Alysse Aallyn

Category: #BestRevenge

  • Animus – a ghost story by Alysse Aallyn

    SIX – FISHBABY

    Those who sleep alone risk scarifying dreams. I dreamed I’d had the baby, and it was some kind of hideous ordeal. Call it a “trauma trigger”. I came back into myself hospitalized, bandaged head to toe and in traction. At first I was so disoriented I thought I was upside down, floating on the ceiling, but the ceiling was stainless steel and it was my reflection that I saw. The nurse approached from a long way off, carrying something in stiffly held out arms. That nurse’s face was so familiar, but who was she? I had only seen my uncle’s housekeeper once so why should it be her and not merely one of those recycled faces that haunt our dreams? The bundle offered was a fish.

    I knew she expected me to reject it – call the maitre d’ it and demand a replacement, but I don’t do what people expect. Besides, it had very human eyes, big and sad, with tears woefully a-boiling in its depths. With great effort I wrenched out of my bandages and out of my traction, grabbed my baby and ran away. Obviously this was a terrible hospital, where people give birth in traction and your baby is a fish. A carp, from the look of him, and

    not the lucky kind.

    He said, “Mummy, mummy,” but whether he recognized me or commented on my bandages I couldn’t say. Hard work running through sand, because that’s where I bogged down. A bunch of golfers grabbed my baby, tossing him into the air with jeers and screams. The baby looked at me imploringly with its chocolate brown eyes, but what could I do? They had cleats and

    clubs and all I had bandages. And I was losing strength, keeping only just enough to wonder, why golfers at the seaside? They tossed my baby in the ocean but I wasn’t having it. Waded right in after him but to my shock I soon was drowning. Can’t swim in bandages. You’d think the fish would return the rescue favor, but no. He was nowhere to be seen. It seems you can’t rely on anyone.

    When a dream becomes this disgusting you know it’s past time to wake up. I was fighting my way out when I encountered Arnold’s eyes. Looking at me as if I were loathsome.

    right.

    help me.”

    “You’re all over blood,” he said. And he was I said, “That blood was our child. Help me, But it had been too late from the first. The

    hospital had a stainless steel ceiling; how could I have guessed? Time seemed to loop; there was a panic-driven moment as they wheeled me conscious right to the operating table. Is “awake till the end” the punishment for being a bad wife, bad hostess, or bad mother? Behind the anesthesiologist’s mask I thought I saw my uncle’s eyes. I was out before I could ask what “D & C” stands for. Diddled, then cauterized?

    SEVEN – HAUNTED

    Arnold was enormously relieved that I was no longer pregnant. I was enormously relieved that Stan and Willette went home. Arnold was further relieved that the satellite guy installed the dish the day of my return; I was relieved that without a special dish it seemed we could get no local stations. Bait and switch, said Arnold.

    But it meant I could pretend I was no longer here. Didn’t matter that this was my own ice floe; freely chosen. Somehow, even dead and stupid, my uncle had won and I had lost. Money meant nothing. The stupid dead had scored again.

    “We played strip poker because you went to bed so early,” Arnold defended himself. Thus the guilty flee where none pursue. “Jealousy does not become you.”

    But had I become jealousy? The better to consider this possibility I turned down the sound on the plasma TV, then finally the picture. It was more fun to watch the raindrops slide together. Raindrop sex. Boy drops and girl drops, maybe even gay drops. Meeting and joining. Becoming one.

    “You know it takes a village to maintain a marriage,” huffed Arnold. “Bartenders, bankers and stand- up comedians.”

    And pretty, pretty grad students? He didn’t say. I ignored him till he said the magic word. The magic word was “drink.”

    He said, “No reason you can’t drink now.”

    Over a baloney sandwich and a glass of Chianti I began to feel forgiving. Someday I would have to go on a diet, find out if my body was still there, but not today and not tomorrow. Percocet enhances Chianti wonderfully. Without that dualism, if you scrape away the op layer of pain, deeper pain just bubbles up from underneath.

    “I’ve seen your ghost,” said Arnold. “It’s a guy in a lumberjack shirt.”

    But he had never seen my uncle. Not even a picture. “Describe him.”

    “Hair the color of driftwood with a widow’s peak, and olive drab pants.”

    “Did he look at you? Speak to you?”

    “Looked through me. Came right into the study when I was working. I think he was looking for

    you.”

    That was just mean. Utterly uncalled for. He was punishing me for my jealousy by making all this up. Why would my uncle’s ghost appear to him? I bet Arnold read my diary while I was in the hospital, helpless. It was just the kind of thing that he would do. People without gifts batten on the bounty of others.

    “That diary is private,” I warned him. “You’re the one saying married people don’t share everything.”

    “Bet he thinks that this is his house,” mused Arnold, relentless. “Since you bought it with his money.” He rose, whistling cheerfully at freedom from the sickroom. “I’d better get back to work if I want to have something to show my agent.”

    “Leaving me, are you?”

    “Just a day trip to town on Friday. That is, if you’re feeling better.”

    He didn’t bother to invite me. Me, who had done so much for him!

    “You be careful,” I threatened, “You’ve got “Not me,” he sneered. “I’m a modernist.” Could it possibly be that easy? If

    “modernists” were truly ghost-blind, maybe you need a conscience to see ghosts. He should at least be haunted by his fishbaby. Find the meaning, the challenge was always the same. Without meaning everything’s just another trauma trigger. What do refrigerators and meatsafes have in common? They slow down time. If Time truly has no meaning, don’t you see? It means we are free. We always have been free.

    I climbed out of bed, awkward because my limbs still belonged to someone else, and checked my underpants. No blood. Maybe all my blood was gone. If I was a ghost that explained everything. Arnold couldn’t see me because he was a modernist. So it was up to me to tell him what we all had suffered. Being ghostly gave me such a rush of power I finally understood how hard it is for them to leave.

    I took time to gather flies’ wings as I walked. Little boys tear the wings off flies; ask anybody. I thought they’d stir to life beneath my hands, but they stayed dead, so perhaps they’re only unshed tears. I’m a beginner at this. What do I know?

    I pushed open the door to Arnold’s study. There was a bad smell in there and it was Arnold. He hummed Wagner as he worked; a classic song of triumph. On the wall were blow-ups of my diary, in my private, loopy handwriting, my private, private words. Tabloid articles he’d pasted to the wallpaper; “Mom Kills Twelve”; “Satan in Miami”, “BatBoy takes a Bride”.

    The wallpaper was so beautiful in this room; it was the best in the house; a Morris pattern of leaves and mulberries and I hadn’t grudged it. It was priceless, probably irreplaceable; and this what I get. Anger postponed becomes rage and rage is truly liberating. I picked up the scissors from a pile of newspapers. Stupidly he’d placed his desk in the window embrasure, allowing me to walk up behind him. “Modernists” are ignorant of fear.

    “So what’s it called?” Peeking over his shoulder.

    He jumped a mile, scampering to close and save, frantic, busy, ineffective. But the printout lay right next to him. MOODY BITCH SEEKS KIND, CONSIDERATE MAN. I laughed because it was funny.

    “It’s a comedy,” he said defensively.

    “Aren’t I laughing?” I agreed. The cold fire that doesn’t burn consumed me. I opened my fist to shower unshed tears along his keyboard and he saw the scissors. He went so white. I loved that finally he saw me as someone to fear. Now I knew what turned my uncle on. I opened my mouth to speak but my uncle’s dust boiled out of me and I can’t remember what I tried to say.

    That I had bled and now it was his turn? That it only hurts for the first five seconds? That the living are as deserving as the dead? I should have told him it’s the little things…the glasses of wine, the band-aids, the unshed tears – still breaths of life that spark the dying air; these are agents of the dead rescinding time and looping it backwards. Back towards them. Because time’s the thing they’re so jealous of, the only precious thing that we have left.

  • Animus – a ghost story by Alysse Aallyn

    FOUR – IS THAT YOU?

    The phone man said the best that we could get was a party line. No real privacy – ever. I was dumbfounded. “There’s no real privacy on them other lines neither,” said Mr. Sterling, the phone man. “You just think there is.”

    “Don’t sweat it,” Arnold told me, right in the phone man’s presence. “We’ll get our phone through the Internet like all sane people. The land line is only for emergencies.”

    Sometimes when the phone rang we weren’t supposed to answer it because it wasn’t our “ring”. Maybe Arnold can ignore a ringing phone: I can’t. Especially if it goes off in the middle of the night. No counting a “ring pattern” there – not with the echoes of sleep rattling through your head.

    “Who could be calling at this hour?” I demanded of my husband. Rhetorically.

    But he said, “Cows. Bears.” In his dream or on the phone?

