Notmie wasn’t familiar with the idea of omens, so he couldn’t think that the key looked ominous, but he definitely thought it was creepy; he simply had no way of describing how exactly. All he knew was that there had to be a specific reason why Larry had assigned this particular room to him, but he couldn’t take a real guess as to what that reason was until he saw what was inside the room.
Larry inserted the key into the lock, but paused, turning to Notmie. “Are you sure you want to conquer this curse of yours?”
The question seemed entirely off topic to Notmie, whose growing anticipation to see his room became a source of extreme agitation. But he thought about Larry’s question all the same, and felt certain that he didn’t want to die young; therefore, he wanted to get rid of the curse.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure I want to get rid of this curse. Why wouldn’t I?”
“It might be harder than you expect.”
Harder than I expect? What does he think I am, a total dummy?
Resentful at Larry for a handful of reasons now, Notmie decided to try to make Larry feel stupid for thinking so little of him.
“Trust me, I know that you might consider it hard, but everything comes easy to me. No matter what it is, this’ll be a breeze.”
Larry shrugged and then opened the door to Notmie’s bedroom.
It was like nothing Notmie had ever seen before.
“But, how… how can you afford a room like this? This must have cost millions to build and design!”
Larry didn’t answer, but it was just as well, because Notmie wouldn’t have paid attention anyway; he was far too busy gaping at all the diamonds, rubies, and other gems boldly reflecting the candlelight in all directions. Even the bed frame seemed to be made of crystal, and though the sheets and blankets on the bed weren’t jewels, they were made of a pearly opal-colored fabric that changed fluorescent shades as Notmie brushed his hand over it.
He was closely inspecting the pillowcases when he heard Larry’s voice behind him. “I’ll be back in the morning. You know where to find me if you need me.”
And before Notmie could say, “Actually, I have no idea where to find you if I need you,” the door shut and Notmie was alone.
He was alone. He was alone in a priceless room full of more diamonds than he could ever get, even if he used his good looks to their maximum potential. Then a terrifying thought occurred to him.
If I couldn’t get all this when my looks were at their maximum, then what won’t I be able to get if I lose the unearthly part of my beauty?
He began to panic again. Maybe his looks had gotten even worse since he had learned all this new information tonight. Maybe he wasn’t even beautiful anymore! He suddenly needed a mirror, and needed one bad. Even though it would be hell to look in one if he saw an ugly person staring back at him, he needed to check, just to make sure.
But there wasn’t a mirror. He scanned the room, but there simply wasn’t a mirror to be seen. Then it hit him: This whole room is full of mirrors.
Everything was shiny; everything had reflections of him lingering on its surface.
He walked over to the wardrobe to study his appearance. It would have been greatly helpful to him if he had realized that the wardrobe was slightly concave in certain places, and slightly convex in others, but unfortunately this realization never happened. Consequently, when he looked at the distorted reflection of his face caused by the curvatures in the surface, he threw his hands up, launching the empty glass that he still clutched in his hand through the air, where it crashed against the wall and shattered into tiny pieces.
“I’m hideous!” he screamed. He looked around the room for a place to escape his ugly visage, only to find that the entire room seemed suddenly sinister. Tiny reflections of his face, distorted by various angles, reflected back from all the crystal and rubies throughout the room. He couldn’t escape.
It’s a trap, he decided. Larry put me here to make me suffer!
He had to get out. He ran to the door and tried to open it, but it was… locked?
“He locked it!” Notmie shouted in disbelief. “That son-of-a-mumbler locked me in!”
What’s he got against me, anyway?
But he didn’t linger on the question for long. He knew he had to get away from the reflections of himself that stared back from every direction, and there was only one safe place he could think of.
He launched himself under the covers and threw the pearly comforter over his head.
The air under the covers soon became warm and thick from his breath, and he began to feel very sleepy.
Without realizing how it happened, he was suddenly in old Ned’s front yard, and there was Ned’s neighbor running at Notmie full speed with no clothes and a bowl full of noodles. He came closer and closer across the green lawn and Notmie could no longer stand the tension, even though he’d gotten used to these sorts of dreams by now. He closed his eyes in fear and anticipation, waiting for what would happen once Ned’s neighbor had reached him, but nothing happened for a long time. He opened his eyes and saw that the scene had changed completely.
He found himself on a deserted cobblestone street, surrounded by small shops, as he played pat-a-cake with Captain Alex, whose cape now looked slightly different. It was still red on one side and blue on the other, but now there was a thick white stripe between the two colors. But that wasn’t the only thing about his appearance that had changed. Now he had a full head of hair and a very thin mustache that flipped up at the ends. The pat-a-cake continued as Notmie heard an awkward tune being carried to his ears by the breeze. The music sounded like it could have come from a music box that was once in tune, but which had been worn by time to this offbeat piece that seemed to promise eventual ruin to its listener.
The rhythm of their game of pat-a-cake began to quicken and intensify, and Notmie saw one of the doors of the small shops open, heard the tinkle of a bell as it did so, and watched as Melono cartwheeled out onto the stone street singing strange lyrics to the eerie music as she went:
When meeting’s done and all is said,
The answers sought are in your head.
