The Absence of Alekan

The faces of devils, mouths stretched and slits cut into the eyes, were hung in plastic packets before me. I tugged one free and checked the price on the back. Then I fell into a trance, drifting into another memory of Alekan

She would stand, holding the stem of a wine glass between her legs as she struck a match and lit a cigar. The glass was full but steady between clenched knees. She would stoop and bend gracefully, her shoulders would hunch, her heels would separate, turning her toes inwards; and her eyelashes would flicker with the flame. It was a manoeuvre unique to her and she performed it at parties, weddings and in beer gardens. Wherever safe surface space for a placed glass was limited. It was a show of poise and practiced elegance, letting not a drop of wine be spilt. She would straighten again, rising with rings of triumphant black smoke and lift the wine from her knees to her lips. When she died the performance, her balancing act, died with her. I did not expect to see it again.

Still, I was confronted with many things that did remind me of her. It became a battle to step forward into the future without collapsing through the frail path and plunging into the past. There were the obvious signs of her absence; her pillow untouched, her reading glasses lightly covered in dust and the toilet seat raised up to greet me. But there were other more cryptic reminders too; an empty shoebox in the street, a creak on the stairs, the word ‘hello’, the word ‘goodbye’ and perhaps every word in-between.

I would spend my nights sleepless and hopeless on the sofa. Watching incoherent shapes flash across the television screen, finding myself suddenly in the kitchen having stirred my mug of tea until cold. When I finally crashed into sleep I would have strange lucid dreams in which Alekan was revealed to be alive. I would be convinced that her death had been a mistake or a hoax. And my subconscious-self invented ways to fake my own death to be with her.

“Are you ok?”

I had snapped out of my daydream to find myself in a fancy dress shop. The girl behind the counter had called out to me in casual concern. I had been staring at the back of a devil mask for long enough. The stumpy pointed horns and animal snout reminded me too much of a bull. I put the mask back and turned to the girl at the counter. She was still holding the same thin smile of inquiry. It occurred to me that I had been browsing the contents of the shelves for some time without interruption from the ringing door.

“Is it usually this dead in here?” I asked. My tongue tingled at the sound of the d’s, sending a shiver through my throat. I fastened the buttons on my coat.

“Usually deader.” She looked about sixteen. Curls of brown hair framed a swollen face.

“I thought it would be busy, with Halloween.”

“People aren’t spending on it. Make do with what they’ve got. They don’t want to dress up in this bollocks anyway. Not very inventive is it?” She curled her hair in her finger as she spoke. “We’re having a victims of serial killers theme,” she said “I’m going as a victim of Jack the ripper. Corset all ripped out and bleeding at the front. I thought about having a bit of womb sticking out and maybe a baby’s leg or something but I’m not sure how that would work. Now that’s inventive.”

Inventive, I thought, is worse than expensive. It would require some creative spark that my exhausted imagination could not muster. I braced myself for the grisly weather behind the ringing door.

I found that my eyes would search as I walked the streets. As if her face would suddenly reveal itself from a crowd of pedestrians or in a passing car and I would have to be ready to spot it. I even hoped to see someone who looked like her. To trick myself for that moment that she could still be alive.

I picked up the invitation from the pile of post on the table. There was no set theme other than Halloween and fancy dress. I sat down for a moment, sipping at cold tea, thinking if there was anything in the flat I could use to fabricate an inventive costume. But I wasn’t ready to rummage beneath the surface yet. I had generated a layer of mess like a thick covering of dust. It was a safety gap I had created for myself between everyday survival and absolute horror. I could not bear to uncover too much Alekan. Time would decide which memories would rise from the dust to flourish and which would remain buried. Some might escape for a moment like unfurling serpents of black smoke, only to slither into the light and die.

I figured I felt like a zombie so I must look like one. The outfit of a man grieving the tragic death of his lover would be the costume I would have to settle on. I tipped the cold tea away, filled the mug with vodka, dialled for a taxi, waited, drank and filled the mug again.

By the time I arrived I had acquired a careless stagger appropriate to my zombie persona. My vocals needed perfecting but the night to come would surely train a slurred rambling, incoherent growl and perhaps some drooling. I don’t remember knocking or ringing but I remember the door held open before me and George welcoming me into the room of swirling light, twisted bodies and hurtling noise.

It was the first time I had seen George since the funeral. George was my tutor at college, my mentor in my first steps into the world after education and a friend on those occasions when a friend had been most needed. George, dressed in fur and fangs, took me in, sat me down and placed a cold drink in my hand.

I was nestled in a corner, my frame sunk into the cushioned embrace of an armchair. I watched as George did the rounds amongst the party guests. The music was difficult to separate from the beat of laughter and rhythmic conversation. Furniture in costume and upholstered party guests became hard to distinguish. I smiled and nodded contentedly to all. In return I was well watered and directed safely to a place to piss.

When I returned from my toilet trip I found my armchair had been taken. An apparition was sat before me. Dark hair draped from veiled head to lace nightdress and pale slender legs led to shiny black heels.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I’m in your seat.” She began to stand.

