"SKINNED ALIVE ©"

David T. Boyle

Veronica stood in front of the mirror admiring her beautiful reflection. She possessed the rarest of traits, the kind only seen in the magazines similar to those spread out on her mattress. “Cosmopolitan”, “Star”, “Fashion World”; there must be at least five different periodicals overlapping one another on the silk sheets. Each of them robust with fashion secrets, makeup advice, and pages full of product placement from “Maybelline” to “Victoria's Secret” promising to enhance today’s woman.

She ran her hand through her long black hair that was painted with highlights of brown frosting. Her lips full and pigmented red; she puckered, and added layer upon layer dabbing off the excess with a pastel colored Kleenex. Veronica had yet to apply eye shadow or mascara. Those features already accented by deep blue eyes and a flawless olive-complexion. With her immaculately manicured hands she smoothed out the imperfections on her skirt by riding her delicate hands along the hips and sliding down a set of thighs void of even a blemish. A confident smile peeled from ear to ear. Her eyes traveled, and
admired, every bodily gem from her silky-smooth hair down to her costly pedicure.

When she opened the closet door her fingers massaged the temples to ward off the stress of complimenting her beauty with “shoes to die for.” That phrase is a staple of the Veronica persona. Five minutes passed and her hands remained at that position on her head rubbing out the pressure of such a monumental decision in a woman’s life. After careful consideration she opted for a pair of open-toed suede pumps from Bloomingdales and slid her feet into them. Then a spin to the right, and one to the left, assured they were the correct choice.

Veronica ran to the girl’s room for one last primping before going into public. On her way to the bathroom she flipped on the television and the set erupted with a report from the news channel. A newscaster shouted into the set.
“Ladies and gentleman, the horror lingers! There are five confirmed to have been exposed to the outbreak and four more are reported in critical condition, but doctors say they will survive!”

She ignored the newscast while admiring herself in the bathroom mirror, giving her lips one last pucker before the road. The ample overhead light highlighted her perfect features and she was glowing inside.

She emerged from the ladies room, grabbed her purse, and carefully inspected the contents. Mirror-check,lipstick-check, mascara-check, eye shadow-check, remedy for a pantyhose run-check. In the background the reporter droned on about a girl that was burned in a near fatal car accident and lived through the trauma but is permanently scarred for life. They wanted to interview the broken young spirit but communicating amidst the tubes in every bodily crevice was impossible. Veronica strutted to her apartment door with her fingers elevated to her mouth, blow drying her nails.

Once her foot touched 27th street she turned it on. She knew she was irresistible. She worked the street as men bobbed and weaved to attain a better vantage point at the pillar of beauty that was Veronica Myles. Her allure was instant; her spell captivating. Men leered. She was the bait, and testosterone driven males were hungry sharks feeding like they’d never eaten. None of them had a chance at procuring a roll in the hay but she crafted her game like a veteran player.

She floated down 27th ready to flag a taxi to attend a meeting with an executive named Christopher T. Rawlings. He is a real financial powerhouse with a high patience threshold. She was late for a meeting last week with him, even a month prior; but he never made issue of it.

“Life’s too short.” he always said.

It was amazing to watch the cabs compete for her ride. On a good day the cabbie waves the fee or cuts the rate in half to earn a glimpse of her affections. This morning a black and yellow pulls to the curb to pick her up. For no apparent reason she looks down the intersecting street, 3rd Avenue, and spots a digital billboard scrolling propaganda about a new line of perfume that guarantees, "Men won’t know what hit them!”

Veronica’s priorities suddenly change and she waves off the cab. “Rawlings won’t mind,” she tells herself while making a beeline for Lori Anne’s Perfumery.

"Where ya goin’ there sweetheart?” the cab driver yells out with a delicious smile.

Third Avenue is a hub of activity. Breakfast carts are selling coffee and bagels, the smell wafting down the entire street enticing the pedestrians as hungry folk wait in lines ten deep. Buses and taxis are staggered along the curb. Passers-by ignore the traffic signs and cross the street like horses breaking free of the stable. A half block of traffic attempts to pull down 3rd but is blocked by the herds of scrambling people.

Veronica slithers through the unruly crowd and finds the front door to the Perfumery. …She’s in. “It’s about time.” She groans, wiping a trail of sweat from under her eye and flattening a wrinkle on her rising tight skirt. She scans the room and her beautiful blues swim about the interior of the store. Big screen T.V.’s are hanging from each wall airing music videos and the sound pulsates throughout the place. Shelves stocked with perfumes and lotions snake along the walls from one corner to the next at least six rows high. The walls are painted a soft yellow with pink and white dazzles of color adding an enticing feminine touch.

