“Maureen’s hyper. Besides, since the new manager arrived, she’s been afraid that her job’s on the line.”
“Who? Mike? I think he’s kinda cute.”
I shrugged. “He’s arrogant. No matter how good a man looks, I think that definitely takes away from them.”
Seline laughed. “Yeah, but when you look as good as Mike does, you can afford to be arrogant.”
“Yeah, I suppose.”
“I think that’s what I like best about working with you, Jodie.” I looked at Seline. “We can have a difference of opinion but we don’t have to fight about it.”
“You mean like you and Maureen?”
“Something like that.” Seline tapped a page with her Xacto knife. “Don’t forget the Abby photo for this page.”
“Right.” I turned to the filing cabinet behind me to search for the photo, otherwise known as a sig in newspaper lingo. As I searched through negatives, old house ads and cartoons, and other sigs, I thought about how everyone else thought of Seline as a bitch, which she could be, but how amazing it was that she and I got along.
“Maureen’s filing system,” I muttered under my breath. “Toss it in a drawer until further notice. Aha! Here it is.”
I turned to continue working on my page.
Seline was still at her board, but she was bent over it, her hair falling down around her face and her face only inches away from the board.
“Taking a nap, Seline?” I asked lightheartedly. When there was no response, I became alarmed. “Are you okay, Seline? Seline, are you all right?” I took a step toward her.
Seline’s body began moving jerkily; first, the shoulders, then the arms, then the hands. My first thought was that Seline was having some kind of seizure or convulsions or something and that I should get help.
But then she threw her head back and let out a long, guttural scream. Her eyes had changed: they had no pupils or irises; they were a hideous yellow color, like that of a spoiled custard.
Upon seeing Seline’s eyes and hearing the scream, my legs turned from flesh to water. I was at that point of fear where my brain was sending urgent messages to my legs to RUN! but my legs were not receiving any messages at the moment, thank you very much.
Seline began to undergo a transformation even as I watched. Her face grew longer and the skin began to sink into her face and turned a dark, leathery brown. Her mouth became longer so that the lower jaw jutted out.
The rest of her body spasmed as it, too, began to undergo changes. But when Seline turned those custard-yellow eyes to look at me, my legs woke up and received the startled message from my brain: RUN!
The paste-up boards were lined two back-to-back, two rows of three sets. A space wide enough for a person to walk (or run) through was between each set of back-to-back paste-up boards. I forced my feet to move to the end of my board to within a few feet of Seline, and I shot in between the two boards.
In my panic to get out, I raced into the camera department. There was no way out into the hallway through the camera department. I turned around and flew back into the pre-press department. I shot across the room and made for the door. I glanced Seline’s way and stopped in my tracks.
All evidence of human form was gone.
The entire structure was covered by brown, leathery skin, wrinkled, like the face of a prune. The upper part of the body was a large rib cage with a spinal column descending from it. The lower part of the torso resembled hips but they were wider and more flat than human hips. There were now six appendages, long and thin, extending from the rib cage and each appendage had three sharp claws extending from it. The brown hair once worn by Seline had been replaced by thin, silver wiry strands. And it was tall. Seline was only five feet, two inches tall. This thing had grown at least two feet in the last few seconds.
A thick, yellow mucous flowed from the yellow eyes and clear, thick mucus dribbled from the mouth. Those eyes focused on me and the Seline-thing took a step toward me.
My fascination for this unknown creature was replaced by pinpricks in my abdomen as the adrenaline of fear pumped through my veins and that message RUN! began flashing in my brain again. My legs answered.
I plunged through the door and raced down the hall in elongated stumbles, my mind crazy with terror. I could hear myself crying, laughing, laughing, crying. The absurdity of the situation brought bouts of nervous laughter but the reality brought the tears.
I heard the Seline-thing burst through the door behind me, issuing a high-pitched screech that echoed down the quiet hall.
