 h-2 rounded-full mr-[5px] bg-blue\"><\/i>\n                  \n                  <a href=\"https:\/\/reactormag.com\/fictions\/original-fiction\/\" class=\"inline-block link-no-animation\" aria-label=\"Link to term or tag Original Fiction 0\">\n                    Original Fiction\n                  <\/a>\n                <\/span>\n                                                                                    <span class=\"mr-3\">\n                                      <i class=\"inline-block w-2 h-2 rounded-full mr-[5px] bg-blue\"><\/i>\n                  \n                  <a href=\"https:\/\/reactormag.com\/tag\/science-fiction\/\" class=\"inline-block link-no-animation\" aria-label=\"Link to term or tag Science Fiction 1\">\n                    Science Fiction\n                  <\/a>\n                <\/span>\n                                                  <\/div>\n                <h2 class=\"post-hero-title text-h1\">The Belle of the Ball<\/h2>\n                  <div class=\"prose post-hero-description prose--post-hero\">In a future where people can travel back in time and do anything they want without consequences, one disgruntled young man decides to visit his parents two years earlier.<\/div>\n                <div class=\"post-hero-wrapper\">\n                      <div class=\"post-hero-inner tablet:order-2\">\n                              <p class=\"post-hero-illustrators text-xs font-aktiv uppercase font-medium [&#038;_a]:link-hover\">Illustrated by Leonardo Santamaria<\/p>\n                                                              <span class=\"post-hero-symbol relative top-[-2px] hidden tablet:block\">|<\/span>\n                                <p class=\"post-hero-editors inline-flex items-center text-xs font-aktiv uppercase font-medium [&#038;_a]:link-hover [&#038;_a]:ml-[3px]\">Edited by <a href=\"https:\/\/reactormag.com\/author\/ellen-datlow\/\" title=\"Posts by Ellen Datlow\" class=\"author url fn\" rel=\"author\">Ellen Datlow<\/a><\/p>\n                          <\/div>\n                    <div class=\"post-hero-inner\">\n            <p class=\"post-hero-author text-xs font-aktiv uppercase font-medium [&#038;_a]:link-hover\">By <a href=\"https:\/\/reactormag.com\/author\/stephen-graham-jones\/\" title=\"Posts by Stephen Graham Jones\" class=\"author url fn\" rel=\"author\">Stephen Graham Jones<\/a><\/p>\n            <span class=\"post-hero-symbol relative top-[-2px] hidden tablet:block\">|<\/span>\n            <p class=\"text-xs uppercase post-hero-publish font-aktiv\">\n                              Published on November 12, 2025\n                          <\/p>\n          <\/div>\n        <\/div>\n                <div class=\"quick-access post-hero-quick-access mt-[17px] tablet:hidden\">\n  <div class=\"flex gap-[30px] tablet:gap-6\">\n    \n    <a href=\"#comments\" class=\"flex items-center text-sm font-aktiv tracking-[0.6px] font-semibold uppercase translate-x-[1px] translate-y-[1px]\">\n      <svg class=\"w-[22px] h-[22px] mr-[7px] icon-hover\" viewBox=\"0 0 18 18\" 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post-hero-image\">\n              <img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"740\" height=\"1110\" src=\"https:\/\/reactormag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/11\/Belle-of-the-Ball_full-740x1110.jpeg\" class=\"w-full object-cover\" alt=\"An illustrated recursive image of a man gripping large garden shears as he creeps up behind a couple.\" srcset=\"https:\/\/reactormag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/11\/Belle-of-the-Ball_full-740x1110.jpeg 740w, https:\/\/reactormag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/11\/Belle-of-the-Ball_full-768x1152.jpeg 768w, https:\/\/reactormag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/11\/Belle-of-the-Ball_full.jpeg 1000w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 740px) 100vw, 740px\" \/>            <\/figure>\n                            <\/div>\n          <\/div>\n  <\/div>\n<\/post-hero>\n\n\n<div class=\"wp-block-more-from-category\">\n    <div>\n    \n  <\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n<p>In a future where people can travel back in time and do anything they want without consequences, one disgruntled young man decides to visit his parents two years earlier.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<pre class=\"wp-block-preformatted\">Short story | 5,030 words<\/pre>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:20px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p>Gray doesn\u2019t understand the temporal mechanics perfectly, but he\u2019s pretty sure he understands them good enough: any past you go back into, the universe or \u201cphysics\u201d or God or whatever protects itself from interference by making the past you\u2019ve gone back to a sort of parallel branch, a side room, a curiosity where all lives are fake, at least when compared to the real ones happening in the universe you time-traveled <em>from<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>First, this means that paradoxes are, technically, possible\u2014things are fixable, or ruinable\u2014but in order to ever get wrapped up in one of those backbendy stories, you would have to somehow wriggle back into time without the universe noticing you. Which either no one has done so far, or <em>everyone<\/em> already has, resulting in the mess society and the climate and politics and everything else is.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>But?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Gray know probably nobody\u2019s messing with things. All the things broken in his world can\u2019t be traced back to this or that despot living or dying, or some random butterfly either flapping its wings or getting stepped on before it could\u2014they\u2019re just the result of, you know, humans humaning, shooting their own feet every second or third step, then limping ahead to do it again, any and all lessons woefully unlearned. How the species has made it far enough to come up with time-travel tech, much less commercialize it, is the biggest mystery of all to Gray.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>It doesn\u2019t mean he can\u2019t take a ride through the time-stream, though.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>If you don\u2019t want to go back more than five or ten years, it\u2019s almost affordable, even.