SLClimer - Rumours of the Grotesque

by Rumours of the Grotesque (v1. 0) [lit]

  The light began to take the shape of a small winsome female sheathed in veils of light cloth. The woman's features were masked somewhere within the light, but Melanie perceived her as beautiful. Then, as she was sorting through the confusion and questions rushing through her mind, Melanie recognized the form. Every feature Aunt Alice had ever described was present in the apparition; it had to be Kuolema.

  "Kuolema,” Melanie whispered.

  "Yes,” the phantom's voice was soft like rose petals, but edgy like the thorny stem, “I am she."

  Fear gripped Melanie like a fist. Everything Aunt Alice had ever said about Kuolema was cryptic. The apparition was to be feared, she was a deliverer of the dead, a specter that walked with the souls of the lost.

  "How...?” Melanie swallowed hard against the stench of the boiling mistletoe.

  "Do not wonder why, only know I am here.” Kuolema's strange glow pulsed with silvery white light. “Destiny has brought me forth from the fracture in time. Fate bids me to offer you your heart's desire."

  Melanie was confused by the phantasm's eloquence. “I don't understand what you're saying."

  "I give to you three wishes, my child."

  "Three wishes?” Melanie repeated. “Are you some kind of genie?"

  Kuolema did not respond to the comment and only echoed her offer, “I offer you three wishes."

  Aunt Alice never mentioned anything about wishes. Melanie's confusion, mixed with fear and befuddlement, clouded her thinking. She knew this situation couldn't be real, it had to be some type of hallucination. There was no such thing as specters and Norse gods. It was all made up—stories to frighten children. But Aunt Alice would never lie. Melanie stared at the shifting, mysterious figure hovering above the brilliant paperweight.

  "You want to give me wishes?” Melanie attempted to understand the entire situation.

  "What is your heart's desire?” Kuolema asked.

  Deep in her heart, Melanie knew what her heart's desire was; it wasn't beauty or even true love—it was Aunt Alice. She longed to have Alice around again, alive, treating her like she was something special. Melanie prayed to have Aunt Alice returned, and maybe God was answering her.

  "Any wish?” Melanie cautiously whispered, hoping it wasn't a cruel trick. Her defenses were down, and she was vulnerable. “My heart's desire?"

  "Your heart's desire...” the spirit said.

  "I wish that Aunt Alice was alive again,” Melanie stated without any apprehension.

  "So be it,” Kuolema sighed, and her light began to fade.

  Shocked by the phantom's sudden fade, Melanie moved closer to it. “Wait, where are you going?” She tried to stop it, but Kuolema dissipated like swift bath water swirling down the drain. “Where's Aunt Alice?"

  Then, as quickly as the scene blossomed, it faded to silence. The only sound to be heard was the simmering pot of mistletoe. There was no vibrant light dancing above the paperweight; it sat vacant and stagnant.

  Melanie rushed to it and picked it up. Holding it up high, she attempted to see any trace of the light or of Kuolema. There was nothing, though, only a measly antique paperweight with a crack embedded in its middle.

  "I knew I was crazy.” Melanie put the object back on the trunk. “I'm so stupid."

  Wallowing in her self-pity, Melanie went to the stove and turned off the burner. Aunt Alice was dead, and no amount of wishing would ever bring her back. Her own mind was tricking her, she surmised, attempting to come to terms with Alice's death. It was impossible for the dead to rise again, simply impossible. After fetching a small tub of ice cream from the freezer, Melanie nestled in on the couch and turned on the TV.

  * * * *

  Death was the first moment of peace Alice had known in decades. All her life, she had fought to keep Kuolema away from the world—especially from her favorite niece Melanie. But now, as she lay in-state in the family tomb, life crept into her dry, bloodless body. Like a spreading fungus, life's energy surged into her stiff degenerated bones and called to her to rise. In her head, Alice's eyes and brain buzzed with activity and became working organs again. Instead of being hampered by the effects of death and decay, some unknown power was restoring flexibility and function to her body.

  Suddenly, within the tight darkness of her casket, Alice's eyes opened. The merciless dark surrounded her, and stagnant air burned her nose. She could feel strength return to her arms and legs, and the rigor of death subside. Something was not right, she should be dead and out of her misery.

  As thought patterns returned, Alice remembered her death; it was a stroke. Death enabled her to escape Kuolema and the lifetime of misery inflicted by the apparition. Now, however, the curse of life had returned. Her soul plumped up to fill her psyche, slowly pulling away from the peaceful lands of death. It had to be Kuolema; no other creature could force life back into a corpse.

  Alice pressed her hands against the lid of the coffin. Her joints cracked like dry spaghetti as she increased the pressure. She had to be free, she had to know why life had returned. In her reanimated heart, Alice knew someone had found Kuolema. Someone had started the cycle again. Then, a notion more terrifying than returning to life occurred: what if Melanie had found the paperweight? She had to know, and if it was the truth, save Melanie from making the same mistakes. The top of the coffin was loose from the dry air of the family tomb. Inside the casket, Alice struggled to free herself. Pressing her bloodless hands against the top, the lid began to pucker until the cheap wood and hinges failed. Cool air flowed into the open passages, and Alice pushed the top completely open. This was Kuolema's magic that brought her back to life, she was sure of it.

