Natalie jumps down by me and we hold each other, crying, watching as the snake wraps around the mannequin and squeeeeeeeezes the great embrace, biting the left side of the mannequin’s face – from scalp to chin.
There’s a SNAP…
…and the man goes limp with a sigh.
The snake proceeds to swallow his arm.
Natalie stands and picks up the long, white box. She takes out some red roses and sprinkles petals over the snake, which looks up to her and falls asleep. She scoops it up and puts it back into its box.
I walk to the door and look down on the mannequin.
The bite mark on its face is a bright, blue lump. The white paint has been smeared, same with the paint on his arm, which the snake had gobbled – now covered in wetness.
In the hallway, the closet door is open.
There are open cans of white paint, and ten used brushes. I look into the bedroom and see the discarded “mannequins” and then I look back to the dead man at my toes.
A sudden shudder torpedoes down my stomach.
I slowly step back from the bedroom.
Natalie says, with her back to me: “I think there’s something wrong with me. I blame my parents. I blame my father. It’s all his fault. They painted me this way.”
I’m already backing away down the hallway. She turns around with tears in her eyes. For a second, I want to help her, to hold her in my arms and say everything’s all right.
I run through the living room. She walks after me, crying and screaming, kicking holes in the walls.
I jet out the front door and the next thing I know I’m outside, under the blinding moon, walking on the side of the road with my heart pounding in my head.
“Windows”
IT’S TWO IN THE morning. As I walk down the hill, a car pulls up and the woman inside offers to give me a ride. She looks cute (or I guess I should say beautiful, since she’s older), so I accept her offer and get in the car. We drive down the mountain and talk about Natalie. At first, I’m calm, cool, and collected…but as I get deeper into the tale, I lose it and start crying. I could have been seriously injured.
The lady driving me home is Polly.
She had been spying on Natalie the whole night. Polly was her pal, but because Natalie tried to slaughter her, she ended their friendship.
As we drive up to the Jack in The Box drive-though, I ask if she would tell me her story, and she agrees.
They had been pals since age 6. But four days ago, that all changed. Spending a night at Natalie’s house, Polly woke up standing in the kitchen with no recollection of how she got there. Did she sleepwalk? Last she remembered she was sleeping on the living room couch while Natalie snored in the bedroom.
Her lips hurt, and there were little black curly hairs in her mouth. Her head spun. The living room floor was covered in empty wine bottles and batteries and half-eaten bananas and stuffed animal dolls and so many clean socks. She went over to Natalie’s room and peeked inside. And that’s when she first saw Natalie & The Mannequins.
She was painting someone white – someone who was sitting on the edge of the bed and seemed to be in a deep sleep.
The person was bald and nude – a female by the obvious details Polly could see. Hair was all over the bed. Natalie wore a pink bathrobe, humming while she colored the poor soul a thick white.
Whatever it was looked like plain white paint. The can on the ground had a plain white label. Natalie raised the lady’s stiff arms and they stayed in the air, like a zombie’s. Natalie dipped her brush into the heavy liquid.
There was a puddle at Polly’s feet: White, the same substance in the can.
Something distant MOANED.
Polly leaned against the hallway wall, startled. The groan was soft. Polly crouched and looked into the room. Natalie brushed the stranger’s face with the back of her hand.
“Shhhh. Shhhh, child, shhhh.”
The woman had her eyes WIDE OPEN, arms still levitated at shoulder-level. Her lips bubbled.
“Oooooooooooh…”
“Shhh, child, shhhhhhhh. Child.”
“OOOOOOOOO!”
“Child! SHH!”
“O!”
“Shhh!”
Natalie raced her hand between the woman’s thighs and rubbed her to silence. The woman’s eyes shut, arms still up.
Natalie tilted her head as she worked. She pulled her hand out, soaked.
Polly wanted to vomit – it took all her will power to keep the garlic bread at bay. Her knees shook.
She couldn’t move– watching as her dear friend continued to paint this stranger white. Why was she doing this?
