Tuesday, February 17, 2004

The Nobodies and Moana Jane

She walked through the fields and to the house. It was dark, little light about, little to see. Had anyone seen her, they would have seen a naked, pale woman walking. Their eyes would have diverted to her, most thinking her crazy to be walking. Others might stare at her in wonder, starting at her perky, rounded breasts, the nipples standing out; maybe at her buttocks, full and round. But there was no one to look at her, to see her. And she knew this. She was just a pale figure anyway, no one would care. She was just a faded woman, she didn't matter.

The house's lights were not on. The family's cars stood in the driveway. There was some white car, discernable in the mellow light of the streetlamps. She saw this as she approached. Another car was black, and was not readily seen in the light. But she didn't care about the cars. She didn't care about anything. Not a thing at all. As she walked by, she noticed the mailbox. On it, hard to read, she found the family's name. She squinted to see it. THE NOBODIES, it said. The Nobodies. She thought over it, pondering it. The Nobodies. It was an interesting name for, she hoped, an interesting family.

She walked up to the door. It was a nice door, she thought. It had those little windows in it, and the symmetrical look to it; it looked heavy and sturdy, full of a thick amount of wood. The doorbell glowed dully on the side of the door. She wondered what it sounded like—was it loud and boisterous, sullen and low, whispering and blowing? She didn't know. And having looked about the door, she walked into the house. She walked straight through the door of the Nobodies' house, not opening it.

Although a ghost, she thought she was a very pretty ghost. Often, she would stare at herself, in awe. She would look down at her ample breasts, at her thin line of pubic hair, at her stomach. Oh how she wished she could look at herself in a mirror, to turn around in perhaps catch a small view of her back, of her buttocks, of her shoulder blades, of how she looked in the back. And how she wished to see her face—to see it, and what it looked like. She wondered, after all these years, if it looked the same as she had remembered so long ago. She thought probably not, that time gnarled most things, making them harsh and different. It was probably like that to her memory of her face, and perhaps her face itself.

The first thing greeting her as she walked in was a dog. The bothersome dogs, they would always annoy you; would always come in right off and bark. They were the most bothersome things one could be stuck around. They were always alert to the paranormal, and even moreso alert to ghosts, such as herself. Looking at the dog's nametag, she found it was affectionately called Lady. She also noticed a quiet peculiar thing: the dog didn't have a body. It didn't have a body, and was, it seemed, an apparition as her. How she let out a silent laugh. But of course, she thought; they were the Nobodies. They had, as their name so said, no bodies. Quite a fun thing that was.

So they must all be ghosts, she began to understand. Lady was barking and yelping as she stood there with her. Stupid dog, she thought; bothersome old thing. The dog had certainly awoken every single thing which dwelled here in the house. Everyone and everything was alerted to her presence, and would soon come down and wonder what was all the racket.

She picked up the bothersome dog, petted it, groomed it, gave it love and care. It went right on her breast, and pushed it and felt it. Petted and lulled, it quieted and stopped its yelping. She set it down just as the family began coming down the stairs close by her.

"What's this racket?" one said.

"The stupid dog," said another.

"Someone must be here. I wonder who, at this late hour, it could be." said another.

"Can't get no sleep round here, none at all," said the most angry and loud voice of all.

And they all came down the stairs, one at a time.

One was a floating brain, but with no body. It was a meaty thing. Eyes were imbedded in the brain tissue as well as a mouth. It floated above the ground. "What's this racket," said it again. And looked on at her, being the first down.

Down came another peering eye, and this time it was an arm. It was down to the bones, with skin hanging on it like moss on roots of a tree; it also had eyes: they were on its fingers, and its mouth on its hand's palm. "Ah," the bony arm exclaimed, and stared in wonder at the woman.

Here came another. It was a leg, also down to the bones with skin hanging on it like moss on roots of a tree. It moved as if it were one leg walking in locomotion, and on its toes there were two eyes and a mouth. "So there is someone here."

And now came the last, with widest eyes of all: for he was just that, eyes, wide eyes which glared. Inside the pupils there were mouths that moved when it spoke, those pupils being a dark blue. He stared hard at the woman, and thought she was quite beautiful. "Well if I ain't ever seen Beauty. And if Beauty ain't in the eye of the beholder." He stared.

She thought he was such a Peeping Tom at that moment; she thought that to them all. She covered her breasts in embarrassment with one arm, and her vagina with the other. She blushed red, and it was like roses appearing on her cheeks, as if blood had came there.

"She looks quiet flushed," said the Brain. "But she looks like an intelligent woman, she looks like she has brains. Very wonderful brains, I believe."

