[story] the cookies are not worth it
author: eve
Aunt Lula smells exactly like Yasmin expected she would: a mixture of compact powder and pungent cajuput oil. In short, old people's smells. She grimaces when Aunt Lula embraces her, exclaiming over how big she has grown.
"Your mother told me you've joined the athletic club at school!" Aunt Lula ushers Yasmin into the living room. Biscuit jars, a plate of cream puffs, and tea are laid out on the table like an ambush. Yasmin has to suppress another wince. She dislikes tea, deeming it an insipid drink. Plain water is healthier and more invigorating.
"The athletic club is the pride of our school," she says, recalling the rows of trophies in the principal's office. "We've always won tournaments for the past ten years! And we never end up at the third place, either."
She is boasting, but Yasmin doesn't feel too guilty. She deserves to let off some steam, damn it. Why on earth did her mother send her to spend the school holiday's first few days here, with her mother's oldest sister? Aunt Lula doesn't even have a kid Yasmin's own age.
The accomplishments of her school's athletic club seem to impress Aunt Lula. "Are you on the the track team or something? Oh, here, have some of these butter cookies. I made them just this morning."
Losing all interest in boasting and wanting only to go home, Yasmin nibbles at the offered cookies. The amount of butter in them is just right, each bite crumbling in her mouth with a sweet, chocolatey aftertaste. Only three days, she reminds herself. In three days her mother will come and pick her up. Maybe Yasmin can even take these cookies home with her.
"My mother never told me why I'm here," she says. "Why am I here, Auntie?"
A smile curves Aunt Lula's mouth. Her eyes, however, are watchful. A chunk of cookie suddenly lodges itself inside Yasmin's throat. Aunt Lula has never married, lives alone in the outskirts of Jakarta, and earns her living as a docent. Is she the typical crazy old lady movies warn people about?
Rubbish, Yasmin thinks, her mother wouldn't send her to live in a dangerous person's house. But what if Yasmin's mother blithely assumes Aunt Lula is nice and harmless while she's actually not?
"Your mother believes I need company." Aunt Lula sips at her tea. The watchfulness is gone, as is her smile. "I don't often go out. My fellow docents are currently busy with either their families, uni kids whose grades need improvement, or both. Your mother is afraid I might be lonely."
Company for a lonely old lady. Unglamorous, but bearable. It's only for three days, anyway. Yasmin is not telling her friends, though. She is dying of jealousy already; their tweets and Facebook statuses are the very pictures of dream holidays. Oh, what she wouldn't give for trips across the big islands right now. Java-born and bred, Yasmin is sometimes curious to see what the rest of her country is like.
"Thank you so much for coming, my dear." Aunt Lula beams at her. "I appreciate it more than I can tell."
***
Cats yowling and howling are the sounds that grate on Yasmin's nerves the most. What is even more infuriating is that she can't yell back and throw pails of water at the animals, this not being her own house. It is past eleven at night; Aunt Lula has been in bed since nine, and the neighboorhood is so quiet that Yasmin is discouraged from breaking the silence.
None of her friends are even online, the traitors. No doubt they are all snugly sleeping and dreaming of the adventurous days ahead. Neither does Yasmin enjoy ranting to herself in social media - what is the point of ranting when no one is around to share the indignation?
Missing her own room, she flops down on the bed in Aunt Lula's guest bedroom. Outside, the cats squeal in fright, then the racket stops. A dog chasing them, Yasmin guesses, knowing that cats fearing dogs is cartoon shows stuff. Whatever, as long as the cats are gone.
The silence deepens. No night watchman knocks at the electricity poles to announce his rounds, no thrumming of vehicles passing by. Yasmin rolls over on her side, willing herself to sleep.
From above her come scratching and clicking sounds. The cats are back, probably prowling the rooftops without daring to attract attention. Yasmin sighs, hoping they will move on to other rooftops. Other cities, if necessary.
Crack! Yasmin sits bolt upright, eyes wide, shoulders tense. "The hell is that?" she says aloud. Have the cats fallen through her aunt's roof? "Bothersome cats, why can't they just pick some other house?"
Cautiously she climbs off the bed and peers up. The ceiling looks solid, without even a single blotch from long-ago rain. Running a hand through her short hair, Yasmin inches back toward the bed. Yep, this side also looks solid. Unless a dozen cats decide to fall together through the ceiling, she should be safe.
As she lowers her head, ready to snuggle back under the blanket, something hits the ceiling with a hard thump.
Yasmin leaps away from the bed, nearly tripping over her own feet. Heart in mouth, she presses her back against the door. The thump comes again, harder this time. Then another thump, and another. The fourth one is so loud that Yasmin yelps in response. Whatever it is on the other side of the ceiling is trying to break through.
