MAENAD
by Catlyn Ladd
Elinore twisted the dial on her computer speaker, increasing the volume of the classical music playing on YouTube. She’d forgotten her headphones at home and, if she heard Cathy clear her throat one more time, she thought she might lose it. Only a thin cubicle wall, open at the top, separated their desks and Elinore had begun to suspect that the other woman had a serious bronchial problem. Every three or four minutes a loud honk sounded, followed by a vocal clearing of phlegm. The sound set her teeth on edge, made her feel like screaming, made her want to pound on the walls. She’d been listening to that throat clearing for almost three months. The only way to escape it was music or white noise. And now, no headphones.
Elinore put her head in her hands and gave her eyes a brisk scrubbing, massaging her face and temples too. She could feel every ounce of wine from the night before as a low throb, a twinge of nausea.
“Excuse me?” Cathy’s voice was no better than her throat clearing, a nasal whine.
Elinore looked up to see the other woman peeking around the edge of the cubicle. Cathy’s cheeks and double chin gleamed under the fluorescents.
“Yes?” Elinore didn’t quite manage a polite smile but at least kept her expression neutral.
“Can you turn the music down, please?”
Elinore felt her tenuous grasp on civility slip another notch. “It blocks out the office noise and helps me concentrate.”
“Can you wear headphones?” Now Cathy stepped fully into view, her arms crossed aggressively over her ample bosom.
“Can you?” Elinore spat back.
Cathy’s eyes narrowed behind smudged glasses. “I don’t have a problem with office noises.”
Elinore signed and reeled herself back in. “I’m sorry, Cathy. I usually bring headphones. But I forgot them at home today and I’m having trouble concentrating. Can you help me out? Just today?” Cathy’s thin mouth narrowed even more, her lips disappearing. “Office policy is for music to be inaudible.”
Elinore bit down in the inside of her cheek. “I know the policy. I’m asking for a bit of leniency. Just for today. Please.” The wine headache made her add the last word. If Cathy didn’t give on this, Elinore wasn’t sure what she’d do. She wanted to slap that fat face silly, punch until red welts appeared on that sallow skin, strike until that thin mouth split and blood gushed.
For a moment she actually saw it: bloody teeth, tears streaming from already watery eyes.
Cathy may have seen some of the uncontrolled emotion because she took a tiny step back. “Well…” She sniffed. “If it’s only today.” It surprised Elinore how disappointed she felt when Cathy caved. She’d been spoiling for a fight and it amazed her how ready she was in that moment to throw it all away: the job, the paycheck, the spotless work history. “Thank you,” she managed and turned back to her computer.
The spreadsheet open on the screen blurred and she closed her eyes, listening to the heavy tread as Cathy retreated. The footsteps did not return to the adjacent cubicle and Elinore assumed that Cathy headed toward the break room or the toilet. At least she’d have a few minutes of peace before the honking resumed.
One hour until lunch. Then four hours until she could clock out. Thirty minutes on the train. And then the bottle of wine, the 1.5 liter, cooling in the fridge. Set the headphones next to the door, she reminded herself. Or you really will kill that woman.
Elinore awoke so completely disoriented that she thought herself back in college when she’d regularly woken up in strange surroundings next to strange people. But this was no dorm room with unfamiliar posters on the wall.
She stared up at branches and became aware of pine needles, simultaneously prickly and soft, under her bare skin. She sat up, bracing herself for the nauseated swoop of head and stomach as a hangover made itself known.
Elinore pushed herself into a kneeling position, looking out through the branches. She saw a yellow halogen light and an empty park bench. She’d woken up under a thick juniper bush in a park. Totally naked. And with no headache. She actually felt…sort of wonderful.
She scoured about for her clothes, struggling to remember…how on earth…? She remembered Cathy, how deeply angry she’d been. She remembered struggling through the day, riding home, opening the door, opening the refrigerator, opening the wine…then black.
Elinore had experienced alcohol forgetfulness before but never this total blank. She’d always been able to basically retrace her steps, recall the boy who’d seemed so cute and witty now snoring beside her, pimples sprinkled across his back, remember the last drink, the one that had put her over the edge into a stranger’s bed. She’d never been too drunk to remember a name, a condom, the location of the place she woke up. But she had no idea how she’d arrived here in the middle of the night with no sick pulse of headache.
She pushed the spiky branches aside, smelling the fresh scent of the trees, and looked in all directions. The only thing moving was the breeze catching a bit of fabric lying on the ground several meters away. She recognized the long tee shirt she wore as a nightgown. At least she wouldn’t have to walk home naked.
