[August Submission] Bound to the Stone
“Hello, welcome to Pizza Palace. How can I help you?"
I shoved as much fake hospitality into my voice as I could manage, but eight straight hours of serving barely mediocre pizza to asshole customers, with nothing but the constant drone of fluorescent lights and the occasional flicker overhead for company, has a way of killing your ability to pretend you're happy to be there.
The dad across the counter from me looked like he was about to collapse, eye bags stretched halfway across his face, two raucous little kids chasing each other around the lone table in our tiny excuse for a dining room behind him.
“Can I have two large cheeses, a medium pepperoni, and a large chef's salad, please”
He read the list off a text message, his voice as flat and exhausted as mine was. He paid in cash, let me keep the change, and turned around to wrangle his kids as I ducked around the corner to give the order to Angi.
“Girl, if I have to welcome one more person to the Pizza Palace, I’m gonna throw up,” I said, handing her the order. “By the way, did he text me back yet?”
Angi looked up from spreading sauce across a pizza crust. She'd confiscated my phone an hour ago after catching me typing out what would've been my fourth ‘just checking in’ text to Dave.
“Oh my god, you need to get over him. He's not gonna get back together with you, plus he was a douchebag anyway; you’re better off without him.”
She was right, of course.
Dave was a cheating douchebag.
Unfortunately, knowing that and actually getting over him turned out to be two completely different things.
Angi slid the pizza into the oven and haphazardly wiped her hands on the front of her apron.
“Oh, speaking of things you need to get over, there's a huge estate sale tomorrow morning right outside of town. You're off work, right?”
I glanced at her sideways. “What does that have to do with Dave?”
“Just something to take your mind off things’
“With an estate sale?”
“Not just any estate sale.” She lowered her voice like she was telling a campfire story, despite the fact that the only other person in the kitchen was the dishwasher who had been listening to the same radio station for six hours and couldn't have cared less. “ You know that psychic lady who lived on Stenton Lane?”
I scrunched my face, searching my memory.
“The one who does free tarot card readings at the solstice festival every year?”
“That's the one.”
I snorted in disbelief. “You're telling me Elesandra died?”
“Yeah, just last week. I mean she was ninety-something years old; it was bound to happen sooner or later.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah. Anyway, her daughter is throwing an estate sale at her house tomorrow. I thought it would be fun to go. Find some magical wand to get rid of your heartbreak.” She giggled and threw her hands up, wiggling them like she was casting a spell.
I rested my head on the takeout deck. “You know I don't really believe in that stuff, Ange”
Angi shrugged. “I heard she's got all kinds of weird stuff. Crystal balls, old spell books, tarot decks, candles, magic jewelry, whatever the hell psychics keep around their house.”
“Love potions, perhaps?” I asked sarcastically.
“Oh absolutely, but I would never let you buy one.”
I laughed.
“I'm serious, we should go. It'll be fun.”
“Why?”
“Because you're pathetic. I can't stand to see you mope around anymore. And… if there is a love potion of some kind, maybe we can buy it.”
I gave her a light smirk. “Oh? And who for?”
She thought about it for a moment. “Dave's hot dad?”
I laughed despite myself and threw my rag at her. “What time?”
“Doors open at 9 am! I'll pick you up?”
“It's a date!” I shouted over my shoulder as I made my way back to the front counter to take another order.
For the first time since the breakup, I was actually looking forward to tomorrow.
I woke up the next day to the sound of Angi’s horn blaring outside my apartment. I rolled over and checked the clock. 8:30. Shit!. I called her and tripped over apology after apology while I frantically threw clothes on and bolted out the door.
I spotted her little red Subaru idling along the side of the road, its windshield washed in the pale gold of the morning sun. Her faded dreamcatcher hung from the rearview mirror, its feathers stirring gently from the air conditioner. I ran to her car, still pulling up my jeans, opened the passenger-side door, and climbed inside.
I saw her little red Subaru idling on the side of the road, dream catcher hanging from the rearview mirror, and climbed in.
“What part of ‘I’ll be there at 8:30 tomorrow morning’ is so challenging for you to understand?” Angi teased
“Actually, you never gave me a time to be ready, so….” I shot back sarcastically.