Robbers! she thinks wildly, tugging at the doorknob. She bursts out of the guest bedroom and into the living room - dark, abandoned, smelling vaguely of cinnamon. Robbers forcing entry into this house! She should run out and scream for help, but will any night watchman hear her? Will anyone at all, in this eerily silent neighborhood?
A loud crash from the guest bedroom turns Yasmin's insides hot and loose. The robbers have broken through the ceiling. In a second they will rush out of the guest bedroom and kill her, or worse. Run! Yasmin's brain screams at her, but her feet remain glued to the floor.
From behind her, Aunt Lula says, "You're closer to the light switch. Turn on the light."
Yasmin whips around. Aunt Lula stands five steps away, the door to her bedroom open. Her nightdress is a pretty shade of cerise, with laces at the end of the sleeves. Yasmin is too bemused to wonder why her mind chooses to record these details instead of obeying her aunt's order.
"The light switch, my dear," Aunt Lula repeats. "On your right."
As though it belongs to someone else, Yasmin's hand reaches for the light switch, trembling. The living room is instantly bathed in a white glow. Then something lumbers out of the guest bedroom, and the sight of it unhinges Yasmin's knees.
The creature is human-looking, with matted hair that reaches past its shoulders. Where its face should have been is a mass of scabs and blackened skin. The torn shirt and trousers sit awkwardly on the creature's body, like clothes carelessly put on by impish hands. The creature's own hands end in short, blunt fingers, which look powerful enough to break through boards and plaster in one punch.
When the creature lunges at Yasmin, Aunt Lula steps between the two of them. She is so fast that all Yasmin sees is a flash of cerise and metal. A high-pitched scream explodes in the living room; the creature stumbles back, holding up stumps where its hands have been.
Yasmin's blood turns cold when she notices the severed hands lying near Aunt Lula's feet. With a whimper, she scuttles away toward the wall. Her shin hits a corner of the table, and the biscuit jars shuddder.
"Stay still," Aunt Lula says. "Watch closely."
Another metallic flash; Aunt Lula slashes down at the creature. The blade in her hand is short and wickedly sharp. Yasmin shouts in surprise when blood gushes out of the creature's throat and down its chest. Splatters of the blackish liquid hit the floor before evaporating in hissing smoke. Aunt Lula delivers another blow, and the creature slumps to one side.
Blood continues to pour out and vanish. The creature's body dissolves, the flesh sliding off the bones while the skin grows blacker. In less than a minute, all that is left from the creature are the foul-smelling smoke and black scraps on the floor. Yasmin dares not imagine how the scraps would feel to the touch.
"What is it, Auntie?" she wheezes. "What is that thing?"
Aunt Lula pulls out layers of tissue paper from its box. She wipes the blade carefully, keeping her fingers away from direct contact with the creature's blood. An odd image occurs to Yasmin: Aunt Lula standing in front of her students, lecturing them on the venoms contained in a monster's veins.
"A forsaken soul." Aunt Lula balls up the tissue papers and tosses them onto the floor. Her voice holds a tinge of sadness. "It's a long story, going back generations. A spell gone wrong, people getting infected after being killed by the first one, and then more bodies being corrupted. These unfortunates prey on this area and the surrounding ones around this time of the year. The oldest child of the family is doomed to stay and put an end to their misery. Because it was an oldest child who started all this."
The oldest child of the family. Like Yasmin herself is. Her head spinning, she gapes at Aunt Lula.
"Is that why my mother sent me here? To kill off these creatures? But what - I'm just a middle school kid! I've never even held weapons, or attacked anyone, or..."
Aunt Lula shakes her head. "I first did this when I was ten, and I wasn't even good in athletics. And I'm getting on in years. It's time for you to learn, and I will help you."
Yasmin half-runs toward Aunt Lula, then slows down. "What if I don't want to?" she demands.
"It'd be a fun way to spend your school holiday with. Trust me, I've been there."
"Is this why you never married? Is this why my mother divorced my dad? To keep this - this filthy job a secret?"
Even as she struggles not to yell, Yasmin's mind replays what her eyes have witnessed. The swish of the blade, and its swift, precise strokes. The satisfaction of having bested a murderous creature. The relief of safety and being able to keep other people safe.
But this is her school holiday! She's supposed to be having fun, not training to kill monsters! And what if later she falls in love with someone? Must she drive that person out of her life, just because of some foolish obligation she never agreed on in the first place?
Once again Aunt Lula's eyes turn watchful. "Your mother will call tomorrow. You can give her a list of the things you'd want delivered here. The two of us will spend the next month together, so make sure it's a list of bare necessities."
