Previously
on My Life: I’m at a library. It’s
dark. I’m fucked.
Somewhat
embarrassingly, despite being in a syntactical synagogue, I was having a bit of
a pronoun problem. The demon that was
extending freakishly long bony legs from beneath its floral print skirt to
launch itself through the air at me, had until this point appeared female. But according to several credible sources,
not the least of which is Priscilla Presley, Nicholas Cages have been
historically male. Still, I have never
encountered any of these creatures in a sex act (Thank God!) so they could
conceivably all be Barbies down below, meaning that gender neutrality is
equally possible. But thinking ‘he or
she or it’ makes internal monologging difficult. So, in the interests of generating faster
reaction time by simplifying my auto-narration, I will refer to the whispering
witch Cage as She-it, because that was what I said in slow motion as her clawed
fingers swiped the phone/flashlight from my extended hand.
In part I
was she-itting myself because a horrifying horn-rimmed harpie was hurtling
herself at my head, but mostly I was pissed at myself for not having bought a
lifeproof case for my new phone (which I’d recently acquired through Cassie
from a movie set where it had apparently been used by one of the old Night Court cast members). I’d heard that those – lifeproof cases, not
John Larroquette – protected against falling from cliffs, being rolled over by
cars, and even submergence in water. So
a demonic swipe should have been fine.
But, as the case may be (or not be), her-its hand struck my unprotected
phone and sent it flying to lodge in a stack of books on the paranormal in the
Dewey 140s.
Fortunately
for my face, I was able to dodge out of the way by the time she cleared the
final feet between my hands and my head, and I watched in horror as the skin
around her arms fluttered in the wind as she flew past. Her-its aforementioned
floral skirt disguised the actions of dangerous legs beneath, which coiled up,
then re-extended directly into my chest.
Twisting my
body, I wielded Signs of the Scourge in
front of me like a shield as I plunged straight through an entire shelf into
the neighboring aisle. Minimal damage
was done (to me – I can’t say as much for the books) as I decimated a shelf of
decimal 150s, then caught myself just before crushing the 160 rack, which I
suspected I was going to need. After
all, logic appeared to be my only weapon against these foul creatures.
I glanced
back through the psychological hole I left behind and saw her-it crouch and
stare through, growling in rage as she-it saw that I hadn’t been, I don’t know,
paper-cut to death? She-it turned,
velociraptor-like away down the aisle, and I knew she’d be appearing in mine
momentarily.
I dropped Signs of the Scourge and started to run,
but I stumbled over a well-placed book on obstacles to productive reasoning and
caught myself against 162. I glanced
back and, as she-it rounded the corner, my powers of deduction made me realize
that where all other sources of information had failed Scourge might succeed. I
needed that book.
So I raced
towards the book, playing a game of chicken (an apt analogy for her grotesque
skin) with the librarian who approached at a gallop from the other side. I snatched the book then dove to my left,
barely avoiding the chicken-scratch as I passed through a hole in my
psychological shelf to land back where I’d started by the demon-books on the
other side. This time I wasted no time
deweying anything except running away as quickly as I could, very much aware of
the animalistic howl that pierced the air behind me. So much for whispering!
I wasn’t
about to waste time, so I bolted for the front door of the library, stumbling
over stray books in the near-darkness.
Which reminded me… I turned and went back for my phone. Who knows if the production company had
insured it, and if so, would a demonic strike count as an act of God? Godlessness perhaps? But I couldn’t find it and…
I wasn’t
about to waste time, so I bolted for the front door of the library, which
unfortunately was also bolted. I tugged
harder on the handle, energized by my pulse pounding adrenaline and the ringing
in my ears, which it turns out was not a result of high blood flow, but rather
caused by the magnetized strip on the back of Scourge that I had failed to check out before racing through the
book theft detection gate.
I knew that
she-it was probably hearing the book-alarm too and honing in on my exact
location, so I left the door behind and ducked into the nearest room. Which was the teen room. Which unfortunately had a glass wall facing
the entrance to the library.
