Kzine Issue 9

by Graeme Hurry et al.

  On the next screen, Rick’s face was overlaid on a big black pot. Above it was the face of a witch, green with a big nose, warts, pointy hat; that kind of witch. One of her cartoonish hands gripped the edge of the cauldron while the other held a big wooden spoon. She was smiling.

  On each side of the witch’s face were four icons. When Pete held his fingers on them a description appeared. On the left side: pinky bone from a still-born baby, crow’s wings, frog heart, swamp moss. And on the right: virgin’s tongue, sulfur powder, mouse tail, spider leg. A rectangular button above the witch’s head read recipes.

  “This isn’t a fucking RPG,” Pete said aloud. It didn’t stop him from accessing the recipe menu. He thumbed through page after page of spells until he found one called The Broken Heart. A broken heart seemed the likely outcome of Rick’s flirting so he touched the recipe. A text-box popped up: 3 pinky bones, 1 virgin’s tongue, 2 crow’s wings, 8 spider legs. Sounds yummy, he thought.

  The back arrow took him to the main menu. He touched and dragged the items into the black pot. Every time he dropped one in the cauldron, the witch laughed and stirred it with her wooden spoon. When the ingredients had all been added he touched Apply. The witch held up her hands, waving the spoon around and laughing. As she cackled, the phone began to vibrate, pulsing in his hands four times. Buzz buzz buzz buzz. Then it beeped and the menu reset, the witch back to her sardonic grin.

  After the beep was a thud, followed by a scream. It didn’t come from the phone. Pete stood up to look over the maze of cubicles. Others followed suit and soon there was a sea of disembodied heads staring at the water cooler. Rick laid flat on his back, obviously dead, but still clutching his chest. He knocked the giant water bottle off its pedestal as he fell, creating a pool underneath his body. The blonde accountant was kneeling in the puddle. “Are you okay, Rick?” she asked. Pete choked back a giggle, adapting it to a cough.

  “Somebody call 911!” a voice in the office screamed. Why that person couldn’t make the call, Pete didn’t know.

  SIX MONTHS EARLIER

  “Listen, don’t let that prick upset you. He’s not worth ruining your mascara,” Julie said.

  Tabitha clutched her half-caf soy latte like she was choking a child. “I really thought he was a good guy, had me totally fooled. I’m such a naive little slut.”

  “No. Don’t talk like that. He fooled me too, ya know,” Julie said.

  “Well, why don’t you seem upset?” Tabitha asked.

  “Oh, I’m upset. But I’m not the type to cry,” she explained.

  “Well what type are you?”

  “I’m the type to get even, Tabby,” Julie said.

  “No one calls me Tabby.” She considered it for a moment then said, “Tabby. Tabby. I like it. How do you plan on getting even?”

  Julie sucked down the last of her coffee and retrieved a mini bottle of rum from her pocket, the type you’d pay too much for on an airplane to keep from thinking about engine failure. She emptied it into her styrofoam cup. From her other pocket she pulled out an Altoids tin filled with odds and ends. Tabitha couldn’t identify them exactly but they all gave off a strong smell. Julie plucked out what looked like bones and dehydrated spiders and dropped them in the rum. “Got a light?” she asked Tabitha handed her a pack of matches. “Now watch those two guys at that table.” Julie nodded to a couple of middle-aged executive types having a conversation in the corner.

  Tabitha twisted her neck to watch the men, arguing about politics or religion or something.

  Whooosh.

  Tabitha’s head snapped back at the sound. The styrofoam cup was blackened around the rim and smoking. “What the fuck?” she said.

  “Just watch,” Julie demanded.

  Julie turned back just in time to see the men stand from their tables and head for the exit, their fingers intertwined in an obvious sign of affection.

  “No. Fucking. Way.” Tabitha said. “That’s amazing. I mean— That’s really fucking amazing.”

  “Aww, you’re sweet,” Julie said with a playful grin.

  “But I don’t understand. You’re gonna get even by making him fall in love with a man?” she asked.

  “I can do more than love spells, deary. Much, much more.”

