Chapter #50A Transformation, Part 2 by: Seuzz   It's like a great sucking deep inside you.
No surprise. That's exactly what it is.
You feel it first in your toes, which curl up tight. Impossibly tight. You lose all feeling in them. Then your feet go numb. You grip the arms of the chair, tighter and more tightly still, and grip them unwillingly. Your eyes bulge from their sockets as you look down. Your fingers are flat, like empty gloves.
You don't see much more, for the light begins to dim, and the wall opposite seems to draw away, as though disappearing down a tunnel. A sound like water roars in your ears. You gasp and gargle, trying to scream as your brain tears away from your skull. Something invisible is ripping at your face, wrenching, clawing at it. There's a cracking noise, and something shatters--
* * * * *
Your eyes snap open, and you blink until the thing comes into view: the underside of a wooden box.
You're back in your own body. Just as the masks and bands fell from Joe and Frank when they were put in the still, the remote mask must have fallen from Grandmother after the thing got a good hard hold of her.
That's what you were gambling on--that you'd escape the force of The Still even as it sucked Grandmother down. But now you sense a new danger. What will Nate do when he finds a mask has fallen off his mistress?
You close your eyes and listen, pretending to still be catatonic. But all you can hear is the roar of The Still as it fills with another victim: its fourth in only three days.
Gradually, it quiets down, and you can again hear Nate. He moves around, fumbling with skin and clothes. He mutters to himself, but you can make out no words. Then there's a snap of switches, and The Still groans again.
You count to thirty before opening your eyes and looking around.
The basement is empty. Whatever his doubts, Nate has left.
You scramble out of your resting place. Yes, you're alone. The Still works, but impotently: the settings you'd given him should do nothing. You grab the sack you'd taken down into the basement and hide in another corner, working quickly.
You take out the Libra and Rosalie's mask, then remove your mask from your face. With trembling hands and trembling jaw you set them onto the page that copies imago, and transfer Rosalie's physical imago into a new layer of the mask. Then, into that layer you glue the mind band you'd copied off Grandmother.
You let out a deep breath. Grandmother's mind and Rosalie's body. It's what the old witch would have wanted.
I guess I really am a Shabbleman now, you reflect grimly to yourself as you raise the mask to your face.
* * * * *
Hair in ringlets falls into your face. You brush it back. Then it falls back across your face you stare down at your hand. It's slim. Young. Graceful.
Rosalie was always beautiful, you think to yourself. Worthless, but beautiful.
You shove Grandmother's spiteful thoughts away.
But you cup a breast, lifting it to stare at the rosy tip. It's hard, but tender, and prickles in the dry, cold air of the basement. So young and beautiful. And now mine.
Just as the town of Cuthbert is still yours.
You rise to your feet, feeling strong and confident. You stride over to the chair, where a ragged thing hangs from the end of the needle. Trying not to touch the skin of the girl, you pull her clothes off: a coarse, pleated skirt, a slip, a brassiere, and a woolen blouse. You pull them on one at a time, wondering what Rosalie felt when she dressed. You've still a copy of her mind, trapped in that other mask. At some point, perhaps, you can bring her mind and body back together.
But not now. You have to be Grandmother, if you're to run the town.
You button yourself in, feeling stronger and fresher as you finish, and when you slip the sandals on you again feel yourself as a young girl in the springtime of her life. You pull back your hair, and from force of habit almost twist it into a bun. But then you let it fall. You have the body. Keep the style.
You wrap up Rosalie's skin and jam it down deep into the sack, covering it with the Libra and the mind band and the masks. As for Grandmother's old skin and clothes, you leave them behind. But you take her two canes.
You dodge the ramp and instead scamper up the steps and the ladder leading to trapdoor beneath the pulpit. Nate is by the side door as you poke your head out, and his eyes widen fearfully. "Grandmother?" he says uncertainly.
You smile faintly. "It did take the years from me, didn't it?"
"Is that really you?"
"If you don't believe, Nate, maybe I could lay my canes against the old bruises I gave you as a boy, see if they match?"
