MIRTH

By Celeste Plowden
 
IT WAS AN early hour on a cold, spring evening in the streets of Hudson, New York. Dusk was barely beginning to envelop the light of day and a faint white sun hovered low over the tops of the brick buildings that lined the main street, and barely lit the dim blue sky. Most of the antique shops had already closed for the day, leaving only their display windows, full of lavish artifacts, furniture, and paintings, available for perusal, to the few incidental passersby. A slender female figure walked hurriedly down one block, and then another, stopping at each saloon and peering in. She lingered at the open doors, only briefly, before deciding to carry on with her brisk stroll, and find the next bar window or door to peer through. Occasionally, a couple or a party of three would happen by, engaged in their own leisurely conversations, and disappear into one of these establishments. The more this lone woman walked, the more agitated her steps became. She was aware of the sharp echo that her footsteps made on the pavement, and she perceived that anyone who came near her could sense the despair she felt in searching for a place to enter and be comfortable for a time. Her shoulders and neck begin to tighten in a growing desperation of somewhere to go and sit, in hopes of striking up a conversation with another patron, as a respite for her solitude.

She saw small groups of people within each of these barrooms, as if they belonged there, with their friends, talking easily and shifting their heads and bodies in a relaxed way, now that their workday was over. Every alehouse she stopped at seemed to say, ‘No, not here, you will be more alone in here than out roaming the streets.’ Should she simply go home to her dogs, instead of continuing this fruitless search for some company? The dogs would be happy to see her and greet her with wagging tails and kisses. They would surround her with their warm, white fur in her bed as she sobbed in loneliness. It would be better than this tiring expedition. Finally, the best idea, she told herself, would be to stop here, at Dog Ears, the bookstore-pub, where she could bury her forlorn expression in a book or two. In here, she could look inconspicuous, as she tried to drink and mingle with the crowd inside, but she only stood there, in her short skirt and unzipped leather jacket, the front edges of which fluttered in the waxing breeze. She wavered about entering this place, too, and brooded about how her desperation for company had sent her to look in barroom windows, hoping to give her a distraction from her loneliness.

She thought of the word lonely, and what a fatuous, cute-sounding, little word it is. Lonely is one of the stupidest words in the English language. It in no way describes the depth of the meaning as it really is. It sounds trite and diminutive to call someone lonely or even say, ‘I’m lonely.’

It reminds one of a nickname, like ‘Suzie’ or ‘Ricky,’ cute, happy sounding names that are short and unimportant. Her mind coiled around this word, lonely, as she stood immobilized outside the barroom door, unable to enter. She thought of the dictionary definition, so embedded in her memory, ‘affected with, characterized by, or causing a depressing feeling of being alone; destitute of sympathetic or friendly companionship, intercourse, or support.’ The words soared over her in a long line of memories of desolation and abandonment, since her husband had left her for Eternity.

By this time, the descending sun had disappeared from sight, and a silver moon was rising in the darkening blue of the heavens. The woman felt paralyzed in her place, unable to decide whether to go home or enter the bookstore. Soon she would decide, or she thought she would, but for now she was immobilized and was beginning to find a sort of restfulness in her indecision. Her mind wandered over her activities of the past week, of everything she had done to pass the time, and find some enjoyment. She was weary of trying to occupy her days with endless things to do, always alone. ‘My life is just filler,’ she thought to herself, ‘it is all such drudgery without someone to talk to, to be glad to see me, to kiss me. Sometimes I can’t take another minute of this life. If it weren’t for the dogs…’

‘Are you going in?’ she heard a man’s voice ask. She looked around, but there was no one in sight. ‘Over here,’ he said, answering her question as to the owner of that voice. A set of pale, spindly, fingers waved at her from the shop entrance next door. She looked closer and saw the outline of a slender man, standing on the staircase leading to the semi-enclosed archway of the building entrance. The sign above the doorway read, MIRTH, LTD.

‘I don’t know, I guess so,’ she replied and began to shift her feet in nervousness. Now she was embarrassed to have been noticed standing and staring for so long, hoping that he hadn’t also guessed at her state of mind while she had done so. He smiled and made it obvious that he was observing her lovely slim figure, her platinum hair, and guessing at the colour of her eyes. She observed his expression which seemed to read, ‘She will be perfect,’ and she waited for him to make his move. ‘I was just closing up, but why not come and let me show you my shop, first, and have a drop of sherry with me?’

