Sweet Poison
by Consatnce Gelvin

I distilled my hatred into the creating of my doll; my poppet as Mama called them. My curses rained upon it as I fashioned flounces and petticoats. I imagined the evils I hoped would befall my faithless one, and those he held dear.

"You heard about the Sleighter house yet? No? Sheesh, let's go." Dawn rode off without waiting for Ruth's reply. She pushed deeply, standing upright on the pedals, didn't have to stop like Ruth did and walk her bike up the deep ruts of Mt. Squanee Road.

The house was driftwood gray with a sagging wraparound porch. A rusty, doorless Volkswagen sat by the pines that shaded the house into semi-darkness in early afternoon.

Dawn whacked her bike's kickstand with her heel. "Welcome to Squanee's very own haunted house."

"Haunted? Like in ghosts?" Ruth's gaze took in the windows with their cobweb-shattery broken panes, the scattered beer cans, the graffiti'ed "Squanee Squires" on one wall. A sign: "Sleighter's Doll Salo" hung crookedly by the door, splattered with what looked like egg yolks.

"Yeah, like in ghosts."

"Have you ever seen--"

"Once I saw something sort of float down the stairs. I started running."

"Who?"

"Who what?"

"Who, uh, floated--"

"Sondra Sleighter. Lots of good stories about her. Some people say she killed herself, that her body was found swinging from a rafter. My Dad said that's bullshit. Said she left for greener pastures is how he put it. Sam Jones, you know, fatso Jenna's Dad? Anyway, he said she was kidnapped. Girls just disappear--whoosh!--from this town."

"The Mountain Wanderer?"

"Uh huh." Dawn walked stiff-legged toward Ruth. "The Mountain Wanderer wants you!"

Ruth jumped back. "What's a salo?"

"A sal-low? What are you talking about?"

"That sign: 'Doll Salo'."

"Salon. N's broken off--doll salon. Old lady Sleighter, Sondra's Mom, ran a doll store and doll hospital-type place from here. Know what? If you want to hang out with me--"

Ruth did, more than anything.

"--you've got to join my club. Initiation's easy. Just spend one hour in the house."

Ruth shuddered. "No p-problemo. I guess."

"At black midnight."

"Say what? But you yourself hightailed it when--"

"Me and a few of the other cheerleaders are already initiated. This is what we decided our next member should do."

It was almost too wonderful for Ruth to imagine: being accepted by the popular girls, not being teased about J.R. all the time.

"Not interested? We can ask Alanie--"

"I'm interested."

"You know, right after you moved here, when you were still hanging out with Loser Leta, I was the only one who thought you'd be perfect for our club. But if you're scared--"

"I'm not, but can't I do something else? Like whatever ya'll did, or--"

"Ya'll. Redneck. You don't want to do what I did. Promise."

"How do you know? Want was it?"

"Let's just say I...took care...of somebody." Dawn heaved a rock at the VW. "But fuck that. Let's blow this Popsicle stand. Come to my house--I've got something to show you. From ghostie girl Sondra herself."

Hearing the f-word spoken stunned Ruth, then joy burst inside her. She and her Mom often admired Dawn's home with its park-sized lawn divided in half by Ruxton Creek's rushing waters that charged the air with a sharp energy. Dawn's house even had a name: Sparkling Waters. "Y-yeah, I mean--"

"Spit it out. Have to ask Mommy first?"

"Nope. It's okay; she's not home anyway."

"Mine either. Bridge today, dahling."

Ruth laughed.

His poppet was a fare-thee-well gift. Trussed in transparent tissues, then boxed and wrapped gaily, he tore into it eagerly.

They rode to Dawn's house; Ruth gritted her teeth at the downhill speed, fearful of flying over the handlebars. Their bikes' tires crunched over the white-pebbled circular driveway, "Keep quiet, just in case," Dawn whispered.

"In case what?"

Dawn ignored her question. Entering, Ruth tripped, awed by the curved staircase. She imagined a movie star posing on the landing, sheer curtains billowing before the open windows the way they did in scary movies. Above the checkerboard-looking foyer floor dripped a chandelier that looked like hundreds of crystal icicles.

"Shh... Let's sneak some cookies."

