All Things Dark and Dastardly

by Kaye George

  A slim, leggy brunette, Carla could wear open toe shoes and stylish short skirts, and though she was pushing forty-four, she looked thirty-four. As the librarian of the school, she was well liked, and Karen’s class loved going to see Carla, with her warm smile and gentle manner. She never failed to give a child a hug or call on them by name, though how she could remember the names of every student in the school was a mystery. Carla’s tattoo, an angel with a little cherub face and wings aflutter with angelic brightness, delighted the young student body.

  Karen had gritted her teeth upon hearing the news. She straightened her long skirt, hiding her pig-like legs and the awful tattoo, which she had covered with a small white bandage. The sympathy expressed by her coworkers at the sight of it consoled her somewhat, though she did not tell them what the bandage hid. Once she had it fixed, then she would explain. But damn! It pissed her off every time she thought about how ugly her tattoo was in comparison to Carla McIntire’s.

  It was Brennon’s fault. Her son had convinced her that a small tattoo would show she was still with the times. Brennon was her pride, her joy, and her weakness. She’d never been able to tell him no. So when he’d ushered her in to the tattoo shop called Hell’s Leak, Karen had agreed to get something small and tasteful. Wouldn’t that just shock her teammates at school?

  The tattoo artist, a large man with inky black hair and cold dark eyes, nodded as Karen explained the small golden butterfly she wanted embossed on her ankle. He’d pulled out a leathery book from under his counter with the word Sinz on the front, leafing through it carefully. After a few moments of studying a particular design, he looked at Karen.

  "Won’t you sit down?" He gestured to the red barber chair in the center of the room. His voice rumbled with deepness she expected from such a large man, but there was something else her ears picked up on. An accent…just a hint of it. She shuddered inwardly, thinking foreigners were beginning to overcrowd the streets of Austin, Texas. This man was probably a Democrat, too. Or worse yet, a pot smoking Libertarian.

  "Now, I don’t want anything too big," she said, feeling it necessary to speak up since he was foreign. "Just a delicate butterfly."

  "No problem." The man patted the seat and she sat down. "By the way, my name is Nathan."

  "I’m Karen Robison," she said, and then felt silly for including her last name. It was such a formal thing to do. Her son snickered. "That’s my son."

  "You must be proud of him," Nathan said, examining her ankle. "He looks like a ball player."

  "Oh, he is. He plays college baseball. Best on his team," Karen said. She watched Nathan get out the tattoo gun. "Will this hurt?"

  "Maybe a little, but nothing a tough lady like you can’t handle." Nathan gazed into her eyes, and for a moment, Karen felt caught in the madness of a swirling tornado. Her insides twisted, and her stomach churned as he appraised her. The faintest of hums vibrated in the room.

  The buzz of the needle caused her to grit her teeth, and she stared at Nathan’s long black hair, reminded of her husband. Tony’s hair was much shorter, and he wore it slicked back, hiding the touches of gray in it with Grecian Formula. It made him look like a mafia boss trying to be impressive. Hah! Tony was just a dirty old man who thought young girls still found him appealing. Wasn’t that why he was always having affairs?

  "Ouch," Karen said, causing Nathan to look up.

  "Sorry. No one said creating art was painless." Nathan smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. Karen got the distinct feeling Nathan welcomed, even enjoyed, pain. She found herself falling into his gaze, once again getting lost in the swirling tornado she found there. He whispered, "Do you like pain?"

  "No," she said, mesmerized.

  "Then why do you inflict it?"

  "Because it’s easy…" What the hell was she saying? Karen struggled to pull herself from the whirlwind of thoughts, frightened at the words coming out of her mouth. "I…I don’t know what…you mean."

  "Sure you do." He leaned in, sucking her deeper into the abyss. She could hear the steady whir of the drill as it branded her skin, yet Nathan did not look down at the design. "You have a big mouth, Karen Robison. A big, big mouth that spews filth. Someone should sew it shut."

