Short Story by Pamela Eason
Public Domain Photo from the Dutch National Archives.
Allie noticed them first while driving east on Highway 98. She scanned her news feeds. Nothing. No strange sightings. No talk of an alien invasion, of a zombie apocalypse, of vampires, or worse, demonic possessions. How could she ask? They’d say she’d lost her mind.
The first time she got anywhere close to one was during that week in July, when her air conditioner was shot. She’d pulled to the light, windows down, when one rolled to a stop beside her. She didn’t dare stare at first, but curiosity got the best of her. She summoned her courage, adjusted her sunglasses, and managed several long glances.
A male, she guessed by the clothing draped over his sinewy body. He leaned forward, intently studying the road in front of him. Mirrored, aviator sunglasses were perched above his protruding cat-like nose and mouth. Spindly, spider fingers curled around the steering wheel. His skin, stretched tight over bone and lean muscle, made Allie think of blue mud wasps and Komodo dragons and death. A flash of sharp rodent-like teeth sent a shiver between her shoulders. She couldn’t see his tongue, but she felt sure it was not formed in the image of God. While Allie waited to turn left, he lurched forward and sped on.
Allie checked her rearview. The family sitting in the red jeep, left blinker flashing, arms hanging over metal doors, hands dangling, seemed oblivious.
She’d noticed them more regularly as the summer heat and humidity dragged on. Yes, while driving, but also at the gas pumps, and in the grocery, filling their baskets with avocados, cans of tomatoes, boxes of pasta, and meat, always with wild, yellow eyes, always in a hurry, always moving past her as if she were an obstacle. They seemed … controlled? Arrogant? Indignant?
She’d sat across from one in the dentist’s office. Thick, red-lacquered nails curved around her phone. A crossed leg vigorously shook a black stiletto.
“Find a way to make it happen,” Red Nails said before forcefully tapping the “end call” button with the purplish-blue pad of her index finger. She removed earbuds from small slits on each side of her head, muttering, “Am I the only one who can do things right?”
When Red Nails looked up, Allie smiled. Red Nails scowled, rolled her yellow eyes, and rechecked her phone for messages. Allie slid her tongue over the sharp edges of her bottom incisors and looked away feeling less than human.
This October morning, Allie stood behind one in the supermarket’s pharmacy pick-up line. The customer at the counter had a mix-up. It was going to take a while. Allie was glad for it. She’d have time for further observation. This one, in a pink and mint green Lilly Pulitzer dress, turned her head sideways and yawned.
A strong scent of putrid decay, drifted across Allie’s nose. “Eww. The smell.” She looked down, cupped her hand over her own mouth, and sniffed her own breath. Not quite minty, but it didn’t smell like death anymore. The new mouthwash must be working.
Allie’s attention drifted to Lilly Pulitzer’s manicured toenails. They were polished burnt orange and protruded from long, thin toes that curled over gold, platform sandals.
“Ohhh. How long can this possssibly take?” Lilly Pulitzer wailed loud enough for the pharmacy assistant to hear.
The hissing voice jarred Allie. She snapped to attention. Lilly Pulitzer was tapping her smartwatch, but her head had turned slightly towards Allie. Possible personal contact?
“I detessst wasssting time, but my ssson has ssstrep and needs medsss sssoon,” Lilly Pulitzer explained, still staring at her watch. She looked up briefly, scanning the supplement shelves.
There was something about the face. The skin, two seconds short of rigor mortis, still had some life, but mainly, it was the eyes – less wild, brown with only a few yellow specks.
“Thank the Triune God for meds,” Allie said. She’d long since decided to be specific with her praises.
“Humph. If there isss a god …,” Lilly Pulitzer snipped, turning forward with folded arms, dismissing Allie, and hissing, “he sscertainly left us to ssself-sssalvation.”
After the pharmacy, Allie headed for the grocery section, a new theory rolling around in her head. There was something human, something lost.
Allie stepped behind another one in the check-out line – crystal necklace, bohemian skirt, jute sandals. The check-out girl, Bea, her nametag said, lackadaisically slid cans of pumpkin and condensed milk, a box of butter, and a frozen pie shell across the scanner.
“Looks like you’re making a pumpkin pie,” Bea drawled. Crystal Necklace crossed her arms and huffed.
“I wasn’t expecting that chill in the air this morning,” Bea went on, ignoring the impatience and the rancid breath. “When I opened the door and felt that cool October wind, it made me so happy I wanted to scream for joy. “Fall and pumpkin spice. Ummm. ‘Praise Jesus,’ I said.’” Bea opened her palms and raised her face towards the florescent lights in the grocery ceiling.
An obvious shiver rolled over Crystal Necklace, making her head shake in disgust.
“Uh. I believe we make our own hap-pi-ness,” she said, forming her words with lips that moved over barred teeth. Sparkly sapphire nails dug into her crossed arms.
“Oh. How’s that?” Bea asked, leisurely bagging the groceries.
Crystal Necklace was drumming her sapphire nails on the counter’s metal casing now. “It’s called man-i-fest-ing,” she snapped, wagging her head side-to-side with each syllable. “Candles. Sage. Med-i-ta-tion. Forget it. You wouldn’t understand.”
Bea shrugged her shoulders and carefully placed the pie shell in the bag. Crystal Necklace snatched the bag from Bea’s hand and dashed out the sliding doors.
It was Allie’s turn. She smiled at Bea and said, “I praised Jesus this morning too.” Bea smiled back.
“I bet you never know what someone is going to say,” Allie probed.
“Oh. I can mostly tell,” Bea said. “Wild yellow eyes, sharp teeth, claw-like nails, death-like skin.”
Allie’s eyes grew wide. “You too?”
“So, you see them?” Bea said. “Told anyone?”
“No. They’d think I’m cuckoo,” Allie said, twisting her index finger against her temple. “And honestly, sometimes I think I’m one of them,” Allie said, rubbing her fingers across that patch of dry, bluish skin on her forearm.
“Without divine intervention, …” Bea began.
“We fall further from God’s image,” Allie finished, suprised at her own answer.
“But with it …” Bea’s voice trailed off.
“We become more and more human, more who we were meant to be.”
“We call it ‘The Becoming,’” Bea whispered.
“We? There’s more who see?”
A man with a bluish glow and a slight tinge of yellow in his eyes pushed his cart a little closer behind Allie. He cleared his throat just loud enough.
Bea nodded. “If you want to join us,” Bea added urgently, handing Allie her bag, meet us at Joe Joe’s tonight at 6. The back room. I’ll look for you. And fair warning, we pray.”
So, there is hope for humanity, Allie thought as she walked out the door, across the parking lot, and towards her car.