    As usual it was up to me to answer it. “Hello?” I quavered.
    A sharp intake of breath but no one spoke. I

    had played this game before. Could we have brought our own ghosts with us?

    ‘That you, Gayle?” I boldly inquired. “Just checking up on us? We’re fine. The baby’s fine. Arnold says hi.”

    155 – Awake Till the End – Stories by Alysse Aallyn

    It was only afterwards that I wondered if the caller was my uncle’s “housekeeper”. The unpaid one he swore would be compensated in his will. Who else would be angry enough to hound us? And there was always the possibility that it was my uncle himself, wanting to complain about the way I’d spent his money. It would be just like the stupid dead to initiate calls they can’t complete.

    FIVE – MEATSAFE

    Our first visitors came when before we were ready (as visitors will). Before the cable was connected. Willette had streaked her hair with an unbecoming dissipated rock star red which, considering her coal black eyebrows and pointed chin made her resemble Sarah Bernhardt in her coffin. She had two legs, however. Willette had always been High Maintenance. Compared with her, Stan, a little plumper, somewhat balder now, seemed refreshingly cooperative and easily amused. In honor of our upstate move he wore a sweaters with a vaguely Chistmassy theme.

    “Snowflakes! Moose!” he genially exclaimed. “What’s not to like?”

    “You’re not missing anything in the city,” said Willette. “We’ve been burgled.”

    take?”
    Stan.
    “Better glasses don’t help.”

    “Omigod,” I sympathized, “What did they “A Cuisinart and my reading glasses,” said “Those instructions are rough,” I agreed.

    “We told the cops to be on the lookout for a bandit with severe left eye astigmatism,” Stan joked.

    “Not that they’ll look,” said Willette gloomily. “They never do.”

    “Until the guy kills somebody,” agreed Arnold.

    “They don’t even care about that now,” asserted Willette. “They bargain murders down to “accidents” just to skew their crime statistics. Fighting crime from a desk chair.”

    “Nice work if you can get it,” echoed Arnold, a sociable host refilling wineglasses.

    They had been stuck in traffic so we were dining at nine-thirty, a distinct hardship for anyone with my raging metabolism. I had eaten the cheese and crackers all by myself and was forced to smack together some distinctly unappetizing crudités. Zucchini slices with sour cream, anyone? Fortunately it didn’t matter. They wanted dinner and dinner itself hardly mattered because the dining room was so dark. Without windows, but six doors, there were constant and mysteriously unaccountable drafts; the candles slanting first one way and then the other. Over Martel and coffee conversation languished. No Martel for me. No wine. I was trying to be good. Trying to be good does not a dinner party make.

    “I know,” I roused myself. “Let’s play

    Icicle.”


    “Icicle?” they all wanted to know. “How do you play that?”

    “One person hides and everyone goes looking for him. When you find him you have to squeeze in as close as you can get. Last person left is the icicle.”

    “That’s sardines!” scoffed Arnold. “I’ve played that.”

    But Willette was intrigued. “Good game for this house,” she said. “We’ll find cubbyholes and corners even you haven’t seen.”

    “I’m warning you, I’m the world-class champion sardines player,” said Stan. “I once won hanging for an hour in a garment bag.”

    With a challenge like that, he had to go first.

    “Basement off limits!” shouted Arnold. “It’s dangerous down there.” Was that an implied waiver of danger elsewhere? We listened to his footfalls clatter up the stairs and wander overhead.

    “Sounds like there are three of him,” said Willette. Of course we weren’t bothering to count.

    “I wouldn’t be surprised,” I teased. “Real estate agent says this house is haunted.”

    Willette seemed unintimidated. Stan I could have impressed.

    “Our refrigerator tried to eat the delivery man,” said Arnold, getting into the spirit. “Both recovered and doing fine.”

    “And there’s kind of a bad smell coming from Arnold’s study.” I suggested.

    Arnold gave me A Look. Ooo, snap! Talk about burning with a cold fire! I pulled out the Big Guns. “Oswald Pewlett saw a fireball.”

    “I feel a fireball coming on myself,” said Arnold, shaking the empty Martel bottle.

    “Maybe it’s an animus.” said Willette. “You know, like a malignant spirit that attaches itself to unfinished business.”

    I didn’t know. Upstairs a door slammed. Hard. We took that as a starter’s pistol. I let the others rush straight upstairs, elbowing each other like a middle- school recess, pretended at first to follow, then ducking behind a door.

    World Champion Stan could not make it this easy for us, not even in an unfamiliar house. If it was me I would make a lot of noise going up the front stairs and then sneak quietly down the back. How he slammed that door I don’t know, but it doesn’t sound difficult with our drafts. If you balanced something on it and opened a window…

    Outside had to be off-limits. I heard an unpleasant rustling in the rhododendrons. Think far enough outside the box, fall off the edge. I allowed myself to be seduced by the kitchen broom closet. It’s as narrow as an ironing board but runs the depth of the room, thus making an ideal crawlspace. And there was someone in there. I could hear him breathing. “Is that you, Stan?”

    The shadow rippled towards me. “I’ve missed you, Sharl.” That could have been my sigh, me just talking to myself. But then the voice spoke unmistakably and said the most surprising thing: “Time has no meaning.”

    That’s not a message I would ever give myself, and it was my uncle’s voice, I swear it. I backed out in a panic, slammed the door so hard the doorknob fell off. The ghost was locked in, ha ha. Serves him right for refusing to play dead.

    Willette and Arnold were upstairs together, looking equal parts smug and guilty. Like I couldn’t figure out what was going on. And they couldn’t say exactly where they’d searched. “Please yourselves,” I yawned. Maybe if I found Stan, he would show a sudden yen for pregnant women. Unlike everybody else.

    “He’s not downstairs,” I declared, so it was time to inspect the attic. My flashlight revealed footprints in the dust along the steps. I pursued a faint tapping sound. In the dark, Stan had locked himself in the old meatsafe. Dumb place to hide! And he wasn’t happy about it. Like it was our fault. Willette, feeling a bit one down after the exposure of her skirmishes with Arnold, seized advantage like a wolverine protecting its mate.

    “What if he had an asthma attack!”

    Then you’d be a merry widow, I thought. But honest Stan said, “I don’t have asthma.”

    “But an experience like that could give it to you,” said Willette. “Trauma triggers, they call it. “Traumatic inception”. Someone needs to take that door

    off at the hinges.”

    mandarin .”

    “Don’t look at me,” said Arnold. “I’m a

    The game was over. “Maybe in the morning,” I told Willette. “I’m gravid and I need my sleep.”

    When Arnold finally came to bed – could Stan possibly have agreed to a threesome? I refused to let him in. “You’re the icicle,” I told him.

  • Animus – a ghost story by Alysse Aallyn

    TWO – THE OLD CHASE PLACE

    When I discovered one house on the list was haunted I gave the real estate agent no rest until he took me there. Honestly I had to do that man’s job for him. It was raining so heavily that morning that his car was like a bathysphere.

    “I want to at least look at it. Cheer up; if there are leaks we’re sure to see them.”

    “That’s it.” The agent still seemed very depressed as he reached for his golf umbrella. “It’s been empty fourteen years. No modernization whatever.”

    Better and better. The bathrooms and kitchens I’d been seeing were like lip-sticked hogs in toe- shoes. There might even be original paneling. Peering out of the window I could see nothing through the darkening rain. “What’s it haunted by?”

    I saw his wattles quiver in battle with his chin. Was I interfering with the real estate agent’s code?

    “Various things.” Unadroitly he tried changing the subject and actually selling. “It has a view of the river. And it’s a real bargain.”

    “Like what things?” Not reaching for my own umbrella or putting up my hood might tempt disclosure. I saw him wondering he could talk me out of going further.

    (Sigh) “Oswald Pewlett saw a fireball.”

    I was entranced! Had he searched his memory for the spectre least likely to queer a deal? “There

    was a fire?”

    He hastened to reassure. “A green fire.cold fire that doesn’t burn.”

    A Delicious! I had to see it now! I pulled

    galoshes over my ivory heels. “Let’s go!”

    Perched above the road, the house was reached by a corkscrew of steps. The porch was an addition, so it was full of leaks, but the house was solid as a rock. Silent. High ceilinged. Original paneling. One bathroom for seven bedrooms, a marvelous thirties kitchen with no appliances, and a single light bulb in the exact center of every ceiling. This could be fun.

    The real estate agent ensconced himself by the library window with its view of the river and refused to go upstairs. “I’ve seen it,” he said, pulling his fishing hat down over his ears as if assaulted by inner rain.

