MicroHorror

Jackie had never met her birth mother, though she’d dreamed of her for years. Finally, she contacted an agency that was able to locate her mother, who, as it turned out, lived right across town. Jackie made the trip to her mother’s run-down tenement and stood there, working up the courage to enter.

“Oh, Momma,” Jackie cried, “I’m coming home.”

“Move!” A man shoved past her.

Jackie took a deep breath and entered the tenement. She stared up the rickety stairs and gingerly placed one foot in front of the other all the way up to the third floor, where she walked to apartment 3F and pressed the doorbell, waiting for the soft, velvety voice of the mother she’d dreamed of. Instead, she heard a gravelly bellow.

“Who is it?”

“It’s your daughter.” Jackie’s voice trembled.

Silence followed for three heartbeats before the gravel ground into her soul.

“Which daughter?”

It had never occurred to Jackie that there might be more than one of her. In her mind, she’d always shared an exclusive relationship with her mother. She spoke through fresh tears.

“You gave birth to me twenty-five years ago. They named me Jackie.”

The gravel ground to a halt as heavy locks clicked and the door groaned open.

“Momma?” Jackie asked the thing before her, which better resembled a blob in a tent dress.

“Momma?” she asked again, as recognition failed to surface in the thing’s eyes.

Before Jackie could react, the thing spat a wad of slime into her face.

“Gross!” cried Jackie, “Why did you do that?”

“From me you come, to me you shall return,” the thing graveled.

Goosebumps rose on Jackie’s flesh as she realized her reunion fantasy was crumbling.

“Hey, it was nice meeting you, but I have to get going.”

As Jackie turned to go, the thing opened its cavernous mouth and sucked her inside. Jackie flailed and gagged against its rancid breath. A large, wet tongue wrapped itself around her as she slid down the thing’s throat. She ended up in its stomach, where she could hear its heartbeat merge with intestinal rumblings. She curled up in the darkness and prayed for salvation. It never came.

***

It was another day and the thing belched as its doorbell rang. With effort, it raised its enormous bulk off a sofa chair and went to the door, bellowing in a voice as gritty as gravel.

“Who is it?”

Of course, the thing already knew who it was. They’d come in droves ever since it had enlisted with the agency. It was not their mother, nor had it ever been, but they were so desperate for that primary source of comfort that they were willing to believe whatever lies they’d been told. Little did they think as they extended their tentative fingers toward the doorbell that they were making a choice, and all choices have an outcome. Sometimes, in fact, the outcome is inevitable.

• Copyright: © 2010 Pavelle Wesser

Miriam stared at her reflection in the cracked mirror. Though time had transformed her appearance, she remained unchanged within. She turned her head, scrutinizing her sagging skin and the dark, puffy bags beneath her eyes. Her bones cracked as she grabbed her silver hairbrush and ran it through her long, tangled hair, turned white as chalk. She paused to remove wads of dead hair from the brush, after which she applied clumps of makeup to her face. Lastly, she ran a tube of red lipstick over her lips, smearing half her face in the process. Well, she reasoned, there was only so much a girl could do, wasn’t there? She stood, adorned in all the glory of her faded dress, and headed out.

At five minutes past the hour, Miriam entered the ladies’ club. She ignored the disapproving stares of the other guests, reminding herself that Jealousy could be as corrosive as battery acid being poured into a person’s soul. She chose to focus on the task of flicking spiders off her dress. Her living arrangements, sadly, made it hard to keep her wardrobe fresh. She closed her eyes and envisioned her former self: extravagant, elegant and poised. Oh, how people used to admire her.

“She’s horrible! When did she buy that dress, in 1942?” Their voices came to her unbidden.

“Doesn’t she know when to leave?”

Miriam pressed a water glass to her lips, slobbering liquid over the front of her dress.

“Miriam, dear.” An old friend approached her, extending ring-embellished fingers.

Miriam reached out her hand, a study in angular bones and lumpy knuckles.

