Fortune Smiles: An Original Story by Jennifer Weigel
There was a new Chinese restaurant in town. The Red Devil. Odd name for a Chinese restaurant but no difference; maybe it was a translation issue. There was a huge sinewy red dragon snaking around the edge of the sign after all… The Red Devil had gone in overnight without warning where the sleazy Fast Joe’s grease-fest burger joint had been, attached to the Lucky Strike bowling alley. Not the best part of town, on the outskirts, and the restaurant still had that greasy burger joint funk to it, giving off a vibe that one didn’t want to linger in.
Alex and her BFFs had ordered take out and had split as soon as possible, what with the slow older woman running the show taking her sweet time with everything. They were gathered at the picnic shelter in the park, which was notably less seedy and had fewer disheveled old men ogling them.
Their food was good, almost too good. But why? There was no real reason for it. It should have been just another greasy dish of standard Kung Pao Pork like any other generic Chinese American place, especially given the location. Yet Alex couldn’t stop eating, well devouring, it. It was almost as if she hadn’t eaten in days and this was just what she’d been waiting for. Hell, it tasted so good it almost seemed as if she’d been waiting for this Kung Pao Pork all her life. Her friends were just as immersed in their own food, and no one said a word until they’d literally licked their to-go foil pans clean.
Even after they’d decimated every scrap of food they had, no one said a word. Until finally Kari prompted, “Wait, what about our fortunes?!”
“Oh yeah, I forgot,” Alex replied. Trudi nodded along, her tongue still occupied with licking what remained of her General Tso Chicken from between her teeth. How could they neglect the fortune cookies? The fortunes were usually the best part of the meal. They savored each and every one, hanging on to every word and giggling as they added “in bed” to the end of each to glorify or chastise the fortune-reader about her suggested imaginary sex life and future exploits…
Kari tossed a fortune cookie to each of them. Alex caught hers and studied it intently. It was unlike any fortune cookie she’d ever seen. It still resembled a little folded over coin-purse wafer, but it was red and meaty looking, not cookie colored, and the outer plastic package printing made it look like a wide-grinning smile. The strangest part was the fangs printed to line up with the edge of the cookie, as if the cookie itself were lips parted slightly exposing vampire teeth. It was extremely well done, and quite unsettling. The other side of the package simply read, “The Red Devil.”
“I’ll go first,” Kari exclaimed briskly, shredding the wrapping and snapping the blood red cookie in two without taking any real notice of it… typical, seeing how Kari was always the one to jump head first into the deep end of anything without studying it beforehand. It was part of her charm, really. And it was a large part of why Trudi and Alex followed her. She drew attention wherever she went, and the whole school had taken note when she moved here earlier their Junior year.
“You will die tomorrow…,” she read matter-of-factly until suddenly taken aback. “Wait, what?!”
Kari paled, losing her usual snarky comeback attitude. She turned the tongue of paper over and back again. “You will die tomorrow,” she repeated. She handed the note to Trudi, who read back at her,” You will die tomorrow,” before tossing it abruptly back at Kari as if to rid herself of something that might be contagious.
“Not funny,” Kari stuttered, flustered. She pointed at Trudi, her finger trembling accusingly. “This can’t, er… you go next.”
Trudi gulped. She was always the next in line and obeyed Kari’s every word. She hesitantly fingered her fortune cookie.
“I said, ‘You go next!’” Kari echoed a little louder this time, her eyes staring daggers into Trudi. She wasn’t going to be alone in this. Trudi slowly tugged apart the sheath of plastic to expose the blood red cookie inside. She shook the cookie out into her hand and broke it in two. She looked at the tongue of paper and blanched, her eyes wide.
“Well…” snapped Kari. “What does Yours say?”
Trudi shook her head and opened her mouth as if to speak, but all that came out was a shrill sigh. Kari snatched the paper fortune and gasped. She tossed it away hurriedly. The paper twisted and twirled through the air as it fell in seemingly slow motion. Alex studied it intently as it floated towards the ground, making out the words.
You…
will…
die…
tomorrow…
Trudi whimpered. Kari suddenly exploded, grabbed the two fortunes, and set them ablaze with her lighter. They burned, shriveled to a charred black line, and then into a fine ash, which scattered like a hundred dandelion seeds.
