Erin has started talking to some guy on the internet. He told her his name is Sargon Lundersted. Erin thinks that sounds romantic, so he probably made it up. They write each other for three months and she somehow manages to tell him she loves him and agrees to go live with him � in South Africa. And though she is completely sincere the entire time, this of course never happens. Erin thinks she is psychic. You would think that she�d have seen this coming, but knowing her she probably did.
She was talking about it to a friend once. She said, �It�s not the things I see happening, it�s the things that I don�t see.� Her friend, feigning interest, "Oh?" Erin, who might as well be talking to herself, as usual, "Yes, if I don�t see it happening then I don�t go and do it and it frees me up a lot of time." Her friend, wondering what Erin could possibly need time for, inquires. Erin smiles unashamed to herself. "Drugs," she replies.
Not One Death
Lately Erin has been doing a lot of thinking about God. She no longer thinks that she believes. "There is only so much time that you can fool yourself in," she thinks, and her time is running up. This is a problem for Erin, because her religion is very God-oriented, and not just that, but they have gods everywhere � Greek gods, Norse gods, gods that nobody really remembers but wouldn�t dare to offend. Erin knows about all that. She respects it. It is her religion after all, but she doesn�t really believe it. No amount of incense, meditating and creative visualization is going to convince Erin that an ancient pantheon, created by people that weren�t even her race, thousands of years before she was ever born, was about to pop up and help her at any moment just because she called, lit the right candles, or said the right chant. There�s no use in even attempting it if you don�t think they�ll do it. You might as well not even bother, and so Erin became stuck.
She has a great religion, filled with chants, mediations, special incenses and days of the year, and herbs that are reported to have magickal qualities. She can walk into any bookstore anywhere, go to the religion section and hers will always have the best books. Erin�s Bible for the day will be black. It will come with a red ribbon for a place mark and archaic writing on the cover that will probably declare something mysterious and tantalizing sounding like, "Gypsy love spells for the good witch," or maybe even for the bad.
Erin doesn�t want to change religions. She likes chanting. She likes burning candles that have to be lit at midnight. She likes taking late-night walks through the cemetery and then claiming that she does it for religious purposes. But Erin also likes to get results, and when you don�t believe, well� that was a really great ritual guys, but obviously I�m going to have to hire some thug to knock over Jodi�s van, because I really doubt that Thor is going to do it. And so he never shall.
Thus is Erin�s problem. She can�t pray, because she doesn�t believe. She can�t light candles and ask for favors, because she doesn�t think that anyone will respond. Erin hates to waste her time. Erin knows it�s not working.
Fortunately for Erin, she has Neil Gaimen, a never-ending source of inspiration and entertainment. Neil Gaimen with his fantasy world can display his oddly-fashioned yet wildly popular belief system, that may just be a marketing gig, all over the place and she�ll eat it right up. Who cares if Neil Gaimen believes in the characters that invade his comic book pages, prancing about like the little demigods he set them up to be? Erin would like to believe, and now she has inspiration.
It started out as an experiment, really. Just a little thing she�d wanted to try. Erin was thinking again, and she thought, "Why can�t I just make my own gods? Who in this day and age is going to deny me the right to do that?" So without looking for further justification, for divine approval, for even any proof that it would work, Erin decided to do just that � and it was too easy. They were right there. She didn�t even have to look for them. One plucked from the pages of her beloved Neil Gaimen, one an actress who portrayed a tantalizing character on late night TV, and one her private sex god, the one she thinks about every night before she goes to sleep.
Erin decided she could have whatever she wanted, them being her damn gods and all, and she picked them, and she named them: Kimi � Japanese anime punk chick without the rounded features, Lara Croft with more substance, Lefemme Nikita without the agenda. Aubry � long, black, red, curly hair, leather wardrobe conveniently lacking the shirts, pierced ears, blue eyes. There was nothing there that wasn�t for Erin, that wasn�t muscled, oiled and ready for Erin. She didn�t have to close her eyes to feel him touch her,- she just had to dream. Morrigan � indescribable, unobtainable, even Erin didn�t know what he knows, even Erin was afraid of him. She wanted him to haunt her, and everyone else around, and she wanted them all to be there, always, and so she would see to it that they were.
She chose to do the calling right before it got dark. She had to take her friend because she couldn�t drive. They rode through the cemetery and Erin picked out a spot and then she said, "Be back in fifteen minutes and if I�m not done then come back every ten after that." It was more like every five. Erin didn�t care because she had found her spot, her perfect grave with the marker that would work just right. It lay on the ground, the three points of the white stone cross stretched out before her. The name on the tombstone contained her name, letters within letters, and they were even in a row. Erin smiled when she saw it and then she took out her gods.