“How long has it been?” the woman asked ominously.

“Seven years,” answered Miriam. She disengaged her hand to pluck a loose tooth from her mouth. “Oh, bother,” she whined.

“I suggest you leave, Miriam, before you make a further spectacle of yourself.”

“But I’m bored,” whined Miriam. “I’ve nothing to do with my time.”

“Still, dear, it’s time you moved on.”

The woman wandered off through the crowd, leaving Miriam alone at the table, vulnerable to the horrified stares of onlookers.

“Her time has come and gone,” people were saying. “Can she not see?”

A waiter held his nose before depositing a plate of appetizers on her table and then running away. She stuck a fork into a puff pastry and raised it to her lips, mashing it against her mouth and crumbling it over her dress. As she brushed off the front of her dress, it began to disintegrate.

“I really do hope her clothes stay on,” voices wafted over. “We’re not ready for a creep show.”

Miriam stood and hobbled toward the door. She might have made it had not her ligaments and joints given away, at which point she collapsed in a heap of flesh and bone.

“Oh, God, call the janitor.”

“While you’re at it, tell the manager. Next time, they shouldn’t let her through the door.”

“You’d better believe it; she’s already half past Neverland.”

***

They returned her to her mausoleum. While others in the cemetery remained dead, Miriam entertained other plans. Hours passed into days. From decomposition, she recomposed. The cycle was complete and she raised herself up from a cold stone slab. As she stared into the cracked mirror of her mausoleum, the memory of her former beauty weighed heavily upon her soul. She could not accept that time’s machinations had drawn her in and brutally spat her out into the dust. Anger burned within her; how dare the members of the ladies’ club demean her. Little did they know that beauty could be resurrected.

Her bones poked through the disintegrating layers of her dress as she stood and stumbled from the mausoleum. She made her way to the ladies’ club on palsied legs. An event was taking place that she was determined to attend, be she dead or alive.

• Copyright: © 2009 Pavelle Wesser

It was this way with Edna when the demons came to call. They knocked on the window of her soul and whispered through the cracks of her skull. When at first they entered, Edna was terrified. Soon enough, however, she gloried in their power.

I should have paid attention when the houseplants turned brown and died, just as I should have taken notice when the wallpaper disintegrated into a chalk-like dust that floated through the house. What I did notice was that our cat had exactly nine seizures before succumbing to the world beyond. I cried over the cruelty of fate, even as Mother dismissed these and other calamities with a wave of her hand.

“Edna is family. She lives with us and we have to accept her, no matter what.”

Sometimes, Edna raked her claws across my flesh, drawing blood. Other times she ripped out chunks of my hair. Still others, she grabbed me so tightly that I heard my bones crack.

“It’s not her fault if she’s possessed by demons,” Mother insisted.

One day, when I looked into Edna’s eyes, I saw a red light shining through. It was then I realized that Mother was not home enough to protect me, and that I would have to run away. On the morning of my plans, Edna approached me at the kitchen table. She must have sensed something.

“You cannot escape your fears,” she said, as red lights flashed inside her eyes.

“But I can escape you,” I whispered, “and that is all I want.”

She took a menacing step toward me. I gasped and slid under the table as she extended her claws. When she began ripping at the tablecloth, I withdrew the steak knife I had hidden under my chair cushion and emerged ready for the attack. Her screams did not deter me, nor did the sight of her blood cascading in arcs before it splattered over the floor.

I stabbed away until she collapsed before me. I looked upon her with a sense of sadness. It was really too bad that it had come to this with Edna. I thought Mother would be angry when she returned home; instead, she gripped my hands in hers.

“We’ll have to bury Edna under the floorboards, dear, and keep it as a family secret.”

***

We never speak of Edna, not even when her screams cut a bitter edge through the long dark nights. For the most part, we lie in bed until the pale morning sunlight burns our sins back into our eyes. Sometimes I wonder if we really had any choice in committing them. We sit at the kitchen table and pretend that everything is the same, but the fragments of our conversations usually fade into oblivion as we focus on ignoring our secrets.