We exchanged small talk on the drive out of town, and I watched absentmindedly as the sidewalks gave way to trees and the side streets grew fewer and farther between. The typical sprawling suburban landscape sank behind us as we meandered through the back roads. The only sign of civilization beyond the power lines was the occasional homestead. The lots grew larger and larger as we headed further away from downtown.
Eventually, the house came into view. If you had told me old lady Elesandra died a decade ago rather than a week ago, I would have believed you. The place looked abandoned; the faded and cracked siding was overgrown with dead, rotted vines, and the porch sagged in the middle like a worn-out mattress. One of the posts had cracked and was ‘fixed’ by a sloppily nailed two-by-four.
As we walked up the driveway, I noticed that even though we were late, there was only one other car in the driveway. An old, beat-up pickup truck with a middle-aged man sitting in the driver's seat, staring blankly out the front windshield, clearly not the typical demographic for an estate sale.
I was about to comment how lucky we were that we had made it before the crowd, but right then at least seven more cars had pulled up in unison.
“We better get in there fast before all the resellers get their hands on that love potion,” Angie commented, skipping up the drive faster now.
We were one of the first ones inside, only beaten by the strange man we saw earlier. He seemed frantic, rummaging through bins with reckless abandon. If there was something specific he was looking for, it would have taken hours. The place was a mess of old eccentric clothes and spiritual paraphernalia.
Dozens of bins and folding tables were spread out through the house; it looked like one of those hoarder shows you see on shitty daytime television. It smelled like old sage, cheap perfume, and cheaper cigarettes. Angi was having the time of her life, ooing and awwing at tarot cards and apparently rare crystals, but nothing really caught my attention.
I meandered through the house, absentmindedly leafing through racks of musty clothes and tables of aging books and psychic accessories. Angi was focused on a table covered in protective charms, aging Ouija boards, and strange jars filled with I-don’t-know-whats; occasionally shouting at me across the house about her latest find.
I wandered into a back room and found a table covered from end to end in stunning jewelry. The aging silver and gold shimmered in the early morning sunlight as it crept through the window, begging me to take a look. Rings, bracelets, and necklaces from decades past, all simply beautiful.
And there, on the end of the table, was the most incredible piece. A large gemstone pendant; the deep, wine colored ruby seated gently against sterling silver. Unlike everything else in the house, this looked brand new. It was polished and shining, seemingly immune to the passage of time. I had to have it.
I slipped it over my head and let the heavy crystal rest gently against my chest. I didn't bother to check the price tag as I walked to the checkout table. It didn't matter how much it cost. I needed it. More than anything before in my entire life, I needed it.
“That’ll be one hundred thirty-five dollars,” Elesandra’s daughter huffed. I started to reach for my card, but she cut me off. “Ah- it's cash only. Sorry, miss.”
I wanted to scream. I needed to have it. I didn’t have the money on me, but I would sooner die than leave empty-handed. I tried to maintain my composure as I looked for Angi. I passed by the strange man during my search. He was staring at me with noticeable intensity, and it left me on edge.
I finally found Angi and immediately started to beg her “Angi please, you don't understand, its like it calls to me, i need it so bad, isn’t it gorgeous, please, please help me pay for it, please, I just need a few bucks, you know I’m good for it Angi, please, I need it” I exploded my frantic, desperate pleas onto her. She said no. She said she didn’t have any money left over after buying her things; I believed her and her many heavy bags, but it did nothing to quell my craving. I would simply have to steal it.
I had never stolen anything before, especially not from a sweet old lady whose mom just died. But this was different. She didn’t deserve the pendant. I did. I had a right to it. If anything, she was stealing it from me. I walked into the secluded back room I found it in, and slipped it off my neck and into my purse.
As I looked at it there, I began to doubt how good of an idea this was. Did I really need it that badly that I was willing to steal from a woman who just lost her mother? I paused for a long moment and stared at the pendant, the large gem somehow still shimmering back at me, beckoning me. It really was beautiful, but I knew I couldn't just take it. I decided I would put it back, go to an atm, and hope it was still there when I returned. Just as I reached into my purse to place it back on the table, someone walked in behind me. I snapped my purse shut and hurried out of the room, desperately trying to avoid eye contact.
I rushed to find Angi; critical thought had given way to gut instinct, and all I cared about was getting out of there. I rounded the corner and saw her standing by the door. I shot her a glance that said, “We need to go now.” Just then, the strange man from before stopped me.
