Miss Nobody

Chapter 1

MELT

Early Early Morning Day One

"You look like a fucking Demon." The old man's fingers mottled white as he gripped the long silver of his butter knife. "What are you, Jane?" Drops of his spittle landed on my plate.

I pushed my half-eaten omelet away as my stomach turned. The stomach cramps had me stop eating after a few bites anyway. Is he calling me a Demon because I don't like today's breakfast? "You know as much as I do." I inhaled slowly until the nausea subsided enough for me to speak again, "which isn't much."

Chef asked me endless questions the first days of my arrival at the Hotel but when he realized I didn't know about my past, the questions stopped and the "training" began. He took me under his wing and taught me everything he knew. Not only about cooking but life in the surrounding forest. He was patient and kind. Pity is what that was.

He stared at me but it wasn't pity that deepened his wrinkles. Is he afraid of me? As I looked at him closely, I noticed how much his face had aged. The past couple of weeks had taken a toll on his spryness. His body now seemed so...fragile.

"You turned eighty-three last night and your brain is already turning to mush?" I teased him, the room spinning. The polished wood of the table was smooth in my grip and kept me from toppling out of my chair from the overwhelming dizziness. Nausea rose in my throat and Chef's face spun in small fractals making me want to vomit all over the table.

He stabbed a mushroom with his fork but the utensil clattered off the table before reaching his mouth. The elderly man stared at his empty hand. He flexed, made a fist, and opened his fingers again. His mouth drawn in a tight line.

My lips and eyes shut tight. I spun while the darkness behind my eyelids swirled in a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes. The screech of the dining table sliding across the floor and the pressure of its edge against my ribs made me open my eyes quickly. The butter knife inches from my face as Chef waved it wildly trying to stab me across the table.

I stood up quickly, my chair fell back, the sound of it hitting the wood floor reverberated like a gunshot around the empty restaurant. Both of us covered our ears as if it would block the painful noises.

My hands slowly melted into my head like soft wax as my vision blurred in shapes and colors. Melting, blending, spinning in fast waves.

The Moonlit Mountain Lodge's renowned Head Chef was struggling to pull his hands free as he gradually sank into the floor. The horror of seeing his muscles and sinew and dripping flesh rolled my stomach. The fear freed my hands from my long hair with a guttural slurp.

A scream echoed across the empty tables. It could have been me, but my tongue felt like too much pudding in my mouth.

"I will fucking kill you Demon. I've done it before in this godforsaken hotel and I will fucking do it again." Chef's arms became unrestricted and he lunged at me, knocking our half-eaten, hand-foraged mushroom and organic-egged omelet to seep into the floor.

I slowly backed away from him, my feet attempting to pool beneath me. Hearing him cuss startled me more than the butter knife and threats of demons. He's lived his entire life on this California mountain but gave me "Proper English Gentleman" vibes and his unexpected profanities shocked me into moving faster.

He struggled to pull his feet out of the floor, muttering, "fucking demons all over this fucking cursed-" He pulled at his leg trying to free it. "-dismal, miserable excuse for a town." He paused with frustration and watched as I backed away from him. "I WILL KILL YOU ALL."

A bushy plant surrounding the restaurant area, poked into my back. The large leaves pulled me in, like the hotel was a gelatinous breathing thing, slurping me into itself. I broke through to the other side of the plant partition and ran into the woods before the hotel could...swallow me?

The cool air didn't clear my head as I had hoped. You can't go back in there. I convinced myself to continue into the forest. It had only been two weeks since working here, the "Laundry Tower" was what I was hired for. But spending time with Chef learning to forage in the surrounding woods made me familiar with the path even in the dark.

Chef was training both Ormus, his new piglet, and me, to find truffles but mushroom season was here and Chef got excited talking about the dishes he made with all the "fun guys." He had inundated me with mushroom jokes between casually name-dropping people, mainly politicians I had never heard of from around the world who ate his famous dishes.