We must also contend with the demons. They crawl beneath my flesh, causing me to scratch until I bleed. I stand alone in the privacy of my bedroom, naked and exposed, as they wrap their insidious presence around me. When I look into the mirror, it makes me shudder to see the red lights shining in my eyes.

I know that Mother knows from the tears in her eyes. I want to reach out to her, but my hands are cold and my fingernails sharp enough to draw blood, as well they should be. I know where Mother hides her knife and I cannot really blame her. The day will soon come when she will have to use it. Right now, Mother sits at the kitchen table, staring at me with sad, empty eyes.

We both know that just as it was this way with Edna, so too it will be this way with me.

• Copyright: © 2009 Pavelle Wesser

Something was bothering Gina, but she wouldn’t say what.

“Why don’t you just tell me what’s wrong?” Lenny asked.

She sat across from him at the breakfast table, her hazel eyes rimmed with red. “It’s the lake,” she said.

Chills crawled up his spine. “What lake?”

“You keep mumbling about a lake in your sleep. I know there’s something you’re hiding from me. Tell me, Lenny. What is it?”

He swallowed a mouthful of coffee that tasted like seaweed.

“It hurts to talk about this, Gina, but the last time I saw my family was when we took a vacation on a lake. Their fishing boat tipped over and they drowned.”

“Oh, Lenny, how did you survive?”

“I was very young. They’d kept me with a babysitter for the day.”

“How horrible! I never realized. All you ever told me was that you had a falling out with your family.”

“I did. They fell out of that boat.” He started to cry.

Gina reached out and clasped his hand. “I’m sorry. It was wrong of me to dredge up the past.”

“You have a right to know.”

“I have an idea,” said Gina. “Why don’t we visit the lake together, you and I.”

Lenny balked. “I’m sorry, Gina, but revisiting the scene of my worst childhood memory would devastate me.” He glanced at his watch. “Listen, I’m late for work. We’ll have to discuss this later.”

When he leaned forward to kiss her, he glimpsed refracted shades of green light glinting off the surface of her tea. Right after he closed the front door, they appeared to him. They were all standing in a row, waving: Mother, father, sister, brother. Chunks of algae were clotted in their wet hair and the glassiness of their eyes confirmed that they were dead.

“All right,” he told them, “so I lied to her. Did I have a choice? I was only five when I killed you. I was angry because you wouldn’t take me with you, so I drilled a hole at the bottom of the boat with tools I found at the beach house. Other than that one single act, I’ve lived my life as a good person, and yet you’ve haunted me all these years. You’ve never let me go, never allowed me to move on. Goddammit! Why?” He fell to his knees sobbing.

“Lenny, are you all right? I heard you yelling just now.” Gina stood in the pale sunlight of the doorway.

“It’s them, they’re following me,” he choked.

“Who?” She looked around in bewilderment.

She was right, he realized. They were gone.

“Forget it, Gina,” he said slowly. “I’m haunted by memories.”

“Lenny, I’m so sorry.”

She came toward him but he turned away.

“I’ll be okay,” he said. “Really.”

***

The door creaked on its hinges as Lenny returned home from work.

“It’s time I told you the truth, Gina,” he called out, but he was too late. Gina lay face-up on the floor, her long hair wet and matted with algae, her lips blue.

“Oh, Gina.” He fell to his knees and stared into her sightless eyes.

They were all there, reflected back at him: Mother, father, sister, brother. They were standing in a row waving at him. Through his tears, he reached out and closed her eyelids, then clasped her clammy hands in his until the pale moon shone outside. As he sat beside her, he envisioned the lake as it had been all those years ago.