“Where is it?” He barked, just short of yelling at me
“What?” I replied
“The pendant, the necklace you were wearing earlier. I saw you wearing it, the one with the big red gemstone. Where is it?”
I nearly choked. Why was he asking me about the pendant? Had he seen me put it in my purse? I barely managed to sputter out, “Oh, I went and put it back, sorry.” I gestured to the room behind me, and he shoved past to look.
I grabbed Angi and dragged her out to the car. Once again, my encounter with the man had left me on edge. I I had to get out of there before he could find me again, and before anyone noticed the missing pendant.
I waited until we got down the road a ways before opening my purse again. Looking down at the pendant, I felt guilt wash over me. I really had just stolen. From a sweet old lady. Whose mom just died.
I pulled the pendant out from my purse and held it up to the sun. It really was beautiful. I slipped it over my head again, and as the cool silver rested against my chest, I felt the guilt fade away. This was the right decision.
Angi looked over at me and nearly crashed the car when she saw the pendant around my neck.
“OH MY GOD, IVORY, DID YOU FUCKING STEAL IT!?” she screamed
“YEAH, I DID,” I screamed back. “YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND, OK? I HAD TO HAVE IT, I KNOW THAT IT'S SUPPOSED TO BE MINE! IT WAS JUST TOO BEAUTIFUL TO LEAVE THERE!”
“Ivory…” Angi sighed. “When I said you needed to do something to get over Dave, I didn’t mean this…”
“Who the hell cares about Dave, Angie? That lying bastard has nothing to do with this. You don't get it. This pendant is special. There's something about it, something that calls to me. I just… I had to have it, ok?”
Angi didn’t talk to me for the rest of the ride. I could tell she was upset with me. I wanted to make it right, but I didn't know how. Maybe if she tried on the pendant she would understand; maybe she could experience its true beauty.
After stealing the pendant, I started to wear it all the time. To work, the grocery store – the bank. Wherever I went, it went with me. I even wore it on a few rebound dates, but nothing ever came of those. It became like a safety blanket for me; I felt naked without it. I even started sleeping with it on.
I had the pendant for about two weeks at the time when the strange man from the estate sale showed up at Pizza Palace. When I saw him walking in I was overcome with anxiety. I slipped the pendant under my shirt and ducked into the kitchen. Something about him screamed that he could not be trusted.
I was working with Matt that night, I think Angi had been avoiding me and must have requested to not be scheduled with me. When I asked Matt, he said I was being silly and that she was probably just taking some “mental health days.” I responded with maybe so and then asked him to take the order of the guy at the front so I could “use the bathroom.” for me. I watched from the small window in the half wall between the check-out counter and the kitchen as he ordered his food. He tried his best to act innocent, play it off like some kind of coincidence, but his eyes kept shooting glances past Matt to me. I didn’t know what he wanted, or how he found out where I worked, but I knew this creep was after me.
After that day I started seeing him all over the place. I would go to my favorite coffee shop, , and he would be there. I would pass him and his dusty old truck on the road. The gas station, the grocery store, the movies, he was almost always there. I swear I even saw him outside my place one night, just idling on the side of the road.
I think hes fucking with me somehow, like some kind of witchcraft or something. That night he was outside of my house. I had the weirdest nightmare. I was wearing the pendant, like normal, but it felt different. I was strangely aware of it’s weight as it hung around my neck. My whole body felt foreign to me, like something else was controlling it and I was an invader in my own skin. I felt myself get out of bed and walk over to the window in off-beat, shambling steps. His truck was there, just like it was when I went to bed, but where before was fear now sat searing hatred. I lurched through my house, bumping into door frames and riding my walls until eventually I found my kitchen. I watched, powerless, as I slowly grabbed a steak knife from the butcher block on my countertop, turned around, and threw myself at my front door. In that moment I knew what my body wanted. From deep within my bones screamed death. I was going to kill him. I wanted…to kill him.
I threw the front door open and charged with alien athleticism. The sudden shock of November midnight tore me from the awful dream. Drenched and sweat and gasping for air—I shot up like a bolt before realizing where I was. I decided to lie back down to catch my breath. After several minutes of convincing myself it was a dream, I got up to check my window. The truck was gone but I thought I saw something on my face in the reflection of the window. A draft wrapped around my ankles as I walked to the bathroom to take a closer look in the mirror. Creeping from my nose, across my face, and down to my chest, a meandering river of dried crimson flowed down to encircle the pendant.
