Haunted MTL Original – Nigh – Berni E. Carrol
“Nigh” by Berni E. Carrol
‘You’ll die in the ocean,’ the fortune cookie reads and as the table laughs while sharing their
own, my breath catches at the stab in my breastbone.
I can’t believe what I’m reading.
‘You’ll die in the ocean. Lucky numbers 5 12 13.’
“Jackie?” Allyson asks, bumping into me playfully in the booth, “What’s yours say?”
The whole table stops talking to look at me, all seven faces towards me. Maybe looking through
me. Panic rises as I can feel them stare, pushes up hand-in-hand with vomit. I jump up and try
to hurry, but not too fast, to the bathroom. Enough people are watching me. I don’t need to
cause a scene.
I don’t quite make it. I squeeze my lips shut as some Lo Mein noodles and tea squirt onto my
shoes before I can erupt everything into the toilet. A hot mess, all around the bowl. All in the
bowl. A noodle caught in my throat as I keep heaving and squeeze my eyes shut so hard, I see
stars.
Coughing and spitting, I’m mortified when I hear the door open.
“Hey, babe?” Allyson asks sweetly and I wince away from it, “Are you okay?”
“Was it the cooking?” Fatima cuts in.
“Oh my God, Fatima. It’s not the fucking food,” Allyson sighs, “I’ve been coming here for years.
You were bitching through the whole thing. What’s your damage?”
The tension between them kicks up the bile again and I dry-heave.
“Oh, God. I’m sorry,” Allyson coos outside the stall door and it makes me want to cry, “You
want some water, honey?”
“Gross. On the toilet?”
“For real? You’re not helping —”
“I’m okay,” I croak out desperately to find some kind of silence between them.
“Do you want me to drive you home, hun?” Allyson offers, but I can hear the disappointment.
We had all been having a good day, maybe a great day, just hanging out. This is what being a
teenager was supposed to be about. Allyson had planned it all out. Arcade, shopping, eating,
and now the drive to the abandoned Dismount Point to party for the night. This was my first and
only experience as being a “real” teenager and I went with purpose.
“No!” I sputter, suddenly afraid that my plans and hopes will be unrealized because of a dumb
cookie, a stupid prank at the fortune factory. “No, ugh, I’m okay now. I think Fatima’s right.
Um, sorry. But it’s okay. Just give me a second.”
“Oh,” I hear Allyson say and Fatima scoff. “I’m sorry, Jackie, I swear I never had a bad
experience here.”
“It’s okay,” I hear myself say, again and again.
***
Like I said, there’s eight of us — Todd, Adam, Chad, Fatima, Allyson, myself, and two that I
always kind of forget about, Kaven and Travis? Trevor? They’re both ordinary enough to blend
in the chaos. But here we are, scattered over each other in Todd’s mom’s SUV, like a clown car,
heading towards Dismount Point. It’s two days before school starts again. Senior year for them
and Sophomore year for me.
I’ve known Allyson since I was eleven and she would say that we’re friends — really good
friends. She, being easily confident and beautiful, would see it as simple.
But I would say it’s complicated.
When I was a “boy,” I thought I was in love with her. Now that I’m a girl (in most ways), I’m not
so sure. My love is tainted by envy. My adoration is murky with sexuality and resentment. As
much as I love her, I can’t help but wonder if I want her or want to be her — inside that beautiful,
tan and curvy body. Lips that never smear her lipstick. Golden brown hair, thick and soft, that’s
wispy when up and uniform when down. Her eyes are green above her strong cheekbones and
smart, sharp chin.
Even as a girl, I am utterly nothing like her. I am still desperately waiting for the HRT to smooth
my brick-like body, to soften its coarseness, and thicken my drab wet-school-paper-towel-type
hair. It’s been four months and nothing. My doctor says to be patient, but I feel immune to it. I
feel like my body is rejecting it. I feel like a caterpillar that has been lied to with internet photos
of filter-covered butterflies. I am an ugly fucking duckling, no matter what I do.
I had wanted, had dreamed, of entering school looking like a girl, like the girl I imagine myself
as. I had dreamed of this for years, and now, two days away, I look like a monster, a freak.
Same crusty, zit-covered Gary, just with bigger tits and thicker arm hair that refuses to be waxed
or shaved without breaking out in rashes. Sweaty, smelly Gary that tried wearing a skirt for the
first time at school last year and literally pissed himself in embarrassment at lunch. Gary that
was called a “faggot” under the custodian’s breath as he mopped up the piss.