I didn’t look back, but flew blindly down the stairs. I could hear the Seline-thing as it approached the stairs; stairs that went down a half-floor, then turned so that it was possible to look down upon someone on the bottom half of the stairs from the top half. I felt it when it looked over the top half down at me; felt its glare of hatred through those yellow mucous-filled eyes. One drop of yellow, thick mucus landed on a stair in front of me and I practically jumped that stair to avoid it. I didn’t dare look up at the Seline-thing, too afraid that I would be frozen to the spot with paralysis and just be too easy of a prey for the thing.
I hit the door at the bottom of the stairs with the full force of my body and stumbled out into the hallway. The time clocks were at the end of this hallway. The security guard was at the end of this hallway. The exit door was at the end of this hallway. A way out of this nightmare was at the end of this hallway.
It was such a long hallway.
I heard the Seline-thing screech behind the closed door, its clawy appendages grappling for the push-bar to open it. There was no time to think about my aching legs or my lungs that felt as though they were at the bursting point. I lurched forward, forcing my legs and body to obey the command now flashing urgently in bright neon in my brain: RUN! RUN! I heard the door open behind me and that Seline-thing screeched again. One stumble, one fall, old girl, and that Seline-thing will have you for a snack.
One foot in front of the other. One foot in front of the other. That’s all you have to do. Get to the end of this hallway and you’re safe.
I hadn’t the faintest idea why I felt that way. After all, if I could get to the end of the hallway and out the door, so could the Seline-thing.
The security guard. The security guard would know what to do. They were trained just for this sort of thing.
Right. I bet they even have classes in it: How to Deal with Employees who turn into Strange, Unearthly Creatures. I’m sure.
My legs were beginning to fail me. Fear had eaten away most of my adrenaline and I felt that my pace had slowed to a crawl. And we were only halfway there.
I felt the hot breath of the Seline-thing on the back of my neck. I could smell the stench of it; a smell like old wet autumn leaves when something has crawled in them for the winter and died there. That one hot breath and that one putrid smell were enough to give me my second wind and I took off down the hall in a burst of speed.
At long last, the guard’s station came into view. He was sitting there, in the darkened room with a reading light on, calmly reading another of his spy thrillers, no doubt, oblivious that anything was amiss.
He looked up upon hearing me plunder down the hallway. I uttered a faint, hoarse, “Help me” before plunging for the exit door. I hit it with the full force of my body and fell face-first on the pavement outside.
I gasped wildly for a few breaths before willing myself to crawl a few more feet.
I heard the exit door open behind me and I thought, this is it, it’s over. The Seline-thing has got me.
But it was only the security guard.
“Are you all right? What’s wrong?”
What did he mean what was wrong? Hadn’t he seen it?
The exit door burst open, swinging all the way back and popping the top hinge. I must have found a third wind because I was up on my feet and trying to run again.
“Wait!” the security guard yelled.
I stumbled against the wall and
leaned there. I turned around to see if it was all really true.
The Seline-thing was there, large as life, standing in the doorway as if it owned the place. The brown leathery skin was pulled back from its grimy teeth in a maniacal grimace and the security guard was facing it.
The Seline-thing was breathing heavy, its breath rattling around in that expansive rib cage. It eyed the security guard, the mucous running from its yellow eyes and dripping onto the pavement.
The Seline-thing took a step outside the door, its eyes never leaving the security guard and the security guard never taking his eyes off it. It edged along the side of the wall, clearly making me its destination. For every step it took toward me, I took a step back along the wall myself.
The Seline-thing took its eyes off of the security guard for a moment to look at me.
A moment was all it took. The security guard took something from between the pages of his book. Something shiny. Something gleaming. Something metallic. Something that caught the brightness of the sun and reflected it. There was a blinding flash of light, not from the reflection of the setting sun. A laser? A starburst? The Seline-thing was plastered to the wall for several seconds, that high-pitched screech echoing throughout the parking lot, over the top of the building, down the hallway from which we had come.