His manner was refined and inviting. Maybe he would find her interesting, maybe she would enjoy the conversation, and her evening would have amounted to more than just empty filler. ‘Sure,’ she answered, ‘that would be very nice,’ and she quickly deserted her unsocial spot in front of the bookstore bar. She walked demurely towards the man and ascended the staircase into the dark, arched doorway of his shop. He seemed to glide out of her way as he held open the door for her, looking intensely at her as she passed by him. He made it apparent that he noticed what a rare, delicate beauty she had, with her opalescent skin and large, round eyes. They were an unusual colour of blue, intense aquamarine. Her almost colourless blonde hair draped over her shoulders like fine silk. She smiled faintly at him as she stepped forward to enter the shop, her delicate, well-drawn lips curling slightly upward at the corners, while the rest of her expression maintained a cool sadness. ‘Evan Mirth,’ he said and offered his hand, smiling back at her.

She accepted his handshake and answered simply, ‘Maud.’ She was struck by the coffee-black colour of his eyes and the boldness with which they looked at her. His hair, too, was black, with only a hint of grey. He wore it spiked on the crown, while the length ended in dishevelled locks falling like dark vapor over his shoulders, giving him a striking appearance. Over his blue jeans, he wore a black tuxedo jacket, with a white silk scarf trailing over the lapels. He had not seemed quite so tall or pale when she first viewed him standing on the steps of his shop, but now his gaunt stature seemed somehow foreboding and disquieting. He gazed down on her, with uncomfortable directness, into her eyes.

She did not hesitate but entered freely, without restraint in any part of her being. Such a formidable man might be interesting, or romantic, and if not, she could always thank him for the drink, and leave, or so she briefly told herself. Leave? Indeed not leave, for she already knew that she would stay until the evening unfolded its story for her, at Mirth, Ltd. At least something interesting would happen to her tonight, even if it were only a conversation with an unusual man.

Once inside, her host changed his demeanour. The trace of chill that had pervaded his presence in the doorway had vanished, and he became affable and pleasant. He offered to give her a tour of his shop. With a melodramatic sweep of his hand, he said, ‘I give you Mirth, Ltd., my dear Maud.’

Like many of the antique shops in Hudson, the front room was overcrowded with an array of expensive-looking eclectic objects, and every space of the walls was covered with portrait paintings from past centuries and gave the room a faint smell of musty canvas and antique varnish. Here and there stood ladies in frothy white dresses of the Belle Epoch, grand gentlemen with their dogs and horses, poets and musicians in contemplative poses, and a Limner child or two holding a ball or a kitten. On the floor were tall brass candelabra, with a puffed diamond pattern and scrolls, and covered over with the soft gold patina of age; decorations for a grand hearth, a pair of Louis XV male and female ormolu figures in elaborate costumes of their days at Versailles, with powdered wigs and lacy cuffs, reclining towards each other in passion; scores of timeworn mirrors with murky glass, some with cracks at the corners, all adorned in faded gilt frames, leaned on table legs; and a very large assortment of ceramic figurines of birds, such as blue jays, nuthatches, indigo buntings, sparrows, and goldfinches, either perched on tables or hung from the ceiling by golden wires which lit up the area with breathless wonderment as they swayed gently when a prospective purchase passed by. A set of tall, heavily carved, Jacobean side chairs lined one wall, and a colonial brass chandelier was haphazardly placed to their side. Against another wall, a large table was laden with ladies’ painted silk fans with artfully posed lovers or strollers in exquisite gardens. There were cut crystal goblets, decanters, and vases, various sized mother of pearl opera glasses, carved ebony bookends, and a fantastically large Meissen Peacock, in turquoise and indigo, that was as miraculously smooth and solid as it was the day its porcelain body had been painted and fired nearly three centuries earlier.

A low standing bookshelf displayed a few vintage leatherbound books by Poe, Shelley, Goethe, and other romantic writers. Art Deco-style silver cigarette cases were carefully laid out next to each other, Bakelite dress clips and hair ornaments in muted tones of yellow, red, or black, and stacks of yellowed handwritten letters and party invitations from bygone days sitting in several neat piles on one of the shelves. Draped over the top of the bookshelf was a rather large, unpleasant-looking skin of some sort, with coarse hair on the top side. It had a dried and hardened tail attached at one end, which looked like a donkey’s tail, tasselled at the very tip. ‘What’s that?’ asked Maud curiously.

