Free Fungus of the Heart by Jeremy C. Shipp Page B

slept in the bathtub all night. When he saw her the next morning, she walked with the stiffness of a door. A closed, knob-less door Steven could no longer open.
    She didn’t look at him. She didn’t eat the food he offered. Steven spoke but he doubted she heard a word.
    All she did was rock. Back and forth on their bed, spawning little squeaks that kept the time. She stared through him, through the walls, to a place where Steven couldn’t touch her.
    God, what had he done? Why? It was the only thing she’d ever really asked of him. He knew she had been victimized her whole life. Parents, friends, boyfriends, strangers. There was a bull’s-eye etched somewhere into her skin. Or maybe it was her eyes.
    He couldn’t comprehend why he’d sacrificed so much for a few measly hours of pleasure with Mary the Secretary.
    The only explanation he could muster was that he’d been drawn to her. By some force out of his control.
    When She Spoke
    “Do you hear it, Steven?”
    Steven almost burst into tears at the sound of her voice. He fell to his knees before her and said, “The TV’s on in the other room. I’ll turn it off if it’s bothering you.”
    “No. Not that. Not that.”
    “What is it then?”
    “The drums.”
    “I don’t—”
    “Thousands of them, beating all at once. Bum…bum…bum…” She rocked with the rhythm of her voice.
    “The only beating I hear is from my own heart.” Maybe too soap opera, but he was getting desperate. “Please talk to me. Do you hate me now? Do you want me to leave? Give me something.”
    “Do whatever you want, Steven.”
    “What I want is to help you feel better.”
    “I’m fine. The drums are enough.”
    This was getting him nowhere. And it hurt too much. He stood and headed for the door.
    “Steven.”
    He spun. “Yeah?”
    “They’re getting louder.”
    When She Left
    She crept out from their bedroom in the middle of the night. As she passed the couch in the living room, Steven pretended to be fast asleep. He even snored a little. It took a lot of willpower to keep himself from grinning.
    Yes, maybe she had finally come to her senses. She was going out to cheat on him. Of course she was. He had to follow. The pain of watching her with another man would surely drain away some of the guilt pounding through his veins.
    She took her truck. He, his.
    Thirty minutes later, Steven found himself trekking through the forest, swerving feverishly to avoid the trees.
    Perhaps she knew he was following. Perhaps not. Perhaps it didn’t matter.
    When She Changed
    He followed her into the cave. A potent musk stung at his nostrils, and it only got worse the farther they went. It smelled like a marriage between dead skunk and wet dog.
    Steven’s body collapsed to cold ground when his eyes spotted them. But as quickly as he fell, he brought himself back up. He had to.
    They numbered a hundred or so, bunched together, interspersed at equal distances. Nude, muscular—not like bodybuilders, more like…gorillas—wide-eyed, like Japanese cartoon characters…human.
    They swayed constantly, without any perceivable purpose. And yet, there was a synchronism to their movements. As if invisible strings pinned to their arms and legs, linked one to the next, spawning an intricate web of harmonic motion.
    Helena approached them. As soon as she was in reach, they ripped off her clothes and tossed each article behind them, far into the darkness. He could only see the back of her now.
    One of the creatures, the cantor, the one the others seemed to swarm around, was the only to clutch a torch. He neared Helena with closed eyes. He smiled at her.
    “Helena,” said the cantor melodically. The crowd jerked with every syllable. “I am glad you finally opened your ears to the rhythm. Do you wish to join the choir?”
    She nodded. A single, forceful nod that brought Steven to his knees.
    Gently, he tilted her head to the side, leaned forward, and dug his teeth into her neck. It only lasted a moment.