    Upstairs there was no fireball, but the floors were littered with little glittery shards that turned out to be flies’ wings. No flies, mind you, only their wings. Thrifty spiders, I suppose who dine on all but isinglass. Is that how fairy legends started, I wondered. Fairy wings and flies’ wings – hard to tell the difference. I’m on the side of spiders. They can have all the flies they want.

    And that’s how I bought The Old Chase Place.

    THREE – DELIVER US

    I should never have told Arnold the place was haunted, but I couldn’t resist bragging. “It has everything,” I sang.

    “Air-conditioning too, so it seems,” he groused. He was always out to ruin my good time.

    “That’s just the wind off the river. A natural chill factor. And real oak, too.”

    “I’m not complaining.” He couldn’t help but warm to so much wood. In the city everything is “faux”. Alas the rooms were rather small, and in strange juxtaposition. Not a rich man’s house, you wouldn’t say, but perhaps the warren of a worrier.

    “This will be my study,” said Arnold. He chose the one room in the house that still had a working fireplace – the others had been fitted with hideous stovepipes. But I didn’t argue, because at last he was smiling.

    We were having a picnic lunch when the Sears truck drove up with the appliances. I didn’t see the accident because in my condition, meals are serious events. If I’m going to spend all morning nauseated then I’m going to spend all afternoon eating. (And all evening sleeping it off.) So when Arnold rose to show the hirelings what a forceful homeowner he could be, I pulled the fried chicken bucket closer.

    When I heard a crunch and a hoarse cry I did run to the window. The ramp had fallen off the steps, tossing the refrigerator and pinning a delivery man. His mouth was open – I could see blood – and he was gasping for air. He reminded me of the fish my uncle caught on his

    many unsporting ventures into the wild. He loved watching creatures die. He once presented me with a still- beating fish heart, saying, “It’s only the stupidest that go on living after they are really dead.” The fish, the headless running chickens — I guess the joke was on them, if they didn’t know they were dead. But the delivery man was not dead; we all affirmed the fact.

    There was a flurry of activity while the driver jumped into the truck to call for help – we didn’t have a phone yet and cell phones don’t work out here. The fire and rescue truck arrived after about ten minutes to take over. Arnold had to help the second delivery man move in the appliance. “Get a camera,” he hissed.

    He wanted me to take pictures of the ramp and the steps to show, although our porch was in sorry condition, it was the ramp anchoring that was at fault (them) and not the steps (us). That’s because it’s so important in life to figure out whose fault everything is.

    “He’ll be all right,” I offered. “He had a lot of meat on him.”

    “Jesus, Sharl,” said Arnold, “I heard his bones go crunch.” And that was the end of that picnic.

    At least I had a brand new oven, refrigerator, dishwasher and washer/dryer. I went back to applying the coat of dark green paint to make the room picture-perfect. Hunter green for Hunter (boy or girl); a super-infant guaranteed to make all his mother’s dreams come true.

  • Animus – a ghost story by Alysse Aallyn

    Animus ONE – DEAD & BURIED


    Andrew looked up from the Food section of the Sunday Times. “Did he jump out of his coffin and give everybody the finger?”


    “No.” I sat down on a Brazilian leather cube impersonating a chair. “He left me a lot of money.”


    That made Arnold sit up straight. Finally I had produced something worthy to compete with three- melon risotto. “How much?”


    “A lot.” Two beats. “All of it.”


    I hadn’t seen Arnold this excited in a long time. “This is the uncle we never once went to visit, even though he only lived in New Rochelle?”


    “He’s the one.”


    “And there are a lot of other relatives…” I saw the penny drop. “Is this the same guy who used to feel you up when you were little?”


    “He’s the one.”


    Arnold whistled. “Wow!” he said, “Break out the champagne! Let’s drink to old fashioned Calvinist
    guilt!”

    But I couldn’t drink. “There’s an unpaid

    housekeeper who says she’ll sue.” I tried dismissing that

    ugly scene from my mind. But ugly scenes don’t go so
    easily.


    “Screw her,” he laughed, “Doubtless the old man did. To the one who got away!” he snorkled. “With…” drum-roll on the glass coffee table… “all the money!”


    “I could split it with her,” I said thoughtfully. “Except that I need it all.” And if I divorced Arnold, I’d have to split it with him.


    His eyes narrowed over my unusual decisiveness. “Sounds like you’ve made a plan.”


    “I have. I’m pregnant and I’m moving.”


    He rose to pursue me to the kitchen. I was the pursued one now.


    “Rich? Pregnant? Moving?” He banged his palm against his chest. “It’s a lot to handle for one afternoon. Where are you going, oh helpmeet?”


    “Upstate. The country.” There was no champagne. Of course not. There had been nothing to celebrate for so, so long. I poured us each an apple juice. “You could come with.” Two beats. “But you’d have to give up your girlfriend.”


    Surprise! I saw him try to toss it off and keep on dancing. “What’s that? Getting jealous are we? Symptomatic of your condition?”


    “Gayle.” I leaned forward, giving back the name. “She sent me such a charming letter.” In which she stated her utter non-comprehension of why the moody bitch wouldn’t just step aside and let the poor, kind,
    considerate man go free. Ugh. Apple juice is disgustingly sweet. I’ve never understood how adults can covet the provinces of children. Poor little sugar addicts, they are ruined before they start. I tried adding powdered tea from a mix. Still bad. The no-liquor lifestyle is a tough sell.


    He was sputtering like a damp firecracker. But it was not Arnold’s turn to speak.


    “Screwing students is the beginning of the end for a teacher. You’re lucky she notified me and not the superintendent.”


    Unfortunately I could always read Arnold’s mind. He really needs to get some more interesting thoughts. I saw him deciding he’d better stop aimless denial until confronted with the evidence against him.


    “Why upstate?” he bartered, testing me. “Why not, say, Europe?”


    “Because,” I answered, “I like to get something for my money.” That alone made me my uncle’s worthy heir. Glittering silver dollars lit the darkened rooms of memory. I persisted — for I’m nothing if not persistent — “Haven’t you heard of the curse of the lottery winner? They spend it all and then some. I want a property I can buy outright – debt-free.” Wouldn’t it be heaven owing nobody nothing?


    He toddled toward the window on his be- jeaned insect legs. He looks much better in big-boy pants. Was he trying to imagine life without me? Or without New York? So I sealed the deal with a siren song. “You could finish your screenplay…”

  • Cold Huntsman – a short story by Alysse Aallyn

    Amy liked Aunt Petra from the moment she first met her, because Aunt Petra was the only

    grown-up who understood about the ghost room.

    It was Amy who carried Aunt Petra’s suitcase up the stairs and showed her into the Blue

    Room, because Amy’s mother was busy with lunch.

    “I wonder why they didn’t put me in the ghost room,” said the guest, not even looking around her cheery boudoir before flinging herself on the bed and wrapping herself like a caterpillar in her paisley

    pashmina.

    Amy’s heart beat faster. “How did you know?” she gasped. Aunt Petra hadn’t even toured the house. The door to the ghost room was always closed and as directed, Amy had tried to scuttle past without

    glancing in its direction.

    “It felt cold, for one thing,” said Aunt Petra. “Several degrees colder than the rest of the

    house. Brrr.“ She shivered. “I’m still cold.”

    “Mom says it’s the furthest from the furnace,” Amy told her, “But when we put in an electric

    heater it kept shorting out.”

    Aunt Petra laughed. “Never heard yet of a ghost who mastered electricity, but I’m prepared to

    believe it’s possible.”

    82 – Awake Till the End – Stories by Alysse Aallyn

    That’s when Amy decided she liked Aunt Petra so much. She offered, since her aunt didn’t appear to be moving “Would you like me to unpack for

    you?”

    “That would be wonderful,” said her aunt, so Amy opened the suitcase. Clothes and books and cartons of cigarettes and pill bottles were just thrown in haphazardly, but Amy took things out carefully one by one, folded them the way her mother had taught her. She

    gave each category of item its own drawer in the highboy.

    “I see you have a scientific mind like your father,” Aunt Petra commented. “Would you please hand over those cigarettes?” As soon as she had them in

    hand she lit one and puffed on it fiercely.

    “I’m going to be an artist,” objected Amy, although she wasn’t supposed to correct or even “talk back” to adults, which meant never pointing out they were obviously wrong. Then, “Mother says those things

    will kill you.”

    “Everything kills you,” sighed her aunt. “Everything, everything. You’ve got to take your pick.” She coughed heavily. “Allow me to serve as a bad

    example.”
    swinging her feet, and reverted to the subject she really

    Amy sat on the slipper chair, wanted to discuss. “There’s the smell,” she offered.

