Anna’s deep auburn hair was a tangled stringy mess from last nights soaking and towel drying. The blue of her corneas was surrounded by the red of countless broken blood vessels. Her usually beautifully sculpted face and somewhat Romanesque nose looked puffy, and there as a small but apparently deep cut on her left ear. Even her body, upon which she had spent countless expensive hours trimming, toning and torturing at a nearby health club, looked decidedly unhealthy. There were shallow bruise marks that went from her breasts to her navel, and then down to just above her pubic hair.
Anna again pledged her revenge upon Tom, while continuing to examine herself in the harsh bathroom light. The girl voted in high school as the one with the perfect face and perfect figure was currently a perfect mess.
“If they could see me now,” Anna smirked, remembering her girlfriends and girl enemies. “They’d all love it.”
Anna attempted to regain a somewhat human appearance with the assistance of several different brushes, eye drops, concealer and whatever else she could find in her makeup kit and medicine cabinet. She thought her body looked as bad as, if not worse than her face.
Anna quickly put on the old triple extra large football jersey she kept hanging on a hook on the bathroom door. She had kept it as a souvenir from an old boyfriend, and found it came in very handy after a shower or as a nightgown. It stretched down almost to her knees. She had told Tom that it was her brother’s, and had told her brother to lie if asked. Anna looked in the mirror one more time. She moaned twice before heading back into the bedroom.
When she saw Tom lying on the bed, peacefully sleeping the early morning away, she was moved with emotion. “Shit!” she said. The son of a bitch looked great. He used no foundation, no wrinkle cream, no tweezers, no pulling, no shading, no covering and he looked as good as he always did, which Anna thought was pretty damn good.
His dark curly hair never seemed to need brushing. His skin was smooth and tan. His muscles were well defined, and at 6 foot 2, Anna thought he was a great match for her 5 foot 9. Anna would watch him in his sleep and marvel at his youthful beauty. She often called him her Adonis.
“Fuck you!” Anna half-snarled and half-laughed. Right now she would like him to look a little more his age, which was 5 years more advanced than her own.
“What?” a sleepy voice yawned from the bed.
Even his voice sounded sexy and gorgeous. “Nothing, honey,” Anna said while leaving the bedroom. “You mother fucker,” she whispered.
“What?”
Anna quickly closed the door and made her escape. She half walked, half stumbled down the steps. Even the bottom of her feet hurt. No, she thought. This isn’t like being beaten up from the outside. It’s like being beaten up from the inside.
“Stop it, Anna.” Anna addressed herself. “Face it, you are just getting old.”
It was only 6:30 in the morning. The first gray light of dawn was just starting to break the darkness in her kitchen when Anna walked in, mad for coffee and in desperate need of Advil.
She didn’t wait for the coffee to pass through the coffee maker and fill the pot. She slid a cup under the caffeine rich stream as soon as it started to pour. When the cup was half full she replaced it with another. She took two Advils with the first sip and one more with the second.
The coffee was strong and the Advil seemed to help. As soon as Anna started to feel a little better she tried to remember her dreams from the night before. But, the more the morning lit the room, the more distant the previous night’s events seemed. Soon Anna’s mind tired of the search and found a new focus.
“My music boxes!” Anna slammed down her coffee cup on the table, causing some to spill over the top. She ignored the mess and walked quickly to her dining room. “I can’t believe I forgot about my music boxes.”
The day before, Anna’s “Craziest thing I ever did” had arrived. It had been packed tightly in about 20 feet of bubble wrap, a billion of those little Styrofoam packing thingies and a 4 foot x 3 foot reinforced cardboard box. It took Anna and Tom five minutes to cut the box open and get through the packing material before they reached and removed a highly polished oak chest which reflected back their faces as clearly as any mirror.
Tom had laughed when he saw it. “You paid $2,000 for a Barbie coffin?”
