It was broadcasted as a regular Sunny Day in San Francisco, but at the end of a hidden alley in the renowned Art District of Hayes Valley, rain clouds blotted out natural light above Elles Fine, Mani and Pedi. A tarnished bell above the strangely curved entrée clanged.
Martim Neves, lured by the aromatics from within, brushed past two lurking steps, and landed flat on his stomach on the immaculate floor as the door came to a delicate hush.
From his weary eyes, he twisted his head on the sleek surface: a seemingly oblong room, void of any life, two white accents opposite each wall. Supported by chipped wobbly legs, they both held a vase of beautiful vivianite crystal, with half-bloom plastic flowers.
A lime yellow glow from an orb of surreptitious light basked the center antique Goddess: a work bench with a finish, darker than nights in paintings, expertly designed, and molded for the perfect manicure.
Two close-toed tar black heels hovered close by the fallen man. “Martim, you’re early, at least you were,” she stepped, and the heels clashed as if they were breaking glass, “Welcome.” She offered her ashen mitt, “May I see your hands?”
The mystery woman navigated him over to her antique bench with dark green legs that coiled into the floor, reaching downward to be saved.
“I am Dessire De Fine, the proprietor,” she massaged her client’s hand and let out a laugh so innocently with a light tender pulse in her fingers.
Martim’s free hand slammed on the matte black Goddess–
“I wouldn’t do that. You may wake the devil.” Her fingers glided across Elle Fine’s assortment, a bevy of metalized armature for the not so faint of heart.
With a beautiful ornate ivory knit towel she wiped each one of Martim’s grimy digits. She did so with her own hands–too pristine to be of this crumbling world–moving faster than ghostly apparitions, escaping to the upper floors at the sound of weary travelers at the mansion’s door.
Martim watched as his fingernails were ground down into dust…remnants made wet from the moisture that dripped from his scalp.
“Your panic is starting to show, Mr. Neves. Better not encourage them,” she tapped her black heel on the tile, “Like it says on the door. All is fine.”
One by one she fired a couple of spurts from a glass vial at each nail and gingerly placed the bottle down. She grabbed her next tool of glass, a delicate wand from a fable, and
slid across the nail bed, spreading her client’s eyes wide open, right up until she reached: the proximal nail folds–then dug into the barrier, splitting the skin seam and drove up into the knuckles.
The table vibrated as he watched the skin from his hands come off like tuiles of fermented cheese. Fingers replaced by fissures. The blood gushed from each of the eight knobs and his flaky debri circled clockwise on the surface of the Goddess antique into an onyx vortex.
Through the anguish and mutilation, he raised his head to the woman, but she was gone–a headless being, draped in ember hot chains, sat across, “Save me. Save me!,” her bodiless plea howled in the ominous air.
He closed his eyes as tight as he could manage, wishing the nightmares to go away. “What is wrong, Mr. Neves?” She asked, brushing a few dots of polish on his pinky. “Voila!”
Martim slowly opened one eye to his hands. They shined with an odd glow, devoid of cuts or the horrible machinations he envisioned. He pushed himself back to see a spotless floor and two close-toed tar black heels.
“So then, are we happy? I’ll see you next week, same time, yes?”
Martim Neves sat there with his palms on the table, dropped a hundred-dollar bill, opened the door…
“Please, let me be done,” Desiree said in a pained gasp over the sound of the tarnished bell: Ring! Ring!
An ice-cold chain, rooted in madness, crawled out from the floor and latched onto one of her legs.
Ring!
She sobbed and pounded as the strangely curved entrée once again came to a quiet
hush.
About the Author
CoRy Wyszynski won 5th place in our 2nd Annual Napkin Microfiction Contest (May 2022) with the award winning story Elles Fine. CoRy won a cash prize and will be published in Indie It Press’s 2nd COURAGEOUS CREATIVE Anthology: Volume II, in 2023.
CoRy Wyszynski is a writer, podcaster, and narrative improviser, or at least he was in another lifetime. His first book, U-turn at Next Synapse, was published by Quill through Inkshares in 2017, where two timelines merge together to the detriment of one man, who is slowly losing his mind. Nowadays, he still writes, but now spends most of his creative endeavour with his design/graphic art internet emporium he coined: Photo Alchemy {Experimenting with the Static Medium} or hosting his own late night talk show, From the Couch. In one form or another, Wyszynski is in constant disarray due to multiple complex illnesses, including but not limited to: Ehler’s Danlos Syndrome, ME/CFS, and Dysautonomia…there is ample time dedicated to navigating doctors, insurances, symptoms, and so much more! He lives with his caregiver/best friend, his dad, in Agoura Hills, CA. There is also Zoey. Zoey, a cat.