The cold, green water lapped hungrily at his toes. He allowed it to pull him down, down, down into its murky depths. Algae and other accumulated debris gracefully entangled itself in his hair. When he reached the bottom, they were all there, standing in a row, waving: Mother, father, sister, brother and now beloved Gina. Their eyes were alert as they welcomed him home.

• Copyright: © 2009 Pavelle Wesser

Sandra hugged her black coat tightly shut to ward off the bitter cold as she approached the funeral parlor. She was attending Henry’s service out of obligation. In fact, she barely knew him, even though they had worked side-by-side for years. The truth was that Sandra never socialized.

Oh, there’d been a time when she and George had shared bottles of wine over dinners with friends. But then George had left her, and their “friends” had abandoned her, and the bitterness had taken root within her heart. She had learned of George’s death a few years ago, but felt only resentment for the ill he had caused her.

She climbed the steps to the parlor, her teeth chattering. How selfish of Henry to die in the frigid cold of winter when he could just as soon have waited for spring. She cleared the last step, gasping. She was out of shape and aging. She pushed open the heavy oak door and made her way down red-carpeted hallway.

“Henry Little’s Service,” read the sign before the heavy double doors.

Odd–she’d never known Henry’s last name before. The doors opened and she entered the room, which instantly dimmed. The only light, she noticed, came from softly glowing candles, the flames of which flickered wildly as the double doors slammed shut. She jumped and looked around, seeing no one. She stared into the shadowed corners. It was then she saw him, and her jaw dropped. He sat in a velvet chair, his legs neatly crossed.

“Hello, Sandra, it’s been a long time, no?”

“George!” she gasped. “How? Why?”

“It was you who summoned me, Sandra, with all the endless years of blame that you refused to let go of.”

She stared at his pale features, accentuated by the glowing candles. “Who are you to criticize me,” she spat, “when it was you who robbed me of my life?”

“I pity what will happen to you if you don’t let go.” George stared into the distance.

“I came here for Henry, not you.” Sandra turned. “I’m leaving.”

“Do you know what Hell is, Sandra?”

“Hell has been my life.” She faced him one last time. “You should know that.”

“If you don’t break away from the endless links in your chain of blame, Sandra, you will learn what Hell really is.”

“I refuse to listen to you,” barked Sandra.

The double doors swung open and she stumbled into the brightly lit hallway. Back home, she flung herself into bed and cried, then fell asleep. She awoke the next day positive that it had all been a dream. She went to work, and was surprised to find a vase of flowers sitting on her desk, against which was propped a note.

“We are sorry to hear of Sandra’s death. Please join us tomorrow for her service.”

Sandra rushed to the reception area, her feet surprisingly lithe.

“Is this a joke?” She showed the note to the receptionist, who stared right through her, blinking her mascara-laden lashes.

Sandra ran from the office and back to the funeral home, her feet squishing down the red-carpeted hallway. Had she not been so preoccupied, she might have noticed it was oozing blood. She banged open the double doors and stomped into the room, leaving bloody prints in her wake.

“George, I demand a word with you.”

A cool breeze caused the candles to flicker. The double doors slammed shut.

“George, I know you’re here.”

The velvet chair in the corner burst into flames and George appeared before her, a burning ball of fire.

“I warned you, Sandra. You have only yourself to blame.”

“How dare you?” She lunged at him, her black coat becoming engulfed in flames as she rolled with him on the floor.

She was fully prepared to battle him for all eternity. After all, he was the one responsible for all the wasted years of her empty life. And for that she would blame him forever and ever and ever.

• Copyright: © 2008 Pavelle Wesser

Mr. Smith shook Ivan’s hand. “Take a seat.”

Ivan sat and began fidgeting with a pencil.

Mr. Smith sat across from him. “I’ve been reviewing your resume and I was wondering, where is Oxomia University?”

Ivan snapped his pencil in half. “In Oxomia, of course. My sacred ancestral kingdom.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve never heard of it.”

Ivan’s eyes narrowed. “It’s a beautiful place, you should really visit sometime.”

