Lingeria

by Daniel Kozuh

  “Oy look, Wet Cloak’s back,” one of them shouted.

  “Off saving the world again, have you?” The other chided. The farmers shared a laugh between themselves.

  Norman saw Roe open his mouth to defend himself but decide against it. He walked past them without a word.

  When they reached Roe’s yard, Roe dug into his pocket and pulled out a few specks of dirt, most of it being lost in his adventure. He smiled, placed it gingerly back onto the ground, went inside, and started a kettle.

  Norman put his hand into his own pocket and was surprised to find that a few tenacious pebbles had survived the journey. He pinched them between his fingers and sprinkled them over the yard.

  ****

  The air in Roe’s house was thick and stale from disuse. Something, somewhere had spoiled, leaving a musky scent that permeated every room. A thin layer of dust had settled over everything, giving the home a ghostly white haze. Norman, Roe, Tahra, Rick, and Janey were all crammed into Roe’s tiny kitchen, trying to work up the courage to finally say goodbye.

  Norman pushed open the bay window to air out the stench. “I can’t believe I ever hated this place,” he said, mostly to himself, looking one last time at the mountain outside Roe’s home.

  “Are you sure you want to go?” Roe asked, sadly.

  “I don’t know if I want to go,” Norman explained, “but I have to go. This is not my place, any more. This is your story, now. I am done with Lingeria. I’m going to head home and write me a story about an island inhabited by nothing but lonely female gymnasts, then pray a portal opens up to that world.”

  Norman went to the goblin.

  “You may not have been my creator,” Rick said. “But thank you for helping me find out who I am.”

  “Rick, it was a pleasure to name you.” They shook hands. Norman didn’t even mind the mucus.

  Norman turned to Tahra. “I know you’re in love with me, but you are going to have to learn to live with a broken heart.” Norman smirked and Tahra rolled her eyes. “Good luck.” Norman put out his hand. Tahra hesitated, but then wrapped her brawny arms around the man. Her biceps locked Norman’s arms to his side, so he was unable to reciprocate. She patted his shoulders, awkwardly, and pulled away.

  “That was my first hug,” she said. “Forgive me.”

  “It was good. Keep working on it.” Norman smiled.

  “You can stay and fight with us,” she tried. “We could use your … talents.”

  “Ha,” Norman appreciated the stale compliment. “I’ll do more harm than good, I think.”

  Finally, Norman knelt down to Roe’s height. “Well, little guy, daddy’s gotta go.” Roe shook his head at Norman’s goofiness, but he smiled. “Seriously, though, I know I am hard to deal with. Thank you for sticking with me.”

  “And thank you,” Roe said, shyly, “for making me feel important.”

  “You always were,” Norman told him.

  “One last breakfast before you go?” Roe stalled.

  “No, thank you. I’ve been putting this off long enough.”

  They shared a hug and Norman stood back up. He felt a punch of loneliness, when he realized that he was going to be heading back into that empty house and to his empty life. He hoped it would be different, now. He hoped he could reach out to those still willing to speak to him. He hoped that this would be the last time any part of him would enter an oven. But he didn’t know for sure. His loneliness turned over on itself and exposed a feeling of fear. He had to go though. His own unfinished story was waiting for him.

  “It sure has been an adventure! Catch you all on the flip side,” Norman said, awkwardly. His face sank. “Sorry about that, I was never good with endings.”

  He turned to the stove and reached for the handle.

  “Janey, you ready?!” Norman teased the dog, who was more than ready to return to her bed before the fire. Her tail thumped on the wooden floor. He noticed that Roe was absentmindedly petting her back.

  Norman froze and looked to Roe. “Wasn’t this open when we left?” He asked, pointing to the oven.

  Roe shrugged. “I don’t know. That was months ago.”

  Norman pulled at the rod-iron stove handle, and the door swung open. The cavity of the stove was empty and black. No room was seen on the other side.

  “So, what happens now?” Rick asked.

  “I don’t know,” Norman said. “It was just there. Maybe we have to reverse the polarity?”

  “What?” Tahra asked.

  “I don’t know, that’s how it works on TV.”

  “Who could have closed it?” Tahra questioned.

  “Mayhap your side is closed, as well,” Roe said. He reached into the oven and pushed on the back of the stove. It fell open with a bouncing, padded thunk-unk-unk-unk. Norman’s house appeared to them looking five-feet and a million-miles away.

  “Whew, that was close,” Roe said, echoing from inside the cavity.

  What Roe didn’t see, camouflaged against the dark paint of the oven’s roof, was a black, plate-sized cave spider. It released it grasp, fell onto Roe’s arm, and sunk its fangs into his wrist. Roe screamed and fell out of the stove. He flicked the spider off, it flew across the kitchen and hit one of the cupboards, exploding into a magical cloud of blue mist.

  The house started to quake; dried mud spackle from the ceiling showered down on them as the beams struggled to hold up the structure. The oven doors, on both sides, flapped open and shut chaotically. Norman looked back at his home and could see it fading away. If he dove through right now, he could make it.

  Roe fell to the ground holding his wrist, feeling his arteries spread the warm venom throughout his body and to his heart, with every beat. Norman ran and knelt next to his friend.

  The oven doors slammed shut, Norman didn’t have to open them again to know the portal just closed for good.

  “Hold on,” Norman assured him, “it’s going to be okay. What do we do?”

  “What remedies spider bites?” Rick asked.

  “Nothing in this kitchen,” Tahra said, softly.

  Norman lifted up Roe’s shirt and exposed his particularly hairy belly and chest.

  “You should have gone through,” Roe said.

  “I’m not going to let you die a second time,” Norman cried.

  “I guess … you can’t outrun … your fate,” Roe coughed.

  Norman put his hands over Roe’s chest, as if to perform CPR. He took a deep breath and repeatedly pressed down. CPR probably wasn’t the right procedure for this situation, but Norman didn’t know what else to do.

  “Come on, buddy!” Norman yelled. “Come back!”

  The underside of Norman’s left hand stung and burnt, as if he were holding it over a flame but he refused to pull it away. A shimmering, golden light bloomed from Norman’s hand and passed down into Roe’s chest. The light flowed through Roe’s body, mapping out the thin red veins of his body and making his skin glow pale white.

  Roe’s eyes widened with enraptured ecstasy. His little body absorbed the warm light and it slowly dimmed. When the story was told days later, it was said that Roe floated a foot into the air, but that was just hyperbole.

  Norman pulled his hand away and fell to the ground. Roe shot up, gasping. Both men were exhausted and breathless.

  Roe looked around, in amazement, “Jesus Christ, what was that?”

  “Oh,” Norman smiled, “Just a little bit of magic.”

  Acknowledgments:

  A very special thank you to everyone to had to endure a barrage of insecure text messages, give me constant pep talks, and read early, terrible, drafts: Sarah Janusz, Erin Kahoa, Anthony DeMarco, Gail Alonso, Andrew Alonso, Adam Heun, Maureen Heun, and Chuck Kowalski. Jim Hodgson for all the free advice. The staff at The Hard Times. Also thank you to all the writers and comedians that have no idea of their impact on my life. I hope one day to tell them and make it as awkward as possible.

  **** About The Author ****

  Daniel Kozu
h is a wanted author and celebrated horse thief. He is the author of several angry letters to his congressman. His birth has been approximated around 1890 but evidence suggests he previously lived under the assumed identities of Anton Keller, Greg Watson, Captain Quintin Montrose, and The Lady Fitzgerald. He has the 2015 Nebula Award for Fantasy Fiction and Jeff VanderMeer would really like it back.

  His current whereabouts are unknown.