Amelia and the English Werewolf
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(Note: I started trying to pen a supernatural thriller scary type novel, but it scared me too much (LOL). Think I'll try to turn this into something else or lighten it up to fantasy/screwball humor. I love screwball) Amelia and the English Werewolf Amelia stumbled toward the back screened-in porch of the shabby old two-story house, and reached out to open its flimsy door. Suddenly a tall slim figure with long straggly black hair rose up before her, peering out. She shrieked an earsplitting, terrified scream and jumped back, too startled and shaky to turn tail and run. The unexpected vision opened the back door himself and poked his head through, beaming a broad incongruous welcoming smile. "Don't be alarmed, Miss, it's only...me, backpacking me way across the States before heading off to Uni. I'm, um, Tony, from Stratford-Upon-Thames." "What...where did you say you're from?" The brazen trespasser grinned even wider. "Stratford-Upon-Thames, fifty-odd kilometers from North London in the south of England y' know. I couldn't resist the chance for a lie down under a proper roof for oncet, after lookin' in and I spied a rather long lovely cot with an adequate mattrass and even some not too dodgy musty blankies! Th' place seemed deserted. I thought just going in was nicer, it was unlocked, than breaking into the cottage through a window or somethin'--I'm not that sort, truly I'm not, though I HAVE seen loads of squatters campin' out in empty townhouses and what not, in slum parts of London--" "Why are you hitching here in this ugly desolate part of Iowa? Des Moines, where I went out, er, earlier last night, seems like Paris, France compared to here. Even Des Moines." Her small voice still sounded tentative, but Amelia had regained some degree of composure after noting his smooth silky baby face sprouting black fuzz that betrayed tender years, and the way he clutched a huge green backpack as if for comfort and security. His outfit seemed unusual for an aspiring British college student--old overalls over a red and black flannel shirt as if trying to blend in, and unfashionable red unlaced tennis shoes. "Didn't...didn't this place feel like it has bad vibes to you? My aunt and uncle used to beat me, well, to tell the truth made my childhood a total misery and hell, in this house and yard." Tony ignored her query, instead posing a pressing one of his own: "I say, what were you on about, last night? I saw headlights and then a cool sports car turn onto that dirt road over there, and then a rather spiffy bloke got out of his fancy car and carried your limp body up those dodgy wooden stairs to the second floor of that old red barn. I had a bit of a hard time sleepin' after that, but the nodded off and when I woke up obviously at some point your geezer there had gone." Amelia just started at him for a minute, too astonished and uneasy to speak. Finally she remarked, "Oh, that's---God knows, what in the world?! I thought we had a good time in that costly French restaurant in the city, you know, he's a diplomat or something with the U.N. visiting here on important government business..." her pleasant trembling Midwestern voice trailed off as she looked into the young man's big blue eyes and his suddenly more somber visage lowering to take in her appearance. "I don't mean anythin' bad, but...is that sticky dried blood on your party dress? Your dress is ripped nearly to shreds in places too. I've got some perfectly clean fine jeans and tee shirts in me bag you're welcome to put on, you seem rather my size, for a girl, more sturdy n' strappin' than most." She winced at the talkative Brit's cheeky observations, but even more troubling was his returning bright smile that gained a vestige of a shadow of something almost seeming to resemble a leer, at the prospect of her undressing and donning his own personal attire. She had big breasts, and was used to leers. Amelia's eyes narrowed as she speculated in worried tones, "I wonder if my date mighta slipped some kind of--date rape drug in my drink? But he's got such a high social and professional position, and he's sophisticated and from New York--" "Sometimes words aren't really th' TRUTH, ya know? That rubbish is just what all he TOLD you. Could be a load of bollocks, if ya don't mind me sayin'." "Damn, is he is a f-------g vampire or somethin' ? This blood--but I don't have any cuts or wounds on me, anywhere--" "I should hope not, Missy!" For the first time, the stranger's gay tinkling laugh hinted at an edge of near-hysteria, like her own.--SUSY
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Love it Susy!