“I’ll certainly consider it,” said Mr. Smith with disdain. “By the way, Ivan, on your application, you never specified which position you’re applying for at our bank.”

Ivan’s eyes glistened. “I want to guard your valuables.”

“That’s very nice, but we have a vault for that.”

“Take me there. I want to see it,” hissed Ivan.

“I’m afraid that will not be possible.”

Sensing something amiss, Mr. Smith reached for the panic button beneath his desk, but his fingers came into contact with something slimy. He looked under the surface to see a serpent coiled around the red button.

“What the…”

“I’ve relocated, Mr. Smith. I can do that, you know.”

Mr. Smith sprang from his chair and charged to the office door. The serpent materialized around the knob.

“You cannot outwit me, Mr. Smith. I repeat, take me to your vault.”

***

Ivan’s voice echoed off the vault’s walls. “Such beautiful jewels.” He opened a glass case.

“No touching!” said Mr. Smith shrilly.

“I’m searching for something,” said Ivan. “Ah… here it is.”

A large ruby lay nestled in his palm.

“All jewels are part of our private collection, Ivan.”

“This jewel was stolen from my ancestral home.”

“This is not the land of fairytales, Ivan. Put it back.”

“No.”

Mr. Smith’s mouth hung open as before his eyes, Ivan transformed into a giant, diamond-backed serpent and began slithering across the floor toward him. Deftly, he pressed the security button on the wall. A guard entered the vault’s armored interior.

“Hurry,” yelled Mr. Smith.

The guard pulled out a pistol, aimed and shot. The serpent split in half. Mr. Smith heaved a sigh of relief until he saw that in its place were now two diamond-backed serpents, both flicking their forked tongues at him.

“Shoot again,” yelled Mr. Smith.

“No way, I’m outta here,” said the guard.

“Wait for me,” said Mr. Smith, but before he could follow the guard out, four poison fangs pierced his legs. As the vault’s steel doors slid shut with a vacuum like thwack, paralysis took hold, and Mr. Smith groaned. As the venom coursed through his bloodstream, his vision faded. The last thing he heard was the serpent’s silken voice:

“You cannot outwit me, Mr. Smith. I am an ancient life form.”

• Copyright: © 2008 Pavelle Wesser

Emma awoke bathed in sweat. She’d had the dream again where the man with the misshapen face and stealthy, lopsided gait was advancing on her, preparing for the kill. She sat up in bed and ran shaking fingers through her sweat-soaked hair. She could no longer bear the idea of staying in the house. She climbed out of bed and shivered. The room was freezing. Why had she been sweating?

She swallowed back tears as she took one last look at Jack’s pillow. How was it possible that her precious husband had mysteriously disappeared while running a simple errand? And yet that’s exactly what had happened, a mere three weeks ago. The house felt empty as she descended the stairs, mopping sweat from her face with the arm of her nightgown. As she crossed the kitchen threshold, an eerie feeling came over her. She felt as though someone was watching her, someone with sinister intent. She didn’t like it at all.

Grabbing her car keys, she headed out, dressed in only her nightgown and slippers. She navigated the darkened roads, slowing down as she passed the town lake, and staring at the mist that rose romantically from its surface. There were some who claimed this lake was haunted, but she herself didn’t believe it. In fact, she would prove it to herself right now, by taking a stroll around the path that surrounded the water and bordered the neighboring forest.

A shiver coursed through her as she exited her car. It was colder outside than she’d thought. Her nightgown provided little protection against the harsh wind, in spite of which icy sweat trickled down her forehead and into her eyes. Feeling self-conscious, as though someone was still watching her, she peered into the darkened forest, and then across the lake, although she could barely see anything through the thick mist. There was no reason to be afraid, she told herself as she followed the path around the lake. The ground was frozen and she almost fell several times. And then she heard it, the sound of someone calling her name.