“Well, that’s that,” Kari said matter-of-factly. She mustered a faint grimace and lauded, “Fortune smiles upon thee” as if knighting Trudi in some sort of bad joke movie. But it felt too forced, and she was just not her usual Comeback Queen self for all that she tried not to appear shaken. She ignored the remaining cookie in Alex’s hand and brushed herself off, signaling it was time to move on to bigger and better things. In actually, all she did was drive Trudi and Alex home, with the three of them sitting in silence the whole way. Trudi stared out the passenger side window. Alex huddled in the back and stared at the blood red pursed lip fortune cookie in her hand, squinting at it as if to try to focus on the tongue of paper enfolded within but to no avail.
Alex was dropped off at her doorstep in a whirlwind as Kari and Trudi sped off. She stumbled inside, gasped a rushed” Hi,I-haveto-homewrk…” at her parents as she dashed up the stairs to her bedroom and slammed the door behind her. She tossed the creepy fortune cookie on her dresser and stared at her reflection in the mirror for a long time before she buried herself in a cheap romance novel.
At some point, she must have gotten ready for bed and gone to sleep but she didn’t recall doing so. She woke abruptly the next morning, as if jostled from her sleep by a nagging sense of dread.
Kari picked up Alex at home and the trio drove to school together as usual, Trudi sprawled out in front gesturing wildly and singing along with the radio and Alex scrunched up in the back. Kari was still unusually reserved.
The day itself was uneventful. Alex couldn’t focus on her studies and kept ruminating on The Red Devil, the fortunes, and the sudden shift in Kari’s demeanor. The elderly Asian woman who worked the register and fried up everything for them in the back whistled quietly while cooking. Kari had heckled her, asking “C’mon Grandma, can’t you do it any faster?! You’d think she was building The Great Wall back there…”
The elderly Asian woman explained that she loved her work and put a little of herself into everything she did. “In due time,” she sang, continuing to whistle as she flipped and scattered the food in the giant wok. “In due time,” she whispered as she’d placed the fortune cookies in their bag. When they’d paid and erupted out of the restaurant, she’d echoed the same as they were leaving, “In due time…”
You… will… die… tomorrow…
The words were etched in Alex’s mind. She still hadn’t opened her fortune and wondered what was written there. She wasn’t all too eager to find out. She glanced over at Kari and Trudi passing notes in the back behind the teacher’s back. When the lunch bell rang, they sidled up to her.
“Let’s blow this joint,” Kari said. “We have a bone to pick with that Chinese lady…” Trudi nodded along.
They hopped into Kari’s hand-me-down Chrysler and blasted across town to the Lucky Strike Bowling Alley. The Red Devil was gone! Just a sign that said “For Lease” in the window remained. In fact, there was no evidence that there had ever been a Chinese restaurant there. No sign, no red sinewy dragon, nothing… just a vacant shell of a greasy burger joint.
“Dammit,” Kari shouted and kicked the rear front tire. A catcall whistled at them from a neighboring car.
“Lookin’ for someone?” a low voice snaked out of a shiny new Miata convertible, orange with black racing stripes – Brad. Of course it would be Brad. He was used to getting everything he wanted and he’d set his sights on Kari, following her like a lost prep-school puppy ever since she’d moved to Springdale.
Kari sighed and glared at him. She was not in the mood for casual flirting or “priming the payload” as she called it. “Get in,” she barked at Trudi and Alex. They did as she commanded. She was usually so uninhibited and this newfound sternness was out of place.
Brad smiled. “Aww c’mon. Why else would you lovelies bust out of school?”
“Not now, Brad,” Kari grumbled as she revved the engine.
“At least race me back,” Brad smirked as he whirled around.
Kari smiled wild in response, her eyes alight, “You’re on.”
The cars started off neck and neck but Kari’s beater couldn’t keep up and she knew it. But she had a secret weapon. She was going to take the shortcut, and she ripped onto the gravel road at breakneck speed.
“Wait!,” Trudi screamed as the car spun out and the world went black.
Alex awoke to a rhythmic beeping. Bright lights and visions of angels in scrubs hovered over her. “You’re going to be okay,” one of the angels said. Alex’s mom rushed over, her red face streaked with tears and grabbed her in a bear hug.
“Wh… what happened?” Alex quipped. “Where am I? Where’re Kari and Trudi?”
Her mom blanched. “They didn’t make it. It’s a Godsend you’re alive. The whole front end of that car was…” her voice faded out as she evaded saying anything more.