Natalie used a remote to turn on the radio, and classical music played, softly. Natalie reached down somewhere and brought up a little pink zipper bag. She opened it and took out a syringe, a pink lighter, a spoon, a little bag of green grass and a little bag of white sand, and an empty soda can.
She put some white on the spoon along with some clear liquid from between the mannequin’s legs and heated it with the pink lighter. She sipped it all up with the syringe and injected the hot mess into the soft underside of the mannequin’s armpits.
Natalie held the empty green can of apple iced tea.
She took out a pen and poked a hole in the center of the can. She put some green over the center hole and put her mouth to the can and lit up the green and inhaled…coughed…and then exhaled into the mannequin’s face, laughing. Then she kissed her on the white lips and smoked some more…coughed some more…and giggled some more.
Polly could see more in the room:
Under the bed were more white things, sleeping in the shadows. She saw white faces – frozen in mid-scream, and they were extreme – almost comical expressions. Against the walls were more of these “mannequins”, except these were broken – lower halves missing – hands clawed, reaching for air. She looked deeper into the room and saw all the painted legs, leaning against a wall.
Polly’s meal was screaming its way up her throat. Natalie put her hands on the mannequin’s knees, and eased her head between her thighs. Natalie let out soft MMMM’s as she worked, her buttocks grooving up into the air.
The mannequin didn’t move an inch – back arched, face-forward, chest out, arms still up – frozen.
The white thing was staring back at Polly, side-eyeing her with wide, mortified eyes.
Polly GASPED and leaned against the wall, slapping one hand over her lips and one hand to her head, yanking on hair. Polly shook her head violently, crying, emitting a whining sound.
Natalie cheered, child-like, from between the cool thighs:
“Yaaaaaa!”
Polly dry heaved and speed-tiptoed to the kitchen and threw her face into the sink.
She shoved a middle finger down her throat:
“BRRRRRRAKKKKK!”
No matter how hard you try, you can’t vomit silently. It came out like mud – thudding into the sink, drumming a little tune. Her eyes watered – behind them images of Natalie bringing a mannequin to orgasm like a horizontal fountain. Polly’s belly contracted and the remaining ingredients came rolling forth.
Someone was standing behind her, breathing heavily.
It was Natalie, her eyes sleepy, her upper body swaying from side-to-side.
She looked like giving up.
Something was in her hand….
An electrical handsaw.
Polly took a step back, hands blindly searching the counter for something sharp.
Natalie walked toward her, bringing the saw up and turning it on. Polly caught a shriek in her throat. They tell you that in the remaining few seconds of your life, everything flashes before your watery eyes. But it isn’t so. The truth is, you think of nothing. NOTHING comes to you. It’s all just a blank. You FEEL more than you think. That sense of dread is what fills those watery eyes.
Polly took a step forward and began to plead. But it did no good. Natalie worked the tool, making tiny chopping motions. It was l
oud – the very vibrations cutting through Polly’s stomach.
Natalie’s eyes were drowsy.
Her footing was clumsy.
Polly had an idea –
NOW OR NEVER!
She gave Natalie a spinning jump kick to the head with a HI-YAA! and headed for the door.
RUSHING STEPS behind her and the loud BUZZZZZZZZZ of the machine.
Polly turned the knob.
Locked.
She turned around just in time to dodge the saw as it ROARED past her face in slow motion and dug into the door.
A neighbor outside yelled, “Shut up!”
People below them hit their ceilings with their brooms.
Natalie chased Polly around and around the living room like a merry-go-round. Polly yelled back:
“HELP! HELP!” – then, remembering that no one responds to Help – “FIRE! FIRE!”
Natalie screamed too, voice shaky as she chased:
“FIRE! FIRE! FIRE HELP! YEEHAWW! TEE-HEE!”
Polly’s legs were giving out – her knees clicked with each step.
She looked over her shoulder. Natalie barked like a dog and underhand-tossed the blaring electrical saw at her. Polly spun out of the way and the tool CRASHED through the large, sliding glass door like booming lightning.
