Mendez Genesis

by Edward Hancock II

  Alyson was the daughter of Lisa’s Uncle Stephen. A strict no-nonsense disciplinarian who was loathe to raise his voice, but scarcely slow to, in his own words, put the child to the rod. From an early age, Alyson had learned to fear her father’s temper. As a result, she had been reared to respect other people quietly. To be seen but not heard. Lisa wasn’t one to agree with that way of thinking, but she had to admire the woman that her cousin had become. Too, Lisa was thankful that Alyson was willing to watch Christina for her. Dragging Christina to the hospital everyday simply wasn’t an option. Alyson had graduated early and had opted, against her father’s wishes, to get her college degree over the Internet so her time was basically free to do with as she pleased. Lisa couldn’t afford to pay very much but she always saw to it that Alyson was compensated for the time she spent watching Christina. There was always plenty of food in the house and most places within ten miles delivered, including McDonald’s, which still struck Lisa as odd, a year after they’d implemented the strategy.

  The shower had been hot enough to turn Lisa’s skin a dark shade of pink, and yet she hardly noticed the intense heat. A steamy curtain had descended, ensnaring the entire room under its cloak. Once greatly adorned in Cobalt Blue fixtures, towels and decorations, it appeared to Lisa as if the milky white steam had served to remove every ounce of color from the room. Her mind began to conjure up the feelings of lost life, as if the “missing” color had robbed the room of the very life force that sustained it in the human realm. Wrapping a towel around her, Lisa reached for the switch that would trigger the exhaust fans. The steam was already beginning to dissipate, even before she turned the fans on, but the uneasy feeling that had settled inside Lisa necessitated that she remove the steam as quickly as possible.

  She approached the sink, relieved to find the blue soap dispenser still intact, and the two small lighthouse paintings still bearing their colorful aquatic appearance. The thick white apparition enveloping the bathroom had not bleached the paint from the walls after all. Everything was as it should be. Lisa sighed happily. She opened up the side drawer to retrieve her hair dryer and comb. The mirror over the sink was covered in condensation, as was the small, mirrored medicine cabinet door to her right.

  With her right hand, she wiped the condensation from the mirrors and reached into the drawer searching for her comb. She fumbled under a box of Q-tips, her makeup bag and past several items she could not identify simply by touch. Finally, near the back of the drawer she found her comb. Closing the top drawer, she opened the bottom one and bent down to reach her hair dryer. She thought she remembered putting it in the top drawer, but decided not to devote too much time to thinking about it, as she already had plenty of reasons to be on emotional overload. The location of her hair dryer and whether or not some unseen gremlin had relocated it one drawer down was not important to Lisa. The two drawers to the left of the sink were deep, as drawers go. The sink and countertop were built to allow for adequate space to put things like shaving creams, soaps, deodorants or whatever decorative knickknacks Lisa wanted to fit. The only other drawer rested directly in the middle of the wooden counter. Unlike the other two, it was wide, but not very deep. It usually held small things such as combs, hairpins, burettes and what little makeup did not fit into Lisa’s makeup bag. The wood grain was a light color, not golden brown, but not much darker. Below the center drawer was an open area where, if desired, a small chair could be placed for convenience. Lisa had briefly enjoyed the idea of applying makeup, brushing her teeth or styling her hair while seated, but it soon became more of a hassle than it was worth, compelling Lisa to get rid of the chair. Lisa cinched her towel with both hands long enough to unravel the power cord from the hair dryer and plug it into the wall. She was always amazed that her mother’s little trick for cinching the towel around her torso still worked, despite the fact Lisa was not as thin as she’d been in her high school days.

  Alex had once told her that she reminded him of Ashley Judd, the actress. Lisa didn’t see it, but whatever worked for Alex.

  Switching on the hair dryer, Lisa wiped away the condensation, which had again formed on the mirror. She knew that the room had been steamy, but it was starting to clear out now so Lisa was a bit shocked that the mirror had fogged up again, and so quickly. She combed the hair straight back, then bent forward so that it all hung loosely as if trying to reach out for the floor. The warm air tickled her neck and massaged her scalp. The comb slid easily through Lisa’s wet hair. For a few precious moments, Lisa allowed herself to get lost in the lonely whirr of the hair dryer. For two minutes, she could escape the life that was Lisa Mendez. For two minutes, she could be nobody, nothing. Two minutes of peace.

