by Nancy Madore
Amanda was feeling pretty good by now. She was confident that she could turn this creepy situation to her advantage. And wasn’t that what life was all about? Turning lemons into lemonade? She couldn’t help feeling proud of herself. Her confidence was returning. She hummed softly as she approached the bathroom mirror, fishing through her handbag for a tube of lipstick. Edible lipstick, she thought huffily, as she debated over which color to wear. In the end, she decided nothing said ‘vulnerable’ like pink.
Something in the lights—a slight flickering—struck her suddenly, bringing up that peculiar feeling she’d had in her bedroom and then in her cubicle. Fear flooded through her and adrenaline was released into her system. She looked around slowly, dreading what she might find, but the bathroom was empty. Ignoring her fear, she turned back toward the mirror to apply her lipstick—and froze. Her face looked…different. It appeared to be moving and…changing. Her jaw, in particular, seemed to be growing longer, while her blue eyes turned black as night. She dropped the lipstick in the sink and stumbled away from the mirror. A strange sound, like a high pitched squeal, was rising in her throat. She struggled to control her fear. She had only to get out there—back where the other people were. She scrambled toward the door and pushed, but the door didn’t budge. She pushed it again, and then again. The lights flickered a second time, and the room grew dimmer. Was that a tingling sensation she felt in her feet? This last spurred Amanda into action like nothing else could, and she let out a blood curdling scream as she began pounding and kicking the door with all her might.
“Let me out of here!” she screeched, oblivious to the damage she was doing to her limbs as she thrashed at the door in a wild panic.
“Stand back!”
The strong, male voice from the other side of the door brought Amanda back to the present. She immediately stopped screaming and took two steps backward, raising her trembling and bloodied fists up to her face as she waited to be rescued. She expected the man to force his way through the door, using a sledge hammer or perhaps an ax. She was mortified when he merely swung the door inwards, smoothly and easily, the way it was intended to open.
“Oh God!” she cried, forcing her eyes away from the door to gaze upon the crowd that had gathered just beyond it. Even with her vision completely blurred by tears she could still plainly see the hated waitress among them. They were all staring at her with looks of incredulity. Could she really be that stupid?—they all seemed to be wondering.
Catherine was wearing the same expression, but she pushed her way through the crowd and rushed to Amanda’s side. Tommy, Amanda noticed, remained in the background.
“What happened?” exclaimed Catherine, taking hold of Amanda’s arm. “Is it that thing that’s been following you?” she asked in a tone that said, ‘Please say it’s that thing that’s been following you whether it’s true or not because, if you don’t, I’m going to look stupid just for hanging out with you.’
“Yes!” cried Amanda defensively. “Why are you asking me like that? What else would it be?” She knew what else it would be, but couldn’t bring herself to acknowledge it. The looks on their faces! “Oh, God,” she sobbed again, adding in a whisper. “I’m so embarrassed!”
Tommy finally—a little too reluctantly, it seemed to Amanda—stepped forward and put his arm around her. “Come on,” he said, leading her back to her table. He seemed startled to see how badly she was shaking. “Becky, bring her a drink!” he yelled to the woman she and Catherine called Flo. It was strange to hear the waitress being addressed by a different name.
“You sure she needs another one?” Becky asked. Tommy gave her a look but she stubbornly held her ground. “Look, she’s either too dumb to figure out that the bathroom door opens in or she’s drunk,” she said. “Either way, alcohol’s not going to improve the situation.”
“I’ll take responsibility for her,” Tommy snapped, and Amanda felt a small hope that she could still turn the situation around. Tommy sat down next to her. She would have liked to know how much Catherine told him, but there was no way to find out now. And naturally, dimwitted Catherine would never think to open the conversation with it, just to help her out! Amanda picked up a napkin to discreetly wipe her nose, but she intentionally left the tears in her eyes as she looked up at Tommy with her most pitiful expression.
“I knew the door opened in,” she lied.