Anna had ignored his comments, although she did find the thought of Vampire Barbie, complete with a broken mirror, pet bat—Binkie, and a bucket of pretend Ken blood, to be somewhat amusing.
There was a key taped to the top of the chest. Anna quickly peeled it off, unlocked and opened the lid. She found that the interior was divided into twelve deep red velvet compartments, each covered by a velvet panel. Each panel was secured on all four sides by tiny red satin ribbons. She had carefully untied all 48 ribbons before quickly lifting each panel. When she was done, Anna gasped at the sight before her. The only word that could somewhat adequately describe what she saw was, “Wow!”
Anna and Tom looked down at the tops of 12 antique music boxes. Each was hand carved or painted. One was pure black with a single red rose in the center of its cover. Another was white with raised carvings of a cat on a window ledge. Others were in various shades of wood from teak to mahogany, each with its own painting, carving or design. They were all polished to the point where the light in the room glittered off their surfaces and reflected around the room.
Anna had purchased the music boxes, sight unseen, at an art auction at a local dealer. Stacy, the media buyer at the advertising agency where Anna worked, had forced her to go along. She had no intention of buying anything, but when the auctioneer said a music box collection was the next offering, she couldn’t resist the temptation.
He described the boxes in detail. They were all French and at least 100 years old. He said the collection was made available through an exporter in Paris who was working on behalf of the anonymous owner.
The bidding began at $1,000. At $2,000, Anna was the only one with her arm still raised.
“Sold to the beautiful woman in the third row,” The auctioneer had brought down his gavel. “For the bargain price of $2,000.”
Anna was going to say “Wait! I was kidding! It was all a joke!” But, for some reason, she didn’t. She couldn’t. She didn’t want to. Later, when she was writing the check and scheduling delivery, the auctioneer told her that the collection was worth at least three times what she paid, but that the seller was in a hurry to complete the process as soon as possible.
Anna was excited, until the auctioneer suggested they discuss it over dinner and drinks. She then could no longer be sure whether his words were truly informative, or goal oriented, with the goal being to get her onto his auctioneer’s block.
It took only three days for the collection to arrive, complete with a note containing the auctioneer’s phone number and a bottle of champagne.
“Going, going, gone!” Anna crumbled up the note and tossed it into the trash.
Anna didn’t get an opportunity to fully inspect her collection after it had arrived. A phone call, an emergency meeting at the agency and several margaritas with Tom afterwards made her decide to wait until morning to enjoy her new treasures.
Before going to the meeting, she carefully retied every tiny ribbon. She had then closed and locked the chest before going to sleep.
Anna found the key right where she had placed it for safe keeping in the chipped coffee cup she used for such purposes.
“Yes!” Anna clutched it in her hand and walked quickly to her prize.
As soon as Anna entered the dining room she came to a sudden stop. Her mouth dropped and the key fell to the floor. The chest was open and on its side. The music boxes had been scattered around the room, as if thrown angrily aside by a spoiled child. . . or a madman. Anna imagined the voice from her dream, “C’est moi, c’est moi.”
“Bullshit!” Anna shouted. Her fury at the sight of the boxes strewn about blocked out the memory and fear. Now the only word racing through her mind was Why?
Turning quickly away from the room, Anna marched up the stairs for some answers.
“What did you do to the music boxes?” she snapped as soon as she stormed through the bedroom door.
Tom, of course, didn’t wake up.
“Okay, fine!” Anna grabbed the glass of water next to the bed and turned it over directly above Tom’s sleeping face.
He woke up. “What the hell are you doing?” Tom coughed out the water that had splashed into his mouth and down his throat.
“What the hell did you do?” Anna asked back.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Tom jumped out of bed. His face and hair were dripping wet. “Are you crazy, Anna?”
He started to wipe his face with the comforter, but Anna yanked it away. It flew easily across the room. In some other state of mind, Anna would have been sure to notice exactly how easily she had managed to toss the heavy comforter away as if it were the lightest of blankets.
“You know very well what I’m talking about,” she yelled.
