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Eloquent Stories - The Home Of Vibrant Fiction, Volume 1, Issue 3, Winter 2005-2006
Plague of Nosferatu
by
Clinton Green
It was about 2am when I realised her intention was to suck the life out of me.
Miranda had arrived in the early evening, elegant and bubbly in an above-the-knee black cocktail dress. Her blue eyes sparkled with a kind of fun-loving affection. I loved the way her short bobbed, blonde hair sat neatly on top of delicate ears that stuck out slightly from her head.
“Miranda, I love your hair!” Christine said from beside me on the couch. Christine and I worked together and had spent that Saturday afternoon finishing off a submission we needed to get in by Monday. When the work was done, we had ordered out and decided to make a night of it. The large cedar framed, glass-topped coffee table in front of us was strewn with the remnants of Indian takeaway and tumblers stained crimson with wine.
“Thanks, Christine. Gee, I was really nervous about it at first, but I think I like it, too!” Miranda’s smile dazzled us both. She’s a fun girl, I thought. “I’ve had at least shoulder-length hair since I was thirteen. I always used to get teased about having sticky-out ears at school.”
“What? Your ears are fine, sweetie.” Christine said, unconsciously brushing her mousy hair away from her own ear.
Miranda’s ears looked like delicate cockle shells, protruding ever-so-slightly to display their perfection. I was staring at them when Christine made introductions.
“Miranda, this is Jonathan, my friend from work.” I smiled and said hi. She gave me a cute little wave from across the coffee table.
“Hope you don’t mind me barging into your house. It’s just that when Chrissie said you guys are having a Kubrick movie night, I practically insisted she get me invited. I love those Kubrick films.”
“Yeah, he’s great. Friend of mine bought the set on DVD. He’ll be here soon and then we can get started. Can I get you a drink, Miranda?”
We had cheap bottle of merlot open, but she preferred white wine. I went to the kitchen to get the bottle of chardonnay out of the fridge. I could hear them talking in the next room as I worked the corkscrew.
“Miranda, that dress looks fabulous!”
“You don’t think I’ve overdone it, have I?” Their voices were hushed, but I could still hear them. “I had my niece’s christening this afternoon, so I just came straight from there without changing.”
“Don’t worry, it’s divine!” Christine’s voice dropped further. I listened intently. “So what do you think?”
“You’re right, he’s cute.” Miranda answered in a conspiratorial tone.
I bought her glass out with the bottle and she dazzled me again with her smile. As the three of us clinked our glasses together the doorbell rang in kind. I left the girls and walked through to the hall, warm with the thought that they were talking about me. Jason was at the front door with an armful of DVDs, two bottles and an unhappy wife. I greeted them brightly, but they could only smile grimly and murmur as they shuffled inside, leaving an aura of an in-transit argument in their wake.
“Miranda, this is Jason and his wife Vicky.” Jason and Vicky grimaced and murmured, Christine smiled, Miranda dazzled. Christine and Miranda sat together on one of the leather couches, their knees angled towards each other from their conversation. I gestured towards the other couch, which sat at a right angle with the coffee table in the middle. “Take a load off, guys. Drinks are on the table. Excuse me while I get some glasses and bung the horses doovers in the oven.”
Whilst the oven warmed, I arranged the pizza fingers, samosas, chips and dips on the kitchen bench. I could hear the sing-song of female voices from the next room. Christine’s laconic, good natured drawl, Miranda’s friendly chirp and Vicky’s tired monotone. I didn’t hear Jason speak at all, except for a few non-committal grunts. After about five minutes I heard a cork pop, and he wandered into the kitchen with one of his bottles and two glasses.
“Hey, buddy, how long you going to leave me in there alone?”
“I thought you were the ladies’ man, Jase.”
He placed the wine glasses on the bench with one hand, stems held between his fingers, and began pouring from the bottle. “Maybe once, mate, not so much anymore.” The red liquid sloshed around the glass, some splashing on the bench. This was not Jason’s first drink of the evening. “I wanted you to have some of this drop first. The chicks won’t appreciate wine like this.”