  TABITHA & JULIE

  Ding Ding

  Tabitha opened her eyes half-expecting a server to greet her with coffee, toast and eggs. Then she remembered what the bell meant and sat up straight. A new photo had just came in and Pete was thumbing through spells.

  “Asshole’s at it again!” she called out.

  “Down a notch, I’m right the fuck behind you,” Julie said and sat her hands lovingly on Tabitha’s shoulders.

  Tabitha flinched, startled by the closeness of Julie’s voice. “Sorry Jules, dozed off for a moment.”

  “For a moment? More like twenty minutes. I was gonna wake you but you’re just so damn cute when you sleep.” She leaned over and kissed her on the top of her head.

  Tabitha printed the picture while Pete was browsing. This time it was a girl. A tennis player? She had on a short black dress with a blue sleeveless blouse and a shiny new set of Reebok’s. Not a tennis player then, the shoes were in mint condition. Also, a badge above her left breast said Tina. Tabitha could make out the neon edge of an old-style Jukebox in the background, a table next to it was covered in what looked like artificial turf.

  “Drinks & Links,” Julie said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “That bar is Drinks & Links. I’ve been their a time or two. Country-club theme, tables made up to look like putting greens. Tina must be a waitress.”

  “Why would he want to hurt such a pretty girl?” Tabitha asked rhetorically. Tina had a round face with cute little dimples and hair the color of dark chocolate. And though her legs hadn’t seen much sun, they at least had the tone and shape of a tennis player’s. Tabitha didn’t like the idea of this innocent girl dying, especially not in that outfit. That tennis dress was the kind of costume she’d make Julie wear in the bedroom, and then pretend she was seducing a conservative rich girl from the Lutheran college downtown.

  “Sorry, babe,” Julie said, sensing the hesitancy. “We gotta use whatever spell Pete chooses to keep up the illusion. No going back at this point.”

  Tabitha nodded and frowned.

  She laid the photo down and focused on the screen. Pete had chosen Oral Fixation for his sophomore effort. No doubt the dirty bastard believed he’d get a blowjob. Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn’t. Even if he did there’d be no time to bask in the warmth of orgasmic afterglow.

  Julie grabbed a plastic container from the book case, popped the lid, and shook the ingredients into the rum. This spell needed both swamp moss and sulfur powder, each stinky on their own, but exponentially stinkier together. It also called for four virgin’s tongues. Once again Tabitha’s job proved invaluable. Virgins in the morgue rarely needed their tongues anyway.

  Pete applied the virtual spell. Julie took the photo from Tabitha and lit the corner.

  “Goodbye lovely,” she said and tossed it in the brew. The Crock-Pot spewed flame like a high-school science experiment gone awry.

  “What will happen now?” Tabitha asked.

  “Tina will start putting things in her mouth. Anything really. Eventually she’ll put something in there she regrets,” she explained.

  “You mean, like Pete’s crooked dick?”

  “Don’t worry. If Pete blows his load that’ll fuck him up even more, having a girl die just after performing the act,” she reasoned.

  “Alright then. Whatever you say,” said Tabitha.

  “Damn right.” She smiled and slapped Tabitha’s ass while she walked to an open window and lit a cigarette.

  PETE

  First responders declared Rick dead on arrival and the employees went home early. Pete was sure that tomorrow there’d be counselors and shrinks in every meeting room asking him how he felt about what happened. He’d like to tell them he didn’t feel t
oo damned bad, that Rick was an asshole, an adulterer, a terrible boss, a guy the world could live without. More likely he’d tell them that Rick was an office favorite, made everyone feel welcome, was lenient on employees, did more than his fair share of the work. After all, there was a management position open now and Pete didn’t want to make a bad impression.

  Becoming a murderer wasn’t in Pete’s plans. He wasn’t going to miss Rick, but he just couldn’t believe a phone application had the power to cause heart failure. Those were the thoughts that consoled him while he drove. I’m not a killer. Phones don’t cause heart failure. More likely just some sort of pre-existing condition, he thought. The droning rumble of his 88’ Trans-Am’s 350 small block engine calmed his nerves. Eventually his mind drifted from the day’s events onto happier thoughts, like what he was going to do with his extended time off.