As I washed the blood off my face I tried to figure out what could have possibly caused this. I've never had a nose bleed, not even a minor one.
I thought back to last night, head pounding as I tried to focus on the blurry memories. I remembered seeing the strange man outside before I fell asleep; I saw his mouth moving as he stared not at me but through me, a faint glow spilled from his mouth, and then I blacked out. He must have put some kind of curse on me, to make me fall asleep and then corrupt my dreams. That could explain the nose bleed, but why did it pool around the pendant like that? It must have been protecting me, but if the nightmare was that bad with its protection, how bad could it be without it. I determined from then on I would never, ever take the pendant off.
I walked into the kitchen to make myself coffee and call off work, but I couldn't shake that draft. My house was old, maybe even older than Elesandra’s, so the occasional draft wasn’t that uncommon. It was a fair trade for the cheap rent, in my eyes, but outside of snowstorms it was never this bad. I hung up the phone, it took some fake coughing but Pizza Palace granted me the day off, and I reached into my freezer drawer to grab a breakfast burrito. I tossed it in the microwave and set the timer for six and a half minutes, the box said to do five but I knew better. Sitting there watching my breakfast spin, and trying my best to ignore the chill, I noticed something in the foggy reflection of the microwave glass. My front door was wide open.
I kept having strange dreams. Those semi-lucid nightmares haunted me every night as I watched my body move entirely on its own. It would draw runes on the walls and floors using the blood dripping from my nose as ink, and then I would wake up. I had to be sleepwalking. There was no other explanation for why I felt so well-rested, yet the fresh runes painted on my walls proved I wasn't staying in bed.
I tried researching them. Normally I would ask Angie, she's an expert on this kind of stuff but she’s also not talking to me anymore; so I had to do it on my own. I searched through countless occult message boards and wikipedia pages on ancient religions and found nothing that looked similar to the runes. I even rented as many relevant library books as I could and still found nothing. I was sure they were protection runes because when I got close the pendant gave off a faint glow, but beyond that I had no idea.
Weeks went by and I was starting to break. I couldn’t sleep, I was barely eating, my body felt weak and heavy all the time, Angie wasn’t talking to me, Pizza Palace fired me. My life was falling apart, and it was all his fault.
That disgusting, vile man. He must have cursed me, that's the only option. I saw him casting some kind of something that night and ever since my life has gone to shit. Every single night I’m plagued by those awful possessive dreams. I can feel the pendant aching, I think it's struggling to keep whatever curse he casted at bay. I know he's trying to take the pendant way from me– I won’t let him steal the only thing protecting me from him. . I’m certain he’s still following me; the next time I see him , I’m putting an end to this.
I keep seeing his tuck around town. Every time I pass by I want nothing more than to slam my car into his shabby old ford and then beat the living shit out of the man that steps out. I hate him. I hate him for stalking me. I hate him for destroying my life. Most importantly I hate him for trying to take my pendant. Every time I see him I want blood, but something tells me I need to wait. Wait until the time is right.
After weeks of hunting him, the perfect opportunity presented itself. I was watching his motel room. Cigarette smoke climbed out his window, past the cracking sickly-yellow wall, and out into the inky nighttime sky.
Across the road I sat waiting, the air was tense with opportunity; I watched as he put out his cigarette, slipped his coat over his shoulders, and walked out the door of his room. The time was now.
He stepped out into the parking lot and I let the possession overtake my senses. The fear that I felt upon its first nightly abductions was gone now, in its place was hunger.
He climbed into his truck and started the engine. Right as the door closed I felt my body erupt forward, joints snapping to impossible angles as I threw myself at him
He began to back out of his parking space, slow and absentminded as I’d seen him do over and over. He was completely unaware of my presence as my body tore across the asphalt, unwavering.
I picked myself up from a gallop into a two-legged sprint as I came upon the truck. Dropping my shoulders and bracing for impact–he finally noticed me. His indifferent thousand yard stare melted into terror and I slammed myself into the driver side door.
The car door crunched and buckled under the weight of my fury; I felt my shoulder crack with it, and my arm fell limp. Glass rained down over me, leaving slivers of blood in their wake. I couldn't feel a thing. I reached in through the now open window with my still functioning hand and grabbed his collar.
