OLD LADY BODY

Quince Pettigrew had finally been given a key to the small wardrobe in her room, and it filled her with dread. Each of the siblings had one. Much like her mother and father. And their mamas and papas too. Quince turned the porcelain key and unlocked the door. Opening it, she saw delicate white lace covering a hung item. A stone grew in her throat at the sight of the folded skin. This was her lady body. At several points in a Pettigrew’s life, a new body will appear. Without so much as a stomped foot or a huff, they should peel open the back and slip in. Her older siblings had done what they were told, but Quince had other plans. She loved herself as she was: small, fiercely questioning, pockets always too full, ready for a fight. She would not surrender readily.

Quince had identified two rules so far for the bodies. They first appeared only to their wearer, usually through locked boxes or cabinets, and once on it could not be taken off.

Quince pulled the items she had gathered from under her bed. An old box taken from the utility room, packaging tape, and stones dug up from the garden. She pulled the skin costume out and laid it over the linen sheet on her bed. The heavy folds sank deep into the duvet. Beneath the white lace, Quince inspected what some unseen force had deemed her to become. Thin noodle arms and freckled knees. Hands folded over wrists made the fingers look like sausage casings. There was hair poking out of awkward areas. The deflated face looked like a bad Halloween mask in the Sunday light. There was some of her in this skin costume, but it would not do. Quince took hold of the arms, repulsed by the feeling of ham that had been left to dry in the sun, and pulled hard. She crumpled the legs, snagged at the corners of the mouth, bent the nose. Made it unwearable. Grotesque. So very inhuman, Quince beamed that even if her parents found out, they would have to agree that it was unusable now. She placed the skin in the cardboard box with several stones in each corner. Then quickly taped each corner shut. As everyone was out, Quince did not need to hurry. Stones shifted in the box as she crab-walked through the crisp spring grass. Tulips sprouted and minor bees dipped their heads back into the holes of their honey-gold dirt homes. The lake shimmered as its rim frothed with bubbled frogspawn. Quince circled around to a deeper part and tossed the box with all her might. The splash startled a crane who was hunting. The box gurgled, still floating, catching air in Quince’s throat. Then, grip loosening, she saw it sink. And that was where her lady body sat.

***

For a time Quince lived happily, knowing she had tricked her family. She would spy her mother giving worried glances or hear whispers in rooms after she left them, but they never questioned the rules. It wasn’t until her little brother one day stepped into the kitchen, lanky with thumping feet and a croaky voice, that the questions started. She sat defiant, ever pretending to be innocent, as everyone tore apart the house to find the locked box that held her skin-suit. But nothing could be found. And that was that, Quince thought in delight.

***

A new key appeared. This one did not appear from thin air like the morning mist. It was loud. Quince was eating dinner when the ceiling plaster sprinkled over her soup. Then, with a tortured screeching, a sharp metal key twisted and formed through the wooden beams. Then with a plop, it sank into the soupy bowl and cracked it. Grandma Pettigrew took one look at the key and clasped her hands in shock.

‘What did you do?’

Before Quince could lie, a great shriek came from outside. All the Pettigrew’s rushed to the window. Gasping at the sight of a ghoulish figure choking the crane that lived in the lake. Quince recognised the floppy arms and crooked mouth trying to swallow the panicked bird. Dirty water sloshed out of the eyeholes, and frogs fell out of the back.

‘My body! - Why does it move?’

‘What did you do?’ Father questioned.

‘I sank it in the lake. I want to stay like this forever.’

‘Well now, it comes to claim you.’ Grandma said. As if hearing this, the sodden body twisted its head and shuffled towards the house.

‘Save me, please!’ Quince pleaded.

‘There is only one thing you can do. You take that key and go to the attic. Your next body awaits there.’

‘But, what’s it gonna look like?’

Mother and sister rushed Quince up the stairs as Father opened the gun cabinet. As quickly as she could, Quince clambered up the narrow attic stairs and unlocked the door. Laid out across a chair, Quince saw the old lady’s body waiting for her. A wrinkled, sad body that had arrived too soon. A gunshot boomed through the house. Then a clambering panic as all her family did their best to fight back the discarded skin from swallowing her. She hesitated to climb into the suit. Quince did not want to live the rest of her life as an old woman.

Ribbit.

Water sloshed around Quince’s feet as the light from the door was snuffed out.