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Not that Gray is all that interested in the commercial routes into the past, all that tourist stuff, \u201cexit through the gift shop,\u201d no thanks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>But his buddy Timoth knows a guy who, you know, knows a guy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>As luck would have it, too, Gray is just off what he calls a caper, but is probably, technically, more of a scam. One that\u2019s netted him a stack of credits on the sly, credits he\u2019s pretty sure are flagged and tagged, meaning as soon as he tries to spend them through any portal associated with any of his profiles, well, that\u2019ll be that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The guy Timoth knows at two removes, however, has a stack of stolen profiles he can shunt the funds through, not quite ever washing it and making it legit, but tangling its backstory enough\u2014all in half a blink of server-time\u2014that it would take some serious AI tunneling to ever unravel. And, for a score this small . . . would that really be worth it?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Gray doesn\u2019t know the answer, but his credits seem to spend, anyway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The ride he\u2019s taking is urban legend, but also not legend at all: you get sent back anywhere under ten years ago, even yesterday if that\u2019s your kink, and you\u2019re there for a whole day, no more, and, while there, any and all crimes you might elect to indulge yourself in?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>They don\u2019t really count.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Everything in this side branch of the real timeline is fake. So? Any murders you might perpetrate, are they really even killing at all? Is it murder to slowly carve pieces off a cardboard cutout of a person? It isn\u2019t, Gray knows. Cardboard cutouts are nothing, who cares about them, they\u2019re not anything <em>close<\/em> to alive.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>It\u2019s the same in the parallel branches the universe kicks up when it senses one more idiot falling backward through the years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Gray\u2019s pretty sure he\u2019s not actually a killer, but, all the same, he halfway suspects that going back two or three years and pulling a massacre, or maybe just a spree in a neighborhood, it\u2019ll either be therapeutic, let him unbottle some rage he doesn\u2019t even know he\u2019s carrying around, or it\u2019ll show him this isn\u2019t really for him, thus saving him digital incarceration for trying something like that out here.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Story on the streets, though, is that once you go back, pitch a tent in whoever\u2019s backyard and steal whatever your murder weapon\u2019s going to be, you can sort of get addicted to the rush. Well, the rush coupled with there being no consequences, but that itself is tempered, exaggerated . .&nbsp; . <em>some<\/em>thing, by how whenever you land in this past, you\u2019re pretty sure you\u2019ve slipped through without the universe clocking you.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>It all <em>feels<\/em> real. It <em>feels<\/em> like there might be actual consequences.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>That\u2019s what Gray\u2019s paying for.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cFifty more to bring,\u201d the guy in the food court says, sitting across the booth from Gray, Timoth already retreated into the shops like he always does, sure there\u2019s a deal waiting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cBring what?\u201d Gray asks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cFirst time?\u201d the guy says with a shrug, leaning back to take Gray in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Gray doesn\u2019t dignify that. Which, he knows, just pretty much broadcasts it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cGoing to visit an ex, a stepdad, an old teacher, what?\u201d the guy goes on, his grin so oily it\u2019s practically leaking off his face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cBring what?\u201d Gray asks again, leaning forward, paranoid everyone\u2019s tuning them in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The guy chuckles, looks both ways as well, then opens the right side of his jacket to show the machete hanging by a string from his shoulder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cThat\u2019s real blood,\u201d the guy says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>He lets the jacket cover the machete again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cThought material couldn\u2019t come back?\u201d Gray says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cNobody understands,\u201d the guy says, disgusted. \u201cYou don\u2019t <em>go<\/em> anywhere, yeah? It\u2019s more like you stay in one place, and everything around you rewinds. Earth\u2019s orbit and rotation, the galaxy\u2019s spin cycle, all the stars out there screeching backward through their paths.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cBut you land close to yourself, don\u2019t you?\u201d Gray asks. He\u2019s pretty sure he read this somewhere, from an official source, that you always touch down in the past within shouting distance of wherever past-you happens to be.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cYou don\u2019t have to anymore,\u201d the guy says, tracking a large dog walking through the food court with no leash, no owner, meaning it\u2019s no dog at all, but has a person at the controls, either embedded or remote.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Gray tears his own eyes away from the dog, says, \u201cBut\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cBut that\u2019s the big boys, up on the forty-fifth level,\u201d the guy says. \u201cThe eggheads up there figured out how to reroute the magnetism that draws you to yourself in the past, like . . . it\u2019s like nature or whatever, it can\u2019t tolerate there being two exactly similar things, right? So, it pushes you together as best it can.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cBut this is the fourth level,\u201d Gray says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cOlder, more stable tech,\u201d the guy says with a shrug. \u201cYeah, you\u2019ll come down within forty yards of wherever you are in Fakeland.