She pushed out through the branches, wincing as the spines scraped across her exposed skin. Quickly, she went to her crumpled tee and pulled it on. Dirt smeared across the front in a dark band and one of the sleeves had been torn.
“What the fuck?” she whispered to herself.
She had no idea what time it was but no one seemed to be out and the city was quiet with only a few cars passing. She felt great: rested, energized, almost charged. She recognized that bench, that fountain. She’d awoken in the park a few blocks from her building.
She broke into a jog, both wanting to get off the streets and also because it felt good to run. Overhead, the moon hung round and white, like a staring, skeletal eye. Elinore had never liked the moon; its light was too cold, robbing the night of color. As a child she had reoccurring dreams that it spoke to her, telling her awful, bloody things, telling her to get out of bed, get the axe…. She pushed the memories away.
“I’m not a child,” she told the moon. It did not respond.
The windows in her apartment building were dark except for a dim glow from the lamp in her living room on the third floor. She keyed in her code and raced up the stairs, too impatient to wait for the elevator. Her door stood open, the golden light from her lamp dying in the harsh overheads in the hall.
She paused in the doorway, nervous about that gaping door. But everything was silent and still. She pulled the door shut behind her but did not lock the deadbolt just in case she needed to flee. Quickly, she pulled open the hall closet, looked behind the couch, peered into the small kitchen, flipping on lights as she went. No one in the shower, no one under the bed, no one in the walk-in. She looked every place large enough to hold a person and found no one. All she found was the wine bottle, empty, in the kitchen sink. “What the hell?” she asked the empty apartment. It did not answer. She locked the door and decided a shower sounded like a good idea. The aroma wafting from her armpits smelled acrid and wild. By the time she emerged, the sun peeked over the building to the east and her apartment filled with a mellow dawn glow.
She padded naked into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Another bottle of wine sat chilling on the top shelf and she pulled it out along with the carton of eggs. The bottle had a twist-off and the scent made her mouth water. She tipped the bottle up and took two huge swallows. Overspill ran down her chin and she armed it off while opening a cabinet for a pan to cook the eggs.
She took a smaller sip as she waited for the pan to warm. When she cracked the egg the aroma made her mouth water unlike anything she’d ever experienced. Saliva squirted, making her taste buds tingle. Instead of letting the egg drop into the pan she dumped it directly into her mouth.
Her stomach gave a terrific leap. Nothing had ever tasted so good. She felt like she couldn’t swallow fast enough and immediately cracked another. Some of the white dripped onto her chest and she ignored it, cracking a third egg, shoving the shell in as well, crunching it between her teeth. She’d never been so hungry. She took another giant gulp of wine to wash everything down, picking shards of shell out of her teeth with her tongue. The shell had cut her gum and she tasted blood. Her stomach rumbled.
“This is gross,” she said to the apartment. But it didn’t feel gross. She felt wonderful, positively divine. Though still hungry.
But the eggs were gone and the only other thing in the fridge was an ancient block of cheese that had gone past mold to mummified. Gross, indeed.
Elinore wiped the egg off her chest with a kitchen towel and took a final sip of wine before regretfully putting the bottle back. The alcohol roared through her but she didn’t feel even slightly intoxicated.
“I feel awake,” she told the apartment. “Like the Buddha was awake.” Facing her closet she took out slacks and a blouse, pulling everything on over no underthings. All those clothes just seemed like too much bother and she luxuriated in the fabric against her skin. Shoving her feet into slip-ons, she let herself back out into the day, locking the door carefully behind her.
Usually, Elinore’s mornings began with a wine headache, dragging herself to the train, dreading another day in the cubicle, stealing herself for eight hours of Cathy’s bronchial honking. But today the air felt fresh against her skin and she drew it deep into her lungs, smelling flowers, exhaust, dirt, perfume, feces, and some sweet aroma that sent salvia squirting into her mouth again. She turned down the street, following the scent to the corner grocery where sausages hung in the window.
Normally, the idea of flesh stuffed into intestine repulsed her but today Elinore found the pink links much more appealing. Nothing had ever sounded so good as a sausage.
She entered the store, ignoring the display of cheap wine, and made her way to the meat counter. “Three, please,” she said, indicating the sausages. On the way out she grabbed a bottle anyway.
She tore into the meat, ignoring the man who looked at her, startled, when she made a small moan of pleasure. The raw bloodiness of it, combined with the spices, slid down her throat and she tore off another hunk, her teeth pulling at the casing, stretching it before breaking through. The texture – chewy and soft – seemed like the most perfect thing.
She ate all three sausages on the way to the train, pausing only long enough to wash it all down with mouthfuls of wine. She didn’t feel even slightly drunk.
