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FICTION BY M.N. WIGGINS MN Wiggins is an internationally published author, surgeon, voice actor, and humorist from the American South. His recently released novel, Physician’s Guide to Homicide, completes the Arkansas Traveler trilogy, featuring Wiggins's most well-known character, Dr. Melvin Napier. Dr. Wiggins’s short stories have been featured in The Hooghly Review, Black Petals, Medicine and Meaning, and read on the podcasts Creepy and Frightening Tales. He has forthcoming stories in Symphonies of Imagination, Close to the Bone, Flunk Magazine, AcademFic, Thirteen, and The Night’s End podcast. Dr. Wiggins’s complete works may be found HERE
A HANDMAIDEN'S TOUCH
“Mind those baseboards,” I instructed the maid from my four-post mahogany bed in my stately English manor nestled in the most affluent section of the Cotswolds. “That just won’t do! You think I don’t notice how you cut corners, but I do. I pay a fair day’s wage and expect at least minimal competency.” “Yes, mum,” Matilda replied, nodding as she continued dusting, adding an inane whistling. “Stop that!” I admonished. “You’re not a bird. What’s got you in such a good mood?” The maid flashed a smile and shrugged. My eyes narrowed. I may be an old woman, but I’m not an old fool. “There’s something different about you this morning. Are you on dope? I warned you. Any dope, and you’ll be back on the streets!” I studied her through my macular-degenerated eyes, looking for signs of guilt. It was hard to tell. A horrendous car accident had shattered Matilda’s perfect cheekbones and burned the flesh from a face that had once been so beautiful that it had graced magazine covers. Multiple surgeries and skin grafts later, her face displayed a Frankenstein patchwork of discolored skin outlined in uneven mounds of scar tissue. Her blinded right eye drifted outward, making it difficult to determine where she was looking. But the most hideous remnants were contracted keloid scars around her mouth that upturned the edges into a permanent, unsettling grimace. Her family and friends abandoned her. Why my husband had pulled over in the rain to drag this sopping wet creature into our luxury home three years ago remained a mystery to me. Matilda’s incessant whistling turned to irritating humming as she straightened my comforter. “Will the Missus be playing bridge at the club today?” “I will not. And stop touching me. You’ve been quite handsy lately.” Truth be told, I missed Beatrice, Martha, and the other girls at the club—except Margaret. Margaret could go to Hell for all I cared. My great-grandfather had founded the Westley Club, and when I reached suitable age, I’d succeeded my mother in the coveted position of queen matron. The result was that I was in the know about everything and everyone. But as my arthritis worsened, I’d missed more often than I’d attended. On my last trip, I’d encountered new members I hadn’t personally approved and discovered my appearance was the latest gossip. “But mum, don’t you think it’d do you good—getting out and all?” My nostrils flared at her unmitigated gall. Servants never would have addressed me this way in the old days. I only suffered it now in my weakened state. Matilda was treading on thin ice, and I could still sack her if the mood struck me. The truth was, my husband Reginald forbade me from firing her three years ago. Heaven knows why. He’s never uttered a word about the other servants I tossed out on their rear. I smiled at the thought of firing this imbecile, then frowned when I looked at her again. “I have no intention of socializing with hags who snicker behind my back at my condition,” I said, rubbing my painful hands. “Do something useful and fetch my pills.” She returned with a silver tray and offered a crystal glass with water. I snatched it. “I can serve myself. With the incompetent help around here, I have become accustomed to having to do so.” The tremor in my hands spilled half the water, but I managed to get the pills in my mouth serviceably enough. I refused to appear vulnerable in even the slightest way. “I said get your hands off me! Give me that,” I snarled, taking it from her. I shot her my best look of disdain. “You simply exhaust me with your ineptitude.” That’s when I noticed what was different about her. I stopped and squinted at her face. “Who wears make-up to clean a house? Are you meeting someone here at night? Is that what you do, get all painted up for some man? Have sex in my parlor? On my furniture? Is that why you’re chipper? Is this the thanks I get for taking you in?” “I’m not wearing make-up, mum.” I knew it was a lie. A face like Matilda’s was not presentable in polite society and unemployable in anything beyond the darkest stockyard. She retained a roof over her head and suitable employment only out of my generosity. And because my husband won’t let me fire her. But now, the scars seemed somehow minimized. Her mouth appeared more relaxed, with an almost normal expression, as if the tightly pulled skin had relented. Her skin was smoother, and she didn’t appear quite as frightful. How was that possible? “What did you do to your face? Tell me right