MicroHorror

I often slip away from the office at lunchtime to visit Membland, an architectural salvage place in St. Michael’s, a deconsecrated church on Leonard Street. Outside are stone ornamental things from graveyards and catacombs. A lizard, maybe seven feet long, rests its crested head on a scroll. Inside, the vast church space has been divided by floors, partitioned into rooms and stuffed with objects like a museum, except most things are for sale. Some bits of the old church remain–the font, the holy water stoup, the rose window. I only occasionally glimpse other browsers: mostly single women like me, a church’s usual demographic. It effortlessly absorbs us.

The chairs caught my attention straight away. Richly decorated yet small, as though meant for older children. The label said: “This pair of Italian walnut chairs was made by Pompinoli, a carver for the Vatican. Mary Shelley, author of Frankenstein, purchased them circa 1853.” They were thickly carved with strange creatures, dragon-headed, but partly human. Mythical chimerae, according to the label. I stroked their pointed breasts and ugly dragon noses, thinking of Frankenstein’s monster, how sad and lonely he was. Then I tried sitting in one of the chairs. It was horribly uncomfortable, owing to the protruding wings of the carved creatures.

Then–ugh!–despair enclosed me like a fog and held me fast. It seemed to come from the chair itself. Like a lover’s embrace, a kiss, and at the same time disgusting, unbearable. I wrenched myself free–stumbled away… Outside the building, I choked for breath, then raised a hand to my cheek. It was numb, like dead flesh, yet pulsating as a clock ticks. I stared at my fingers. They were wet.

They’ve got used to me in the office, or anyway they’re kind. Nowadays I so much welcome kindness and flinch from its opposite. I’m not a pretty sight, I know–one side of my face collapsed, a mouth that twists when I try to smile. Beauty depends on symmetry. My doctor says give the nerves a chance to regrow; it might take six months. And hopefully the new nerve fibers will connect to the right facial muscles.

The chairs are gone and that room is hung with beautiful mirrors, their frames carved with mermaids, griffins, angels, cherubs, deities, figures from Greek mythology… I hurry past.