At one of the display racks she spots an attractive couple huddled together. The lady sprays herself with a sample bottle of “Lust” and the man draws closer to savor the aroma. His eyes roll back in approval and the couple shares a smile. Veronica envied their closeness; their compatibility. The need they expressed for each other with simple inaudible body language.

Veronica strolled up to the counter and as she approached a young gal all of about twenty five greeted her. The sales associate had an innocence exuding from her. It may have been her horn-rimmed glasses that told her story, or the row of stained teeth that painted her as a far cry from confident. Her eyes magnified to the size of golf balls behind the lenses, the hair was tied back frizzy and void of style, and a ring hung from her nostrils.

“Can I help you?”

Veronica’s smile broadened. Hers filled with straight white pearls of health. She points at the back rack where the couple sampled the perfume.

“Your biggest bottle of that, please.”

“My pleasure.” the assistant chimed as she bounced to the rear of the store.

Veronica stood bewildered that the girl disappeared to the back considering there were plenty of bottles out front. She slid over a few feet and a stand full of lipsticks impeded her path. There were more colors than any woman could use in a lifetime, too much to choose from, so she decided on a handful of six for the road. The cashier returned with a box in her hand. She placed it gingerly on the counter and smiled.

“Anything else?”

“Yes…these too…that’ll be all.”

Veronica squinted; her eyes quizzical. “What is so special about this bottle?”

The cashier looked puzzled. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand?”

“Well, you went to the back.” She raised a hand over her shoulder toward the rack again. “There’s plenty over there.”

The cashier chuckled. “Miss, you asked for the biggest right? They’re kept in the stockroom.”

Veronica was confused. “Oh. I could have sworn that… forget it.”

As the lady passed Veronica’s change, she smiled and handed her the receipt. “One spray and you’ll be fighten em off, Miss!”

Veronica Myles arrived at the office. Before she met up with Rawlings she dowsed herself with “Lust.” During the meeting it was as though he was at a loss for words; like he couldn’t concentrate. She had a power over him that she felt with no man previously. The perfume overwhelmed him and the longer the session lasted the closer he moved near Veronica. There was a spell of sorts over him from the powerful fragrance she misted on her skin just minutes ago.

She imagined what she would do with the rest of the bottle. It was still full. The trivial amount she used didn’t put a dent in her supply.

“The cashier wasn’t kidding.” She thought.

“I’m going to have to fight them off!”

The stunning Ms. Myles used the alluring potion on at least ten more men, all with similar results. They were driven to her with an animal attraction. She was irresistible before, but now? She was unstoppable! This fed her ego further and that was the kind of endorsement she craved. That’s exactly what those movie stars and models felt everyday as their heads swelled from constant approval, and her mind bloated with the possibilities.

She coated herself all day and the seductive odor drifted from her pores and cast its hypnotizing tonic at free will. This was every woman’s dream; and she was living it. She enjoyed watching men fall at her feet although she never had problems attracting men before today. This discovery was too persuasive to turn away from.

Following a long day with her sidekick “Lust” she walked up her apartment stairs to relax for the evening. Veronica Myles was exhausted. Clop-Clop-Clop, her high heels bounced from step to step as she ascended the staircase. She never had so much fun. She enjoyed the rush she felt from the drooling men who fell under her charms. She knocked em’ dead alright!

Veronica began to wind down for the evening. She undressed and covered herself in a terrycloth robe, then ran a hot bath. As the water swelled in the tub she sat on the rim sipping a glass of her favorite wine and reading the latest issue of “Celebrity Fashion Secrets.”

A sucking sound oozed from the tub faucet and she shot her eyes in its direction. The water was flowing as it should, so she engrossed herself once again in the magazine. Minutes later the tub filled and she reached to shut down the faucet when that sucking sound came to life again. It was louder this time and the water surged violently creating a mass of bubbles. A scratchy voice permeated the room and swirled in her ears incoherently. It was a slow, drawling voice like the sound of a warped record.

Veronica dropped her glass and the tile pooled with red wine. A piece of broken glass cut the top of her foot and she winced in pain. The gash created a diversion from the voices and the crazy water for a few moments. She cleaned the cut with a wash cloth, wrapped it in gauze, and went to bed. She wanted to sleep, tried to sleep, but spent an inordinate amount of time tossing, turning, and shuffling for a good position. The experience in the bathroom was an incident she purged from her mind. Veronica glanced at the wine bottle on the coffee table and wondered how a couple of glasses could affect her that way. Clearly that was the first time she heard strange noises or watched the water run amok all by itself.