The proprietor grinned broadly and replied, ‘Of all the beautiful objects here, you inquire about this one?’

‘I already know what all of the other very beautiful objects are,’ she responded gently. ‘This doesn’t look like it belongs in this shop.’

‘It’s “the Skin of Sorrow” or “La Peau de Chagrin.” Make a wish as you touch it, see what happens,’ he offered with a shrug. ‘Just a conversation piece.’

‘Not a very mirthy-sounding name to be in a boutique of such stunning finds. What’s so sorrowful about making a wish?’ She did not expect an answer, for the truth was, that many wishes are based on desperation and malcontent. ‘You must know then that the author Balzac wrote a book of that title,’ she went on looking directly into Evan’s eyes, as if expecting some reaction. He paused, gazed back momentarily with intensity in his expression as if his jest had been exposed for treachery. ‘But I haven’t read it,’ she concluded, her lips melting into a tranquil smile as she looked away from him and began to focus on the hide with amusement in her eyes.

‘This one’s a fake, I think, anyway.’ His hand grazed the skin, and he motioned for her to touch it. ‘See, it doesn’t feel like a hide at all, probably polyurethane or something. A counterfeit skin, a pretend wish, why not do it just for fun?’ His face relaxed and his manner was tempting and jocular as he spoke. He patted the large hide tenderly, as if stroking a pet dog or cat.

Maud was swept up in his jest, and she began to feel more at ease and forget about her feelings of loneliness. She did not answer him immediately, but kept staring at the skin in amusement, noticing the distinct odour of leather as she drew closer to it. ‘Okay, let me think of a wish, a genuine wish for a counterfeit skin,’ she replied, with a lilting, airy voice.

Her host moved aside and began to walk out of the room. ‘Wait, let’s have a toast to your wish,’ he stated. ‘Amontillado or port?’ he offered.

‘I’d like to try some port. I’ve never had any before, thank you.’ Now she was actually beginning to feel comfortable and to realize how fleeting her sad moments had become. She would live in this moment, within the walls of Mirth, Ltd., as fully as she dared.

He returned promptly with two small wine glasses and offered her one. Maud noticed the wine in each of the two glasses was a dark red colour, but they looked much different. Her wine looked only a little thick, like a cream sherry, but the one that Evan kept for himself was a brighter red colour and had a much heavier appearance, sticky and viscous. With only a slight motion, the liquid adhered to the inside of the glass and stained it. She lifted her glass to toast his and took a quick sip. It was delicious and sweet, and the rich flavour seemed to intoxicate her immediately. She then inhaled her wine with delight, breathing in the aroma of caramel and violets, and took another sip. ‘What are you drinking?’ she asked her host, knowing full well it was not the same substance as hers.

‘Oh, it’s a new Amontillado I picked up to try,’ he answered casually. She nodded and giggled at his answer.

‘It smells a bit metallic,’ she noted and wondered what his kisses would taste like after he had a few more sips of the red substance.

‘Does it?’ Evan swirled the glass just under his nose. ‘I hadn’t noticed,’ he responded lightly and moved back closer to the skin. ‘Take a moment and decide what your desire is, and place your hand on the skin, and silently make your secret wish. Then we’ll toast to it again, to really lock it in,’ he instructed, with delight in his eyes.

Maud was caught up in his merrymaking and was ready to drink another glass of Evan’s port and let her weary spirit drift up into pleasure. She wasted no time in forming her wish, for it was her daily hope: passion and connection with a man who would love her and become her partner.

‘Evan Mirth might be the man,’ she mused as she glanced back at him, noticing his cool onyx eyes, and how they seemed to pierce her thoughts and guess what she was thinking.

While holding her wine glass, she took a few steps, placed her free hand upon the hide, closed her eyes, and conjured a wish of joy and pleasure that this night could unfold and surprise her with her desired dream of rapport and attachment with a new mate. ‘Let me find a connection tonight, with Evan,’ she thought to herself, then quickly withdrew her hand, opened her eyes, and held her glass up to his, in celebration of her request upon the ‘Skin of Sorrow.’