    Aunt Petra looked at her floral cigarette in surprise so Amy elaborated, “In the ghost room. We washed it down in disinfectant and Mother had the rat man in but there was no getting rid of it. It comes

    and goes.”

    83 – Awake Till the End – Stories by Alysse Aallyn

    ”Very interesting,” said Petra in her drawling voice. “This will allow us to identify the ghostly

    presence. What exactly does it smell like?”
    Amy considered. A question she

    had never been asked before. “Dirty feet.”

    “Ah,” said Petra. “I recognize that one. It’s the stench of neglect. Neglect and consequent

    regret. Truthfully, do you go in there often?”

    And although Amy had been forbidden to enter the room if she was going to insist on talking about the ghost, she liked Aunt Petra so much she

    answered honestly. “Yes.”
    “So have you seen this ghost?”

    Amy nodded gravely. “And you, Aunt Petra? Have you ever seen a ghost?”

    “No,” said Aunt Petra, “I never have and I never will. Some people are gifted one way and some another.” She stubbed out her cigarette in the water glass Amy’s mother had thoughtfully provided for quite another purpose. Amy was too surprised by the revelation that you could believe in ghosts without ever seeing one to notice. Aunt Petra was certainly a strange species of grownup. So Amy asked, “But why would you want to

    believe in ghosts? I mean if you didn’t have to?”

    “When you get older you’ll find it very nice to believe that life doesn’t come to a full stop just because we’re no longer physically around,” her aunt responded. “Anyone over thirty is already a big fan of

    84 – Awake Till the End – Stories by Alysse Aallyn

    second chances.” She smoked. ‘And third and fourth. Infinite chances are very attractive.”

    “Well Mother doesn’t believe in ghosts. She took me to the doctor.” Amy hated the fat doctor whose fingers smelled of penicillin. He was only good for shots. And sure enough, he gave her a vitamin shot. Vitamin B12 to cure her of ghosts. Amy had been afraid it would work, but of course it didn’t. Thinking about it, she ran her finger thoughtfully around the rim of

    the empty suitcase.

    “Know what’s especially amazing about it all?” asked Petra. “Your mother was half your age

    when she saw her first ghost.”

    me!”

    Amy squealed incredulously. “Tell

    “Well, our high school was right next to the kindergarten and so I always walked your mother home after class. And one day my appendix burst right in the middle of gym – I was rushed to the hospital but in the excitement everyone forgot about your mother completely. She waited until it was dark and then she tried walking home alone. She said this dog – she described him perfectly with his long droopy ears and the spot to the right of his nose – was following her. And he had such a friendly face he gave her courage. She knew he wouldn’t allow anything bad to happen to her. Then when

    she got home he disappeared.”
    Amy jumped up and down in her

    excitement. “And the dog was a ghost?”

    “It was my dog Peanut who died long before your mother was even born. We had no pictures of him and we never talked about him, so how

    85 – Awake Till the End – Stories by Alysse Aallyn

    could she have known? I wished I could have been the one to see him but I was grateful to him for walking her home. I liked thinking he was there.”

    “You should tell her she saw a ghost,” insisted Amy. “She doesn’t even know!”

    “Oh, you know your mother,” said Petra comfortably. “She wouldn’t believe either of us. We should give thanks instead for her practical head. Look at this beautiful room. And I know in advance that dinner

    will be delicious and healthy.”
    Amy cared not a fig for house-

    keeping. “I wish our ghost was a dog.”
    “Tell me all about him.” Aunt Petra

    fixed her niece with a bright, beady stare.

    “He’s an old man in a rocking chair. The rocking chair’s a ghost, too. He sits with a finger in the Bible, looking out the window at the frozen pond. He

    never ever looks at me. Not once.”

    “Maybe you’re a ghost to him,” said Petra. “What’s he look like?”

    “He has white hair brushed straight up. And overalls. And boots with big looping laces that touch the floor. And his face is all wrinkly. His earlobes

    dangle almost to his shoulders.”

    “I can just see him,” said Petra. “Doesn’t he ever read the Bible? Just looks at the pond? I

    wonder if I know what he’s thinking.”

    86 – Awake Till the End – Stories by Alysse Aallyn

    “I don’t see how you could.” Did ghosts have thoughts? Amy was astonished.

    “He’s probably thinking he’s useless and his life is over. Wanting to jump right into that pond

    but afraid of what will happen.”

    “He must have jumped if he’s a “Maybe he regrets it.”
    “He ought to go to heaven with the

    ghost,” said Amy.
    rest of the spirits and stop bothering us,” said Amy

    heatedly.
    the doorway. “Let Aunt Petra rest before dinner. She’s had

    a long trip.”
    said Amy, and Aunt Petra backed her up.

    “Maybe we should tell him that.” “Amy!” Amy’s mother appeared in

    “I wasn’t bothering her, honest,”

    “We were having a wonderful talk.”

    Downstairs her mother gave Amy a hug. “I know Petra wishes she had a little girl like you.”

    “Well, why doesn’t she get one?”

    Amy’s mother tapped a wooden spoon uncomfortably against her left cheek. “You know

    mothers need a daddy to make a baby.”

    “Well, why doesn’t she get one of those?” It was terrible the way grownups acted powerless

    all the time when they had all the power in the world.

    87 – Awake Till the End – Stories by Alysse Aallyn

    “Because she looks like hell warmed over,” said Amy’s father, sitting at the kitchen table with

    his newspaper.
    “Marriage isn’t just about looks!”

    “Bob!” barked Amy’s mother. “She acts snarky and superior too,”

    said Amy’s dad. “Nobody likes that.”

    “But you want me to be superior,” argued Amy. “You put me in the advanced class and made

    me skip second grade.”
    “Just know you are superior without

    acting that way,” said her father, confusingly.

    Amy didn’t believe him for a minute. Aunt Petra was so easy to talk to she could probably explain to Amy the most puzzling problem of all: the difference between insides and outsides. How come people looked one way and felt another? In the following days she hung around her aunt, who never chased Amy away or acted bored by her company. She was the first to

    tell Amy that her name meant “Loved.”

    “The one who is loved. Could there be a better name? That says it all. My name means

    “stone”.”
    change it,” said Amy. Aunt Petra was the one always

    “If you don’t like it you should saying life was all about choice.

    “Some things you’re stuck with,” said Petra. “Some things you can fix. It takes a lot of living

    to tell the difference.”

    88 – Awake Till the End – Stories by Alysse Aallyn

    Of course she wanted Amy to take her to the ghost room. Aunt Petra told her sister that the light was just right for watercolors and so Amy’s mother allowed a special dispensation. At the doorway Aunt Petra halted, spread her arms and chanted,“Cold Huntsman,

    depart, take your knife from out my heart.”

    Cold Huntsman?”

    Amy was impressed. “Who’s the

    “The Cold Huntsman is Death,” said Petra. “It was just something we used to say when we were children, going anywhere scary. It’s a big help when passing graveyards by the light of the moon. It must have worked because I’m still here. Let me know when the

    ghost comes back.”

    Amy considered it a lot more exciting to be a child in the olden days, walking by yourself to school and strolling past graveyards by the light of the moon. No one she knew was allowed to get away with anything like that now. Parents seemed to

    assume everything was fatal

    Gratefully she offered, “Would you like me to paint a picture of you?”

    “I would love that.”
    “It will be a picture of your insides,”

    said Amy, “because I can’t do people’s outsides yet.”

    “Better and better,” said Petra. “It’s just my insides that I care about. How can one girl get so

    lucky?”

    Aunt Petra was the perfect model, because all she wanted was to lie there. So Amy drew her with a face like the sun. Then one day the ghost came back.

    89 – Awake Till the End – Stories by Alysse Aallyn

    “He’s there,” she told Aunt Petra through chattering teeth. It was colder than it had ever been, and she felt a deep sense of horror, like she had

    somehow made things worse.

    Petra sat right up and threw off her pashmina. “I’m going to tell him he can go,” she said.

    “Leave us.”

    Amy waited in Petra’s room in an agony of excitement. When Aunt Petra finally returned her face was gray with exhaustion. She threw herself on the

    bed.

    “He’s gone,” she said.

    “Did you see him?”

    “I didn’t need to see him, I could feel him. I went and stood in his place right by the window.

    Where he must have been sitting.”
    “You must have made him so

    angry,” whispered Amy. “Was he the Cold Huntsman?”

    “No. The Cold Huntsman had come and gone. I told him what he chose was the right thing and everyone else forgave him so we wanted him to forgive

    himself.”

    “And then?”
    “And then he went away. I think for

    good. I hope so. We’ll see.”

    “Let’s tell Mom!”