Some things are made to break apart;
Look through yourself—deep in your heart.
A hefty sum you first will spend
Before you can this curse transcend.
Melono continued her cartwheeling, changing paths and heading for Notmie.
The game of pat-a-cake reached a relentless speed and Notmie wasn’t sure how much longer he could maintain such a pace, especially while he was distracted by Melono’s strange new behavior. He watched and waited for her to continue the enigmatic song, but as soon as she opened her mouth, a searing pain shot through his foot and he opened his eyes.
This time he opened his eyes for real and found himself in complete darkness. He pulled back the pearly covers and looked around the room. Darkness still surrounded him. The candles must have burnt out hours ago, and he couldn’t see a thing. What a relief. No more torture by means of his hideous face. But he only felt relieved for a moment before the sharp pain in his foot reminded him why he had been yanked out of his dreams, and he realized he must have been sleeping on it funny, causing it to go numb. He reached under the covers and began to massage it, Melono’s words from the dream circulating through his mind.
Part 15
Poetry and Ebola
Notmie simply couldn’t go back to sleep after that dream.
“A hefty sum you first will spend.” That’s just creepy.
How had he suddenly dreamed up poetry when he’d never written an ounce of it in his life? Well, there was that one time, but that could hardly be considered poetry at all. The crowd loved it, yes, but it didn’t give him the mushy feeling he’d always been told people got from such things.
He occupied his restless mind with thoughts of the events leading up to his first and only recitation—was it really only a month ago? All that had happened in the past two days was enough to make the crow
d, the news crew, the money falling from the sky, and the cheers afterwards seem like they happened in another life, long ago.
At the time when it happened, he thought he was enjoying it all, but now that he looked back on it, it seemed a little overkill. He really hadn’t intended for it to happen at all, but his habit of not paying attention to people’s words had led him to thinking that one of his office underlings had said, “I want to hear poetry,” rather than, “I think Mr. Job is going to fire my white ass,” resulting in Notmie taking the opportunity to try out poetry for the first time in his life. The office underling, being edgy to begin with, took the opportunity to hurl as much flattery in Notmie’s direction as humanly possible without a major rupture of the spleen.
“One—” Notmie had only gotten out the first word and he was already stuck. He looked around the room for inspiration, and seeing the water cooler in the corner, went from there. After stumbling his way through an entire stanza, he felt he’d finally gotten a hang of it, and went wild. The other coworkers stared in amazement and listened to the words flowing from Notmie. Nobody can remember the exact wording—the other workers were too awe-struck and Notmie was “in the zone” as he later referred to it—but from various reports, it can be deduced that it went something like this:
One water cooler is all this office has.
This office only has one water cooler.
Run, water cooler, run.
I got in a fight with the water cooler the other day
And my shoes got all wet.
Water cooler talk should be about water coolers,
Yes, yes it should.
Run, water cooler, run.
If I’m thirsty, I go get water from the water cooler.
If I’m hungry I get food from the vending machine.
If I have no money, I just ask for it.
Run, money, run.
Who’s poor? Not me
My name is Notmie.
Run, water cooler, run.
He finished to a reverent silence, which promptly erupted into applause. He had done it: he had produced poetry. He was a major success the very first time he’d ever tried. And when the date and place were arranged, and he arrived to do a public reading, and when the camera crews got in fights over who would get the spot with the best shot of him (the police had a hard time of separating all the cameramen, since the policemen themselves didn’t want to be distracted from the display of brilliance everyone was anticipating from Notmie) he began to feel that maybe, just maybe, he was just about to get his big break that would launch him into undeniable stardom.
But as chance would have it, something went awry and Notmie ended up with his first taste of… what was that feeling? Shame, yes, that’s what it was. As is the way all great stories go (or in this case, a not-even-that-memorable story), it was the innocent little boy who was the one to call Notmie out as a fraud, and not without reason. This entire event was originally planned to honor this orphaned child who had written the most tear-jerking, gut-wrenching, bowel-rupturing poem anyone had ever heard. It was supposed to raise money for orphans all over the world who suffered from the Ebola virus, but as soon as the public had caught wind of Notmie’s incredible poetry skills, the signs that had surrounded the park for weeks announcing the date and event were changed ever so slightly so that where it had once read,
Come join us in the park for a poetry reading by Scruffy B. McShaggins!
All proceeds benefiting the OWE (Orphans With Ebola) Foundation
It now read:
Come join us in the park for a poetry reading by Scruffy B. McShaggins! Notmie R. Job!
All proceeds benefiting the OWE (Orphans With Ebola) Foundation Notmie R. Job!
So, hopefully you don’t blame poor Scruffy for yelling, “You’re a fraud, Notmie R. Job! A real cheeseball fraud! I hope you get Ebola and your face detaches from your skull!”
