WHAT WILL IT BE?

By Chell Nicholas

Stephanie awoke startled, quickly sitting up in her bed taking inventory of her surroundings. Wiping the sweat from her brow, “It was just a dream,” she repeated to herself over and over again. She whispered the chant several times trying to force her to believe the words that she uttered, without resolution.

The horrifying scene replayed itself inside of her head cyclically. Stephanie was never fully capable of ridding the terrifying visions that remained etched in her mind. She only found herself able to stuff the memories into a locked box that remained safely tucked away in the back of her head during her hours around the living; a temporary solution.

To rationalize the feelings of victimization that she suffered now would be virtually impossible. The laughter still echoed inside of her ears, she shook her head from side to side trying to make the cackling disappear, if only for a little while.

She glanced over at her alarm clock, three-thirty in the morning, the darkness still lingered outside of the bedroom window.

Stephanie could not, would not, fall back to sleep, not with the slightest chance of reliving the horrific nightmare that she just awoke from. This was the way she spent most of her evenings of late, sleep deprived and frightened.

With nothing left to do now but wait for daybreak, she logged onto her computer. She scoured the lifeless pages on the internet until a reflection of light cast through a large stained glass yellow rose, which hung in the living room bay window, bounced off of her computer screen. Daybreak at last!

Stephanie felt safe now, quite secure as the sun began its journey from the east; the sun was her knight in shining armor, so to speak. The comfort that she felt as the rays of light danced across the interior walls of her apartment provided the inspiration to breathe just one more day.

As she attempted to make herself look presentable for a double shift at the restaurant, trying to cover the dark circles under her eyes, she contemplated her career choice.

She thought about the reasoning behind her decision to become a waitress. In all actuality the sole purpose a waitress stays at the same job, at the same restaurant for seven years is not quite understood by the common folk. The reasoning behind it is obvious, food, clothing, and shelter. It is certainly not for the amount of respect that you receive from your patrons and superiors, that is for sure. Getting a ten dollar tip on a one-hundred dollar check is not a cherry on top of a hot fudge sundae, but unfortunately it comes with the territory.

Working in the small restaurant in the west end of a town does have its perks; it was close to her home, and closed on Sundays. They had a regular crowd that remained civil, more like extended family than customers. They were the rare people that made the job a little less stressful, and a breath of fresh air compared to most people.

Every waitress has a horror story now and then. Similar experiences happen to everyone, and at the end of the encounter you always seem to loose one more little tiny piece of your mortal essence.

Any person who has ever been in the employ of a food serving establishment could understand the reference. It is the customer who wants to make sure you know that you are subservient to them, and takes great pleasure in serving you up a side of that humiliation.

However, Stephanie's tribulation is far worse then any common disrespect. This particular haunting episode drove her to a point near insanity; she feared that her life was in mortal danger.

Every Friday night she worked the dinner shift. That is when they would make their grand entrance. The wretched mother and daughter would grace the establishment with their presence at precisely the same time every Friday, at 6:30.

The expressions on their haggard faces would be compared to someone who just ate a whole case of lemons, followed with an olive chaser. The look on their bitter, puckered, sunken faces seemed to suit both quite nicely.

The solitary intention for their mere existence appeared to be spreading their malcontent and maliciousness. It seemed to provide them some twisted form of happiness and amusement.

The two miserable old women always ordered the same thing; two New York strip steaks rare, a baked potato, and of coarse Stephanie. They would command and snap their withered fingers, speaking loudly, being extremely obnoxious, and disturbing the customers that were unlucky enough to be seated next to them.

As they devoured their raw flesh the blood red juices continuously dripped down their wrinkly prune faces, it was a sight not meant to be seen by the faint of heart.

Their repetitious behavior sickened Stephanie, grating her eyes every time she bore witness to the loathsome creatures feeding.

After concluding their massacre of the flesh, they would demand the check; pay it, offering only a welcomed departure and little else as gratuity. As Stephanie watched the twosome sashay in glee through the center aisle of the restaurant, it left her with the sticky residue of hatred in her heart.

Recently she noticed a change in the way that she felt when they would leave. After they would make their ostentatious exits, Stephanie would become physically and mentally drained, with difficulty in finishing out her shift.

For a while she thought that she was just exhausted, tired from working too many hours. In the back of her head she knew that these feelings of unrest began simultaneously, at the very same time that the dreams started.