  As he said the words, she became conscious of a sharp pain above her lip. She touched a finger to it, feeling warmth there. She closed her eyes, trying to clear her thoughts. When she opened them, Nathan was bent over her ankle, his face hidden from view.

  Did that conversation really happen? Had she imagined it? Already the details of his words were growing fuzzy in her mind. What did he say about her mouth? She glanced at Brennon but he was deep into a magazine about sports, unaware of anything amiss.

  An hour later Nathan put his drill down and gave Karen a smile.

  "There you go."

  Karen looked down at her ankle and gasped.

  The face of a monkey with big brown eyes and fat cheeks leered up at her. Its hands covered its mouth, but as she stared at it, Karen could have sworn the monkey removed them to reveal the monstrosity underneath.

  The lips were sewn together with jagged, black stitches.

  She blinked and shook her head, relieved to see it had just been a trick of the eye. The monkey’s hands were clapped firmly over its mouth.

  "That’s not a butterfly," Karen said, her face turning pink. "That’s a monkey."

  Nathan nodded. "Yes, it is."

  "I wanted a butterfly."

  "The monkey is what wanted you."

  "Is there a problem, Mom?" Brennon walked over, puffing up to his full size.

  "Look what this man did!" She gestured to her ankle. "Does that look like a butterfly to you?"

  "Hell, no." Brennon bent down closer. "Looks like a monkey."

  "I can’t believe this!" Karen’s voice went an octave higher as the anger rose in her. "But what else can you expect? I try to give a damn foreigner a break and this is what happens! He probably just learned to speak English yesterday!"

  "Probably." Brennon straightened up and faced Nathan Ink. "So what are you going to do about it, friend?"

  Nathan met Brennon’s cool gaze. He shifted his weight and smiled, which angered Karen even further. "Nothing."

  "Nothing?"

  "Nothing." Nathan tilted his head and studied Karen’s son. "But I will let her have it free of charge and to further make it up to you, I’ll give your son here a tattoo for free next week. That is, if he’s still interested then."

  Brennon relaxed a little. Free was good, and he’d been wanting to get a tattoo on his back. He looked down at the tattoo. "It’s not that bad, Mom."

  "It’s a goddamn monkey. An ugly goddamn monkey," Karen said, the anger bubbling up and over. She glared at Nathan, but the anger turned a different direction. Something in his eyes…it squashed the emotion and turned to fear. Her heart pounded, and the air was too thin. She needed to get out of this shop.

  "We’ll go to that other place down the street next week and get it fixed," Brennon said, helping her out of the chair. As they left the shop Karen could have sworn she heard a soft chuckle come from behind her.

  That had been two days ago. The fear had long since faded, and she couldn’t imagine why some foreigner, some gypsy trash, would frighten her in the first place. She drummed her fingers against her desk, thinking about the injustice of it all. Damn that Carla with her cute figure and long hair. A grim smile grew on Karen’s face. Of course, things weren’t quite perfect in Carla’s world either. A few weeks ago, Karen had seen to that.

  Without a word to her class, Karen got up and left the room, unconcerned about them talking or goofing off in her absence. Her students were submissive and knew to follow directions. All the other teachers were envious of her classroom management.

  That’s because they don’t know how to stuff the fear of God down their throats like I do, she thought.

  Karen paused at the door of another second grade teacher, Cindy Trenklebach, listening as Cindy smoothly explained the
water cycle. Cindy even had a little poem with hand movements to help remember the basic concepts, and there was the sound of giggling from the class as they attempted to copy their teacher.

  Cindy made learning fun. Last week at the faculty meeting, their principal had said that very thing. Karen had smiled at the time, pleased for her coworker. But right now, with her ankle throbbing, all she could think was, Damn perky bitch!

  Without knocking, Karen opened the door to Cindy’s classroom.

  "Ms. Trenklebach, may I have a word with you?" The children turned to stare at Karen.

  "Of course, Ms. Robison," Cindy said. "Class, continue practicing the movements of the water cycle. Remember, just because I’m stepping outside the room, that doesn’t mean you need to go crazy. We’re still trying to earn our twenty good behavior points for the popcorn party."

