The Haunted Sultan (Skeleton Key)

by Gillian Zane

  “N-No, we’re tourists,” Sierra stuttered in response when the woman’s eyes caught hers. She found the woman’s stare nerve racking. It felt like she could see inside of Sierra, reading her thoughts, cracking her open and peering around to see what made her tick.

  “C'est bien! And you, ma belle fleur, you need a costume?” She looked at Sierra appraisingly, walking around her and taking in every inch of her.

  “Yes, um, oui.” Sierra had taken a year of French in high school and was barely competent, but she knew a bit of what the woman was saying. The woman had called Sierra a flower, or maybe a cup.

  The woman chuckled and her laugh was like warm honey over Sierra’s body. It washed over her and caused a smile to spring to her lips. Sierra was suddenly comfortable and relaxed again, the nervousness faded, replaced with confidence. There was something about this woman. Something ethereal and unsettling, but at the moment Sierra was along for the ride.

  “I sense le Moyen-Orient in you child, am I right?” She spoke in a purr. Sierra didn’t know what she meant. Orient, was that Asian? Maybe she was asking if Sierra was Asian?

  “Well, my dad. He’s Persian, not Oriental.” Sierra answered.

  “Yes! That is what I said. Persian.” She elongated the word making it sound almost naughty. “How traditional.” The woman walked around Sierra again, her skirts swishing around her legs, the silk fabric rubbing against Sierra’s calves in a decadent caress.

  “I have just the costume for you,” she said after a few moments of circling. “Suis moi,” she beckoned with her hands and the girls followed her to the back of the store.

  There was one rack of clothing at the very back of the store and the clerk went to the middle of the mass of colors without any hesitation. She moved aside a few lengths of clothing and pulled out a gold and red shimmering outfit, the jingle of bells tinkled as she held it up. Light glistened off beads and mirror-like discs that hung from a revealing bra-like bodice.

  “This attire is yours, aller parfaitement,” she said and handed Sierra the costume. “Aller!” She shooed Sierra further into the shop and down a hallway to a lavishly decorated room with a wide antique sofa and end table.

  “I will wait, but this is the one,” she said with authority to Sierra and Cecilia.

  Sierra closed the door behind her and Cecilia helped her change into the costume. The thin fabric didn’t leave much to the imagination and it revealed most of Sierra’s tattoos. She was proud of her ink, but she only showcased her artwork if she was wearing a bikini and sitting poolside, not walking down a street with a drink in her hand.

  Her tats were a colorful story that flowed across her skin, but they were an intimate look at what made Sierra tick. She had designed them herself and found the perfect artist to implement the art for her. She had saved up her money for over a year and it took almost ten sessions to finish. The intricate combination of hibiscus and Middle Eastern inspired montage that went from her hip to underneath her left breast was on full display and her sleeve, full of pin-ups and swirling patterns, was enhanced by the fall of the thin fabric and hanging metal straps of the costume. Looking in the mirror, the costume enhanced her art, as if it was designed for her and her look. The shopkeeper was right; this was the one for her, eerily so.

  The costume was made for her. The bodice fit perfectly, something that surprised Sierra. It was technically a bra and it was quite a feat to get the exact cup size for this kind of fit perfection. She wished she had this kind of fit from one of her everyday bras. The bodice pushed up her tatas, showing off cleavage she didn’t know she had.

  Aside from the bodice, embellished with twisted wire pieces and shiny mirror beads, there was a filmy, opaque skirt held together with a wide belt. The belt was beaded to match the bodice and barely covered her underwear. By some act of luck she hadn’t worn a thong, going for a wide bottomed pair of red bikinis. She couldn’t have worn a better pair of undergarments to match the outfit. It was again almost too convenient.

  “Wow, you’ve got to get this one. It’s like it was made for you,” Cecilia breathed checking out her friend.

  “Does it have a price tag?” Sierra whispered but Cecilia shook her head and shrugged.

  “It’ll probably cost a fortune.” Sierra went to slip her tie up wedges back on her feet, but realized they would look out of place, so she walked out of the changing room barefoot.