    Amy jumped wildly up and down.

    90 – Awake Till the End – Stories by Alysse Aallyn

    But Petra made herself very small, under her shawl on the big bed. “When you grow up you will learn there are some things you can never tell

    anybody.”

    After Aunt Petra left the ghost didn’t come back. The room warmed up and the stink went away. Amy’s mom wouldn’t let Amy move her bed in there, but she was allowed to put her art table in the ghost’s place, under the window. Petra was right; the ghost had sat in the very best light. Amy was working there one day when she had the funniest feeling. She turned around and there was

    Aunt Petra, lying under a shawl on the bed, eyes closed. Amy burst through the kitchen door

    wailing. “Aunt Petra’s dead!”

    Her mother’s face was stained with tears. “I should have told you,” she sobbed, “but I didn’t

    know the best way. How on earth did you guess?”

    But although Amy was a long way from grown up she had finally learned that there are some

    things you can never tell anybody.

  • Rough Sleep – the Last Scene – play by Alysse Aallyn

    CORSO’s voice

    I stand at the ready to assist my adorable Jazz.

    SCENE XVI – JAZZ’S DORM ROOM

    (Ordinary dorm room with desk lights, two twin beds, built ins. JAZZ feels her body as if to reassure herself that it’s still there. CORSO – bare-chested – is sitting on one of the beds, studying a laptop)

    CORSO

    Lose something?

    JAZZ

    I lost everything. What are you doing here?

    CORSO

    Installing fun software. You seem distraught – your mood begs improvement. Come over here into the light and let me look at you. 

    JAZZ

    I’m not distraught, I’m disgusted. Hey, that’s my laptop.

    CORSO

    Nothing human disgusts. Take it from me, you’re going to love your new social media interface.

    JAZZ

    The thing that disgusted me wasn’t human.  Is your software a game?

    CORSO

    Everything worth doing devolves into game. As your administrator, I’m in charge of upgrades. We’ll do Mr. Quinn next. Any idea where he’s been hiding?

    JAZZ

    Stevie Farrell, din’t you mean? How did you get in here?

    CORSO

    I’m loco parentis, poor, suspicious little Jazz, just checking up. You’ve been keeping such bad company. And Stevie’s not the worst of it – there’s a prowler around campus who seems to have it in for you. Let’s hope it’s not too late to put your feet on a better course.

    JAZZ

    I’m leaving if you’re not.

                               CORSO

    Poor Jazz, what can we do to mitigate these fears?

                               JAZZ

                      (Throws herself impulsively on the other bed)

    I’m not afraid of you. 

    CORSO

    I see we have much work ahead.

    JAZZ

    (She finds his shirt – reacts like it’s infectious and throws it at him)

    Why can’t you keep your clothes on?

    CORSO

    (Catching the shirt effortlessly)

    Stevie and I were very informal; I was hoping we could be informal too.  I gather he confessed his proclivities to you?

    JAZZ

    I heard a lot about how you can’t be trusted.

    CORSO

    Credulous Jazz! We must teach you discernment. Education is challenge, not safety or comfort – I strengthen minds and bodies to appreciate, manipulate and surmount reality. Recreate your own world. If you don’t want those things, then you’re fodder like the rest of them.

     (fans himself with the shirt)

    These rooms are very hot.  Do you know the trick to opening these windows? Aren’t you feeling overdressed? 

    JAZZ

    I saw your game.

    CORSO

    I borrowed bodies that weren’t being used! And aren’t you the better for it?  Restful sleep, interesting dreams, AND a paycheck, now there’s a deal. I’ll throw in little Stevie to be your guide.

    JAZZ

    How can we converse when you pervert language?  You pervert language and ideas. You pervert bodies.

    CORSO

    Debate’s not your forte, Jazz. I can assist with that. You entered this room requesting an upgrade in your selective amnesia. It’s something we all must have, otherwise none of us could function. I can help you control it.

    JAZZ

    If it comes from you, I don’t want it.

    CORSO

    Poor little Jazz! Who could you be channeling – me or him? Or perhaps it’s that desperado asking everyone for scuttlebutt? 

    JAZZ

    I went with the flow till the flow tried to drown me. I’m becoming my own person.

    CORSO

    All freshmen think that. Is the real Jazz so robotic? You used to be so much more fun. You were quite the adventurer.

    (laughs)

    Let’s laugh together. Why so serious? 

     (mimes a ridiculously pulled down clown face)

    Life unlocks all its secret pleasures once you master the key.

    CHASE

    (Bursts into the room)

    Is the key murder?  Soul murder, followed by physical murder to make sure the souls stay dead?

    (JAZZ vaults to her feet, they hug, obviously drawing strength from one another)

                               CHASE

    Stand up, you bastard.

    CORSO

    Oh, can the paranoia, little Steve. Victimology is so limiting. Jazz and I aren’t involved, if that’s what’s bothering you. We share a strictly business relationship. There’s room for you, too if you down your tools of self-destruction.

                      (Rises imposingly. He’s bigger than CHASE)

    CHASE

    We have all the proof we need.  You can’t get away with it.

    JAZZ

    The bodies are piling up.

                               CORSO

    But they long to pile, and not feel guilty! Everyone wants to be a porn star!

    CHASE

    We know what you did.

    CORSO

    What a shame, then, that you felt the need to mime unconsciousness. When will feel your feelings and live your truth? Isn’t that what youth is all about?

    JAZZ

    Being drugged isn’t truth!

    CORSO

    Yet you – both of you – acceded to all of it. Names along the bottom line. The law says you’re adults.

    JAZZ

    I know what you did is illegal!

    CORSO

    Fashion to law, little Jazz, and with such startling speed!  Too bad the law is amorphous, the law’s in transition, it’s a creature of fashion just as you were. Things that were illegal last year are perfectly legal today. People go to court and bankrupt themselves to “win” – ask your sad friend – but the law doesn’t help them feel they have won. They spend the rest of their lives trying to recapture the glow of surrender.

    CHASE

    You are vile and despicable – everything about you is saturated with evil.

    CORSO

    I see that you two have made loserdom your bond.  It’s so unhealthy, all this focus on the past. You could enjoy both youth and wealth, but you consciously choose misery. Let’s try ratiocination for a change. Who gives benefits and who gives problems? Haven’t I made all your tiny dreams come true?  You can have Mr. Quinn if you want him, Jazz, anyone can. Now let’s concentrate on upgrading these immature fantasies.

    CHASE

    What if we tell the Dean?

    CORSO

    Who, Bernie? I’m sure you’ll find Bernie doesn’t expect me to police my students’ very randy sex and dream lives.  Bernie and I understand each other perfectly. People love porn, everyone wants an avatar and to feel like a creator.  Let’s consecrate all this blood and shit to transcendental purposes.

    JAZZ

    You use words you can’t understand. We’re soulmates. We’ve seen worlds of possibility, of universe and time.

    CORSO

    You’re welcome!

    JAZZ

    You’ll never know what we can do.

    CORSO

    Pretty sure I can guess. Everything except freedom?

    CHASE

    Your freedom is all fake. You’re nothing but an appetite.  All you create are slaves.

    CORSO

    Oh. Slaves! In a limitless universe, slaves are no fun at all. It’s such a bore always having to direct.

    (fanning himself)

    Jazz, how can you tolerate this hideous heat? I know there’s a trick to these windows.  

    (Successfully opens window)

    Stevie, get us a drink. Let’s sit down and talk this over like grownups.  

    CHASE

    Not a chance.

    (BEX appears spot-lit on the TOWER LIFT, scanning with his binoculars, holding his shotgun at the ready. He sights his quarry & racks his slide)

    JAZZ

    Look out the window, Dr. Corso.

    (She pulls CHASE away)

    Tell me what you see.

    CORSO

    (Peering)

    Who’s out there, Jazz? Bile stained, piss stained revenants skulking home for parietals? 

    (BEX climbs awkwardly out on the tower lift, hooking his leg, trying to get a good shot)

    CORSO

    (Waves out at the world)

    Run home, little oneironauts! Your memory cards expired!

    (JAZZ grabs CHASE and pulls him to the floor. Shots ring out. CORSO, looks down at his chest as red stains bloom across his back. Plummets slowly out through the window. Recoil causes BEXto lose his footing – drop his gun – throw his arms up – cry out – fall)

                      JAZZ

    Set a demon to catch a demon!

    CHASE

    May the aspirations of murderers always overreach.

    JAZZ

    And those of lovers override.

    CHASE

    Time to free the others? Whether they like it or not?

    JAZZ

    Kiss me.