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><em>&nbsp;Fakeland<\/em>. Gray looked away so the guy wouldn\u2019t see his grin. That\u2019s the perfect term, though. This is going to be like going into a room of balloons, and popping whichever ones you want dead. Or maybe you just pop all of them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cAnd it\u2019s safe?\u201d Gray asks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cIt\u2019s worth it,\u201d the guy says back, holding Gray\u2019s eyes like a challenge.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI still don\u2019t know how blood came back on your\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cMaybe it\u2019s the blood of the last client,\u201d the guy leans forward to hiss with a grin. \u201cThe one who tried to pass hot creds off as squeaky clean.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Gray gulps, sort of, maybe just mentally, but manages not to flick his eyes away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cJust yanking your tether,\u201d the guy says, doing his eyebrows up and down more lecherously than Gray really prefers. \u201cIt\u2019s not blood at all. Just rust. Here, feel.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>He reaches into his jacket, pulls sharply down, blowing the slipknot, and lays the machete down on the table between them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>It\u2019s . . .<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cProp?\u201d Gray says, bending the blade.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The blood isn\u2019t rust, it\u2019s paint.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The guy\u2019s grinning so wide.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cIf you don\u2019t have the extra fifty, then you get there,\u201d he says, \u201cyou have to source your own instrument of . . . whatever it is you\u2019re going to perpetrate.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cTimoth says you do provide a\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cTent, yeah. Everyone thinks they can go back and just murder for twenty-four hours straight, never get tired, but after two or three adrenaline spikes, trust me, you want a little napsy-poo, a little shut-eye, a little downtime.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cBut I pay for the whole twenty-four even if I don\u2019t kill anyone?\u201d Gray asks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI never know what you do back there,\u201d the guy says. \u201cNobody does. That\u2019s sort of the idea, isn&#8217;t it? Get cold feet, go hog wild, it\u2019s the same to me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cAnd you\u2019re here monitoring the . . . the\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cYou can say it, big guy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cThe pod.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cWe don\u2019t call them that anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cThe time-trav\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cThe WC,\u201d the guy over-enunciates. \u201cYou\u2019re just stepping into the water closet to do your necessaries, and when you come out, you\u2019re still washing your hands, and, while you\u2019re in there\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cNobody\u2019s watching.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The guy nods once, lips pursed, and snakes the rubber machete back into his jacket.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cHelp?\u201d he says, when he doesn\u2019t have enough fingers to get the slipknot working.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Gray reaches across with the pad of his index finger, presses down on the twine until the machete\u2019s ready for the next unwitting client.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cHey, fools!\u201d a person with an ant head says, suddenly beside the table.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cTimoth,\u201d the guy says, unimpressed with the holo-mask. It\u2019s a good one, though, you can hardly even see the projector-collar, and, more important to Timoth, Gray knows, it was probably the deal of a lifetime.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cSo you doing it, killer?\u201d Timoth asks, nudging his way onto the slick bench seat beside Gray.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The guy\u2019s already looking at him, waiting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cTonight?\u201d Gray says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:20px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p>The first thing Gray does, two years in the past\u2014the cost goes up the farther back you go\u2014is lower himself to the grass, rub a blade between his fingers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>It feels real as hell.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Because he chose \u201cnight\u201d as his landing point, the guy at the controls had made him close his eyes for sixty seconds, standing alone in the WC, so his pupils could adjust. The tech naturally tries to land you away from prying eyes, so you can step in out of nowhere, not blip in, starting a panic, but . . . variables, all that. \u201cYou never really know,\u201d the guy said, like it was no big deal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>In the wet grass beside Gray is the single-use tent he had been holding on to when the air fizzed around him. He supposes he <em>believes<\/em> he was stable and everything else was rewinding around him, like the guy assured him was the case. But that\u2019s not even a little bit what it felt like.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Who cares.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>He knows the back of this house. Knows it all too well.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Forty yards away, probably less, he\u2019s in the guest bedroom that used to be his own bedroom. It\u2019s where his parents told him to sleep for the three months he\u2019d moved back in, to save enough for another deposit, on the condition that \u201cthis was temporary,\u201d that \u201cthis wasn\u2019t going to be a thing.