My stomach twists again, and I take a breath, and think about the waves of the ocean. I feel like
I’m floating there. My ugly fucking body floating and disintegrating in the salty moonlight.
In the car, I am with seven people who’ve taken pity on me at Allyson’s discreet insistence.
These are not my friends. I am just here, trying not to touch or be touched. Trying not to sweat
through the flowered dress that my mom bought me while I stayed at home. I pretend that I’m
origami, folding tightly in on myself.
“You okay?” Chad asks next to me.
“Yeah,” I lie, “I’m cool.”
***
It’s about 10 P.M. when we’re able to find a break in the fence and haul ourselves and the
coolers into the park. The sun is already down and gone, and the moonlight makes the sand
look like frosting.
As we reach near the water, I’m mesmerized for a few moments. It’s like watching silver scales
undulating across the horizon. The whole ocean like a giant creature weaving back and forth in
a hypnotic pull of witchcraft and hunger. The thick aroma of sand and salt, far-off fires and dead
ashes, greets me solemnly. My heart is drunk on years of spent adrenaline. The waves soothe
my mind, reaching each bony finger across the sand to beckon my anxiety.
In the distance is the shape of the lighthouse museum that our elementary used to go to every
class trip. But here, this part with its tufts of grass and driftwood, has been off-limits since the
late 90’s when people started disappearing or drowning. Rumor is that it’s cursed, but legally, it
just lost funding and no one has developed on it yet.
Not that it stops teenagers like us…
“Let’s build a fire here,” Fatima announces.
Travis/Trevor protests, but is out-numbered. I shrug my vote. We all collect driftwood and dead
grass, separating wordlessly.
Once the fire starts, so does the curious contemplation of bored and horny teenagers.
“Let’s play ‘Never Have I Ever’,” Chad says, flicking more grass into the slowly burning flames.
“No, no, no,” Adam interrupts, “We don’t have enough beer.”
“Let’s go classic,” Allyson smiles and spots me in the circle to raise her eyebrows. “How about
‘Truth or Dare’?”
I don’t know what she meant by the gesture, but it’s okay. I’m okay. Even when everyone
agrees, I’m okay. Even though I’ve never played this game before, I’m okay.
The game starts the way you’d expect — tame but flirtatious. I’m not called on for a while, which
I’m fine with. I hear about first crushes. I hear about small secrets: cheating, shoplifting, and
stealing money from their parents. I see the small dares of boys taking off their shirts and
Allyson throwing sand in her bra.
When I am called on by Adam, by pity I guess, he asks an easy Truth: who do I love more — my
mother or father? Mother. She at least buys me dresses and purses. She lets me watch makeup
tutorials on YouTube. She takes me to see Dr. Nguyen and Dr. Cook. She doesn’t understand
it, but she tries.
My dad, living in Toledo with his “mid-life wife,” hasn’t even called me back yet. I wrote him a
letter at the beginning of summer. I told him my name. I told him my feelings. Dr. Nguyen
coached me, called me brave, although I didn’t feel it. But Dad didn’t say anything and that
said enough…
I don’t mention all that to the group, though.
After a few more rounds it gets more…sexual, more prying. Chad admits to watching grandma
porn on occasion. Adam talks about his uncle with a heroin addiction stealing money from his
piggy bank when he was a kid and putting a knife to his throat. Kavin is dared to show his dick
for a second. Fatima asks Allyson about her first time and I hear about Brandon Teramin from
summer camp. My stomach twists again and the ocean is so loud and sharp in my ears. The
moonlight seems to dim.
It goes around and around me until finally Chad asks me, “So, are you, like…going to get the
whole thing? Like the surgery?”
“Oh my God,” Allyson interrupts, “you can’t just ask that!”
For a moment, I’m relieved. The faces are away from me, at Allyson, as she rescues me. But
then, somewhere deep, something crawls inside me, right to my pounding heart. It’s a feeling
I’ve denied myself often. I feel pissed off. Watching her speak for me, it pisses me off.
“Why not?” I ask suddenly, shocking both of them. “Why can’t he? Isn’t that the game? He can
ask anything and I’m supposed to answer? Why am I not allowed to play, Allyson?”
All seven have turned to me again, but in this quiver of fear and anger, I don’t care.
“Gary —,” she slips, “Jackie, I didn’t mean it —”
“I don’t know,” I tell Chad honestly, “Maybe. I want to, but…”
I leave it at that. I’m still burning in anger, in frustration.
We’re all silent until Fatima says, gently, to me, “It’s your turn.”
I forgot.
“Allyson,” I pick and she quietly responds, “Truth.”
