Ink Drift - July

Issue 12 - Fear
The Creep Factor
dwarfed on his pinky.
“I’ll think about it.” He yanked off the
ring and handed it to her. “I’ll let you know,
tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? Someone else is interested
in it. It might be gone by tomorrow.”
“I’ll take that chance,” he said and
walked away. The hem of his long coat
touched her leg.
She shivered, watched him go out the
front door and realized she had sweated
through her blouse. The waistband of her
skirt was damp. He did nothing overt. He
could have knocked her down and run off
with the ring. He could have raped her in
the bathroom. He could have knotted his
wiener like fingers around her neck and
snuffed her.
He didn’t want to pay tax. That was all
he demanded.
Tammy prayed he wouldn’t return.
***
The next day was cold, but she kept the
back door open. She turned the thermometer
up to seventy-five, thankful for the
people in the alley: car’s parking, people
shouting into their phones, UPS and Federal
Express trucks screeching.
When she went home the night before,
she had a glass of wine, then another. She
had called Qwan, who suggested she meditate.
She instructed Tammy to go beyond
the physical to the spiritual world to seek
answers. Tammy cried out, “I’ve tried that,
and I’m still scared to death of him!” Qwan
replied, “Focus not on his body but on his
soul.” “I don’t think he has one,” Tammy
whispered. She said good-bye to Qwan and
found divinity in another glass of wine.
At four in the morning, she shot up in
bed, the monster in her dream the color of
jade. The arms of his coat turned into green
batwings. He chased her through the store
until she dived into the mirror and vanished.
With three more hours before rising, she
heaped the covers on top of her, shuddered,
and squeezed her eyes shut. Tears streamed
sideways across her cheek.
That morning she put on four-inch
heels, and for the first time teased her
hair—like her mother used to do—to make
herself appear bigger. She carried the only
weapon she could find at home, a souvenir
from Disneyland: a tiny Swiss Army knife
with scissors attached. She never harmed
anyone, even spiders she’d toss outside. For
Tammy, all God’s creatures were worthy of
respect. But nothing could quell her fear of
the man.
Tammy polished the counter. She ran
the vacuum, swept the sidewalk in front
of her store. Her feet hurt from the high
heels. When she’d bend over her teased hair
would smash into showcases, and shelves.
So great was her anticipation of being
murdered, that, she began to think of flower
arrangements and who would give the
eulogy at her funeral. Her mother would be
in shock, her father forlorn. Rachel would
be thinking, glad it wasn’t me.
Tammy waited and waited. She peeked
through the bathroom window whenever
she heard a car, truck or motorcycle. She
went out the front door and looked in at
the PO Boxes. She glanced east then west.
Cars backed up on Ventura. A skateboarder
headed toward the Galleria, but no man.
That night, after she got home, she finished
a bottle of wine, slipped into bed and
closed her eyes like the lid on a coffin.
***
The next day Tammy dressed in her favorite
sweater, lavender background with
tiny pink hearts, and a navy blue skirt
that showed off her athletic legs. Her hair
obeyed the brush, and she wore just the
right amount of make-up to enhance her
features.
She felt invigorated from a good night’s
PAGE 15
www.inkdrift.com