    (They kiss. Sacred music, pink glitter. DARKNESS.  FINAL CURTAIN)

    END

  • Rough Sleep – a play by Alysse Aallyn

     SCENE XV – STAGE APRON 

    CHASE

    This can’t be real, Jazz. It isn’t real. It’s some planet we’re not on.

    JAZZ

    But it makes perfect sense. It answers all the questions. You know in your heart that was his plan all along.

    CHASE

    It can’t be real because my Mom is dead. Years ago. She killed herself the first Christmas I didn’t come home.

    JAZZ

    (Keeps trying to go back)

    But I saw her. I We were there. How can it not be true?

    (He tries to hug her – she resists)

    Don’t touch me! I don’t feel like touching ever again.

    (CHASE sits on the edge of the stage)

    CHASE

    Corso loves games – he’s always up for the latest thing. He can even claim he told us! We fell for it like puppies jumping for a biscuit.

    JAZZ

    So that part’s real? Our sex archetypes all over the cloud?

    CHASE

    Sexsomnia is real. He was way ahead of me.

    (beat)

    I should have guessed. It’s always the worst thing he can think of. Welcome to my nightmare.  

    JAZZ

    I don’t want details.

    CHASE

    But we need to see – Everyone needs to see – just how the magician operates.

    JAZZ

    You’re right – magic is the important thing. There was magic all along, in spite of Corso.

    CHASE

    All he cares about it is cash and control. He honed the perfect weapon to take life hostage. 

    JAZZ

    How ironic that the moment we stop believing, magic appears! 

    CHASE

    Only toddlers believe. And toddlers are ill-equipped for these frolics. Where’s the magic in that?

    JAZZ

    Seeing your Mom was magic.

    CHASE

    Dark magic, you’ll agree. What were they thinking? Russian-Irish could never work!

    JAZZ

    My combination’s Portuguese-Swedish. Your Mom said she forgave you. 

    CHASE

    She didn’t!

    JAZZ

    She did. I heard her. What was it like to see her again?

    CHASE

    Amazing and frustrating – the way it always was. 

    JAZZ

    Admit we got the most wonderful bath!  For a few minutes we saw how happy we could be.

    CHASE

    A ritual cleanse. Did seem like it was working.

    JAZZ

    I felt such peace, like nothing could hurt us ever. 

    CHASE

    Then my Dad showed up.

    JAZZ

    So now I know him, too. I experienced them through you.

    CHASE

    In the house that never got finished. I pushed my Dad into bankruptcy. I destroyed my family.

    JAZZ

    You did not.

    CHASE

    If you’re going to be my soulmate you’ve seen the house of horrors where you have to live. Nobody could blame you for walking out.

    JAZZ

    Where would I walk to?  Seriously.  I thought the more worlds we saw the more paths – the more choices we would have, but the maze leads only two places – sickness and murder or – each other.

    CHASE

    But what if we resist?

    JAZZ

    Are we back to murder? A life for a life?

    CHASE

    Surely you see the appeal?

    JAZZ

    I think when you want to kill Corso it’s really your dad you want to kill. 

    CHASE

    Wow! Free therapy! Bzzzt! No. My Dad I can get away from.

    JAZZ

    Apparently not.

    CHASE

    Once and done.

    JAZZ

    Finding crime scenes should not be inspiring us to create more of them.

    CHASE

    Why not, if everyone’s doing it?

    JAZZ

     Jails are full of defective reasoners.

    CHASE

    So I’m a defective reasoner, am I?

    (JAZZ sits beside him)

    JAZZ

    Seems like. I’m stuck with you and you’re stuck with me.

    CHASE

    But I don’t get it – if death doesn’t free you, what does?

    JAZZ

    Why couldn’t you tell me about her?

    CHASE

    I can’t even go there.

    (long pause)

    JAZZ

    If you can’t go there I can’t see where there is to get to. 

    CHASE

    Sexsomnia is like sleepwalking.  They –

    JAZZ

    Would you stop it with trying to rationalize the irrational? It makes me feel so alone.

    CHASE

    (Holding her – she lets him)

    We can’t have that.

    (They start to kiss)

    Maybe it hasn’t happened yet.

    JAZZ

    What part?

    CHASE

    The video Corso’s trying to create. If he hasn’t finished it, he hasn’t released it.

    JAZZ

    But what we did. It’s out there, alive, wandering the cloud. 

    CHASE

    Maybe not. 

    JAZZ

    I like this Chase better.  So let’s get rid of it and warn the others.

    CHASE

    Are you sure they’ll care?

    JAZZ

    Someone will.

    CHASE

    They may prefer secrecy, or destruction. But people don’t believe without evidence.

                               JAZZ

    Our suffering is the evidence.

                      (She pushes him away)

    You wanted this to happen.  You twisted my life into evidence for your crime scene. You used the rest of us as bait.

    CHASE

    I swear I had no idea he’d go this far. But if it’s real we’ve got to face up to it. Destroying the evidence doesn’t cancel our suffering.

    JAZZ

    Without the video, we don’t remember. If we pass it along, Corso wins – whoever we pass it to.

    CHASE

    It isn’t “gone” just because we can’t remember. Haven’t what we’ve been through shown us that? It becomes a negative hallucination.

    JAZZ

    I feel sure I don’t want to know what that is.

    CHASE

    It means is not seeing the obvious. 

    JAZZ

    Forgetting is almost as good as innocence.

    CHASE

    That’s what Corso counted on.

    JAZZ

    Help me.

    CHASE

    I’m trying.

    (the distance between them is growing. They reach out their arms to each other but it’s too late. CHASE fades into darkness)

    JAZZ

    I want to forget! Help me forget!

    CORSO’s voice

    I stand at the ready to assist my adorable Jazz.

  • Rough Sleep – a play by Alysse Aallyn

    – KITCHEN set, bar with overhead wineglass and pot rack, burners steaming ( ZOYAorchestrates the food)

    ZOYA

    Stevie, could you open the wine and let it breathe?

    (Clutches her own throat)

    No one wants a strangled wine.

    CHASE

    Jazz drinks any kind of wine.

    ZOYA

    Jazz? What kind of name is that?

    JAZZ

    It’s a nickname. My name is Jasmyn Suzino.

    ZOYA

    (Thawing. She is cautious and protective, not mean)

    If you’re important to my son I’m so glad you’re here.

    CHASE

    She’s very important to me. 

    ZOYA

    I hope you like Welsh rarebit and Coquille Saint Jacques.

    JAZZ

    Sounds delicious. I hear you do your own cooking?

    (CHASE takes bottle and opener from his mother.)

    ZOYA

    Love is the main ingredient, I always say. Red or white?

    (She pulls down wineglasses from the overhead rack. There are several bottles of wine.CHASE opens them one after the other. JAZZ looks a little scared as if she might have to drink all this)

    JAZZ

    Oh, whatever.  May I have ice, please?

    CHASE

    (Being a Farrell)

    No.

    ZOYA

    Oh, for heavens sake let her have whatever she wants!  Lemon, sugar! Anything! This is a party!

    (Slaps out an ice bucket)

    CHASE

    Taste it without ice first.  It’s Christmas wine from Lebanon.

    JAZZ

    Wow.  Delicious.  You’re right….forget the ice.

    (JAZZ sits at the bar – ZOYA blots the corner of JAZZ’s mouth with a napkin, lays napkins down.  What with spoons and potlids, she gives an impression of sacred priestess juggling sacred tools)

    CHASE

    Mom made all this lace herself.

    JAZZ

    Awesome. Exquisite.  I didn’t know humans made lace.

    CHASE

    Mom was beaten into submission by nuns. You propitiate the gods by giving them lace. 

    ZOYA

    (Raps him sharply with a spoon)

    Stevie, you heretic! What will our guest think?

    CHASE

    “Make our damn lace or be consumed by the Holocaust!”

    ZOYA

    Stevie! Oh, what’s the use? You’ll never change. I forgive you.

    JAZZ

    Uh, the flowers on that cake look almost real.

    ZOYA

    I love making sugar flowers.  Those are lilies and camellias.  I wore them at my wedding.

    CHASE

    Mom studied pastry making at the Cordon Bleu in Paris. 

    ZOYA

    It was just a summer course. Canapés or crudités?

    CHASE

    Crudity always.

    JAZZ

    (To CHASE)

    Paris!  Were you there?

    CHASE

    Naw.  I was just a bullet in my father’s bandolier in those days.

    ZOYA

    Oh, Stevie!  You’re such a silly! How I love you! No, he’s never been to Paris.  We’ve not been back. That was our honeymoon, so long, long ago.

     (Seems like she might cry) 

    It’s so hard to keep the rarebit from separating. 