now.” Matilda continued to deny that anything was different. She took my hand to her face to feel her skin. “I told you, mum, there is no make-up on my face.” I have never allowed myself to be manhandled and wasn’t about to start with this disfigured tart. I yanked my hand free of hers, then grabbed her chin with a healthy grip pressure. I twisted her face from side to side in an examination. “Your face is smooth. Why can’t I feel your scars?” “They’re gone, mum.” She stepped back and paraded around the room like a beauty pageant contestant. “See? My limp’s gone as well. And I can stand straight without pain. Isn’t it wonderful?” I demanded to know what the truth was. “Who did this to you? What kind of commoner black magic are you up to?” She explained a man had helped her—a dope pusher, no doubt. She insisted he was no drug dealer but a miracle worker, and after his help, which I assume meant a cheap roll in the hay, it was as if her auto wreck had never occurred. I shook my finger. “Poppycock! You’re on dope, and I’m having you tested. If you come back positive—” But the ungrateful nymph interrupted me. Can you imagine? “I’ve been working up to tell you, mum. I’m rendering two weeks’ notice. With my scars gone, I’ll be starting a new position. If you’ll recall, I was once a model.” The entirety of the experience up to that point had been irritating. But her fantasy of modeling was so preposterous that it gave me a great case of the cackles. “You’ve practically eaten us out of house and home for four years,” I retorted. “No one photographs a lazy-eyed, fat cow—even one without scars.” But was that true? Was Matilda still really an overweight, scarred, simple servant? How long had she been getting beauty treatments, and how was it that I never noticed any changes before now? Other thoughts raced through my mind. If Matilda had somehow found a miracle elixir to restore beauty, could she be persuaded to share it? Of course, she could—a wit like hers didn’t stand a chance against an upbringing like mine. I rubbed my poor fingers that turned at an unnatural angle from my palm, aching to be restored. I thought of the ruby ring that no longer fit over my grotesquely swollen knuckles. Then I came to my senses. Nonsense. There was no such thing as a miracle elixir. I had to admit though, that I was intrigued. There was definitely something going on here. I demanded to know this man’s name. All she would say was that she’d met him at the pub just off Arlington Row, a “wonderful man with sweet eyes.” I scoffed, “With your face, any man who looks at you twice would seem sweet. A moldy biscuit tastes like caviar when you’re starved.” I scooted to the edge of my bed. “Fetch my walker.” “Will the Missus be going across the hall to see the Mister today? He inquires regularly. How long has it been?” Reginald had suffered a massive stroke a year ago. Matilda’s condescending inquiry regarding my bedridden husband was masked in quiet, innocent tones, but the volume of the insinuation was deafening. I shuffled along behind my walker toward my bathroom. “The frequency of my visitations with my husband is none of your concern. You are paid to attend to our needs, not offer opinions like some back-alley therapist.” I dismissed any thoughts that I had about the changes in my maid. My poor eyesight had played a trick on me. Matilda was simply wearing a lot of make-up this morning. After all, she was a born liar. All of the lower class were liars, and you had to watch them like a hawk so that they didn’t steal the silverware. But what if? ***** By early afternoon, I sat at a small table in my bedroom and gazed out the window at our massive, manicured lawn as I reflected upon the morning’s events. I’d barely touched the fine duck Chef Gary had made. He was a muscular young man who always had a smile for me, and admittedly, my thoughts wandered. Before I realized it, an hour had somehow passed. The little maid appeared. “I’ll take your plate.” She smiled at me the way cats smile as they wait for their owners to die so they may eat them. “I hope someone suitable can replace me straightaway, mum.” I chuckled. “Rest assured—you are imminently replaceable.” She bowed. “I’ll take my leave, then.” I forced a smile. “Wait. Please sit with me, Matilda.” She did as I ordered, bringing a chair opposite mine. “I am cruel to you, aren’t I? If you’ve truly discovered a way to regain your beauty, then I suppose you should move on. I’ll bargain with you. Three weeks’ severance in return for this mystery man’s name.” “I’m afraid I didn’t catch his name, mum.” I eyed her to determine if the conniving wench was holding out for more money. There was a price for anything, and I was a woman of means. “I get it—you must pay the man and also receive a payment for yourself. I can do both. What did this man charge for your so-called miracle?” “Nothing, mum. Just asked that I not tell anyone.” “You’re no better at keeping secrets than dusting baseboards. Now tell me immediately.” Matilda’s perpetual smile faded. She arose from her chair, stood before me, and took my wrists in her strong, capable hands. She squeezed. “Stop!” I cried. “You’re hurting me, you twit!” My eyes widened