“I know, Shug,” Tommy replied in a soothing tone. She didn’t particularly like it when he called her ‘shug’—which was short for ‘sugar’—because he used it with nearly every woman he spoke to, even the older women at work. It went well with his easy, Southern flirtatiousness but Amanda felt she deserved something a little more personalized. “The door was probably stuck or something.”
“Not stuck,” she said earnestly. “Held there.”
“You think someone was holding the door from the outside?”
“No, not from the outside.” She looked at Catherine, who shook her head to indicate that she hadn’t told Tommy anything yet. Amanda actually considered striking her.
Amanda clutched Tommy’s arm dramatically, desperate to make him understand. “Something’s been happening to me…I didn’t want to tell you.” She didn’t even have to force the tears now. “Something’s been stalking me. Something…not human.”
Tommy actually smiled. “What are you girls up to?” he asked.
Finally Catherine spoke up. “That’s what I came over to talk to you about,” she said. Amanda pretended to look at Catherine in surprise but Tommy didn’t catch the look. However, this time, Catherine was on top of it. “I’m sorry, Amanda, I know you told me not to tell anyone, but…,” turning back to Tommy—“Amanda’s terrified of being alone. Really! Why are you looking at us like that when you haven’t even heard what we have to say yet?”
Becky brought the drink and Amanda drank it in one, long gulp.
“Listen Tommy,” she said, slamming the glass down. “I don’t care if you believe me or not. Something is stalking me.”
“What do you mean by something?” he asked. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about…I don’t know what I’m talking about!” she cried. “I don’t know what it is. I can’t see it…except in windows and mirrors.”
“So you’ve seen it,” Tommy clarified. There was a pause. Amanda glanced at Catherine, who implored her with her eyes not to elaborate. “Well?” Tommy prompted. “What is it?”
Amanda swallowed. “It’s…I only got a few quick glimpses.” This wasn’t going how she hoped. “It was horrible. Hideous.”
“Hideous as in you don’t like the way it wears its makeup?” he asked cruelly.
Amanda was crushed by this reference to the insults she often hurled at the waitress. Why was he throwing it back in her face now? What did it mean? Fear took a back seat as jealousy consumed her.
“No, it wasn’t that kind of hideous,” she replied angrily. “Though that can be almost as terrifying.”
A short burst of laughter erupted from Catherine, who until that moment had been forgotten.
“Let’s not bring Becky into this,” he said.
“Did I bring her up?” Amanda demanded in a shrill voice. “Because I don’t recall saying that I saw the ghost of Tammy Faye Bakker.”
“Amanda…” he began.
“And I notice you didn’t stick up for me when she took this opportunity to try and make me look stupid!” she accused.
“That’s it!” he said, getting up. Amanda grabbed his arm.
“Are you seeing her?” she asked, hating herself for asking. Tommy just shook off her hand and walked away.
“The both of you can just…kiss my grits!” she yelled after him, desperate to throw in one last jibe at the waitress who, truth be told, didn’t really resemble the sassy waitress from Mel’s Diner at all.
Amanda turned back to Catherine, who was staring at her with her mouth hanging open. “Don’t you dare make me laugh,” Amanda told her, gl
ancing around the room. People were still staring at her. Catherine tried to look sympathetic but failed. “Now what am I going to do?” Amanda lamented, looking thoughtfully at her friend. “I seriously cannot be alone tonight.”
Catherine froze. “I’m staying at Ryan’s,” she said, adding in a pleading tone—“I haven’t seen him all week, Mandy!”
“Oh, well, god forbid my being stalked by a ghost interferes with you’re getting laid,” snapped Amanda. “I think it wants to possess me.”
“But I haven’t seen him all week,” Catherine repeated feebly. “And anyway, Mandy, think about it. Why would this thing want to possess you?”
“Oh, and I suppose you can think of someone better for it to possess?” she demanded.
“Well…but you didn’t have to piss Tommy off like that,” Catherine argued. “Why don’t you go over there and apologize?”
Apologizing wasn’t something Amanda normally considered, which just went to show how great her distress was, that she was considering it now. “I just can’t believe he took her side,” she said, still reeling from the shock of it. “He’s never once taken my side against her.” Her eyes filled with tears as she looked imploringly at her friend. “What does that mean?”