Their kitchen was larger than Ruth's apartment. Copper pans gleamed from a metal ring suspended from the ceiling. Larger versions of the placemats Ruth wove on her plastic Handi Loom covered the brick floor. A woman, barefoot and wearing a garden party dress and an armful of bracelets sat, smoking. Ruth knew who she was, had read of her in the Sentinel's "Society Snippets: "Resplendent in a winter-white evening suit, Mallie Jamison nibbled on salmon in puff pastry at the Jonquil Guild luncheon."

Dawn stopped abruptly, gaping.

"Look what the cat dragged in." Mrs. Jamison rubbed a finger around the rim of her wineglass. She glanced at Ruth, briefly.

"I thought you were at--"

"Obviously."

"We're just getting a snack--"

"No, you are not. No junk food--"

"Then Ruth and I are going to study Treasure Island--you know, for English summer reading."

Ruth started in surprise; Dawn glared at her.

"Mom, I told you this after your hair appointment, remember?"

"You did no such thing. Don't even start. You know perfectly well Darlene Jones finally agreed to do drinks tonight. She's bringing Jenna."

"I asked Dad. When he, um, last night, he said it was okay; he..." Ruth was shocked at Dawn's dwindling voice.

"Jesus! You're already changing your story. Don't you even listen to yourself? And don't try your divide-and-conquer number; it won't--"

A tanned man dressed in blazingly white shorts and knit shirt entered. Tennis whites, Ruth knew they were called. She shivered with delight. She felt like she was in a play where sophisticated actors entered, spoke, as if on cue.

"Hey, come give your old man a squeeze. And this lovely girl must be the Jenna I've heard so much about."

Jenna? Ruth was confused. He walked over to her, grabbed her hand, kissed it. His eyes never left hers until she looked away, shyly.

"Dad, you know this isn't--oh, forget it. Come on, Ruth, let's go. We'll be in my room, waiting for Jumbo Jenna." Dawn ran to a cupboard with curling vines painted on it, rummaged through it.

"No you don't, Missy. Put those cookies down."

Dawn juggled the cookie tin from hand to hand, as she hurried toward the door. "The Porker can come with us to Ruth's. We're having dinner there tonight."

"James, why did you say--"

"Come on, Ruthie-Roo. I can't wait to meet your delightful Mom."

How my false one admired his poppet. How his eyes widened in surprise, how he praised my talents with fulsome words. But I, with my secret knowledge of his sinning, did but wonder at the marvel of his performance.

"But, Dawn, my Mom's not expecting supper company tonight. We're just having cereal and milk--not that we usually have that or anything--but tonight's her "Birthing Yourself" seminar and, well, since Jenna's---"

"Cool your jets. You've got to see the Tamara doll that Sondra Sleighter made for me. Sorry about my Mother. She's freakout-prone. Doesn't have anything better to do than monitor my food intake and my Daddy-time. And I hate how she pushes Jenna on me. You know, I promised Jenna I wouldn't tell, but she called you a lard ass--"

"Jenna called me a--"

"But I said, 'Ruth's just curvy, like Teena, the first Transforma girl.'"

"My Mom and I are on diets. We--"

"Have a cookie. And welcome to my humble abode."

Ruth looked around, dumbstruck at the room's wonders: a huge portrait of little-girl Dawn with Mallie, a canopy bed and floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with books and dolls: Madame Michelline dolls in foreign country clothes, baby dolls in christening gowns, rag dolls in pinafores, and a toddler-sized ventriloquist's dummy with deep gashes from the corner of his lips to his jaw.

One doll caught Ruth's eye. Shiny corkscrew curls peeked from under a fur hat tied below her chin. She wore a high-collared coat with pin-sized pearl buttons, black-and-white ankle spats, a small leather satchel was slung over her shoulder. One eye seemed to peer off into the distance. A lazy eye, Ruth thought. Like mine.

"Catch." Dawn flung the doll, and it landed with a thud! at Ruth's feet, its legs splayed. From its satchel flew a tiny, naked baby doll curled in a fetal position. Ruth knelt, touched the baby's cool bisque skin.

"Weird, huh? Tamara's this prissy, olden-days doll, but then she's got this little fetus or something in her purse. Mother said it's because Sondra was a slut, and crazy to boot, but my Dad told me Sondra was a doll-making genius, an artist in her own right. Look, this is Sondra's hair--Dad said she had hair to her waist before she whacked it all off."

