by DC Alexander
She stood there facing me, wearing my clothes. The rest of the scene in the mirror was normal, I could see everything that ought to be there, but where I should have been was this person.
My heart had run away and I had to catch my breath, I trembled with reaction. I examined me in the mirror.
Tangled hair, some of it sticking up, framed a skinny, childlike head. The face was one I hadn’t seen in ten years. The big brown eyes looked a little bugged out, cheekbones jutting out sharply, little skinny neck leading to small shoulders hidden by the housedress which hung on her like a tent. Her arms looked like toothpicks. The shoulders of the dress hung down nearly to her elbows. The eyes weren’t bugged out. I was just seeing them without the comfortable, protective layer of smooth shiny padding. Where the cloth used to be snug on my belly, it hung in folds.
I stripped the dress off and looked me over. I expected I would be hanging, sagging, empty and showing stretch marks, I’d seen people who lost a lot of weight and it was gruesome. Some of them had surgery to remove the excess skin.
I had no dangling skin. I had no stretch marks. My tits were perky. I never had perky tits! I had to work to keep the underside from collecting sweat and stinking.
A little sick, scared, trembling, my thoughts scattered. Going outside like this just wouldn’t work. For years I’d built a barrier against the evil in me. Grammaw helped, she’d made sure I had plenty of comfort food, she got slower and I hummed and ate. I didn’t sense what surrounded me and it eventually subsided, I was normal.
The neighborhood ran down, we nailed the back door shut, and I had to take the trash out when she got unable to do it.
That first time I drew a few onlookers. I kept my eyes locked on the trash can and the curb where I was going. I had to do it, the cans were overflowing and the trash ran that Monday; we couldn’t deal with another week of missing trash pickup, we had already missed two. I broke out in a sweat, trembled, and thought I was going to pass out or mess myself. The more my heart ran away and I shook and trembled the more I worried that I would pass out or die from a burst heart, my eyes were darting around so badly I couldn’t actually see where I was going.
From a vantage point outside myself I saw me get mad and I gloried in it. I told me I was going to die, they were going to grab me, I was going to get run over, I was going to get lost, and I shouted “SHUT UP!” to myself. “Just quit it. Die right here. That would be fine, I won’t have to worry about it no damn more. I got to take the damn trash out. I am gonna put it at the damn curb. Right. Friggin. There. That is where it goes. Anybody gets in the way, I’ll smack them down and stomp them till they leave me alone. I aint puttin up with this shit no more. It’s over and done with” I smashed the metal can down and pushed on it, it didn’t give any and that made me madder “You son of a bitch, you get there and you stay there or I’ll beat you down into a puddle” I turned to go back to the house, our next door neighbor’s boy, he was maybe sixteen, stood between me and the house. Even in my rage it sent a cold chill up my spine. I was cut off. I looked for the rest of them, nobody there, his timing was off. I ran at him “You motha fucka you wanna get me I show you how it gone be” and I hit him full on with my chest like a runaway truck and he went down hard. I stepped all over him, he grunted in shock “Ooof, ouch, oh, what the hell?” I got past him and turned and come back “You want some a me you can get some right here, I’m done running and hiding, I want me some a yo ass right now!” He was on his hands and knees crawling, trying to stand up in a hurry.
I chased him out of the yard and turned and looked around to see if the other ones were coming, there were a few people watching but they turned and got interested in other things when I looked.
I went in and Grammaw, who had been watching through the window, said “Rosie, you all right? What was all that you were saying?”
“I had enough of the panic, Grammaw. I’m not going to let it run my life anymore.” I had to speak correctly when talking with Grammaw, she’d beat the hell out of me if I used that ‘gutter trash talk’ around her.
“Whatever it was, you go ahead and use it. Maybe better if you don’t beat up the neighbors though.” She soon had me checking the mail and going to the store, and I dealt with it. By the time she died I didn’t even think about it much, I did what I had to do and I stayed under the radar. Nobody paid attention to a person four and a half foot tall who weighs over two hundred pounds except maybe the doctor.