It was midnight. She was in a deep sleep, finally. The apartment was dark except for a kitchen stove light that emitted a passive glow across the room and lit the way to the bathroom. Her breathes were soft and profound; her chest rising and falling in a peaceful rhythm. Something suddenly kicked in Veronica’s stomach like the sensation of a baby kicking in the mother’s womb. It forced her eyes open, yanked her from a deep sleep, and lurched again with a more powerful thrust.

Veronica wiped her eyes and turned toward her dresser. The clock flashed 12:03 A.M. She felt something weird inside her. Her eyes darted down and she saw her belly rise. An entity of some kind took over and latched onto her wrists pulling them with a virile outward motion. She fought, and resisted with all the strength her body could generate. Veronica felt her control, her thoughts; the air in her lungs slipping away in an instant. Dizziness spun her equilibrium aslant like the room was on its own spool winding and teetering in every direction.

Her wrists began twisting themselves around the bedposts and she couldn’t stop it. The bones popped one by one and the pain was unmerciful. Her long fingernails became embedded into the wood but she was still fighting against this unknown force and trying to break free of its stronghold.

She inhaled as deep as she could and with a fleeting burst of energy she played tug-of-war with her own body. Seconds passed, then minutes were gone, and her fingers dislodged from the oak posts. During separation she began to scream, cry, and gag from the torturous feeling. As the nails left her skin, the blood from the torn flesh drizzled in thin rivers down her forearms. Her legs kicked and flailed as if she was smothered and losing air.

Her arms and hands unraveled from their contortion and Veronica jarred her body loose from the bed eying an escape. Each step she took was thwarted by a presence rebelling against her progress. Her legs and arms felt heavy. Her head was throbbing with a pressure beyond any headache. She lumbered toward the front door and reached for the phone in her path on the counter.

There was a dial tone. That bestowed upon her a shred of hope, but she couldn’t speak. Only hoarse, dry air came out of her mouth. When her fingers got near the buttons to dial Veronica bellowed with anguish. It felt like a dagger was shoved into her cuticles. She dropped the phone and it crumbled to pieces. The entity forced her, dragged her to the bathroom once again.

She made it to the medicine cabinet and peered at her horrid reflection. Veronica Myles was unrecognizable; arms, hands; a bloody mess, the face white as a ghost, hands broken and mangled. She stood in the bathroom a beaten woman, sucked hollow of her life force and her will.

Suddenly, the bathroom door flew open and slammed three times in succession. She was hunched over in front of the sink. With a quivering hand she pulled the medicine cabinet door open. Veronica locked her eyes on the top shelf full of prescription medication. The bottom covered with blood-stained razor blades. The signs were all too familiar. The demon was drawing her in again.Her tattered fingers reached for a razor and then…

The entity thrust her airborne across the room and she landed face up in the tub on her back. The shooting pain was unbearable, but the demon wouldn’t relent. It wanted her to suffer and feel, suffer and feel.

That voice returned again, whirring in her ears. The demonic voice demanded. “I WON’T LET YOU DIE! YOU MUST FEEL IT! LIVE IT!”

Veronica was depleted of the ability to respond. Her eyes part closed. Her skin was cold and prickly and she felt like her whole body was going numb, but not quite yet; there was more to overcome and the demon ratcheted up its unwavering power.

More pain delegated itself to the neck, then the chest, then the back. The agonizing sensation found residence in legions all over her body. She felt a stabbing widespread under her skin. Her scalp started to split into sections as if sliced open with a surgeons razor sharp scalpel. Then, a fleshy tentacle of some kind tore its way to the surface revealing a nail, then the formation of a grotesque hand. More of the gooey tentacles spawned all over her shapely figure from head to toe.

When these talons punctured through the skin they began to pry the flesh apart in all directions. Her skin became pliable like hot melted wax.Now her body was infested with talons doing the job of knives, carving and stripping away her outer shell to breed new life, to take over what lurked underneath her once eye-pleasing exterior. It was 12:30 A.M. Veronica Myles was splayed in the tub, shrouded in her old flesh and her skeleton covered in a mass of sludge. Where her face used to be was now engulfed in slime. Any facial features were now obscured behind the marsh.

Suddenly, an oval cluster of the gelatin mass gave way to expose an opening eye, showcasing a bright white retina. The sucking sound flared up and the tub filled again. As the water level rose, Veronica’s blood streaked the water in red streams.Once the tub was topped off to the precipice, the surge of bubbles resurfaced stronger this time. The faucet dial came to life turning, and the shower sprayed down upon her helpless body. The chunky remnants washed away and little at a time a new form spawned.

