For a long second I held the cane out with her head stuck to the end. I shuddered and threw it onto the bed.
Without the head, the body crumpled, falling across the man.
He moaned.
I rushed to his side and kicked at the caramel body. It didn’t budge. How could I get it off him? I didn’t want to touch it. Instead, I grabbed the man under the armpits and pulled him free.
On the bed the head melted into a pool of light brown goo. The body did the same, losing all form.
The old man got to his feet. “You sssaved me.”
I couldn’t speak. I just nodded.
“Usually,” he said, “they are polite.”
I found my voice. “What was that?”
He produced a pair of plastic gloves from his pocket and put them on while talking. “Miss Pottridge’s spirit. I gave her form through caramel.”
“Why would you do that?”
“She killed herself. Her spirit isss stuck.”
“Why would you do that?” I repeated.
He opened the trunk and carefully picked up the blob of caramel that had been her head. “I give them chance to speak. To help move on.” He dumped her head-blob into the trunk.
I wanted to ask how he did it and then realized I didn’t want to know.
He pulled a large chunk from the caramel pool on the floor and tossed it into the trunk.
I shuddered. “I can’t believe you gave me pieces of this caramel to eat.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Wasss fresh.” He put another chunk into the trunk. “Sometimes even caramel is not enough for their pain.”
Without saying goodbye, I left his cabin and went back to the office. He didn’t bother me again that evening and Joe never mentioned the strange, thin man.
The following day I gave Joe my two week notice. He seemed surprised and asked me why. When I explained the incident Joe’s face went from surprise to disbelief to concern for my sanity. He didn’t believe me, but I doubt he’ll ever rent unit fourteen again.
To this day I still have nightmares, waking tangled in sweaty sheets, the image of the tiny, old, caramel woman lingering.
Three Wishes and a Bath
I would have to kill my mom for giving me the psychotic little mannequin.
Okay, not literally kill her, but she’d be getting a piece of my mind. The little mannequin was six inches tall and made from blonde wood. Its jointed neck, waist, arms, and legs allowed you to bend and pose the doll.
Harmless, right? No. The tiny mannequin was alive.
It was also a misogynist jerk. A royal pain in the tuchus.
Let me back up. My name’s Ellie Goldstein. I’m thirty-five, never married, and according to Mom, on the verge of old-maidhood. That’s why she gave me the mannequin last Sunday.
I usually go to my parent’s house in Skokie for Sunday dinner. It’s the only time I get to eat a home cooked meal. I live on junk food, or chazerei as Mom says.
Last Sunday I drove to my parent’s bungalow and parked in the driveway behind Dad’s Buick Estate. I don’t know what year his rust colored station wagon is, sometime in the eighties, but I swear the car’s so big it has its own zip code.
I went through the front door. The smell of Mom’s cooking filled the house. My mouth watered.
“Ellie is that you,” Mom called from the kitchen.
I hung my jacket over the closet’s doorknob. “Yeah Mom, what’re you making?”
“A lovely brisket. Gabe set it aside special for me, he did. Come I have something to show you.”
Oh no. A surprise from Mom usually meant a nice Jewish boy, a friend’s kid who Mom just happened to invite to dinner. I asked her to stop I don’t know how many times.
I ducked into the living room. Dad sat in his recliner, watching TV, his remote poised to switch channels the instant a commercial he didn’t like came on.
“Hey Dad.”
“Hey sweetie.” He looked at me for a second and snapped his head back toward the TV. “Oh no you don’t. Not that garbage.” He switched the channel.
“It doesn’t matter when you do that,” I said.
He looked at me as if I had a baby’s foot sticking out of my ear. “They have computers to track it. When viewership goes down eventually they take the stupid commercials off.”
We’d had this conversation more times than I care to admit. His TV still used rabbit ears. No way some evil television conglomerate tracked my dad’s viewing habits, but you couldn’t convince him.
“Ellie,” Mom called. “Where’d you go? I have something to show you.”