He was screaming now. The sharp smell of rust burned in my nostrils as I tried to pull him from the vehicle. I dragged half his body over the remains of the window before he really started to put up a fight. He moved like a desperate animal, arms and legs swiping wildly for anything to grab on to.
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING TO ME!”
The voice bellowed from my mouth, but it wasn’t mine. It was a twisted perversion of my own voice; pitched down and folded over into itself thousands of times.
“I KNOW ITS YOUR DOING”
I gained another few inches in the fight dragging him, glass crunching and squelching under his weight. He had stopped screaming, but was growing more and more desperate.
With one final heave I ripped him from his seat . The sudden release left me tumbling to the ground. I heard the crack of his skull against the concrete several yards behind me, and clambered to my feet.
Somehow hehad gotten to his feet, but he was shaky and struggled to keep his balance. Blood dripped from the split on his forehead like a leaky crimson faucet.
My arm had started to really ache now, a reminder of my humanity that pounded in sync with my rapid fire heartbeat. The blood was pouring from my nose again, and the slew of cuts that painted my body were growing angrier.
It would catch up with me soon, but I couldn’t give in now. I needed answers.
I willed myself forward, each step shot ropes of agony up my spine. I could see in his eyes he wanted nothing more than to run, but his body was managing to stay upright and resolved.
I made my way to him. In the glow of the vacancy sign there seemed to be something else mixed with the terror in his eyes. Was it pity? I had beaten him within an inch of his life and he looked at me with pity?
I grabbed him by the throat, his eyes bulged and breath sputtered as I lifted him until he could barely touch the ground. He desperately scraped at my arms with what little fight he had left.
“Talk.”
The voice came again, less beastly now.
He choked out “Its… the pendant.. It -”
The cold asphalt violently cut him off as I threw him to the ground.
“THE PENDANT IS MINE”
Beastly again.
He scuttled away from me, struggling to find footing in the slick pool of our blood. He tried to stand but his knees buckled under him immediately.
“I DON’T WANT THE PENDANT!” He screamed, , “I don't want the fucking pendant, but thats whats doing this to you. Its not me I swear”
“YOU LIE, I’LL KILL YOU, I’LL KILL YOU RIGHT HERE DON'T FUCKING LIE TO ME”
“I swear…I’m not lying, the pendant… its cursed. It makes you paranoid, takes over your body and -”
“THE PENDANT ISN’T CURSED, YOU CURSED ME, I SAW YOU DO IT YOU BASTARD”
“I didn’t curse you, I promise. I’ve been trying to help you–”
“THE PENDANT HELPS ME, IT PROTECTS ME, IT IS ME”
“No, it doesn't. Please, please, you have to believe me. Just take the pendant off and I’ll show you.”
“NO! YOU JUST WANT IT FOR YOURSELF! THE PENDANT IS THE ONLY THING THAT CAN KEEP ME SAFE, I WILL NEVER TAKE IT OFF!”
I jumped on top of him, I was done with his lies. I pulled my fist back and let it fall. His body lurched in objection as I felt his rib crack. He was coughing up blood now. Again I pulled my fist back, this time I slammed it into his jaw. His head snapped over and he spat up a few teeth.
“I won't let you do this to me anymore.” I spat.
My fingers curled around his throat. I squeezed with all I had, but the blood loss was getting to me. His eyes began to fade as he fought to get me off of him, losing strength with every passing second. His sputtering and desperate silent whimpers grew weaker, and I knew it was almost over.
A sharp and thunderous crack shot through the silent parking lot. Then a second, and a third. I turned over to see the motel owner, rifle shouldered, lining up his sights. I threw the man out from under me and tried to run as best I could, but my body was giving out. The only thing keeping me going was the anger, the hunger, the curse.
“GET THE FUCK OFF MY LAND!””
His shout was followed by a fourth gunshot. This one connected. The bullet ripped through my leg and I collapsed immediately. The searing pain tore me from my newfound strength in an instant. The dull ache of my broken shoulder turned into a scream, and the sharp sting from my cloak of lacerations became all too apparent.
As I came crashing to the earth I couldn’t help but scream. It sounded normal this time, my voice was mine again. I stayed conscious just enough to hear the blaring sirens down the road, and then I blacked out.
Next thing I remember, I was handcuffed to a hospital bed, waking up to a battered, slouched, sorry excuse for a man in a cowboy hat staring directly at me, cigarette lit in his mouth.