by Sharon Joss
CHAPTER 7
I had barely finished unloading my wad of clothes from the dryer at Spanky Kleen when my phone rang.
“Abbot’s in five,” was all Karen said.
“I’m in Picston, make it fifteen.” I grabbed the basket and threw the whole shebang into the backseat. Rusty fired up on the first try, and off we zoomed.
Karen and I had been solving the world’s problems at Abbott’s Frozen Custard since fourth grade. When the summer steam bath weather hits upstate New York, the humidity doesn’t give up when the sun goes down. To escape the oppressive evening mugginess, folks headed either to an air-conditioned bar or Abbot’s Drive Thru.
I glanced in the rearview mirror at the row of bulbous yellow eyes staring at my back. Sheesh. This wasn’t an embarrassment anymore, it was a collection. The new guys brought their own eye-squinting blend to my olfactory misery. The fanged toad added a gorge-grabbing touch of dirty cat box, while Larry spiced things up with a not so subtle twist of sulphur. The three of them together combined to make an aromatic essence which neither the open windows nor a hit from a fresh dryer sheet could disperse.
Karen and I arrived at the same time, and settled at a picnic table beneath the hazy night skies and neon lights of Abbots. Karen is a willowy blonde with blue eyes, a pixie haircut, and freckles that cover every square inch of her anatomy. As kids, we were as inseparable as twins, as teens, partners in crime, and now that she had a husband and children of her own, bosom friends who didn’t get to spend nearly enough time together. She gazed at me expectantly.
“What’s up?”
I took a deep breath. “You have to promise not to say anything to anyone. Not even Martin.”
“Ooh, I’m intrigued.” She hunkered down and leaned forward. “Do tell.”
“I mean it. If this gets out, I’m moving to another state.”
“Oh come on, how bad can it be? The boys came down with head lice again last week. I get the icks just thinking about it.” She scratched her neck. “I have been doing laundry for days. And will you look at what that shampoo has done to my hair?”
“This is a lot worse than a bad hair day, believe me.”
“What? Is it rats? I thought you said you were going to get a new cat--”
“No, shush.” I glanced around to make sure no one else was close enough to listen in and leaned forward. “I’ve got teratosis.”
She grimaced and pulled away, her eyes as big as walnuts. “Ew!” She caught herself and apologized immediately. “Oh Mattie, I’m sorry, I just never expected to hear you say that.”
“Oh, I shouldn’t have told you.”
She grabbed my hand. “Oh you know I’m here for you.”
“I missed my extermination appointment today at Merle Shines. It’s going to take me another two or three weeks to get rebooked.” I started to tell her about the accident, and she cut me off.
“I already heard. I work with Lacey Lippman’s sister, remember?”
I groaned. “Oh I’m sure everybody’s heard about my suspension by now. I’m never going to live this down. That’s why nobody can find out about this. Gossip spreads like an oil fire in this town.”
“Why are you always so worried about what everybody else thinks?”
“Easy for you to say, you’re not the one with an un-materialized djemon trailing around behind you, stinking up your life. And I think I must’ve caught a really bad case. I’ve got three of them.”
She snorted. “You’re talking crazy.”
“I thought so too, until today. When the second one showed up this morning, it made me wreck the trike. The third one showed up when I was at the Spanky-Kleen.”
She shook her head. “You can’t have more than one demon. Everybody knows that. What makes you think they’re demons?”
“What else could they be? These things are real. The only other explanation I found for hallucinations was schizophrenia.” My voice faltered, and I fought to blink back my darkest fear. My mind flashed on a secret memory of my mother, her eyes wild, her manic face ravaged by years of alcohol and drug abuse as she screamed incoherently at Lance and me. Doctors debated whether or not schizophrenia was inherited.
“You poor thing. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was hoping I could get this cleared up before anyone found out, and I would have, except for what happened today. I can’t take much more of this. This is serious. If I don’t get rid of these soon, these demons will show up for real. Either that, or I really am going crazy and I’m going to end up like mom. I’ll lose my job for sure. My life will be ruined.”
She ran her fingers through her cropped hair. “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t think you’re crazy, but it they’re djemons, you can’t have more than one. What do you think they are?”
I shrugged. “How would I know? They’re too small to be scary, and so ugly, I kind of feel sorry for them. I saw a picture of a baby aardvark once, that’s what these guys remind me of.” I studied them for a few moments. “All they do is sit and stare at me. And yes, I do realize how stupid that sounds.”
“They’re here now?”
“Yeah.” I gestured toward a neighboring picnic table. “There’s a cat, a toad, and a lizard, but they don’t look like they’re supposed to. They’re hairless, and they’ve got these weird yellow eyes. It’s hard to explain.”
“And they follow you around.”
“Yes, but not like you think. When I’m busy, I don’t notice them.”
“Maybe they’re trying to tell you something.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”
She pointed her spoon at me. “But if they were trying to tell you something, what do you think they would be trying to say?”