I hooked a thumb toward the kitchen. “What’s the surprise?”
Dad changed TV channels again and shrugged. “Some stupid doll to solve your problems.”
A doll? What problems? Oh no, not the find-a-man-and-make-some-grandkids discussion again.
“I were you,” Dad said. “I’d head out the back door.”
I rolled my eyes at Dad and went to the kitchen.
Mom’s a short woman, almost perfectly round. Her hair is died so shiny-black it’s obvious to everyone except her it’s fake.
“Oh good,” Mom said. “Sit.”
I pulled out a kitchen chair and sat at the table.
She placed a shoebox wrapped in a red ribbon on the table before me.
“What’s this?” I said. “it’s not my birthday.”
Mom sat in the chair next to me. “I need a reason to give my favorite daughter a present, do I?”
“I’m your only daughter.”
I untied the ribbon and opened the lid. Inside was the six-inch, wooden mannequin. “Uh, thanks.”
Mom reached into the box, removed the mannequin, bent it into cross-legged pose and sat it in front of me. “Darling, isn’t it?”
I eyed Mom, wondering if she needed to adjust her medications.
“Barbara Shellings gave it to me. Some goy, a Romanian gypsy or something, gave it to her. Cute, isn’t it?”
“Why do I need luck?” I asked.
Mom stared at me the same way she had when I was twelve and asked her what the mohel did with the part they cut off.
“Carry it with you,” she said. “and you’ll have the luck of a thousand people.”
“Thanks Mom. When do we eat?”
After dinner I made to leave, giving the excuse I needed to go to work early in the morning. A small, white lie. I’m the receptionist at Feldworth Media, the number one rated advertising agency in the Chicago area for six years running, according to Bruntington’s annual survey. As lowly receptionist, I never needed to be early.
I grabbed my purse and coat from the hall closet’s doorknob.
“Don’t forget your present,” mom said.
I grabbed the shoebox with the weird little doll, thanked my parents and left. I tossed the shoebox and my purse in the passenger seat of my Corolla.
On the road, heading back to my apartment off of East Lake Ave in Glendale, I heard a small voice say “Don’t take Golf Road, there’s a traffic jam.”
What? I turned down “Hey Jude” on the radio and listened. Nothing. I must have been imagining it. Tired. Too many late nights watching Jimmy Fallon. I got off the Skokie Highway onto Golf Road and immediately regretted it. Cars were at a standstill. There must be an accident.
“Told ya,” said the small voice again.
I looked around. The shoebox lid had slid off and the little mannequin stood, elbows propped on the edge, face in hands, looking at me. Or would be looking at me, had it any eyes.
I jerked back and let out a little “eep.” Had traffic been moving I probably would’ve crashed my car.
“Okay, Toots,” said the voice, “let’s get this part over with. You’re not crazy. Yes, I’m talking. My name’s not Chuckie and I’m not going to hurt you.”
The car ahead of me moved forward. I didn’t.
“Try breathing,” it said. “In out, in out. There. Isn’t that better?”
The driver be
hind me laid on his horn. I looked into my rear-view mirror and pulled forward a few feet before the driver let up on the horn. Jerk.
I looked at the doll. Its face was a blank thumb of wood, no facial features, no mouth, eyes, nose, or ears. How did it talk?
The car ahead of me moved again. I lurched forward to close the gap. I wished I was in front this traffic.
Suddenly, there was a loud roar and the world around me blended together, colors swirling into gray and then unswirling. The noise stopped. The cars in front of me were gone. I looked in my rear-view mirror and saw a small, red sports car, maybe a Mustang—I don’t know from cars—with its front-end crumpled. A large black pickup with cartoonishly large wheels, was in front of it. The vehicles must have collided. Two police cars with red and blue flashing lights were parked diagonally across the road. One cop was directing traffic around the accident. It took a moment for my brain to process what happened. Somehow, I had moved a quarter mile down the road, in front of the traffic jam.