“No I don’t,” Tom yelled louder. He walked quickly to the bathroom. A moment later he walked out rubbing his head with a towel. “I really don’t,” he said somewhat more calmly.
“You didn’t touch my music boxes last night?”
“No.” Tom tossed his towel into the corner of the room. “I didn’t even go into the dining room after you had to go to your meeting.”
“Then who did?”
“How should I know?” Tom shook some water from his right ear. “What’s with the damn music boxes anyway?”
“Come see for yourself.”
Tom put on a robe and followed Anna to the dining room.
“How did this happen?” Tom looked around the dining room.
“I was hoping you’d have the answer to that question.”
Tom looked as surprised as Anna had when she first discovered the mess. “Not me.”
Anna and Tom moved through the room, quickly picking up the music boxes as they went. They very carefully, retrieved each one and placed it softly down on the dining room table.
Three of the precious antiques had been tossed into one corner of the room. Two others were under the table, and the rest were simply scattered about. Once they had lined up all 12, Anna placed the chest behind them.
Amazingly, none of the boxes or the chest were damaged in any way. There wasn’t a scratch or chip on them. In fact, if anything, they seemed to be brighter, and more reflective than before.
Anna ran her hand over the smooth tops. She paused at the black box with the rose. Holding the base with one hand, she slowly opened it with the other. The music box began to play a waltz that Anna could only describe as “Enchanting.” She knew she had never heard this particular waltz before. She would have remembered, because this particular waltz was perfect.
“It’s so beautiful,” she whispered as the waltz played on.
“May I have this dance?” Tom bowed low, holding one hand behind his back.
Anna turned to Tom. “Of course,” she curtsied.
Tom took her in his arms. As they danced, they kissed. Anna reached between them and untied the sash at Tom’s waist. His robe fell open and she pressed herself against him.
The waltz swirled through the room as Anna moved Tom’s robe off his shoulders until it fell free. Tom then gently lifted her jersey over her head. The two lovers lowered to the floor, where Tom moved between Anna’s open legs. He teased her for a moment, before pushing slowly into her. Anna inhaled deeply and moved to meet his thrust. When he was completely engulfed, and their pubic hair entwined, Anna’s climax started to roll through her body.
While they made love the music box had continued its waltz. When Anna’s spasms began. . . it slammed shut.
Anna’s orgasm came in waves, each more intense and violent than the one before. She waited for them to stop, but they didn’t until the intense pleasure approached pain. Finally, they began to subside. It was only then that Anna realized the music had stopped.
Chapter 3
“Details, girl. I want details.” Anna’s other best friend at work, Jeffrey, was excited as soon as he saw her face that morning. He said he could always tell when Anna had sex. Her response to this claim was generally, “bullshit,” although Jeffrey was almost always right.
Jeffrey haphazardly took a big sip of his just poured, steaming hot, cup of coffee, scalding his lips and tongue along the way. He quickly spit it out into a wastebasket next to the table in the ad agency’s coffee room.
“Yeoch!” Jeffrey cried loudly. “I guess Duncan will be on his own tonight.”
Jeffrey soaked a paper towel in cold water from the water cooler and wrapped it around his tongue.
Stacy meanwhile was beside herself with laughter.
“What’s so funny?” Jeffrey spoke with held tongue. “That hurt.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Stacy continued to laugh. “I just bet that was the first time you ever spit instead of swallowed.”
Jeffrey un-wrapped his tongue. “You’re right, Bitch,” he used his nickname for Stacey affectionately. “And I don’t plan on making a habit out of it.”
Jeffrey, Stacey and Anna had all started work at the agency on the same day. They instantly became friends. That friendship grew stronger as Jeffrey advanced from copy writer to creative director, Stacy bulldozed her way to become the head media buyer, and Anna kept signing up clients and making lots of money.
