Uninvited (Asymmetry)

Uninvited

* * *

June 17, 1958

The strangest visitor came to me this afternoon. I had just finished lunch, and was tidying up and listening to that delightful Frankie Lymon record when I heard a shuffling coming from the garage. I’m not ashamed to admit I was frightened—lonely widows are probably easy pickings for any burglar—but I told myself it was just a raccoon and crept over to investigate.

What I saw when I opened the door—and thank God I’m telling this to my diary instead of someone that could have me committed—was a twisted, gnarled thing, black like volcanic glass but with a violet sheen, shaped like a human as though by the hand of an inexperienced sculptor. Its face, or where its face should have been, was a flat expanse, featureless but for the faint purple shimmer where it caught the light. Its smell was like soil after it rains, earthy and rich, but sharper, and with a bitter taste in the air. I found that the scent put me strangely at ease, perhaps because it was so recognizably natural despite coming from something plainly not so.

I stood there, frozen, for Lord knows how long before it twitched its head in my direction. I expected to jump out of my skin—I even imagined myself doing so, but the fear I had expected to feel never materialized. Instead, I was distantly curious, as though I’d made peace with everything that could happen to me and all that was left to do was watch. It regarded me for a long moment and then, seeming to come to a decision, it struck. It moved haltingly, jerking forward a few paces almost imperceptibly quickly and then remaining perfectly still for a fraction of a second before moving again.

I didn’t resist when it pinned me to the wall of my garage, didn’t think to. Maybe I knew, instinctively, that it’d be fruitless to fight such a creature. Maybe I sensed its hunger and knew it was a hunger I shared. Whatever my excuse, I welcomed its touch. Up close, I could see that its body was crystalline, like a geode made of ever-smaller geometric shards. It was cool against my skin and wonderfully unyielding, but there was the slightest softness to its flesh that reminded me of Henry’s calloused hands. Henry was never this forceful, though. He was a timid man, as careful and tender in bed as he was in conversation, and I loved him for it. But he never tore away my skirt and underthings and thrust his fingers into me. The thing didn’t have fingers, exactly, but its forelimb twisted and narrowed to fit inside me and seemed to expand once it was inside to fill me so completely, and God, I saw stars when I climaxed. But it’s been long enough, hasn’t it? I deserve some relief, don’t I?

I confess I felt some shame, after. I staggered back into the den to write this, not saying a word to the creature. Could it have understood, even if I had? It felt like I was dreaming, like the world around me wasn’t real. I don’t know how long I sat in silence before lifting my pen, but it’s well past dusk now. Some part of me wonders if this was my imagination, that the isolation has left me seeing things. But a hallucination wouldn’t be that vivid, that raw.

I’m going to bed. If it’s there in the morning, well, I’ll decide what to do then.

June 18, 1958

It spoke to me. I didn’t expect it to respond. After breakfast and a long shower, I went back to the garage to see if the creature was still there. It hadn’t moved, and seeing it so close to the wall and smelling its scent left me momentarily lost in memory. But I recovered, and demanded to know why it had come to my home.

“Your grief,” it said. “It colors the air.” Its voice was smoky, but not nearly as low or deep as I expected.

I choked back a sob, surprising myself with how emotional I felt at its words. I asked what it meant—did it only come here because I was lonely? Because I was vulnerable? Was I just an easy target for it?

It didn’t respond, and for a moment I considered leaving, perhaps even telling the authorities about my uninvited guest. But the heat of its presence overtook me, and we made love on the cold concrete floor of the garage. I came back twice more that day, and it took me each time. We were silent but for the wet friction between us.

June 20, 1958

The neighbor saw us yesterday. I had brought the creature inside, carpets be damned. The curtains were drawn, of course, I’m not a complete fool. Our lovemaking was different, this time. It lifted me with several of its limbs—and I’m certain it didn’t have that many arms, before, but in the moment it was difficult to care—and held me in the air facing it so that I could see where its eyes would be, were it human. I felt so utterly conquered that I couldn’t hold back my moans, falling into its empty gaze as it filled me.