The form was that of another woman; a unique woman with a haunting appearance. It was the face that distinguished it from others. The eyes were misshapen on it. The skin underneath drooped down to show the blood-engorged skin and veins. The mouth was malformed; the lips no longer intact and the teeth now a dark brown and cumbersome for the small opening. The ears had tufts of hair growing from the canal. The facial tissue was pock-marked with pale, green pimples. There was no medical genius that could repair the metamorphosis that she sustained.

Veronica miraculously came to and both eyes opened to a new world, one she had yet to confront. She awoke like it was a bad dream and assumed she had dozed off in the tub. All the pain had gone away and she wanted nothing more than to push that nightmare aside. She looked down and the water was a sanctuary of soap and bubbles.

She rose from the tub and dried herself off with a towel from the nearby rack. She pulled back her hair and tied it into a bun, then walked up to the foggy mirror. Veronica ran her tongue around in her dry mouth and her palate felt different, but she didn’t know why. She squinted with confusion and swiped away a swath of fog from the mirror.

She wasn’t prepared for what greeted her in the glass. Veronica screamed, and grazed over her hideous features in frightful disbelief. Tears sprayed from her eyes, she dry heaved, then bent over and fainted.

When she regained consciousness her body was sprawled on the bed again. Her one wrist was tied off with nylon rope and the legs were bound in the same fashion at the bottom of the bed. A mirror was hung on the ceiling and it offered her a gnarly view of the new Veronica Myles; the one she will live with from now on.

Her stomach roiled with grotesqueness so she turned away and wept more, harder. From the other room she heard a noise, like someone was sharpening a knife, Zing-Zing-Zing. The unsettling sound crept into the bedroom where she was held hostage without an escape.

The filing ceased and she heard footsteps coming towards her. The sound of high-heel shoes, Clop-Clop-Clop on the tile floor, and then they quieted on the living room carpet. The overhead lamps fired to life and cast a sparse glow over her bed.

A woman approached her with a long shaving razor clenched tightly in her fist; the shiny blade gleaming off the dribble of light. The woman was wearing Veronica’s clothes and a strong scent of perfume drifted over to her. The woman looked familiar. It was the eyes that she recognized. But who was…?”

The reality slammed her in the face. It was the cashier from the Perfumery. Her appearance was dramatically altered. In fact, the longer she stared at her the clearer she understood the story her eyes were telling her.The girl was almost a dead-ringer for her. She somehow stole her features and Veronica was left with total deformity of her face.The cashier knelt down along the bed and smiled at her.

“You think my work is easy? I’m far from done. I have just begun. Soon all of those like you will incur my wrath and…”

Veronica trembled. “Wh… wh… why?”

The cashier’s voice fired back with hostility. “Spare me the plea you superficial bitch! You’re all the same, it’s always about YOU! Well, not any more!”

Veronica’s dilated pupils rolled in circles and her rash of pimples pulsated freely.

The cashier spoke calmly. “As soon as my secret perfume poisons the rest that I have so cleverly selected, I will take over the world with someone you know quite well. Does the name Rawlings ring a bell?”

“He financed my entire experiment and you were the tenth victim in my game. You fell under my spell quicker than the others. This will bring me victory and it’s that kind of result that Rawlings is awaiting to launch this little, project of mine?”

“You were number ten in a row and that fulfills my obligation to him. He requested live specimens. Now, I realize just how powerful witchcraft is and my spells are forever stronger. I watched and orchestrated your every move during the last twenty four hours and found new ways to channel my spirit, or should I say funnel my devilish desires into your home, and you.

“The stage is set my little Ronnie; unless you die on me?”

Veronica was frozen. She couldn’t speak, the words stuck to the lining of her throat.

“If you die, you don’t live with what I’ve left for you, and that my friend voids my contract with your Rawlings friend, and puts an end to my game, but it was exhilarating to manipulate you. You can’t imagine the rush unless you’re actually the one in the driver’s seat.”

She placed the long sharp razor in Veronica’s hand and got in her face, an inch from touching her.

“Hmm…tough choice, I’ll look you in this eye, both of them are truly repulsive. I’m so proud of my work!”

“So, tell me Ronnie, I like calling you that.”

“Anyway, the choice is yours. Can you live like I’ve left you, or do you want to end your existence for the better of your species?”

The cashier patted Veronica on the chest and left the room. “I’ll let you think about that one. Call me when you’re ready.”

The cashier strolled out of the room; and into the kitchen and waited. She started to laugh and then covered her mouth with her hands. Minutes passed and the cashier heard Veronica gasping for air. She ran into the room and Veronica was lying on the bed with the razor jutting out from her neck and a puddle of perfume expanded on the floor.

“What a shame.”

"Skinned Alive" is from "Blood Works" David Boyle's Horror Anthology, Published by Arctic Wolf

Copyright 2008 David T. Boyle