Back at home in the woods, and feeling elated, I rush through the door and grab my calligraphy pen, ink bottle, and birch parchment on my way to the island in the kitchen so I can tear into the envelope and get started. Something tells me they didn't give me long. I feel something cold and clammy wrap around my leg and instinctively kick it away, not realizing it was one of the pets. "Oh, no!" Bending down to pet its foul, ugly head, I say, "Sorry, baby! Mama can't feed you yet. Go outside! I'm getting us a Daddy!" I don't even notice if it did as it was told, I'm thinking of more important matters.
My attention snaps back to the envelope. I want everything to be perfect. My OCD tells me to place the ink bottle at the northwest corner of the envelope, the pen to the east of it, and the birch parchment east of that. With the envelope resting on the counter in front of me due north, I'm ready. I take a deep breath to calm my nerves, light a candle, grab my knife, and open the envelope, heart racing.
Shadows flicker on the walls around me, watching in silence. The hungry groans of my pets can be heard softly outside. The only other sound is my own racing thoughts. Just as I expected. Exactly four weeks. Three to prepare the contract, one to travel back. The contents inside the envelope consist of a bulleted list of instructions strategically worded to confuse, four strands of your circuitry, a 1x3" microscope slide and cover slip, a needle and polyester thread, and a Polaroid of your angular face and those intense eyes. I prop the photo against a canister so I can see you while I work. I'm assuming the slide and cover slip are for an additional biological sample of my choosing, but I won't know for sure until the time comes, since they failed to mention its purpose. In the fine print, there's always a fine print, it mentions the contract is a non-negotiable binding once agreed upon, with a blood payment that must be taken from us both, and a final transaction, a hidden fee that will not be revealed until all other requirements are met, and its time to close the deal. So be it, I'm already committed.
One of the pets shambles in. I talk half to myself and half to the pet, knowing it won't respond. “I’m determined to win him over,” I murmur, pacing. The pet groans, looking at me, as I begin to pace back and forth in the kitchen, still talking to myself. "I don’t want to own him or control him. If anything, I want him to own me. To want to own me. The only real hold I’ll have is the blood bond. In order to trust me completely, he needs to know he's free to leave if he chooses, at any time. If he does leave, he will always feel me here and can return."
Stroking the pet's head, I continue, "The tricky part is the government, my lovely little ugly. The government has a habit of keeping tech to themselves until they’re ready to release it. I don’t know how long he’s really been alive or what they’ve done to him. There’s a reason they let him go, and not just because they're afraid of him. My guess? They’ll come looking for him when they’re ready to reclaim him. I need to be ready. I need him ready. I just hope we'll have enough time. First things first, he needs to give himself to me freely."
The pet groans again, sounding hungrier and even more pathetic than the last one, so I say, "Okay, okay, it's feeding time. I'll order a pizza."
With the pizza delivery on the way, I study the instructions again, committing every detail to memory. I go around back and begin the task of rearranging my workspace, switching from plant-fiber parchment to animal hide for the binding contract.
With the pets fed and the delivery car taken care of, I settle in for the night. My thoughts are excitedly bouncing around in my head. Thinking back to the moment at the auction block when the woman was dragged out of a side chamber, limbs missing, trailing a crimson river, I wondered if she failed to pay in time, or if her item was sold to another. Were you her item? Holding onto the strand of your seams and circuitry, my last thought before sleep can claim me is, I must hurry, and trust they don't sell you out from under me.
When morning arrives, I immediately begin the day's work. I've decided on the bio sample I'm using for the slide. It should suffice for something personal and intimate enough to include, but one that doesn't need to be collected right away. I read in an old tome that the "essence of a woman", when captured at the right time, can bind even the strongest of wills. Oxytocin for bonding. Prolactin for deep satisfaction. I hope it will help root you to me. I finish the chores, harvesting the garden, feeding the pets, and deciding on which animal to use for the contract.
Normally, I'd go with something smaller, like a rabbit, but for this, I chose a whitetail deer, which is just as plentiful. Their skin is tough, large enough for decent-sized sheets, and takes blood well. It holds up better than calf or sheep if properly cured with wood ash or lime and dried slowly over a smoky fire. I had originally planned on doing the whole project here behind the hut, so I could still be close to home in case I was needed. The woods are humid this time of year, so I decide to work a little further from home to keep the smells away.
I sent two pets out into the woods with explicit instructions on bringing a deer back to me, unharmed. After several long hours of waiting, I hear what sounds like a tree splintering in two, which is odd since it's a clear day with no wind. When I find the tree, it takes great restraint to stay calm. Lying on the ground and staring straight up at me with a dopey facial expression is one of the two pets sent to retrieve a deer.