I always thought Karen would end up as a psychologist. She’d majored in sociology in college, but dropped out to work full-time while her husband Martin finished his master’s degree. After he finished and they got married, she went back and finished her bachelor’s in library science.
“I don’t know. If the only choice is djemons or schizophrenia, then there is no good choice.”
Karen snorted and squeezed my hand. “Mattie, you’re the smartest person I know. If you don’t think you’re losing your mind, then you aren’t.”
“Thanks.” Hearing Karen say that to me was like getting the Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval. “You always know just what to say.”
“I think these things are trying to tell you something. What if they’re speaking to you from your subconscious? What if they’re some sort of messengers? Like spirit guides?”
I rolled my eyes. “Give me a break.”
“No, really. Think about it. Shore Haven is built on Indian land, and the local Native American tribes revered animal spirits as an important part of their culture.”
“Need I point out, I’m not Native American?”
"You can’t be certain. Your mom never talked about who your dad was. She was an orphan, right?” She frowned at me. “And you have those killer cheekbones. And what about your hair? Weather like this and your hair looks like the ‘after’ photo in a commercial for Frizz-Ease. Why couldn’t you be Senequois? Maybe you’re becoming sensitive to the local spirits.”
I thought about what she said. It sounded strange, but a whole lot better than schizophrenia. In the absence of any other explanation, I was willing to consider the idea.
“So you’re saying I might be psychic? I’ve never been psychic before.”
“Shore Haven is a hotspot for the supernatural. The library has a whole section on local history and legends and paranormal phenomena in the Finger Lakes region. I know of at least one book on animal totems.”
“Animal totems.”
She grinned at me. She was having too much fun with this. “Otter is my power animal.” She batted her eyelashes. “Each animal totem is associated with different characteristics and meanings when they appear.”
“You mean like as
trology? And you think these creatures might be some sort of mystical animal messenger.” I couldn’t keep the skepticism out of my voice.
“I can look up their meaning and see what it says. Maybe once you get the message, they’ll go away.”
In spite of my doubts, the idea was beginning to grow on me. “What if they don’t?”
“You get tested and registered as a paranormal. A lot of people have psychic abilities. I’ll bet there are even support groups now.”
I pictured myself standing in front of a roomful of people saying ‘My name is Mattie Blackman and I’m a psychic.’ Gag me. “My landlady got hauled off to jail for harboring a demon. She was registered.”
“That’s different. Patty Vincent never registered her demon.”
“Can you blame her? You might as well walk around with a big ‘D’ for demon branded on your forehead. I mean, for the rest of your life, you’re on some list somewhere. People with demons are forced to live with the stigma for the rest of their lives. I heard they put you on a permanent no-fly list, and after that train crash in Portugal last year, the anti-terrorism folks are talking about requiring passports for trains now, too. As soon as you catch a demon, your life is ruined. I’ve got to get rid of these things before they show up permanently. Before it’s too late.”
“Hel-lo, earth to Mattie. You don’t have teratosis, you’re psychic. You register. It’s nothing. Don’t you pay attention to the news?”
I shifted in my seat uncomfortably. “What if I don’t want to get registered? The guys at work would never understand.”
“Oh come on. Don’t be such a baby. Anyway, I’ll check the books tomorrow, and see if I can find a local expert who can tell us about Senequois spirit messengers. Remember my yoga instructor, Sonja? She has a couple of paranormal clients. Actually, the politically correct term is Anomalous Individuals. Or what about that lady I used to go to? Madame Coumlie. She’s the real thing. She must be registered.”
The name sounded familiar, but I drew a blank.
“You know, the Hand of Fate.”
I remembered a horrid old witch with black-stained hands, shouting at us to get off her porch at Halloween.
“The dwarf? I’d rather dance buck naked down Third Street than be caught dead anywhere near that old fraud. That stuff isn’t real; it’s just a show for the tourists. I need real help here, not some cheesy fortune teller. No way.”
“First of all, she’s not a dwarf, she’s a midget, and the correct term is ‘little person’. Secondly, Herbert Hoover recognized her as a national treasure and gave her a presidential pardon. They even made a movie about her. She is definitely not a fake.”
I frowned. Hand of Fate my ass.
“Look, I told you I don’t want anyone else to hear about this. Not Lance or Mike or anybody at work. They already think I’m nuts. And even if I am psychic, how does that get rid of my problem? I can’t live like this.”
“Stop worrying so much about what other people think. I think it’s cool!” She laughed, but it was a good laugh, and I knew she was trying hard to make me feel better.
I sighed. “Okay, maybe you’re right. I hate the idea of all the voo-doo woo-woo stuff, but at this point, it doesn’t make much difference to me whether these things are demons or spirits.”
“I will check those books tomorrow morning, and call you as soon as I find anything. Things will work out, you’ll see.”
“I hope so. I just can’t lose my job over this. I want my life back.”