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>No, he\u2019s not here to slaughter an ex, to torture a teacher.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>It might be therapeutic to pay a visit to his dad, though.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Especially wearing, after many sincere assurances it would be safe, Timoth\u2019s ant mask.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Everyone was right: he <em>could<\/em> get addicted to this.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Because he knows this backyard, grew up in it, he also knows the garden shed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>It\u2019s where Dad keeps the pruning shears.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Sitting in that musty darkness, his outdated Tab back with Timoth, because two devices with the same identifiers connecting to the same network rings bells better left unrung\u2014no Tab, no flashlight\u2014Gray uses a whetstone from his dad\u2019s workbench to sharpen the twin blades, dangling spit down onto the edge to make the rasp really sing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>What makes this maybe even better is that it\u2019s his dad who taught him about sharpening things.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The guy had warned him that if he didn\u2019t set his tent up immediately, then he might be too tired to do it later, but, all the same, the tent and its stakes and the rubber mallet to drive those stakes in are still right where they fell. Well, right where they \u201cphased in,\u201d or whatever the time-travel word is.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>If this even <em>is<\/em> time-travel, Gray corrects.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Back home, there are those who insist it\u2019s all holo-ware and sensory manipulation\u2014time-travel is some elaborate ruse, some hard-light construction of the past, complete with sound effects, tactile junk, all that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The reason they keep insisting on it\u2019s all a ruse is that, since every past you go to is a side branch, showing no effects in the main timeline, there\u2019s no way to prove it isn\u2019t.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>For Gray, though, if it feels real, it\u2019s real, right?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Real enough.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Whether his dad here is fake because he\u2019s in a side branch or because he\u2019s projected light in a contained chamber . . . is there really a difference?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>But, if this is holo-ware, then it\u2019s high-grade stuff, probably higher than you could reasonably expect to negotiate for in a food court.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cIt\u2019s real,\u201d Gray says to himself, sharpening the blade in patient circles, then testing it on a label he peels off a new hammer from the workbench.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Which, he knows, \u201creal\u201d could refer either to this \u201cpast\u201d or to the holo-ware, but who cares. He paid his credits, he\u2019s taking his ride.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>When both blades are dangerously sharp, he drips a single drop of oil into the bolt at the hinge and wisps the shears open and shut.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Deadly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>This is going to be fun.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>To get into the house, he stations himself outside his own window, waits until he sees his own shape darkening the door for a moment, meaning this past-him is sloping to the kitchen to snake something from the fridge now that the parents have retired early to their room like they always do.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Gray slides the window open.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>It\u2019s unlocked because two years ago he was still sneaking smokes every chance he could.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Standing in his own room, he can taste the nicotine on the air, and wants to go back again, just to breathe that wonderfulness in, never get the cure, who cares how many credits the treatment\u2019s saved him over the last couple years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>This isn\u2019t what he\u2019s here for, though.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>And: he has to be careful. And fast.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Steeling himself for the chance of a confrontation with himself, he steps into the dark hallway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>No one, nothing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>In the living room, past-him is . . . he doesn\u2019t remember. Oh, yeah: going through his mom\u2019s purse. Not <em>specifically<\/em> to steal any credits or whatever, but, just to see if there\u2019s any worth stealing?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Gray grins at himself: that rapscallion.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>It\u2019s a word Timoth has been trying to bring back, the last couple weeks. It\u2019s working, Gray guesses.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Walking by the mirror in the hallway, though, he startles back into the opposite wall, the shears coming up in defense.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>A giant ant is looking back at him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Gray raises his hand to his face and the skin on the back of his fingers crackles, passing through the holo-field, probably disrupting the illusion.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>He nods to himself that he can do this, though. That he\u2019s <em>supposed<\/em> to look scary.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>And? That he has no memory perma-lodged in his head of having encountered any bipedal ants two years ago, that means this <em>is<\/em> Fakeland, doesn\u2019t it?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Well, either that or this him from the future of this past successfully avoided getting seen. By anyone who lived.