“It’s fine,” I said, holding out my hand as if my gesture could lower her back into the seat. I sat on the floor in front of her. “I’m fine like this. Are you a ghost?”

“Yeah I guess so.” She brushed her veil to one side to sip from a bottle of beer. “I didn’t really give it much thought. Some of them have been really creative. Have you seen the sewer monster?” The veil fell back across her face. Her nightdress lay sleekly against her pale body. She crossed her legs with a swing of shiny black heels.

I glanced around at the other guests without being able to focus on anything. There was a man wrapped in toilet paper, was he the sewer monster? I turned back to the ghost. The conversation stuttered on. Her face remained concealed. Every now and then there would be a flash of her lips as she took another sip from her beer. I spoke about my own struggle to settle on a costume. I explained the girl in the fancy dress shop, giving my own enthusiastic description of her ‘inventive’ victim costume. The ghost giggled. I found myself trying to charm her. I wondered what she looked like behind the veil. The more I invested in her however, the more I was scared that her face would not resemble Alekan's at all.

It must have been late. I’d noticed most of the other guests had gone. I found myself on another toilet trip. I flushed the chain and tugged open the door. The ghost was stood there in the hall. She stepped forward pushing me back into the bathroom and locking the door behind her. I stumbled slightly on the awkward surface of the bobbled bathroom rug. As she started to lift her veil I closed my eyes. Her lips crashed against mine and I pushed her back against the door as my tongue pushed hers back into her mouth. She pulled my top free from my arms and splayed her fingers on my chest. The passionate kissing continued for a moment then stopped.

“Open your eyes,” she giggled, dropping one hand to my crotch. My eyes were clenched as tensely. She kissed again, this time tentatively, questioningly. Her hands lifted away from my body. “Open your eyes,” she said with empty voice. But I refused to break the spell.

“Why won’t you see me?” she whispered. I heard the click of the lock. When I opened my eyes she was gone, her veil deserted on the bathroom floor. I picked it up, lifted down the toilet seat and sat for a while.

Alekan and I were snuggled together in the same sleeping bag. My face was lost in her hair and my arm felt dead beneath her body. It was the last time we woke up together. We crept out into the morning, treading with bare feet on damp grass. We stood together, looking up at the sky in search of a glimmer of sun behind the cloud. The village we’d visited the previous day, sat upon the crest of the hill before us. I was about to reflect on how alone we were, when I saw the dark shape emerge from the foot of the hill. Top-heavy, it stumbled uneasily to one side, as if, much like a shark, its existence relied upon forward-motion.

Immediately, I felt uneasy and began to scan the field for the safest exit. Alekan turned to the tent and began to gather her things but I pulled her away. I told her we could come back. Behind us, at the top of the field, the bordering hedgerow was thinner and the wire fence behind it was exposed. We moved quickly towards the gap.

I sensed it was coming for us. We moved quicker. Jogging up the incline towards the hedgerow. I felt the ground tremble. I could see the barbs of the wire fence ahead. I could see that one fencepost had fallen away, allowing enough room for someone to jump though without tangling with the wire. The air was thumping in my ears. I could hear hooves pounding the ground. The animal was upon us. Alekan’s hand was yanked away from mine. She had turned to face her aggressor and it had bowed its head before thrusting upwards into her body. There was a crack as one horn hooked up through her ribs, breaking the first and wedging between the next two. It bowed down again, charging forward, horns adorned with my Alekan She was fixed to the beast’s head. It crashed into the hedgerow ahead of me and jack-knifed into the fence. It scrambled there for a moment. Then it swung its great body around again, dragging Alekan’s body from the fence and through the brambles of the hedgerow, her legs trailed between his. I noticed then that the wire from the fence was caught partly by the animal’s head and wrapped around AlekanThe barbs bit into her neck. The hoofed legs steadied themselves. I stood, simply waiting for the next horrifying action. The beast heaved forward, aiming its free horn towards me, but the line of wire tensed. There was a crunch and the animal was halted, like a dog on a wire leash, and Alekan was ripped in two.

My elbow slipped from my knee and I awoke. I had slept on the toilet with my head in my hands. George was perched on the edge of the bath in front of me, glass of red wine in hand, her fur coat and fangs relinquished.

“Sleep well?” she asked.

“No. Not for a long time.” I yawned and attempted to stretch my spine.

“I always suffer a sense of loss when a party comes to an end.” She lifted the red wine to her lips, wrapping a thick cardigan around her body with her other hand. Her toes sunk into the bobbled bathroom rug.

“I always suffer a sense of loss when my girlfriend dies.” I yawned again. The veil was on my lap. I examined it with my fingers.

“She is beautiful don’t you think?” I wasn’t sure if George meant the ghost or Alekan simply smiled in response. She took a packet from her cardigan pocket and leaned forward to place a cigar in my mouth.

“Always at the end of a party.” She took one between her own lips, stood, placed the stem of the wine glass between her legs and struck a match. Her eyelashes flickered with the flame. As she lifted the wine from her knees to her lips a serpent of black smoke slithered to the ceiling to die.