  “C'est magnifique!” the shopkeeper exclaimed when Sierra shyly crept back into the shop. The woman handed her a pair of gold sandals. Sierra slipped them onto her feet, and what would you know, they fit perfectly.

  How does she know my size? Sierra thought looking at the woman warily.

  “Yes, it’s wonderful, but how much?” Sierra asked the woman, cringing at her tactless words. They were rather rude but she was waiting for the big oh shit price. This costume was like a work of art.

  “This piece was made for you, ma douce papillon! I could no sooner charge you for it, than charge myself. You take it and wear it and you pay me with one favor. A tiny little favor. Nothing more.”

  “A favor? What do you mean?” Sierra asked guardedly.

  “Just a simple little promise, nothing more. Then the costume is yours,” she said, her smile never wavering.

  “Okay, but what is the promise? I don’t know if I can do anything for you, I’m just a college student, I don’t have much…”

  “Nothing really.” She spread her hands in an ‘it’s nothing’ manner. “Just simply help someone who asks. You’ll hear a plea for help. If you accept the exchange, I will ask that you respond. Do not walk away. Go with the one who hears it with you and you two shall surely succeed.”

  “What do you mean?” Sierra asked the woman, confusion apparent on her face.

  The shopkeeper frowned and looked down at Sierra, who now looked like an Arabian princess in her new costume.

  “Bah, ça va bien aller. Simply respond to a plea of help. Nothing more. Nothing less.” She patted Sierra on the arm as if to reinforce her words, even though Sierra was still trying to translate the French. It is good? Is that what she said? Her French was pathetic.

  “How do you know someone will ask for my help?” Sierra asked, deciding to go with it. How else would she get a free costume that looked so hot? She had the worrying thought that this might be a scam. Would someone later approach her and ask for her help and then she would wake up in a bathtub missing a kidney?

  How would this woman even know if she responded to a cry for help? If whoever called for help looked sketchy, she would say she didn’t hear them.

  “A woman in my position, un vendeur d' articles de fantaisie et de magie, knows things. I hear things. The city speaks and I listen.”

  “How can you know what is going to happen to her, though? You can’t possibly know that.” Cecilia finally spoke up, on the same train of thought as Sierra. Thinking it might be a scam. Sierra was relieved that her friend finally spoke up. She had begun to wonder if Cecilia had gone daft or just didn't care.

  “Fais gaffe à la marche, jeune fille. From the past springs the present and subsequently the future. One with un esprit ouvert knows things, even things that have to do with two silly girls,” she smiled benignly and looked down at the two girls in question, who both frowned at the insult.

  Sierra hadn’t notice before, but the woman was so much taller than the two of them. She towered over the two petite girls like a giant. Before she had seemed elegant and a beauty, now she loomed like an Amazon warrior. That feeling of unease crept over Sierra again.

  She felt like she was a few steps from center, but this whole costume experience was confusing and unsettling. She wanted to get the hell out of here. She hadn’t been thrilled about the ghost tour, but now she was dying to get there. Anything to get her away from this woman that raised the hair on the back of her neck. She loved the costume, but she didn’t want the price to be too high.

  “Now, run along. I’ll have your clothes sent to your ho
tel. You two have a tour to catch.”

  Before Sierra could ask how she knew they were going on a ghost tour, or how she knew what hotel they were staying in, the woman was pushing them out of the store and into the alley.

  Right before Sierra crossed the threshold there was a hand on her arm and she turned to look at the woman.

  “Un moment, s’il te plaît.” The woman slipped a necklace over her head and touched Sierra’s face lightly.

  “You’ll need this to succeed. If all goes right, you shall find your coup de foudre.” Then she pushed Sierra out of the shop with a light shove from the back.

  Sierra stumbled out of the store, her thin new sandals making her unsteady on her feet as she turned to say thank you. As soon as she faced the door, the gentle whoosh of wind in her face was the only indication that anything had happened. The door was closed. The sign on the door now read, Closed.

  “That was so odd,” Sierra said.