The angel-nurse looked Alex over. “You’re very lucky. All you’ve got to show for it are a few scratches and a broken rib. You can go home. Just try to rest and don’t overexert yourself…”
Alex’s mom escorted her out of the hospital and into their Ford “Capri Sun” as the trio used to joke. (It was even the right shade of turquoise.) Alex’s head was a blur. She didn’t remember getting home or the trek to her bedroom, but there she was, staring once again at the mirror. She glanced down to find the fortune cookie.
It lay there on her dresser, plastic wrapping split open like a flower unfolded, forking a tongue of paper at her like an invitation. Still foggy, Alex reached for it as if possessed and turned it over in her palm before it fully sank in what she was doing.
“In due time,” it read.
And feel free to check out more of Jennifer Weigel’s work here on Haunted MTL or here on her website.
What if ours weren’t the only reality? What if the past paths converged, if those moments that led to our current circumstances got tangled together with their alternates and we found ourselves caught up in the threads?
Marla returned home after the funeral and wake. She drew the key in the lock and opened the door slowly, the looming dread of coming back to an empty house finally sinking in. Everyone else had gone home with their loved ones. They had all said, “goodbye,” and moved along.
Her daughter Misty and son-in-law Joel had caught a flight to Springfield so he could be at work the next day for the big meeting. Her brother Darcy was on his way back to Montreal. Emmett and Ruth were at home next door, probably washing dishes from the big meal they had helped to provide afterward, seeing as their kitchen light was on. Marla remembered there being food but couldn’t recall what exactly as she hadn’t felt like eating. Sandwiches probably… she’d have to thank them later.
Marla had felt supported up until she turned the key in the lock after the services, but then the realization sank deep in her throat like acid reflux, hanging heavy on her heart – everyone else had other lives to return to except for her. She sighed and stepped through the threshold onto the outdated beige linoleum tile and the braided rag rug that stretched across it. She closed the door behind herself and sighed again. She wiped her shoes reflexively on the mat before just kicking them off to land in a haphazard heap in the entryway.
The still silence of the house enveloped her, its oppressive emptiness palpable – she could feel it on her skin, taste it on her tongue. It was bitter. She sighed and walked purposefully to the living room, the large rust-orange sofa waiting to greet her. She flopped into its empty embrace, dropping her purse at her side as she did so.
A familiar, husky voice greeted her from deeper within the large, empty house. “Where have you been?”
Marla looked up and glanced around. Her husband Frank was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, drying a bowl. Marla gasped, her hand shooting to her mouth. Her clutched appendage took on a life of its own, slowly relinquishing itself of her gaping jaw and extending a first finger to point at the specter.
“Frank?” she spoke hesitantly.
“Yeah,” the man replied, holding the now-dry bowl nestled in the faded blue-and-white-checkered kitchen towel in both hands. “Who else would you expect?”
“But you’re dead,” Marla spat, the words falling limply from her mouth of their own accord.
The 66-year old man looked around confusedly and turned to face Marla, his silver hair sparkling in the light from the kitchen, illuminated from behind like a halo. “What are you talking about? I’m just here washing up after lunch. You were gone so I made myself some soup. Where have you been?”
“No, I just got home from your funeral,” Marla spoke quietly. “You are dead. After the boating accident… You drowned. I went along to the hospital – they pronounced you dead on arrival.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Frank said. “What boating accident?”
“The sailboat… You were going to take me out,” Marla coughed, her brown eyes glossed over with tears.
“We don’t own a sailboat,” Frank said bluntly. “Sure, I’d thought about it – it seems like a cool retirement hobby – but it’s just too expensive. We’ve talked about this, we can’t afford it.”
Marla glanced out the bay window towards the driveway where the small sailboat sat on its trailer, its orange hull reminiscent of the Florida citrus industry, and also of the life jacket Frank should have been wearing when he’d been pulled under. Marla cringed and turned back toward the kitchen. She sighed and spoke again, “But the boat’s out front. The guys at the marina helped to bring it back… after you… drowned.”
Frank had retreated to the kitchen to put away the bowl. Marla followed. She stood in the doorway and studied the man intently. He was unmistakably her husband, there was no denying it even despite her having just witnessed his waxen lifeless body in the coffin at the wake before the burial, though this Frank was a slight bit more overweight than she remembered.