“What did it feel like when you were fucked?”
Her perfect sea-glass eyes widen. “Excuse me?”
“What did it feel like,” I repeat, “when you were fucked?”
The years of resentment bubble up in those words. I was always Allyson’s friend: watching from
the corners, listening to her stories, living through her and wanting to be with her. These people
are not my tribe but hers. This place is not my place but hers. This world, this future, is not mine.
Was never mine and could never be mine.
I was so fucking stupid to think it was love. I was so stupid to think I should love her. I can’t
compare. There’s no comparison and I hate it. I hate her for how she makes me feel about
myself.
“Answer the question.”
Incredulous, she shakes her head, “What’s your damage, Gary?”
“Jackie,” I correct her sharply.
“What’s this about?” She counters, more agitated, “What the fuck?”
“I want to know,” I tell her, matter-of-factly, “how it felt when you got dicked.”
Shaking her head, dumb-struck, she leans back and all seven pairs of eyes are finally on her for
once. It feels so powerful. It feels like vindication and heart-break.
“I don’t know why you’re doing this…but it hurt, okay? It hurt. Okay?”
But my sick, greedy heart wants more. I want to imagine it. “Like, the whole time?”
“Dude,” Travis/Trevor says to diffuse the situation, but I snap, “I’m not your ‘dude’.”
“Yes,” Allyson breathes out, “Yeah, okay? The whole time.”
“What’s it to you?” Fatima asks and I deftly answer, “Wait your turn to find out.”
After that, you’d think that the game would have ended, but my question only fueled it. Thus
began a more ruthless, a more desperate game, as we drank everything we brought and cut
into our darkest questions. These bland shadows that I have spent most of my summer with,
that I barely knew, I quickly discovered their fears and fantasies in a few short hours.
I was dared to grope them, to be touched, to show my misshapen tits in comparison to the
other girls’, and to marvel at their own secret malformations. I watched as girls kissed each
other and boys kissed each other. Tears were shed and they became human to me. It was
magical. It was exhilarating. It was terrifying. I felt like I had been robbed, utterly robbed, if this
was what being a teenager was supposed to be. It stuck in my throat like a long Lo Mein noodle.
I have been robbed of being human.
Around midnight was when Allyson asked me if I was in love with her and when I answered
honestly that I don’t know. All I know is that she’s perfect. And she laughed like music when I
said that.
It’s around 2 A.M. when Adam pulls Fatima closer to him and she doesn’t seem to mind, and
they kiss for the first time. In our own quiet space, Allyson sits next to me and we watch the
waves. She asks what my fortune was, and I reach into my purse and dig it from the bottom.
Without hesitation I hand it to her. To my surprise, she laughs.
“That’s pretty fucking morbid.”
I don’t laugh and she notices. Like at the restaurant, she bumps against me a little. “So…what’s
up, buttercup?”
It stings before I even can say it. “I, uh…wasn’t expecting to go back home tonight.”
“Oh?” She asks, but doesn’t get it.
“Uh, yeah, or…like, ever. I, um, don’t want to start school. It’s like…really peaceful here. I
remember coming here with my parents, like, you know, before it closed…and…it’s just really
peaceful, you know…? Like, maybe I might stay here.”
“Oh,” she breathes out. She gets it.
Resting her head on my shoulder, we stay like that for a while and I’m surprised I’m not bawling
my eyes out. Instead, the chatter of the dying fire and hushing waves carve out my sadness and
her warmth seeps into my skin. The water, its massive dark body, now glitters like a gem being
cut, but its bone-white fingers still claw at the beach towards me.
After a few minutes, I can feel vibrations and I realize that she’s singing, low and sweet, the
song ‘Jackie Blue’ and my heart melts. That’s when I know that I’m 100% in love with her.
I want to be her, I want to be with her, and I want her to love me. I want everything. Everything
that I can’t have.
“Hey,” she says a while later, when everyone is asleep, “I want to show you something. Come
with me?”
I follow her down the beach, stumbling on the sand and gristle of weeds along the way, heels in
my hand. She’s faster than me, but keeps looking back, laughing breathlessly to wait for a
second for me. I keep calling out to her, trying to catch up, and she just laughs and lets the
moon color all of her curves with its sugary gleam.
When she reaches the water, she jumps to face me. Coughing, I reach her, “What —? What the
heck?”
Again, that music lights me on fire as she laughs and takes a deep breath from the mouth of the
ocean.
“Do you really think I’m perfect?” She asks with a wild smile.
“Well,” I mumble and feel again like a rough brick on the beach, sinking into the erosion of the
waves.