  Standing erect again, Lisa set the comb down on the counter, turned off the hair dryer and fluffed her hair with her hand. Setting the hair dryer down, she turned back toward the mirror, which, much to her disbelief was fogged over yet again.

  “What the—” she whispered, reaching for the hand towel hanging under the medicine cabinet. She switched off the fans, figuring they weren’t being much help and used the hand towel to wipe the mirror. When she saw the grayish-green flesh-scales hanging off the grinning face beside hers in the mirror, Lisa jumped and swished around, striking out at the non-existent phantasm. Looking back to the mirror, she found it fogged up yet again. Not quite ready to get a second look at whatever it was she thought she’d seen, she stood there staring at the steamed up mirror, suddenly very aware that she was not alone. The face had been that of a young woman. Or at least of a young woman that…what? A young woman that once was. Was what? A woman Lisa thought was familiar. It reminded Lisa of Alyson, though it truly looked nothing like her. It held strong to some indefinable characteristic that was nonetheless childlike, much the same way Alyson’s innocent face seemed to disguise the wisdom forged within her young soul. Lisa became aware of a soft tapping noise. Looking at the fogged up mirror, Lisa watched as small spots seemed to be clearing across the mirror from left to right, as if some invisible intruder were standing in front of the mirror walking his fingers across the vapors.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  Reaching for the mirror again, Lisa wiped viciously at the condensed fog, determined to convince herself that she was paranoid. The rotting fleshy grin reappearing all but convinced her she was just that. If it had scared her half to death the first time it appeared, seeing the leering apparition a second time nearly served to finish the job.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  Tap!

  Lisa’s brain let go with explosive nerve impulses. She was no longer sure if the tapping she heard was that of the invisible fingerprint bandit or the pounding of her brain desperately trying to free itself from her skull.

  Almost instantly, the face was again masked behind the mysterious fog which, Lisa realized had nothing to do with the hot shower from which she had moments ago emerged. Though it was an all-too-obviously-fruitless effort, Lisa again reached up to wipe away the mysterious vapor. As her hand touched the mirror, she felt her entire body rocked with a power as close to electrical shock as anything she’d ever experienced. Though the mirror itself remained intact, a hand, if you could call it a hand, grabbed Lisa’s shoulder, holding tightly. The flesh felt cold, hard and dry. When she pulled away, the skin covering flaked off, much like paint chipping off a wall, revealing rotted bones with maggot-covered muscle and fatty tissue. Lisa’s entire muscular system seized.

  Her brain went numb, losing its ability to register coherent thoughts. She realized she was peeing on herself, but there was nothing she could do to stop it. She was having trouble remembering to breathe. Unable to stabilize herself, Lisa fell backwards into the tub, hitting her head on the soap dish.

  Blacking out. Lisa’s eyes filled with tears. Is that pain? Does that hurt?

  Focus. What is hurt?

  Who am I? The Mirror. Fingers walking across the mirror. Spots on the mirror. Tap. Tap Tap. Tap.

  Tap.

  Walking. Writing. Ta
p. Scratch. Screech. Tap. Scratch. Squeak.

  Blinking back tears, fighting to stay awake, Lisa saw the message on the mirror.

  “Death must come…” This time the mirror did not fog over again. The words didn’t run, didn’t vanish. They were there. Chest tight. Can’t breathe. Fight. Must fight. Tap. Tap. Tap.

  A cold sensation covered Lisa’s face. It felt like breath. Like someone was breathing on her. She smelled something indescribably foul. Something resembling the smell of urine combined with blood and rot. Her spine tingled, but she could not move. The mirror itself seemed to be pulsating as if someone – or something – was pushing it from the other side. Blinded by tears, confused by pain, Lisa watched the mirror with curious fear. It appeared almost to liquefy before her very eyes, bubbling, swirling, churning, and whirring like a teakettle announcing the completion of its services.

