Fables & Other Lies

by Claire Contreras

  “That’s the least of it.” She turned her face back to Jose as she spoke, “Jose can do your makeup and I’ll get you something from Xiomara’s closet. She ran off to New York anyway. It’s not like she misses anything she left behind. I bet she has some old ballet outfits.”

  “I don’t know about ballet outfits, but she has that beautiful feathered skirt and crop top,” Jose said. “She never even wore it.”

  “The one that gives The Crow and Cruel Intentions vibes?”

  “That one!” Jose stood up. “She left it behind. I’ll go grab it for you, Pen. Don’t worry, we’ll have you looking like the hostess of the show.”

  “I thought they didn’t pick women to be the host.” I smiled.

  “They don’t,” Jose said as he waltzed out of the room.

  “You know the patriarchy and their bullshit.” Dee rolled her eyes.

  I shrugged. It wasn’t anything new, and it wasn’t like we were the only ones stuck on that bullshit.

  “I knew I’d seen it there.” Jose walked back into the room with an item of clothing on either hand. “Skirt and bustier.”

  “That’s a bra.” I blinked. “My grandmother would wring my neck if she saw me out in that.”

  “She’s not going to be there,” Dee said with a laugh.

  “You act like she won’t know every single thing that went on and what everyone was wearing before breakfast tomorrow.” I looked at the clothes as Jose walked over and touched the black feathers that looked like they were wet. The material felt glossy, almost like a dominatrix leather. I envisioned it on me—I could wear tiny boy shorts under the skirt. The feathers would hit me well above the knees. The bustier would lift my small breasts. I could wear a chunky gold necklace and a gold bracelet.

  “Look at you. You’re salivating.” Jose chuckled then looked over at Dee. “She’s totally going to wear it.”

  “I’m totally going to wear it.” There was no use in denying it. “I am going to need you to do my makeup though.”

  “Girl. I’m going to do your makeup and we need to do something about that hair. That messy bun is sexy, but not for Carnival.”

  “Do whatever you want with me.” I opened up my arms. “I’m willing to be your pet project.”

  And pet project I was. Between Jose and Dee, they had me ready at the speed of light. When they were finished, I zipped up my knee-high combat boots and walked over to the mirror. The red lipstick I was wearing contrasted with the all-black attire, making it the perfect combination. I smiled. I looked sexy. I felt sexy.

  “You’re both magicians.”

  “So they say.” Jose winked. I laughed.

  “Let’s head out. I told Martín we’d meet him at Dolly’s for shots.”

  “I cannot wait to see this Martín guy,” Jose said. “Is he cute?”

  “He’s cute.” I smiled. “He doesn’t stop talking, but he’s cute.”

  “Oh, a chatterbox with Dee?” Jose’s eyes widened. “Who talks more?”

  “I’m going to pretend you are not talking about me like that in front of me.” Dee shook her head, smiling as we walked out of her room. “But for the record, I talk more because I have a lot more interesting shit to say.”

  “Right,” Jose and I both said with a laugh.

  “Who’s the host this year?” I asked. “Of Carnival I mean.”

  “Oh, you haven’t heard?” Jose’s brows rose.

  “Shit. I didn’t tell you?” Dee’s eyes widened as she grabbed my arm. “This doesn’t change anything. We’re still going.”

  “Don’t tell me it’s a Caliban.” I rolled my eyes.

  “It is.” Dee bit her lip. “But who cares? It’s not like he’s going to pick you. You don’t even know each other.”

  “Isn’t Mr. Caliban old, like really old?”

  “And bedridden,” Jose said. “He’s not the host. God. He was such a horror when he was the host. I’m kind of shocked they picked someone from that family at all.”

  “Seriously,” I agreed.

  “Who’d they pick? The son?”

  “Must be.” Jose shrugged. “He’s become a legend around here, coming in and out of Pan Island whenever he pleases with his fancy-ass cars and model girlfriends.”

  “Really?” My brows rose. “Why would he come here? And how?”

  “By boat, I assume.”