‘To Maud, may her deepest desire be fulfilled,’ he concluded, and they consumed their drinks, with cheer and whimsy. He pulled out two of the Jacobean side chairs, and they sat facing one another, speaking easily, while she indulged in several glasses of Evan Mirth’s fine port.

They were immediately entangled in conversation, in every aspect, with words, with eyes, with spirits. They spoke of everything, or of nothing, in sometimes rapid phrases that shot like rockets through Maud’s heart. Other words followed in a peaceful lull, which was a quietude that penetrated her mind, with a sense of comfort and well-being. Was it hours or only minutes that they spoke in this secret tunnel of shared thoughts? It was a vital connection, belonging only to them, they both knew it, and openly conveyed this through their deep gazing into the other’s eyes.

Maud lost all inhibitions. The warmth of the wine infused her speech, her demeanour, and she spoke freely to him about herself. She told him of her career as a fabric designer. She spoke of her love of Whistler and Monet, of Handel’s operas and Scarlatti’s harpsichord sonatas, and of her fascination with historical tidbits and anecdotes. She recounted the scores of nineteenth century novels she had read over the years and her first fascination of them through reading Hardy, the Brontes, and later, Zola, Balzac, and Tolstoy.

She showed him the pendant she was wearing, an antique Wedgwood medallion, depicting a head of Medusa in black, on a blue background. She spoke to him eagerly of her cameo collection, and her newly acquired interest in Staffordshire earthenware, and Depression era fabric designs. It seemed to Maud that this man had come to her, so effortlessly, and his voice, like a peaceful blue mist, was seeping into her spirit. She responded naturally to his words, and a warm tangle of speech rose above them and wove around them. These swirling words and thoughts of brilliant or mundane topics were meant only for them to understand, for conversing with him was as easy as breathing. She looked at him, assessing him differently than she had at the initial meeting on the shop steps.

Was this a flesh and blood man, or only a remnant of fantasies she had entertained? She had often craved for such a figure to enter her life. His manner was gentle and attentive, and his cheekbones, which lifted sharply above the mellowing mid face, were even more apparent as he was speaking. Maud thought he possessed the stunning look of aged nobility.

Such a rare figure of elegance and allure could only have come out of some dream of longing she had, and a prayer for a true soul mate. His dark eyes had a strange look of someone looking past reality, into her dreams. Evan put his drink aside and took her hands in his, and looked into her aquamarine eyes. She hoped he was becoming enraptured by her graceful features, with her platinum hair falling over her cheeks and cascading down over her shoulders. Maud knew that he wanted to kiss her, and hold her, and make her his own, and he must know that she would acquiesce.

And Maud also knew she was ready for this connection to be sealed, so caught up was she in his attentions and his compelling manner. Earlier, she had placed her hand upon the large hide and obliged her desire to come true this evening. She glanced at the skin, still in its place on top of the bookshelf, but noticed that it had appeared to have shrunken in size since she had made her wish. ‘Look,’ she said and pointed to the hide, which once had draped very far down over the bookcase, concealing a large portion of the topmost shelves. Now it barely covered the very top shelf of the bookcase. ‘It was much larger when I made my wish, wasn’t it?’ she asked.

‘Doubtful,’ answered Evan, with a quizzical shake of his head. He continued gazing warmly at her, ‘It’s just the wine.’ He motioned to her to pat the skin again and said, ‘Make another wish, and we’ll toast.’

Maud quickly seized upon his offer, went to the skin, and placed her hand on it as before. As if rejoicing in her luck of having Evan’s company, she declared, ‘Okay, I wish you’d kiss me, Mr. Mirth,’ and her laughter echoed throughout the shop, from the painted tin ceilings, through the plaster walls, and down to the dark oak flooring, permeating every object on the tabletops and shelving with her jollity. The portraits on the walls seemed to look down upon the pair in anticipation of what was to come.

With two quick steps, Evan was standing in front of Maud. He took her elated face in his hands, drew her to him, and kissed her passionately and repeatedly. Eventually, he took her hand and led her to the back room of his shop, where they tumbled onto a gold brocade sofa and continued their diversion, interweaving dialogue and laughter between the kisses.

‘Would you like some more port?’ he asked, as he reached for a bottle on a nearby table.