"I'm the plumber of the house, you know," said the Arm, with a flush. "I fix the sink when it gets broken, the toilet when it breaks. You know—do it since the others can't. Why, if I've ever seen a toilet flush, then each time I saw your face, my lady. And I don't mean it bad at all, I mean it well—you are beautiful. And look—look at her arms! Why, they are so petite, and so firm! What nice arms!"

"I have a foot fetish," said the Leg. "And your feet, they are so fine."

"Jesus H. Christ," said the Eyes. "I ain't seen nothin as beautiful as you are. Ain't she fine; finer than anything I ever seen? And look at them eyes—them eyes, they're so beautiful. They kinda penetrate into ya, and ain't they just windows inta her soul? What soul she's got, anyhow."

This was all well, but now she was even more embarrassed. She didn't know what to say, and kept covering up her private areas, not wanting them to see.

"You know," she said, "I only came here to find a place to haunt. But here I find this house is already haunted—haunted by the Nobodies themselves. It seems I should be going on my way, I think. I think it's been nice seeing you all, and—"

"No, no no. Please stay, we would much like that," said the Brain. "We could haunt here together. And we could learn from each other."

"Yea," said the Eyes.

"I agree," said the Arm.

"I have a foot fetish," said the Leg.

She thought about it. Thought over her past abodes. How she had haunted, in her early years, a small house. One that was right beside the one she had died in. The lady that lived there alone had died of a heart attack when she had finally had enough of being haunted. "Dear lord," she would often say, then, "God, is this your message to me? One of a naked, beautiful woman! Oh, it must be the angels! Oh God, abstinence is the only way!" And when she had kept haunting the woman day in and day out, the woman, nicknamed Sis, had grown scared. She would often say it was her mother, coming from her death, and haunting her. "My mother died young," she would say. "With my birth!" And she would get in a frenzy of crying. And one day, it seemed, she had had enough of her, and enough of it all, and died. Died by whatever decree that had killed her. Maybe Sis died because of her fear of her mother, and that she was haunting her. Maybe it was just her time. Whatever it was, it was past.

There were other places, too. But none had been as strange as the first one she had haunted, and certainly not as strange as this one she had stumbled on.

"Well," she said to the Nobodies. "Is it true I'm welcome here? Or are you just being good company?"

"No!" said the Brain. "We would love your company. Quite truly, we would love it."

"Yes," said the Arm.

"Yea," said the Eyes.

"I have a foot fetish," said the Leg.

She thought for a while. She looked at the little dog now, Lady. Watched as it wandered around.

Maybe staying with the Nobodies would be an interesting venture. Even worthwhile, and give her some closure.

"Okay," she finally said. "I'll stay."

"That is good!" said the Brain. "And what's your name, by the way?"

"Yes," said the Arm. "What is your name?"

"Yea," said the Eyes. "What is your name?"

"I have a foot fetish," said the Leg.

"My name," she said. "I have no use for a name. Why, 'a rose, by any other name, would smell as sweet.' I forgot my name long ago, as I'm sure you all have, too?"

"Yes," the brain said.

She thought over a name. "You can just call me Moana Jane." She finally felt comfortable to uncover her naked form, and did so. She waited in the naked silence for them to speak. Then Brain spoke up again. Moana could tell they were all staring at her in her full, naked, explicit beauty.

"Sounds good, my lady," the Brain said. "My name is just Brainard. Just Brain, if that's your fancy."

"And I'm Armistice. Or just Arm, if you'd like."

"Me, I'm called Eyesen. Just Eyes if ya like."

Leg finally went away from his foot fetish line. But he was still staring at her feet as he spoke, and oh how did he like her feet. "I'm Legland. Leg is fine, of course."

She smiled. "You all have such nice names. Much better than my name, I think."

"Why thank you," they all said at once.

"Not a problem. So it is late, and even we must sleep, hm? For there is nothing to scare this late."

"Oh, there's places to scare," said the Brain. "There's places to scare all over. But, if you are tired, you can most certainly sleep. Here—come on upstairs, we'll get you set up and ready to sleep, Ms. Moana Jane."

"Okay," Moana said.

They led her upstairs, and settled her down, and she was soon sleeping sound and well.

2
The world moves in slow, gasping breaths. It's like it has asthma, or it's a smoker—a smoker now having a horrid, guttural cough; one causing it to choke for its breaths. Causing it to fight to do that most intuitional, simple, given thing. To breathe.

The TV is across them. It gives its intermittent light. It casts its glare.

She is in his arms. He in hers. They look at one another. Their noses are to each other.

His breath is warming. She looks in his eyes.

It starts going slow again. The world is gasping for breath. It wants to die away. She doesn't want to see this again.

"I love you," he says.

"I love you," she says.

They kiss.

Then off come their clothes.

Then. Then the world gasps for breath. She tries to fight it. She doesn't want to see it again.