“It’s funny that you think that,” Allyson says, stepping closer to me, “Only certain people can see
it. Weird, huh?”
She falters a moment, maybe a flash of hesitation, before she brushes her fingers against my
face. I flush. I can only hear my heart and the ocean. I can still see the green of her eyes in the
darkness, floating in her beautiful face and soaking me clean.
“Did you know that I used to come here, too? I mean, when it was still open? I guess we all did.
My step-mom did before she left my dad. Late at night, like this, when I was around ten, I guess.
She said that she had something to show me and I think I just thought that it was a game or
something. Like a bonding moment or something.
“I didn’t see her as perfect. Some people did, though. It was right before she left. Do you remember her?”
Vaguely. I really wasn’t sure if Allyson was drunk still, or about to tell me something bad, like
really bad. “I guess…?”
“Well, she showed me something that night. Something really powerful. And I guess what I’m saying is that there are a few kinds of people I can be around and few that I can’t…Jackie. I…didn’t know that you thought that. I thought that we were…friends, I guess.”
Her hand is still there, but I feel my heart being deli-sliced as she talks. I try not to cry because I
can feel it gear up. This is going to be rejection. And now I’ll have to die knowing that the one
person that I loved didn’t love me back.
I hate this.
As soon as the tears come, she cups my face, but I don’t want her to see it. I try to back away,
but she doesn’t let me.
“It’s not you, Jackie,” she says quietly and my heart is bleeding out, I can feel it bleeding all over
my lungs and I can barely breathe, “Jackie, listen. Listen. I’m sorry. But I don’t think either of us
are who we thought each other was. I’m sorry. I am. I do love you, okay?”
I hide my face from her with my shaking hands.
“Listen, listen. Hey, listen. We both can get what we want, what we need, though, okay? Just for
tonight. Just right now, okay?”
Her hands are suddenly gone and I’m cold in the August heat. Through tears, I see her take a
step back and wistfully smile. Carefully, she reaches down to her top’s edge and slowly pulls it
over her head. I watch, unsure what the hell is going on and what I should do.
Placing her hands on her body, she trails down and pushes down her short shorts. Just in a bra
and black underwear. I am still flummoxed – pained and shocked and aroused. The wistful smile
curls more shyly and she unlatched her bra and I’m suddenly staring at her naked chest. Tears
stop like a faucet, more out of surprise, as I watch, agape.
Her long fingers again trail down her body and reach her ruffled panties before stopping. She
bites her lip a little, looks vulnerable but set in her decision, “Hey, you gotta catch up again,
huh?”
You’ve got to be kidding me.
Allyson nods to my dress, “C’mon, Jackie. For tonight…”
Gob-smacked, my hands move before my brain can process them. Maybe because I’m drunk,
maybe because I can feel the desperation of the moment, I just breathe and allow myself to
grab my dress and pull it over my head. I would have worn a nicer bra, prettier underwear, if I
had known. I would have bought some. But before I can feel too much shame, her panties are
off and she’s completely naked, like a painted goddess, right in front of me.
Slowly, she backs into the rushing water as it laps up her feet and calves. “Hurry up, before I
lose my nerve.”
Pulling off the bra, I wished I had more and better to offer, and I pause at the underwear that’s
not doing any kind of job of hiding my painfully confused erection. She’s slipping away from me,
so I take a deep breath and vow to just live in the moment, no matter what this is, no matter
what it becomes. I suck in that bitter air and follow her in.
Wading out, she pulls me further. The ocean is cold but alive between us. Her hands are on
mine, sometimes drifting further, towards my hips and shoulders. But I can’t touch her yet.
The waves lick up our breasts and collarbones before she grabs me and kisses me. It’s very
unexpected and I gasp into her open mouth. Her tongue melts me from head to toe. I wonder
how this could be happening, how this can be real. It’s pity, I know, but I cling to her like a buoy.
Finally pulling away, I feel dizzy and drunk again. Her smile again is wistful.
“You’ve been a good friend to me,” she murmurs, “Thank you. I wish you knew how wonderful
you were…”
I felt a sting of shame, thinking she means as a “boy” and I’m jealous of him, that facade I left
behind.
She puts her lips against mine again, but it doesn’t really lead into a kiss, but some kind of hold.
Furiously pressing her whole naked body against mine, it’s sharp and tight. I’m about to pull
away, but realize I can’t breathe. Or I can breathe, but it’s saltwater – I realize that we’re
suddenly underwater.