‘No, thanks, I’ve had enough for now,’ she giggled, ‘but I would like to use your powder room.’

He pointed out towards the front room of the shop. ‘To your right,’ he instructed.

Maud walked out into the main room and headed towards the front of the shop, noticing the wishing skin had shrunken even more. Now it lay almost flat on the top of the bookcase, not obscuring anything in the way of books on even the highest shelf. The tail was barely a stump with a small tassel at the end. This unnerved her, because she knew that despite the few glasses of port she had drunk, she was still clear headed enough to know reality from illusion. She was about to call out to her host, but restrained herself, anxious that he would once again denounce her eyesight in the matter.

Now she was sure that he had tried to deceive her the first time she had mentioned that the skin appeared smaller. What was this so called ‘fake Skin of Sorrow’ that he had encouraged her to touch, to succumb to? It was obvious that he knew that she would grasp at the chance, however false, to make her burning wish for love and connection. There was something unnatural about Evan, something otherworldly and disquieting, notwithstanding the charm he had over her and her vulnerability. She also knew that she had allowed him to beguile her, and she had not cared at the time, because her daily isolation overshadowed everything else in her world. Her gripping loneliness had needed to be snuffed out. It still did.

Maud tried to put the thought of the shrinking hide out of her mind as she entered the bathroom. Catching a glimpse of herself in the small mirror above the sink, she recoiled in horror at what she saw. Her neck appeared to be smeared with blood, and looking closer, her skin was pierced in several places just under her ear lobe. How was it possible that she had not noticed her romantic partner biting her, penetrating her flesh, and drawing blood?

Heat flashed like lightning from the base of her neck, down her back, to the arches of her feet. Her body weakened with a sudden overpowering nausea, and there was a loud ringing in her ears. Maud bent over the sink with her hand over her mouth in order to keep from gasping and possibly exposing her repulsion, but she forced herself to stand up straight and looked into the mirror again. Had her reflection told the truth about her bloody neck and the animal-like punctures that caused the bleeding? Yes, she had seen correctly the first time.

She stared at her image as though she could wish it all away. Perhaps a few moments of gazing at herself would make the monstrosity of what he had done to her fade quietly and disappear, or at least not seem so severe, but the reflection of her bloody neck loomed out at her, and she had to accept the full force of what she saw.

Who was this man, this creature, Evan Mirth, who had done this to her, she asked herself. Would the looking glass tell her? More importantly, who was she? The ends of her platinum hair, too, were tinted with blood, and her eyes were locked open wide with fear. She could not tear herself from the seeing eye of the mirror.

She must compose herself quickly, or better yet, why shouldn’t she just make an excuse and leave? She had brought her purse with her to the bathroom and was still wearing her jacket, due to the chill of the shop. Why not just dart out the front door? Evan would not notice in time to catch her, unless he had crept back into the main room. She should steal herself away from this place and its creepy proprietor. Hadn’t she seen enough, between the shrinking animal hide, and now, the bites and blood all over her neck? Yes, she must leave immediately, her mind told her, but her feet were unwilling to walk out.

Maud recalled a female acquaintance who had smugly told her, ‘There are worse things than loneliness.’ The remark had stung her, as though the other woman saw herself as somehow superior, by not succumbing to such a stupid thing as Maud’s forlorn condition, loneliness. Was it so unusual to want close companionship, and love? Time and again she had been treated with disdain for her admission of loneliness to such ageing, divorced women. She certainly had not found any comfort there.

As her nervousness and indecision increased, she heard her host calling out to her from the back of the shop. She had to think of what to do. Perhaps it wasn’t blood on her neck. It could be that Evan had gotten his fingers in his glass of port of the same colour and stained her neck with it while kissing her and touching her, or maybe he had spiked her drink and she was only hallucinating. Such things happen, she told herself, as if any such act could be excused. ‘I had to wash my neck,’ she called back.

‘Looks like you got some of your port all over it.’

Maud quickly wiped the blood off her neck with a piece of paper towel. ‘On my way,’ she called again. She would not leave. She would go back to this intriguing man who had made it clear that he valued their ripening connection as much as she did. If she left, what awaited her would certainly be worse, so ‘danger be damned,’ she thought to herself. No, there is nothing as terrible as being ‘destitute of human companionship.’