Unfortunately the event’s security guards did seem to blame Scruffy for his harsh words and promptly positioned him at the bottom of a dog pile. But too late, because Notmie had already heard what this insignificant little orphan boy had said, and though he had no idea what the Ebola virus was (though the face-detachment part seemed a bit unpleasant), he began to wonder (a) why this boy was not entirely impressed with his unearthly beauty, (b) whether or not this freaking kid might just deserve to be reading poetry more than himself, and (c) he still really wanted to know more about this Ebola virus, basically.
“READ-IT! READ-IT! READ-IT!…” the crowd began to chant, and this stupid little boy and his stupid little causes were all forgotten in Notmie’s mind. He hadn’t ever thought back to that memory before, having soon lost interest in poetry and never having had the desire to think about that day again. It was just one of many public praises that he had grown accustomed to anyway.
Notmie was too wide-awake now. He couldn’t go back to sleep, but he wasn’t sure whether or not he could face the room that stared back at him either.
But I’ll at least have to face it in the morning. I’ve got to get out of here.
He grabbed an unlit candle at his bedside, groped around for some matches he had seen lying there earlier and lit the candle. If he just kept his eyes to the ground he wouldn’t be taunted by his hideousness. He got out of bed and did just that.
“No!” he exclaimed, “Even the floors are reflective!”
He couldn’t believe it—it was way too cruel—but it was indeed true. The wood floors had been polished in such a way that he saw an even more strange and distorted face staring back at him from the ground. He decided that he would just have to close his eyes, only opening them if absolutely necessary. But what would he do now? He knew the door was locked and he was stuck, but he might as well try it again. His head was spinning, and perhaps that’s what caused him to run into the wall, but unfortunately that can’t fully explain why he did it over and over again in the same place, which wasn’t even remotely close to the door.
Only open your eyes if it’s an emergency, he instructed himself.
As far as he was concerned, running into a wall wasn’t anywhere near an emergency. He’d done it so many times in his life (and the poor bystanders who saw this happen never knew whether he was cracking a brilliantly funny joke at which they should laugh or whether it was a mistake at which they should show no mirth but rather pretend they didn’t see it happen at all).
But then there was no wall where there should have been one, and he plummeted forward onto his face, eyes still shut tightly.
“That’s odd,” he said. Yes, it was odd. Very odd. So odd, in fact, that he couldn’t keep from opening his eyes to see what this business was all about.
“Whoa.”
He found himself in a candlelit hallway that was surprisingly bright, or maybe his eyes were just adjusting to candlelight. Speaking of candlelight, why was there so much of it?
If Larry can afford a room of jewels, Notmie pondered, how can he not afford electric lighting?
If his memory served him correctly, there was most definitely a lamp—electric, to be exact—downstairs when they first entered the house. And wasn’t there a light switch that they’d passed earlier?
Ambiance—that must be the motivation for all these candles, and without a doubt they created a notably creepy atmosphere. However, even to Notmie that would seem a little contrived on Larry’s part.
But Larry’s mother probably knew that he would think this when they planned the house! She might know exactly where he was in his progress of… what exactly was he doing? No matter, Larry’s mom knew more about him than he did, and that thought alone gave him the heebie-jeebies.
Don’t think about that freaky old bag. If you think about it, it will only give you goose pimples and that would further agitate the hideousness you’re now experiencing.
He concluded that the only sane and logical course of action was to explore this creepy, ominous, presumably dangerous—did I mention the walls had spikes protruding from them? Becau
se they most definitely did—and candlelit hallway to see what might lie around the corner.
It wasn’t as exciting as Notmie had hoped or feared, but it was rather the opposite. Unexciting, some might call it; predictable, others might say.
There was a door.
I’m going to get a carpet tunnel in my hands from opening all these freaking doors!
But he opened it all the same.
His first reaction was that there was more candlelight, and that angered him greatly. His second reaction was that this was Melono’s room, and there was Melono, asleep.
This room was so much more tranquil than his lousy space, but he supposed Melono needed her rest; her beauty rest, that is. Admittedly, she wasn’t quite as unearthly beautiful while she slept. She lay on her back, mouth gaping, drool dripping down the corners of her mouth, hair knotted all over the pillow, body contorted as if she had leaped from a high building and fallen asleep in the exact position in which she landed. By now her mascara was caking, too, which created crater-like dark circles under her eyes and made her face involuntarily squint. But besides all that, she looked peaceful, though she twitched on occasion and was snoring so loudly Notmie wondered how he had not heard her in his room.
The walls must be sound proof.
“The walls must be sound proof,” he whispered to no one in particular
“The better to keep anyone from hearing you scream.”
Notmie froze. What the fiddlesticks? He could have sworn he’d just heard another person talk. No, he most definitely heard another person talk. His eyes scanned around the room, which he hadn’t even bothered searching yet, and he nearly messed his pants when he saw a shadowy figure standing in the corner opposite him.
Wait. Okay, it was a caped figure, which could mean only one thing.
“Pfft! Chuh! Cap’n! You— What— You nearly— I almost peed my pants! What are you doing here?”
The Fraud Page 14