She had brought figurines for them all, a black candle for the lady, red and white for the men. She spread them out at different corners. She placed them where she wanted them, moved them around until they felt right, and the whole thing felt so right. Erin could imagine that they were already with her. She could feel their icy cold fingers on her skin. It was getting dark. Erin remembered that graveyards can be scary.
All it took was some focusing, some creative visualization, a little blood. Erin couldn�t do anything without blood anymore, even if she tried. She saw them in her mind and she willed them to come forth. She bound them to her, and because they were her gods, created more for destruction than for worship, then she believed, and Erin believed that it worked.
She had to leave them eventually, of course, little flames sputtering in the dark among the graves. She imagined that they walked with her, flanking her on either side like a pack honing in on a kill. She knew they were there and that made the ride home so much more fun. That made sleeping at night better. That made it okay when things went wrong and she had to send out a silent prayer bordering on a demand that someone be killed. It worked because she knew that someone was listening.
Being a woman, of course, she had to test it. Beyond her simple belief, beyond her knowledge that they were there, someone had to see them, and Erin knew just who that person was. He was her best friend, her confident, her masochist, the only person she ever flung shit at when she felt that she was going to die � and he performed magick, with her even. If he didn�t see them then no one ever would. This of course, should not have worried Erin.
She calls him up. It�s late. She says, "Mathew, there�s something you must do with me." He�s not feeling it. He�s tired. He couldn�t perform a spell to save his life. He�ll come anyway. He always does. He picks her up and she picks a spot. She gets out the candles. She recites the names. She doesn�t tell him what she�s doing, and he knows well enough not to ask. She calls them up. She wants him to see them. She also wants them to kill someone. They haven�t yet.
They�ve put someone to sleep, kept someone out of her room at night, made someone get ill � no deaths. It�s not like she�s asked. She would never ask. But you know, if they should want to do her a favor, a little one perhaps� it might be nice.
All that and he doesn�t see them, doesn�t know what the hell is going on. "Well, a lot of good you do," she thinks as she skulks off to the car.
They�re driving and she�s forgotten about it, happy just to be with him again. Then he starts talking. She thought he was being silly when he said someone was in the car with them. Thought he was joking, playing some sort of stoner game. They hadn�t smoked that much, maybe he was just rambling.
He�s telling her that he�s seeing people in his car, and there are three of them. Oh my. Now he describes a woman, tells her what Kimi looks like. Says it makes him nervous that all she does is stare at him. Erin�s getting excited. There�s no way he could be joking now. He tells her about Aubry. What does he know? She�s told him nothing, and yet, there he goes, describing him, saying he�d be sexy if he didn�t stare � no shirt, it�s definitely Aubry.
Well, there you go. The night�s a success. But what about the third one? What is it? A man? A short man? Surely he didn�t say short, but he did. Erin decides to drop it. She never projects that one anyway. Now he�s seen her pets, he knows they�re there, which means of course, that they are. They�re really there. Erin will never go home alone again. She pictures them waiting with her for her friend to pick her up, and she knows they�re there, right next to her even, sitting on the bench, playing with her hair. Well, she�s not the only one who knows now. She tells him not to worry. No, it�s not creepy - it�s great. Following us out of the car, are they? No, that�s good. I don�t care if they bother you Mathew, you�ll just have to adjust. Yes, well, maybe if you didn�t secretly want me then Aubry dearest wouldn�t stare at you in that way.
From time to time she calls them, asks a favor, manages to cut herself unintentionally. It all works out. Before Halloween she asked them to repay in kind any injustice or unpleasantness that was done her way. Halloween night and she�s losing friends. She�s waiting to see how their vengeance will be executed. She can�t wait. She wants blood � and then she doesn�t care at all, but she�s willing to bet that they still do, and then why should she?
Her friend is playing games now, emailing her, claiming to be some guy. She makes an offhand remark about her spirits. Now she has to have it out with her friend. No, I didn�t call anything up. No, this is not your business. No, I won�t be discussing this with you. Reason never works with this friend. She doesn�t know why she�s always being given the run-around there. Erin tries to be alone and wishes that someone would die. No one has yet.
Suppressing the Urge to Kill
Erin�s roommate has been stealing from her. She does this by first telling Erin that she is being stalked. Then she illustrates the point by inscribing retarded-looking hieroglyphs on the window outside Erin�s bedroom. After this she says, "So and so has placed a curse on you. Look what they did!" Then she steals a bunch of Erin�s stuff to make it seem believable. Gone � Erin�s pants that she wears to work. Gone � Erin�s hoodie that she just purchased. Gone � Erin�s I.D., which she will need if she ever intends to have a job again, taken while they were sitting next to each other on the same couch. Erin felt her little hands tugging around at her pocket. When Erin stood up she felt the loss of her I.D. Erin�s roommate still doesn�t think that Erin knows she did this. She must be incredibly stupid.