No.

The TV gives its light still and dances on their flesh forms. Two bodies writhe and move. One to another. Unification. Coalescing. Up and down. Nature, and desire, and lust, and love.

And death.

She had been dating him then. She fights it. Go away, go away.

But it won't go away.

She sees herself naked, just as she looks now. She sees him naked, sees it again. And why won't it die? Why won't it go away?

No.

She can't fight it. She looks in his eyes. He's on top of her and he's moving. His face. His eyes. She brushes them with her hands and looks in his eyes. The eyes are deep and penetrating. Are groping and holding. Inside the eyes. It's like metal. Cold metal and a trigger.

She knows what's going to happen. She can feel her lips smiling in pleasure now. But she knows what's coming. She can't stop it.

It's a different time. A different place. A few weeks later.

They're in the room with the TV again. He pulls out a gun. The gun is big and has everything in it. In its metal grips. And his eyes. Those eyes. Dead eyes. Metal eyes. Cold eyes. Inside the eyes.

"Let's fuck now, or else," he says. She doesn't want to fuck. Fuck is a bad word. Don't say fuck, don't say it, that's bad, it's not nice. That's bad to say, Janine Daw. That's bad don't say that. Don't—

"What did I just say? Jan, take off your fuckin clothes!" Fuckin clothes? Fuckin clothes? They're not fuckin clothes, they're clothes! Regular clothes, just clothes. Don't say fuckin, fuckin's a bad word, and it's not nice. That's bad to say, not good at all. Don't say that. Don't—

Floating in endless time. World's trying to breathe. Heave, in out. Breathing monster with teeth and large, mean eyes. Come on, die. Come on.

Come on die.

"—if you don't do it know, I'll fucking shoot you!"

"I don't understand, Danny. What is this about? Everything's been fine between us up to this point. . ."

Up to this point, up to this point, it's been fine, Danny, fine up to this point. Why are you doing this Danny? It's been fine up to this point.

It's been fine, Danny, fine up to this point.

"—fuck you—"

No. Die. Don't want to see it again. It's not what I want.

"—take your—"

Can't hear you. La la la. You can't hurt. You're not real, this already happened, it's done with, it's over with, it can't hurt me. You can't do it no.

"—clothes off—"

Heave. The world was trying to breathe. She wants it to die. She won't see this. The gun—the gun that holds life in its metal bullet death. Heave. No, she won't give in. She won't take her clothes off.

Go away. I don't want to see it. Make it go away.

You need to grow up, Janine. You know what your mother and I expect of you. You need to grow up, Janine.

You need to grow up Janine.

"—Janine—"

No. Won't hear you, Danny. You can't do this. I won't face it Danny. No Danny. I won't face it you can't do this. No, no Danny, no.

But the world heaves. Sharpens. It's happening too fast.

"Take off the fucking clothes, Janine!" His hands on her. His hands on her tight, thoughts fleeting, thinking about it, other thoughts, other things, happy thoughts not bad ones—

He rips off her clothes, takes them off. Wrenches them off. They're off. Tears in her eyes coming down and she fights.

She fights but it's futile, isn't it? It's useless. Has no bearing, won't do a thing.

It's already happened. It's happening again. No. Not again. Enough.

Enough.

"Enough," she said. Whispered.

"What?" said Brainard. "What was that, Ms. Moana Jane?"

She sat up in the bed. Her hands were hard on the sides of the bed, her eyes full of fear, her breast's nipples hardened. "Nothing," she said simply. "Just a nightmare, I think."

Just a nightmare.

One of those monsters. The ones that haunt, like ghosts.

"Sure it was just a nightmare, Ms. Moana Jane?" Brainard said. He sounded concerned.

They were all around her. There was Legland, Brainard, Armstice and Eyesen. Lady came in as well. She jumped up on the bed, licking Moana. She was glad for the dog then. For it to be licking her. It calmed her. She was glad, too, for them all.

"It's nothing to worry about," Moana said. "I'm fine. Just getting over the nightmare, is all, I think."

They nodded.

"Is it still night?" she asked.

"It's almost dawn, Ms. Moana Jane," Brain said.

"Oh."

It was silent.

"Ms. Moana Jane, anything we can do?" Brainard asked.

"No, I think I'm fine. Just getting over my nightmare, is all. I think I'll just relax for a while, if that's okay."

"Okay," Brain said. "We'll leave you, then, Ms. Moana Jane?"

"Yes, that would be fine."

"Okay." They all turned to leave.

"And thanks. . .thanks for letting me stay." She meant to thank them for waking her up—if that was what they had done. She had a feeling, a deep one, that they'd seen some things they weren't discussing to her. She had a feeling they had woken her up.