Still quivering in fear, she hastily returned from her rounds to the powder room and joined Evan on the couch where he was still seated. She had been very careful not to give another glance to the hide as she passed by. Maud rubbed her shoulders and arms with her hands as she sat down, and Evan saw that she was shivering. He pointed to the boarded up window of the shop’s front door, which Maud had not noticed until now. ‘Here comes the draft,’ he announced, yet he did nothing in the way of stopping the wind from blowing through the large gaps of the makeshift covering.

Evan immediately resumed kissing her, and Maud relinquished all guard concerning her uncanny host and his advances. She allowed herself to become lost in his touch, and soon garments were peeling off and slipping onto the floor. Hands and lips were caressing, overtaking her with passion and pleasure. She allowed him any freedom he would take from her, including very hard bites upon her breasts, her fingers, and her neck.

The evening seemed to pass very slowly, she thought, no, maybe it was passing quite fast. She briefly wondered what time it was, but let the question go unasked; she was so absorbed in her rapture with Evan. Again, Maud thought of going home to her dogs, the only emotional attachment in her life. It wasn’t fair to leave them alone all night. They were used to having her with them, as she was seldom gone for more than a few hours at a time before returning to pet them and let them out. ‘What time is it?’ she finally murmured.

‘Does it matter?’ asked Evan. She did not pursue the question further, for her brain was in a dense fog from the wine, so she allowed herself to believe. She leaned back and continued enjoying Evan’s touch and whatever he was doing to her neck with his teeth.

Eventually she spoke up again and mentioned going home to her dogs, for it must be very late. ‘I can’t leave my dogs this long,’ Maud insisted, ‘they’ll be afraid to be alone in the house for such a long time.’

‘You may have one more wish, my dear,’ said Evan, as he rose from her and went into the front room of the shop momentarily. He returned presently and held out a piece of hide no larger than the top of the small pie crust table on which their wine glasses rested. ‘Touch this again,’ he told her, as he handed the shrunken skin to her, ‘and make a wish.’ His manner continued to be genial, and his speech was entrancing.

Maud took the skin, wondering at the small size it had shrunken to, but said nothing about it. She did not want to lose the mood of their intimacy, so hungry was she for his affection. ‘Okay, I want my dogs,’ she replied, barely touching the skin in Evan’s outstretched hand. She fell back onto the couch and waited for him to sit next to her.

They immediately resumed their embrace, and she felt Evan’s teeth very lightly touching her neck. He began biting her again, as before, on her neck, her breasts, her fingers, and she felt a warm tingling wherever his teeth pierced her flesh. Each time he bit her, she felt the sensational fear of going over the brink of a waterfall. A thrill ran the length of her body, as she imagined herself plunge off the edge and become borne away into the rushing water.

Maud was so spellbound by this ravishment, she not only had lost track of time, but place and circumstance, as well. She knew the ‘Skin of Sorrow’ had shrunk, although earlier in the evening, Evan had denied such an occurrence. She knew that he was tearing her flesh with his teeth, and she was probably bleeding. She did not care. She heard her phone ring, which sounded like her bedside extension. Was she at home? It might be someone calling about her dogs, and she must answer it. No, it was coming from the TV in her bedroom, wasn’t it?

‘Where’s my phone?’ she finally asked, trying to sit up. ‘I have to find out about my dogs,’ as though there were anyone she could call about them. Small trickles of blood ran down her neck and breasts where he had bitten her. Her fingers, as well, were smeared with blood, but she did not notice. She was dazed from the wine and the passion, and Evan easily nudged her back against the couch.

‘They will be here very soon,’ he responded smoothly, allowing her to sit up and look around the room.

Maud seemed not to know where she was or how she had come to be there. She began to remember her suspicion of the magically shrinking hide on which she had been encouraged to lay her hand and make wishes. She wanted to break free of the stupor she had allowed herself to become immersed in. ‘I really must go, now. Thank you for the port and a wonderful evening,’ she said, as if reading a prompt from a book on dating etiquette. ‘Why does that phone keep ringing…? it sounds like my home phone.’

Maud’s voice was becoming high pitched and more nervous with each word that flew from her lips. ‘I don’t remember how I got here…’

‘You’re a guest in my shop, Mirth, Ltd.,’ Evan answered softly, touching her face with his hand and focusing his black eyes directly into hers. ‘We had some port, maybe too much,’ he continued, ‘and you made a few wishes on this peau de chagrin, don’t you remember?’ He pointed to a very large animal hide draped over one of the bookshelves. ‘Did your wishes all come true?’