While her roommate is at school, Erin compares the paint on the outside of her window to the ink her roommate uses to do art. They are the same. The next time Erin�s roommate finds her paint it�s going to be at the bottom of the dumpster. The next time Erin�s roommate sticks her hand in her pocket she�s going to find it cut off. The next time Erin talks to her spirits there�s going to be a new request made, something not very nice at all.
Erin takes her roommate�s weed to make herself feel better. She doesn�t want it, but later she uses it to smoke her meth. These things work themselves out eventually.
Erin has two lesbian friends who come to visit her. It�s the middle of the night, so naturally they have come over to do drugs. The substance of the night is crystal meth, also the substance of the day before and two hours before they arrived. Erin and her friends are all set to go, except for one small thing � no one has a glass, no one knows how to break into a light bulb, no one wants to spend all night snorting the stuff. Not that they don�t break out a few lines, stick part of a straw up their nostrils and have a nice go at it, once, maybe twice. Erin would never have done this on her own. That�s what friends are for.
Around twelve thirty they call the druggies upstairs. Erin won�t do it, so she has Micala. These people know how to break into a light bulb, probably couldn�t survive if they didn�t, so they tell Erin and her friends. It�s not as easy as it looks, it�s not even as easy as it sounds. Half an hour later, after considerable dulling of Erin�s knife, they give up. Who knew it would be so hard to do meth? Really now, it�s right there.
Erin remembers something that someone told her once about coke. She thinks it might apply to this situation. She says, "Hey, can�t you smoke that over weed?" Turns out that you can.
Now that another drug has been introduced to the equation, Erin and her mostly sober band head out to the back steps, a stairwell placed in such a nonsensical location that few of the residents even know it exists. Erin discovered it while she was looking for a place to do drugs. Naturally, they came here first.
Mike finally showed up an hour or so later, after they were already spun, only to complicate the situation further with his own supply. Erin had recently discovered that meth was giving her the chills. Sober or not she would often shiver for no apparent reason. Erin know the reason, but she wasn�t volunteering any information.
Mike had shards, a glass, and a blowtorch for that unforeseen moment when he would somehow manage to break his pipe, probably because he had already been smoking way too much out of it. Together, in relative happiness, they all sat there and tweaked the night away. The more they smoked, the weirder they got. Micala spent a lot of time talking her head off, until Erin and her girlfriend started talking about sex and then she told them to shut the hell up. Erin always thought it was nice to find someone who knew what she was talking about when she talked about having sex with girls. Guys didn�t know, but lesbians had an idea.
The party ended at six in the morning. Erin�s previously pristine room now was trashed. Erin didn�t really sleep after that. She didn�t really eat. There wasn�t a whole lot that she did, which can often be said of people who are doing drugs.
Erin�s lying in Garret�s house, lying on his bed, and thinking about the last time that they had sex. Funny thing that, once you�ve been with a person, once they�ve touched you and seen you naked, it�s somewhat hard to be with them and not think about it. So she�s thinking about it, and how she�d like to do it again.
Garret says things like, "I have a girlfriend, but we�ve been together for a month and not had sex." Garret says that he doesn�t like it, says that he�s been forced. Erin thinks about that and wonders how it happened, how it could happen, and how he could see anyone that he doesn�t like. She knows he likes her, but she wonders if he knows it, being crazy and all.
They�re sparing now, on his kitchen floor. They�re chasing each other around with butter knives. Garret cuts his arm with one, just to prove that yes, butter knives can hurt you. Only he doesn�t look hurt. He looks like he likes it. Erin touches the blood with her finger and then brings it to her mouth. She likes that, and all he does is smile at her.
Erin�s lying on his bed with her finger in his bondage straps. Garret comes over and asks if she�d like to be tied up. Erin smiles at him, caught off guard. He won�t catch her admitting it in front of anyone else, but yes, she would like that.
Garret�s taping her wrists together. The tape he�s using is black and strong. Erin likes the feeling of him locking her hands together, likes the way he seems to like it. It still doesn�t take her long to break free.
Erin�s wishing that her friend would just up and disappear so she can find out if Garret really means it when he says that he doesn�t like sex. She bets he�d like it again with her.
Erin�s knows what it�s like to be forced, to not like sex, to draw pictures of herself looking like a man. When Garret draws pictures of himself he looks like a woman, or crazy. Erin doesn�t mind that he may be crazy. What she does mind is that she can never be alone, with anyone, tonight being a case in point.