A series of honks focused my attention. I was, after all, stopped in moving traffic. I pulled forward, then off into a 7-11 parking lot and turned off the engine.
Was I having a stroke or aneurysm? I looked at the mannequin in the shoe box on the passenger seat. It still stood there, leaning on its elbows, but now shook its head back and forth.
I needed air. Needed to get away from this thing. I reached for my door handle and as I did my door locks engaged.
“You can’t run away,” it said.
Okay. Time for the men in white coats to come and take me away.
“I told you you’re not crazy.” It put its arms up in the air. “Why can’t this part ever be easy?”
“What are you?” I asked.
“I’m the best thing to ever happen to you, Toots.”
Yep. I was definitely crazy.
“I promise you,” it said. “This is real. You’re not crazy. Can we get past this? Here it is real slow: You. Not. Crazy. Got it? I don’t know how to make it any plainer.”
“Can you read my mind?” I asked.
“Only if you wish for something.”
Too many thoughts were bouncing inside my head for me to speak.
“Listen Doll, here’s the deal. I give you three wishes. Like a fairy tale. Now you have two left. If you think a wish or say it, doesn’t matter, I give it to you.”
Was this true? More importantly, what did I want? I’d have to think this through. I sure wish I’d have known so I didn’t waste a wish getting past the traffic jam.
Again, the sound of a tornado and the world swirled together and apart and I was back, stuck in traffic.
“You’ve got one wish left,” it said.
“What? I didn’t mean to make that wish.”
It shrugged its little wooden shoulders.
“Well, I should have three wishes then, because I wished I hadn’t made the previous wish.”
“No, you wished you had known about the three wishes. Think about it.”
I replayed the last few minutes in my mind. Earlier, I somehow knew I had three wishes and wished to be past the traffic jam anyway. Yet, I also remembered not knowing and making the wish. Two simultaneous memories. How confusing.
“Then I wish to start over. A fresh slate with three wishes again.”
It made a noise like the buzzer on a game show. “Wrong.”
Now what would I do?
The little mannequin put its arms up in the air again. “Why do I get the dumb bimbos.”
I hated this thing.
“Tell ya what, Toots. I like you. You’re cute. And I’m bored. So this one time I’ll make an exception. You’ve got three wishes again.”
I remembered reading a story years ago. I think it was called The Monkey’s Paw. In the story a couple gets three wishes. The first wish is for money. Their son is killed and they receive compensation for his loss. Maybe an insurance payout, I don’t remember. Stricken with grief, they wish their son back to life. A short time later there’s a knock on the door. It’s their son. He’d dug himself from his grave, shambled to their home and stood on their doorstep, his body rotting. They used their third wish to wish him dead again.
A car honked at me and I pulled forward. Traffic was no longer stopped, just moving slow.
Point is, wishing for things could be tricky business. The unintended consequences when tempting fate could be horrible.
My eyes darted to the strange little mannequin and back to the car ahead of me. “I wish for no wishes.”
“You what?”
“I don’t want any wishes.”
“Seriously?” it asked.
I nodded, and gave it another quick glance. It hopped out of the shoebox and stood on the seat, hands on hip staring at me. “You can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Nobody’s ever given up their wishes before. It’s not done.”
“Well, I’m doing it. I don’t want the wishes.”
It kicked the shoebox to the floorboard.
I turned right off Golf Road onto Waukengan, taking the corner fast. The mannequin tumbled out of the passenger seat onto my leg, sending a quiver of revulsion through me. I stomped on the brakes. The thing flew to the floorboard and scrambled back into the passenger seat. It jumped up and grabbed the seat-belt, latched it, and climbed under the lap belt.
“Crazy women drivers,” it said.
What a jerk. A real schmekel. I floored it.
How would I get rid of this thing? It didn’t know where I lived so if I could somehow toss it out of the car I should be safe. But it did know where Mom and Dad lived. Would it go back there and mess with them? I couldn’t decide what to do. I wished it would just leave.