I was scared again now. “Deal with it.” Good advice but my skinny ass might not be able to back it up. I turned and looked at the skinny ass, it looked attractive and that wasn’t good. When I went out, people were going to be looking at my ass, wanting to be friends, next thing I would be getting ganged.
I recognized that internal dialogue, doubts and fears reinforcing themselves. I stopped it, just turned it off. My vantage point was strange somehow. I went to the doorframe of doom where the height marks sat accusingly. I backed up to the marks and held my hand over my head against the door, turned and looked. Damn! Five feet tall! Finally! No way! My mind might break, I had no idea what this was or how, I must be crazy.
I left my clothes lying there in the floor and went back to the bedroom, this was all the fault of the voice, it had changed me; maybe it could change me back. I looked through my clothes for something to wear, I had to go outside and talk with the voice. I didn’t have anything that even came close to fitting. Unease made my stomach unsettled, sick, my heart was running away. “Stop, I aint doing this shit, I’m over it and I aint gonna let it do me no more.” I snatched up a housedress and pulled it over my head, “I don’t give a SHIT what it looks like. I aint tryin to get no romance going, somebody wants some romance I’ll be romancing a foot up their ass anyway. If somebody don’t like it they can kiss my ass, they need to mind their own business.”
I stomped out the back door, smashing it to the wall, it bounced back and I caught it on my elbow and stopped it. “Yeah, that shit hurts, I don’t care, mess with the bull you get the horn” as I stomped down to the yard. I flopped down on the ground and smashed my hands onto the dirt. “What the hell you mean makin me skinny and shit?”
It come right back like it had been waiting for me “unhealthy/agreement for exchange of services/water”
I had to think and expand the mental shorthand into a form I could handle. A lot of information was packed in the images/concepts/feelings. It was puzzled about why I didn’t want better health, it wanted me to live. We had a deal and my bad health was not optimal for its requirements. It understood my mental wants and needs and proposed that I get over it. And anyway, its pal water had done the revisions. Next.
It wasn’t concerned with my mood. If I wanted my ill health back I could have it after I had taken care of my part of our bargain.
The fetish bag; it had checked out the bag. It contained herbs, mostly Jimson Weed with some Deadly Nightshade, Marijuana, and essential oils extracted from plants such as peppermint and oregano. The leather of the bag was covered with tiny needles. It contained blood and magic in addition to the herbs.
The images and knowledge made sense till I hit magic. I had pictures and life cycles and methods of preparation for the things mentioned; the knowledge that deadly nightshade contained Scopolamine, Atropine and Belladonna. Atropine was a heart stimulant; Scopolamine caused hallucination and increased suggestibility, belladonna made the pupils dilate. The knowledge appeared as I thought about it, it was all contained in the communication.
‘Magic’ brought me to a dead stop. I inquired ‘Magic?” It was off in a spate of ranting. I sent “You in a bad mood, huh?” It didn’t like magic. Magic existed but it shouldn’t, things happen for a reason unless magic is involved. Worse of all, Magic stole energy.
When it sent ‘magic’ I got a lot of examples.It didn’t approve of any of them. Magic meant ‘Thieving, underhanded, doesn’t obey natural law, unnatural, wrong, no way, shouldn’t happen’ and general badness.
&nbs
p; Somebody had invested some magic in the bag and that pissed it off. Since I was its agent, I needed to fix it, the sooner the better.
I expanded the information on magic. A circle of salt could contain magic. Salt was bad for magic in general. Blood was used in the kind of magic that involved mind control. This particular whammy would break a person’s will, make them sick and addict them to the mixture in the bag. After continued exposure a person would die if they didn’t get the mixture, the heart would slow down and stop, the brain would stop firing. The effects were what I had seen, with an adjusted dosage the victim would be pliable and do exactly what they were told, like hypnotism but without an internal filter. Zombie making 101.
Natural running water would break most magic or make it difficult to cast or control. Silver was a good antidote for blood magic. Magic could do all sorts of things.