“Well, that’s not possible. Because I’m still here,” Frank grumbled. He turned to face her, his blue eyes edged with worry. “There now, it was probably just a dream. You knew I wanted a boat and your anxiety just formulated the worst-case scenario…”
“See for yourself,” Marla said, her voice lilting with every syllable.
Frank strode into the living room and stared out the bay window. The driveway was vacant save for some bits of Spanish moss strewn over the concrete from the neighboring live oak tree. He turned towards his wife.
“But there’s no boat,” he sighed. “You must have had a bad dream. Did you fall asleep in the car in the garage again?” Concern was written all over his face, deepening every crease and wrinkle. “Is that where you were? The garage?”
Marla glanced again at the boat, plain as day, and turned to face Frank. Her voice grew stubborn. “It’s right here. How can you miss it?” she said, pointing at the orange behemoth.
“Honey, there’s nothing there,” Frank exclaimed, exasperation creeping into his voice.
Marla huffed and strode to the entryway, gathering her shoes from where they waited in their haphazard heap alongside the braided rag run on the worn linoleum floor. She marched out the door as Frank took vigil in its open frame, still staring at her. She stomped out to the boat and slapped her hand on the fiberglass surface with a resounding smack. The boat was warm to the touch, having baked in the Florida sun. She turned back towards the front door.
“See!” she bellowed.
The door stood open, empty. No one was there, watching. Marla sighed again and walked back inside. The vacant house once again enveloped her in its oppressive emptiness. Frank was nowhere to be found.
So I guess it’s goodbye for now. Feel free to check out more of Jennifer Weigel’s work here on Haunted MTL or here on her website.
Today on Nightmarish Nature we’re gonna revisit The Blob and jiggle our way to terror. Why? ‘Cause we’re just jellies – looking at those gelatinous denizens of the deep, as well as some snot-like land-bound monstrosities, and wishing we could ooze on down for some snoozy booze schmoozing action. Or something.
Honestly, I don’t know what exactly it is that jellyfish and slime molds do but whatever it is they do it well, which is why they’re still around despite being among the more ancient organism templates still in common use.
Jellyfish are on the rise.
Yeah, yeah, some species like moon jellies will hang out in huge blooms near the surface feeding, but that’s not what I meant. Jellyfish populations are up. They’re honing in on the open over-fished ocean and making themselves at home. Again.
And, although this makes the sea turtles happy since jellies are a favorite food staple of theirs, not much else is excited about the development. Except for those fish that like to hide out inside of their bells, assuming they don’t accidentally get eaten hanging out in there. But that’s a risk you gotta take when you’re trying to escape predation by surrounding yourself in a bubble of danger that itself wants to eat you. Be eaten or be eaten. Oh, wait…
So what makes jellies so scary?
Jellyfish pack some mighty venom. Despite obvious differences in mobility, they are related to anemones and corals. But not the Man o’ War which looks similar but is actually a community of microorganisms that function together as a whole, not one creature. Not that it matters when you’re on the wrong end of a nematocyst, really. Because regardless what it’s attached to, that stings.
Box jellies are among the most venomous creatures in the world and can move of their own accord rather than just drifting about like many smaller jellyfish do. And even if they aren’t deadly, the venom from many jellyfish species will cause blisters and lesions that can take a long time to heal. So even if they do resemble free-floating plastic grocery bags, you’d do best to steer clear. Because those are some dangerous curves.
But what does this have to do with slime molds?
Absolutely nothing. I honestly don’t know enough about jellyfish or slime molds to devote the whole of a Nightmarish Nature segment to either, so they had to share. Essentially, this bit is what happened when I decided to toast a bagel before coming up with something to write about and spent a tad too much time in contemplation of my breakfast. I guess we’re lucky I didn’t have any cream cheese or clotted cream…
Oh, and also thinking about gelatinous cubes and oozes in the role-playing game sense – because those sort of seem like a weird hybrid between jellies and slime molds, as does The Blob. Any of those amoeba influenced creatures are horrific by their very nature – they don’t even need to be souped up, just ask anyone who’s had dysentery.
And one of the most interesting thing about slime molds is that they can take the shortest path to food even when confronted with very complex barriers. They are maze masterminds and would give the Minotaur more than a run for his money, especially if he had or was food. They have even proven capable of determining the most efficient paths for water lines or railways in metropolitan regions, which is kind of crazy when you really think about it. Check it out in Scientific American here. So, if we assume that this is essentially the model upon which The Blob was built, then it’s kind of a miracle anything got away. And slime molds are coming under closer scrutiny and study as alternative means of creating computer components are being explored.
