Sick & Twisted Read online

  Sick & Twisted

  MARISSA NOFER

  Copyright © 2019 Marissa Nofer

  All rights reserved.

  Contents

  1. The Damn Crow

  2. Daddy's Girl

  3. Mad and Angry

  4. Pants Please

  5. Cats and Dogs

  6. R.I.G.S.

  7. Blood and Books

  8. A Real Home

  9. Bad Memory Lane

  10. A Midnight Stroll

  Epilogue

  Dedication

  In loving memory of Tony Q. Castellanos.

  Acknowledgments

  A special thanks to my husband for putting up with my remarkable ability to be out of touch with reality for days on end. Thanks for making sure that I could grow up alongside you without losing my belief that real people can live up to their fictional counterparts.

  You know what I mean. The good ones.

  1 The Damn Crow

  That morning I saw spiders. There’s nothing alarming about seeing spiders, until they’re canvassing the breakfast table and no one else appears to see them. So I kept silent. I was silent when they crept over my meal, and I was silent when I gently pushed one off my arm. I was silent because I knew better than to mention my hallucinations to anyone. I could feel my mother’s frigid gaze on me. She acutely knew that I wasn’t eating anything, and the suspicious narrowing of her eyes let me know that she knew it was happening again. I was seeing things... eight-legged things. I fixed my gaze on my ham and eggs. I pretended not to notice that the plate was crawling. The nearly invisible blonde hairs that cover my upper forearm were still standing straight up several hours afterward. These incidents were becoming more frequent.

  I pretended to read until the afternoon. No one caught that I hadn’t turned the page. I stopped when I heard someone knock on the door. My mother’s friend visited for tea again. My mother didn’t even care for tea, but she cared deeply about appearances. I kept to the farthest edge of the house, in the sunroom, until my mother was alone again. I could hear her footsteps on the wood floors the way a condemned man must hear the last few beats of his heart. Each one louder and more ominous than the last.

  “You could have acknowledged our company,” she stated, distastefully.

  “I didn’t want to walk in here while she was talking about me and make things awkward, so I waited for a better time.” I replied. We both knew that woman never stopped talking about me. I was an easy mark. Crazy Abigail, the girl who cried wolf and every other animal.

  “Please, drop the sensitivity. It won’t do you any favors in life.” She scolded.

  “Then it’s like family to me.” I said.

  I knew she would slap me before it happened, but it was worth it. My face stung, and I grinned. Her departing footsteps felt like a weight lifted from my chest. I could breathe again. I noticed a crow on the windowsill. My mother insisted on fresh air even when it was 17 degrees outside. I had seen that bird around for days now. No one else did.

  “If you aren’t here, don’t bother me.” I said, tossing a shoe under the window. I didn’t want to strike the bird or break the window. It was a warning gesture. The bird ignored me. It had a distinctly bluish tint to its feathers, and it cocked its head to side and seemed to mock me.

  “Asshole.” I muttered. I picked up my shoe and made my way upstairs to my bedroom.

  My mother decorated the house to perfection to celebrate the Christmas season. In fact, it was always somewhat lavish. There were oil paintings of generations of war heroes and debutantes, and the home itself had enough southern charm to make a confederate soldier blush. My room was no less admirable. In fact, I was perhaps the only fixture in the house that wasn’t dripping in tasteful perfection.

  I was warned upwards of ten times to be ready for the Ms. Tavern Falls rehearsals by five o’clock sharp. Anybody worth the air they breathe had a daughter to present to society by competing in the pageant during the season closest to their eighteenth birthday. My mother was all but literally the queen of Tavern Falls. I had an obligation as her biggest disappointment to fit in.

  I discovered a snake in my bedroom. I hated snakes. Send the bugs, send the birds, send the damned bear again, just not the snake. I sat on my bed and glowered at the snake. It was blockading the area of the room that held my gown for rehearsals. I shut my eyes and willed it away out loud. My wish was granted. There was now a parrot perched on my writing desk. I could deal with that. I rushed to get myself into the ridiculously form-fitting floor-length dress.

  My mother tore into the room a quarter after four o’clock. She scowled at my desk so angrily that I wanted to ask if she could see the bird, but surely she would comment on the vibrant animal if she did. I sighed and rubbed my eyes. Without looking up, I could sense her glare shift to me. There was a prickling sensation down my spine like icy electricity.

  “Take that off. They canceled rehearsals.” She said, “And a good thing, too. You look ridiculous.”

  “This is the one you picked tailored to your exact demands.” I reminded her. It was the only style of dress she didn’t think I looked too heavy in.

  “I didn’t blame the dress.” She responded as she shut the door behind her. I exhaled slowly just to shut myself up.

  I waited a few minutes for my pulse to settle after peeling the dress off savagely. I strolled out into the wraparound hallway and then dropped the dress over the wood railing. Every elegant layer puffed out as though reaching out for rescuing as it fell to the floor below.

  From where I was leaning over the railing, I could hear everything in the house. The maid, Caroline, was making dinner, my mother was repeatedly slamming the phone receiver down as someone dared to miss her calls, and crickets were chirping loudly around the porch which wrapped around the entire house. It was odd for winter.