The screeching ceased. It didn’t drone on or fade away. It ceased. The creature we had all known and loved to hate as Seline slithered down the side of the wall and onto the pavement.
I looked from the Seline-thing to the security guard as he replaced the object between the pages of his book. From where I stood, it looked like a bookmark. No longer shiny, no longer gleaming. Just a plain, ordinary bookmark.
The Seline-thing hissed and sizzled and melted away into a thick, slimy mucous lying there on the pavement. I unglued myself from the wall and walked over to the security guard, carefully avoiding the growing mess.
“Don’t worry about the mess,” he said. “I’ll clean it up before everybody gets back from lunch.”
So calm. So cool. So collected. As if someone had spilled coffee or soda there on the sidewalk instead of this hideous thing melting there.
“But what? How? What?” Cripes, I still couldn’t think. I took a deep breath and burst out with the question, “But how did you know?”
And this security guard, this fellow who walked us to our cars each night, this fellow who read his spy thrillers by a reading lamp in a darkened room, this fellow whose name I didn’t even know, but whom I suddenly felt that I should know better, looked at me and smiled.
“It takes one to know one,” was all he said.
Behind the irises and pupils of his blue eyes, I swear I could see the faintest hint of custard-yellow.
Ghosts
A ghost in the corner
watches me with hollow eyes;
a shadow within the darkness
it waits, to see what I will do.
Once was a time
this room was filled
with demons and souls
fearful of the light;
outcasts they were,
and I lived among them
without the slightest
bit of hesitation.
One by one they left
to seek refuge elsewhere
tired of conforming to the laws
of my self-condemnation.
Now it is down to me
and a few hollow ghosts.
Alien Rights, Indeed
“There is this alien rights meeting this evening,” Makar said from the doorway to the kitchen.
Modlovia glared at him from the comfort of her recliner. “As if there were such a thing,” she spat. Makar flinched at the tone in her voice. “Don’t you have work to do?”
Makar muttered under his breath and backed into the kitchen.
Modlovia muttered to herself and returned her attention to the visual screen on the wall.
“Thousands today gathered to mourn the loss of Kadeechee, our Revered Leader,” the announcer on the screen lamented. “Kadeechee suffered these last months from a bacterial infection which affects the nerve endings of the brain.” The announcer hesitated a moment. “Just a little something we’ve picked up from our new ‘friends’.”
The communicator on the table beside Modlovia’s recliner rang.
“Yes?” she said into the receiver while muting the visual screen.
“Modlovia,” a strained voice said on the other end. “This is an emergency.”
“Prija, remain calm,” Modlovia said.
“It is most difficult to remain calm with this wild thing trying constantly to get loose,” Prija said, her voice ending in a high-pitched squeal.
Modlovia sighed. “Must I come, Prija? Can you not handle this yourself?”
“No, Modlovia! I cannot. Besides,” Prija’s voice took on a triumphant tone. “I have already called the High Priestess. She is on her way and she insisted I call you and have you come as well.”
Underlings! thought Modlovia. They were damned annoying at times. “Very well. I am en route.”
Modlovia returned the receiver to its cradle. She shook her head and scoffed. “Alien rights, indeed,” she sputtered.
“Makar!” she bellowed, dreading the moment she would have to arise and enter the motion apparatus. Makar wasted no time appearing at the kitchen doorway. “I am off to Council meeting,” she said. She maneuvered the handle of the recliner and sat upright.
“Did you not attend a Council meeting just last evening?” Makar timidly inquired.
“Yes.” Modlovia moved her ancient form slowly from the chair. “But another has been called tonight.”
“What do you do at these Council meetings?”
At the question, Modlovia stood at full attention, towering over her mate. Her eyes flashed red, forcing Makar to take a step back into the kitchen. “How many times must I tell you it is none of your concern what we do at Council meeting!” she spat.