Maud did not answer, but gave him a bewildered look, and said, ‘Now I remember. I thought the skin was getting smaller each time I wished upon it.’ She looked down and began to fumble around for her clothes. ‘My dogs haven’t been let out in hours. I have to go,’ she insisted.

‘You wished for them, don’t you remember that?’ he reminded her, in his patient tone. He grabbed a napkin from under his drink and began dabbing away the little drops of blood that drizzled from her neck and breasts. Taking her hands affectionately, he said, ‘Let’s see these,’ and with that, he began to gently lick the blood spatters from each one of her fingers.

Maud was too listless to argue. She leaned back again into the gold couch and fell into another trance. She felt Evan’s teeth upon her neck once again, and the astonishing feeling of her body cascading over waterfalls returned. She closed her eyes and dreamed.

Was it beginning to snow in the shop? She awoke to the feel of tiny pellets of ice pummelling her face and neck. They were cool, and tranquil, and instead of feeling chilled, she felt suddenly awake and cleansed by the feel of the white snowflakes as they fell and melted on her skin. Bits of snowy powder began to cover the floor, the table, and continued to mount on her naked skin. She heard a phone ringing, no, something else, maybe a tea kettle beginning to whistle, or her dogs howling. ‘What’s that sound, that murmuring?’ she asked Evan.

‘Look, Maud,’ he answered, ‘look, I’ve been visiting with your family while you dozed.’ Evan took her hand and held it affectionately as he spoke. He grinned at her, showing his long, blood-stained fangs, which Maud barely noticed.

Gathered at her feet were her three white dogs, howling in soft, muted tones, and edging closer to Maud. The snow was becoming more furious in its downpour, obscuring all objects in the shop. All that was immediately visible in the frosty atmosphere were the black eyes of the dogs, and the heavily blood-streaked fur around their necks. She called to them, as a flurry of long white tails, burly paws, and erect ears moved in unison, jumping up on the sofa to greet her. They licked Maud’s face and hands, their wolf-like muzzles opened wide, panting, and exposing their pearly fangs, as if laughing joyously at the reunion with their mistress. She drew them close to her, hugging them and kissing them as they whined and wagged their tails.

Maud began to forget that she had wanted to leave her strange host and his Skin of Sorrow. They were all together now, weren’t they? There was no need for her to question his motives, his bizarre behaviour, or the bites on the necks of herself and her dogs. She felt something sharp against her lower lip, a subtle piercing sensation, as if her teeth were somehow out of place. She reached up and touched her mouth and teeth, finding a set of long, sharp fangs where her eye teeth had once been, yet paid them little mind, because she was so refreshed after her short nap and filled with rapture over the evening’s outcome. She relaxed, her face brightened, and she drew her dog pack closer. ‘We’ll all stay with you, then, Mr. Mirth,’ she laughed aloud, with great, resounding joy.

Evan reached out and touched his bloody fingers to her cheek, looking intensely into her eyes, and said, ‘Yes, my love, and we will stay together forever.’
 


Maud’s laughter might have been overheard by a couple who was passing by, for the pair stopped at the darkened display window and tried to look in. ‘No, I think this place has been shut up for some months, awaiting the new owner to settle in,’ noted the man to the woman. ‘Sure, the window on the door hasn’t even been fixed yet.’ He tried to look between the cracks in the makeshift wooden cover that enclosed the window area. ‘They say the previous owner of this shop may have been murdered. He had been found lying on the floor in a very large pool of blood when the police came to investigate. It was said that when they re-entered, only minutes later with the EMT personnel and a stretcher, the body was gone. There were no bloody footprints of any kind, neither the victim’s, nor a body snatcher’s, to be found, but I don’t know, that’s just the tale that some of the locals told.’

The man paused and tried again to peek inside the window again and saw nothing but darkness.

‘Oh, look,’ said his companion, ‘it’s starting to snow. How weird for this time of year. Let’s go home and build a fire, shall we?’ She took his arm, kissed his cheek, and off they went to the warmth and comfort of their own hearth.

 


Modify Website

© 2000 - 2025 powered by
Doteasy Web Hosting