We discussed the fact that Earl should be coming over soon, I asked what I should do. It replied with a wealth of information on skinning, decapitation, burning, and other ways to make someone uncomfortable. I didn’t get anything like do a, then b, then c though. That was up to me; I had legs and arms and hands
The only things I knew that might break Earl’s hoodoo shit were salt, running water and silver. When he showed up he expected me to be half dead and obedient. He could show up just any time. I had nothing to stop him. I needed a plan.
I could shoot him but I suspected he’d been shot at before and survived it. Maybe shot with silver and salt? That would at least burn.
Carl showed at the door about ten o’clock in the morning. I talked with him through the door and asked him to bring me some clothes about Stephanie’s size. He didn’t ask why, he just went and got them.
Food was a tremendous disappointment. The ham stank of blood and chemicals and salt so badly it gagged me. The bread was stale and nasty and full of sugar and chemicals. I lost my appetite and went back to work. I heated a can of the nasty soup and I was able to choke down about half of it before the overload of salt and chemicals got to me. The tap water tasted like it was ninety percent chlorine.
I prepared for Earl. I expected the smug bastard would show up just any time. Carl brought the clothes and I unplugged the fence charger and took them.
“I’ll tell you about it later, you go on now. Earl will be showin up soon.”
“You need me to do anything? I got this; I can help you with that man.” He showed me a little cop baton that collapsed like a telescope, he had filed one corner sharp. That was what he’d used on Rashid, it made sense now.
“No, I think I got this and you don’t want to be in the way if bad shit starts. You check me after Earl comes over though, if I go strange you remember the water.” If I was still here, that is. But I didn’t say that.
“You sure?” He was scared but he was a man about it. Or a woman, maybe; women faced down harder shit every day that most men ever had to think on.
“Yeah, you go on now, I got to get ready.” He left and I sat down to wait. I got out of the recliner, it stank and I wouldn’t have time to wait for it to stand me up when Earl got here. I couldn’t think of anything else I could do to get ready, I’d done all I could. I sat at the kitchen table and waited. He had to show soon, he’d know I would’ve died in another day.
The new look. I didn’t have any protection, my fat was gone and the idea of someone seeing me this way made me anxious. I needed new clothes and a driver’s license, what a pain in the ass. How long would I be this way? My ass hurt from sitting on the hard wooden chair. Twilight came on, the light faded slowly. The street grew quiet and I’d decided to go lie down for a while when I heard someone stomp up onto the front porch.
I saw the doorknob twitch, I heard a ‘SHIT’, a thump and more cussing. The fence charger had got his attention. Maybe he’d give up and go on, but I hoped he came on in. I needed to get this done.
I went to the window and peeked out through the blinds carefully, I didn’t move them. Earl stood shaking his hand and staring at the door. He glanced at the street. He didn’t see anyone watching, he picked up his foot kicked the door. It didn’t give, I had a good lock on it and it was a solid door. He kicked it again and it gave a little. I hated that he was tearing up the frame but I kept quiet. He was pissed. His lips were pulled back in a grimace. I had never seen a grimace before but that was one for sure. He had tensed his arms up, his arm muscles were bulging. He must work out to get arms like that. He had on a white t-shirt that showed them off.
I backed away from the window toward the kitchen. The door come open a little and stuck on the floor. Three or four more kicks and he had it open enough he could shove on in.
He stepped through the door and I pulled the string on the bucket over the door and the salt water splashed on him. The bucket hit him on the side of the head and the shoulder, he danced aside quickly but got wet and the fence charger’s little hum changed tone.
He stood very straight, stiff, taut, and quivered in place, surrounded by a white glow. His eyes were wide, lips pulled back, I smelled burnt wires, heard a ‘snap’ and the hum quit.
He staggered back outside, caught the edge of the door, and exhaled hard looking down. Shaking himself he looked back up at me mad, man, he was cooking. I was shocked he was still standing, and a little worried. That should have put him down.