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><em>You\u2019re not supposed to fall for that<\/em>, Gray hisses to himself. But it\u2019s so hard not to\u2014this feels like the real and actual past, like he wriggled through while the universe was putting out some other fire.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Gray shakes his head no, that he\u2019s not falling for that, he\u2019s not like everyone else who always does.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>He\u2019s not special, he didn\u2019t wriggle through.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>He\u2019s just here to have some harmless fun.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Never mind if the footprints he leaves are bloody or not.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:20px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p>He stands with his back to the wall beside his parents\u2019 room, listening for the sound of even breathing, but each moment longer he hesitates, he knows, the higher the chance past-him rounds the corner, rings the alarm, messing everything up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>But?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Does Gray remember something like that? A dream, maybe? About . . . no, no. He\u2019s never dreamed of an upright, walking ant, has he? And, his parents are definitely and for sure still alive. He can feel their judgment all the way from two years in the past.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>No, no: from Fakeland\u2019s temporary version of two years ago.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Why is it so hard to remember that? It\u2019s just\u2014every time he stops concentrating on it, it\u2019s like his mind starts to wrap around every other rational possibility. And the first of those is that he\u2019s standing in the hallway of his house deep in his <em>own<\/em> timeline.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>What if those freaks who insist time-travel is a ruse foisted on a whole generation are halfway right, right? What if there\u2019s no time-travel, but there is teleportation? Could the guy have blipped Gray across the city instead of two years back in time?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><em>No, no<\/em>, he tells himself. You\u2019re being an idiot, you\u2019re wasting your own credits. Never mind if they\u2019re not really yours.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>What if the guy knows that, though? What if, when the credits hit his account and ring whatever alarms, start whatever automatic processes . . . can Gray get stranded back here? And, if that happens, there\u2019s no way he can ever catch up, is there?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><em>No, no, no!<\/em> he tells himself, his fists to his temples, scattering the ant-mask.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The reason he wouldn\u2019t have to worry about catching up with where he came from is that that\u2019s impossible in this pretend-world, this dead branch, this doomed timeline, this . . . this meaningless place.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Where you can commit whatever murder you want, and it won\u2019t count. Not in the least.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Gray flinches when past-him in the kitchen fumbles a saucepan or baking sheet or something, and, after that sound\u2019s gone, both the him in the hall and the him in the kitchen are frozen in place, hardly breathing, listening with their skin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Does past-him have a sense he\u2019s not alone? But, if he does, then . . . then he\u2019s got to be thinking it\u2019s his mom\u2014<em>their<\/em> mom\u2014standing in the doorway of the master bedroom, trying to confirm she heard what she maybe heard: her son, cooking well after midnight, and, if history\u2019s any indication, leaving the counter and the range a mess.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><em>Sorry, Mom<\/em>, Gray says inside.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>He didn\u2019t leave the kitchen like that out of meanness back then, if that changes anything. It was more thoughtlessness. It was more being so stoned and hungry he could only think half a step ahead, \u201cthe goldfish life\u201d Timoth calls it, where you\u2019re forever always in the moment, aren\u2019t dragging some complicated past behind, aren\u2019t concerned with what\u2019s coming.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Back then, two years ago, yeah, Gray had been living the goldfish life, he supposes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Maybe his parents were right to continually inform him that his time back in what used to be his bedroom was temporary. It was their way of nudging him out into the world.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>It didn\u2019t mean they had to be so judgmental about it, though.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Gray thins his lips, nods to himself that he can do this, this is what he <em>paid<\/em> to do, this is what everyone on one of these little murder trips does, and he\u2019s about to roll his parents\u2019 doorknob sideways, pivot into the room in his unsettling mask, when . . .<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Past-him crosses the hallway, moving from the kitchen to the living room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Gray\u2019s hand wraps tighter around the shears. The lie he\u2019s telling himself is he can kill that dude down there, too. Metaphysically, philosophically, whatever, he knows not one molecule in the real world feels the impact if he does\u2014lots of cause here, no real effect\u2014but . . . <em>could<\/em> he?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Would the two of them be too evenly matched?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Oh, oh: except\u2014of course, of course\u2014past-him eating his noodles or whatever in the living room, he wouldn\u2019t be seeing his own face coming for him, would he? He\u2019d be seeing someone in a hard-light ant mask better suited to kids than adults. The two of their sets of reflexes and muscles and defensive techniques would of course be identical, for whatever that\u2019s worth\u2014Gray\u2019s never been a fighter\u2014but Gray does have these razor-sharp, greased-deadly shears. And the element of surprise has to be worth something.