Fred & Mary

by Kipjo Ewers

Barney wore a stank face as he took a long annoying sip from his coffee mug.

  “What Barney?”

  “Nothing,” he sarcastically smirked. “I just got a whiff of bullshit, that’s all.”

  “It’s probably your upper lip,” Fred sneered.

  “What’s with all this pep?” Barney asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “I’m in a better mood because I slept for almost twenty-four hours,” Fred leaned forward.

  “So, you’re just going to pretend like your little bitch ass wasn’t scared shitless to go home these past two days because his dolly was out to get him?”

  “Why don’t you say it a little louder,” Fred scowled. “They didn’t hear your ghetto white trash ass in DC.”

  “I’ll walk out this bitch screaming it at the top of my lungs,” Barney threatened him. “So, what happened?”

  “It was all in my head,” Fred shrugged. “It’s quite fun to play with once you …”

  “Hold up …hold up,” Barney stopped him. “You were playing with it? What type of playing?”

  “None of your damn business, the point is I realized it not haunted. It’s just a doll, nothing more.”

  “Why do I have a feeling you threw your back out, but not by lifting no damn loveseat?”

  “Don’t you have work you need to get to?” Fred inquired with an annoyed tone.

  “I do have a call in ten minutes,” Barney got up. “This conversation will be continued.”

  Barney paused holding a finger up to ask one more question.

  “She’s on the pill, right?”

  “Get out my office,” Fred threatened while reaching for his stapler.

  A chuckling Barney playfully trotted out of his office closing the door behind him. Fred now finally by himself sat there with a stomach full of thorny knots processing what happened last night, that morning, and what would happen when he got home that night. Fred sat drowning in a well of fear and happiness, his office was the last place he wanted to be on that day.

  ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

  For most of the day, Fred became a clock watcher. His eyes were transfixed either on the clock on his computer, his phone, or his actual watch. Everything else became secondary to him, as his mind and insides swirled with a mixture of anxiety and fear of whom or what was waiting for him when he got home. What scared him more was the fact that he was dying to go home.

  It would have continued that way until his phone buzzed with a message.

  “Quick dicking around and work, people are counting on you! And make sure you take your lunch!”

  His eyes widened while his heart produced rabbit beats as he slowly scanned his office.

  “Mary?” He lightly whispered.

  He got back no response as an eerie silence blanketed his office.

  Coming to grips with the fact that a specter was possibly watching him, Fred rubbed his hands together, and forced himself to work with the motivation that whatever it was would be there when he got home.

  He stayed focus throughout the day and took his lunch as told. He remained an extra fifteen minutes longer than he wanted to answer questions and delegate responsibilities in preparation for the Pre-Shiro pitch meeting with Bronson. Fred wasted no time as he shut down his system, grabbed his bag, and speed walked out of the office. His final obstacle was Barney who intercepted him.

  “Hey, where the hell are you rushing off to?”

  “Home,” Fred cleared his throat. “I got to go home.”

  “For what?”

  “There’s this new show I want to watch.”

  “What new show?” Barney narrowed his eyes in an interrogative fashion while folding his arms.

  “It’s that limited series on HBO,” Fred scratched his head, “The one about the woman who gets executed for killing her husband, and comes back to life with superpowers.”

  “The First,” Barney nodded. “There’s like six episodes out already.”

  “I was going to binge watch it tonight.”

  “You sure you going to watch it,” Barney grinned. “Or get a little workout in …you know …get your pump on?”

  Fred’s face said he wanted to smack him across the face with his bag. Barney read it clearly and backed up a bit.

  “Okay, so why don’t you swing by my house,” Barney offered. “We can watch it in my …”

  “I also got some work to catch up on,” he cut off his proposal, “and I’d rather see it without a commentary.”

  “Ouch,” Barney answered with a semi-hurt expression.

  “Dude, you can’t help yourself.” Fred gave him an impatient scowl. “Remember when you went to see Captain Omega before me?”

  “Okay, okay.” Barney held his hands up. “But there will be a quiz tomorrow.”

  “Got it.”

  Fred rushed off heading through the door. Had he turned around, he would have seen the slightly sad and concerned look on his friend’s face as he watched him rush off. Unfortunately, Fred’s mind was no longer concerned with the living. He focused on getting home to the ghostly entity that he prayed was still waiting for him.

  ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

  Thirty minutes later, after driving five miles over the speed limit, and frantically searching for a decent parking space, Fred bolted up the stairs of the townhouse apartment praying not to run into anyone who would impede his ascent with small talk. He counted his blessing as he choked and gasped finally arriving at his door.