I struggle to pull away, thinking maybe it’s a wave or undertow, but then I realize that she’s
clutching onto me and we’re sinking deeper. I push against her, trying to scream, trying to get
air, but her hands are like concrete against me. We are sinking further down. I thrash against
her, but she doesn’t flinch.
As we drift, I somehow can feel something in the darkness, like an eel crawling into my
stomach, a thought, a feeling, ‘But it’s so peaceful…Just let this happen. Let me hold you a little
longer…Just for tonight. This is what we both want…”
I can feel it wriggling into my chest, against my stretched lungs and beating heart. Slimy skin
inside me, pulsating against the cells of my being. There are little teeth gnawing into the bones
and tissues there, into the vulnerability and fear that I’ve sewn away for so long.
Beneath, with flashes of moonlight, I swear I see her face change. Her mouth opens and elongates, almost like a horse. Her eyes turn black, inky black, as her jaw widens. Flat teeth make way as the jaw unhinges like a snake and I can, in between the silver streaks of pulsating light, make out the cavern of her throat and stomach as she begins to swallow me. And that voice with its little teeth still digging into my heart, “Yesyesyes, Gary, let this happen…”
There’s something strange at the cusp of passing out and those sloppy steps towards death — a
will and need to survive.
Suddenly, it’s not about school in two days, or my stupid tits, or brick-like body, or the fortune
cookie and the plan I had before this all happened. It’s primal, it reacts before I can tell it to or
ask it. It is a force alive in me that I never asked for, nor knew.
As the ocean swallows me, I swallow it. I clutch onto the bony fingers of a panicked death
and bend them backwards. I claw at the flesh holding me here, at the thing that entered my
heart and leeched off the sorrow there. I tear at the pity weighing me down with my bare teeth
and taste its flesh like a shark. I scrape and bite and push that mouth apart until I can taste its bitter blood all the way down my throat. I swallow it. I am the one who takes her apart. I am the one who defies it. I am the one who will survive it.
Crawling from the waves, I am still coughing, still shaking, naked here in the sand. The moon
burns into my eyes, freshly cut from the reciprocating waves. I have no energy, no words. Like a
baby, I babble and cry. Crudely wet, I clutch onto and into the Earth. Fresh from the womb, I
gasp for life, again and again, until I fall into a deep, empty sleep.
***
I’m at the police station, still in awe, still silent. They call it shock. We’re waiting for an
ambulance. The sun pours into the detective’s coffee cup after he finishes the coffee there.
“And that was the last time you saw your friend?” Detective Starr asks again.
I nod, shakily. My throat is burning, no matter how much water I drink. I can still taste her blood under the curl of my tongue.
“You just went out for a swim?”
Nodding again, Fatima wraps her arm around me. “Yeah, she told you that.”
“Have you found Allyson yet?” Adam asks.
The Detective leans back and I watch him carefully, afraid he may somehow know, may
somehow be able to look right through me, “No, but…she’ll probably turn up. There’s a reason
why that beach is off limits, you know? It’s real quick to pull you out. Kids like you get drunk out
there and drown all the time…All the time…”
His cold blue eyes focus on me, “You got really lucky, kid. Call it an act of God, huh?”
Slowly, I nod again, and look down at my still-wrinkled hands. “I always thought it was so
peaceful there…”
“No, never been. Even back in the lighthouse days. Sea monsters and shit like that. But no, it
pulls you right into its mouth and doesn’t spit you out…I lost an uncle to it, way back when I
was a kid. He was there one minute and gone the next. Perfect day, too. Not a cloud in the sky.”
“Poor Allyson…” Fatima says quietly.
We hear the sirens of the ambulance pulling in and I nod again.
Poor Allyson.
Honestly, I don’t know what happened. I can only look back with shaky hands, like watching a
play I was part of but didn’t perform. An old story of survival and defiance. And maybe that’s
who I am, and who I always was — the one who is different enough to foil the expectations of
others. Even poor Allyson, whatever the hell happened. Whatever that was.
I don’t even know what my next steps will be, but I think I now have my whole life to figure it out.
“Are you okay?” Fatima asks gently, handing me my purse. Something small flutters out and she picks it up, handing it to me.
I snort softly and tightly fold the fortune in on itself before throwing it in the police station’s trash.
“Yeah,” I honestly answer. “I think so.”
Berni E. Carrol loves to knit while watching horror because the scarier it is, the faster she knits! She lives with her lovely wife in a lovely old brick home and favorite pick-me-ups are buying stickers and looking for interesting rocks on the beach. 1st place winner of the office door decorating contest every Halloween.
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.