Year's End: 14 Tales of Holiday Horror (17 page)

The glasses all seemed to shatter in unison, making Jaim jump in fright, and it was then that the throbbing in his mouth almost crippled him with pain. He was anxious that it wasn’t just an ulcer or something regular, but some disease he had picked up. He prodded it with his tongue again and almost fainted when his tongue met not the roof of his mouth, but a gelatinous mass that it passed right through. He heard his front teeth drop out and clatter onto the floor, sticky with beer, but didn’t feel them fall. He couldn’t feel anything now. He was in shock and hallucinating—or maybe his drink was spiked, he desperately tried to tell himself, as his tongue seemed to squelch around in the cavity about his mouth.

He could feel the rain on his face from a hole in the ceiling above him, its icy sharp drops slapping him back into a moment’s clarity. He reached up to try and feel his mouth with his hands but there was nothing there. He could feel his hands disappear into a chilling nothingness where his head should be.

He tried to scream but nothing came out. He could feel the larynx vibrations shudder their way down his void but no sound came out.

A brief glimpse of the dance floor was one of the last things that he saw. The sweating, throbbing mass of bodies as the sole lit thing in the darkness all around. Jaim tried to reach out to them but all he was was darkness amidst more darkness and nobody heeded his cry for help. In his final moment, he saw some of their faces as they violently pirouetted around and against each other—and they weren’t faces. They were gaping vacuums, sucking the unsuspecting into them, swallowing their existence, devouring them, nullifying and cleansing.

Jaim fell in and away.

“Hey, did you see Jaim leave?”

“No, I thought he was watching the jackets.”

“Well he’s not there now.”

“Probably slipped away. He’s not been himself recently.”

“I know, so down all the time. Why does he have to act like there’s always something missing?”

“O well, his loss. Here’s to the New Year.”

“To the New Year.”

*clink*

Token Lesbians

Foxglove Lee

“I am
so
coming with you,” Jewel said, hands on hips.

“Not dressed like that, you’re not!” Manisha looked from Jewel to Stefani, like she wanted approval. “Tell her! She’s
your
sister.”

“Exactly,” Stefani said. “That’s why she never listens to me.”

“I’d listen if you didn’t sound so much like mom.” Jewel stuck her tongue out, which didn’t help her case.

Backing Manisha, Stefani said, “If you’re going to act like a child, you’re not coming with us.”

“Why do you even want to come?” Manisha asked. “You know we’re going to a lesbian club. What, are you switching to our team now?”

“No.” Jewel’s response couldn’t have been more pointed. “I don’t care where we go, as long as it’s
out
. What kind of loser spends New Year’s Eve at home? Dude, even mom and dad went somewhere!”

“Yeah, to Aunt Sylvia’s,” Stefani giggled. “Party time! Excellent!”

“Why aren’t you going out with your own friends?” Manisha asked. She was obviously antsy to meet some ladies—she was already zipping up her coat. “Or do you just love us that much?”

“Yes, Jewel loves me!” Stefani cried, wrapping her arms around her little sister. She hadn’t told Manisha about Jewel’s ordeal—how an idiot ex-boyfriend sent half-naked pictures of the girl all over school. That was the sort of thing only sisters shared, and even though Stefani told Manisha everything, she didn’t tell her that.

“You really think you’ll pass for nineteen?” Manisha asked, leaning into Jewel’s doorframe. The bed was piled up with outfits that had been tried on, evaluated, and discarded. “Steffi and I get carded all the time, you know.”

Jewel unzipped her fake snakeskin clasp and produced a student card from the University of Montreal. “Read it and weep.”

“You have a fake ID?” Manisha cackled. “Where did you get this? Steffi, would you know where to get a fake ID?”

Stefani shrugged noncommittally while Manisha examined the card. “And this actually works? It’s not even a driver’s license.”

“I tell them I don’t drive,” Jewel said, ultra-casual.

Stefani chose a belt from Jewel’s collection and slipped it through the loops of her tight coppertone pants. “You’re not even
old enough
to drive.”

Rolling her eyes, Manisha handed the card back to Jewel. “Promise you won’t drink.”

“Awww!” Jewel stamped her too-tall heel on the bedroom carpet. “What’s the point of going to a club, then?”

“Fine.” Manisha held up a single finger. “One beer, and it must be from a bottle and you must see the bartender open it and you must not let it out of your sight, not for a second.”

