My Stepmother is a Harpy

© Paula Ray

I think Dad met the harpy just before Mom lost her battle with cancer, around the time the doctors decided there was nothing more they could do and told Dad, “it's just a matter of time.” I was only eight years old, but even so, I remember seeing signs of the harpy: tiny dandruff feathers on my father's shoulders, a strange stench embedded in the fibers of his clothes. Sometimes, I picked the feathers off of him and threw them away. The day Mom died, Dad came home from the hospital with scratches down his arms, like he was attacked by a wildcat. At the time, I never dreamed it was a bird-lady that tore into him.

We flew to North Carolina with Mom's casket in the belly of the plane. Grandmother arranged a fancy funeral. A lot of people Mom had never met were in attendance, but not many of her true friends were able to make the journey. I looked around at all the strange faces, leaned over to Dad and whispered, “Why are we burying Mom here? All her friends are in Florida; she doesn't know these people.” He said it was so I could be close to her, because I was going to live with Grandmother in North Carolina from then on. I barely knew my uppity my grandmother. I bit my lip and glared at my father. Little green feathers littered his suit and I didn't bother picking them off. I was so upset; I couldn't even cry. It felt like I was being buried alive right along with Mom.

I sat on the front row, pouting, and wondered why the carnations on Mom's casket were blue. I'd never seen real flowers that color before, the color of the sky. It all seemed plastic from the wax doll preacher to the origami hats worn by Grandmother's old-lady friends. Even Dad seemed synthetic, like the vinyl cushion on the folding chair I sat in, cold, metal frame, temporary, and portable. I prayed it was all a bad dream, but it wasn't.

After the service, we took a limousine back to Grandmother's. Dad placed me on the sofa and commenced to spooning food from tin-covered dishes onto a china plate. I stared at everything and everyone around me--owl-eyed, head rotating. The house was full of strangers. Dad filled his plate then sat in a rocker in the corner of the living room, next to a gilded birdcage--home to a glass-blown parakeet. I saw Grandmother waving her diamond clad fingers and laughing. When I looked back at Dad, his plate was empty. He got up, circled the table of casseroles and desserts, dishing out a second helping, and then sat back down in the rocker. Every morsel he had piled on his platter disappeared within seconds and I never saw him shovel a bite in his mouth or chew. It was weird, especially since he looked like he was starving, cheeks sunken, dark circles under his eyes. I should have suspected something then, but I was just a little girl. What did I know?

Against my boisterous protest, Dad, the widower, left me with Grandmother, the widow, and went back to Florida. I'm pretty sure he let the harpy move in right away. He didn't visit me much. That pissed Grandmother off. She tried to convince Dad to quit his job and let her support us both, but he refused. She forced me to call him and beg him to come see me.

“Dad, I miss you. When you coming to see me?”

“I'm sorry, Princess. Been crazy lately. Training a new kid. Having to work weekends. Soon as things slow down, I'll drive up to see ya. I miss you a ton.”

The harpy squawked in the background.

I knew Dad was lying about work, because he always called me Princess when he lied. When he told the truth, he called me Pumpkin. I don't think he ever realized it. I treasured the ability to see through his lies. I called it my fairy princess power.

Grandmother inherited a bunch of property from her second husband, a man I never met. She rented out a small house a block down the road from her own quasi-mansion. When her tenants moved out, she fixed the little house up for Dad, said he might visit more often if he had a bit of privacy. I think she knew he had a secret girlfriend. Grandmother hired some ladies to clean the house and decorate it with old furniture and things she'd stored in the attic.

Dad finally came to see me. I jumped into his lap, hugged his neck, and asked a lot of questions, while picking stinky, green, dandruff-feathers off his shoulders.

"Dad, how come you got feathers all over you?"

"Cause I unload Japanese chickens from cargo ships.”

“Japanese chickens?”

“Yep. They're ugly, stinky birds, but make good eating."

"Stinky chickens with green feathers?"

"Yep."

"Can I see 'em?"