I didn't belong in the kitchen, which became apparent after our third day working together. Chef banned me from all sharp objects, even though it was the slicer and not the knives that were the problem. Chef made me a poultice to cover my wounds and my forefingers were healing nicely where I had inadvertently sliced my skin off. I crossed Culinary off my mental "Who Am I?" list.

My favorite task was collecting flowers and using the copper distiller to make oils. The scent would linger in my long hair for days and make my dreams sweet. A stark contrast to the disjointed and dark nightmares I had in the hospital before coming here.

The dark path through the thick forest distorted. Where are you going? I steadied myself against a tree. Away from the Lodge. Away. Away.

The knots in the trees were like faces, watching me. Their goblenesque features judging me, disgust sneered across their wooden mouths. The branches became spindly fingers reaching for me. My legs were heavy and the grass stuck to my tights like velcro. I stumbled around in the predawn moonlight, the darkness blended and spun. I'm having a nightmare. Like I did when I was in the hospital.

Then the pain came.

An incredible forceful ache filled me. Awareness of each pulse, every tiny quiver of my cells. Like my stomach had been ripped open and my insides lay raw to the world and its stinging air. My knees buckled and my stockings tore on the ground under me. My skin, too tight to hold all the pain, cracked like mud in the desert. The grass, cold, wet my back with dew. I was a fish on shore, gasping for breath. My lungs collapsed and inflated opposite each other.

Even as my body struggled my mind was peaceful, knowing this was the end. Finally, I'm going Home. I waited for death calmly, my body already burning in the cremation oven.

A metal scraping sound drew my attention from the heat of the flames. A heaviness hit the earth next to me.

I turned my head toward the abrupt noise of dirt landing next to me.

A shirtless man in a black top hat pierced a shovel into the ground smoothly. His back glistened with sweat under the moonlight as he threw dirt to the side of the hole he was digging. Smoke billowed from a thick cigar hanging loosely between his full lips.

Another man, similar to the one digging, caught my attention when he jumped off...is that a gravestone? He removed his black hat and nodded in my direction. The shirtless man stopped shoveling and turned toward me. His friends followed his lead. A third man leaning against a tree in the distance moved a couple of steps closer. The three men flickered and faded into one.

I gasped and coughed, and tasted the blood in my mouth. I felt my organs shut down. Like spinning fans no longer turning. My legs and arms finally numbed.

The shirtless man with the cigar and top hat crouched next to me.

"I'm dying." My lips moved but no sound escaped.

His skeleton face laughed, the booming sound vibrated the ground under me.

I moaned. From pain or pleasure, I couldn't tell.

He cocked a dark eyebrow. "Always choose pleasure." He winked. His face faded from skull to flesh. At least his handsome face wasn't melting like grotesque wax. A glass of amber liquid appeared in his hand. He tossed the drink quickly down his throat and gently pushed the empty glass into the air next to him. It floated for a few seconds before disappearing along with his cigar. "I can help you-" He looked down at me, his pearly whites, teeth, and bones shining brightly. "-But it will cost you." His gaze roamed over my yellow dress.

I stared at the fading stars. Poisoned. The pain was gone. I didn't want to pay the price for my life. "I'm okay. Thank you though," barely whispered, my throat too numb to cough or speak.

The man stood up and stepped back, his surprised laugh boomed again. The whole world must feel it. "I will not dig your grave, Bosal." His hands gently touched my face. He smelled of sweet cherries and almonds.

Whose Grave then? Tears burned my eyes. Chef?

"He knew I would be here." The cigar was back and he took a deep drag filling his mouth with the smoke. He was close enough to kiss me. His strong hand gripped my jaw, keeping my mouth open. His mouth covered mine and he blew heavy smoke into me. He pulled back slowly with a kiss. "I'll see you around the Simitye."

I choked and coughed and sputtered as the smoke traveled down into my lungs, evening out their rhythm.

"You'll need this." He shoved a small glass vile in my cleavage and turned me onto my side. "You still owe me." He winked and disappeared with a hearty laugh.

The vomit burned as I threw up all over the grass next to me. For hours. I couldn't move but shiver and vomit.