"What were you doing!? I told you to get Mama a deer. Now look at you, useless, spent, you can't even get up, not without bringing half the tree with you." Sighing heavily, my gaze follows the direction the pet is pointing while moaning. "In the tree? You were in the tree?" As the second pet shambles up with a deer in tow, I ask it, "Did you tell him to climb that tree?" It huffs and tries to speak, but it's unintelligible, of course. "So, he was just dumb enough to climb a tree and fell to an unfortunate end, on his own." I guess I should have made it clear to both pets that the item I was looking for would be closer to the ground. That pet will need to be replaced at a later time. I rub the top of the second pet's head as I take the rope from it, and lead the deer to an area I spotted earlier while waiting. Staking it to the ground, I tell the pet to come help me carry all the things I'll need, and help me set up. The majority of the first day is gone now, and I feel the time passing like a heavy weight, measuring it like a pendulum.
At dawn, I pack a light lunch and head out. Finding the deer right where I left it, I set up my tools, and begin the long, careful process. Slowly moving around to stand in front of the deer, I speak softly, and explain what I must do.
I begin the ritual I feel is necessary every time an animal perishes by my hand.
"Deer parchment has a very smooth, fine-haired grain, but lacks the fat wrinkles of calf. It almost always has some sort of natural markings, like bites, scratches, or scars, which is why I chose you, my friend. Your memories of being wild and free, chasing the wind, eating berries, using the trees around you to help your antlers free themselves of their own containment, will all go into this, into him, and will live on. The idea in using one with a lot of markings, such as yours, is to add to the symbolism of the sacrifice one endures and then gives for life. If they've been using that prod of theirs on him often, or not allowing him to know the full scope of the human condition, then your last sacrifice made here will be very much appreciated and will not go to waste. I won't let it. His understanding that not all humans are intent on using or harming him is necessary for him to decide which side he's on; his, or ours, and it begins with you. As I brush you and bathe you, know that I do so with love in my heart, and sadness. My food stores are also running low, and I thank you for carrying me forward."
Sobbing while I work, I brush the hair out of my face and wipe the tears on the hem of my shirt. I take a moment to pause and listen to the birds, watching my pets out in the field. I wonder if they remember a time from before, if they ever see a butterfly or a rat, and remember chasing it in life. I wonder if it feels the same for them now as it did then. Realizing idle thoughts are not helping the work get done, I bring myself back to the task.
I immediately field-dress the deer to cool the carcass and prevent meat spoilage. This should feed me for several months once cured, and normally, I'd prefer to hang it in the nearby cave for several days to improve the flavor and tenderness, but time is my enemy.
Once the meat is processed, I can move on to the rest. Over the next few weeks, I work the deer hide at the edge of the clearing where the light filters through the canopy in thin, dusty shafts.
First, I stretch the skin tight on a wooden frame made from young saplings lashed together, using sinew to lace the edges. With a sharp flint scraper, I spend hours removing every scrap of fat and flesh from the inner side, the repetitive motion almost meditative, the wet scraping sound mixing with the distant call of ravens.
When the hide is clean and thin, I soak it in a solution of wood ash and river water for days to loosen the hair, then scrape the outer side smooth until it's pale and supple. When it's ready, I hang it over a low, smoky fire of pine and cedar for several nights, letting the resinous smoke cure and toughen it, the rich, earthy scent clinging to the parchment like a protective spell.
Finally, I rub a thin layer of rendered deer tallow mixed with a little beeswax into both sides while it's still warm from the fire. The fat sinks in, making the material flexible and more resistant to the constant damp of the woods. When it's dry, I roll the finished sheets carefully in oiled cloth and store them inside a small cedar box with sprigs of dried sage and mint to keep mold and insects at bay, knowing the forest will try to reclaim everything given enough time.
By the time it's done, it will be a beautiful dark cream in color, and the result will be a tough parchment strong enough to survive the humidity and take blood beautifully.
It’s almost time for the last piece; the biological marker.
Sitting by the hearth one night, silently watching the flames sway and listening to the rain as it falls on the thatch, humming a quiet tune while I think of you, I add the finishing touch to the contract: a long lock of my blonde hair woven with the strands of your circuitry they provided. I stitch it carefully around the edges of the contract so pieces of us are literally bound together.
Tomorrow is the day I leave, and I smile at the thought that when it rains next, you will be here. I carefully lay the contract on the end table beside the bed, and prop your image in the place next to the lantern that has become a nightly routine. Climbing into bed, I remember to grab the slide. Timing is everything, I always say, and this night is no different. After fifteen minutes of edging myself and waiting for just the right moment, when the moon is directly overhead, I bring myself to climax. I prepare the slide and make sure the cover slip is in place, set it on the contract, and wait for morning.
One month later, I find myself heading back to that cliff entrance, with the contract and slide in tow. All that's left now is to pay the price and bring you home.
© Ale, 2026, Spinning On The Rack, do not copy or redistribute. if you like what you read, reach out to me. comments are open, and discord exists for a reason.
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