Anna had intended for the job to be a temporary money machine while she continued to write screenplays and collect rejection letters. So far, Anna’s fame had been confined to being rejected by some of the biggest names in Hollywood, and the temporary job had lasted eight years.
Anna had met Tom through the agency when she cold-called his office and set up a meeting about representing his small, but successful jewelry store chain. She ended up getting a lot more than the account.
The first time they started to make love Tom asked, “Is this the way you service all of you clients?”
Anna had looked up and said matter-of-factly, “Yes.”
Jeffrey had loved that story, finding it incredibly stimulating. He always wanted detailed, “inch by inch” descriptions of Anna’s and Tom’s adult activities. He would explain that he was only interested because he was a writer.
“You’re only interested because you’re a perv.” Stacy would counter.
“And you’re point is what?” Jeffrey always smiled. “Say it loud. . . I’m perv and proud.”
“You are so sick,” Stacey punched him in the arm.
“Say it quick. . . I’m sick for dick.”
Stacey gave up.
The three met every morning in the coffee room before work. This morning was no exception. Without joking about it, Jeffrey added a little cream to his coffee and returned to his original listening position at the small round table in the middle of the room.
“Tell, tell, tell, tell, tell, tell, tell.”
“Is stuttering a gay speech thing?” Stacy always kidded Jeffrey on his mannerisms, which he only displayed when it was time for, as he called it, “girl talk.”
Jeffrey flipped a wrist and lisped out his words. “Well, you know how we guy guys are.”
“No I don’t,” Stacy shook her head.
“How silly of me. Of course you don’t,” Jeffrey said “If you did you would dress better.”
Jeffrey knew that Stacy was not a lesbian. He just thought she dressed like one.
“And for sure you’d have more men.”
“Fag bag,” Stacy raised her coffee cup and toasted Jeffrey.
“Butch bitch,” Jeffrey toasted back.
It was a typical morning in the coffee room for everyone, except Anna.
“Hello?” Anna said. “I think I had the floor.”
“Well you certainly had it this morning, honey,” Jeffrey squirmed just a little.
Anna had started her story by telling them about what she and Tom ended up do
ing in the dining room.
“Please, Jeffrey,” Anna said. “You’re making it really hard for me to finish.”
Before Jeffrey could say anything, Stacy reached over and stuffed a hand full of napkins into his mouth.
“Continue,” Stacy said as Jeffrey started frantically spitting out chunks of napkin. “And hurry.”
Anna tried as hard as she could to remember something about the night before. She knew she was trying to remember a nightmare so real that it was probably best left forgotten. But, she just couldn’t stop being afraid, and that scared her.
Anna had hoped that the florescent reality of work, and the playful bickering of her friends would help. She had learned long ago that sometimes it’s a good idea to step away from a troubling situation in order to take a long look at it. In this case the technique was failing miserably. There were bits and pieces of memories from the night before, but nothing more. It was like trying to start putting together a jig saw puzzle with all of the corner and edge pieces missing.
Still, Anna had to try. “There was someone, or some thing in the room. I was on the bed and it was coming at me.”
“Tell me about it,” Jeffrey’s mouth was now mostly napkin free and moving fast. “I’ve certainly been there and done that. . . a lot.”
“No, Jeffrey, you don’t understand. I think it grabbed me and held me down. Then it hurt me. I just don’t remember.”
Jeffrey wanted to again relate, but Stacey’s balled up, napkin-filled, fist convinced him to speak not and forever hold his peace. . . at least until she dropped the napkins.
“It’s just not there,” Anna shook her head. She shivered as she tried to force her conscious mind back into the world of unconscious memories. “I think there was this smell. This horrible, awful smell. And pain. Incredible pain.”
For a moment Anna felt as if she were encased in solid ice, but then it was gone. She bit her lower lip. “So what do you think?’
“Hell of a dream,” Stacey said.
“Agreed,” Jeffrey stated. “And that’s from one who has had more than his share of, shall we say, unusual dreams.”
The Haunting of Anna McAlister Page 2
