Tuesday, November 1, 2011

Brigit's Flame, October Mini-Contest. Prompt: Costumes and Disguises. Title: "Seeing Through the Mask"

Seeing Through the Mask

“Who’re you?” I asked.

I thought I was the only one who used the old oak tree in the middle of the cemetery as a muse.  In the four Halloweens I had been venturing there I had never seen another person.  It was the perfect place to focus on my dark poetry, and Halloween always felt like the perfect time to immerse myself in the macabre.

The tree sat at the top of the hill, overlooking the headstones like an ancient sentinel.  I had created (what I thought were) some truly amazing pieces there, so I could see what it had drawn this newcomer.  Even so, when I crested the hill and found someone sitting at my usual place by the tree’s twisted roots, I was less than pleased. 

Even if she was really cute.   

She was striking.  Her skin was even more pale than mine but her eyes were stunningly blue, like two stars in her face.  Her brown curls were full of body and framed her narrow face nicely.  But the first thing I noticed about her, even quicker than I did her small, heart-shaped mouth or the school uniform she wore, was the fact that she only had one leg.  On her left she wore a long, white sock that came up over her knee and a black-buckle shoe; her right leg was simply gone.  There was only a stump showing slightly below the hem of her skirt.
 
“I’m Jenny,” she said politely.  She put both hands into the pockets of her pea coat shyly.  “Who’re you?” 

I lowered the hood on my sweatshirt but didn’t take off my backpack.  I didn’t know this girl yet, so I didn’t know if I would be able to create with her around.  “Claire.”

Jenny looked confused.  “That’s a weird name for a boy.”

Yes, I cut my hair short, wore unflattering clothing, and wore almost no make-up in an effort to look as un-girly as possible, but that didn’t mean that being mistaken for a boy didn’t sting.  “I’m not a boy!” I cried.  “I’m a girl!”

At least Jenny instantly looked sorry for her faux-pas.  “Oh my gosh, I’m sorry!  I’m so sorry!  I didn’t mean to… I’d never…”

I tossed my hood back on my head.  There went my Halloween inspiration this year.  “Don’t worry about it,” I grumbled, turning.  “Catch ya later.”

“Wait!” I heard her cry behind me.  “I’m sorry, I really am!  I didn’t mean to offend you.”  When I turned I found her teetering unsteadily on her one leg, using the tree for support.  “Please, stay.” 

A blush crept into my cheeks and I hoped that the shadow from my hood would hide my red cheeks.  Without a reply I unshouldered my backpack and Jenny scooted over on the tree’s roots to make room for me.  Though I wasn’t sure how I was going to get any writing done with this girl looking over my shoulder, I settled next to her and put my backpack in my lap. 

“So what brings you to the cemetery tonight?”  I asked her.  My voice cracked halfway through.  Ugh, I hate being nervous.  Especially around people I thought were cute.

“The creepiness,” Jenny replied.  “It’s Halloween.  It just feels right.”  She turned to me, and her curls bobbed.  “What about you?”

I wrapped my arms tighter around my backpack.  “It’s sort of a tradition of mine.  Fourth Halloween in a row that I’ve come out here to write.  The creepiness, as you call it… it inspires me.” 

“Would you read some of it to me?”  Jenny asked, hunching her shoulders against a sudden, stiff breeze.  “I mean, if you have any of your Halloween stuff on you.  And if you don’t mind.”

I found myself smiling at Jenny.  No one had ever asked to hear any of my stuff before, especially the creepy stuff.  Most of the time the disguise of the unapproachable, independent girl made people leave me alone, and that was the way I liked it.  But I found that mask quickly falling away as Jenny showed interest in my creations, and by proxy, me. 

I started with some poetry I had written the year before.  I saw it as a commentary on the juxtaposition of the simultaneous meaninglessness and importance of life when compared with death, but most people would probably just call it creepy.  I was fully prepared, and okay with the idea, that Jenny wouldn’t fully understand it and would just be a little unnerved. 

She surprised me when she looked up to me after it was finished and murmured, “Wow, that was beautiful.  And deep.” 

I blushed again, and I was certain that she saw it this time.  “Thanks.  That means a lot.”  I shyly lowered my face, and my eyes unwittingly landed on her amputated leg, which I had actually forgotten about while I was reading.  “Can I ask you…”

“How it happened?”  Jenny finished.  “It’s okay, I don’t mind talking about it, now.  But… are you sure you really want to hear about it?  It’s not a pretty story.”

Though the story wasn’t pretty, the girl telling it was, and the more we spoke the more I wanted to know about her.  “Of course I want to hear it.” 

She nodded pensively.  “Do you remember a story on the news, last February, about a criminal the police called Doll Parts?”

I blinked slowly.  The story Jenny was referring to was about the Doll Parts killer, a serial killer who had killed seven girls along the east coast.  Each body was found with a missing limb, and even after the police caught him last May he never admitted where the missing pieces were stored.  My eyes widened as the reality of what Jenny was trying to tell me settled upon me.  “You’re shitting me,” I whispered. 

Jenny nibbled her bottom lip nervously.  “Please don’t run away,” she muttered nervously.  “I really don’t want to scare you, but I didn’t want to lie about my leg, either.”

My breath quickened, but from excitement or fear I couldn’t say.  As my brain was trying to process whether or not it wanted to believe Jenny, a cold hand gently slid atop mine and gave it a small squeeze.  I looked down and found Jenny’s hand, as cold and pale as the rest of her.  There was dirt under her fingernails. 
“This is the easiest time of the year for us to come out,” she began.  “I’m still sort of new at the whole thing.  I couldn’t even dig myself up.  The gargoyles had to help me.”

I looked into her piercing blue eyes and my fear ebbed.  “Is… is it because it’s Halloween?”  I asked. 

Jenny smiled.  “Actually, no.  Tomorrow is the day we’re actually allowed to roam, although it’s sort of tradition to get an early start.  Haven’t you ever heard of Day of the Dead?”

Some of my Mexican friends from school had told me about it, but I had never put much stock into it because it wasn’t part of my culture.  I guess I need to pay more attention to the cultures of my friends and not dismiss them immediately.  My heart rate slowed.  “So… are you the only one walking around?  If this is real, where is everyone else?” 

“Look around,” Jenny said.  “You mean you haven’t seen them before now?” 

I looked away from Jenny and toward the cemetery.  Out of the corner of my eye I could see shapes, like people, moving around the tombstones.  But when I tried to focus on them, they disappeared.  Trying to look at one was like trying to see one particular star, visible out of the corner of your eye but invisible when you try to pick it out of the night sky.  It was no wonder I had overlooked them for so many years.  They were like dreams that I had forgotten. 

“You’re not scared, are you?”  Jenny asked.

For being a dead girl, Jenny had a beautiful complexion.  Her face was smooth and pretty, and her eyes shimmered as she looked expectantly to me. “A little,” I admitted.  “But… I’m okay. I’m going to stay.”
Jenny smiled again, and her hand tightened a little on mine.  It was a welcome gesture.  “I’m glad.  Would you mind reading to me some more?”

“Of… of course not,” I stammered.  “But, would you mind if I did some writing?  I promise to read it to you once I’m finished.  I’m feeling… particularly inspired this year.” 

  Jenny nodded and removed her hand from mine, but slipped her arms loosely through my elbow and settled against her head affectionately against my shoulder.  I didn’t mind that the undead girl was reading over my shoulder as I wrote; normally I couldn’t create if someone was watching me, but I didn’t know how long it would be before I could see Jenny again, so I was willing to put up with it.  My pen flew across the page and created line after line of poetry as the ghostly figures in the cemetery below us became more and more clear.  

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