before—uh huh. I’m sorry. Last night was just really rough
and …”
Oh. Mom was talking with the people at that special home
for National Lab curse patients. It was down near the University
of Washington. A really nice place. They were building it for
compatibility with a dozen different curses-in-progress.
Mom’s voice slurred. Maybe the person on the phone
wouldn’t notice. Allison’s stomach clenched in a knot. She hated
mornings now.
Mom trailed a hand down her face. “Yes. Yes. Thank you.”
She pressed a button on her phone and set it down on the table,
staring at it between her fingers.
“No progress?” Allison asked.
Mom’s lips worked for a second and she shook her head.
“They can’t build it any faster. Other than that, they said we can
sedate her more if necessary. I just …” She looked away,
blinking, her head bobbing slightly. “Hey, don’t you have that
biology test today?”
“That was last week. But all of my homework is done. I had
everything taken care of before my date, remember?”
“Oh yes. Your date. That’s right, it’s Monday morning.”
Mom stared at where the calendar used to hang. Now only a few
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gouges from tacks marked the spot. “I’m losing my mind.”
“You could drink less.” Allison tried to keep her voice light.
“That’s none of your business.” Mom made no such attempt
at levity.
“It is if I hear you slurring like this first thing in the morning.”
Mom sucked in a sharp breath, the sound so like Grandma’s
cockroach hiss that it sent a rush of cold along Allison’s spine.
“How dare you. I’m an adult. I’m in complete control of how
much I drink. It helps me sleep. Last night I needed all the help I
could get, after that.”
Allison grabbed an apple from the fridge and made a quick
retreat towards the front door. She couldn’t bear to even look at
Mom.
Grandma was still asleep on the couch, her jaw gaped open.
Asleep, she looked so normal.
“Hey Grandma,” Allison whispered, her throat hot with
tension. “I’ve gotta go to school. I’ll miss you. Maybe this
afternoon we can hang out?” Without waiting for an answer, she
planted a kiss on Grandma’s forehead. It was a shame the game
show channel had changed their whole line-up a few months
before. All their old shows were shuffled around.
“Allison. She’s gone. This is just a shell—”
“Don’t say it. I’m sick of you saying that.”
“Reality’s going to crash down hard on you when it comes,
Allison. You can’t be in denial forever.”
“Denial? I know Grandma’s sick—”
“She’s not sick, damn it, she’s gone! Dead! That’s not her on
the couch, get it?”
It was the whiskey, it was that stupid whiskey that made
Mom all awful every morning. Allison backed up to the front
door, her nails digging into flesh of the apple in her palm. She
swung her backpack onto one shoulder and fled. She hit the
sidewalk running fast enough that the tears tipped from her eyes
and flew away without touching her cheeks.
*
“Come on, Grandma. It’s time to get ready for bed.”
With her hand curled beneath Grandma’s armpit, Allison
walked her down the hall. They staggered together, Grandma’s
steps small and shuffling. She fitted Grandma in fresh disposable
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underwear and a pink paisley nightgown that snapped up the
sides. Then she guided Grandma to her room. Mattresses sat on
a bare concrete floor. Scratches gouged the walls. Allison tried
not to see it, tried not to compare the room to how it used to be
with its dense ‘70s wood furniture and Currier & Ives prints on
the walls.
She tucked in the old woman, taking care to layer the
blankets and cover her wrinkled feet.
Allison laid a hand against Grandma’s cheek. By Mom’s
Allison’s day—well.
“Jonah asked me to go out with him on Friday,” Allison
whispered. “I didn’t say no, not straight out. I mean … I know
how he’d react. He’s a cool guy, really. But …” She could only
say “no” so many times. Most of her old friends had moved on
for that very reason, or were content with just hanging out at
school, never mentioning the possibility of anything after.
“It’s hard sometimes, you know? But I know Mom won’t let
me go.”
Grandma’s teeth bared in a grimace. If her shadow had been
visible, no doubt those pincers would be working as if they could
bite. But there was no shadow. Just Grandma.
“Good night, Grandma. I love you.” She planted a kiss on her
forehead.
Allison shut the door and bolted it on the outside.
Mom was holed up in her office, working frantically on her
work backlog. Probably would be until late. Allison disgorged
her backpack’s contents onto the couch and turned on the TV.
She had already gotten a decent start on her homework by staying
late after school—not like she was in a rush to get home for more
quality time with Mom—but the terrors of algebra awaited.
Out of habit, she picked up the remote and flicked it to the
game show channel.
“—Match Game Marathon!” boomed an overly-pleasant
announcer.
