Free The Haunted Vagina by Iii Carlton Mellick Page A

thought she picked it up from Stacy when they were kids, but I have found some books written in English on some of the shelves in the mansion. Somebody who migrated to this world must have known the English language at some point. Maybe Fig’s father or an uncle.
    It’s difficult to get straight answers out of Fig sometimes. She’s definitely an odd one, but I love her so much. I love everything about her.
    This is the way Fig wakes me up in the morning:
    First, she goes outside for a walk. Once she comes back, she has a basket filled with something to give me. Usually a type of flower or a bundle of rocks or snails. She’ll put them on the blanket in some kind of design. It’s always the same design, but I don’t know what it means. It’s some Thai symbol, but I believe it means love. After that she rubs the red tip of her nose against the red tip of my nose until I wake up and give her a kiss.
    If anybody would have done these things to me in the outside world, even Stacy, I would have been annoyed. But with Fig, they make me happy. She’s so cute.
    But I think the reason I’m in love with her, the reason I think she’s so cute, is because of what she’s done to me.
    The people of this world are all born with unique DNA. They are born a species of one. Sometimes they match their parents, like Fig, but usually they are born completely alien from all others. When a female is within the vicinity of a male she releases super-charged pheromones that alter the man’s DNA to match her own. He will mutate into the male counterpart of her species. Then they become a species of two.
    I believe the pheromones also release chemicals into the male’s brain that act as aphrodisiacs. Because every time Fig and I are together now I can’t help but jump all over her. It’s more than the usual horniness I would get in the outside world. It is some kind of deep uncontrollable urge to mate with the only female of my species. Sometimes these feelings make it frustrating to be around Fig. Other times, they make me happy, euphoric. They make me love life, love myself, and they especially make me love Fig more than anything.
    Fig is pregnant, her belly stretched out like a water balloon. She smiles, squinting the bridge of her nose at me, as I put new logs on the fire to keep her warm.
    My skeleton is curled up on a rug next to her rocking chair. Fig pets the back of its skull. Its chattering teeth like a kitten’s purr.
    I dig through old crates, looking for interesting scraps for dinner tomorrow. In one of the crates in the back, I find the sculpture I made the day I met Fig and her family. I also find Stacy’s digital camera, and the walkie-talkie.
    The walkie still has batteries. I wonder if Stacy still has the other one. For weeks after she became impregnated, I tried contacting her on this. But there was always static. The tunnel to this world has been shut off, so I couldn’t get anything through to her at all.
    Just out of curiosity, I take the walkie to the roof, sneak away from Fig while she’s basking in the warmth of the fire with her eyes closed. The snores of the old mutant people fill the house. I’m careful not to wake them.
    Outside, the sky is clear of clouds. I can see the outline of the baby’s arm up there, waving down at me from the heavens.
    “Stacy?” I speak into the walkie.
    The baby’s arm jerks in the sky.
    I repeat Stacy, are you there? a few times. Just enjoying the landscape, breathing in the fresh air, not expecting anybody to answer.
    But somebody does answer. It is distant at first. Hard to make out. But it gets clearer.
    “Steve . . .” the voice says.
    It’s Stacy. Her voice almost seems alien to me now. As my voice must sound alien to her.
    “I’m still here,” I tell her.
    There is a pause.
    “Steve, is that really you? You sound so strange . . .”
    I can hear her crying.
    “I miss you so much,” she says.
    “I miss you, too,” I tell her.
    “I think about you every