  I heard when my mother spotted the dress, and I rushed to lock my door. If screaming at me wasn’t an option tonight, surely the slew of sparkling liquor bottles would console her again.

  They always did.

  I lay down on my bed, knowing that Caroline would leave my dinner in the oven once my mother had retired to her room. I was starving. I hadn’t touched breakfast because of the spiders, and I skipped lunch avoiding my mother’s guest. I noticed some strawberries on my desk behind where the parrot had been. Caroline must have left them there for me. She was thoughtful beyond what my mother and I deserved. I often wondered why she didn’t leave and work for an actual family with adorable children, and loving parents, and grown daughters that didn’t see creatures no one else could see.

  I devoured the strawberries with no sign of the etiquette training my mother drilled into my upbringing. I fell asleep imaging what a real family would discuss around a table while enjoying the savory roast and vegetables I could smell wafting through the crisp winter air. I dreamed of a father’s eyes twinkling at his children, and his mustache set crookedly as he grinned at the wife who kept the family thriving and happy with graceful precision. Something filled my nights with dreams of family. Something filled my days with nightmares.

  ***

  “Abigail Taylor, are you all right?” A man’s voice asked.

  I could hear chatter. It was a chaotic blend of voices filled with enthrallment or authoritative concern. Sitting up was difficult, and harsh lighting blinded me. I could smell the familiarly festive scent of roasted almonds and baked treats. I was in the town square! My shock was enough to shake some sense into me. I stood quickly, though my ears were pounding with the deafening noise of my heartbeat. The offensive lighting had been a lamppost just above me. My eyes focused and I could see at least eleven girls in formal gowns scattered in the crowd. The rehearsals were still happening. My mother most l
ikely just didn’t want to face the entire town whispering about me. The first thing my eyes saw was a large banner that read ‘Ms. Tavern Falls Pageant 1999.’

  “Is she drunk?” One of the pageant girls whispered loudly.

  “Just a nutcase as usual.” Another one snickered.

  “Are they mutually exclusive?” Someone else asked sarcastically.

  “Beat it.” A girl’s voice said aggressively. I recognized Connie’s voice. She was Caroline’s daughter. They were the only family in town with such thick Spanish accents. She was older than me by about fifteen years, but she looked too young to be in her thirties. We could pass for the same age.

  “How did you get here?” She asked me.

  “I don’t remember.” I answered. She eyed me as if she was searching for something. Her features softened as she likely decided she believed me.

  People were taking photographs. I could hear the winding noise of disposable cameras and see the flashes. Connie angrily grabbed a camera from the sarcastic guy with bleached blonde hair. All of them were familiar, but my mind was fogged enough for their names to evade me. I imagined how the red eye glare of poorly developed film would only add to my insane appearance.

  I began to walk home. After about a block, I realized Connie was still trailing behind me. I was barefoot in nothing but a nightdress and underwear. I wondered for a minute if my nipples could get frostbite.

  “SON OF A BITCH! It’s cold!” I yelled.

  “Do you sleepwalk?” Connie asked, as she struggled to keep up with my aggressive pace.

  “I... something.” I said. “I don’t know how I got out there.”

  “Why didn’t you show up to rehearsal?” She questioned. I shrugged. My teeth were chattering.

  “Maybe someone didn’t want you there. Maybe they messed with your pills.” She suggested.

  I slowed down. Her face filled with remorse. She shouldn’t have known anything about my medication, but it was her mother who sorted out my pills each day. Pills I hadn’t swallowed in over a year.

  “I’m sorry.” Connie said with sincerity.

  “It’s fine.” I said. “Small town, big news.” I added. It was literally the tagline of our newspaper, and it was the unfortunate truth. She chuckled warily.

  “Look, go back to the party. Enjoy your night. I’m fine. I’m sure it was probably some elaborate prank. I feel fine. I just want to get home.” I said. She looked at my red feet and nodded hastily.

  As soon as she was out of sight I went up to someone’s porch and stuck my feet into a pair of work boots, praying I wouldn’t catch some kind of foot fungus. I also grabbed a blanket off the porch swing. A dog barked, but everyone in town was at the pageant, anyway. It was worth the risk if the alternative meant losing toes. I stomped home in my huge stolen boots and noticed a dog-sized animal following me. A quick glance revealed a fox, and it was anyone’s guess whether it was actually there, or if I was just as crazy as everyone said.

  I walked inside to find my mother snoring in a recliner. It was the only ugly thing in our house aside from her temper. It belonged to my father, and she refused to get rid of it. If you stood close enough to it, you could almost smell his cigars and belligerence. My fox companion stayed just outside the screen door. It was uncommon for the creatures I saw to know any boundaries. If I knew what the hell a fox would eat, I may have fed it. Instead, I wished it a good night and hastily grabbed my plate of food from the oven. I crumpled the foil that had covered my plate into a ball in my hand.

  I was so hungry that I ate with my bare hands, not wanting to risk waking my mother by opening drawers and making noise. Inside the warm kitchen, I was regaining feeling in my hands, nose, feet, and butt. I wiped my hands on a kitchen towel and whispered an apology for Caroline who would have to wash it in the morning. She was long gone to her own home for the night. I just couldn’t bring myself to wash my hands with cold water yet.