Catherine looked away uneasily. “Maybe he feels sorry for her,” she suggested.
This made sense to Amanda. “Do you think so?”
Catherine shrugged, still avoiding Amanda’s eyes. “What else could it be?”
Amanda brightened. “You’re right,” she said. “And that’s precisely why I can’t apologize. Just because I’m prettier than her doesn’t mean she should get preferential treatment. That would be like killing off all the butterflies to make the cockroaches feel better about themselves.”
“But you want Tommy to stay with you, don’t you?” asked Catherine.
“It’s too late for that now,” said Amanda. “I’ll make it up to him later. We’ll just have to make the best of it for tonight.”
Catherine sipped her drink resentfully. “Anyway, I’m not a priest, you know,” she grumbled. “Like what am I supposed to do if this…ghost or whatever comes after you?”
“It won’t come after me if you’re there,” said Amanda. “It goes away when other people are around.” Catherine nursed her drink in silence. Amanda knew she was upset about Ryan but what could she do? She was sure something horrible would happen if she spent the night alone. She put her hand on top of Catherine’s. “I’ll make it up to you,” she promised, and was relieved when she saw Catherine attempt a smile.
But before they even got up to leave, she had already forgotten her promise.
Chapter 11
A small village in ancient Iran
Approximately 5,000 years ago
Ornias lay back on the bed with a groan. The only thing surpassing his shame was the sheer exhaustion he felt. He thought of his brothers and cringed. Bullies, the lot of them. He cared nothing about what they thought, but did they have to humiliate him publicly?
It was times like these when he missed his mother the most. She was the only one who’d been able to keep his brothers in check. His father hardly seemed to care that they were catapulting him into an early grave. It was the constant anxiety that was making him ill. Ornias sighed heavily, envying the sons of men their inferiority. Too much was expected of a giant. Just because he was bigger didn’t necessarily mean he was stronger. Weren’t there already enough giants to satisfy their bloodlust? But no; the Haltamti were always lusting after more blood.
Blood. Ornias cringed again. That was another cause for anxiety. But it had to be done. He imagined himself dead. Would his brothers feel sorry for having pestered him all the time? His thoughts moved to his father and he scowled. His father was probably looking forward to his demise. Ornias would never forget the expression on his face when he brought home that druj. Just up and brought him home! As if Ornias were actually dying! Which he probably was. But still, it’s not like the physicians knew what ailed him. They had no idea what they were talking about half the time—that much was clear. Why, the last one had the nerve to tell his father that Ornias was merely lazy! And here was his father, already picking out a druj to replace him. A violent criminal, no less! And his father actually seemed to be looking forward to calling the man, ‘son.’
Ornias had been devastated of course. His brothers, meanwhile, couldn’t resist the opportunity to taunt him with tales of what a powerful warrior the druj was. It was rumored that he’d even given a few of the giants something to think about. Ornias wondered what it would be like to exist in the body of such a man. Would a different body change who Ornias was?
Ornias didn’t think so. He couldn’t imagine willingly participating in warrior activities, no matter what body he was in. There was nothing virtuous in the things warriors did to each other. Even the light-hearted horseplay of his brothers was intolerable to Ornias. He’d been tossed about, tipped upside down, tickled until he cried, and humiliated beyond all reason. No, he suspected that things would stay the same, no matter the body. Ornias groaned again, regretting the year that had just passed. Oh, to be healthy again! And to have the power to attract women.
How he envied women! They knew how to enjoy themselves without inflicting bruises. Given the choice, he would spend all of his time with them. Ah, what would it be like to be surrounded by nothing but women? A dream come true. Perhaps he should have traded the warrior’s body for a woman’s. Ha! That would’ve taught his father a lesson. But then again, Ornias didn’t want to be a woman. He wanted to be with women. There was a distinct difference.