I picked up the glass and held it to my nose. It smelt of pepper and chocolate. The taste was sensational.
“Jase, you’ve done it again. There’s a party in my mouth and everyone is invited.”
He grinned as he drank. “Stoker’s Rush, shiraz 1999. I got a dozen of these from the wine club. You think it’s good now; wait another ten years, my friend.”
I chuckled. “I don’t know how you can leave all that good wine sitting around for so long. A bottle doesn’t last for more than a day around here.”
His grin looked more like a grimace again. “I’m patient, Jon. Besides, I’m not going anywhere.”
I emptied a tub of sour cream into a bowl and poured sweet chilli sauce over the top. “So, what’ve you been up to?”
“Ah, the usual.” Jason boosted himself up and sat on the bench. “Working, playing a bit of golf, fightin’ with the wife.” He finished his wine in one gulp, swished it around in his mouth and reached for the bottle. “Fuckin’ bitch is on my back the whole time, mate. I don’t even know why half the time. One minute she says I don’t spend enough time with her, the next she’s complaining we ain’t got enough money.”
I busied myself with a tray of samosas. This was a familiar refrain from Jason, but it still made me wince. I had known him and Vicky since university; nearly ten years. I considered them both good friends, and avoided taking sides in their increasingly regular stand-offs.
Jason didn’t seem to mind my lack of comment. “Say, that Miranda is hot! I didn’t realise we were supposed to be dressing formal for this little shindig, though.”
“She’s just come from a christening or something. She’s a friend of Christine’s.”
He nodded. “Is Christine still with that big, hippy guy?”
“Nah, they broke up just a couple of weeks ago. What, you in the market, are you?”
Jason laughed but didn’t answer.
Jason helped me bring the food out to the lounge. Christine cleared the takeaway debris from the coffee table. Everyone made hungry noises of appreciation. Jason and Vicky each occupied the far corners of one couch, a yawning no-mans land lingered between them that I didn’t fancy filling. On the other couch, Christine sat with her legs curled underneath on one side and Miranda sat primly in the middle, leaving a generous spot next to her; I couldn’t decide if they looked at me with girlish expectancy or deadly intention. I sat down next to Miranda. She smiled at me with satisfaction.
Things were stirring inside me. Lust, expectation, excitement. Fear?
“I’ve cued up Paths of Glory.” Jason announced. “I figured we could skip the less important films, otherwise we’ll be here until Monday morning. Of course, we must go in chronological order, but I am open to discussion about which films we watch. Here, I’ve got a draft list of what I think we should see.” He pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket. “Actually, I can’t see why our viewing order should differ markedly from what I’ve got here.” Out of his line of vision, Vicky sneered at him.
I had seen Paths of Glory a long time ago and could remember little. Kirk Douglas looked faintly ridiculous in his WWI French helmet, complete with broad yank accent. I found myself staring more at Miranda’s profile, imagining what it would be like to kiss that delectable little ear. A couple of times she glanced sideways at me and smiled knowingly.
Vicky and Christine lost interest about ten minutes into the film and had struck up a conversation. I could see them as I looked past Miranda’s profile.
“Warren called me the other night.” Christine sighed.
“That bastard.” Vicky said. “What did he say?”
“Oh, just what he usually says. He misses me, he’s sorry, he wants to get back together.” Christine closed her eyes and rubbed her temples with one hand. “I’m just so tired of it all, you know. Sometimes, I think I’d just be better off by myself.”
Vicky didn’t reply.
I gathered my courage and cleared my throat. “So Miranda, how do you know Christine?”
Miranda answered without turning her head, not taking her eyes off the screen. “Oh, we used to go out nightclubbing together at Uni.” The black and white images on my plasma TV screen flickered on Miranda’s face. She seemed pale and suddenly fraught with shadows. Her voice was still carefree enough but lowered for my benefit, more serious. “But with her work now, she doesn’t have the time these days.”