“Aha,” it said. “You wished for me to disappear. Sorry, Toots. That’s almost like wishing for another wish. Doesn’t count.”
“So I have one wish left.”
“Nope, three.”
“I already used two wishes.”
“Yes and you wished for a do-over.”
“You said I can’t wish for more wishes.”
“Yeow,” it said. “I’ve got a feisty one here.”
I turned off of Waukengan onto East Lake Ave, taking the corner fast, hoping the doll would fall again. It sat back against the seat, arms behind its head, legs tucked under the lap belt, and leaned through the corner.
“Nice try,” it said, patting the seat-belt.
“I don’t think it’s fair,” I said. “How can you force me to take wishes I don’t want?”
It held its hands out, palms up, in a comme ci, comme ca gesture.
“I don’t think it’s fair you take a wish that I only think. I wish you’d only use wishes I say aloud.”
“Done.” it said.
“What?”
“You have two wishes left, but you must speak them aloud.”
I pulled into my apartment building’s parking lot, into my assigned space and gathered my purse and keys. “Now what? Am I supposed to carry you with me?”
“If you would be so kind.”
In one motion I opened my door, got out, and closed it behind me. “Fat chance.”
I sprinted to my building’s door, key out, and got through the outside door as quick as I could. Once inside I peered through the door’s glass window, looking for any movement in the parking lot between the building and my car.
Feeling somewhat safe, hoping the weird little doll would just disappear, I went up the stairs to my apartment. I lived on the sixth floor and usually take the elevator, but figured climbing a few stairs would calm my nerves. The first two flights weren’t bad but then I regretted not taking the elevator.
Once to my apartment, I closed and locked the door behind me. What I needed now was a hot bath. Maybe a glass of wine. I sat my purse on the small table I keep next to my apartment’s door and hung my jacket on the closet’s doorknob. First some wine, then a hot bath. I went down the short hallway to the kitchen and stopped short.
On the counter separating the kitchen from living room stood the mannequin. It did a quick tap dance number and at the end extended a foot, heel on floor, toes up, and its arms out. “Cha, cha, cha,” it said.
I didn’t know what to think.
“Didn’t think you could get rid of me so easily, did you, Toots?”
“Would you stop calling me that?” I said.
“Two more wishes,” it said.
“I wish you’d stop calling me Toots.”
“Sorry, I like calling you Toots.”
“I don’t want any more wishes. I wish I had no more wishes.”
“That’s what I love about you, Toots. You’re so strange. Who doesn’t want their wishes granted?”
“I don’t.”
“Come now. What do you want? World peace? A million dollars? There’s got to be something.”
“Yeah and the moment I ask for a million dollars a plane crashes into my parents home, killing them, and the airlines cut me a check for my loss. No thank you. I don’t want to play.”
“Now you’ve hurt my feelings,” it said.
“Technically, I’ve already used four wishes. Can’t you just leave me alone now?”
It sat on the counter’s edge, one leg across the other, and looked at the back of one hand as if examining its fingernails for dirt. Only it didn’t have fingernails, it didn’t have fingers, only tiny wooden lumps for hands.
“Maybe,” it said. “I could be persuaded.”
“How?”
“Maybe, if you were nice to me.” It stood and strutted along the counter. Then it stopped, put its hands on its hips and swayed them around. “Maybe, if you were real nice.”
Was this creepy doll hitting on me? On the other side of the counter from the mannequin was a bottle of Chardonnay. For a brief moment I entertained the idea of grabbing the bottle and cracking it over the mannequin’s head.
“Maybe, if you were to kiss me I’d drop the whole wish thing.”
“You don’t even have lips. And gross.”
I went to my bedroom, kicked off my shoes, grabbed my bathrobe and went to the bathroom. I needed to get away from the doll and think things through. I flipped the lever to stop up the tub, turned on the hot water, and sprinkled in bubbled bath. While the bathtub filled, I went to the mirror and looked at myself.
Strange Perceptions Page 16