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>What of the psychological damage he\u2019d carry back to the future from cutting his own throat, though, and watching the life bleed from . . . from himself?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>No, let\u2019s not, Gray tells himself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>And past-him seems to agree: instead of looking down the hall, seeing the top-heavy shape down there, he keeps his head thrust forward over the bowl, the better to slurp his steaming hot noodles in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Gray gulps thanks, and, before he can stop himself, he turns that doorknob, he pivots in like playing a holo-game, and\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>His mom is sitting at her antique dressing table, her head tilted over to run a dangly earring in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>She doesn\u2019t turn around, doesn\u2019t stop what she\u2019s doing, but she is seeing him in the mirror.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cGray?\u201d she says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>It makes Gray touch his face, his mask, but . . . it\u2019s his mom, right? Moms know their children by the shape of their shoulders, by how they stand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>That doesn\u2019t explain why she\u2019s getting gussied up at two in the dark morning, though.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cJust let her be, son,\u201d Gray\u2019s dad says, and Gray wheels his head over to his dad, emerging from the walk-in closet with a dress over his arm. That he doesn\u2019t react to the ant mask means that, from the open closet, he saw Gray first in the reflection.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Without breaking stride, he ceremonially delivers the dress to Gray\u2019s mom, says, \u201cThis one, dear?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cPerfect,\u201d she says, standing to hold it up, inspect it, pinch a bit of lint away from the hip.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cDad, what?\u201d Gray manages to ask, touching the ant mask\u2019s off button so it\u2019s just a collar.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cJust go back to . . . to whatever,\u201d his dad says back, his eyes watching his wife so closely. So lovingly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cMom?\u201d Gray says then, like he feels he has to.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cLook away, you two,\u201d his mom says, and starts undressing, <em>making<\/em> Gray look away. \u201cOkay!\u201d she says a moment later.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>She\u2019s in the dress now. And has her jewelry on. And\u2014and her makeup, it\u2019s smeared, it\u2019s too thick, it\u2019s wrong, it\u2019s like a child did it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cJust let her be,\u201d Gray\u2019s dad whispers, then, to Gray\u2019s mom: \u201cFabulous. You\u2019re going to be the belle of the ball again.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><em>Again<\/em>, Gray registers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>At which point, his mom leans into the mirror, dabs her lipstick, then, without looking, reaches for the tissue dispenser. But it\u2019s empty, from . . . from other nights of this, Gray has to guess.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cA minute!\u201d his mom announces chirpily, holding her finger up for them to wait, and trails into the bathroom for a tissue.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>In her absence, Gray\u2019s dad sags onto the bed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cDad?\u201d Gray says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cIt\u2019s not for you to worry about, son.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cShe does this every night?\u201d Gray asks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>His dad looks up, looks to the bathroom, says, \u201cNot every night.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cWhere does she think she\u2019s going?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>His dad shrugs one shoulder, pooches his lips out, says, \u201cSome dance from when she was young? I don\u2019t know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cBut she never goes, does she?\u201d Gray says, feeling shelves of memories and certainties falling over in his chest, scattering across the floor of his life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cWe\u2014we <em>both<\/em> go, after you\u2019re asleep,\u201d his dad admits, his eyes shinier than Gray\u2019s ever seen them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Gray sits on the bed beside his dad, his fake father, and, for the first time ever, he places his hand on his dad\u2019s knee.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>His dad, like he\u2019s been waiting his whole life for this, claps his hand down over Gray\u2019s, and Gray feels his eyes filling.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cThose?\u201d his dad asks then, about the shears.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Gray looks down to them on the bed, between him and his dad.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI sharpened them for you,\u201d he says, finally.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>He can tell his dad isn\u2019t quite buying this, but he doesn\u2019t push back, either. There\u2019s more pressing issues, right now: Gray\u2019s mom is making her grand entrance from the bathroom, twirling once, so light on her feet, her dress swirling around her legs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cYou look seventeen again, dear,\u201d Gray\u2019s dad says, and stands, holds his hand out. Gray\u2019s mom, everything about her \u201cprincess,\u201d places her delicate hand in his, and Gray\u2019s dad nods, grins a painful grin, Gray thinks. \u201cSon,\u201d he says, meaning <em>make way<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>They\u2019ve got a dance to go to.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Gray retracts his legs so they can pass, and, when he realizes past-him is eating noodles down the hall, he panics, looks around. His first impulse is to call after them, stop them, or let his voice warn the fake version of him eating noodles in the living room, but . . . that\u2019s no better: past-him, hearing his own voice, will have to come investigate, won\u2019t he?