Makar backed into the kitchen, leaving Modlovia to sputter about the living room in preparation of her departure. She took one last look back towards the kitchen. “Human rights, indeed,” she spat under her breath.
Modlovia squeezed her sizeable frame into the small motion apparatus. She detested the things: small metal boxes that assaulted her highly-developed sense of smell. Scents such as old socks, moldy cheese, and wet dogs forced Modlovia to open a window, even on this cool of an evening.
They littered the streets by the thousands, the apparatus. At times, it was difficult to maneuver, but Modlovia knew the way so well she had memorized the trouble spots and could find her way even though the setting sun stung her eyes.
As the motion apparatus took her to the meeting, Modlovia allowed herself to think about where she had come from, where she had been and what she, along with the Councilmembers, had done. She did this without emotion, allowing her analytical thinking processes to look at each item, see where mistakes were made and where improvements were possible.
She left the motion apparatus outside the large white building with the columns in front and the dome on top - no doubt homage to the architect.
The guards at the gate and at the front door gave her a cursory nod. They were trained not to question any of the Councilmembers.
Debris of a bygone era littered the interior of the building. Skeletons lay amidst the scattered wood, glass and concrete. Vines of ivy grew down the walls. Cockroaches skittered away from Modlovia’s footfalls as she stepped around large portraits of every president the United States had ever had. Some portraits remained whole within their frames but desecrated by dust. Most of the portraits had been slashed away from their frames and bits and pieces remained among the debris.
Modlovia entered a large hall, redesigned for more efficient use than its original purpose. Half the hall was lined with cages along both sides. The far end of the hall had been reconstructed as a room.
Prija stood before one cage in particular. The expressi
on of relief on her face was unquestionable as she watched Modlovia approach.
“I am so glad you are here,” Prija said. “This one has been tormenting me all day long.”
Modlovia turned slowly to view the creature within the cage.
When their eyes met, nothing less than hatred passed between them.
He spoke first. “You are about the ugliest bitch I have ever seen!” He stood just a few feet from the bars of the cage; close enough that Modlovia could have reached in and choked him.
“You are not such a handsome fellow yourself,” she responded.
The man easily stood six feet tall and was still no match for Modlovia’s seven feet four inches. Her head was large; the skin covering the brain was clear so that every crevice was visible. Her eyes were the shape of flowers - dogwoods, as a matter of fact - with black pupils with a tiny yellow iris in the center. Her elongated jaw drooped; the skin covering the face was brown leather, folded and creased so that her facial features resembled a prune. There was no nose: just two holes in the center of the face above the jagged slit in the prune which served for a mouth.
The man was a new capture: not yet gaunt like the others. Pale skin covered his chiseled muscular torso. Dark hair covered his head, face, chest, legs and pubic area. His green eyes were not yet afraid to meet those dark dogwood eyes.
When the captor did not respond, Modlovia continued: “but you are a fine specimen.”
“I am not a specimen!” the man spat.
Modlovia smiled but the smile did not touch her eyes. “But you are a belligerent one.”
“What do you expect?” he spat again. “After what you’ve done.”
Prija coughed. Modlovia turned to look at her. “Are you all right?”
“It’s the stench, Modlovia.” Indeed, Prija’s eyes were beginning to water. “It is almost unbearable.”
“I quite agree,” Modlovia said with a sigh. “And it seems to be everywhere. In this building, even.” She turned and glared at the man. “But especially on you.”
“Yeah, well, you don’t smell so sweet yourself,” he said.
The door at the end of the hall opened and Modlovia and Prija both turned to face the High Priestess and bow.
In spite of himself, the man’s eyes widened at the sight of this creature and an inexplicable calmness overtook him. She was easily eight feet tall and, if possible, even uglier than Modlovia. But the High Priestess carried herself with dignity across the threshold and to the cage in which the man was housed.
Train Ride Page 7