Natalie ran and stuck her head through the hole in the glass, screeching “Sadness!” and clawing after the falling weapon.
AGAINST BLACK: The electrical handsaw spins spins spins through the darkness in slow motion, its buzzing fading away into an echo as a chilly breeze whispers.
Natalie SHRIEKED at Polly and pointed an accusing finger and chased her with outstretched hands into the hallway. Polly ran into a room and SLAMMED the door in Natalie’s face. She POUNDED and KICKED at it. Polly pushed her back against the door and cried out.
“Natalie! Natalie! Natalie! Natalie! Ohh, Natalie!”
Natalie hit her head against the door over and over again. On the 10th blow, her head BLASTED through. She said with a terrified voice on the verge of tears: “God, forgive me for I know what I do!”
Polly yelled out in horror and fell back onto her buttocks, crawling backward.
Natalie turned the knob with her mouth and kicked the door a strong one – turning it into a zillion splinters. Then she stood there in the doorway with her hands high above her head while making threatening bear-like sounds. Polly sat there with her hands to her face and shook her head, furiously.
Something cold fell on her shoulder.
Polly YELPED and looked to see the mannequin lady, looking down at her from the bed with WIDE eyes. Polly cried bloody murder…and bolted up, accidentally tripping on a toy duck (that went “Quack”, depressingly) and fell down again, this time on her face with her arms to her sides.
She could hear Natalie say to the mannequin, as if to scold, “Sidney Australia, you’re supposed to be asleep!”
Then Polly heard another sound – a pathetic sob – “Wrrrrrrr, wrrrrrrrr…” It sounded like a cow drowning in a bathtub.
Polly didn’t move. Maybe Natalie thought she knocked herself out by falling flat on her face. Polly didn’t dare move, listening as Natalie’s feet walked over her.
Then there were odd, slurping sounds. Then cracking sounds, as if Natalie suddenly got hungry for crackers.
There was a strange, ugly smell: like of dead things. And Polly wanted to throw up again. She squinted of happy thoughts – like flowers and naked man-porn.
Natalie began to say things behind Polly’s back: about how much Polly meant to her, how they were such good friends, and how badly Natalie wanted to videotape Polly as she lay there. What she said next shook Polly in the throat. Natalie wanted to do things to her as she lay unconscious.
Polly’s brain screamed RUN RUN RUN, FOOL!
But she couldn’t move.
Natalie went to the dresser and pulled out a video camera. The camera beeped to life and the little red light on the front popped on. Natalie aimed the camera at Polly, who shut her eyes.
Natalie said something about sex being in everything and placed the camera on Polly’s head. She could feel its gears turning, humming.
The bed squeaked.
From the corner of her eye, Polly saw Natalie rest the mannequin on the ground. She shut her eyes again as Natalie walked over and picked the camera up. Polly watched, cautiously, as Natalie threw down an empty cassette case that was black on one side and yellow on the other. She then popped a tape into the camera and videotaped the mannequin’s disturbing face.
The mannequin was frozen in a sitting position: face up to the ceiling, legs crossed, arms out as if ready to fly fly fly.
Polly hated herself right then and there – why couldn’t she stop watching? Why couldn’t she turn away? Why didn’t she just run? Ahhh, the mysteries of life. Natalie held the camera with one hand, and used her other to grope the mannequin’s plump chest. The globes were hard. Natalie knocked on them. The mannequin groaned…then sighed, yet its face was still.
Natalie put her fingers to the mannequin’s mouth and pulled out a string of tiny white balls, which she ate. She then put the camera down.
It was aimed at Polly.
She bolted her eyes shut.
Natalie rolled the mannequin over onto its face – with its buttocks up in the air – and picked up the camera again. She caressed the hard buttocks in front of her with the back of her hand, and began to make sexy sounds, like “Oooooh” and “Ahhhhhh” and “Ttttttttttttttttt”.
Natalie put the camera on the small of the mannequin’s back, aiming it at herself. She licked her lips and slid her hands down, pleasuring the mannequin as well as herself.
