Strange Perceptions (26 page)
Now that my bath was ruined, I hurried and washed and dried myself. I retrieved my bathrobe from the hook on the back of the bathroom door and went out to face this little nuisance.
I marched right up to the little mannequin, who had now resumed its perch, clack-clack-clacking its legs against my kitchen counter. I didn’t want to grab hold and kiss it. Instead, I craned my neck forward and touched my lips to its head, then stepped back.
Nothing happened.
“Not good, Toots. You can do better than that. I need some tongue.”
I took a step away from it. “You’re kidding.”
“No. If you want me to let you skip your remaining wishes, then I need a real kiss.”
“Tongue? You want me to lick you?”
“Yes. Licking’s good.”
God. What a nightmare. “Do you promise to leave and never bother me again if I do this?”
It held up a hand. “I solemnly swear.”
I didn’t know if I could do it. I stepped closer, bent my head down, snaked out my tongue and licked its head. It felt smooth like plastic. Maybe the mannequin wasn’t made of wood but of plastic that looked like wood.
“Lick up and down,” it said. “Pretend my head’s a lollipop.”
I licked the thing’s head a few more times.
It fell back laughing. “I can’t believe you actually did it.”
“Now you have to leave, you promised.”
“No, I promised
maybe
I’d leave. That I’d consider it.”
The little bastard. “You raised your hand and said you’d swear.”
“Oh,” it said, getting to its feet. “I guess I lied.”
I was tempted to pick the thing up, stick it down my sink’s drain, and turn on the garbage disposal, but I still didn’t want to touch it. Now my tongue needed sanitizing. Listerine, maybe even boiling water.
I fetched my cell phone from my purse, went to my bedroom and speed dialed my parents.
“Hello,” Mom answered.
“Hey Mom. Where did you get this doll again?”
“Barbara Shellings. Helped her daughter, it did.”
“Helped her daughter with what?”
“You know. Find a decent man.”
Oh God. Of course. This was all about my mother’s infernal desire for me to find a man and have grandkids.
“What’s her daughter’s name?” I asked.
“Shelly, I think.”
“Shelly Shellings?” Her parents must have a warped sense of humor.
“Yeah,” Mom said. “That’s it.”
“Okay. Just curious. Gotta go. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
I disconnected. So, Shelly Shellings had the mannequin before me. I called information for Shelly’s number and dialed it.
“Hello?”
“Is this Shelly Shellings?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said slowly.
“This is Ellie Goldstein. My mother gave me a little wooden mannequin you used to have.”
“Oh God.”
“Anything you care to tell me about it?”
“Sorry. This isn’t a good time.” She hung up.
My suspicions confirmed. Shelly had experienced the same thing I was going through. How did she get through it? I bet she made the wishes and regretted the outcome.
What would I do? Come up with a couple wishes and hope for the best?
I went back to the kitchen. It still sat on the counter, swinging its legs.
“I’m going to bed,” I said. “Maybe after sleeping on it I’ll know what to wish for.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Toots.”
I went to my bedroom, slamming the door behind me.
The night lasted forever. I slept fitfully, never making it more than an hour before jerking awake. The mannequin clack-clack-clacked in my kitchen all night long. The alarm’s beep came too early. I smacked the alarm to have nine more minutes before having to move.
A plan formed in my sleep-deprived mind. I would destroy the mannequin. Fire would be best. I’d have to be quick, before the thing could disappear from danger. My brain had a vague image of a steel mill with molten metal and me throwing the mannequin into the metal and then joyfully skipping away, forever free of the wish-granting doll. Of course, I’d never been inside a steel mill and didn’t know how common tanks of molten metal were. I’d have to do some research.
I drug myself to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. “God, girl,” I said to my reflection. “You look like crap.” I ran hands through my hair. “I wish I didn’t have to go to work.”
Immediately, I realized my folly. I had spoken a wish.
I went to the kitchen.
The doll stood and tap danced again. “One wish left, Toots.”
My cell phone rang. Caller ID read “Mom and Dad.”