"No kids allowed. They carry diseases, might make ya sick."

"Eww...then why you touching 'em?"

"It's my job."

“Grandmother says you ain't supposed to touch birds, but if you do, you gotta wash your hands real good. You wash your hands?”

"Of course, but I never touch 'em with my bare hands. I wear rubber gloves. You think I'm gonna touch those stinky birds with the same hands that tickle my princess?" He tickled my tummy. I squirmed and laughed 'til I nearly wet my britches.

After that, Grandmother made Dad change clothes whenever he came up to her house. Feathers gave her the willies. He didn't seem to mind putting on fresh, new duds and always came to Grandmother's to do his visiting. She and I never went down to his “roost” as he called it, while he was there. We had no idea what a mess he'd made, until he went back to Florida.

There were feathers everywhere, food strung all over the house, mold in the dishes on the counter, roaches crawling around. Grandmother was mortified.

Just the sight of down, quills, wings, all things feathery and she'd have an anxiety attack. She told me about this one time, before she had money, when she was a sales lady at a department store downtown and was put in charge of the hat department, she actually hid all the hats with plumes under the counter, just so she didn't have to see them. The manager found out and fired her for of it.

Grandmother had a theory about the origin of her phobia.

She told me, “My daddy cut the head off a chicken and its body flopped around my mama's feet while she was pregnant with me. My mama didn't like birds to begin with and seeing that bloody, headless thing flapping startled her so bad she passed out, went face down in the mud. I was just an unborn babe, scarred for life. To this day, feathers and I don't get along.”

When Grandmother saw the fluffly mess Dad left in his roost, she freaked out and refused to step inside. I was appointed maid after each of Dad's visits. She was too embarrassed to let anyone else see such a disgrace. I bet harpies have haunted our family for generations. Maybe that's the real reason Grandmother had pteronophobia?

I grew up and Dad retired. He moved into his roost permanently. I moved away, went off to college, and got a job where I had work on weekends. I married Jason at the courthouse on my lunch break, happened so fast I didn't have time to send out invitations, not even to Dad and Grandmother. I rarely visited them, but when I did, I'd usually stay at Grandmother's. Whenever I went to Dad's, my time was spent sanitizing his sty. The filth and putrid stench of his dwelling nauseated me, but I devised a way to mask the odor. I boiled cinnamon sticks and orange peel on the stove to perfume the house then soaked a bandana in the fragrant liquid and tied the bandana over my nose and mouth like I was an old-fashioned bandit. The wonderful aroma would last a couple of hours. I could clean the worst of the mess within that time, flush the gross sludge down the toilet and bag the rest, haul the bags out to the road. I talked Dad into going to Grandmother's to visit Jason and told Jason that Dad hated having visitors in his home, just so he wouldn't insist on going down there with me.

I think Dad made the harpy hide when I was in his roost. Maybe he was embarrassed for me to see her or scared to witness my reaction when I came face to face with her. It must have been difficult, hiding her all those years.

Over Christmas holidays, about five years ago, I came home to visit and found my grandmother and father barely alive. Grandmother was talking crazy, saying a lady-bird was tormenting her, pecking at her head when she tried to sleep. The doctor prescribed Ambien for Grandmother, so she could rest, but the medicine only made her mental state worse. Dad was barricaded in his roost, had his groceries delivered, and handled all his business through the mail or online. He never checked on Grandmother, even though she only lived a block away.

When I found Dad; he could barely breathe; feathers clogged his windpipe like a cat's fur-ball. I had to pry his mouth open and reach down into his esophagus, use my fingers like tweezers, pinching and pulling the plumage out. Some of the vanes scratched the inside of his throat and made him bleed. I was frightened and called 911.

The harpy rustled around in the attic. It sounded like she was laughing, but maybe she was crying.

I checked Grandmother into a nursing home and Dad into the hospital. After disinfecting Dad's home, I called Jason and told him I was staying in Carolina, if he wanted to be with me, he'd have to move there. He did. By the time he arrived, I had Dad's roost spic and span.