For the first time ever, Elinore arrived early to work. She set her bag on her chair and powered up the computer. While it went through the startup cycle, she went to the toilet to pee.
She didn’t recognize herself in the mirror. Unlike the sallow woman aging too quickly toward thirty, the person staring back at her was beautiful: rosy skin, sparkling eyes, hair crackling with curls. She hadn’t put on any makeup or blown out her hair but she looked almost airbrushed. She’d never looked like this.
Elinore leaned toward the mirror, mesmerized. “What happened to you?” she asked her reflection.
No reply.
Back at her desk, Elinore pulled her headphones out of her bag, plugged them in, and powered up the new Gojira album on iTunes. The guitars filled her head and she got to work, her fingers speeding easily over the keys. When Cathy arrived twenty minutes later and peered over their shared wall, Elinore didn’t even notice.
When Elinore let herself out of the office at the end of the day the moon balanced above the horizon, huge and still almost full. It stopped her in her tracks, robbing her of breath. Never had she seen anything so beautiful. Why had she ever been afraid of that glowing symbol of the feminine? She wanted to rip off her clothes and bask in that silver light.
“Looking good!” The voice spoke right in her ear and she swung around, startled from her thoughts.
Brad, the office hottie, laughed at her, his eyes skating quickly over her chest. Braless, her nipples tented the front of her blouse. She watched him look, amused. “Thank you,” she said.
“Have time for a drink?” he asked.
He’d never noticed her before when she would have given anything for his regard. Now, she felt almost nothing. She looked at his full lower lip and wondered if it would taste like the sausage, raw and bloody.
He lifted his brows when she didn’t reply. “Elinore?”
“No, thank you. I have places to be. Things to do.” She turned her back on him and walked toward that moon.
“Come child,” it said. “Come home.”
He came to her in a dream, emerging from the moonlight like a fairy tale. She stood to meet him, unashamed in her nakedness, and raised her arms to him. His skin like fur beneath her fingers, velvet and rich. She’d never seen anyone so beautiful and he came just for her. “Elinore.” Her name like a prayer on his lips, making her laugh with pleasure.
This was a dream. It had to be a dream. It didn’t feel like a dream. “Will you dance with me?”
And there was music, the high piping of flutes over a building, percussive rhythm. She felt it in her blood and bones.
She took his hand and he drew her into the field, grass soft under her bare feet, whispering against her legs. The drums rose and her body moved to meet their call. His body moved to meet hers.
She was aware of others dancing, the bodies a press, skin on skin, slick with sweat. She felt him against her, the long muscles of his legs, the taut expanse of his belly, the hair curling below his navel, the hardness of him against her thighs and between her legs. It had been good a few times, in the past, but nothing like this. Nothing like this explosion of pleasure, the total lack of guilt. Bodies supported her, moved her, as he pressed into her, his lush lips on her mouth, tongue teasing hers, tasting of wine and something wild and sweet. Something like blood. She sucked on his tongue, famished, and he laughed into her mouth.
The music rose, louder. The bodies around hers pulsed in time with the drums, breasts and legs and wild hair in the night air. She ran her fingers into the dark curls of his beard, pulling his face back so that she could look into his golden eyes.
“Who are you?” she asked.
He did not reply, only swigged from the bottle that appeared in his hand, leaning forward into her, the wine trickling from his mouth into hers, crazy and sweet. She drank from his mouth, ravenous.
Later, she did not know how long, she found herself running, a woman on each side of her, running in a crowd of women. The woman to her left laughed, her teeth very white against dark skin, and Elinore laughed, too. The woman took her hand, fingers curling together, pulling one another on. Elinore didn’t know why they ran, or to where, but she’d never felt so alive, so certain. Her breath came fast and strong, her legs pumping, her feet bare on the ground. She felt no pain, no fear. She looked for the beautiful man and spotted him far ahead, leading, the moonlight shining silver on his skin. His long hair streamed behind him and, when he howled, a chorus of voices rose to answer him, howling in return. Elinore threw back her head and joined in, her voice one among many. Their voices rang in the night. Above, the moon howled, too.
She had no idea where she was. This forest was not the city; it was nowhere she’d ever been. And she had no idea how she’d come to be here. But she didn’t care. She ran faster.
The women ahead of her parted, some running to the left while others went right. Elinore saw a field ahead, a shallow bowl full of moonlight and moving bodies. It looked like hundreds of people, hundreds of women.
The man stood in the center, something huge and dark before him, humped on the ground, thrashing. Elinore lost sight among the press of bodies, and found herself swept forward, almost off her feet. Still she felt no fear. The crowd shoved her to the front and she finally fell, catching herself easily on her hands and knees. Before her, under the women’s hands, struggled a huge elk.