The dreadful nocturnal visions always started off the exact same way. They remained seated next to each other whispering and staring, gormandizing on raw meat, and pointing, acting out some kind of ancient ritual. As the dream progresses the whispering would gain momentum, getting louder reaching glass shattering decibels and they were laughing.

The black cloaked pair crouches in abstractly constructed wooden chairs, resembling the stance of two Gargoyles perched high atop a cathedral bell tower, wiry hair blowing around wildly by nonexistent wind. Shaken from the visualization of the nightmarish figures Stephanie would struggle, fighting her way to wake. It was as if the mire sight of the ghastly duo held her captive within the hell of her delusion.

Stephanie felt the urge to tell someone, anyone. However, the very thought of sounding like someone who had completely lost her senses caused her to remain silent for weeks.

After the nightly visits continued to intensify she came to the only conclusion that was left, there were no longer any other options to choose from. She was at the breaking point.

She could no longer walk down a street without connecting something with the dreams. Stephanie's brain could no longer separate the deceptive hallucinations from reality. She began seeing their hideous faces everywhere, cereal boxes at the grocery store, the bank teller, billboards, and on the television. She appeared to have no escape, no sanctuary left to seek, she needed to tell someone.

After work one night the girls all decided to go out and have a few drinks. Over the past few months, Stephanie alienated herself from her friends, family, anything that had a pulse. She became so accustomed to feeling dead inside that the thought of hearing her own laughter became a traumatic event of its own rite.

They always invited Stephanie along, though her response was continuously the same. Her repetitious reply became noted, and accepted as the standard response. Tonight she planned on breaking the mold, she would say yes.

The dimly lit tavern house was nearly deserted, except for the table of seven closest to the blazing fireplace. Everyone was in deep conversation, complaining about work, men, and life in general. Stephanie remained quiet, thinking, sipping her vodka rocks.

She found herself at a loss for words. How could she bring up the subject without sounding like she was completely out of her mind? As the words that she searched so franticly for finally reached her lips, she paused momentarily, slammed down her drink, and then set the glass on the table maybe a little too loudly. The girls glanced at Stephanie curiously; her audience became silent as she took the floor.

“I am not sure how to say this, so I am just going to say it,” she paused for a moment as she became overrun by emotion. “I have been having some really strange dreams lately”.

Stephanie felt relieved for a minute that her torment was no longer a darkly kept secret, until she observed surreptitiously the faces that surrounded her. What was wrong with them all? She thought.

Confused, she studied their expressions closely. Each face seemed to be temporarily frozen in a state of disbelief and shock. Then Stephanie made an assumption, and asked a single question directed to all who were present, “Has anyone else?”

Everyone nodded slowly in a trance like state, affirming to the question at hand in perfect synchronization with each other. Stephanie threw herself back in her chair and laughed out loud. To her own surprise laughing was not as traumatic as she assumed it would be.

Mouths dropped and eyes widened at her queer behavior. Finally a bit of closure! Stephanie was not the only one. The sisterhood of the tormented began sharing their various stories of the plaque that was beset upon them. Apparently she was not the only one to envision the wretched pair.

Over the years they all had their bouts with the decrepit women, Stephanie just happened to be the flavor of the last three months. Lately things have been progressing substantially, the entire wait staff were now open targets, tortured during the nocturnal hours between midnight and 3:30 a.m. by these malevolent entities.

While their nightmares all had similarities, certain aspects of the reverie were quite diverse, split into acts in some tortuous theatrical production.

After a long discussion, the wait staff of the insignificant café came to one solitary conclusion, a solution became necessary. The sanity of the innocent women depended on it.

Hours passed and the gatherers reluctantly retreated to their individual dwellings; to contemplate an antidote to their affliction.

As Stephanie slept that night her torment continued. The dream started off normally, she tossed and turned, all the while realizing that she was indeed dreaming, yet she remained unable to wake.

Their table of choice no longer resided inside of familiar surroundings; its present location resided within a dimly illuminated arena. Dark and ominous clouds covered the midnight sky like a moth eaten blanket. Lightening blazed in the night in perfectly choreographed time, with the Harvest Moon making its cameo appearances occasionally.

Stephanie stood in the center of a desolate stage as the crouching hooded monstrosities slammed their talon claws down onto an ancient stone table top. Over and over again they kept in time, madness and hunger in their hollowed out eyes, demanding for the performance to begin.

The recital commenced as a single ray of moonlight provided the stage lighting and the howling wind offered the orchestral accompaniment for the outlandish performance.