    (sniffs – offers a plate)

    Duck pâté?

    JAZZ

    Er, sure.

    (ZOYA and CHASE toss off their wine, he refills their glasses.  JAZZ holds hers against her chest. ZOYA reaches down a platter)

    ZOYA

    I love to cook! Following a recipe to make things right. I wish people ate more, but they’re always on such weird diets. Cyanne’s a vegan who won’t eat gluten.  Everything’s changed. I used to pick my own watercress but now I’m afraid of the fisher cats. 

    CHASE

    Fishers eat squirrels, mom, not people.

    ZOYA

    Somebody needs to eat those squirrels. They’re too assertive. But it’s the fisher cats who scream – like someone being murdered.

    CHASE

    They’re nocturnal, Mom.  And watercress is out of season.

    ZOYA

    (Fighting back tears)

    So how does your family celebrate grand occasions, Jasmyn? I’m sure it’s something more splendid than a homely family party.

    JAZZ 

    (nervous)

    We make a lot of toasts.

    (She lifts her glass. ZOYA and CHASE both drain their glasses and immediately refill as if that’s what etiquette requires)

    ZOYA

    Stevie, you say the blessing.

    CHASE

    You’re going to have to stop calling me that, Mom.  My name is Chase.

    ZOYA

    But that’s a stupid name.  It doesn’t mean anything.  Steven was your grandfather’s name.

    CHASE

    But he’s gone. You want me to be gone?

    ZOYA

    I’m praying you never leave again.

    (Lifts her glass)

    Zemlya pukhom!

    CHASE

    It’s your birthday, Mom.  We toast to you.

    (He raises his glass)

    ZOYA

    (Abashed, almost frightened.)

    No more bad luck.  I’m not fit to catch God’s eye. Dolgaya zhizn!

    JAZZ

    What’s that mean?

    CHASE

    Long life.

    JAZZ 

    Long life!

    (They drink. A moment of happiness. Enter CUTTER FARRELL dressed as if for wild weather.  CUTTER slowly removes outer gear but continues to play with belt – appraising the group as if wondering who to use it on. He is a cold, cold-eyed man, a paler, blockier version of CHASE. Accepts drink from placatory ZOYA)

    CUTTER

    Filthy night. What have we here?

    ZOYA

    Stevie brought a friend to my birthday party! Isn’t that exciting?

    CUTTER

    (Takes drink, cranes his neck insultingly)

    Little Stevie brought a date?  Where is he? I don’t see him.

    (JAZZ steps up bravely and offers her hand)

    JAZZ

    Hi, I’m Jasmyn Suzino.

    (CUTTER takes her hand and presses it to his chest, looking her up and down at his leisure)

    CUTTER

    Where did this dark-eyed beauty spring from? Be still my loins.  I’m Cutter Farrell, young lady. Pleased to make your acquaintance.

    JAZZ

    (Awkwardly)

    I go to school with Chase. Er – Steven.

    CUTTER

    Bet you met him yesterday.

    (JAZZ reacts as though this might be true. CHASE steps forward, detaches JAZZ’s arm)

    CHASE

    Pick on someone in your own weight class, Dad.

    CUTTER

    And that would be you? I’ve heard braggadocio but I’m getting tired waiting.

    ZOYA

    (Panicky)

    Please don’t fight. It’s my birthday.

    CUTTER

    I don’t like surprises.  That’s all.

    (Pops some savory in his mouth and drains half his drink)

    So. Suzino.  What kind of a name is that?

    JAZZ

    It’s Portuguese.

    CUTTER

    Is there a Dad in your picture?

    JAZZ

    (After a beat)

    Not really.

    CUTTER

    That’s the Portuguese in him. We Irish, now, keep families together. We hang on till every lost dog is drawn and quartered.

    (ZOYA snaps tensely at CHASE who is eating)

    ZOYA

    (Spanks his arm with her lace napkin)

    Don’t double dip, darling!  It’s disgusting!

    (Blots her forehead)

    I’m sorry.

    CUTTER

    (Poking freely among the crudités tray)

    When’s dinner?

    (ZOYA clatters pot lids hopelessly)

    ZOYA

    Half an hour.  Forty-five minutes.

    CUTTER

    Just enough time for a private pow-wow.  Bring your drinks, kids. You’ll need them.

    CHASE

    No thank you.

    CUTTER

    I’ve got a business proposition for you. Come along now:  fair’s fair.  You’ve got to give me a chance to get my money back. All the cash I spent on you…

    CHASE

    I’m not putting my money into any of your schemes.

    (CUTTER takes JAZZ’s arm)

    CUTTER

    Fine.  Then your little girlfriend and I will have a sit down. You stay out here with Mummy the way you always preferred, Jasmyn and I will have a heart to heart and find out what’s what.

    ZOYA

    (Desperate)

    Cutter, please! 

    CUTTER

    You cook, dumpling, I’ll entertain our guests.

    ZOYA

    By arguing?

    CUTTER

    I only stand up for what’s mine.

    (To CHASE who’s sliding unwillingly off his barstool)

    You’re going to want to see this.  Believe me. It’s the next biggest thing, and I’m offering you a buy-in on the ground floor.

    CUTTER’S DEN- SCENE XIV.  Macho and dark; leather furniture, deer head, creels and powder horns, gun rack

    CUTTER

    So, what are you studying in this college of yours?

    JAZZ

    We’re participating in a research experiment.

    CUTTER

    I’ll bet you are. Anything to do with the Internet?

    JAZZ

    The Internet?

    CUTTER

    (Shaking his head as he looks at CHASE)

    Where do you get these girls?  You haven’t heard of the Internet, young missy? The World Wide Web?

    JAZZ

    (Blushing but controlling herself at a warning look from CHASE)

    It has nothing to do with that.

    CUTTER

    (Studying her speculatively)

    Well, I can’t answer for how they behave in Portugal, but it’s possible you were pimped out without your knowledge. 

    (Picks up a video controller. CHASE and JAZZ stares stupefied at a screen that flickers dancing shapes over their faces)

    CUTTER

    Look what your boyfriend got you into! It’s a game, see? You can make them do any combination, anything you want.

    (Struggles with his controller)

    How do you make this thing go frame by frame?

    JAZZ

    Oh, my God. It’s US!

    CHASE

    Turn that thing off!

    (CHASE lunges for his Dad, they tussle, CUTTER playing “keep away” with remote)

    CUTTER

    Wait, wait –the good part is coming up! 

    (CHASE succeeds in dashing controller to floor, screen light goes off)

    Here’s a fine thing for a father to have to see! You could at least ensure they disguise the faces – but you all make yourselves so recognizable with those tattoos. Nice birthday gift for mommy, wouldn’t you say?

    (CHASE lunging – they are full-on wrestling)

    CUTTER

    This idea’s worth millions – unless you sign away your rights – AGAIN. But that’s what you do, isn’t it? Anything rather than take dad’s advice! Why don’t you hit me, since you’ve been longing to. Go ahead – hit your father!

    (CHASE manages to turn off screen, throw remote, pushes CUTTER away)

    CHASE

    Come on, Jazz, let’s get out of here.

    CUTTER

    I suppose you’ll claim that was art. 

    (Heavy fake Irish accent)

    Will you be taking it around to the festivals now?  Put it up for the booby prize?

    CHASE

    You’re dead to me.

    (Dragging JAZZ away)

    CUTTER

    I’m dead to you, you spineless party pooper? I’m dead to you?

    (ZOYA appears holding a wine opener pushed to her neck)

                               ZOYA

    I’m dead to everyone and nobody noticed! Nobody even noticed!

    (JAZZ tries to go to her, CHASE pulls her away downstage – lights off on FARRELL RESIDENCE)

  • Rough Sleep – a play by Alysse Aallyn

    (BEX appears in a spot on the TOWER LIFT, holding a pair of binoculars and a shotgun.  Scans the stage)

    CHASE

    (Holding JAZZ close)

    You’re making me feel incredibly powerful 

    (They kiss with increasing urgency. BEX appears to focus on them. He racks his gun angrily, climbs down, his spot dissolving.  JAZZ and CHASE’s “shadows” explode hugely against the back wall, seeming to rise up in the air)

    JAZZ

    Feel that?

    CHASE

    I do. Don’t fight it.

    JAZZ

    Who’s fighting it?  You’re the one fighting it.

    SCENE X – SWAP MEET. (When the lights come up the curtain has fallen and JAZZ and CHASEstand outside it, hand in hand, staring into the audience.)

    JAZZ

    Where are we?

    CHASE

    Looks like a swap meet. But all they’re selling is Christmas stuff.

    JAZZ

    That’s weird.