Sadly, Grandmother never got better. I found her dead in the nursing home, mouth agape, feathers in her hair like flowers. I was furious and told Jason about the harpy. I knew she was in Dad's house. I could smell her, see her trail, hear her in the attic. He said I was delusional from all the stress.

Dad had surgery on his throat and underwent Albuterol breathing treatments to clear his lungs. Jason and I moved into his roost, just long enough to build our own house next door. Dad adjusted to sharing his residence. The harpy stayed away. He didn't seem to miss her, never asked about her.

At the completion of our new home, we became Dad's neighbors as opposed to roommates. Jason got a job close by and I kept a check on my father. Things were going pretty well, even though I was still grieving Grandmother's death.

In no time, the harpy started coming around again. I'd find trails of food and excrement on the floor of Dad's roost. Her messes were more disgusting than ever. I was mopping feces off the floor on a regular basis. Plus, Dad's health was deteriorating.

One day, I found a gun by his bed. It was loaded. I put it in the closet, in an old suitcase. The next day, it was under his pillow. I took out all the bullets and hid the gun in the mop bucket, figuring neither the harpy nor my father would ever look there, but they must have, because in less than twenty-four hours, the gun was on the kitchen table, sitting on a plate like it was a big juicy steak.

I found my father in the tub, naked, unable to get up on his own, lying in piss and crap, shivering. I called my husband over and we hosed Dad down and pulled him out of the tub. We brought him to our house and put him in the guestroom. I got rid of the gun once and for all and locked the harpy in Dad's roost. I heard her screaming, wings beating against the doors and windows. I thought I caught a glimpse of her behind the bathroom window, but that window is made of rippled privacy glass, all you can see through it are shadows and shapes. I couldn't get a good look, but I know it was her.

Dad got a little better, according to the doctor, but he lost interest in living, didn't seem to want to do anything. He just stayed in bed, staring at the walls. The harpy escaped and came scratching at his window. I was in the kitchen and heard Dad talking to her when that familiar rank stench poured through the house. I panicked and started spraying air freshener, opening windows and doors. I didn't want my husband to come home to a disgusting house.

The harpy didn't hesitate to defile our home. She dumped dirty laundry all over my bedroom floor and pissed on the carpet in Dad's room, marking her territory. I got out my carpet shampooer, loaded it with detergent designed to neutralize pet odor and scrubbed from corner to corner, until it the carpet was like new.

When my husband got home, he didn't suspect a thing. I cooked supper and pretended everything was normal.

The next day, the harpy vandalized the house, gouged our antique furniture with her talons and smeared mud on our wall art and curtains. I worked all day repairing the damage before my husband came home. He entered the back door, sniffed the air, and made a face.

“What's that smell?”

I pretended not to notice, “What are you talking about?” I kept mopping the floor, wiping my sweaty brow with the back of my hand.

“Smells like something died in here.”

“Maybe it's coming from under the house, could be a dead dog or something. Do you mind checking?”

“You don't smell it? It's making me sick to my stomach. I'll check it out.” He changed into some old paint-splattered clothes, grabbed the flashlight, and headed out the door.

I ran to Dad's room, burst through the door and there she was, feeding a rotting rabbit carcass to a family of rats.

She spun around and stared at me. Green beady eyes seared through me. She was only two feet tall with a human face, long red dread-locked hair, bulbous nose and warts everywhere. Her green feathered skin rippled like bugs were moving beneath the surface, yellow puss oozed from her thin-lipped mouth.

Dad gasped and sat straight up in bed.

“Get in the closet.” He shouted at her. She shook her head no and started marching about with her talon feet. She burped and laughed.

I stood there, frozen.

She had big boobs. Her nipples and female parts were obscured by slime-coated feathers. She threw her head back and let out a loud crow, flapping her wings.