Allison’s head jerked up.
A Match Game Marathon this Friday. Twenty-four solid
hours of bell-bottoms and orange-shag goodness. Grandma
would love this!
From the office, the chatter of computer keys continued,
punctuated by dark, indecipherable mutters.
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Mom wouldn’t agree. Mom would say it was pointless, that
Grandma wasn’t in there, that it was all just a waste of time. She
would yell and rant and do everything she could to make sure the
TV stayed off. Allison’s hand clenched the remote as if she could
strangle the plastic. Grandma would love this marathon. If
anything could coax her out of her shell, this would be it. Mom
had even said Grandma responded best to her.
Mom needed to be out of the house that night.
Grinning, she reached for the phone and dialed up Mom’s
best friend, a friend who’d already pestered Mom for months to
cut loose and relax for sanity’s sake. “Hey, Shayna?” she said.
“Allison here. Mom’s really needing a break. You think we can
tag team her?”
A few minutes later, she hung up. A devious plot was already
underway. Shayna knew how to score tickets for some overnight
bed and breakfast deal over in Leavenworth this Friday night. If
Shayna had already shelled out the money, Mom would be more
likely to cave in and go. It’d still take a few da
ys to wear her
down, but Allison knew it would work. On some level, Mom
knew she needed a break, too. This was the excuse.
Allison finished up her homework as the TV droned in the
background. For the first time in ages, she hummed aloud, a
smile on her lips. This Friday was going to be the awesomest
night ever, for all of them.
When Allison crawled into bed, she was still smiling. An
incessant buzzing sound shivered through the wall. Grandma
slept one room over, her breathing like a mob of a thousand
mosquitoes.
Down the hallway, the door clicked open. From the living
room came the soft thud of the opening liquor cabinet and the
clink of glass. Mom was getting ready for bed, then.
Allison stared at the blackness of the ceiling. Her happiness
dwindled away as a sick knot resumed its normal place in her
stomach. Mom was the one who was really gone, not Grandma.
The terrible susurrus continued from next door, from
Grandma. “It’s just buzzing,” Allison whispered, as if saying it
aloud made it true.
She drifted to sleep, and the buzzing droned on.
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“I shouldn’t go.” Mom clutched her suitcase handle and
paced the living room. “You know what happened on Sunday—
” “She’s been fine all week. If it gets to be too much, I’ll call
9-1-1,” Allison said. “Now go. If Shayna has to shut off her car
to come get you, the neighbors might call 9-1-1 before you even
leave.”
Mom laughed, the sound abrupt and nervous. “Yeah. Riding
tied up in the trunk might look suspicious.”
“Go.” Allison held open the door and pointed to the sidewalk.
Mom ducked her head like a chastised child, casting glances
over her shoulder as she walked halfway along the path. “If you
need me—”
“I’ll call. Go!”
Allison bolted the door and stood there, shivering. It was
going to be awful cold tonight. Through the peephole, she
watched the car drive away. Mom was probably crying now,
apologizing to Shayna, saying she shouldn’t go. Shayna would
keep driving.
“Well, Grandma, this is our big night,” said Allison.
Grandma sat on the couch with a slack jaw. Her dead eyes
stared ahead at the television.
“That’s right, it’s TV time! We’ve already missed some
twelve hours of the marathon. We’re slacking.” She powered on
the television and squealed as she sat down beside Grandma.
“Look at Charles Nelson Reilly in that snazzy red suit! Geez, I
think I saw Brett Somer’s dress on sale at the mall last week. And
you said the ’70s would never come back in fashion.”
Grandma buzzed softly. Allison leaned against her knees and
giggled as she watched. “Oh, gosh. I’m surprised that comment
made it past the censors then. That was awfully double-edged,
even for now.” Rain drummed a soft rhythm above their heads.
Another episode came on, then another.
“That was a cop-out answer. That could have been smarter
or funnier.” Allison shot a furtive glance at Grandma, in search
of agreement.
“Charles Nelson Reilly! Best player ever! Remember when I
showed you the song Weird Al made all about him? Wasn’t it
awesome?”
“That hair. Crazy. Did she stick her finger in a light socket or
what?”
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Buzzing answered. Only buzzing.
Two hours passed; three.
Grandma’s laughter wasn’t there. Grandma wasn’t there.
Allison turned off the television. She stared at the black
screen. Through the marred protective glass, she could see their
reflections. Grandma’s expression never changed.
Grandma was really gone.
The realization was quiet. Cold. Back when the diagnosis
first came, Allison had tried to joke that the curse wasn’t real
until Grandma had wings. Now she understood. It wasn’t about
how Grandma looked, or even her shadow. It was about …
Grandma.