“I am definitely not in Kansas, anymore,” she whispered. There weren’t elk within a thousand miles of her city apartment.
A woman appeared suddenly, like a magic trick, and Elinore realized that she’d climbed on top of the huge beast from the other side. The naked woman straddled the elk, holding tight with her dimpled knees. She had to be at least fifty, heavy through breast and thigh, her hair cut in what Elinore thought of as a “mom bob.” But she didn’t look like a mom now. Now, she looked like a wild creature, her legs smeared with dirt, her hair disheveled. She took the elk by the huge rack of horns and yanked the shaggy head back with a strength Elinore couldn’t comprehend. Three women in front of the elk dug into the exposed throat with their fingers. Elinore watched the acrylic nails of one of the women sink into the exposed flesh. Blood flowed and then gushed, filling Elinore’s nostrils with copper. Her mouth filled with saliva. She rushed in. The blood ran over her chin and streaked her chest. She sank her teeth into the flesh, feeling the great beast shudder, roar, and then still. The meat tasted warm and good.
Elinore awoke disoriented. Again. Sunlight fell across her legs in a warm band. She sat up, pushing her hair out of her eyes. Dirt and grass and blood caked her sheets; her feet and legs were coated in mud. She saw a trail of dirt and grass on the carpet. Following it, she found the front door open. Again.
“What the fuck is happening?” She closed the door and went to the shower thinking about lost time, psychosis, early onset dementia, alien abductions. But she felt so good: energized, alert, limber. And hungry.
Clean and dressed, she grabbed her bag, locked the door, and went to get more meat. Today, cutlets of steak filled the display case and Elinore bought two. She ignored the looks of passersby as she pulled the raw meat apart with her teeth, licking the blood and juices from her fingers.
At the office, her coworkers clustered in the break room watching the television. Curious, Elinore stood on tiptoe to see the newscast. A reporter stood in front of the zoo sign and the crawler at the bottom read “Elk slain in bizarre attack.” The picture shifted and Elinore saw the great humped back, the antlers inert and pointing toward the sky. She laughed to herself. Brad glanced at the sound and then did a double take. She didn’t know what he saw in her and didn’t care. Suddenly, she didn’t care about this job at all.
She turned to leave but found Cathy standing behind her, watching the television over her shoulder. “Excuse me,” Elinore said.
“Can you believe that?” The other woman gestured at the screen. “They think a mountain lion got loose in the zoo.”
The press of bodies in the break room felt very different than the naked women dancing. The air reeked of their bodies, their shampoo, their deodorant. “Excuse me,” Elinore said again.
“I was just there last weekend,” Cathy said. “I took my grandchildren. They’re ten and six.”
Elinore felt a flush of heat on her chest, a feeling of being trapped, the walls closing. She shoved past Cathy, pushing the other woman hard into the wall, eliciting a startled squawk. She didn’t look back.
On the street, she looked up at the sky, loving the scent of the breeze, carrying the aroma of grass and flowers. High above the moon glowed, a small disc in the bright sky. She didn’t see a face in it; she saw a rabbit, standing and ready to run.
“Chase me,” the moon whispered.
Her mouth watered.
She heard a low laugh and turned to find two women standing next to her. “I think you’re one of us,” the first said. She had wildly curling red hair and laughing hazel eyes.
“Definitely one of us,” the second said. She had golden skin and black eyes.
“Who are you?” Elinore asked.
They laughed together, heads thrown back, teeth flashing. Elinore found herself smiling, too.
“Tell me,” said the golden one. “Are you happy with your life?”
Elinore told the truth. “No.”
“Have you been having weird experiences lately?” asked the redhead. “Waking up in strange places?”
“How do you know that?” Elinore asked.
“He’s calling you,” the golden one said. “Do you want to come?”
“Yes,” Elinore responded without hesitating. “Where are we going?”
The redhead took her hand. “To the land of moonbeams where all things are possible.”
The golden one removed a bottle from the bag she wore over her shoulder and pulled the protruding cork out with her teeth. She handed the bottle to Elinore. The wine was sweet and strong. “He’s calling us,” the redhead said.
Elinore became aware of faint music, the high piping of a flute, the deep pulse of drums. A tingle of excitement ran down her body, a flush of heat in her cheeks and between her legs. When the two women turned and ran down the street toward the moon she followed.
The world peeled away, the streets shattering, the people fading out, the sun darkening and becoming the moon. Trees shot up from the ground and the sky overhead filled with stars. Elinore saw the city as an illusion peeling away; this new world was the really real, the only thing that mattered.