Stefani had to laugh, because nothing brought out her best friend’s accent like lecturing other women. “Mani, loosen up! Have you ever heard of girls getting drugged at Chickadee?”

“There’s a first time for everything,” Manisha shot back. “You should be more protective of your sister.”

A spark of unspoken rage ignited in Stefani’s chest. Didn’t Manisha understand that the best way to protect Jewel was to do exactly this: take her out with them, keep an eye on her? Locking a teenager in her room was not an effective punishment, no matter what their parents thought.

“You’re really going to wear that skirt?” Manisha scolded. “And those shoes? Are you crazy, little girl? It’s snowing outside.”

“Don’t call me a little girl!” Jewel growled, grabbing a long coat from her closet. “I’ll wear this. It’ll keep my legs warm outside.”

“You know how hot it gets in the club,” Stefani said to Manisha. “After ten minutes, you’ll be tearing off that woolly sweater and those ugly-ass cords.”

“By midnight, you’ll be dancing naked,” Jewel laughed.

Manisha shoved her hands in her pockets, scowling at the pair of them. “I’ll meet you at the subway station. If you’re not there in ten minutes, I’m going by myself.”

Jewel waited until Manisha was halfway down the stairs before laughing. “Dude, she is seriously pissed.”

“Meh.” Stefani shrugged. “She gets seriously pissed five times a night. You gotta roll with the punches, kid.”

Jewel grimaced, but didn’t say anything. Turning for a final look in the mirror, she met her own gaze and seemed shocked by her reflection, like the older-looking girl in the glass had betrayed her too many times already. Her grin fell, and her lip quivered. Before the first tear could fall, Stefani pulled her into a hug.

They walked to the station as fast as their heels would carry them. Manisha waited on a bench outside the token-only entrance. Her glower asked, “What took you so long?” but she didn’t say a word.

“What the hell are you doing?” Stefani asked when Manisha plinked a token into the turnstile.

“Entering the subway system,” Manisha explained, over-emphasizing every motion and word as though she were making an infomercial. “Would you like written instructions? Oh, no, I forgot—you’re too lazy to read. I will explain how it’s done: you insert the token into the slot, you step through the turnstile, and ta-da! You’re in!”

“Oh, dude!” Jewel half-whispered, clinging to Stefani’s jacket. “She is
mad
at
you
!”

A group of rowdy guys rumbled down the station stairs, and Stefani stepped aside until they’d all gone through. When they were out of earshot, she said to Manisha, “Sounds like you’ve been reading
The Sucker’s Guide to Riding the Subway
.”

“I think maybe she even wrote it,” Jewel added.

“Where I come from, if there’s no collector, you don’t pay a fare.” Planting a palm on either side of the turnstile, Stefani let the sturdy dividers bear her weight. She shifted back, rocking in preparation.

Manisha stepped into her field of vision, but Stefani looked away. “This is why fares are always going up—because of people like you.”

“Get out of the way,” Stefani growled as she worked up her momentum.

“Hurry up,” Jewel hissed. “They’re gonna get us on camera.”

“Shit.” She’d forgotten about the cameras, not that the transit police would ever go to the trouble of tracking down turnstile-jumpers. Even so, Stefani’s heart raced a little faster as she swung her legs up and over the metal bars. She’d worn a pair of Jewel’s shoes, and even though her sister was younger, the heels were too big. They flew up in the air, one and then the other, nearly smacking Manisha in the face.

Manisha pursed her lips so hard they turned white.

“Coming through!” Jewel called as Stefani collected her shoes. Even in heels and an ankle-length coat, Jewel took a running start and hopped to the side like a pole-vaulter.

“Nice form,” Stefani applauded.

Jewel gave a bashful curtsey. “Shall we proceed to the Chickadee?”

“With pleasure!” Stefani hooked her arm around Jewel’s while Manisha trudged ahead. Under her breath, she giggled, “You’re right—she’s really mad!”

When they arrived at the Chickadee, it was even hotter than hell. Not only was the air thick as lust, but the place was packed with women. Butches wore ties, bois wore suspenders, femmes wore party dresses with flouncing crinolines, and everybody in between wore whatever they felt like.

The big chickadee at the door hadn’t asked to see Jewel’s ID, and that made Stefani feel like they’d smuggled her in. With a stronghold on Stefani’s arm, she gazed around the dance floor, eyes wide, like she’d never seen anything like it. Manisha had magically found them a table, and as Stefani escorted her little sister toward it, she felt like she was pulling Bambi across a patch of ice.