"Not a problem, Ms. Moana Jane," Brain said. Brain seemed to be the one who spoke for them all, she thought. Not any of the others had said a word, which was odd; Leg hadn't even said his foot fetish line, which he seemed love. They were all solemn-looking, and she could read it right on their faces. They had seen something, and they weren't telling her. It was no bother, though.

They gave a bow of courtesy, one by one, and left the room.

She looked about the room. There was an old window directly beside the bed. It was large, but old. Its shutters rattled in the wind. She looked outside. She was on the second story of the house. It looked like it might rain. There were clouds in the sky, dark billowing things. They floated about. One looked like a hand, another like a spider, maybe. She had always found it fun to gaze in the sky, let her thoughts wander, and discern shapes and objects from clouds. It gave her a glee.

She locked her shoulders around her breasts and shivered. It was cold out there. Even though she was a ghost, she could feel things, at times. She shut the window, and it creaked in rust as she did.

Looking about the room more, she found it was a dusty old thing, nothing of too much interest. There was an old, broken dresser, beside the bed, opposite the window's side. A candle sat on the dresser's top. The candle had cobwebs running on it, thin white strands. She saw other webs too. There was one in the far corner of the wall. The cobwebs were all about.

She still felt tired, and she pushed the sheets close to her. She hoped she wouldn't dream about that again. It was the last thing she wanted to do, even though she was tired.

Fighting sleep, it took her a while to let it win. But she did, and when it came, it was a sound sleep. With no dreams.

Downstairs, they were talking about Moana.

"Did any of you hear what she said, other than when she yelled?" Brain asked.

"No," said Arm.

"Nah," said Eyes.

"Nope," said Leg.

"Well, what I heard was quite strange. Of course, there were her first yells—the ones of 'No,' and so on. But, since I was close to her, I also heard her say some other things. Things you didn't seem to hear. She was mumbling something about the word 'fuck.' 'The word fuck isn't a good word, that's a bad word.' Something like that.

"Of course, maybe I didn't hear her say that—but you know me, I don't think I just hear things. Then, of course, I heard her say 'Danny'—Danny, whoever that is—and there was also what she whispered low. 'Enough' she said, as if she were in a struggle. Isn't it strange?"

"I reckon so," said Eyes. "But I'm guessing it's just one of them nightmares. We all have em, don't we?"

"Well, yes," Brain said. "We do. But she sounded frantic. It was as if she were struggling. And that look on her face—on her closed eyes, and how her eyes were moving, and her whole body was for that second. . ."

"She probably was struggling. It was in the dream. I don't see why it's such a big deal, Brain. I'd just drop it, you know?" Arm said. "I'd just drop it. I know it was scary—we were all scared, but what can you do? She was just having a nightmare, that's all it was. Even if she was shaking, it was because she was in a deep dream. One that, probably, was pretty real"

Brain, defeated, decided Arm was probably right. "I guess you're right. But you just have to know, I'm just like this by nature."

"I understand," Arm said. They all understood. Brain had been like it since forever.

Brain nodded. "Of course you do. You all do—it's just how I am."

They were sitting around the kitchen table. They had slept a while as well, but had been awoke by Moana and her screaming 'No's.' Now none of the Nobodies could sleep.

There was a window beside the table. Through it, the sun's rays rose. Day was coming. Another day.

Usually the Nobodies would go out haunting late at night. But during yesterday, night and day, they'd done enough of it. They themselves were just as tired as Moana seemed. That was why they had been sleeping when Moana came in. Ghosts do like their haunting, but some do get tired of it. And some people just aren't scared, especially those the ghosts held as regulars. Soon, they had decided, they'd expand the area they scared. Find new people.

For now, though, they were just relaxing. A silence had come over all of them. They sat at their table, just thinking.

The sun was getting brighter and brighter; its warming rays touched them. They looked out the window and watched.

In her room upstairs, Moana slept, and the light touched her, too. Many of the Nobodies downstairs were thinking how beautiful she looked.

"Isn't Ms. Moana Jane beautiful?" asked Brain through his gaze at the sunset. "She seems so smart, and intelligent. Now that's a woman."

Arms flexed his bony hand. "I think her arms're what makes her beautiful."

"And that's what you think, Arms," Brain said.

"Yes, it is."

"I have a foot fetish," said Leg. "Her feet are, without a doubt, the most best part of her, and the best feet I've ever seen. I've never seen such fine feet as those. Never."

"No, you all got it wrong," said Eyes. "It's them eyes of hers. I ain't ever seen eyes like them. They's blue and beautiful, ain't never seen any as beautiful as em."

Soon they were all fighting over what made Moana most beautiful. Eyes said it was her eyes, Leg her feet, Brain her intelligence, and of course, Arm her arms. Too bad they didn't know it was everything that made her beautiful.

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