“How about you?” I asked.
Miranda’s eyes flashed sideways at me. Smiling, she said, “I still find the time. I love going out at night”. She looked at the screen, but seemed to be considering something rather than watching the film. “It’s not even the nightclubs in particular, I just love the world at night, you know? I love how quiet everything is. It is sort of…muffled, I guess. Everything in the world is a lot softer at night.”
Jason made exaggerated grunting sounds and wiggled uncomfortably on the couch, flashing poison glances at everyone else in the room for conducting conversations during the film. We all knew Jason well enough to ignore him, and Miranda seemed to follow our cue and not take his sulking seriously.
The film continued in its antique monochrome blur, too dull to capture our short twenty-first century attention spans. Christine and Vicky talked practically the whole time, mostly about Christine’s ex and the failings of men in general. Jason’s unspoken agitation increased. This did not particularly bother me, as most of my work colleagues were women whose favourite topic of conversation was the inadequacy of modern man. Perhaps Jason thought Vicky’s more pointed opinions were aimed at him? I could not tell for sure through the mire of their marriage.
Miranda pointed to my pouch of Drum tobacco on the coffee table. “Hey, can you roll me one of those?”
“Sure.” I leaned forward, trying not to appear too eager. “I’ve got some pot if you want a joint?”
She titled her head sideways and smiled – absolutely adorable. “That would be great.”
I got up to get my stash from the bedroom. Jason let out a moan of disbelief and reached for the remote. I held up a hand, palm out. “Don’t worry, no need for an intermission – I’ve seen it before anyway.”
I returned and started rolling the joint. Miranda had totally turned her attention away from the screen now, turning her bare knees towards me now as she looked on, smiling. Somehow I managed to keep my hands steady as I pushed away naked fantasies of Miranda. I should’ve asked if anyone else wanted one, but didn’t in the hope that Miranda and I could share it alone.
Fortunately, Paths of Glory was in its final scene when the joint was ready, otherwise Jason may have had an apoplexy if we’d left the room again during the film. On the screen, a frightened young woman was being led into a tavern full of rowdy, jeering soldiers. She started to sing a French song in a strong, clear voice, and the jeering died down to silence. The camera panned across the suddenly sorrowful faces of the soldiers. The woman finished the song to a silent room. The film ended.
“That,” Vicky declared, “was a dead, boring film but worth it for the last scene.” Jason grunted in moderate approval.
“Let’s have a smoke before the next movie,” I said. I opened the sliding door that lead out to the back decking and Miranda followed. The others were more concerned with refilling their glasses, and I sent up a prayer of thanks.
The night air was cold through my long-sleeved shirt and trousers. Miranda must have been freezing in her dress, but if so she did not show it. She put the joint to her lips and I held up my lighter. The flame flickered in her eyes. She drew deep and held the smoke in for so long, I thought she had stopped breathing. Finally she exhaled, but none of the grey smoke left her mouth. She drew another long puff and handed the spliff to me before letting out a long sigh.
“Ahhh…this makes me feel so good.”
“Yeah, it’s good quality stuff.” I toked on the joint, tasting her lipstick.
“No, I mean being outside. At night.”
I exhaled, eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of heaviness the dope brought. I opened my eyes to see Miranda looking directly at me. We both smiled; relaxed enough now not to resort to furtive glances.
This time it was me who sighed, with the resignation of one about to be frank. “Are you seeing anyone, Miranda?”
“Well, I’m seeing you at the moment.” She giggled at her joke, but only briefly. She perhaps wasn’t as bubbly as I had first thought. That was good; if something was going to happen with us, I didn’t want some airhead hanging around me. She leaned against the deck railing and looked out at the night sky. “What shall I call you, Jon or Jonathan?”