His thoughts turned reluctantly to the druj. He remembered the day his father brought the prisoner home. It was after another episode with his brothers. He was lying on his bed, just like now, admiring one of the tablets he kept carefully hidden beneath it. It was the tablet with the image of Anahita, which he himself had created. It wasn’t his best work, as it really didn’t look all that much like her, but it gave him that tingly feeling inside to look at it, similar to the one he got when he was with her. Yes; he remembered the tablet well. He had exaggerated the size of Anahita’s breasts and, imagining her to be fertile, portrayed vegetation growing out from beneath her robes. It was an image designed to arouse.
Ah, my beautiful little flower, he had thought. Will I ever more taste of your sweet…
Then a loud knock had startled him so abruptly that he had hurled the tablet away from him, onto the floor, causing it to break in two. He’d sat up guiltily in bed, expecting to see his father. But it was a stranger who entered Ornias’ room that day—though Ornias knew who the man was in an instant. It was the warrior. He was around the same age as Ornias, but he seemed much older. He had a confidence about him that Ornias couldn’t help but admire. He examined Ornias with the same expression that Ornias’ brothers wore when looking at him; like he was itching to play some kind of nasty prank on him.
The two sized each other up for a minute and then the man smiled. It wasn’t a friendly smile. It was a spontaneous smile that arose from amusement.
“I am Spengha,” he said. His voice was deep and strong.
By comparison, Ornias’ voice seemed more like a squeak. “I suppose you already know that I am Ornias,” he muttered resentfully. This made the man smile again. Ornias might have taken offense, but he recalled thinking that it wasn’t a bad smile, all in all. Ornias was quite sure that the women of his village would find it attractive. That was the most important thing, after all.
“Your father says you’re ill,” Spengha remarked, “but you seem healthy enough. A little feeble, maybe.”
For some reason—coming from this man—the remark didn’t offend Ornias. “My…illness is undetermined as yet,” he said. “I might still grow out of it, if the physicians are to be trusted.” This made Spengha smile again. “I suppose you’d be the happiest of all if I survived,” Ornias added awkwardly. “More than my father, certainly.”
Spengha didn’t reply
to this. “I heard a clacking sound when I knocked,” he said, looking around and noticing the broken tablet. “Did I interrupt you?”
“No, not really,” said Ornias. He surprised himself by picking up the two pieces of the tablet and handing them to Spengha. “I was just admiring my work,” he admitted.
Spengha put the two pieces together and examined the tablet with interest. The amusement had left his face. “It’s good!” he exclaimed.
Ornias was pleased. “I write songs too,” he said. “I find it amusing.”
Spengha drew his gaze from the tablet to look at Ornias. “You know, a different body isn’t going to change anything,” he observed.
It was the way that he said it that made the comment palatable. Like it didn’t matter that Ornias was never going to be a warrior. Like he was fine, just the way he was. It was the opposite of how his brothers would have said it.
“Yes, you could be right about that,” agreed Ornias, thinking that for all of his twelve brothers—and all the rest of the men in his village too, for that matter—Spengha might be the first man he actually liked. He suddenly felt awkward. “Would you like to be friends?” he asked.
Spengha smiled. “Why not?” he replied with a shrug.
And so they became friends. Even through the worst of it. It was extremely difficult for Ornias at first. And yet Spengha didn’t seem to mind it at all.
“Come on, man, show some pluck!” he would say as Ornias choked down the thick, warm life force straight from the man’s veins. Then Ornias would gag, struggling to keep the stuff down while Spengha struggled to keep his mirth to himself, with shoulders shaking, until Ornias too, couldn’t keep from laughing. Sometimes they both rolled on the floor with laughter.
“You’re the only person I’ve met who’s as strange as I am,” Ornias told him. And another time, Ornias asked him—“Don’t you mind it at all?”
Spengha had only shrugged. “Why should I mind?”
Ornias shrugged as well. He’d begun taking on many of Spengha’s mannerisms, but he didn’t know if it was because the man’s life force was being absorbed into his system or if it was a result of the admiration Ornias felt for him. “I don’t know…someone drinking small amounts of your blood every other day so they can occupy your body when they die. Some people might be bothered by that.”