February 04, 2017

PodCastle Miniature 95: The Stories She Tells Herself

* Author : Kelly Sandoval

* Narrator : Jen R. Albert

* Audio Producer : Peter Wood

Discuss on Forums

First published in Daily Science Fiction.

Rated R.

The Stories She Tells Herself

by Kelly Sandoval

He stole her skin. Yes, that’s the one. He stole her skin, so he had her heart. Or her soul. The part of her that would have fought him otherwise.

She remembers the before. A life that tasted of salt and crunched between her teeth like fish bones. She shared the waves with her sisters, and they were fierce, the lot of them. What was a second form when measured against the chilly caress of waves and the laughter of her siblings?

But she liked to wander. She liked the feeling of her skin as she peeled it off, the sharp, painful tug of it. The sounds it made, the wet noise of separation, made her shiver. Without her pelt, she was pale and unpleasant, all frail, pathetic humanity. Gone was the muscle and weight of her true form, gone were teeth made to tear raw flesh from bone.

She felt like a fish, all brittle scales and no coral to hide in. There was an allure to such vulnerability. The day he found her, she’d hidden her skin in the shadow of a boulder and gone walking where the water met the rocks. The wind stung her eyes and her fragile human skin. She rubbed the raised flesh of her bare arms, glad at the life she didn’t have to live.

Until he took it. She felt him pick it up. The stomach twisting shock of an unfamiliar hand stroking her pelt. The tug, right at the core of her, drawing her toward him.

He was tall, soft looking, with a long black coat and an easy smile. He draped the coat over her bare shoulders and pressed his warm, wet mouth to her neck. She let him. Let him lead her, unresisting, back to his house. Her house too, he told her. He didn’t ask her to marry him. He didn’t ask her anything at all.

That night, after he had finished, he stroked her back while she shook.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “You’ll do better next time. I’ll teach you.”

“I’ll try,” She dug her nails into her palms and the sharp shock of pain made her breath come easier.

He tugged at a dark, coiled strand of her hair. “Tell me you love me.”

“I love you.”

He had her skin.

The skin is a distancing device, isn’t it? A way of saying, you see, she had no choice. It was only ever him.

Perhaps he was a monster. Golden eyes and blood on his breath. She knew it from the moment she met him. She could see it in the shape of his smile, in the too tight way he squeezed her hand. And still, when he offered to walk her home, she agreed. Hunger, she thought, was better than apathy. At least he wanted her for something.

She found she enjoyed his attentions. He whispered to her of eternity, of beauty never fading. She wondered if he expected her to believe him.

There are girls who fight monsters. And girls who become them. And then there’s the girl who lays, still and broken, when the movie opens. Maggots crawl out of her open mouth as the camera pans across her bare skin. Someone vomits. The opening credits roll.

She knew which girl she was.

But monsters are patient. He walked her home, just as he promised. He didn’t ask to come in, and she didn’t invite him. And just so, the next day, and the next. He listened to her problems, her worries, her hurts.

...more

View all episodes

By Escape Artists Foundation

4.6

498498 ratings