  I trudged up the stairs still wearing my stolen boots and kicked them off just outside my bedroom door. The unexpected adventure exhausted me. I found that someone locked my bedroom door, and I felt frightened. The fear brought me to a full alertness. My door had a sliding lock that could only work from the inside. So either I climbed out of my second-story window in my sleep earlier, or someone was in there.

  I tried to force the door open. It was an old house and doors would stick sometimes. It wouldn’t budge. I knocked. I don’t know why I did, because possibly finding someone in there was terrifying, but I knocked anyway.

  I heard the lock unfasten. I felt my lungs preparing to fuel a cry for help as I swung the door open quickly. There was no one there.

  I looked in the wardrobe and under the bed. I even checked behind the full-length mirror. There was no one. The window was open, and the curtains flapped violently in the night air. I grabbed an umbrella and held it like a baseball bat. I crept up to the window to look outside. My whole body was on high alert. There was a considerably large ledge where someone could be hiding. There was nothing out there.

  Nothing except that asshole crow.

  2 Daddy's Girl

  My morning began with Caroline informing me I was being summoned to my mother’s room. She had a sympathetic look on her face. This meant one of two things. Either my mother was on her deathbed, or I was in deep shit. My mother rarely allowed me into her bedroom. It was the only room of the house that wasn’t a wall to wall show of perfection. It was messy, and the paintings and photographs on the wall hung sporadically with no concern for uniformity or being at eye-level to anyone. It was my father who hung the photographs. He chose each placement in his own special way. Wherever he punched a hole in the wall most recently.

  My father once watched a documentary with me on a day we were both home with a stomach virus. It was about some baboons that would attack you if you made eye contact. They took it as an affront to their established dominance. In my mother’s room. It was quite the opposite. I knew better than to look at anything other than her while she spoke to me, and I knew to pretend I noticed nothing out of sorts about her chamber of drunken tantrums.

  In stark contrast to the rest of the room, her elegant closet was a feast for the eyes. The house itself may not rival the market value of her wardrobe. The uniform of a socialite was a power move. It established dominance, and just like those baboons, she would likely rip you limb from limb if you challenged her. I could see immediately that my mother was in good health, though not in good spirits.

  I was in deep shit.

  “Would you care to explain these?” She asked, dropping the heavy work boots onto the floor in front of me.

  “I was out. I guess I lost my shoes. I borrowed them from the Teller family’s porch.” I said. I wouldn’t lie to her, but I couldn’t explain why I was out without shoes.

  “Oh, thank god,” she said, sitting down on her bed in relief. “You’re a thief, not a tramp.” She added as if that made perfect sense.

  I realized that she initially thought I had brought a man into my bedroom. I wish I’d drawn that connection myself before walking into what could have easily been the scene of my murder.

  “I’ll return them.” I said reassuringly. “I just wish you would have told me you didn’t want me in the pageant. It was embarrassing to see the entire town at rehearsals without me. I would have feigned an illness.” I said. I still didn’t know how the hell I got out there, but it didn’t change the fact she lied to keep me home.

  “What are you talking about?” She demanded. “Kathleen Jacobson herself, called and told me they were canceling because of the snow.”

  “When have they ever let snow stop them in late December?” I asked.

  The look on her face was enough to make me clear out of her room. Eventually I would have to answer for my pajama-clad mystery adventure the night before, but for now she was on a rampage and for once I wasn’t her target.

  ***

  My mother’s rage led us to church. It was a Sunday, and today s
he was fury incarnate in a navy dress holding a blueberry pie. It was a tradition for the families to have a potluck the day after the first rehearsals. I couldn’t keep up with her in heels. I stomped awkwardly while her rage and grace made her almost seem to glide as she stormed through the church doors and into the fellowship hall. My mother wasn’t religious. She didn’t believe in god or the devil, but something in me wondered if she didn’t keep them both up at night.

  The hum of chatter shut down in waves as the mothers and daughters of Tavern Falls realized who had entered the building. I willed myself to drop dead before she let them have it, but nothing happened.

  “You brought a pie,” Kathleen said, as if it were an adorable occurrence.

  “Well I thought, with you cooking the main courses the ladies might be hungry.” My mother answered. I had seen no animals that day, but I was certain I was about to witness a genuine cat fight.

  They stared each other down. Each letting their nature and their upbringing battle for the next move.

  “You seem to have forgotten to let us know when rehearsals were no longer canceled.” I chimed in from behind my mother. If she was going to strong-arm our way back into this contest, I had to keep things civil.

  “It seems you still made it there.” Alice said, standing up. The room filled with giggles. She was Kathleen’s daughter and the most probable winner of the pageant. She was flawless... on the outside.

  “I attended. I’m so glad you noticed. The rules state that a contestant must attend all related events to move forward.” I said, pleasantly. The giggles turned to concerned murmurs.

  “Before this becomes too awkward. I’m afraid we cannot encourage Abigail to take part in this year’s event. She does not meet the criteria for a positive community role model for our younger girls.” Kathleen said with strained diplomacy.