“Emma. Emmaaaaaa…”

She froze, unsure of what to do. She forced herself to take a deep breath, and comforted herself with the following words: “I didn’t just hear that. It’s impossible.”

She smiled then, and even laughed, until she heard her name again:

“Emma. Emmaaaaaa…”

Once again, she froze. Now she heard the unmistakable sound of leaves shuffling in the forest, followed by the snapping of twigs. As she stared, a man emerged through the leafless, overhanging branches of dead trees. Terrified, she found herself unable to move as he advanced upon her in his awkward, lopsided gait. He stood before her now, the stench of rot wafting from his clothes, a malicious gleam shining in his eyes.

And now the sweat began in earnest, flowing from every pore of her skin. She screamed as the man tilted his head back and emitted a laugh so hideous that Emma felt herself being electrified by the chills that ran through her spine. She looked down at his claw-like hands, caked in what could only have been dried blood.

“No.” She screamed. “Nooooooooooooooooooooooooo…”

She couldn’t tell whether he’d pushed her or she’d fallen of her own accord, but the end result was the same. The mist over the lake parted and as she sank within its icy depths as one more mystery the town would never solve. This lake would never reveal its secrets, she knew. Jack was waving to her beneath the water’s surface and she made her way toward him, relieved to be free of her earthly existence.

• Copyright: © 2007 Pavelle Wesser

Suzy peered through the ever-thickening wall of fog outside her car as she drove down the winding roads. She was new in town and still adjusting to her surroundings, although right now she was hopelessly lost. She was sure she’d driven past her street in the foggy darkness and had no idea how to find her way back.

The car’s interior suddenly felt very, very cold. Her teeth chattered as she reached out to turn up the heat. The silhouette of a man appeared in the middle of the road and she slammed on the brakes.

“He’s crazy,” she whispered. The man approached, waving. She took her chances and unrolled the window.

“Excuse me,” she said, “but I seem to be lost. Can you give me directions?”

He nodded and walked around the car, opening the passenger side door (hadn’t she locked it?). He climbed in and took a seat, then turned his eyes on her. She shivered, as they were a creepy shade of silvery blue. He spoke in an unnatural voice:

“You’ll always be lost, Suzy.”

She paled. “How do you know my name?”

His eyes narrowed. “I’ve been watching you, Suzy, ever since you moved here.”

“Get out of my car, you freak!”

“No, Suzy. Who, if not me, will ever love you forever and ever and ever?”

She grabbed her cell phone. “I’m calling 911.”

He shook his head. “Do you really think you’ll find reception, Suzy?”

He was right, of course. Nothing could penetrate the thick wall of fog that pressed against the car. Suzy hugged her shoulders and started crying.

“Do you know what I find most interesting about you, Suzy?”

Suzy rocked back and forth.

“Well, I’ll tell you,” said the man. “It’s your silly obsession of making and collecting teddy bears.”

He reached out a claw-like finger and stroked her cheek. A thin line of blood trickled from the fresh cut he’d made and mingled with her tears.

“Why so blue, Suzy?”

“I want to go home.” She sobbed, reaching into her purse and removing a teddy bear.

“Those bears are meant to satisfy some unfulfilled need of yours, aren’t they?”

She rubbed her cheek against the bear’s soft fur and closed her eyes.

“It’s too bad, Suzy, because your needs are as deep and insatiable as…”

“STOP!” she yelled, then closed her eyes again, as they felt very heavy.

She was hardly aware of falling into a deep and soundless sleep as the man exited the car and opened the trunk. Inside were many teddy bears in varying stages of completion. The bags and bags of stuffing that had never been enough to satisfy Suzy’s needs were perfect for his purposes.

***

He sat across from her on the sofa and sipped his cognac. Her skin glowed against the orange flames of the flickering fire. He sighed and raised his glass: “Here’s to our future together, Suzy Bear.”