  Focusing on anything but the pain in her body, Lisa tried to fight her overwhelming fear at the goings on around her. The grinning face. When the face reappeared in the soupy remains of what once was the bathroom mirror, Lisa screamed. This time it was not just a face. The face had a head, the head had a neck. The neck came with shoulders, arms and a torso partially clothed in torn, tattered, dirt-covered clothes. The torso gave way to hips, which fed to legs and feet being born from the mirror-porthole, which had materialized. From head to toe, the skin was grayish-green, scaly – almost reptilian – and flaking off, exposing rotted, yellowed bones, and stale, odorous flesh. A stench that could only be described as the smell of rotted death filled the room. It was like fresh feces covering the walls of a morgue filled to capacity during a July heat wave that saw the air-conditioning system not working, the refrigeration busted and the ventilation system clogged. It was every corrupt odor imaginable and then some.

  There were rotten egg smells, odors that reminded Lisa of a wet dog, shaking off the rain from its fur. There was the scent of Grandpa Warner’s cologne, but this was not the welcome jovial symphonic memory it had once been. This was overpowering, wrong. This was like a full bottle of Old Spice being poured over the naked body of a fat man as he bake in the summer sun. And there was Death.

  Whoever – whatever – this thing was, it was not talking. It was not grunting, groaning, moaning or wailing. In fact it was not making any noise, except for the scraping, scratching and thumping of its skin against the various bathroom surfaces as it climbed out of the mirror, off the bathroom counter to stand erect on the floor in front of Lisa. The creature bent slightly toward Lisa, who lay helpless, unable to move, in the bathtub. Lisa noticed a sharp pain shooting through her left leg, but she could not move it. Her right leg felt like it was crawling with spiders. The creature continued to grin at Lisa as it reached a vulture-like claw toward her. Lisa wanted to bite, scratch or simply break the thing’s finger off, but she was still unable to command her limbs to function properly. The creature’s eyes were living Evil. Reptilian slits carved a thin dark cavern into the radiant amber spheres. Innumerable serpents, servants of their host Being, swam about the darkened orange spheres like tiny sea snakes cast upon the Lake of Fire itself. Her eyes glazing with tears, Lisa found it increasingly difficult to make anything out in the room in which she found herself a prisoner. She could not discern colors on the wall, shapes in pictures nor could she discriminate furniture, fixtures or decoration of any kind. But the eyes.

  Lisa saw the eyes with perfect clarity. Her mind registered detail about the creature’s face that was likely to be missed by the most sensitive viewing devices. Lisa was being allowed to see the eyes. Forced to see them. For whatever reason she did not care to discern, the eyes were important. All the more reason for Lisa to close hers, she told herself. The smells grew stronger now and Lisa realized that they were emanating from the rotted flesh and soiled breath of the creature itself She squeezed her eyes tight, thought of Christina and tried to resign herself to Fate’s hands. Leaving her eyes open left her vulnerable to whatever malignant magic lay within the amber sea of serpents. Closing her eyes made her vulnerable to the pain coursing through her body. Through the ringing in her ears, Lisa felt a muffled silence blanketing her. Her ears gave her the sensation of being at a high altitude. Clogged, her eardrums pounding, Lisa became lost under a blanket of silence, which slowly began to cover her. She found herself praying, asking only that somebody other than Christina be allowed to find her soon-to-be-lifeless body.

  In her mind, she pictured herself fighting the creature off, guided by adrenaline and the super strength it imparted. In reality, she would have been lucky to be able to pick up a loofa sponge to throw at the creature. The creature’s touch was as cold and light as the breaths she thought she’d felt moments ago. Was she dreaming? Had she already died? Was this a test to see if she was worthy of getting into Heaven? What was she supposed to do? Be brave? Call for God’s help? Lie there and let Fate deal her one final hand? Lisa tried to speak her daughter’s name, tried to speak of eternal affection but her voice was lost. Breath would not come. Death would come.