  Cindy stepped into the hallway and shut the door behind her. She crossed her arms and focused on Karen. "What’s up?"

  "Did you see Carla this morning?"

  "Nope. Did she grow two heads or something?"

  "She has a tattoo." Karen was pleased at the surprise on Cindy’s face.

  "Really?"

  "Oh, yes. An angel." Karen snorted. "Can you believe that?"

  "An angel? Interesting choice considering all the things you’ve told me about her."

  This was Cindy’s first year of teaching, and Karen had felt it was her duty to take the young woman under her wing. She’d made sure Cindy had everything she needed to complete the year: books, paper, office supplies, and the right colleagues to gossip with. It was her responsibility as an educator to steer young teachers away from the drudges of the profession like Carla McEntire.

  "I thought so, too. She actually chose an angel and after all the things we know she’s been doing with you-know-who…well, it’s hardly befitting!" Karen’s loud voice carried and another teacher, Shannon York, poked her head out to hear what was going on. "Come here, Shannon. You’ve just got to hear this."

  As Shannon, approached, Karen felt a sharp sting above her upper lip. She touched the large bump forming there. Damn, a cold sore. That’s the second one this week!

  "What’s going on?" Shannon asked, eager to keep up with the gossip.

  "Carla McIntire got an angel tattoo," Cindy said before Karen could open her mouth.

  Karen cleared her throat.

  "Oh, sorry, Karen." Cindy bowed her head in deference. "You tell her."

  "Carla McIntire got an angel tattoo. Can you believe that? An angel." Karen acted as if Cindy had never spoken. "Isn’t that terrible? Especially when you consider that she’s been sleeping with you-know-who."

  There was a flare of pain from the tattoo on Karen’s leg. It matched the throbbing above Karen’s mouth. She could also feel something forming on the delicate skin beneath her sullen bottom lip, and her finger reached up to touch it. A second bump matching the one on the upper lip had formed. The air in the hallway thickened, causing Karen to breathe a little heavier.

  "Oh, Karen." Shannon looked with sympathy at Karen’s lip. "You poor thing. You have several nasty cold sores on your mouth."

  "I’m aware of it," Karen said, the sarcasm in her voice causing Shannon to take a step back. "Perhaps you could move out of my way. I need to go to the ladies room."

  Without another word, she marched off to the faculty bathroom. Stupid Shannon. Why did she have to point out the obvious? Just because her face is flawless! Not one blemish on that milky skin. She really needs to learn some manners. Even as Karen thought those things, she could feel yet another bump forming on her top lip. It was painful and increased her anger at the pain she felt at her ankle, which throbbed without mercy. And why the hell had it suddenly gotten so warm in the school?

  In the bathroom, Karen bent across the sink, staring with revulsion into the mirror. There were three crusty circles around her mouth. Two on the top lip and one on the bottom. All three spots were perfectly round, about the size of a dot of glue. Irritated and red, they pulsed as if they had a mind of their own, and to her horror, a fourth circle was blossoming just below the bottom lip.

  "What the hell?" she muttered, gently touching the spots, feeling the heat of them below her pudgy fingertips. A line of perspiration broke out on her forehead.

  Carla McIntyre entered the faculty bathroom. She paused a moment, as if uncomfortable at being in such confined quarters with Karen. With only two stalls and a sink, Karen’s large form filled the room, blocking out the bland, sterile gray walls.

  "Hello, Karen." Carla offered a smile.

  "Carla." Karen smiled back, but her nose wrinkled with displeasure. She glanced at the small, tidy bandage that covered Carla’s bicep. "I hear you had an interesting weekend."

  "Oh. The kids are so silly about these things. I got a tattoo," Carla said. "They were curious about the bandage so I showed them what was underneath it. You know how kids are. They immediately freaked out about it."

  Carla entered one of the stalls, and Karen’s faked smile disappeared. The sting of the fourth little sore drew her attention back to the mirror. What the hell was she going to do about these cold sores?