A goat footed deity twirled madly about her under the Harvest Moon amidst a hellish ballet. With every spin it yowled as the essence of the damned soul it claimed at center stage scorched his rotting flesh. Stephanie's skin burned and blistered as she joined the ranks of the ill-fated.

The platform disappeared, now the backdrop was fog covered and wooded. The trees appeared to arabesque and plié, marking the drastic changes within the deranged dirge. The women turned to her beckoning with remnants of human fingers, calling her by name “ Stephanie ”.

The legs that supported her torso tried to sprint, but could not, due to the bog that she found her feet rooted in. The hags taunted her, cackling and speaking in a mysterious language that was foreign to her ears.

Stephanie screamed silently in the dream state that she found herself entrapped in, as the leeches began slithering closer. Their wagging tongues and rolling eyes terrorized her, causing her body to fall limp into the muck and mire. “Won't anyone help me?” she pleaded to deaf ears. They were close now; she could feel their hot, stagnant breath on her face. They clawed, roaring like lions, fighting amongst each other over the would-be scraps of dangling flesh.

Off in the distance an elderly woman of petite stature stood with her arms crossed in front of her. She wore a brightly colored knee length polyester dress, a pill box hat, and white gloves that went to about the wrist. Her place in the picture was riveting and clashed with severity. The expression she displayed was one of condolence, it comforted Stephanie.

“Wake up now child,” the woman whispered. The gentle push had no effect on Stephanie.

“Awake!” her voice cracked like thunder.

Stephanie quickly regained consciousness, as sweat rolled off of her shaken carcass. She had no memories of the guardian who watched over her. Somewhat relieved she began weeping tears of fear and of gratitude; they free flowed from her eyes like a waterfall.

She was safe now, but she was scared. A thought of taking the drastic measure to end all of this misery briefly crossed her mind. The terror that she felt now quickly retreated. Her head started to spin, she felt dizzy as terror developed in to anger and rage.

Stephanie discovered some strange sort of encouragement from within. She needed help and strength. Well they do say that there is safety in numbers, so she rummaged through her telephone phone book to call the girls from work, reinforcements.

It was about 3:00 a.m. when everyone arrived to the apartment, all felt compelled to come no matter the late hour. All claimed that their sleep remained uninterrupted, and could see that Stephanie was visibly affected; she was the only prey now.

Stephanie broke the unwritten rule of disclosure. No one was ever meant to be told of these private nocturnal horrors. The only flaw with this law that the wicked attempted to enforce was that when cornered, human primal instinct kicks in with a vengeance telling us that we fight back against our aggressors, it is known as self preservation.

She divulged every explicit detail of the damnable, god-forsaken nightmare to her co-workers. They came up with a strategy, although its inspiration remained a mystery to the alliance; one bound by trepidation and of friendship.

The group was granted one wish that night by an anonymous contributor. It was as if the white light of hope became a part of them. Someone out there was watching over them, they had no idea who it could have been, or even thought there was an actual culprit behind the master plan that they divulged that night.

The next evening they all arrived for the night shift, exhausted and frightened. Collectively they watched the door, it was a very slow night, just about all of the tables were open. Although it was not Friday, it was 6:30.

With each tick of the second hand on the bar clock anguish coupled with anticipation consumed all. They must have sensed that the handpicked suffers were up to something, as they strode in the door starring Stephanie dead in the eyes, grimacing. The sisterhood gathered around her forming a circle of protection, a sacred formation unbeknownst to them.

As the wicked requisitioned the required soul, Stephanie thought about cowering off in some nearby corner, just then something happened. All of the sudden she found this sort of inner strength, it felt surreal, and vicious; the primal instinct of territorialism. Stephanie did not hide, this was her work place, and she belonged here. So she did the exact opposite; Stephanie put her best foot forward and smiled.

She approached the corner booth that they occupied; the evil soul hunters hissed and murmured, plotting chicanery no doubt.

She walked up to the table, bravery on her left shoulder and courage on the right, and asked “What will it be?”

A condescending amazement struck their masked visages, and they began to snicker in disbelief. Stephanie did not let that bother her though, because she knew exactly what to do.

While serving the vile pair their regular meals; she had the same smug expression that covered her face when she stepped forward. Something gave her a power over them, they knew it too, but must have felt it an inferior match.

They took their time eating, gnawing, and displaying their blackened teeth, a preview of what awaited Stephanie this night. She simply could not back down now, unable to withstand another night of this haunting. It would be the last time they would ever come here, or anywhere for that matter, she felt it in her bones.