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(continued) Amelia and Tony sat in the grass outside on the hot sunny day of their first encounter, to chat. (Amelia) "My parents died in a fiery car crash when I was little." Tony responded, "I never knew mine...I grew up in a combination brothel, gambling joint and whiskey bar in the East End." "Well, I guess you topped me there, then." Amelia looked around and sighed heavily. "This old shack's crappie fallin' down, termites, water heater's worn out, very little heat and cooling, mice and bug infested, rotting, man it sucks to live here. Toilet won't work and you hafta pee pee and the other outdoors. And the wiring's about shot. Fuses keep blowin' out." "Firetrap, aye? I'm homeless and out on the street and on th' road." "I guess you won again." "It don't feel like winnin' Luv." Being young, and the only people around, Amelia and Tony were drawn to each other in mutual affection. They danced and pranced around in the pasture, slept on a blanket under the stars and skinny dipped in the pond, all of it innocently as yet. The young man told her, "When I first saw ya with your dark hair and fair complexion shining with health and oil I thought to meself, 'I fancy that bird,' and hoped you might prove keen on me, too. Eventually." But a full moon happened soon, and Tony sprouted sharp fangs, red eyes, was a shaggy wild wolfman all of a sudden and Amelia emitted an ear-splitting window-shattering scream and shrieked-- but Tony didn't tear her limb from limb and messilyconsume her, leading her to praise "Hey even as a werewolf, you're still nicer than most guys I know." Tony howled at the moon in lupine joy. "I just want to shag under the full moon when it comes, you know, get it on, do the wild thing, that's all. The animal in me comes out!" He flashed a very wicked, rakish grin, tossing his ultra-shaggy thick mane of hair and flaring his wolfen nostrils. "Only then?" She looked thoughtful. "That's cool, too," and she smiled sweetly. (LOL) She paused, and murmured, "You're sexy." Amelia: But I woke up. All that was just a dream, with nightmarish qualities that turned into a good dream, one of Freud's wish fullfilment- type dreams I guess (or I'd eaten a jalapeno pepper), 'cause Tony and I ended up grooving' into the sunset together. Together a lot of the time, and not alone anymore. I turned into a white magic witch dressed like Stevie Nicks. (laughs) I was really staying in an ashram in Miami, the real thing and not a weird depraved cult 'cause the Guru was really from India...I had read their spiritual magazine they put out, while sitting in a college library in Savannah, wrote to them, actually I recorded myself talking on a tape and sent it. Unexpectedly, they graciously invited me to go to Miami and try being part of the small elite group of spiritual aspirants or devotees of the Guru. Wow. I journeyed down there on the bus, to Coral Gables,wondering what was gonna transpire.--SUSY (to be continued)
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Yes, I somehow got my toe in the door of an ashram in a big hot exciting American city. The American ashram boasted a bona fide Guru, a native of India, as our spiritual leader, and an American female swami as the yin to his yang. She had big bucks, and financed the operation. For so long I'd wanted to live in some sort of commune. Or said I did. But when finally accorded the opportunity, my too often critical, ungrateful, cynical attitude, like Holden Caulfield's in "Catcher in the Rye" or Christopher Isherwood's British character in "A Meeting by the River," rendered my experience more sour and unsuccessful than I'd hoped. I didn't have enough sunny, tolerant, accepting hope, in fact. Isherwood's Guru was genuinely enlightened. Mine didn't really claim to be; that highest consciousness state of unity with the Divine is very rare. He was still learned, brilliant, well-intentioned, basically kind and completely devoted to what he called "the philosophy," Vedanta Hinduism. I respected his magnificent heritage and knowledge...but not enough. Looking back on it I realize I should have bowed down more whole-heartedly, without reservation, feeling great reverence, appreciation and gratitude. Continuously. I found out that, although they advocated celibacy, he and the lady swami were secretly married. They also adhered to non-materialism, speaking frequently about the necessity of total non-attachment to material objects. Yet I discovered an enormous storeroom on their property crammed with all sorts of possessions, as though they were collectors or antiques dealers. That was disconcerting. One of my chores was to clean up their messy kitchen after their private repasts which were obviously always big feasts for the couple, featuring many sugary delights as part of the menu. And fat-filled fare , although vegetarian dishes. The lady swami behaved like a shrieking harridan and imperious harpy, and I wondered why that particular Jungian archetype pops up so frequently in my life to torment me, to the point I almost feel only nominally a feminist--That female swami would insult, harass and harangue me on occasion. But I still should have realized she was a good person. And artistically inclined, a scribe of essays, poems, stories, songs, plays. Her large polished head was bald under her fancy white turban and her huge fierce blue eyes blazed in her big beautiful face. Make-up was a big no-no there, but I noticed she used some. One oddity was her seeming obsession and oddly vehement stance about self-administration of enemas to "purify" the system. She presented me with the apparatus to do so. My body could get wracked with pains in my abdomen, always having had a sensitive stomach. And I was recovering from a major operation. I wasn't about to inflict such gratuitous violence on myself. She kept insisting, though, and finally I lied that I had done it. You had to rise at 3:30 a.m. to transcribe the guru's lectures from tapes, using headphones and old computers in the office. There was something very special about getting up then, the stars out, the golden silence and nocturnal ambience and Floridian semi-tropical aesthetics and all, but at the time I hated it. I wanted to sleep. I'd always felt extremely drowsy, almost as if in a coma or almost like I was dying, upon arising, and for a while afterward. So trying to decipher the Guru's heavy Indian accent that early in the morning irked me. They procured a job for me at Parrot World, where the sound of thousands of birds chirping and customers' requests for food could aggravate me. After work, my feet hurt, from all the walking in the restaurant. Then my ankles and feet were stung by hordes of huge red fire ants while I waited for my interminable bus ride of almost two hours to and from the ashram. The ashram did offer an artsy, creative atmosphere with all the singing, poetry recitals, plays and festive weekend banquets. I didn't like Indian cusine. Charming baby lizards skittered across the walls and delicious lush mangoes, the king of fruits, were plentiful in the steamy semi-tropics. But damp towels and wet clothes would rot quickly, and the copious teeming insects looked like Star Wars creatures. I'd never seen these kinds of bugs before. I even complained about certain uncomfortable asanas--yoga postures--and having to attend the Guru's Vedanta lectures six nights a week. (I feel I would almost cherish and treasure ashram life now. Maybe.) We were meant to be completely celibate in thoughts, emotions and actions. But an extremely handsome young man at the ashram, who was gifted in languages and from an impressive family, transported me on waves of bliss by his presence and conversation. His attention. I dreamed of him, with his perfect features and blue eyes and blonde hair, slender and tall of physique--immersed in a ludicrous secret obsession, even while noticing his apparent inappropriate attraction to our Guru.--SUSY (to be continued)