as I watched a fire light in hers, a sparkle I’d never seen before. The locks of Matilda’s hair blossomed into radiance, her right eye straightened, and her crow’s feet vanished into youthful smoothness. I looked down at my wrists, still writhing in pain from her grasp. I watched my arthritic hands wither further into an aging tapestry of bone-dry wrinkles, protruding veins, and liver spots. Matilda smiled. “Pity you didn’t spend time with the Mister. He was so lonely—until I kept him company. He marvelously enjoyed that.” “Succubus whore!” I screamed. “What did you do to my hands?” Matilda picked up my vanity mirror and admired her flawless face—her perfect smile. “If I were you, I would choose my next words carefully,” she said, her voice flat but menacing. My poor eyes played another trick on me as I watched a younger version of my husband stroll into my bedroom, looking every bit the tender age of fifty. “Reginald? Is that you?” “In the flesh, my dear Henrietta.” He extended a hand to Matilda and helped her stand before taking her seat next to me. “Oh, Reginald, this trollop is insinuating the most awful things! And look at what she’s done to my hands. Do something! Fetch a doctor. Look at my hands! They’re all shriveled!” He smiled, leaned forward, and inspected me through his monocle. “Whatever Matilda has shared, I’m afraid is entirely true.” I couldn’t tear my eyes from this walking and talking man wearing a face I hadn’t seen in twenty years. My husband having another tryst was hardly news, but if Matilda had restored him, she could do the same for me. “How is this possible? Tell me!” Reginald came over to me, smiled, and gently brushed thin strands of gray hair behind my ear, just as he always had. “Our lovely Matilda learned a touch spell from a man in a pub that she shared with me. It’s called The Rejuvenator, I believe. She lured Chef Gary into my chambers not a half hour ago where we feasted on him. I never liked him, but I’ve tolerated your indulgences over the years—to a point.” I stared at him as his words sank in. “Chef Gary? Made you a feast?” “No, dear, Chef Gary was the feast. And afterwards, Matilda and I enjoyed other pleasures, didn’t we, darling?” “You monster,” I said. “Hetty, don’t be crass,” Reginald said, caressing my wrinkled cheeks. I gave him my most tender look. “You still love me, don’t you, Reginald? You’ll teach me this spell? Save me from my entombment in this decaying body? Think of all the time we could have together once again.” But my husband stiffened. “More time together? My dear Henrietta, we’ve been married for over sixty years. Haven’t I suffered enough?” I couldn’t believe the words of the man I’d married. He wouldn’t betray me, couldn’t betray me! But it was there in his eyes. He wanted more of what he’d taken from Chef Gary, and I was next. Reginald placed his hand on the back of my head, thinning my scalp as the youthful glow in his face blossomed. His hands tenderly flowed down my neck and shoulders, taking what he wanted. My flaccid arms firmed his abdominals. My melted calves grew his into muscular masses. Inch by inch, Reginald drained all the muscle from my body until my skin draped my bones like a shirt three sizes too large. I looked at my body, now aged to nothing more than a shrunken, cachexic skeleton of my former self. Reginald stood, stretched his new muscles, and cracked his knuckles. “Before I take the last of you, Hetty, I suppose I do owe you an explanation.” He paraded around the room on his enhanced calves, turning and pointing as if he were delivering a lecture at Oxford. “Matilda has serviced me in more ways than you know. When I could no longer sign documents to pay our considerable expenses, she learned to forge my name quite serviceably. Over the last six months, she’s signed our accounts over solely into my name, minus a healthy stipend for our dear Matilda. But when this Rejuvenator spell came along, all of that was, of course, unnecessary.” He looked at a smiling Matilda. “Have I missed anything, dear?” “No, Reggie,” Matilda replied with loving eyes that soured as her gaze shifted to me. “We’re to be married in the spring.” I knew that my wits were the only chance I had, and my mind raced. It required everything I could muster to speak, and I chose my words carefully. “Don’t be fooled, Matilda. Do you think you’re the first servant he’s taken to bed? Promised to marry? He’ll move on the instant a younger, prettier version catches his eye. And since you could take back his youth with a mere touch, he’ll always perceive you as a threat. Mark my words. He’ll do more than abandon you.” Matilda looked at me with scorn. “You lie. You’re nothing but a bitter, nasty old woman who only sees the worst in people.” “Why do you think he picked you up off the streets three years ago? Out of the goodness of his heart? You were vulnerable, an easy mark. He brought you home like a drenched stray puppy for his bedroom entertainment.” “Don’t listen to the old hag, dear,” Reginald said with a hearty laugh. “She’ll say anything that suits her needs. As I’ve told you before, I brought you in because I saw your potential—after others had abandoned you. And look at you