“Get out! You don't belong here!” I screamed at her. She just clucked about, cocking her head side to side, dragging a knife across the carpet with her talons. She flew onto Dad's lap and dropped the knife. He frowned. She crowed some code I couldn't understand. He put the knife to his wrist and I lunged, jerked it from his grip. She hissed and shook her tail feathers in my face then flew up to Dad's shoulder and kissed him on the mouth.

He smiled and looked at me. “This is Harpy, my wife.”

“Your wife?”

“Yes, Pumpkin. We've been married twenty-five years. I should have introduced you a long time ago.”

“Have you lost your mind?”

The harpy shrieked.

I glared at her. “She can't stay here.”

Dad sighed. “I can't live without her.”

“Yes, you can!”

“No, I can't. That was part of our vows. If she is banished from my home, I must kill myself, Pumpkin.”

Harpy flew toward me, hovering eye level. She stuck out her black tongue with open sores all over it. She licked my face. I couldn't believe it. She actually licked my cheek with that diseased tongue of hers. I ran out of the room and scrubbed away her vile saliva in the bathroom sink.

Jason came to the bathroom door. “I couldn't find anything under the house, but the smell has gotten worse. I can't stand it. Let's open all the windows and go out to eat. Give the place a chance to air out. We'll bring something back for your dad.”

I heard the harpy's wings flap and her talons scratch the window sill.

Maybe she left. Oh no, is Dad okay?

“All right…” I said hesitantly, concentrating on listening to the sounds from my dad's room, “give me a minute and I'll meet you on the porch. You can sit out there and get some fresh air. I'll open the windows.”

“I can help,” he insisted then opened the windows in the living room. I snuck back into Dad's room. The harpy was nowhere to be seen. The rabbit carcass and rats had also disappeared.

“Where is she?”

“Outside.”

“Why is she out there?”

“I convinced her to hide for a few minutes.”

“Jason is grossed out by the stench. Frankly, so am I. I can't believe you married a harpy and kept it a secret all these years.”

“I was lonely. She's not so bad once you get to know her.”

“Not so bad? Christ, Dad. She's not even human!”

“Keep your voice down. You'll hurt her feelings. She might be listening; she's got keen hearing.”

“She can't stay here.”

“Then neither can I.”

Jason called out, “Come on. Let's go!”

I leaned out Dad's window, searching for Harpy. I spotted her perched on a fat branch of a big oak tree in the vacant lot next door. She spun around and shook her butt at me then farted. I could smell it and she was twenty feet away, at least.

“Disgusting!” I clenched my fists and pounded them against the sill.

“You'll get used to it. I did.” Dad seemed so calm and nonchalant, like he didn't have the energy to get too fired up about anything.

“I gotta go. We'll continue this conversation tomorrow, while Jason's at work.”

The next day, Dad, Harpy, and I sat at the kitchen table. I tried to have a civilized discussion with them, lay down some house rules, but the harpy wouldn't cooperate. She flitted off and started going through my cabinets and refrigerator, throwing things everywhere and spitting in all my coffee cups. I hated her.

“Dad! This is NOT going to work!”

“Okay, Princess. I'll make her leave.”

“You're lying!”

“No, I'm not, Pumpkin, I'll make her leave.”

Harpy pitched a fit, scratched my father, shredding his skin.

“Leave him alone!” I screamed, pulling her off, then made a tourniquet out of a dishtowel to stop the blood spewing from a deep gash in Dad's arm.

“Dad, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. She can stay. We'll figure something out. Just… make her hide from Jason, please…” I fell to my knees and laid my head in his lap, crying.

The harpy spat in my face then darted down the hall to Dad's room.

He stroked my hair until the tears subsided.

I looked up at the clock and panicked, because Jason would be home soon. I had to scour and deodorize the entire house, plus cook dinner. I rushed about, mutli-tasking like a mad woman. Dad shuffled back to his bedroom.

I heated up some left over chili, brought it to a boil then let it simmer. Armed with every cleaning product I owned, I attacked the chores room by room. I heard Harpy crawl out Dad's window. I checked the oak tree to make sure and there she was, perched high in the tree, hissing at me. After disinfecting every surface in his room, I jumped in the shower and got cleaned up before Jason came home.