  Pulling free from her coffin, Alice reentered the world of the living. Her resting place was atop a small rise of stone, and as she stepped to the floor, she stumbled. She had no concept of how long she had been dead, but it was long enough for her skin and muscles to wither, and for the shoddy coffin bought by her frugal family to deteriorate. Unfocused beams from a mercury floodlight knifed through holes in the tomb door—evidence that vandals had visited more than once.

  She looked around at the surroundings and wanted to cry, but there were no tears for the deceased. Misery of unimaginable weight tangled about her ashen heart. Truly, this was hell on earth. She thought he had escaped Kuolema, but now understood there was no running from destiny made by one's own hand.

  Her husband's coffin was nearby and undisturbed. Next to that was her mother's, and next to that her father's. Upon one wall sat three urns full of ashes, and another one that had been tipped over by grave poachers.

  Then, with what light there was, Alice looked at her own hands. They were creased and dry; her skin was unpliable and felt like it would break with every tiny movement; her rings, once tight, were like hula-hoops around a bean pole. She was also in her finest Sunday dress of pink, and her favorite shoes hung loosely to her feet. Carefully lifting her bony hand to her lips, Alice felt their subsequent aridity. The skin of her face was stretched like a drum head against the bones of her cheeks and chin, and the cartilage of her nose was in distinct retreat.

  Everyone she knew and loved was gone—everyone except Melanie. The more her thoughts solidified, the more Alice realized Melanie must be the reason she was alive again. She was the only person who would know about the secret room. She must find Melanie at all costs and remove the paperweight. Perhaps it wasn't too late to save her niece from a fate worse than death.

  * * * *

  Through the dark hours of early morning, Melanie tossed in her bed. Illusions and dreams of the apparition haunted her sleep.What did it want? Was it real? She passed in and out of restless dream-states—all of which were haunted by Aunt Alice. Melanie could see Kuolema over Aunt Alice's shoulder as the woman spun tales about the phantom.

  Unable to remain asleep, Melanie lifted her head off the pillow. Chilly breezes from the open window, moist with rain, traversed the room. Melanie had it open, hoping the fresh air would be conducive for sleep,
but she was mistaken. She could still smell remnants of the boiling mistletoe in her apartment. Finally, Melanie decided to get up. She had to do something to relax and get the delusion of Kuolema out of her mind. There was a test coming up in literature that she could study for, she told herself while moving to a sitting position on the bed.

  "3 a.m.,” she sighed while looking at the painful LED piercing the dark.

  As she got up and put on her robe, a biting burst of cold air punched through the open window. Melanie went to close it, but something caught her eye in the bushes beyond the walk. The branches rustled, and the leaves twitched. It wasn't the wind, though, that was causing the movement. Something—someone—was crouching inside the brambles. The form did not frighten Melanie, however. The shape had a familiar stoop and profile that she couldn't quite put into context. Suddenly, she made the connection: the lurking form reminded her of Aunt Alice.

  It couldn't be Aunt Alice, she told herself. It was impossible; she was dead. Her mind was playing tricks on her, and it was just another fantasy like the one earlier in the evening of Kuolema. She strained to get a better look at the person in the shadows, and even though her mind told her it was impossible that Alice was alive, her heart bade her to whisper to the hope inside her soul.

  Melanie leaned out the open window. “Aunt Alice?” Her voice trailed in the wind and drizzle.

  "Melanie,” the stranger replied, “it is Aunt Alice. I've come back."

  Stunned, but not afraid, Melanie couldn't move. There was so much to process, so much to think about, so many imponderables to which to give weight.Aunt Alice? Alive? Every thought raced like lightning bolts, each coming to strike in one spot: the misty memory of Kuolema.

  "My wish,” Melanie whispered as she leaned further out the window. Her voice rose to normal again. “Aunt Alice?"

  There was no answer this time, only the swirl of rain drops and chilly winds. It was all a lie, a delusion, there was no Aunt Alice. It was all wishful thinking. Disappointed, Melanie closed the window and shut the curtains.

  Just as she was about to return to her bed, Melanie heard someone gently knock on the apartment door. She rushed through the dark apartment and swiftly unlatched the deadbolt and chain. Pulling open the door, she was devastated by the horror before her. At first, Melanie was confused, thinking the flickering lights in the hallway was causing some type of illusion. This was no illusion, though.

  Standing across from threshold was a stoop, haggard woman with tattered flesh, made plump by the rain and moisture, clinging to her face. Wetness dripped from her receding nose and frazzled hair, and her earrings dangled from droopy decayed flesh.

  "Melanie,” the woman whispered with great strife, her vocal chords long damaged from the throes of death, “it's me. It's Aunt Alice."

  No, it couldn't be true. Alice was dead; this was a nightmare. There was no way on earth that the dead could walk afresh. She was dead; this was some great mistake.

  "Who are you?” Melanie pushed the door shut until only a crack remained. “Aunt Alice is dead. I don't know who you are, but get out of here before I call the police."