“What’s wrong?” Stefani shouted over the music.

“Nothing.” Putting on a fake smile, Jewel climbed up onto one of the white chairs with high chrome legs. “Can you get me a daiquiri?”

“And I’ll have a G&T,” Manisha called, taking the seat next to Jewel. There were only the two chairs at their table.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Stefani said under her breath.

It wasn’t until she’d turned toward the dance floor that she realized the source of Jewel’s apprehension: eyes like wolves’, hungry mouths, lustful gazes planted on the new blood, like they could smell the freshness on her skin. A chill ran through her bones and she shivered despite the sultry haze in the air.

“Hey, sugar. Wanna dance?”

Stefani stared absently at the stocky dyke who’d barked the question. All she could think to say was,
“Sugar?”

That was a major pet peeve of hers—strangers using terms of endearment. Stefani glanced back and met Jewel’s gaze quite by accident, then looked quickly away. She was embarrassed of something, but she didn’t know what. Maybe Manisha was right—Jewel was too young to be around all these cocky women. Some dykes didn’t take no for an answer.

“Okay, I’ll dance,” Stefani said. She didn’t want to—her little purse was starting to feel really heavy against her shoulder—but better her than Jewel.

Stefani’s stocky dance partner grabbed her by the hips and pulled her close, so her bare belly jammed up against the woman’s sweater vest. She could only hope her belly ring wouldn’t get tangled in the wool. And why were they slow dancing to a club track?

“So, what’s your sign?” Sweater Vest shouted over the music.

“Don’t you mean,
what’s your name
?”

“No sense trying to remember your name if we’re not compatible,” the woman said. Her hair was slicked back and her eyes gleamed with a scary sort of lust. “But something tells me we’ll get on fine—at least in the sack. What do you think, sugar?”

Sweater Vest’s hands slid down Stefani’s hips, circling around her butt and squeezing so hard Stefani shrieked. If only she’d had a drink in her hand to throw in this chick’s face.

“Hey, what the hell?” Stefani pulled away, hoping to god Jewel hadn’t seen any of that.

“What’s her problem, huh?” Sweater Vest asked other dancers, who were obviously trying not to make eye contact. “Crazy bitch.”

Stefani pushed through crowd. Tears welled in her eyes as her purse slipped down her arm. She hiked it up, but it felt like she was hauling the Mint around on her shoulder. Her feet were already hurting, too. Why’d she have to wear Jewel’s giant heels instead of sensible flats? People did stupid things on New Year’s Eve.

“Sorry about that,” someone shouted over the music. “What a jerk.”

Stefani looked around until her gaze landed on a familiar face. “Carla! Oh my god, what are you doing here?”

The girl in black bowed her head slightly and her full cheeks shone crimson. “Just… I don’t know… celebrating New Year’s?”

“Well, you look great.”

“Thanks. You too, obviously.” Carla pulled at her oversized top. She still dressed exactly the way she had in high school—black tights and top, a playful scarf around her neck. Her raven hair used to be long, but now it was short. That was really the only difference.

“You wanna dance?” Carla asked as the music turned slow and throbbing.

A pang of guilt shot through Stefani’s heart. Carla obviously didn’t know all the terrible things Stefani had said behind her back in high school. Maybe, while all the A-list bitches were calling Carla a dirty Indian to her face, Carla thought of Stefani as a friendly, if silent, force. How wrong she was.

“I’m supposed to get drinks for my friend and my sister,” Stefani said. She wanted to dance with Carla—a lot. Whatever she’d done or said in high school, the girl had always done it for her—quirky smile, sweet baby cheeks—but in high school Stefani wouldn’t have dared. She wasn’t brave enough to hit on someone as wretchedly unpopular as Carla.

“Let me get the drinks,” Carla said, smiling so sweetly Stefani’s heart bled. God, she needed to get some alcohol into her system—and fast!

By the time they’d manoeuvered to the bar, Stefani’s purse weighed so heavy on her shoulder she was sure she’d have a bruise there the next day. When she hiked it up and took hold of the zipper, Carla’s fingers landed soft against hers. “My treat!”

“Are you sure?” Stefani hollered back. She thought she must have heard wrong, but she’d never been one to pass up a free drink. When Carla nodded, she said, “Thanks!”