When Jason entered the backdoor, I was setting the table, hair still wet, smelling of coconut scented shampoo. He walked over and wrapped his arms around me, kissed the back of my neck.

“What's for supper?”

“Chili. I've been so busy all day, I just heated up some left-overs from the freezer. Hope that's okay.”

He smiled. “I love your chili. I'm famished.”

He walked over to the stove, lifted the lid, and grimaced. “Shit! This is shit!”

“What's wrong?”

He picked up the pot and brought it to me, held it in front of my face. “Oh my God!”

He was right. It was a pot full of feces and I knew who put it there.

“Have you lost your mind?”

I felt my hair stand on end. He threw the pot against the wall. “What's gotten into you? You've been cleaning everything in sight--OCD maniacal, never have time to even talk to me longer than five minutes. We rarely go anywhere anymore. And in spite of all this cleaning you do, the house smells like a concentration camp. Now this?”

I started crying. “I didn't do that.”

“Who did? You're dad? He never even leaves his room!”

I trembled. I'd never seen Jason so angry. I lowered my eyes. Feathers were protruding from my forearms, tiny puke green feathers. I hid my arms from Jason and ran to the bathroom. I heard the back door slam then the squeal of tires in the driveway.

The vanes multiplied and grew longer. My fingers morphed into talons. I ran to Dad's room and shut the door behind me. I tried to speak, but only a squawk came out. I put my head in his lap and sobbed.

He stroked my hair and whispered, “Everything's going to be all right, Princess.”

For a week, I stayed in bed, covers pulled up to my neck, not caring that the house was being destroyed by the harpy.

Jason returned, he brought flowers and tried to get me out of bed. He didn't say anything about how nasty the house was, but I knew it was terrible. The worse he'd ever seen it, because I'd stopped even trying to maintain the household.

“Baby, it's going to be all right. We'll get some help. Talk to me.”

I couldn't talk. I held the covers to my chin and clamped my mouth shut. The flowers were beautiful and I couldn't even tell him thank you. I wanted to wrap my arms around his neck and let him take me away, far away from there, but I was afraid if I touched him, I'd give him a disease. I rolled over, like I didn't want him there. He left, eventually.

I didn't think he'd ever come back. Why would anyone come back to that? The place was a hell hole. I stopped caring about everything and gradually evolved into a full blown harpy. I flew out the window and perched in the oak tree.

My stepmother was nesting up there. She and I had a heart to heart. I could finally understand her words.

“Why did you do this to me?”

“Hate did this to you, not me.”

“Hate?”

“Yes. You hated me and for a brief moment, you even hated your father and husband. That's when it took hold. You kept on hating, even yourself. Now you're like me.”

“I don't want to be this way.”

“There's only one way to shed the curse. Someone has to love you, unconditionally, even though you're a harpy. That's why I married your father. I was hoping he'd learn to love me like he loves you, but the most he could muster was tolerance, now he dislikes me, but doesn't hate me.”

“He's immune because he doesn't hate deeply?”

“There have been times when his hate was strong enough for the disease to take hold, but your love protected him through the years. I was jealous of that, your love for your father and his love for you. All that time you probably thought he didn't care very much. He loved you, no matter what.”

“He must not love me so much anymore. I'm a harpy.”

“That's not true. He loves as he always has, but he hates himself too much.”

“Why are you being so nice to me now?”

“Because you're part of my family. I can't control my behavior, the messes I make, my disgusting displays, but in spite of it all, I do care for you. I don't love you unconditionally like your father does, but I do care.”

“Why are you out here instead of inside with Dad?”

“He sent me away.”

“What?”

“He banished me for bringing this disease into your life.”

“But he said if he does that, he'll have to kill himself.”

"This is true." She cocked her eyes toward Dad's window.