Jellies are the Wave of the Future.
We are learning that there may be a myriad of uses for jellyfish from foodstuffs to cosmetic products as we rethink how we interact with them. They are even proving useful in cleaning up plastic pollution. I don’t know how I feel about the foodstuff angle for all that they’ve been a part of various recipes for a long time. From what I’ve seen of the jellyfish cookbook recipes, they just don’t look that appealing. But then again I hate boba with a passion, so I’m probably not the best candidate to consider the possibility.
So it seems that jellies are kind of the wave of the future as we find that they can help solve our problems. That’s pretty impressive for some brainless millions of years old critter condiments. Past – present – perpetuity! Who knows what else we’d have found if evolution hadn’t cleaned out the fridge every so often?
Feel free to check out more Nightmarish Nature here.
Continuing our junkyard dawg werewolf story from the previous St. Patrick’s Days… though technically he’s more of a wolfwere but wolfwhatever. Anyway, here are Part 1 from 2022, Part 2 from 2023 and Part 3 from 2024 if you want to catch up.
Yeah I don’t know how you managed to find me after all this time. We haven’t been the easiest to track down, Monty and I, and we like it that way. Though actually, you’ve managed to find me every St. Patrick’s Day since 2022 despite me being someplace else every single time. It’s a little disconcerting, like I’m starting to wonder if I was microchipped way back in the day in 2021 when I was out lollygagging around and blacked out behind that taco hut…
Anyway as I’d mentioned before, that Scratchers was a winner. And I’d already moved in with Monty come last St. Patrick’s Day. Hell, he’d already begun the process of cashing in the Scratchers, and what a process that was. It made my head spin, like too many squirrels chirping at you from three different trees at once. We did get the money eventually though.
Since I saw you last, we were kicked out of Monty’s crap apartment and had gone to live with his parents while we sorted things out. Thank goodness that was short-lived; his mother is a nosy one for sure, and Monty didn’t want to let on he was sitting on a gold mine as he knew they’d want a cut even though they had it made already. She did make a mean brisket though, and it sure beat living with Sal. Just sayin.
Anyway, we finally got a better beater car and headed west. I was livin’ the dream. We were seeing the country, driving out along old Route 66, for the most part. At least until our car broke down just outside of Roswell near the mountains and we decided to just shack it up there. (Boy, Monty sure can pick ‘em. It’s like he has radar for bad cars. Calling them lemons would be generous. At least it’s not high maintenance women who won’t toss you table scraps or let you up on the sofa.)
We found ourselves the perfect little cabin in the woods. And it turns out we were in the heart of Bigfoot Country, depending on who you ask. I wouldn’t know, I’ve never seen one. But it seems that Monty was all into all of those supernatural things: aliens, Bigfoot, even werewolves. And finding out his instincts on me were legit only added fuel to that fire. So now he sees himself as some sort of paranormal investigator.
Whatever. I keep telling him this werewolf gig isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be, and it doesn’t work like in the movies. I wasn’t bitten, and I generally don’t bite unless provoked. He says technically I’m a wolfwere, to which I just reply “Where?” and smile. Whatever. It’s the little things I guess. I just wish everything didn’t come out as a bark most of the time, though Monty’s gotten pretty good at interpreting… As long as he doesn’t get the government involved, and considering his take on the government himself that would seem to be a long stretch. We both prefer the down low.
So here we are, still livin’ the dream. There aren’t all that many rabbits out here but it’s quiet and the locals don’t seem to notice me all that much. And Monty can run around and make like he’s gonna have some kind of sighting of Bigfoot or aliens or the like. As long as the pantry’s stocked it’s no hair off my back. Sure, there are scads of tourists, but they can be fun to mess around with, especially at that time of the month if I happen to catch them out and about.
Speaking of tourists, I even ran into that misspent youth from way back in 2021 at the convenience store; I spotted him at the Quickie Mart along the highway here. I guess he and his girlfriend were apparently on walkabout (or car-about) perhaps making their way to California or something. He even bought me another cookie. Small world. But we all knew that already…
If you enjoyed this werewolf wolfwere wolfwhatever saga, feel free to check out more of Jennifer Weigel’s work here on Haunted MTL or here on her website.