  Fred took a minute to collect himself, straighten out his disheveled attire, and re-stoke some of the courage that was slowly dying down. It was the realization that he still had no idea who or what was inside his apartment.

  He swallowed as he neared his door; the spikes from the thorny knots in his stomach had increased in size. Sweaty hands made him a bumbling idiot with the keys and then the lock. As he finally got it open, he pressed his head against the door sucking in some dry air. He realized that he could have just had a mental break that he rushed home to nothing. It was possible that last night, that morning, and what happened in his office was all in his head, nothing more.

  The message that he looked at once more on his phone told him otherwise.

  Slowly he pushed the door open, creeping into his own house. Half way through the door the scent of good food made the hair stand on every part of his body. Something that would make a person with common sense run in the opposite direction quickened his steps as he entered, then closed and locked the door quickly behind him. He almost tripped over his bag which he dropped on the floor trying to get to the living room. Finally getting there, he braked in his tracks. He felt like a kid who got up on Christmas day.

  She was waiting for him.

  There she sat on the sofa in one of her knee-high summer flower dresses that he loved because they revealed much leg to him, especially when she sat cross legged, which she was.

  She had been busy, as he slowly turned to see that the table set and further cleaning and organization was done to restore the apartment back to its former glory before he turned it into a semi-disheveled widower pad.

  “So how does this work?” he nervously asked.

  Out of nowhere, he felt his iPhone buzz. He pulled it out on instinct to read the words.

  “Go change.”

  “Okay,” he nodded.

  He took his time getting there while keeping hawk eyes on her as he walked down the hallway. All he wanted to see was her stir an inch. Finally, in the bedroom, the door partially closed with no assistance from him. It was then that he heard it, footsteps. His heart began to pump triple time again as his mind raced a million miles per second. His legs became weak as his ears picked up the sound of the oven opening followed by the clanging of pots, and spoons plating food.

  Gingerly he cracked the door to get a clearer listen to the sounds coming from the kitchen. The door closed
forcing him to back pedal. His phone went off again.

  He quickly pulled it out to read the message.

  “Get out of your damn work clothes …now.”

  A terrified chuckle came over him. He obeyed shedding them off and placing them in the hamper. He then threw on his house clothes that she set out for him. He took a seat on the bed, and patiently waited, listening to the footsteps that slapped against the wooden floor. He no longer cared if he was going crazy; he could sit there listening to that sound forever. The buzz of his phone shook him from his trance. Picking it up from the bed, he eagerly read the words.

  “You can come out now.”

  He rubbed his hands together and sprang off the bed to his feet.

  He came out to see her now sitting at the dinner table in her seat. Strolling over to the table, he already knew what was made just by the scent. She made lamb with all the trimmings. For sides, there were candy yams, breaded macaroni and cheese that she made from scratch, and because she was a drill sergeant about his diet a huge heaping of Caesar’s salad with balsamic vinegar for dressing also made from scratch.

  Fred sat down with welled up eyes. Although his sight and smell were communicating to him that this was happening, it was more than he could process.

  “Whoever you are,” he fidgeted, “you’re not pretending to be my wife, and then planning to do me like Paranormal Activity. Are you?”

  His phone buzzed again. He glanced down and read.

  “Shut up and eat …salad first.”

  With a nod, he complied dishing out some onto his plate and then taking the carafe of balsamic vinegar drizzling it over his salad. As he picked up his fork, his phone buzzed again.

  “There are rules that must be followed, some with no exception. If they are not met, I will leave, and never come back.”

  “Like what?” He swallowed looking up at her.

  “There are certain things, about where I am, that I can never talk about to you. And you cannot ask me why, or push the issue, are we clear?”

  He agreed with a nod. He went to work on his salad; sadness came over him as he realized there wasn’t a plate set in front of her. He turned to his phone which came alive again.

  “I know what you’re thinking. It’s okay, just eat.”

  Fred wiped his eyes with his sleeve and worked through finishing off his salad for her. He then started putting food on his plate making sure to take a small portion of everything to try. His first sample of the lamb threw him into a bit of a coughing fit forcing him to grab the glass of water in front of him.

  “What’s wrong?” His phone buzzed.

  “Nothing,” Fred cleared his throat. “A tad bit spicy is all.”

  “Sorry,” she answered. “I can’t taste my food anymore.”

  “No, it's okay,” he quickly answered with a smile. “It still tastes good.”

  He went back to eating, this time prepared for any unsuspected surprises. Aside from the breaded macaroni and cheese being a bit salty everything else was as he remembered it.