  Blinking away oceans of tears, Lisa felt the room getting darker. The lights might have been blinking on and off. She could not clear the fog in her mind well enough to be certain. What was certain was that the creature, more suddenly than it had appeared, had vanished. The mirror no longer a soupy kaleidoscope of lights, smoke, or ethereally liquefied metal held to the wall as it was supposed to. A deep condensation appeared on the mirror before Lisa’s strained eyes. Blinded by tears, she was nonetheless certain of what she had seen. Certain she’d seen the mirror fog up. Certain of the Tap Tap Tap that again filled the room. Certain of the bloody fingerprints recomposing its prophetic message on the reflective tablet that was Lisa’s bathroom mirror. Death must come.

  Chapter 10 ~

  He stood outside the Mendez house, veiled in the protection provided by the evening sky. Pink skies at night were a sailor’s delight. To Him, they were a reminder of work left undone. Of true beauty yet unrealized. True potential that remained untapped. A purpose unfulfilled. Soon, the night would dawn upon a New Moon. He had often wondered why it was called a New Moon when, in fact, no moon was visible in the night sky. What, He wondered, was so new about nothing? A full moon, big, bold, bright, complete. Now there was something new. Perhaps the term referred to the new cycle. A cycle that began with nothing and ended in fullness, a rich, complete, glorious display of power – much the same way in which the very universe itself began. Out of nothing sprang light, total, complete perfect light. Out of nothing sprang the mountains, the seas, and the air. The vast expanse of stars crowned by the shimmering jewel of Queen Luna herself, caught in the eternal childish game of celestial peek-a-boo – now you see it, now you don’t. Tonight, Luna’s hands held tightly over her crowning glory, keeping it well hidden from any and all interested observers. The stars shown brightly, as if goading their playful companion to reveal herself, thus continuing the endless cycle that was their eternal game. For now, they would have to wait, He thought. For now, Luna’s light hidden until, slowly, the game would play itself through only to begin again, just as before.

  Life, that is human existence, was all about cycles. Humans are born, they live and they die. Creation inevitably leads to destruction. Even the Great Creator himself had become His own greatest destruction. Now, too weak to acknowledge the power wielded in the Great Act, he had given away the power of destruction and called it Evil. Only a fool thought it evil to admit to a mistake. Only a weakling stood unwilling to correct that mistake. No matter. If The Creator was too weak to correct the mistake embodied in the fragile hearts of Mankind, He was more than willing to act on behalf of those willing to do the job.

  From the very beginning, humans had shown their true destructive natures. The first man born of woman killed his own brother out of pure jealousy. Despite claims of infinite wisdom, the Great Creator himself could not even filter every flaw from the prideful human spirit. Not even the Great Act itself had rid the world of the flaws posses
sed in the human spirit. Of course, that is because the flaw was not in the design, but in the plan itself. The fault lie not with the creation but with the Creator. Philosophy, History and Religion are ripe with examples of human indignity. Philosophy taught the basic tenant “what is past is prologue.” History teaches this simple message: those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it. Religion was a failed experiment – a lesson unto itself. Philosophy combined with History to the point of canceling each other out.

  Neither could exist without the other, but each failed countless times to coexist peacefully with the other. Another lesson The Creator refused to learn. Humans needed clarity. The human mind can only temporarily thrive on confusion before it gets bored. Without clarity, the human mind will seek pursuits with new and exciting possibilities – even if those possibilities include death. Death brought about clarity. Death makes sense. Death was – is – power. Death was Life’s one great equalizer. It comes for kings just as it comes for paupers. Death was, and remained, Life’s only clear answer. The only sure thing in life was this: Everyone dies. Everyone except Death.

  As in the night sky, the cycle was endlessly repetitive. Birth granted Life a new beginning. Life played itself out, growing, developing, changing, withering, peaking in an inevitable moment of unequaled brightness only to slowly fade into the awaiting darkness. The warm blanket Death provided each of its new arrivals. Smiling, he knew the time had come to claim another. The arrival was sweet. Tasty, even. His throat tightened and his entire body tingled. Nearing the point of pure orgasmic fits, he fell prostrate to the ground. A searing pain rocked his chest. It felt as though he was being stabbed from all sides into what would have been His soul. Growling, full of self-possessed rage, He knew His victory had been delayed yet again. His voice growing raspy, He raised his head toward the bathroom window.