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>No, no, but he can\u2019t let his mom and dad see him <em>also<\/em> down there, in different clothes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Hating himself for it\u2014it feels worse than killing them, at least in the moment\u2014he reaches back with the shears, sweeps everything off his dad\u2019s nightstand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The crash stops all other noise in the house.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>And, thankfully, he hears his own bedroom door quietly click shut: past-him heard, doesn\u2019t want another confrontation, is hiding again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><em>Thank you, thank you<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d Gray says to the empty room, and, creeping down the hall to the kitchen, to get to the backyard, wait for his return-trip to auto-activate, he sees, just for a moment, the silhouette of his dad in his pajamas, dancing with his mom, who\u2019s dressed to kill, is in another world, a better place.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Of course they wanted him gone. It could only be so long until he figured out what was happening to her. And then, he knows, he never leaves, he stays to help, and his life never really gets started.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI love you,\u201d he says to them, for what he thinks might be the first time ever, and it\u2019s not loud enough for them to hear, and it doesn\u2019t matter because they\u2019re just dancing through Fakeland, but . . . but it <em>feels<\/em> real.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>This was worth every stolen credit.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>He sets his tent up around the corner, behind the tree, where there\u2019s zero chance anybody\u2019s going to be, and coming back to his home timeline is as easy as falling asleep in those nylon walls, waking in the guy\u2019s WC.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Gray steps out groggy, breathing deep.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cHey, clean, nice,\u201d the guy says, looking Gray up and down.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>He\u2019s playing with a finger puzzle made of paper.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Gray looks down to his clothes: no blood.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cWhat\u2019d you use, man?\u201d Timoth asks, stepping in to unlatch his ant mask from Gray\u2019s neck, get his toy back, inspect it for damage.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cHammer,\u201d Gray lies.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cNice, nice,\u201d the guy says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cYour mom, even?\u201d Timoth says, looking up from the mask.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Gray nods yes, even his mom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cIt feels so real,\u201d he says then, to both of them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cIt is real, man, that\u2019s the magic,\u201d the guy says, flinging the paper puzzle onto his station with disgust. \u201cIt just doesn\u2019t <em>count<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Gray swallows, nods, and, walking back through the food court with Timoth, who\u2019s of course wearing that idiot mask, Gray\u2019s more aware of the vibrancy of the colors smeared all around him, can taste the pungent flavors on the air.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cYou keep touching everything,\u201d Timoth says from behind his ant head. \u201cIt\u2019s weird.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Gray wasn\u2019t aware, but, yeah, he guesses he has been dragging his fingertips across the backs of all the benches, on all the little half walls.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cJust making sure it\u2019s real,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cToady\u2019s?\u201d Timoth says then, about the club they usually end up at each night, blotto\u2019d out of their minds, drooling into their chests, knowing numbness isn\u2019t exactly happiness, but it\u2019s sort of close, in that it doesn\u2019t hurt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cThe goldfish life,\u201d Gray says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cIf it works, it works,\u201d Timoth says with a shrug.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cNot tonight,\u201d Gray says, which is how he gets time and freedom to cross town, comb his hair for once, knock on his parent\u2019s door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>His mom sees his face in that way moms can and, without any words at all, pulls him into a hug.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cSon,\u201d his dad says from his chair, and Gray nods to him, can\u2019t seem to stop nodding. At first when he steps over to his dad, pulls him into a hug, his dad holds his hands up, not sure what\u2019s happening. But, by slow degrees, his dad\u2019s hands finally pat Gray\u2019s back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cHungry?\u201d his mom asks, and Gray is, so they eat, they talk, they laugh, and, finally, Gray is invited to sleep in his own bed if he wants.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>He does.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>And, when he hears his parents\u2019 feet shuffling down the hall, one in slippers, the other in the fanciest heels, he doesn\u2019t follow, just lets them have their dance.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>He rolls over, faces the wall, the window, remembers lying here so many nights, growing up, impatient for his life to finally <em>start<\/em>, ready to escape this prison, and when his index finger, up by his face, starts keeping time with the drum, he smiles to be part of this with them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>But then . . . drums?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The music in the living room, though, it\u2019s in his mom\u2019s <em>head<\/em>, isn\u2019t it?