“Hey Mom,” I said.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank God. A bulletin came on the TV. There was an explosion downtown. Your building, it was. You said you were going in early—”
“—Oh my God.”
“Gas leak, they said.”
“Oh my God,” I said again.
“There’s police and fire and ambulances all over the place.”
I flipped on the TV. Channel 7, WLS-TV, had the story.
“Listen Mom, I got to go.”
“You’re really okay then?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Love you Mom, bye.”
I hung up, slipped my phone into my robe’s pocket and sank onto my sofa, watching the broadcast. They showed the Hamilton building, location of Feldworth Media. An entire corner of the building was missing. Dark smoke hung in the air.
“We have reports,” said the newswoman, “of at least four casualties and twenty people wounded.”
I looked at my kitchen counter. The doll sat lotus style, hands on its thighs, a skinny, little Buddha.
“Why?” I asked.
“Don’t blame me, it was your wish.”
I stood and stepped around the couch toward the mannequin. “I didn’t wish for this.”
“You didn’t specify how, only that you didn’t want to have to go to work.”
I stepped closer to the thing, my legs and arms shaking. Consciously, I clenched my hands into fists. “I did not wish for this.”
“Calm down, Toots. You still have one wish.”
I grabbed the bottle of Chardonnay and swung it down on the mannequin, but the doll disappeared. The bottle hit the counter with a loud crack, which I felt to the fillings in my teeth. Surprisingly, the bottle didn’t break.
“Missed,” it said from behind me. I spun. It now stood on the back of the couch. “One more wish. Come on, Baby.”
“I wish you were dead!” I said.
“Let you in on a secret. I’m not really alive.”
I threw the bottle at it. The bottle went wide and hit the TV, bouncing off, leaving a two inch dark spot on the TV that showed no picture. Otherwise, the TV appeared undamaged. The broadcast now showed pictures of the victims. A photo of Jimmy Franks, a copy-editor with a wife and baby. He was a funny guy who shaved his head bald because, as he put it, there was no sense pruning a dead tree.
My legs buckled and I collapsed. The worst thing had happened. Why had I said the stupid wish in front of the mirror?
The mannequin appeared on the floor, inches away from me.
I lunged for it, but it hopped out of the way.
“You know, Toots, laying there like that I can see right down your robe.”
I lunged for it again and missed.
“One more wish,” it said.
“Okay,” I said, my throat raw. “I wish my life, and I mean every aspect of my life, my work, my family, friends, even people I don’t know, was just the same as before I met you. I don’t want anyone harmed or any thing. No animals or property.”
“That’s not a fun wish.”
Fun?
“Are you sure? Think about it, Toots. You’re passing by the opportunity of a lifetime.”
“Yes! That’s my wish.”
“Fun playing with you, Toots.” It disappeared.
Fun? What type of sick, twisted entity thought destroying people’s lives was fun?
My cell phone rang. I pulled it from my robe’s pocket, answering automatically. “Hello.”
“Ellie,” Mom said. “Good you’re still home.”
“Listen Mom, I still need to process this explosion.”
“Oh my God. What explosion?”
I got to my feet and looked at the TV. Good Morning America was on. The damaged black spot from the wine bottle was gone. I looked at my kitchen counter. The wine bottle was back in its original location.
“You okay?” Mom asked.
“Yeah, sorry. There’s no explosion. Just a dream.”
“Oh good. I wanted to make sure you were coming next Sunday. Selma’s son is in town and I know he’s divorced and normally I wouldn’t mettle, but I thought I could invite him.”
“I’d love to meet him.”
“Good. Well I better let you get to work.”
My final wish had been granted.
About the Author
Chuck Heintzelman lives in Spokane, WA. Each day he juggles his passion for writing with his full-time job as a computer programmer, his school-age children, and the inevitable curve ball life seems to throw.
You can find out more about Chuck and see his latest stories at
StoryChuck.com
. You can contact him by shooting an email to
chuckh at gmail
.
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