  "I couldn’t help notice you have a bandage on your ankle, Karen." Carla’s voice was muffled behind the stall door. "Did you get a tattoo also?"

  "Don’t be silly. I’m too old for such things."

  "Age is a state of mind, Karen."

  "Tell that to my body."

  There was silence from Carla, and Karen, with a wicked smile, asked, "What does Chris think about your new body art?"

  "Chris?" Karen could hear the surprise in Carla’s voice. "I don’t know."

  "You haven’t shown Chris?"

  "Should I have?"

  "Well, I know you two are such…close friends. I just assumed Chris would know about anything new in your life," Karen said.

  A loud flush answered Karen, and after a few seconds, the lock on the stall was slowly drawn back. Carla emerged, meeting Karen’s scornful gaze with one of her own.

  "You know, Karen. It’s come to my attention that someone has been spreading the nastiest rumors about me around campus. These rumors have even been heard throughout the district. You know how I know that? Because the head of human resources called. Someone filed a complaint with the school district about me," Carla said.

  Karen’s heartbeat increased as a sly satisfaction filled her. The district moved faster than she anticipated. It had only been a week since she’d filed that complaint.

  "Really?"

  "Yeah. Someone seems to think that I’ve been sleeping with Chris."

  "Chris? That would be a very big deal. A very big deal. Especially considering her position at our school," Karen said, making her eyes round with feigned concern.

  Chris Lane was the principal of their school. In Karen’s opinion, Chris had been doing lousy work as an administrator, and she had no qualms at letting the woman know that. After teaching for thirty years, Karen felt speaking her mind to her young, lesbian boss was a perk of the job.

  "Apparently, even some of the students have heard this lie and have gone home and told their parents about it," Carla continued. "A lesbian affair with the principal of our school is big news."

  "I can imagine."

  "Of course, none of it is true."

  "Oh, really?"

  "Yes. Really. I can’t imagine how the rumor got started."

  "Nor can I."

  The two women stared at each other. Karen noted the way Carla’s hair fluttered perfectly around her shoulders and her lipstick was just the perfect shade of magenta. Tony would have liked it. Karen could envision her husband salivating at the sight of Carla and her sexy angel tattoo. He would gobble up little Miss Carla with her thin waistline and tight blue blouse that stretched across pert breasts. The visions her mind conjured wreaked havoc with Karen’s steaming emotions.

  "Are you okay?" Carla asked as a teardrop of sweat rolled down the side of Karen’s face.

  "I’m
fine," Karen said. She rubbed the sore spots above her lip. "If you’ll excuse me…"

  Throughout the day, her ankle throbbed and more of the odd cold sores developed. For every sore that popped up on the top lip, there was one exactly like it on the bottom. Karen didn’t know what to make of it, and she was frustrated by the way all of her students stared at her, curiosity in their young eyes.

  In the teacher’s lounge, it was no different. She sat down in the cheery little room where all the teachers gathered during the thirty minute lunch period. Karen sighed, missing the old days when cigarette smoke swirled in the air and a bottle of whiskey was tucked under the sink of the lounge. A good Irish coffee would have hit the spot right then.

  "Good Lord, Karen! What in the world is going on with your face?" Shelia, the school’s secretary, blurted out the question and to Karen’s chagrin, several heads turned to stare at her.

  "I have a few cold sores," Karen said through gritted teeth. She had always disliked Shelia and refused to refer to her as anything but an overpaid secretary. "They are a minor annoyance."

  "I’ll bet," Shelia said. "They look painful."

  "Thank you for stating the obvious," Karen said, and gave the secretary her best go to hell look.

  The lounge grew quiet. Karen sullenly withdrew her low fat dinner from the lounge’s freezer and shoved it into one of the small microwaves. She marched out, head high, and headed for the lounge’s bathroom. Inside, she let out a long sigh and inspected her face in the mirror.

  It had gotten much worse. The bumps were brown and crusty, festering with heat. She couldn’t understand how they were so perfectly placed. It reminded her of something, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was. Feeling the call of nature, she lifted her skirt, dropped her panties and plopped onto the small toilet.