  Without even realizing it, Pete drove himself to Drinks & Links, a golf-themed bar in downtown Charlottesville, three miles away from his apartment. Chantilly Lace greeted him as the door opened. An MP3 player was routed through the house speakers and Pete had visited the establishment enough to know that The Big Bopper was always followed by Van Morrison’s Brown Eyed Girl.

  He settled down in his favorite booth, one at the back corner of the room, shielded from the eyes of other patrons by an conveniently placed support column. The booth’s table was covered in green AstroTurf with a little hole at the end, a putting green. Laminated menus leaned against the wall behind the salt and pepper shakers, which both looked like golf balls.

  It didn’t take long for a waitress to show up with a vodka cranberry. Pete hadn’t ordered it, but in this place they knew what he wanted. “Anything else tonight, honey?” the waitress asked. Pete decided instantly he wanted a burger and fries but looked over the menu slowly. Really, he was examining the waitress with his peripheral vision, a necessary skill for a single guy. Her uniform… no, costume was a black tennis dress with a blue sleeveless blouse. No more than 25-years-old, her rich brown hair was pulled into a ponytail with a matching blue scrunchie, drawing attention to her round face and hazelnut eyes. Pete figured the outfit was meant to fit the country club theme of the bar, but a long look at her firm, tanned legs made him think she might actually be a tennis player.

  “A burger and fries,” he said. “Mustard and onion only.” She shot a smile his way and crinkled her nose.

  “We’ll have it out to ya soon,” she said.

  Pete knew that was a lie. The place never had food out soon. Customers were lucky if it arrived at all. That’s why he usually restricted himself to a liquid diet at the establishment. Knowing he had time to spare, he retrieved the phone from his pocket. Instead of starting Witchcraft 2.0, Pete launched his mobile browser. He typed in WhoGnu.com to see if there was any more information about the game. There wasn’t. In fact, the web page itself had vanished. Every time he tried to refresh the page it timed out again. He closed the browser.

  Next he decided to thumb through some more spells so he launched the game. The witch smiled and he brought up the spell menu. Ashes to Ashes, A Thousand Cuts, Fatal Attraction, Self Destruction, Oral Fixation, Dragon’s Breath… His eyes darted back to Oral Fixation. That sounds interesting, he thought.

  “A burger and fries. You need another drink, honey?” She laid down his food and picked up an empty glass. Pete didn’t remember drinking it, had his mind on other things.

  “How bout just a sweet tea? I gotta work tomorrow,” he replied.

  “Sure thing, darlin’,” she said.

  She started walking away when Pete interrupted, “Tina,” he said, a name tag was on her blouse. She stopped and turned around, was blinded by the flash of the phone’s camera.

  “What’s that about?” she asked with an inquisitive frown.

  “Oh nothin’. Just got this new phone, wanted to try out the camera,” he lied.

  She hesitated, then her smile returned. “Alright then,” she said. “Be right back with your tea.”

  When she turned her back, Pete started dropping ingredients into the black cauldron containing Tina’s portrait. Four tongues of virgins, two swamp mosses, four sulfurs, and five mouse tails went into the pot. Pete held his finger over Apply and laughed softly. “Here goes nothin’,” he said to himself and lowered his finger.

  A few minutes went by and Tina came back with a sweet tea. She leaned over the table, close to Pete’s face. He felt a shifting in his khaki-colored Dickies when her warm breath met his cheeks. “You smoke?” she asked. Pete went into his pocket and pulled out a pack of Camel Lights. The waitress grabbed one and stuck it between her lips. “Lighter?” she asked. He gave her a pack of matches that were squeezed in with the cigarettes. “Thanks,” she said and went out the back door for a break.

  Well that was a disappointment, he thought.

  Halfway through his burger, Tina came back inside and dropped the matches on his table as she walked to the bar. Behind the counter was a fat bearded chef with close-cropped hair, trying to hide a receding hairline running away from his acne-scarred face. He wore a pair of jeans and a stained white apron over a black t-shirt. The exposed skin of his arms and face were glistening with sweat and grease. Tina whispered something in his ear. His eyes grew big with excitement as she spoke. When finished, she went to the men’s restroom just around the corner. A few inconspicuous moments later, the fat man took off his apron and hung it on a nail behind the bar. He joined Tina in the restroom.