Closing time approached as they readied themselves for the impending confrontation. After loading their pockets with the necessary weapons they waited; mentally preparing for battle.

After paying the check and continuing the tradition of no gratuity, they skipped out of the front doors with their arms interlocked. This time they did not leave, they waited, rubbing their hands together, carnivorous smiles spread wide across their faces.

After punching the time clock one by one, relaxed and deliberate, the victimized women walked out of the doors that night in single file.

The collectors stood off in the distance observing, as the faithful employees headed for the darkest corner of the parking lot, the hunters followed making haste.

The demon seeds stood among the group of tortured and traumatized women, no words were exchanged, and their smiles remained glued to their faces.

Stephanie's head began to swim as her confidants came to her aid. The wait staff warriors encircled the evil ones, who guffawed loudly. The mother winked her eye at Stephanie, and that was it the last straw.

Simultaneously reaching into the arsenals inside of their apron pockets, they pulled out fisted hands. Patiently, they waited for the gauntlet to be thrown. The pair lunged toward Stephanie, and that is when they saw her.

An elderly woman stepped out from her hiding place within the shadows. She looked to be like your run of the mill sweet old woman. Her face was familiar and innocent, comforting and warm.

The oppressors displayed expressions of shock and awe.

With no time remaining to continue making observations, as the predators prepared to pounce on their prey, the mysterious woman mentioned casually, “I thought that we had an understanding Matilda”.

Stephanie and her co-workers were confused by the statement; they stood by dumbfounded taking a few steps back from the confrontation that unfolded before them.

“You!” the mother snarled, as the daughter cowered behind her. “You should be dead! We have collected your soul; it belongs to the master now!”

“Oh ladies!” the woman giggled. “What you do not seem understand are the mysteries of the earth, I am protected by…” the mystery woman paused choosing the perfect words to fit the occasion. “Let us just say that my soul is considerably older then yours. When you ended my life of flesh all those years ago you released my soul. I have been sent here to end your reign of terror on these poor young girls,” she said with conviction in her voice.

“The rest may go, but she remains,” Matilda proclaimed pointing her boney finger towards Stephanie.

“I have not come to barter Matilda. Your meager attempt at negotiations has not swayed the judgment that has been determined for the two of you,” the guardian stated firmly pressing her lips together.

“Girls,” the woman instructed gently coaxing the girls forward to their original positions. “You may now use your weapons”.

Power and an overwhelming feeling of self assurance filled the would-be warriors with the courage to commence with the planned assault.

Salt bombarded the predators from all directions, causing cringing and screeching. Each granule of salt sparked red as it made contact with their shriveling bodies.

The woman stood next to Stephanie, protecting her from any further attempts to collect her soul. She placed her hand on Stephanie's shoulder, reassuring her deepest fears would soon be nonexistent.

The contemptible twosome intertwined with each other in agony, initiating some sort of metamorphosis. Seconds felt like hours as they twisted and contorted. They screamed and howled; as the onlookers stood by and watched the nightmarish creatures that haunted and tormented the coven of friends suffer as they had for what seemed like an eternity. All the grief and terror retreated as the tortured beings all but disappeared.

The mixture of the salt, and sulfur; an element from within the wretched pair, fused together forming what was lingering. All that remained of the soul feeding monsters, in the center of the circle, was a single piece of molten-rock, originating directly from the bowels of Hell.

After the horrifying experience concluded the wait staff was left trembling. The make shift coven embraced each other, consumed with relief, their ordeal was over. The unexpected visitor, who became their savior, departed offering no explanations or well wishes. The old woman had vanished, she was gone. They wondered who she was. Why was she watching over them? Something unexplainable happened that night, the memories quickly faded of the woman altogether.

After taking in account all of the unusual events that occurred Stephanie said, “I think that we should not tell anyone about this. We should make a pact never to mention this to anyone, let's just move on and be normal again”.

She extended her hand out in front of her; slowly the rest of the wait staff placed their trembling hands on top of Stephanie's hand. All agreed on that point, besides who would ever believe them.

Collectively they entered their cars, and drove down to the river. They placed the small porous rock inside of a plastic bag, sealing it tight with air inside. The group stood on the bank hushed, wordlessly offering a welcomed departure, as Stephanie tossed the bag into the waterway. They remained watching, holding a silent vigil.

Could they return to torture someone else? The worry would pass they all thought as the plastic bag slowly drifted down the winding river.