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Gray holds his breath, listens harder, harder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>It\u2019s not drumming, it\u2019s . . . it\u2019s tapping.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cNo,\u201d he says, his face going cold. His whole body, really.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>He knows what he\u2019s hearing, now. It is regular like a drumbeat, but it\u2019s deeper, <em>thunkier<\/em>: the delicate sound of tent stakes in the backyard, getting hammered into the ground here in what Gray guesses he has to admit is Fakeland.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>But it sure does feel real.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:20px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p><em>\u201cThe Belle of the Ball\u201d copyright \u00a9 2025 by Stephen Graham Jones <\/em><br><em>Art copyright \u00a9 2025 by Leonardo Santamaria<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:20px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n<section class=\"wp-block-shop-the-book shop-the-book\">\n  <h2 class=\"shop-the-book-headline\">Buy the Book<\/h2>\n  <div class=\"shop-the-book-content\">\n        <figure class=\"shop-the-book-image-desktop image-cover\">\n      <img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"300\" height=\"450\" src=\"https:\/\/reactormag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/11\/The-Belle-of-the-Ball_Cover-300ppx.jpeg\" class=\"attachment-full size-full\" alt=\"An illustrated recursive image of a man gripping large garden shears as he creeps up behind a couple.\" \/>    <\/figure>\n        <div class=\"grow shrink basis-0\">\n      <div class=\"flex items-center\">\n                <figure class=\"shop-the-book-image-mobile image-cover\">\n          <!-- <img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"300\" height=\"450\" src=\"https:\/\/reactormag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/11\/The-Belle-of-the-Ball_Cover-300ppx.jpeg\" class=\"attachment-full size-full\" alt=\"The Belle of the Ball\" \/> -->\n          <img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"300\" height=\"450\" src=\"https:\/\/reactormag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/11\/The-Belle-of-the-Ball_Cover-300ppx.jpeg\" class=\"attachment-full size-full\" alt=\"An illustrated recursive image of a man gripping large garden shears as he creeps up behind a couple.\" role=\"presentation\" \/>        <\/figure>\n                <div class=\"grow shrink basis-0\">\n                    <h3 class=\"shop-the-book-title text-h3\">The Belle of the Ball<\/h3>\n                              <p class=\"shop-the-book-author\">Stephen Graham Jones <\/p>\n                  <\/div>\n      <\/div>\n            <button type=\"button\" class=\"inline-block px-8 py-4 text-center btn tablet:py-3 text-h6 bg-red text-white shop-the-book-button\"  id=buy_book data-trigger=\"modal\" data-target=\"#modal-1767798316\" aria-open=\"false\"\n         aria-label=\"Buy Book\">\n        <span class=\"inline-flex items-center button-label btn-label\">\n            Buy Book\n                    <\/span>\n    <\/button>\n    <\/div>\n  <\/div>\n\n  <div id=\"modal-1767798316\" class=\"shop-the-book-modal\">\n    <div class=\"shop-the-book-modal-inner\">\n      <button class=\"js-modal-close absolute top-5 right-5 z-10\" type=\"button\" 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src=\"https:\/\/reactormag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/11\/The-Belle-of-the-Ball_Cover-300ppx.jpeg\" class=\"attachment-full size-full\" alt=\"The Belle of the Ball\" \/>        <\/figure>\n                <div class=\"grow shrink basis-0\">\n          <div class=\"flex items-center\">\n                        <figure class=\"shop-the-book-modal-image-mobile image-cover\">\n              <img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"300\" height=\"450\" src=\"https:\/\/reactormag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/11\/The-Belle-of-the-Ball_Cover-300ppx.jpeg\" class=\"attachment-full size-full\" alt=\"The Belle of the Ball\" \/>            <\/figure>\n                        <div class=\"grow shrink basis-0\">\n                            <h3 class=\"shop-the-book-modal-title\">The Belle of the Ball<\/h3>\n                                          <p class=\"shop-the-book-modal-author\">Stephen Graham Jones <\/p>\n              \n                          <\/div>\n          <\/div>\n          \n          <p class=\"shop-the-book-modal-label\">Buy this book from:<\/p>\n\n          <ul class=\"not-prose ebook-links ebook-links-shortcode\"><li><a class=\"btn\" target=\"_blank\" href=\"http:\/\/www.amazon.com\/exec\/obidos\/ASIN\/B0FVZNTMVV?tag=tordotcomgeneral-20\" data-book-title=\"The Belle of the Ball\" data-book-store=\"Amazon\"><span class=\"inline-flex items-center button-label text-h6 text-white font-aktiv\">Amazon<\/span><\/a><\/li><li><a class=\"btn\" target=\"_blank\" href=\"https:\/\/www.anrdoezrs.net\/links\/7992675\/type\/dlg\/sid\/tordotcomgeneral\/https:\/\/www.barnesandnoble.com\/s\/9781250406972\" data-book-title=\"The Belle of the Ball\" data-book-store=\"Barnes and Noble\"><span class=\"inline-flex items-center button-label text-h6 text-white font-aktiv\">Barnes and Noble<\/span><\/a><\/li><li><a class=\"btn\" target=\"_blank\" href=\"http:\/\/itunes.apple.com\/us\/book\/isbn9781250406972\" data-book-title=\"The Belle of the Ball\" 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earlier.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1868179,"featured_media":826801,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[27,29],"tags":[3836,400634,310963,396749,1561,240041,22050],"fiction":[395434],"series":[],"article":[],"topics-and-interest":[],"genre":[],"store":[],"coauthors":[1477],"class_list":["post-820210","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","category-original-fiction","tag-ellen-datlow","tag-leonardo-santamaria","tag-original-fiction","tag-reactor-original-fiction","tag-short-fiction","tag-short-story","tag-stephen-graham-jones","fiction-original-fiction"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v26.6 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/wordpress\/plugins\/seo\/ -->\n<title>The Belle of the Ball - Reactor<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, 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