Fables & Other Lies

I turned around and did as I was told, not because I followed orders, but because I was scared. Scared of him, of what he’d do. It was dumb. I knew Esteban. He was more of a brother than a cousin to me. He wouldn’t hurt me. Besides, my father would kill him if he did. He knew that. As I walked home, arms crossed, eyes on the unpaved road ahead, I heard something snap in the forest beside me. I gasped and stopped walking, looking over into the darkness. I couldn’t see anything at all, but Esteban’s words rang clear in my head. Would a man hurt me? Would they dare? I held myself tighter, willing myself to move, but for some reason I couldn’t. I was near the iron gates, near the Devil’s Chair, which I’d sworn I’d never sit on. The fog grew heavy around me and I began to shiver, still looking out into the forest. Another twig, and another, snapped, but still, there was nothing there. Then I saw two eyes, two golden eyes staring right at me. That was when I ran as fast as I could.

When I reached my house, I slammed the door shut behind me. Wela rushed over.

“I saw something. Yellow eyes. In the forest,” I said, out of breath.

She gasped, doing the sign of the cross. “La Ciguapa.”

“No.” I frowned. “I don’t think so. It didn’t look like a witch. It was just eyes.”

“A woman’s eyes?”

“I don’t know. How can eyes belong to either man or woman?”

“Did she have backward feet?” The question came from my father who’d walked into the room smoking a cigarette while I was speaking to my grandmother.

I frowned, looking up at him. My father didn’t believe in childish tales, and as far as I was concerned, La Ciguapa was a childish tale. A folktale people told to keep their children or straying husbands home at night.

“I don’t think it was a woman at all,” I said finally.

“I’ll make you a tea,” Wela said, rushing into the kitchen.

I followed her and sipped on the tea my grandmother made me, my mind spinning. “They call you a witch, you know.”

“I know.” Wela laughed. “That’s just as well. All I’ve ever done is help people.”

“La Ciguapa is supposed to be a witch.” I set down my tea. “And if she has backward feet, shouldn’t you have backward feet?”

“I’m not a bad witch,” she said. “She is. She steals men from good women.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Because her soul is lost and stuck here. Some say she’s waiting for the right one. The right soul will break the curse and set her free.”

“I don’t understand.” I yawned.

“Go to bed. Don’t you worry. You’re safe.” My grandmother helped me to my room and into bed. As my eyes fluttered shut and I drifted to sleep, I heard her praying over me, for my safety, for my peace. I smiled. That night, I dreamed of a wolf with yellow eyes. A wolf that followed me everywhere, lurking, waiting.

He was undressing me slowly, as if savoring every inch of skin he uncovered. I closed my eyes, relishing his fingers on me, the way his hands seemed to trace every sensitive part of my body, the way he seemed to know where I wanted to be touched. When I felt his mouth on my breasts, I stopped breathing, stopped thinking, stopped existing, my life suspended in a moment of time. He made his way down my body, his tongue finding every crevice, his teeth biting down on every surface, and his mouth following closely behind soothing the pain the bite marks left behind. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t rushed. It just was and it was perfect. When he bit the insides of my thighs, my heart started beating hard against my chest, so hard I could barely breathe. His mouth found the spot begging for attention and he devoured it, devoured me, until I thought I just might cease to exist. The orgasm rushed over me quickly and when I felt him moving back up my body, I finally opened my eyes to see River staring back at me. River, with glowing yellow eyes that seemed to take in what was left of me with him.

A slamming door startled me awake. I sat up quickly, disoriented, heart beating quickly, liquid pooling between my legs, despite myself. It took me a second to remember where I was. The apartment above Dolly’s bar. Dress shoes tapping against marble floors alerted me that someone was coming this way, but I stayed put, figuring it had to be Gustavo and that he’d knock before barging in. The knock never came, but the footsteps stopped on the other side of the door just before the knob turned and it was opened. I swallowed at the sight of River standing there. He was holding the hook of a garment bag over his shoulder in a way that made him look like he was modeling, not that he needed further help in that department. He looked every bit a model in the tuxedo he had on, with his dark hair perfectly brushed to the side.