He poked his head into the doorway and looked around the inside of the door carefully, ignoring me. He satisfied himself there wasn’t anything else there. Looking at me with his head down, he said “Them little tricks is funny, I hope you liked that, you thought you was bad, didn’t you? You lookin’ a lot better, you little bitch. This gonna be fun, I gonna break you in right.” The man knew how to give a compliment; I had to give him that.
He kicked the door closed behind him and reached for his belt buckle. The door didn’t close, it ruined the effect. He had to push it the rest of the way closed. In the midst of all the serious, I smiled, I couldn’t help it, I was watching, unattached, the world sharp edged and in perfect focus.
He turned back and stared at me, then he grinned mean, “This gone be fun, after I get finished I share you out and make me some money, they’s people pay good for somethin’ like you. This here just gonna be sweet!”
He unzipped his pants and reached in to pull his equipment out and took a step toward me. I picked up my shotgun from by the kitchen door and pointed it at him and laid my finger on the first trigger.
The shotgun was old, a twelve gauge double barrel, two triggers, the barrel sawed off raggedly to about six inches long. I’d bought it on the street for twenty dollars. it was rusty and dinged up but it worked when I shot it in the back yard to test it, the recoil had spun me down to the ground and snatched it out of my hands.
He stopped his advance but he didn’t stop smiling. He said “go ahead, make my day” and held his hands out to the sides and thrust his hips at me, inviting me to shoot him; he wasn’t worried.
I hate it when somebody else uses a good line like that. I had the gun by my side, gripping tightly, pointed vaguely at his chest. When I pulled the first trigger the gun thundered, his chest lit up, the flare of light nearly blinded me and it turned me sideways. I blinked to clear my eyes and backed up a step, my ears ringing with a high, thin tone. When I could see again his back was against the door and he had blood on his face and he wasn’t smiling. His shirt was torn in spots, a little blood showed against the white.
He put his hands to his face and then back down and looked at them, he saw the blood and shouted “What the fuck was that!” He rubbed his chest and he moved toward me, “oh, I gone hurt you for that, you played with the fire, you done fucked up now and I gone burn yo little ass up” he come at me. I backed up a step to keep some room between us and pulled the other trigger. I was ready for the flare this time but it was a lot smaller and dimmer. The shot knocked him back against the door. He slid down to the floor, one of his eyes covered in blood, maybe gone. His shirt was bloody. A gash in the side of his n
eck bled steadily and ran down his shoulder and chest. The eye I could see was glazed.
I broke the shotgun open. Using my thumbnail, I pulled the shells out and dropped them. I didn’t take my eyes off him. I felt my way around what I was doing with little quick glances down to help. I put two shells in the gun and closed it. Those were my last two with salt and silver, I’d used all the silver I could find in the house, charms, an old silver spoon and three rings, cut into pieces with pliers.
He stank like a goat and maybe he had pissed himself. It was rank and strong. I walked over to him with the gun pointed at his face, he held his palm out at me in a ‘stop’ motion and wheezed “No, don’t, I’m done, I’ll leave now. Please.” I laughed, that was funny.
“Get on your face. You even look like you gonna do somethin’ I’ll shoot you again. Hell, I think I’ll shoot you anyway.” I wanted to shoot him. He’d lived through two shotgun blasts and the fence charger shock, what was it going to take to stop him? If I used my last two shells and it didn’t do it, I couldn’t even threaten him. I’d gone into this knowing I might die or a lot worse but I’d counted on the shotgun as the show stopper.
He saw the indecision in my eyes and decided he didn’t want to give me any reason. He fell forward on his hands and knees then went down to his belly, stretched out “I aint givin’ you trouble, I sorry, you done killed me. You the boss, you got this. You let me go I won’t bother you no more, I do what you wanted.” I stepped to the side and told him “you go on through there and down the stairs.” He got to his hands and knees unsteadily and crawled, trying to look pitiful. I didn’t buy it. I got behind him and herded him through the kitchen to the cellar door with my finger on the trigger. He got to his feet at the top of the stairs and half turned toward me. I kicked him as hard as I could in the hip with the side of my foot and he fell down the stairs grunting at every step, bumping and whining. He wasn’t near as much of a badass now.