  “Bizarre with a capitol B,” Cecilia agreed. “What is that?” She reached out to touch the necklace draped around Sierra’s neck but pulled her hand back at the last moment as if stung.

  “I don’t know.” Sierra lifted the heavy object off her chest and peered down at it. From the light of the flickering gas lamps the object twinkled between her fingers. It was a skeleton key, long and old fashion, with two keys fashioned at the end of it to open a door. The bow of the key was actually fashioned into the shape of a skull and was made of a heavy crystal or glass. The skull grinned at her, the lights glinting off the teeth making it look as if it were alive. It looked old and there was something about it that made her shiver.

  She dropped the key, letting it fall between her breasts, not wanting to touch it. She had the urge to pull it off, to throw it aside, but a niggling in her gut cautioned her against that. The key felt important. Very important.

  “Well, it looks cool and goes with the costume in a weird way. By the way, chick, that costume is hot, you are on fire. And you got it for free, so cool.”

  “For a favor,” Sierra frowned.

  “Whatever that means, it’ll probably be nothing. Oh shit,” Cecilia glanced down at her phone and looked up with panicked eyes at Sierra.

  “What?” Sierra asked worried.

  “We’ve got fifteen minutes to get our ass to the bar and pick up our tour tickets! It’s five blocks away. Get your butt in gear!” Cecilia took off in a fast walk in the opposite direction, leaving Sierra to hurry after her. Sierra felt like she was going to spend this entire trip chasing after Cecilia. Not a fun place to be.

  Chapter 3

  Sierra had hardly any time to check out the sights of the bustling French Quarter as she raced along with Cecilia to find the bar where it was supposed to all begin. They raced down Royal, past street musicians belting out tunes and kids with bottle caps affixed to their shoes tap dancing for tips. Many an appreciative cat-call was shouted as the girls rushed past.

  “Oh man, genie, grant me a wish,” one man called as he fell to his knees by Sierra. She giggled but rushed along behind Cecilia.

  Along the way they passed wooden boards with arrows affixed to street signs and lights that read, “This Way to a Good Haunt,” so they knew they were going in the right direction.

  The more they passed, the more everything blurred together. The vintage buildings all began to look the same and Sierra didn’t know which way she ran, North, South, East or West. A girl could get easily turned around in this place, even though it was basically a large rectangle. If they weren’t careful, they could end up in an area of the French Quarter that wasn’t so pleasant to visit.

  They rounded a corner and a large sign proclaimed, “Your Good Haunt Awaits,” with another arrow pointing to a bar with a flashing neon sign in the big window.

  “That’s the place,” Cecilia said with a huff. They were both wheezing and a little sweaty from their mad dash through the French Quarter.

  “The Spotted Octopus? Really?” Sierra laughed.

  “And look!” Cecilia pointed to another sign that read, “Free Hurricanes if you take a tour.” “I told you,” she smiled back at Sierra.

  “I heard they are super sweet drinks,” Sierra frowned at the sign.

  “Stop being negative, it’s a free drink.” Cecilia tugged on Sierra’s arm and led her into the dark bar. Dark metal music hit them full force in the face, but Sierra was pleasantly surprised to find that it smelled nice, almost aromatic.

  “They passed a smoking ban in New Orleans. I wish they would do that in our town. So much nicer to be able to breathe,” Cecilia wove her way through the crowd, calling over her shoulder.

  “I know, this is nice,” Sierra agreed. Going to a bar wasn’t a favorite of hers. The smell of smoke, mixed with sweaty bodies and spilled alcohol, wasn’t what she considered a good time. She liked going out with her friends but they usually ended up sitting at a restaurant and paying for overpriced drinks instead of hitting the bar scene.

  The place was dark, dim track lighting set at the lowest setting lined the middle of the big room, squatting over a bulky U-shaped bar that took up a fourth of the space. The bar was made of wood and copper and it gleamed, welcoming patrons to pull up a chair and order a drink. Liquors of every flavor and brand lined the middle cabinets, along with large bins filled to the top with colorful flavored mixtures.