She became aware of others joining them, a crowd of surging women. To her left the redhead pulled her on. To her right a stout woman with short brown hair pulled a blue housedress over her head and flung it away. She fell behind pulling her underwear down but regained her footing and ran on, her white flesh shining with sweat in the moonlight.
Elinore laughed and ripped her shirt open, buttons flying. All around her women tore at their clothing, revealing skin in every tone. The drums sounded louder ahead and she put on a burst of speed, leaving her companions behind.
The beautiful man stood in the clearing playing a flute. He wore no clothes, revealing long, muscled legs and torso, erect penis. His hair streamed down his back almost to his waist. Tiny beads and bells glittered in his beard.
Behind him, women played drums, their bodies shining in the silver light. All around, women danced, their bodies sliding past and against one another. Discarded clothing lay everywhere.
Elinore stopped, her breath heaving. She wanted to take it all in, establish the real. She felt the earth beneath her feet and she kicked off her shoes, digging her toes into grass and soft loam beneath. Someone pressed a bottle into her hand and she drank deep before passing it off to another person as they sped by.
“If this is insanity, I’ll take it,” she said. Her words were lost under the music and she let her body begin to move again.
To the east, toward the moon, she heard a great cry begin, sweeping toward the field. She realized that hundreds, maybe thousands, of women danced in the forest ahead. The howl grew as more and more voices joined. Elinore waited, listening. Women threw back their heads and shouted. Bodies pressed against hers all around. “This is really happening,” she said.
“You bet your fucking ass it’s happening,” the woman next to her said and Elinore laughed. The woman laughed back and then they both took up the cry as the crowd surged. Elinore found herself lifted and carried forward. She saw the beautiful man throw his hands up and the women shrieked in response. Then they all ran, holding one another up, pulling one another forward.
Into the forest they went, the moonlight dappling their bodies. From far ahead Elinore heard a scream of fear. Around her, the women ran faster.
This was the wild hunt, this surge of women, this fearlessness. Elinore felt herself drop away. Her whole life had been according to plan: college, career, marriage, children, retirement, grandchildren, all surrounded by a white picket fence and tied in a bow. It hadn’t been her plan but she had followed it anyway, only able to rebel with wine and casual sex. She’d both hated the plan and been full of guilt when she deviated.
None of that mattered now. All that mattered was the scream; follow it, find it, kill it.
Elinore ran.
Ahead, she saw the quarry, a woman running ahead of the others, running away. The beautiful man dogged her, his hands slapping at her, fingers pulling her hair. But never quite catching.
Elinore passed the other women, caught up with the beautiful man. He grinned at her and she saw the sharpness of his teeth. “I saved her for you,” he said.
Elinore ran harder than she’d ever run before and bumped the running woman’s foot with her toes. The woman tripped, fell, tumbled. Elinore jumped over the falling body. Behind her, the beautiful man stopped, spreading his arms wide, halting the heaving multitude of women. They made a wide ring around Elinore and the fallen woman who lay crying on her face on the forest floor. Elinore grabbed her by the shoulder and rolled her over. Seeing Cathy, she felt absolutely no surprise. Of course it was Cathy.
Tears streamed down the other woman’s cheeks and flushed bosom. Her shirt had torn and gaped open over a white, cotton bra.
Elinore placed a foot on either side of Cathy’s body and sat down hard on her stomach. Air whooshed out and the crying stopped.
“Elinore!” Cathy wailed, her voice hitching. “What’s happening? Where are we?”
Elinore did not reply. The world had ripped apart at the seams, dumping her into a forested world of moonlight and madness. She sat naked atop a coworker she’d hated for months surrounded by a teeming crowd of women as naked as she. The most beautiful man in the world stood over her, wicked grin of barbed teeth.
The world of office cubicles and business casual, Friday happy hour and apartments, felt remote and unreal. This felt real. She had never been so alert, so sober. So hungry.
Her eyes fastened on Cathy’s fat cheek, shining with sweat and tears and oil in the silver light of the moon laughing overhead. “You’re home,” it told her.
“What’s happening, Elinore?’ Cathy implored.
“Eat,” said the moon.
“Shut up.” Elinore slapped Cathy, handprint stark on her face. The other woman drew in a breath but Elinore didn’t let her continue. With a snarl she buried her teeth in the other woman’s face. Just like she’d wanted to.
Blood bubbled into her mouth and she tore a bite of flesh away. It tasted sweet and good.
Beneath her the other woman jerked and screamed. Around her the women screamed back. Elinore bit again, and the women swarmed in, tearing, biting, pulling at living flesh. The beautiful man laughed, blood spraying across his skin, drops black in the moonlight.