I took another puff and drew the smoke back as I handed her the joint. I could feel the dope emboldening me. “Most people call me Jon, but I like the way you say ‘Jonathan’. Those extra syllables make me feel more important.”
She gave small laugh. She was much more subdued out here. Was there a hint of condescension in that laugh? Maybe it was the dope affecting me. I could hear muffled voices from inside. It was Vicky and Jason, I couldn’t hear exactly what they were saying but neither of them sounded happy.
“It’s sad,” I said, looking inside through the glass door. Jason was squatting down in front of the TV, looking pissed off. Vicky stood behind him, talking to his back with an exasperated expression. Jason was trying to ignore her. I saw his mouth form the words, give me a break. “They used to be so close. In love, of course, but really good friends as well. Now all they do is fight and nag each other.” Miranda touched my arm, just below the right shoulder. I tingled. “I wonder if this is the way everyone ends up?”
“It doesn’t have to be that way”. Her voice was low now, deep but sweet like honey. I looked at her face as she gazed inside. She didn’t say anything further and only took another drag before handing the joint to me. “I’m going inside now. Thanks for the joint, Jonathan.”
She left me standing out there alone.
The next movie was Lolita. When I came back inside Vicky was saying she didn’t want to watch another boring black and white movie, and Jason was studiously ignoring her. Christine had opened another bottle of white wine and looked bored. Miranda was sipping her glass and watching the movie closely, briefly smiling at me when I came back in before looking back intently at the screen.
On the screen, James Mason was staring wide-eyed at a young Sue Lyons, lying on the lawn in her bathing suit and heart-shaped sunglasses.
“Dirty old man.” Vicky muttered.
“She’s the one who is in control.” Miranda responded. Her voice was serious and excited at her insight. Her eyes never left the screen. “The girl, Lolita, she’s controlling this man, old enough to be her father, right from the very start.”
“Dead right, sister.” said Christine, the Kubrick-scholar. “It’s ironic to think about all the moral outrage this film caused in the sixties about protecting children from predatory men. My God, isn’t it obvious; Lolita is the predator!”
“Maybe they didn’t see things that way in those days.” Vicky said. She tilted her head in interest towards Christine.
“It’s always been that way.” Jason said absently as he stared at the screen.
Vicky turned to her husband. “And what is that supposed to mean?”
He smiled grimly, not looking away from the screen. “Work it out for yourself, sister.”
“Come on, Jase–”…lighten up, I’d wanted to say, but Vicky’s words cut me off.
“Oh I know, I know, you think I control you. You think I’ve ruined your life. Your life is shit, while I’m laughing it up. Isn’t that right, Jason?” She was close to yelling now. Christine, Miranda and I were staring at her. Jason kept watching the TV, wearing a smile that could have been psychotic. On the screen, Humbert and Lolita were being chased in their car up a winding mountain road by Quilty. “I bet that’s what you tell her anyway. She just doesn’t know what a liar you are yet…what a shit you are.”
Jason kept grinning idiotically at the TV. After a moment, Vicky got up and hurried to the bathroom. Christine followed her, flashing a spiteful look at Jason as she went.
Miranda sighed aloud and gathered up my tobacco and dope from the coffee table. “I’m going to have a smoke.” Her bare leg brushed against my knees as she shuffled past me. She smiled at me knowingly before stepping outside. I desperately wanted to follow her, but stayed where I was. After a few moments of nothing except for the movie dialogue, I said, “Are you alright, mate?”
Jason gave a little chuckle and looked away from the screen for what seemed the first time in hours. “Don’t worry, Jon.” he said with a more human smile. “I cop this crap all the time, nothing new here. I’m fine.” I could hear Vicky’s sobs reverberating from the bathroom and the murmur of Christine’s words of comfort. “Why don’t you go and have a smoke with that Miranda, hey? The film’s almost finished. You know she likes you, don’t you? Just don’t get in too deep, my friend.”
I could see the red tip of the joint brighten through the glass of the sliding door. I couldn’t see her, but the lit end of the joint glowed like an eye hanging out in the night, beckoning me.