  “He takes a boat and doesn’t die in those waters?” I raised an eyebrow and glanced at Dee.

  “Hey, I haven’t been here either. Whenever I do visit, I only hear stories about this gorgeous god of a guy. I still think it’s crazy that they chose a Caliban though, hot or not.”

  “Same.” I nodded slowly. Jose did as well.

  Of course, none of us had been alive when it happened, but it was the talk of the town for years and years afterward. The curse and the Caliban Carnival was always mentioned at dinner parties even if it was just in passing, usually hushed, as if no one could bring themselves to speak the words aloud. And like everything else on this island, they called it a fable, a legend, a myth. It was the only fable I actually bought into. Some things are too horrible not to believe. Every year, the host of Carnival was the firstborn male of each household. Every night of Carnival, the man got to pick one woman to spend the night with. Single, married, widowed, it didn’t matter. Most of the men on the island were respectful and responsible with this task. They picked a single crush or a woman they were already dating, engaged, or married to.

  The year Wilfred Ambrose Caliban was chosen, he picked a married woman. The wife of a farmer whose beauty was said to only be rivaled by that of the sun’s rays. Like most stories, there’s no telling what’s true and what’s not. It’s been passed down to so many ears and spoken by so many mouths that we can only deduce what we think may have happened, but legend has it that the woman, Sarah, was never seen again. The farmer tried, with his equipment, to take the black iron gates down himself. When he finally received word from Sarah, it was via divorce papers and an apology letter that is now framed in our town library. I read the letter many times, trying to search for clues of lies and sadness, but found none. She seemed sorry for her husband, but not sorry enough to come back. And so, with Sarah, the sun left the northern part of the island, where the Caliban residence sat. They say the farmer put a curse on it that no one, not even the most spiritual beings around here, like my grandmother and people like her, could displace because no one could erase grief like that.

  “Whoa.” That was Dee as we started nearing the main street of town, where everyone was in some kind of costume and walking around.

  Whoa was right. The costumes were dark, but the mood was festive. Martín, who was waiting for us, spotted us quickly. He was in all black, including a top hat with a feather sticking out of it.

  “Do you know what Black Swan is?” I asked.

  “Not really.” Martín grinned as he gave both Dee and me a kiss on the cheek and shook hands and introduced himself to Jose. “The three of you look like you belong on the cover of a gothic album.”

  “Funny,” Jose said, in a tone that was anything but amused. “Are we going to do shots, or are we just going to stand around?”

  “I got the shots taken care of.” Martín turned around and escorted us to a small four-seater table outside of Dolly’s.

  “Why are you here by yourself?” Jose asked after our latest shot of Cuervo. We’d taken six already, but who was counting? Certainly not my liver. I reached for the water.

  “Because my girlfriend dumped me three days before we were set to come to this and I decided to come anyway.” Martín smiled brightly. “Good thing too. I wouldn’t have met these two. Or you, Jose.”

  “You definitely won the lottery by meeting me. I’m not so sure about these two.” Jose chuckled when I nudged him.

  “So, where’s the host?” Dee asked. “Does he walk around? How does he pick someone?”

  “Haven’t you been to one of these?” Martín asked. “I know Penelope
hasn’t recently, but she was the only weird one in that.”

  “Thanks,” I muttered, pouring myself more water.

  “Hey, no offense.”

  “I’m too drunk to be offended.” I waved him off. “Where does the host pick someone?”

  “I’ve only been to one Carnival and I was fighting with my boyfriend the entire friggin’ time. I didn’t even have fun,” Dee said.

  “Ugh. Lawrence.” Jose rolled his eyes.

  “Exactly.”

  I personally liked Lawrence, but I wasn’t about to state that tidbit at a table full of Lawrence haters.

  “So, the host is given the full list of attendees,” Jose said. “And there’s a competition. Sometimes it’s modeling, other times it’s just . . . a throne he’s sitting on and women come up to him. Most of the time they know who they’re picking before they get here though. No need for all the fuss. At least that’s what one of the tour guides said once.”