Of course, that’s when Arthur came to return the record he borrowed. And of course I had to have given him a spare key, so he could barge right into the den. I didn’t realize what was happening, at first, my head turning lazily toward him out of animal reflex more than concern. Terror flooded me, then, and I opened my mouth to speak as he drew in a breath to scream.

The creature reacted more quickly than either of us. Another limb, seeming to sprout abruptly from its back, shot through the air with such speed that there was an audible crack. There was another, softer crack when a thin, fibrous extrusion pierced the roof of Arthur’s mouth. He went slack, briefly, before seeming to regain his composure and shutting the door behind him, heedless of the foreign object in his mouth.

“You are safe,” the creature said, resuming its lovemaking. “I have given him a seed, and its roots will drink his fear.”

Should I have been horrified? Should I at least have been more disgusted than relieved? I don’t know anymore. I fell into its gaze again and the world went white with pleasure.

June 21, 1958

Arthur came back today. He entered without a word, hands covered in what looked like soot and carrying a bucket of black powder that he dumped in a pile in a secluded spot in the backyard. He didn’t respond when I asked what he was doing, so I followed him. He didn’t seem to mind. He went to his garage, and the moment I stepped through the threshold I began coughing from all the dust in the air. The trash bin was overflowing with empty bags of charcoal, and there was an enormous pile of the same black powder in the center of the room. It must have taken him all day to crush it to dust.

He filled his bucket again and stepped around me, his eyes never meeting mine.

June 22, 1958

Despite my body urging me to stay home and bask in the creature’s presence, I was running out of food and needed to go into town. I apologized, but there was no response. I think by now it was clear I wasn’t going to the police, so there was no reason to be concerned. I’d be back. Of course I’d be back.

I grew more restless every moment I spent at the store, and it was a struggle not to let it show. Worse, a woman seemed to be following me. She never looked directly at me, and she was clearly picking things out herself, but I could never seem to put more than half an aisle’s distance between us. I paid for my food and hurried out the door, glad to finally be out of there.

Then, as I loaded my groceries into Henry’s old station wagon, I heard a voice over my shoulder. “Do you know Her?”

I turned, and the woman from the store was there, eyes boring into mine. How had I not heard her approach?

“Do you know Her?” she repeated, and it was clearer this time that Her was capitalized, spoken with almost religious reverence. Of course I knew who she was talking about. Was this the creature’s last conquest? I felt a pang of jealousy, that she felt its—Her?—touch before I had.

She tilted her head in confusion and opened her mouth to ask again, but I responded first, “y-yes. I do. Come with me.” She left her bags in the parking lot and climbed into the car with me. Neither of us spoke on the ride home.

As we approached the house, my thoughts were abuzz with worry. Would this stranger take Her from me? Take Her home, wherever Her original home was? Were there other women like me, used by Her only to be abandoned? I didn’t even know this other woman’s name, for God’s sake, why should I even bring her with me?

“It’s Nancy,” she said, interrupting my rumination. “And you’ll never be truly alone again.” At that, she leaned in and kissed me on the lips softly and slowly, as if to savor their taste, before turning and crossing the threshold to my home. I didn’t know what she meant, but I knew somehow that she was telling the truth. I stood for a long moment on my porch, eyes welling up with tears of joy, before I followed.

As I entered, I saw her walking, already nude, out the door to my mercifully fenced backyard. Had I been lost in my reverie longer than I’d thought? It only occurred to me just then that I found her beautiful, and that seeing a woman in that way was unusual for me. For a moment, I was concerned, but I had little time to dwell on it because—

Come.

A voice, Her voice, heard but unheard, rang through me. How could I resist Her call? How could I want to, after all the hours of comfort She gave me? My feelings for Nancy weren’t important, and certainly weren’t cause for alarm. Nancy had her own purpose here. Mine was at Her side. I gave myself to Her again, praying She’d find another new piece of me to conquer.

June 25, 1958

This will be my final entry. A sentimental act, more than anything, as I’ll be burning the diary after.

Nancy was right, of course. I hear Her at all times, now. Her body left me last night, but not before She took me one final time. She tells me that I will bear fruit for Her, and I can only assume from the nearly unnoticeable swell in my belly that this fruit will be literal. I’ll need to change to accommodate it, She says, and though I have no idea what this change will entail I welcome it as I welcome all Her gifts.