I cleared the dishes off the coffee table and took them into the kitchen instead.
As I stacked the dishwasher, I heard the click of a woman’s shoes on the kitchen floor behind me. I instantly thought it would be Miranda, and my heart thumped in a strange mix of excitement and fear. When I turned it was Vicky, her eyes red with tears.
“Has he told you, Jon?” Her voice wavered, and I feared she would start weeping again right there in my kitchen. Her tears felt like an attack on me. I didn’t know what to say, so I said next to nothing.
“I-I’m not sure what you mean, Vik.”
Her eyes were boring into me.
“Ten years, Jon.” Her voice trembled, more with anger this time. “Ten years of my fucking life I’ve given that bastard. I’ve wanted to have a baby for most of that time, did you know that?”
I said nothing. I had to watch my step.
She went on. “But oh no, a family would cramp ol’ Jason’s style. Can’t risk the fine wine and the late nights, can we? Can’t risk the after work drinks? Do you know her name, Jonathan? Did he tell you she rang me the other night? Out of the blue, his slut rang me. In tears because…because…” More tears sprung from her eyes, but she was determined to continue, “Because she’s pregnant. The fucker got her pregnant. And then dumped her, of course.” She made a guttural sound that was half grief and half rage. “I should feel sorry for her, shouldn’t I? But I don’t and I’m glad. Fuck her. He’s sucked the life out of me for ten fucking years!”
Her anger degenerated into tears. I wished she would keep talking, but she only sobbed. She showed no signs of leaving my kitchen.
Finally, I said softly, “Vicky, I’m sorry. I…I had no idea…”
She looked up at me with contempt through her tears, but said nothing. She opened the fridge and pulled out another bottle of white whine, shoving it into my hands. “Open this for me,” she said in a low voice, before walking back into the lounge.
I reached for the corkscrew, wondering why she couldn’t open it herself.
When I came back into the lounge, everyone was back sitting on the couches, staring at Jack Nicholson on the screen. Jason had put The Shining on whilst the others were out of the room. I offered the opened wine bottle to Vicky. She grabbed it from me without looking up and filled her glass, drinking half in one gulp. I sat down next to Miranda. She didn’t seem to notice. Nicholson stared back at us from the screen, dishevelled hair framing the face of a maniac.
“God, I hate this film,” Vicky announced before draining her glass. Jason grinned through clenched teeth, just like Jack on the screen. “Two hours of a crazy man who wants to kill his family – thank you, Mr. Kubrick.”
“Isn’t it the hotel that drives him crazy?” Christine said, trying to turn the tension in the room towards an intellectual film discussion.
“No way.” Vicky picked up the white wine bottle again, regarding it momentarily before putting it back on the table and filling her glass with Jason’s precious Shiraz instead. “Look at his face right from the start. The guy’s fucking nuts. Every time the wife or the kid say something, he looks like he wants to hack ‘em to pieces there and then.”
To my surprise, Jason pointed the remote and the TV and skipped back to an earlier scene in the film, where Jack and his family are driving up the winding mountain road to the hotel. Instantly, I could see what Vicky meant.
“Turn it off now, Jason,” Vicky said quietly. “I’ve had enough.”
He got up and ejected the disc. He went to put it back in its case, then seemed to change his mind in mid-action. He tossed the disc on the floor and stood on it, grinding the plastic into the carpet as it broke up under his heel.
“Never have to watch that one again,” he said.
Vicky drained her glass and turned to Christine. “Can I stay with you tonight?”
“Sure,” Christine replied. “Let’s go now.”
Christine mouthed sorry to me as they left. Vicky didn’t even look up.
Miranda sighed and stood with my dope and tobacco in one hand and what was left of Jason’s Shiraz in the other. She walked outside through the sliding door, stumbling once or twice along the way. Jason was on his haunches in front of the TV, loading another movie.
“Sometimes I hate her so much,” he said without turning around.