  Two men tended bar, both were dressed in half put together costumes. They rushed back and forth serving the large crowd, but would occasionally stop and banter with guests and flip bottles in the air in a showy fashion.

  On both sides of the room dark booths lined the walls and couples and groups crowded around low tables sipping beers and talking excitedly. There wasn’t an open table to be seen. Sierra expected to find a dance floor as they walked deeper into the place, but instead they came to an open area with long tables set up like you would find in a school cafeteria.

  Different card games and board games were being played around the tables. There were even consoles set up where patrons could play vintage video games. It was an interesting place. But it continued to get weirder the further they went.

  As they neared the final area of the bar, the room opened up to an area that at the center had a stripper’s pole. Two rather large girls were trying their damnedest to get up the pole and do a spin, but it only ended with them sliding down and flashing everyone their cookies.

  Another set of girls waited in the wings to get their turn on the pole and in the meantime did some weird interpretive dance that didn’t match the music that was blasting loudly over the speakers.

  “Curiouser and curiouser,” Sierra gawked.

  “Isn’t this crazy?”

  “Crazy is a way to describe it.” Sierra took in the sights, cringing as one of the girls on the pole did a head dive and her legs flew over her head and spread wide, revealing her tragically misaligned underwear. “Ouch.” Sierra shook her head in pity.

  “OMG,” Cecilia covered her eyes dramatically. “I can honestly say I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

  “Hopefully never again.”

  “That looks like the ticket booth.” Cecilia pointed to a hole in the wall. It was literally a hole in the wall. Someone had cut a square out of the sheetrock to reveal the room behind it.

  “Is everything we do in this city going to be this weird?”

  “At least we’ll have something to talk about when we get home,” Cecilia laughed, shouldering her way through a group that was ogling the girls on the pole and walked up to the hole in the wall.

  “Will call for Billings,” she said.

  Cecilia smiled big at the girl stuck in the hole like a goth Jack in the Box waiting to pop out. She got that impression because the girl was dressed in white and black stripes from head to foot and had a funny jester hat perched on top of her head. She was pierced in every way imaginable, it was a wonder she could open her mouth.

  She handed over the tickets with a smirk and thrust two paper fans with t
he tour company’s logo printed on them at Cecilia.

  “Have a hauntingly good time,” the girl said in a monotone voice that negated the nice sentiments her words were supposed to impart.

  “We’re going to have so much fun!” Cecilia squealed fanning herself with the paper fan. She pushed Sierra’s fan into her hand and did a crazy little jig of excitement.

  “Contain yourself,” the goth chick said in that creepy monotonous voice, which might have been meant as a joke. Sierra was unsure.

  “Never!” Cecilia fired back with a big grin and she spontaneously hugged Sierra. “Thanks for doing this with me!”

  “No problem.” Sierra felt bad for plotting out ways to get Cecilia plowed before the tour started so they wouldn’t have to do this.

  A few emos sipping beers at the bar turned around and glanced at the two girls and scowled. Obviously they were being too perky for this environment. At first Sierra thought they were in costume, but on closer inspection she realized they weren’t trying to look like anything. Their look must be their normal tragic every day wear. She wanted to slap some hot pink on them to snap them out of their monotone funk.

  Cecilia held up two printed pieces of paper that read, “hurricane ticket” across them horizontally and pointed to the bar. The bartender was much friendlier than the ticket lady. He leered at the girls and made his pecs jump in his tight black shirt. He had a black skull mask that covered his chin and mouth, making his smile look predatory.

  He filled up two large plastic cups from a container loaded with the premade liquid. Three containers sat huddled on the bar, proof that they must go through a lot of the stuff. He handed over the plastic cups with a wink and moved on to the next customer. They were the biggest drinks the girls had ever seen. The cup was like something from a gas station, sixty-four ounces of rum mixed with sugar. Everyone was sure to see ghosts after ingesting these alcoholic Big Gulps.

  “Wow, this’ll last us the whole tour,” Cecilia said taking a big pull on her straw and grimacing after. The liquid was bright red and looked like Kool-Aid. She pulled her face back to the normal position, smiled and said, “Yum.”