Suzy fell from the sofa and thudded softly to the floor. He picked her up and placed her firmly back on the cushions. Tufts of stuffing protruded from her ears. He poked them back in with his clawed fingers, then sat back and swiveled his cognac. After a few minutes, he motioned to her bear collection on the mantelpiece. Suzy’s expression remained vacant. His eyes narrowed and he threw his Cognac snifter against the wall, where it shattered. Amber liquid ran in rivulets to the floor.

“You are so unappreciative of all I’ve done for you, Suzy. Sometimes I just want to rip the stuffing right out of your head. Who, if not me, would love you forever? Can you answer me that? I didn’t think so. I gave you a new lease on love, and yet you sit there like death itself. Well frankly, it doesn’t matter. Because dead or alive, Suzy, love is forever, and ever, and ever, and ever…”

• Copyright: © 2007 Pavelle Wesser

Gail sat on the porch, stroking Sonar. He alone had survived the house-fire that had claimed her sister’s life on this same day three years ago. If only cats could talk, thought Gail, nuzzling Sonar just before he jumped into the night.

“Come back!” she called.

Leaves rustled as the neighbor boy emerged from the darkness. A cigarette dangled from his lips, the glowing embers of which turned in her direction. “Witch!”

She glared at him and entered her house. Sonar would return when hunger struck. She lay on the couch. Today also happened to be her wedding anniversary, though Steve would be working late. She drifted off, and from within the splintered fragments of her mind, a voice spoke. “The time draws near.”

“What time?” Gail asked.

“Seven o’clock.”

“Huh?” She opened her eyes. Steve was standing over her.

“Listen, Gail,” he was saying, “I found him that way on the road.”

The smell of perfume emanated from his clothes. She sniffed the air.

“Gail, are you listening? Your cat is in my car.”

She ran and flung open the passenger side door. Sonar lay broken and mangled on the floor. She hugged him, crying into his soft, black fur.

“I’m sorry.” Steve spoke from behind.

Gail turned.

“And… happy anniversary. I would have bought you flowers, but…” He shrugged.

She went to her bedroom and slammed the door, listening as Steve sweet-talked his girlfriend on the phone. She pictured their twisted bodies sweating in bed together, as hundreds of votives reflecting their deception erupted in an inferno. Gail rolled her head back and cackled.

Steve knocked. “Gail? You okay?”

She spoke through the door. “Who were you talking to?”

He cleared his throat. “No one. You know, I can buy you a new cat.”

She thought of death: white, faceless, blank. “Forget it.”

Silence echoed before his footfalls pattered away.

She lay back and an orange orb descended. “The time has come.”

She stood and fetched a canister from the closet before gliding across the lawn and splashing kerosene on the neighbor’s house. She lit a match and threw it. Flames erupted. The neighbor boy flung open a window: “Witch!”

His lips cracked open and blood flowed over his white t-shirt. She padded away, ignoring his screams. She set fire to her own garage and watched as Steve’s car burst into flames that spread to the house. She pictured him, snuggled up in the bed they’d never shared together, dreaming of his concubine.

“Burn, baby, burn!” she hissed.

His stricken face appeared in the window; comprehension dawned: “You witch!”

Her eyes were hollow as her lips parted to mouth three words: “Happy anniversary, Steve!”

Flames licked her nightgown and she cackled. Sirens wailed.

“Whose houses are those?” a fireman asked the cluster of neighbors.

“That one belongs to the witch,” one of the neighbors answered.

“There ain’t no such thing as witches,” someone countered him.

He turned to see who’d spoken but no one was there. He turned back and the fireman was gone, as were the trucks. The house across the street still smoldered. Goose bumps rose on his flesh as a black cat brushed his legs. He bent down to stroke it and read its gold-plated nametag which glinted in the glow of the street-lamp. “Sonar! Strange!”

He picked up Sonar and entered his house, where the flames from the gas stove he’d left on had already spread to the lace curtains.