  He made sure to look up so that she could see his genuine smile as he enjoyed every bite. He hurried a bit woofing down his meal desiring to converse with her more. He wanted to know what happened to her.

  Creepy awkwardness snuck into the room as he set down his utensils after finishing his meal. He had been contemplating how to phrase his questions without violating her rules or upsetting her.

  “So, are you in there?” Fred fidgeted with the question, “Or all around?”

  “Can be anywhere,” she texted. “But I have to inhabit the doll to do things.”

  “So, you’re not like Patrick Swayze.” Fred nodded. “Without the doll, you can’t move things.”

  “Can move things, but cannot carry.” She answered. “Soul very weak without a body, some dolls can be secondary houses to real bodies, but take a lot of energy and concentration to move.”

  “So how come you can’t move now?” He asked his next question.

  “For some reason, direct eye contact makes it hard to concentrate,” she answered. “I can only move when you’re not looking directly at me.”

  “Can’t you show me?” He nervously asked. “I just want to know I’m not going crazy.”

  A long pause came after his request. He figured this was when reality would kick in, and he would realize that the conversation he was having was all in his head. He was somehow texting himself, cleaned up the house, and had cooked the food he was eating. That he was sleep deprived and became some pathetic version of Tyler Durden attempting to convince himself that his dead wife was manifesting herself through a life size sex doll. He was prepared to wake up when his phone once again buzzed.

  “Look down.”

  He moistened his throat as he readied himself, and stared down at his plate. The hairs stood on the back of his head as he heard the sound of her chair slowly screeching backward. Next to follow was the creaking of the seat as she grasped the armrests to help her stand. His heart sped up again at the sound of barefoot slapping against the hardwood floor as she took a step. The sensation of hearing it in the same room with him was entirely different from hearing it from their bedroom, each awkward step that she took caused the muscles in his body to spasm as he felt her getting closer.

  His entire body had locked up as she now stood over him. Her presence near him was overwhelming and made him want to leap out of his seat to get some distance. His right leg proceeded to uncontrollably twitch as he sat there torn between the inability to comprehend the phenomenon standing next to him, and the fact that he was enjoying it.

  As fear and excitement continued their slugfest within his being, another text appeared on his phone.

  “Place your hand on the table.”

  A chill ran down his spine as he slowly obeyed. Minor spasms jolted parts of his torso and neck as her hand came into view and slowly came down covering the top of his hand. Gradually with a bit of awkwardness, she began to caress his hand. Once again, it was soft and surprisingly warm to touch. He had to admit, the creators of Real Doll were masters of their craft. The next thing he felt was her other hand rubbing the small of his back.

  His body began to tense up again as he knew what was about to follow next. The old nose nuzzling to the neck followed by a kiss made him spring from his chair with back arched as he emitted a high-pitched groan while getting some much-needed distance from her.

  “Time out!” He requested using the hand gesture while dancing on the tips of his toes, “Time out! I’m sorry. I need a minute to process all of this.”

  He realized his phone was still on the table.

  “Um, could you just sit back down,” Fred gestured. “Please.”

  His heart quickened again as he felt and heard her head back to her seat. Fred straightened himself up and took his time to saunter back over to his seat as if he was not that badly affected by the experience. He looked down to see a message waiting for him.

  “Are you alright Mr. Garrett?”

  “I'm all right,” he flatly answered back, remembering her wit for banter. “Next question, my sleep paralysis last night, was that you?”

  “No,” she answered. “That was brought on due to your lack of sleep. I figured if I could get you to calm down and relax, you would come out of it.”

  Fred gave a semi-sincere nod accepting her answer for now but had a follow-up question for her on his tongue.

  “If you are Mary …tell me something that only you and I would know.”

  It took less than a minute for her to answer.

  “Ass rot.”

  Fred’s head dropped in embarrassment as a smirk formed on his face at the word. He waited to see if she would elaborate more. His screen began to fill with words.

  “The first summer in our first apartment, the crack of your ass got sweaty and itchy for some reason. And you being you scratched and scratched at it until it got raw down to the skin.

  I only noticed it when you turned over in the bed, and th
ere was a streak of blood in your boxers like day two of a period.

  So, after pulling down your boxers and almost fainting from the funk that rocked me, I ordered you to take a shower.

  Then I had you lay across my lap in the bed as I spread your cheeks apart and applied alcohol which caused you to scream bloody blue murder. I then put hydrogen peroxide on for good measure and then put on Bacitracin with my bare finger. Finally, I covered it with a bandage that I had to change every day until it healed.

  You said to me what I did was real love, and I agreed with you.