His cheek twitches.
"Yes, it's me, Nate. I told you yesterday how pleased I was with you. Would you like a more handsome look? One that won't rot off after a week of hard wear?"
His Adam's apple bobs.
"Well, I'll think about it," you continue. "For now, you will find the remains of an old woman down below. Gather them up, and burn them."
"What about the boy?"
"You won't find him. He was the missing piece of The Still. It swallowed him, and he will be able to power it through many more such--" You draw your palm across the top of your breasts. "Transformations."
* * * * *
Aunt Sarah is by the car, and she jumps as you call her. "Take these back to the Big House," you tell her, handing her the sack and the canes. "Put them in my bedroom."
She looks at you queerly as she takes them. "Are you feeling alright, Rosalie?" she asks quietly. "What happened down--"
"I'm not Rosalie, Sarah," you snap. "I'm your mother's sister. You know what The Still can do." Sarah gasps. "I've not availed myself of it before, for until now there was no way to make it permanent. But I've now found a way. This is my body now, and it will be mine for a very long time." Sarah's cheeks turn ashen, but you ignore her. "Drive on ahead, tell the women at the house what they can expect to see, and how to behave. I'll walk home, since I'm feeling so much stronger." Then, to nail down the fact that you are still the mistress of the town, you add: "Then return to your duties. You know what trouble Sally gets into when you're not there to ... steer her." Your crooked smile is very meaningful.
Aunt Sarah flutters and trembles as she puts the things into the car and drives away.
* * * * *
You take a very leisurely stroll, enjoying the feel of cold autumn air on bare, firm skin. The old car is out front when you walk up to the Big House. Sarah has performed her appointed task well, for the half dozen girls who keep the house clean are lined up on the porch, and they curtsy as you approach. You ignore them, except to ask when supper will be ready. They scurry off to finish preparing it.
Will Shabbleman--still in Frank's face--is in the parlor as you sweep in. He must have heard the news from Sarah along with the others, for he ducks his head deferentially. You sweep past and sit on the couch, crossing your legs and throwing your arms out along the back. "Would you like to give your grandmother a kiss, boy?" you ask.
He flushes, but murmurs, "If you'd like." He steps forward.
"I wouldn't like," you snap back, and examine your fingernails. "Not now. Maybe not ever. Or maybe I would, later." You look up at him from under your brows. "You lost your intended, boy. She's mine now. But I intended great things for you. There are still ways of bringing them to fruition. Perhaps even with--" You splay your fingers over your chest. "Rosalie was bred as your intended, and though she's mine now--" You trail off.
"You mean we might still--"
"If not me, then you'll have to wed Sally," you say. "Sarah's little Sally," you add, as though there might be another. "What think you of Sally?"
"Sally's all wrong in the head."
"We all know that. She's knows nothing. You couldn't hurt her. That's a point in her favor." You hold his eye. "You will do as I command, boy, as you've always done. But you might have some say in the matter. I might ask your preference, and I might even take your preference into consideration." You let the implications sink in. "Think on it."
He ducks his head again, and starts to leave, but you stop him with a word.
"I didn't give you permission to leave, boy. You presume too much, that I am nought but the girl whose body I now have."
"I meant no disrespect, Grandmother, I thought--"
"Don't think, boy. You did me a great favor. Don't make me forget it." Now he makes a full bow to you. "You may go now. After--" You jab a hard finger at him. "After you remove that face. Take it off. Now."
He swallows unhappily, but raises his hands. An instant later, he is no longer Frank Durras, but Will Shabbleman holding a mask; at your direction he lays it on the end table. Then, with a wave of the hand, you dismiss him. You take the mask to your study, with the rest of your treasures.
Cuthbert is now yours, and it's a safe and secure hiding place. You could rest here, work here, research here. There's The Still to study, maybe even to fully repair.
But there's also Saratoga Falls to consider. The university. It was the base for the Keyserlings, the Shabbleman's ancient enemies. They're gone now, but they've probably left treasures. Through Blackwell, you could probably find them.  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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