I flew out of the tree and into Dad's room. He was lying in a pool of blood, knife in his hand. I was so angry at my stepmother for chatting casually when she knew it was just a matter of minutes before he'd commit suicide. She could have warned me. I could have talked him into taking her back, something.

I rocketed back up to the oak tree, hissing. I wanted to kill her. She must have seen me coming, because she dove out of the tree before I could attack. She hid in a dark-leafed bush beneath Dad's window. I'd never seen that bush before. It had twisted limbs and odd thorns. I chased her down and crashed into the bush, breaking some of its branches. They started bleeding.

“Ouch!”

I heard my father's voice.

“Watch it, Pumpkin. That hurts and careful around those thorns, they're poisonous.”

I stopped dead in my tracks. I looked at my stepmother and she smiled. “Yes. This is your father. I hope you'll build a nest in his branches and keep him safe.” She flew away.

I was stunned. I just sat there for the longest time, unable to speak. Then I shook Dad's branches and he didn't say anything. I shook harder and one of his limbs snapped and bled.

“That smarts, Pumpkin, but I'm glad you're here.”

“Dad!”

“Yes, Pumpkin?”

“Did you know you'd become a bush when you died?”

“Yes. I figured if you were cursed with the life of a harpy, I wanted to provide the proper home for you. It's the least I could do. It's something I've never been able to manage while I was alive.”

“Dad…” I started sniffling. “What's happened to us? This is insane. I feel like I'm stuck in a nightmare.”

“Me too, Pumpkin. Me too.”

I learned the only way I could talk to my father was by hurting him, until he bled, so I chose silence.

About a month later, Jason came around again. He searched our disaster zone home. I peeked through Dad's window. Jason saw me. My face and hair were the same as always, just dirty, but my body was smaller and shaped like an eagle with boobs. I cried when Jason leaned out the window and scooped me into his palms. I wanted to talk to him, tell him everything, but I couldn't. All I could do was squawk.

“Baby, what's happened to you?”

I fluffed my wings and nuzzled his hand.

He turned me over, inspecting my down-covered body, then kissed the top of my head, gently brushing back my hair.

All I could do was cry and cry. He pulled me up to his chest and whispered, “I'm here. I love you. Everything's going to be all right. Hush now. Stop your crying.”

His finger traced my cheek, wiping away my tears and I felt myself shed. Within a few minutes, I returned to my human form, standing in a puddle of feathers.

“Jason…” I wrapped my arms around my husband's neck and kissed him. “I don't know how to explain what happened, where to start.” I trembled.

“Baby, it's okay. I don't think I could wrap my brain around it anyway. I'm just so glad to see you. I've missed you so much. I'm sorry I left you like that.”

“It's okay. I would have left me too.”

“I'm going to run you a hot bath. You can get all dolled up then we'll go get something to eat. I'll hire some people to come clean this place. You can stay with me at my apartment, ‘til the house is livable again then we'll come back home.”

“Okay. Thank you so much. I love you.”

“Where's your dad?”

I burst into tears. “He killed himself.”

“Oh my God. Are you okay? I had no idea. Why didn't you call me? You could have called me, baby. I would have come running. All you had to do was dial my number. You knew that, didn't you?”

“Yes, but I couldn't talk.”

He kissed me again, picked me up, and carried me to the bathroom. I sat on the toilet seat while he scoured the tub and ran a warm bath with lavender salts. I crawled into the tub. The warm water soothed away the stress. I relaxed and Jason scrubbed my back and lathered my hair. It felt so good to be human again.

“Jason?”

“Yes, baby.”

“There's a bush beneath Dad's window. It has poisonous thorns and brittle limbs. He loved that bush, said it was magical. It's very important to me. Please instruct the cleaning crew to not lay a hand on it.”

“No problem, baby. In fact, I'll do you one better. I surround it with chicken wire to protect it. How's that?”

“That's perfect, just perfect.” I whispered with a heart so full of love I could scarcely recognize myself then I leaned back into the lavender water and rinsed the suds from my hair, looking up into Jason's face, watching his eyes scan my body. I felt beautiful.