  Suddenly losing his appetite, Pete put down his burger. I don’t like where this is going, he thought. He waved over a different waitress, Cindy, and ordered another vodka cranberry.

  As Cindy delivered his beverage and walked away, Tina emerged from the facilities. Her elbow was in the air, back of her hand wiping her lips. The fat cook came out right behind her, looking even sweatier as he smiled and shook his head.

  “Well, at least it worked for someone,” Pete muttered and guzzled his tumbler full of booze.

  BBOOOOMMM The explosion shook the floor, causing Pete to spew his vodka across the table. No, not an explosion, a gunshot. Tina had completed the fellatio and went back to the bar, retrieving a sawed-off shotgun from under the cash register. She had put both barrels in her mouth and pulled the trigger. Pete couldn’t see her body behind the bar, but he had a clear view of brain matter sticking to bottles of booze and the giant decorative mirror that shelved them.

  Pete’s ears filled with ringing and his mouth hung open. He felt like he should leave to avoid suspicion, but why would anyone suspect him when all the witnesses saw a suicide? Still, he needed to get out of there, somewhere he could think. He grabbed a 20-dollar-bill from his wallet and dropped it on the table. That would leave the waitress five dollars for a tip, not that she could use it. Pete avoided the grisly scene up front and went out the same door Tina had used for her smoke break.

  SIX MONTHS EARLIER

  Tabitha had stopped crying but Julie drove her home anyway.

  “So what, you’re like a witch or something?” Tabitha asked.

  “Yep. Been practicing since high school.”

  “Can anyone be a witch?”

  “Actually, no. Anyone can make the brews, but only witches can pick a target.”

  “That’s it? The only difference between me and you is picking a target?”

  “My talent is more like aiming. I have to be able to see the face of my target. Then I channel that image into the brew. There’s a few different techniques I use, but they all amount to the same thing.”

  “So what’s the plan for Asshole?” That was Pete’s new nickname they came up with, not clever, but to the point.

  “I don’t know. I’d have to follow him around without being seen. Won’t be easy. Plus, I’ll need some primo ingredients for the curses I want to use; tongues, finger bones, all sorts of nasty shit.”

  Tabitha laughed. “It’s your lucky day, Jules. I might just be able to meet all those needs.”

  “How so?” J
ulie asked, perplexed.

  “I’m a registered nurse. I’m pretty sure I can get the real nasty stuff for you at the hospital. Plus, I think I might have a plan that keeps you from having to stalk Asshole.”

  “What other needs can you meet?” Julie asked and smiled.

  “What do— Oh. Oh?” Tabitha blushed. “Umm, I’m not sure, um—”

  Julie put her fingers over Tabitha’s lips in a hushing gesture. “It’s okay. Don’t talk. Sorry I even brought it up. What kind of bitch hits on a girl after getting caught with her boyfriend?” Julie tried to look calm but Tabitha thought she saw embarrassment underneath the facade.

  “You’re not a bitch. Not a bitch at all.” She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. As she exhaled, she leaned across the center console of Julie’s Honda Accord and planted a kiss square on Julie’s lips, much to her own surprise.

  The kissing continued until they both needed to break for oxygen. Tabitha wondered why they hadn’t wrecked during the kiss. Then she saw they were parked at a meter outside her apartment. She’d not taken her eyes off Julie for a while, didn’t know how long they’d been parked. A teenage boy stared from a second-floor window across the street. Julie and Tabitha simultaneously shot him the bird.

  TABITHA & JULIE

  When she finished her cigarette Julie went back to the kitchen. Tabitha could hear her fiddling with plastic tubs.

  “What’re you doin’ in there?” she asked.

  “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it,” Julie responded.

  Tabitha did worry about it though. But before she could respond…

  Ding Ding

  “We got another photo. Cop this time,” Tabitha said.

  Julie exited the kitchen with a plastic container in hand. She walked directly toward the bookshelves and placed it on the very top, away from the rest.

  “Just a photo? Has he chosen a spell yet?” Julie asked.