Aunt Lula smells exactly like Yasmin expected she would: a mixture of compact powder and pungent cajuput oil. In short, old people's smells. She grimaces when Aunt Lula embraces her, exclaiming over how big she has grown.
"Your mother told me you've joined the athletic club at school!" Aunt Lula ushers Yasmin into the living room. Biscuit jars, a plate of cream puffs, and tea are laid out on the table like an ambush. Yasmin has to suppress another wince. She dislikes tea, deeming it an insipid drink. Plain water is healthier and more invigorating.
"The athletic club is the pride of our school," she says, recalling the rows of trophies in the principal's office. "We've always won tournaments for the past ten years! And we never end up at the third place, either."
She is boasting, but Yasmin doesn't feel too guilty. She deserves to let off some steam, damn it. Why on earth did her mother send her to spend the school holiday's first few days here, with her mother's oldest sister? Aunt Lula doesn't even have a kid Yasmin's own age.
The accomplishments of her school's athletic club seem to impress Aunt Lula. "Are you on the the track team or something? Oh, here, have some of these butter cookies. I made them just this morning."
Losing all interest in boasting and wanting only to go home, Yasmin nibbles at the offered cookies. The amount of butter in them is just right, each bite crumbling in her mouth with a sweet, chocolatey aftertaste. Only three days, she reminds herself. In three days her mother will come and pick her up. Maybe Yasmin can even take these cookies home with her.
"My mother never told me why I'm here," she says. "Why am I here, Auntie?"
A smile curves Aunt Lula's mouth. Her eyes, however, are watchful. A chunk of cookie suddenly lodges itself inside Yasmin's throat. Aunt Lula has never married, lives alone in the outskirts of Jakarta, and earns her living as a docent. Is she the typical crazy old lady movies warn people about?
Rubbish, Yasmin thinks, her mother wouldn't send her to live in a dangerous person's house. But what if Yasmin's mother blithely assumes Aunt Lula is nice and harmless while she's actually not?
"Your mother believes I need company." Aunt Lula sips at her tea. The watchfulness is gone, as is her smile. "I don't often go out. My fellow docents are currently busy with either their families, uni kids whose grades need improvement, or both. Your mother is afraid I might be lonely."
Company for a lonely old lady. Unglamorous, but bearable. It's only for three days, anyway. Yasmin is not telling her friends, though. She is dying of jealousy already; their tweets and Facebook statuses are the very pictures of dream holidays. Oh, what she wouldn't give for trips across the big islands right now. Java-born and bred, Yasmin is sometimes curious to see what the rest of her country is like.
"Thank you so much for coming, my dear." Aunt Lula beams at her. "I appreciate it more than I can tell."
***
Cats yowling and howling are the sounds that grate on Yasmin's nerves the most. What is even more infuriating is that she can't yell back and throw pails of water at the animals, this not being her own house. It is past eleven at night; Aunt Lula has been in bed since nine, and the neighboorhood is so quiet that Yasmin is discouraged from breaking the silence.
None of her friends are even online, the traitors. No doubt they are all snugly sleeping and dreaming of the adventurous days ahead. Neither does Yasmin enjoy ranting to herself in social media - what is the point of ranting when no one is around to share the indignation?
Missing her own room, she flops down on the bed in Aunt Lula's guest bedroom. Outside, the cats squeal in fright, then the racket stops. A dog chasing them, Yasmin guesses, knowing that cats fearing dogs is cartoon shows stuff. Whatever, as long as the cats are gone.
The silence deepens. No night watchman knocks at the electricity poles to announce his rounds, no thrumming of vehicles passing by. Yasmin rolls over on her side, willing herself to sleep.
From above her come scratching and clicking sounds. The cats are back, probably prowling the rooftops without daring to attract attention. Yasmin sighs, hoping they will move on to other rooftops. Other cities, if necessary.
Crack! Yasmin sits bolt upright, eyes wide, shoulders tense. "The hell is that?" she says aloud. Have the cats fallen through her aunt's roof? "Bothersome cats, why can't they just pick some other house?"
Cautiously she climbs off the bed and peers up. The ceiling looks solid, without even a single blotch from long-ago rain. Running a hand through her short hair, Yasmin inches back toward the bed. Yep, this side also looks solid. Unless a dozen cats decide to fall together through the ceiling, she should be safe.
As she lowers her head, ready to snuggle back under the blanket, something hits the ceiling with a hard thump.
Yasmin leaps away from the bed, nearly tripping over her own feet. Heart in mouth, she presses her back against the door. The thump comes again, harder this time. Then another thump, and another. The fourth one is so loud that Yasmin yelps in response. Whatever it is on the other side of the ceiling is trying to break through.