    CHASE

    Especially since I hate Christmas.

    JAZZ

    Who could possibly hate Christmas?

    CHASE

    It never lives up to its billing.

    (RAD appears, pushing a shopping cart. Sets up a table and starts laying out junk)

    RAD

    Hi, guys! Long time no see. You in the market for a knickknack?  Ganja? Electronics?  Jewelry? 

    CHASE

    Is this your gig?

    RAD

    Gotta have a side hustle – gotta get the scratch. You’d be amazed what some people just throw away. How about a nice Christmas cactus? I did have a shotgun but I sold it.

    CHASE

    You sold a shotgun? Who to?

    RAD

    Biker dude from out of town. He said if it didn’t work he would come looking for me.

    JAZZ

    Does it work?

    RAD

    Let’s hope so. Just passing on whatever I find.

    CHASE

    We don’t want anything.

    JAZZ

    Speak for yourself. I’d love a Christmas cactus. 

    (RAD reaches into the depths of his cart and produces an unflowering – apparently dead plant – JAZZ takes it)

    CHASE

    Great. It’s dead.

    JAZZ

    It is not. It only blooms once a year.  Says here, this one’s going to have three blossoms.

    RAD

    Can’t go to the party without a present.

    CHASE

    What party?

    RAD

    Isn’t life a party?

    JAZZ

    So far. 

    CHASE

    More like a bribe for the deadboat captain. So we poor ghosts don’t get shoved into steerage.

    RAD

    That’ll be a hundred bucks.

    CHASE

    A hundred bucks!

    RAD

    This is a rare, one time offer. Not shown on TV. I’ve got bills.

    JAZZ

    Blood money, remember?

    CHASE

    If that’s what you want. You got giftwrap?

    (RAD  produces pink foil and a massive ribbon)

    JAZZ

    Wow. This says “Happy Birthday.” Do we know anybody born in December?

    CHASE

    My mom.

    JAZZ

    Oh, my God! Hide!

    (She drags CHASE down the stage steps to cower behind the stairs. BEX appears with a shotgun, racking the slide. RAD hastily packs up. Both exit offstage)

    JAZZ

    See that?

    CHASE

    He’s gone now. Let’s find the party.

    JAZZ

    Anything to get away from here.

  • Rough Sleep – a play by Alysse Aallyn

    JAZZ
    Time to forgive yourself.


    CHASE
    Oh, that’ll be easy. Walk in the park.


    JAZZ
    I’m still here.


    CHASE
    You’re scared to leave because Bex is out there.


    JAZZ
    That’s not it. I’m here because I want to be. I can handle Bex. His pride is hurt but he’s basically lazy. I don’t matter that much to him. He spent all our time together trying to convince me I was worthless and making him look bad.


    CHASE
    Sounds like my dad. Except I really was all he had. His only son.


    JAZZ
    You’re not responsible for him. Bex wanted me to believe that I was stuck with him, but he wasn’t stuck with me, that I owed him a debt that kept mysteriously increasing.


    CHASE
    Ouch. I need a shower. Want to come?


    JAZZ
    Oh, no you don’t! We’re not finished yet! Why come after Corso? Why pick this college?


    CHASE
    You really want me to roll in it, don’t you? Can’t you just be a good soulmate and fill in the blanks?


    JAZZ
    Total honesty. Full disclosure. Tell each other everything, don’t you agree?


    CHASE
    Maybe.


    JAZZ
    So when Bex bothers me you want me keeping it secret?


    CHASE
    Hell no! Point taken.
    (forcing himself to reminisce)
    I just couldn’t get it out of my mind that nothing bad happened to Corso. No jail time! No publicity. No fines even. They made him promise not to work with children, but he’d graduated to teenagers by that time anyway. I gradually realized the money was to control me, so I wouldn’t tell the police. Blood money. What a bad deal that was. He wasn’t controlled! Rewarded, if anything. I might as well have been protecting him. When I looked him up – there he is running “perceptual studies” at a prestigious college! That sound like “punishment” to you?


    JAZZ
    That would be punishment for me, but I get what you mean.


    CHASE
    So I decided to kill him. It’s the only way. I mean, Corso’s a monster, right? And he’s only getting worse. I grew up, I bulked up, I legally changed my name, I disguised myself every way I could think of. I mean, he hadn’t seen me since I was a squeaky-voiced platinum haired tot of thirteen.


    JAZZ
    But let me guess. He recognized you right away.


    CHASE
    He just assumed I couldn’t live without him. I was there to bring him souls!


    JAZZ
    You confronted him?


    CHASE
    He says the university knows all about his “spot of bother.” There’s no official record. To hear him tell it, we were co-victims!


    JAZZ
    Co-victims!


    CHASE
    Yeah. Of religion. Of repression. Of the fifties, of his parents – you name it. But he’s fine now. Happily married, to a nice older lady who just happens to be rich! He’s “freed” himself, see, from his horrible past and he just wants to liberate everybody else.


    JAZZ
    What a bastard.


    CHASE
    So either I get the goods on him or I kill him. There aren’t other options. If that makes me a monster, then, that’s what I’ll be.


    JAZZ
    Hard luck on me, having a monster for a soulmate. What did I do to deserve this?


    CHASE
    Clearly you attract monsters.


    JAZZ
    You sell us both short. If you wanted to be a monster, you would be one already. You’ve been here four years!


    CHASE
    I got distracted. College is interesting – wrestling, debate club, research, biofeedback… Suddenly I found myself in a much bigger world. But whatever avenue I went down… he was always there ahead of me. Like, he’s the creator of everything and I’m just his mutant, the cuckoo on his clock. I want a world without Corso, a universe to call my own, but… he’s polluted everything.


    JAZZ
    So he still holds you hostage.


    CHASE
    He’s inside me. He’s like, taken over the inside of me. Robbed me of my self. I always seem to know exactly what he’ll do, or say, so in some sick way it’s me doing it. There’s no “me” any more, as long as he’s alive. My only hope is to off him.


    JAZZ
    That’s stinking thinking. If you kill him, he still wins. You’d be linked to him forever. I refuse to lose a perfectly good soulmate. You’re nothing like Corso. He’s soulless and that’s why he collects souls. You’re real. Without a self, how could you have a soulmate? Knowing him just makes him easier to trap. If we’ve learned anything, it is that he’s up to no good. He’s a predator- parasite. We’ve got to keep that straight. Trust?


    CHASE
    If only I could believe in souls. I don’t feel indestructible. I’m staying alive by the force of my resistance.


    JAZZ
    You woke me.


    CHASE
    That’s what we have in common. You resisted Bex.


    JAZZ
    I’ll say! He worked so hard to keep me down. We recognized each other. We’re the same.
    (passionately kiss)


    CHASE
    It’s only our worlds that keep changing.


    JAZZ
    It’s love.


    CHASE
    And we keep falling into it. “Falling” seems more than a metaphor.


    JAZZ
    If we’re in the middle of something extraordinary, we’ve got to stop looking with ordinary eyes.


    CHASE
    But everything’s corpses. Corso threatens life itself.


    JAZZ
    Murderers do tend to round up the refugees.


    CHASE
    He’s poisoning us. The question is whether it’s terminal. I wish I knew what was in that stuff he gave us.


    JAZZ
    Who cares what he gave us? He wants you to think he’s some scientific mastermind wielding a secret weapon. We’re the ones with the secret weapon.


    CHASE
    Some amnesiac, like scopolamine or propanolol. Without memory, he assumes we lose identity. But stress-based experiences are processed like dreams – we keep having flashbacks.


    JAZZ
    And flash-forwards. But we all formed new memories – some of them pretty crazy I admit – but others right on target. Look at Soliz falling through my window, Zane at the toxic dump, Koo with her body-bags. Something happened to us and he doesn’t want us to find out what. Bex wants me thinking he’s all powerful and everywhere so I’ll feel weak and helpless and give up, and Corso’s exactly the same. You must have gotten close –that’s why he fired you.


    CHASE
    He didn’t reckon with us happening.


    JAZZ
    We have a superpower!


    CHASE
    I’m scared the universe is setting us up, just to knock us back down.


    JAZZ
    But the universe loves creators, and lovers are the ultimate creators.


    CHASE
    Creation takes so long and destruction lasts forever.


    JAZZ
    Doesn’t the green growth keep coming up?


    CHASE
    Death is inevitable. It’s life that’s the surprise. In wrestling your attacker takes himself down. We need to find Corso’s weak spot –


    JAZZ
    He’s not immortal, is he?


    CHASE
    God, I hope not.


    JAZZ
    I mean, if he keeps swelling up with everybody else’s souls he’s going to explode. The universe will take care of Corso.