  “Interesting.” Martín grabbed a handful of peanuts in the middle of the table. “I’m surprised they still serve peanuts here. In the States, you rarely see that anymore.”

  “Yeah, well. It’s probably a good thing.” Dee grabbed a handful of peanuts as well. “I only like these when I drink.”

  “It’s the salt,” I said loudly. The music was starting and the speakers sounded like they were right behind me and not a few feet away. “Also, I need to pee.”

  “Already?” Dee whined.

  “Dude, you’re going to break the seal if you pee now,” Martín warned. “You’ll be going all night.”

  “I’m well aware, but I still need to pee.” I shrugged. “I have a small bladder.”

  “You have a huge liver is more like it,” Jose said. “You took one extra shot.”

  “I drank like an entire pitcher of water.” I stood up and grabbed on to the table as my surroundings began to sway.

  “Holy shit.” My friends did the same thing. We all laughed.

  “Let’s check out the tents. I bet the bathrooms are set up there anyway,” Dee said.

  “Let’s.”

  We all walked over, me linking arms with Jose, and Martín and Dee holding on to each other. We were definitely half past drunk, which was nice. I felt . . . happy. I felt . . . free. Those were very different feelings than anything I’d felt on the island before. When I lived here, I felt trapped underneath my family’s thumb. My parents were strict, but it was our last name that brought on the feeling of suffocation. Maybe it was the costume or the fact that I knew that even if the townspeople knew who I was, they’d never run to my grandmother and tell her what I was doing. She had too much on her plate to worry about yet another thing.

  “I can’t believe I’ve never been to one of these since I was a kid,” I shouted.

  “I heard Bad Bunny is going to be here later,” Martín shouted back, looking at me over his shoulder.

  “On Pan Island?” Jose and I asked at the same time.

  “It’s not surprising.” Dee shrugged. “The Calibans have deep pockets.”

  “Yeah, but Bad Bunny deep?” Jose’s brows rose.

  “It’s a short ride from Puerto Rico to Pan,” Martín said. The three of us nodded in agreement.

  “Fortune-teller.” Martín pointed at a tent. “Let’s go see her.”

  “No, thanks. I have enough fortune-tellers in my life,” I said. “I’m going to look for a restroom. You guys go ahead.”

  “Keep your phone on you,” Dee said.

  “I’m going to go see the tarot reader,” Jose said. “She’s so good.”

  “Better than the fortune-teller?” Martín asked, their voices drowned out as the three of them walked in one direction while I kept walking forward.

  I spotted a long line of women and nearly threw my hands up in rejoice. I didn’t love standing in line, but I didn’t want to walk around the entire place looking for a bathroom. Besides, I had something to do to pass the time.

  Chapter Six

  I took my phone out while I stood there to pass the time. I’d posted the pictures of the Devil’s Chair on my blog and had already gotten three million hits on it. With those follows, came comments and questions. Some questions were photography questions I was always willing to answer. Others were about whether or not the houses were haunted. Those were the ones that started entertaining threads.

  At the sound of a woman shouting, I lowered my phone and glanced up on high alert. It was too early for this kind of bullshit. She was walking out of the bathroom tent, wiping her face. I looked around to see who she was arguing with, but there was no one following her. So weird. I went back to my phone.

  “That fortune-teller was dumb,” Dee said, standing beside me.

  “You finished that fast?”

  “Girl, you’ve been in line forever.”

  “Where are Martín and Jose?” I looked around.

  “Getting more drinks.”

  My eyes widened. I wasn’t sure I could handle more drinks right now. “So, what did the fortune-teller say?”

  Dee scoffed. “According to fake Ms. Cleo, I’m going to die soon and my best friend is going to get kidnapped by the Devil.”

  “Oh. Typical Tuesday on the island, then?”

  “I guess.” She let out a laugh.

  “Hey, these people don’t know what they’re talking about.” I bumped her with my shoulder.

  “Don’t they? Our ancestors built this island on that kind of intuition.”

  “On fables. You can’t take these things to heart.” I shot her a pointed look. “My grandmother reads tea saucers every day. If I were to believe a word she said about mine . . . ” I shook my head.