She-it
appeared through the window, now crawling on all fours, hind-legs fully extended
from beneath the floral skirt. She
snarled and hissed animalistically, which gave me an idea. I ducked behind a cardboard cutout of Jacob
from Twilight as I watched her-it
stalk towards the main entrance.
I pressed
myself flat against his flat back, thanking God and/or the library decorators
that they’d used a New Moon cutout
and not a scrawny Lautner from the first movie.
As I waited, I considered the rest of the decorator’s decisions and
decided that this room was definitely not arranged by a teen, and probably not
even by a human. Only a demon would have
pitted Episode 2 Anakin against Iron Man.
Even my werewolf hiding place was oddly standing alongside Ron Weasley.
Brief
aside: Why not represent the bookish
characters from these respective franchises?
Where were cutouts of Pepper Potts or Hermione or… does anyone in
Twilight actually read? Hell, if she-it
wanted a werewolf on display in the teen room window, why not spring for a
cardboard Lupin? At least he was
well-educated. But no, they went with
Jacob. How ironic. And speaking of…
I guess
Tony Stark reads. I mean, he must to be
as intelligent as he is, right? At
least, if those arcane pages on the ground around his feet are any indication…
Oh shit! Some of the pages had fallen
from Signs’ loose binding and now
littered the floor around the Cardboard Man’s feet.
The idea
that my arm could pass for Lautner’s wolf-tail disappeared as she-it snarled
her way into the teen room, passing by my cardboard concealment and gazing
around with her-its evil eyes. She-it
stalked past me towards a display where new-Spock was gesturing illogically
towards a stand of Jane Austen books, and I took the opportunity to sneak
behind her towards the emergency exit at the far corner of the room.
I thought I
was going to make it when I felt a set of claws sink into the back of my waistline
and I found myself hurtling back across the room. Fortunately, Hayden Christensen was there to
catch me. You can call me Padme Amidala,
because I was soon riding young Vader, and unfortunately we can extend the
metaphor further by calling the glass teen room wall ‘box office records’ or
better yet, ‘audience hopes and dreams’, because either way, we smashed right
through it.
Anakin lost
an arm in the process, and I lost no time getting to my feet and getting out of
there. Actually, I lost a little bit of
time, as I had again dropped and then gone back for Signs of the Scourge which had again managed to eject a few of its
pages. Fortunately she-it hesitated for
a moment, perhaps in shock that of the three things to go through the glass, I
was the only one left undamaged.
But she-it
sprang into action as I finished collecting the errant pages and made off for
the stairs to the second story. More
seconds were bought in my favor when she-it delicately closed the stairwell
door behind her, rather than letting it slam as I had. Muscle memory I guess.
I quickly
found a new hiding place on the second floor, but for future reference,
reference books shelves, those short ones, are terrible for your future. So I ran along, crouched down and clutching
the book to my chest while listening to the librarian’s snarls, which echoed
off the walls in a very disorienting and un-whispery sort of way.
I
considering turning into a room labeled ‘Microfiche’ but figured that though I
didn’t know what exactly that means (are they like minnows?) the prefix ‘micro’
implied a lack of good hiding places.
So I
continued scuttling through the reference section until I reached the balcony
that overlooked the first floor of the library where I had been reading just
minutes ago. I considered jumping, but
knew that I couldn’t do it here over the tables. Maybe if I just moved down a little ways to
where those lettered file cabinets were…
And I was
moving.
Towards the
cabinets.
Really
really fast.
I slammed
into them, knocking the wind out of me and a few files out of the cabinet. I glanced around for Scourge, and had just fished it out from beneath a pile of unfurled
family trees when she-it landed on top of me, legs bent, feet pinning my
ankles, hand on my neck.