Robbers! she thinks wildly, tugging at the doorknob. She bursts out of the guest bedroom and into the living room - dark, abandoned, smelling vaguely of cinnamon. Robbers forcing entry into this house! She should run out and scream for help, but will any night watchman hear her? Will anyone at all, in this eerily silent neighborhood?
A loud crash from the guest bedroom turns Yasmin's insides hot and loose. The robbers have broken through the ceiling. In a second they will rush out of the guest bedroom and kill her, or worse. Run! Yasmin's brain screams at her, but her feet remain glued to the floor.
From behind her, Aunt Lula says, "You're closer to the light switch. Turn on the light."
Yasmin whips around. Aunt Lula stands five steps away, the door to her bedroom open. Her nightdress is a pretty shade of cerise, with laces at the end of the sleeves. Yasmin is too bemused to wonder why her mind chooses to record these details instead of obeying her aunt's order.
"The light switch, my dear," Aunt Lula repeats. "On your right."
As though it belongs to someone else, Yasmin's hand reaches for the light switch, trembling. The living room is instantly bathed in a white glow. Then something lumbers out of the guest bedroom, and the sight of it unhinges Yasmin's knees.
The creature is human-looking, with matted hair that reaches past its shoulders. Where its face should have been is a mass of scabs and blackened skin. The torn shirt and trousers sit awkwardly on the creature's body, like clothes carelessly put on by impish hands. The creature's own hands end in short, blunt fingers, which look powerful enough to break through boards and plaster in one punch.
When the creature lunges at Yasmin, Aunt Lula steps between the two of them. She is so fast that all Yasmin sees is a flash of cerise and metal. A high-pitched scream explodes in the living room; the creature stumbles back, holding up stumps where its hands have been.
Yasmin's blood turns cold when she notices the severed hands lying near Aunt Lula's feet. With a whimper, she scuttles away toward the wall. Her shin hits a corner of the table, and the biscuit jars shuddder.
"Stay still," Aunt Lula says. "Watch closely."
Another metallic flash; Aunt Lula slashes down at the creature. The blade in her hand is short and wickedly sharp. Yasmin shouts in surprise when blood gushes out of the creature's throat and down its chest. Splatters of the blackish liquid hit the floor before evaporating in hissing smoke. Aunt Lula delivers another blow, and the creature slumps to one side.
Blood continues to pour out and vanish. The creature's body dissolves, the flesh sliding off the bones while the skin grows blacker. In less than a minute, all that is left from the creature are the foul-smelling smoke and black scraps on the floor. Yasmin dares not imagine how the scraps would feel to the touch.
"What is it, Auntie?" she wheezes. "What is that thing?"
Aunt Lula pulls out layers of tissue paper from its box. She wipes the blade carefully, keeping her fingers away from direct contact with the creature's blood. An odd image occurs to Yasmin: Aunt Lula standing in front of her students, lecturing them on the venoms contained in a monster's veins.
"A forsaken soul." Aunt Lula balls up the tissue papers and tosses them onto the floor. Her voice holds a tinge of sadness. "It's a long story, going back generations. A spell gone wrong, people getting infected after being killed by the first one, and then more bodies being corrupted. These unfortunates prey on this area and the surrounding ones around this time of the year. The oldest child of the family is doomed to stay and put an end to their misery. Because it was an oldest child who started all this."
The oldest child of the family. Like Yasmin herself is. Her head spinning, she gapes at Aunt Lula.
"Is that why my mother sent me here? To kill off these creatures? But what - I'm just a middle school kid! I've never even held weapons, or attacked anyone, or..."
Aunt Lula shakes her head. "I first did this when I was ten, and I wasn't even good in athletics. And I'm getting on in years. It's time for you to learn, and I will help you."
Yasmin half-runs toward Aunt Lula, then slows down. "What if I don't want to?" she demands.
"It'd be a fun way to spend your school holiday with. Trust me, I've been there."
"Is this why you never married? Is this why my mother divorced my dad? To keep this - this filthy job a secret?"
Even as she struggles not to yell, Yasmin's mind replays what her eyes have witnessed. The swish of the blade, and its swift, precise strokes. The satisfaction of having bested a murderous creature. The relief of safety and being able to keep other people safe.
But this is her school holiday! She's supposed to be having fun, not training to kill monsters! And what if later she falls in love with someone? Must she drive that person out of her life, just because of some foolish obligation she never agreed on in the first place?
Once again Aunt Lula's eyes turn watchful. "Your mother will call tomorrow. You can give her a list of the things you'd want delivered here. The two of us will spend the next month together, so make sure it's a list of bare necessities."