I stood, ran my hand through my hair and sighed. “I…gee, I’m really sorry, mate.” I could think of nothing to say. He shrugged, still with his back to me. I gathered up glasses and dishes from the coffee table and took them into the kitchen, leaving him there with his movies.
As I loaded the dishwasher, music from the TV floated into the kitchen. Sparse, stark notes on a piano, I recognised it as the disconcerting piano music by Ligeti from “Eyes Wide Shut”. I shook my head. Jason was still watching his damn films. I wanted him to leave as well. I could feel his aura of self-pity and resentment sinking into my home, like an odour of cigarettes I would struggle to cleanse the house of for days to come.
Those stark piano notes came again. I remembered seeing an interview with the composer, Gorgy Ligeti, about this piece. He’d written it in communist Hungary in the 1950s. “Every note was like a nail into Stalin’s heart,” he’d said. Had the communists even banned it? A piece of music comprising no words, only two notes played in different keys, deemed too offensive for the masses. It sounded ridiculous, but I could understand why they banned it. There was something deeply subversive in its very lack of notes and words.
Again the notes came, this time in a lower key. But they sounded somewhat muted as well. I felt her presence behind me a second or two before her fingers glided down my back.
“Jonathan.” She said. It was not a question or the beginning of a sentence. It was a statement in itself. Her fingers slid down my back again. I could feel her long fingernails through the fabric of my shirt. I shivered.
Miranda stepped closer to me as I turned to face her. She was only inches away I could smell her perfume. It was far from floral and more akin to an exotic spice. The ghost of dope and red wine odors lingered on her as well. She looked straight into my eyes, appraising me. She put her hands flat on my chest, her long red fingernails standing out against my white shirt. Her nails were nearly an inch long and red like a carnivore’s talons – why hadn’t I noticed them earlier? She leaned her body against mine. “Jonathan.”
Her breasts were hot against me. Her hips pressed against my cock. She sighed, exhaling into my face, the smell of her breath enveloping me in dope, wine and desire.
The fridge hummed against my back. My head swam. Miranda looked up at me, her eyes steady and serious. How could this be the same fun, chirpy girl I’d welcomed into my home only hours ago? She smiled. Could she read my thoughts? Her tongue ran briefly across her red lips, so they shone in the harsh fluorescent light. White teeth bit her lower lip. She was going to say my name again, a third time. Her mouth was abnormally big for that delicate face, her teeth too white.
I slipped out of her grip and stumbled away backwards, holding up my hands with palms out. “Hey, Miranda…” I trailed off, unable to find the words.
Again, Ligeti’s piano struck out deep, stark notes from the next room.
She looked at me with something like disdain. Her brow was furrowed and her eyes were like slits. She bared her teeth as if to hiss at me. Slowly she raised her hands, long red nails extended as if to pounce.
I turned and ran. Down the hallway, grabbing my keys off the table as I passed. Out of the front door and into my car. I glanced at the rear-view mirror as I took off down the street, expecting to see her running after me, but the road was empty.
I drove around the empty streets for the rest of the night, unsure of exactly what I was doing, or what I was running from. Occasionally, I saw the glow of lights from behind drawn curtains in houses I passed. I slowed and peered uncertainly, wondering at what was being played out inside. I wound down my window and breathed the soft night air as I drove. The graveyard shift played Dave Graney’s Night of the Wolverine. The music spilled out of my window into the empty night as I drove.
It was only as I parked in my driveway did I realise I had left Jason alone in the house with her. But when I walked inside to the bitter smell of spilt wine and dope, I found a house inhabited only by a strange pre-dawn light that settled on my possessions like a heavy dust. The Shiraz bottle lay empty on the floor next to a crimson stain on the carpet.
Clinton Green has written short fiction for numerous publications over the last decade. His debut novel "The Percival Tyler Files" is due to be published by Rainfall Books soon. He lives in Melbourne, Australia, with his wife and daughter.
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