now.” “And he took full advantage of you, didn’t he?” I said. “As far as you know, he faithfully made love to you alone until his stroke. Only that isn’t true, is it, Reginald? Tell her how your stroke occurred.” Reginald took a step toward me. “I believe we’ve heard quite enough from what’s left of your mouth, Hetty.” Matilda stepped between us. “I want to hear. I want to know.” “But you can’t believe a word she says,” he protested. “Move aside. I’ll finish her, and then we’ll have tea and discuss your ideas to remodel the kitchen.” “No,” Matilda said with a threatening finger. “Stop telling me what to do. I will hear what she has to say.” The muscles in my chest wall were all but absent, and my lungs felt like vises as I took a labored breath. “While you were on your knees scrubbing baseboards, your Reggie was in a private room at the club with Margaret. She gave him a performance pill, and when his blood pressure skyrocketed in the heat of the moment, a blood clot nearly finished him.” “Is that what you told the other girls, Reggie? I know you were catting around before your stroke. I saw you. People don’t notice maids. But maids always notice people. Is that why you picked me up three years ago in the rain? Was I nothing but a stray animal to you?” Matilda’s eyes caught fire as her hand clamped onto Reginald’s arm. He screamed as the area under her grasp shriveled and turned black. The process spread down to his hands and crept up to his shoulders, invading his chest before turning south toward his pelvis. “Please, Matilda,” he begged, “We can be together always.” I watched her drain my husband until he was nothing more than a pile of dust on my rug. Matilda glowed like a teenage apparition as she turned to finish me off. I wanted to scream, but my voice was spent. Escape was out of the question. So I tried to reason with her. “Matilda, if you spare me, I’ll give you half of Reginald’s estate. I don’t want to live like this, all shriveled and disabled, but it is better than death, I suppose. If you spare me, I’ll sign the paperwork right now to give you financial freedom.” Matilda appeared to be thinking. “Where are the papers for you to sign?” I told her and the maid fetched the papers. I signed them. “Now what?” I asked. “I did my part in good faith. How about you?” “What Reggie didn’t understand,” Matilda said as she approached me and sat on my bed, “was that The Rejuvenator is not simply a life-taking spell. It controls the flow.” She placed a hand on my back, and I felt a rush of air into my lungs and a warmth spread throughout my body. My muscles regrew, filling under my tightening skin as if inflating a tire. I watched with fully restored eyesight as my angled fingers straightened and my hip pain vanished. My brain tingled in the electricity of thoughts racing with long-lost speed, and happiness overcame me as I bathed in the release of endorphins. I fervently snatched my vanity mirror. Gone were the thin strands of gray hair, the sagging eyelids, and the branching river of wrinkles. My eyes shone brightly, always my best feature. I examined my rejuvenated body and estimated I was somewhere in my mid-twenties. I looked at Matilda and understood. Passing life into me had removed her glow and aged her. Although she remained a strikingly beautiful woman, she now appeared ten years older than she had a few moments ago. I realized that she had sacrificed about ten years of her life to save me. Yet, she was still younger than she had been a month previously and her face was still smooth and unblemished. Still, she could have had perfection, and instead chose to share her good fortune. Perhaps I could learn something from that. I was moved by her sacrifice. I vowed to change. After all, now that I was young and no longer disabled, what did I have to be unhappy about in life? I no longer had to see myself as a victim. But could I change? And there was something else to consider… I raised my chin and pointed downward. “Oh, dear. Parts of Reginald have soiled the baseboards. That just won’t do.” “I’ll fetch a broom and duster, mum.” I shot her a frown. “You’ll do no such thing, Matilda. You are no longer a servant in this house. I intend to see to it that you’re never employed as a servant again.” “What will I be, then?” I gave her a wry smile. “Have you ever visited the Westley Club? Oh, I think you’d fit in marvelously. They may have attacked the dignity of an old woman, but they couldn’t strip me of my title as Queen Matron. After I write you a glowing letter of introduction, you’ll be welcomed into the upper crust of society. Your life will never be the same.” She curtsied. “Thank you, mu—Henrietta.” “Call me Hetty. All this excitement has me famished. How about you? I believe it’s high time I served you for a change. Wait here while I bring us tea and sandwiches. Do you like roast duck?” I left the room with a trailing smile for the woman who’d not only saved my life, but restored my health, beauty, and vitality. But there was something else…she was also the woman who could take it all away with a mere touch if the mood struck her. I popped on down to the kitchen. Surely, Chef Gary had a butcher knife somewhere. |