She stood. In the blank screen, she saw Grandma stand as
well. Grandma pivoted, hunch-backed, and dove at the taped-
together lamp on the end table. It crashed to the carpet, and in a
blink, the room was cast into darkness.
“Grandma?” No. This wasn’t Grandma, not really. It wore
her skin, but soon, it wouldn’t even wear that. Mom had injected
Grandma before she left—her regular dose with a little extra.
It wasn’t enough to quell the rage.
There was a long, cockroach hiss and the shuffling of feet
and Grandma was there, those hands scratching at Allison’s
neck.
She sidestepped. Grandma grunted, swinging towards her.
Allison retreated towards the TV. Lamp shards skittered and
crunched underfoot. Pain pierced the sole of her right foot,
followed by the intense warmth of blood.
In scant grey light, Grandma advanced, her feet wide like a
sumo wrestler. Her mouth gaped, glare reflecting from her teeth.
Her gaze—empty. No hatred. No malice. Allison was just … a
thing. A target. Prey?
Grandma was gone. Dead. She was dead. She wasn’t in that
body anymore.
Anger rippled through Allison and clogged her throat. Anger
at the hippies and their curse, anger at Mom and her alcohol and
her work, anger at doctors for doing nothing. Anger at Grandma.
“You were supposed to fight this!” Allison yelled. “You’re
supposed to still be in … there!”
Grandma launched herself forward. Allison slipped aside,
her bloodied foot tacky on the carpet, and Grandma plowed into
the liquor cabinet. It rattled, glass tinkling and liquid jostling.
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Allison hated that cabinet. Hated it. She turned, throwing her
shoulder into the cabinet. It rocked against the wall, unable to
fall because of the straps securing it in place. She hugged it with
both arms and yanked with all of her body weight. The cabinet
pulled from the wall. Then Grandma was there, tackling her.
Allison met the next wall with a grunt. The cabinet crashed into
the carpet at Grandma’s heels.
Mom could buy more alcohol. She undoubtedly would. But
there was something amazing about hearing those bottles shatter.
There was just enough light to see a gush of dark fluid seep
through to the floor, as if the cabinet itself bled.
“You should have laughed during Match Game,” Allison
whispered. “You would have laughed.”
How long would the curse drag on? How many months,
years? How long would this thing wear Grandma’s skin? How
long until—that Asian cockroach emerged? The wings. The
antennae. The shadow come to life. And Mom—how would
Mom change? What facade would she wear?
Nausea punched her in the stomach. Suddenly it was all real.
All too real. Grandma hissed, and Allison stepped back. Her bare
feet kicked through more pieces of the lamp. Pain zinged all the
way up her leg and caused her to gasp. If she made it across the
room to the switch, Grandma would go for the light instead. That
would distract her until …
Light. Outside, the light would be on down at the dock. A
light that attracted clouds of bugs.
The awfulness of the thought froze her for a moment. Then
the fumes of weeping liquor stung at her nostrils, and she knew
what she would do.
She glanced at the door to the back patio. The story poured
into her head: she would say she heard that old tom cat on the
porch, that she opened her door to check. That Grandma attacked
her. It was close to the truth. That they had fought throughout the
room and then ended up back at the door. The door that lead to
the stairs and the lake and the light and the cold, rainy night.
Allison staggered across the room and towards the door.
Grandma’s nails gouged at her neck. An earring ripped free from
Allison’s lobe. She worked the locks as Grandma’s body dragged
from her arm. The door swung free, iciness a wave over her skin.
Grandma hissed, grabbing Allison’s neck with both hands,
and shoved. Allison’s head met the hardness of the doorjamb.
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Stars danced in the middle of the room as she fell to her knees.
The loosened snaps of Grandma’s gown clacked at Allison’s
head level.
“You’re free,” Allison whispered. “Go.”
Then, the old woman was out the door, her bare feet
smacking on wet cement. Allison forced her head to turn.
Rain fell in wavering sheets. Out on the nearby lake dock, a
single yellow light stood as a sentinel. Grandma, hunched, was
like a gray shadow in the blackness as she scurried away. The
unsnapped gown trailed behind her like wings. Then she met the
stairs. She tumbled, feet over head. Allison listened to the rasps
of her own breaths. Grandma’s head was visible again, barely.
She still worked towards that brightness below, just like the
Asian cockroach she was.
Allison could have screamed for help. She would have, if
Grandma had been somewhere within that frail shell.
A slow ooze of blood coursed Allison’s cheek. She lowered