  "Don't you know me, child?” The woman lifted a withered finger. “I am Alice. I can smell the mistletoe, my dear."

  "Mistletoe?” Melanie echoed.

  "Melanie,” Alice moved toward the door, “tell me what you've done. You found Kuolema, haven't you?"

  The stranger was saying all the things only Aunt Alice could know. But it was so wrong; her sensibility dictated that death was permanent and irreversible. However, her heart listened to the woman, and she heard the recognizable timbre of Aunt Alice's voice.

  "You wished on Kuolema, didn't you?” Alice whispered.

  Slowly, Melanie pulled the door open. “Yes, I wished on it."

  "I look like a wreck, sweetie. You may want to turn your eyes away."

  Melanie now believed Aunt Alice was truly alive and at her door. “It really is you, isn't it?"

  "Yes, unfortunately, yes.” Aunt Alice motioned toward the door. “Let me in before someone sees me."

  Melanie stepped aside and let the walking corpse limp into the apartment. As she watched the creature, Melanie had to keep reminding herself that this was her aunt and not some monster from cable TV. It was disturbing nonetheless. Aunt Alice wore the dress she was buried in, only now it hung on her carcass like old curtains. Her shoes thumped loosely with every step, and she smelled like carrion.

  "Where is it?” Alice asked.

  "The paperweight?” Melanie rhetorically answered. “It's in the old chest, still wrapped in velvet."

  "Take it out, now.” Alice scanned the apartment. “My dear, you've made yourself a lovely place here."

  "I've got all of your blankets and linens. I wouldn't let anyone else have them,” Melanie said. “Thank God I got them before the family got to your house."

  "Stripped it like hyenas, didn't they?” She gave a dry cackle. But Alice's mood shifted ominously as Melanie opened the chest and produced the paperweight. “I only hope it is not too late."

  "Too late?"

  "You've made a wish on Kuolema, that much is true. It is the only reason why I've returned from the dead. Oh, my dear, if you could have wished anything but that."

  "I'll wish again, Aunt Alice. I'll ask Kuolema to return you to rest."

  "No,” Alice said firmly. “I am the cause of all of this. This is part of my punishment. Now that I am alive, I will take the paperweight and guard it forever so that no one will make the mistakes I've made.” Alice took the paperweight and felt its mass in her hand; it was almost too heavy for her stiff, withered tendons. “We must go back to my house, Melanie."

  "This is so confusing. I'm scared."

  "You should be frightened, darling. This is something you should have never gotten involved with, and it is all my fault. I'm a terrible person."

  "No, you're the most wonderful person I've ever known. Don't ever say you're terrible."

  Alice laughed. “Oh, child. I love you so much, but I couldn't protect you from my own mistakes. I pray that it isn't too late."

  "I don't understand, Aunt Alice. Who is Kuolema? All my life, I thought they were just stories."

  "No, sweet one, they were all true. A child could never know they were not fairy tales, but now you know. Kuolema is a spirit that tempts mortals into wishing for their hearts’ desire. True, the wish is granted, but so are all the far-reaching ramifications. I wished to be beautiful and popular, and my sweet sister Aggie was killed. I envied her so much; she was so popular and pretty."

  The words rang true for Melanie. “Just like Dale."

  "Yes, just like Dale,” Aunt Alice said.

  "What were your other wishes?” Melanie asked.

  "I wanted money, enough to never want for anything. That's when they found oil on the farm, but nowhere else for hundreds of miles. That oil made us so wealthy, and it is all yours now, Melanie."

  "I don't want it. All I want is you here with me,” Melanie whispered, finally accepting the truth of the whole impossible situation.

  "Hush, child, no more wishes.” Alice pulled her drooping dress over her leathery shoulder. “We must end this once and for all. You must swear to me you'll never wish again."

  "I promise, I'll never wish again,” Melanie complied.

  "Good.” Aunt Alice sighed. “Now, we must make remedy for this fiasco. Help me get this all together. Gather the mistletoe and the horse's hoof."

  Obediently, Melanie grabbed the cool, covered pot of mistletoe and brought it to her aunt. Alice took the paperweight, wrapped it tightly, and stuffed it inside the pot.

  "Find me a sack, please, preferably one made of nylon."

  Melanie found the request queer, but she dug out an old gym bag from the hall closet. “Will this do?"

  "It's perfect,” she said while shoving the horse's hoof, and then the covered pot, deep inside. “It has to be something that will last a long, long time."

  "What are you go
ing to do?” Melanie asked curiously.

  "Protect the world from it for as long as I can,” Alice said while turning for the door. “Now, you must help me. You have to take me back to my house."

  "Yes, Aunt Alice,” she replied while fetching her coat. “I'll take you back right now."

  "Thank you, dear."

  "Can I help you to the car?"

  Aunt Alice smiled as her loving niece opened the door. “Just go slow, I'm not as young as I used to be."

  * * * *

  The first half hour of the car ride to Aunt Alice's was filled with tense verification that the bizarre unfolding events were indeed real. Several times, Melanie questioned her sanity, only to be reminded of the situation's tangibility by the presence of her once-dead aunt sitting in the car next to her.