  “What does she say?”

  “Nonsense.” I shrugged a shoulder. “Who knows.”

  “You never listen to her, do you?” She sounded a little more upbeat now, so I smiled a little, but just barely because she wasn’t wrong. “You know what? I’m going to go get my tea read while you go to the restroom.” She started walking away, then looked over her shoulder with a frown. “You sure you’ll be fine?”

  “If you’re asking if the Devil will be waiting for me in the bathroom, I think the answer is no,” I said.

  Dee laughed loudly. “Good luck.”

  Sighing, I turned my head to count how many were in front of me. Three. I was finally almost there. I was scrolling through the comments on my pictures when I saw one that caught my eye.

  BEWARE: He who holds the keys to Caliban Manor is cursed for life.

  My heart skipped a beat. I hadn’t even taken pictures of the house yet, but I knew it wouldn’t sell with comments like that. I usually didn’t pay them much attention, but something about it made me click on it and read the responses beneath it.

  Car3092: Did you hear they’re putting the house up for sale? My uncle has stories of that place, my dude. He went there in 1990 and was forever changed.

  FFOE: @Car3092 I’m surprised your uncle made it out

  Rose30: I’ve lived on the island my entire life. No one even visits that side of the island unless they’re 100 years old and need some weird shit for one of their weird potions.

  Car3092: @FFOE—I know. He was always surprised he made it out alive

  FFOE: @Rose30 the witches? Are they real?

  Rose30: depends what you classify as a witch

  FFOE: Are you a witch?

  Rose30: If being a badass, independent, forward-thinking woman makes me a witch, then yes.

  FFOE: *eye roll*

  Car3092: we’re not in the 1800s anymore @Rose30

  FFOE: exactly. We don’t persecute people for being feminists.

  Rose30: Yet this entire thread is dedicated to warning people against Caliban Manor. Why? Because its inhabitants are rumored to be witches.

  Car3092: Aren’t they all men?

  Rose30: Men have babies?

  FFOE: The surviving members are men

  Rose30: Surviving members? Wtf are you people on?

  F
FOE: There’s a curse on that house. Everyone knows it. Why else would you stay on the other side of the island?

  Rose30: Because my family’s from La Bahia and I prefer the sun, thank you very much

  I clicked the side button on my phone and put it in my bag once the woman in front of me disappeared into the tent. Curses, witches, the darkness on this side of the island. Those were all things that had driven the tourism here for so many years to begin with, but the fact that so many who had never been here knew about it was incredible. I wondered how many hits this place got on Google Maps.

  “Next.” The voice snapped me out of my thoughts. I looked at the man towering over the door and stepped forward.

  “I didn’t realize bathrooms needed bodyguards,” I said.

  “This bathroom does. When you finish, exit this way. Don’t take any detours.” He shot me a look.

  “Where would I detour to? It’s a freaking tent.”

  “I’m just saying, you need to check in here if you’re on the list.” He waved the clipboard in his hand.

  I nodded and ran into the bathroom. When I finished, I washed my hands and fixed the makeup under my eyes. I definitely looked drunk. I felt drunk. I laughed at my reflection as I rolled the paper towel into a ball and tossed it in the trash can beside me. When I stepped outside, I could see the back of the man’s head, which meant he wasn’t looking at me. I glanced over to my right. There was a hallway. I had two options: go back outside and get on that list or find out what the list was for before going back out there and trying to get on the list. I decided on the latter because fuck bodyguards. Besides, the tequila had given me the bravado I needed.

  As I walked the hall, a distinct smell hit me, lavender and something else. Something familiar I couldn’t quite place. The tent opened up to a makeshift lounge, with white sofas and clear tables, that looked like something you’d see in the VIP section of a club. I wondered if this was where the artists would be. The only thing I knew for sure was that if I ran into Bad Bunny here without Dee, she’d kill me. There was no one though, or so I thought until I stopped walking in the center of the room, and saw the stage ahead. There was a man dressed in all black standing there.