“Oh, crap!” He fanned the flames with his hands, dropping Sonar in the process. He waved frantically even as his cotton shirt ignited and seared his flesh. He turned in circles, screaming in a panicked frenzy.

Sonar purred softly and trod over burning embers to escape into the night. His gold nameplate tinkled, announcing his mission to anyone astute enough to figure out that “Sonar” is an anagram for “Arson.”

• Copyright: © 2007 Pavelle Wesser

Marv entered the darkened bar and ordered a shot. As his eyes adjusted, he noticed her.

“Hi,” he smiled.

She moved closer.

“My place is close,” he offered.

“Let’s go,” she said softly.

He grabbed her ice-cold hand, which caused his teeth to chatter, and took her to Justin’s place, where he was crashing. He was fortunate enough to have his own room, where he now sat beside her on the bed.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Samina,” she answered, then kissed him on the lips before removing her black dress, beneath which she wore nothing. Marv discarded his own clothes before succumbing to her commands. Later, he would recall being transported through a wormhole into the next phase of galactic evolution. He sifted through the cosmic sands as the quasar lay naked beside him. Huh?

His swollen eyes cracked open. His limbs ached and his head pounded. She lay beside him. “Could I use your address for some mail I’m expecting?”

“Sure.” Marv took the paper and pencil she offered and scribbled Justin’s address.

“Thanks.” She threw off the covers. Her dress was on. Embarrassed, he drew the sheets up to cover his nakedness. As soon as she left, he fell into a deep and soundless sleep.

***A month later, Marv returned to crash at Justin’s.

“You’re back.” Justin raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah.” Marv rubbed his stubble.

“Say,” said Justin. “Do you know someone named Samina?”

Marv flinched. “Why?”

“A letter arrived from the health clinic informing me that I’d contracted a deadly strain of venereal disease.”

The color drained from Marv’s face. “What?”

“Exactly, Marv. I’d never even visited a health clinic. So I looked at the envelope and saw it was addressed to Samina.”

“I…”

“After you left here, some green fungus was growing out of your bed. I bombed it with that crap from the hardware store.”

Justin stood and stepped toward Marv.

“Sorry, dude, I’m under strict orders to turn in anyone connected…”

“NO!”

Marv ran from Justin’s apartment. He raced through the streets toward the one place he’d sworn never to return. His mother sat at the kitchen table, nursing a martini. “Marvie?”

She wobbled toward him, arms outstretched.

“Don’t touch me!” he said. “I’m going to my room. I’m not well.”

“Whatever makes you happy, sweetie!” she slurred.

From his closet, Marv removed his favorite stuffed bear. He hugged it, rocking back and forth, as pain wracked his body. He closed his eyes against the bile that rose within him and finally spouted out in a torrential stream of vomit over the walls. Blisters foaming pus burst open on his flesh and his abdomen burned until his guts exploded. The last thing he saw was her shrewd gaze mocking him.

“Marvie?” When there was no answer, his mother opened the door… and screamed.

***She gulped a martini while choking back her tears. The doorbell rang.

“Who are you?” she asked the young woman.

“Samina, your son’s girlfriend.” Tears filmed her eyes. “I came to tell you I’m sorry.”

“That’s very kind,” said Marv’s mother. “Come in.”

“I can’t. I have to leave.”

“That’s too bad. We could’ve shared a martini.”

“It’s a little early. Actually, I have something to give you.”

“What?”

“Information regarding your son.”

Marv’s mother gasped.

“I’ll send you a letter which you should receive within two weeks.”

“An e-mail would be faster.”

“There is no e-mail where I’m going. Good-bye.”

“No. Please stay.”

Samina closed the door.

“Wait!”

Marv’s mother flung open the door but the young woman was gone. She returned to her kitchen, and, with shaking hands, prepared her next martini. It would be a strong one, as she was trying hard to ignore the voice inside her head–the one that told her she’d be dead by the time Samina’s letter arrived.

• Copyright: © 2007 Pavelle Wesser