I slapped
feebly at the demon, and managed only to send her-its horn rim glasses hurtling
out into the reading area. If only I
could send her following them. But no. She pinned my arm, and despite my best
efforts, I knew I was trapped. Sure, I
could swing the hand still clutching Scourge
at her, but there’s no way I would be fast enough.
If I, an
only son, died in the genealogy section after going to the library on the
advice of my father… how Shakespearean.
My family tree would die just like the tree families that had been used
to print all of these ancestral lists.
Is it cruel to print a picture of a tree on a piece of paper? Were these really going to be my last
thoughts?
“You should
have listened,” she-it growled.
“I didn’t
think the flashlight app would violate the phone rules!”
“When I
said Demons are fiction.”
“Well, I’m
listening now. Loud and clear.”
“That’s the
problem with you… people. You lack… Wait,
maybe it’s your…”
“R-E-S-P-E-C-T!”
“Mother?”
Obviously, she-it said this not me, as I was silently thanking Daisy for
calling at such a perfect time, despite the unhappy voicemail she would no
doubt leave when I failed to answer. I
certainly didn’t think my mom was calling.
And the demon… was she Aretha Franklin’s daughter? Certainly didn’t look like it.
‘What the
fuck?’ crossed quickly through my mind but I slapped it away then backhanded
the bitch-bastard across the face with Signs
of the Scourge. She-it staggered a
step back from the book’s weight, and I didn’t wait a moment before booking it
towards the nearest door.
Which
opened into another set of stairs.
Which led
to the roof.
Shit.
I needed a
helicopter. Maybe Cassie could call in
some sort of movie favor. No. This wasn’t a movie. This was a library.
The doorway
opened again and I turned as she-it emerged slowly onto the roof. I turned towards her-it and backed slowly
away as she-it took slow deliberate steps towards me. I was rapidly (or relatively slowly actually,
but it’s all relative isn’t it?) approaching the edge of the roof.
“So, can we
talk about this,” I asked.
“You think
you can hunt us,” she-it snarled.
“I really,
really don’t…” I said then corrected myself to “do not,” as I thought she-it
might appreciate a more formal tone.
“You
won’t,” she-it said, so much for formality, “There hasn’t been one like you for
a long time. And there won’t be one
again for even… longer.”
And she
charged me. With nothing else to do, I
flung Signs of the Scourge at her
face. I was a little sad to finally toss
it, but considerably less sad than I would have been if I were getting clawed
to death by a loose-skinned demon.
What
happened amazed me. The book opened up
to swallow the librarian. Sort of.
Actually,
the binding fell apart as the book flew through the windy rooftop air, and the
pages fluttered into a white cloud, obstructing my attacker’s view of me. Meanwhile, I called to mind the martial arts
training of my youth and collapsed into fetal position.
She-it
tripped! Over me! And went off the edge of the roof with a
horrific howl that abruptly ceased before the sound of a splat reached my ears. Long before actually, because that splat
sound never came.
I stood and
made my way very cautiously to the edge of the roof, and guess what I saw? I’ll give you a clue. In fact, I already did.
Remember
when I mentioned that giant bubbling stylus statue outside the library? Do you remember what purpose it was serving
at the time? Why it was there, at least
as regards me? For shadowing.
Yes, that’s
right, the demon had fallen nicely onto the tip of the Fountain Pen and had
been skewered straight through the torso.
Fortunately for tomorrow’s cleanup crew, she had been completely
pen-etrated and the fountain still flowed properly. Through a brief gap in the bubbling spray,
she locked eyes with mine, and as her eyes became Nick Cage’s, she slowly shook
her head.
Then
exploded in a ball of blinding light that didn’t actually hurt, but still
knocked me back on my ass amidst a flurry of pages blowing in the wind.
Had she
really just exploded? That didn’t make
any sense! If only there was a book that
could explain demon mechanics to me, one that wasn’t busy swirling around on
the windy rooftop!
Shock would
have to wait. I sprang to my feet and began
collecting as many pages as I could.
No comments:
Post a Comment