Natalie’s body began to convulse. She vomited onto the buttocks, yet kept her eyes on the camera, holding her sensual face, her body moving up & down in a sexy way.
“Ooooooooooh, ahhhhhhhhh, aaaaaahhh. I’m sexy.”
The mannequin began to drool and make interesting bird sounds in its throat.
POLLY THREW UP ON THE CARPET, YELLING AT THE SAME TIME. SHE JUMPED UP AND SCREAMED AT THEM WITH HER ARMS FLAILING IN THE AIR AND THEN TURNED AROUND AND RAN THROUGH A WALL.
Natalie and the mannequin watched, motionless.
***
Polly was in a dark room. She put her hands on her knees. She struggled to breathe. She felt strong – particularly because she ran straight through a wall. And now she was covered in white dust.
She shook her head and kicked her feet to clean herself.
Polly had to eat.
She was hungry. First sustenance, then call the cops. Where was the refrigerator? Polly hoped no one was home. She put her hands against a wall and searched for a light switch. She kicked something warm and furry – something that MEOWED in pain.
Polly picked up the cat and kissed it on what she hoped was its nose. She flicked a switch on the wall and found herself in the kitchen. Putting the cat down, she opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bowl of sliced cheesecake. On her 12th slice, she heard keys at the door. Polly put everything back and washed her hands and ran into the bedroom, hiding under the bed.
She stayed there for hours, leaving when the newlyweds had done their business and fell asleep.
Polly drives me into Nuuanu Stream Park. She stops the car next to a small cliff and begins to cry. I put my hand on her head, rubbing it.
“It’ll be okay.”
I can feel eyes staring at us from out open windows. She begins to tell me how hard it all is. How I’ll never understand what she’s been through. How she wanted to go back to possibly save those other “people”. I tell her that she’s right, that she’s a good person.
She hugs me and kisses my cheek, saying how much I understand her and how much she likes me, and how maybe we can have a bright future together. I mess her hair up in a playful manner.
“Sure, kid.”
She rests her head on my shoulder.
“Wanna make some extra cash?”
“Doing
what? If math is involved, I’m afraid I’d have to pass gas. You see, I’ve used the Right Side of my brain so much, my Left has gone malnourished.”
“How would you like to work on a movie?”
My eyes jump.
“Really? I make movies for a living! I mean, I’m trying to. I’ve got this film club-thingy, and we want to make a television show here in Honolulu. I even made a horror movie, called “The Nundead”, and I’m working on another one, too. It’s hard though, because everyone works and doesn’t have much time. We need a good producer.”
“Good, good! You’ll fit in nicely.”
“So who’s making this film? What is it about?”
“You’d be working under me. I’m the producer, and our cinematographer left due to creative difficulties. It’s a fun little movie. An adult film. Should make us a lot of money.”
“An adult film?”
“Is that a problem?”
“Well, it’s just, I’ve heard stories where people – the crew – got ripped off. Like from their pay.”
She laughs.
“That’s not going to happen. This isn’t the Philippines.”
“Who is this person you had problems with?”
“Natalie.”
“…”
“I got her the job. But ever since she got into making her own Mannequin Porn, she’s been going a tad batty. No one liked working with her. I guess it all started once she began walking around set with a case of orange soda under one arm and a mannequin’s torso under the other. But not to worry. The others are nice people. Especially me.”
“The TOY Machine”
SHE DRIVES ME HOME and we kiss goodnight with our tongues. My mom is still asleep, as is my kid brother. I undress, sensually, and turn on the fan and lay in bed, my mind working. Should I go into the adult business? What am I going to tell everyone?
Nothing.
If they ask, just say that you’re doing “Little things here and there: Courtesy of the temp agency.” Then laugh it off and change the subject – preferably about them, since people love talking about themselves.
I begin thinking back to what Polly said, about that black video case.
Could it be the same one in the video store?
The possibility of what’s on the tape teases my mind – even though what I heard from Polly makes me sick in the tummy.