"Did you name her Tamara?"

"Her full name's Wish-Come-True Tamara, but Dad doesn't know why Sondra named her that. But look at this." Dawn pulled down the doll's pantaloons. At the "v" where Tamara's legs joined, sprouted a tuff of curly, coarse hair. Ruth looked away, embarrassed.

"Can't help but wonder if that was her hair, too." Dawn snickered.

Ah, hindsight is clear. I remember our walks, where he taught me the flowers' long science names, where he pointed out moist lizards quivering, camouflaged as the bark of trees. Our trips to the Falls, the time I was frightened when he said we were going to the Mountain Wanderer's cave--all of it was of a piece.

"You're from another era," he said. "My old-fashioned girl; the way you speak is pure poetry. No cars, bright lights, or downtown hubbub for you."

Only later did I realize he hadn't wanted to be seen with me.

As they walked to her home, Ruth worried the girls would think she was poor white trash. When they turned onto Minnehaha Avenue, she squinted down the block and saw her apartment building. Dark. Suddenly she was glad her Mom had thrown herself so completely into self improvement that she was gone most nights. After Ruth's Dad, the Rev. May, Director of SafeHaven Ministries "Kids from the Street to the Cross," had run off with another woman, Ruth had felt bereft, lonely. But she'd come to enjoy her new-found freedom. For the first time, the burden of long skirts, all-day Sunday services, and bans against rock 'n roll, dancing and movies had been lifted.

Jenna paused in the doorway, panting, "Wow, your place sure is small. Let's go to your room."

"Well, um, this is it. In New York one big room is called a studio. We're just camping out here--that's how we like to think of it--'til my Mom starts getting child support."

Ruth grimaced at the scattered boxes spilling their contents: clothing, manila folders, pots and pans unused since her Mom had "gotten out from under the bondage of cooking," a case of stewed tomatoes, posters from Mushroom Monday's they hadn't gotten around to hanging.

Dawn smiled. "I like how snuggly-feeling it is. I told Mother Dear I was moving into the gardener's cottage. Thought she'd be glad to be rid of me, but she said no way, Josè. I was mad, but now I know it wouldn't be such a good idea, me back there all by myself." Dawn stared through Ruth's front window, pensive.

"I wish we'd stayed at your house, Dawn. Those little sandwiches your Mom made looked so yum." Jenna knocked over some books stacked on a box.

Ruth panicked, their fridge only had milk, apples and peanut butter with the jelly already swirled in. Then it came to her: "I know. Let's make p.b.j.'s and take some apples, and I'll treat to Icees with my birthday money. We can eat at the park with the Chief Walking Quiet statue."

"That's so lame," Jenna said, "Only tourists--.

"Great, it'll be like a picnic," Dawn said.

I laugh at their fear of my home, at their childish belief in haunts and ghosts and the power of love. To think I myself once thrilled at the promise of romance. That my heart jumped upon hearing my beloved proclaim that he'd never felt this way before.

Mama hated him from the first. "My daughter Sondra will take care of you, sir," the words sounded as if she'd bitten them off her tongue. And, oh, how she came to rue those words. I remember the day she'd discovered the identity of my love. "Whore of Babylon," she screamed at me.

Jenna spit out a mouthful of apple. "Rotten. Gross!"

Ruth ignored her, when Jenna wasn't complaining she was fawning over Dawn and ignoring her.

Ruth shrugged. "The whole legend about Chief Walking Quiet is so...mysterious. We never had anything half so iteresting in Hallow Falls."

Jenna smirked. "Jeez, you dum dum. Bet your boyfriend J.R. didn't tell you the real legend of Chief Walking Quiet. 'Course you were probably too busy making out to--"

Pure, intense hatred stabbed through Ruth. She wasn't about to let Jenna ruin her chance at being a popular girl. "J.R. and I never...I don't care what he says now. But what would you know about making out? Bet you haven't even been kissed."

Jenna's plump cheeks swelled in an gleeful grin, harsher than a slap. "Better that than being a slut."

Dawn laughed, then plopped down on a swing and started pumping her legs. Ruth was amazed. When people fussed and fought it made her nervous, but Dawn seemed to enjoy it.

"So tell Ruth the real Chief Walking Quiet story."

"Gladly. J.R.'s hood sister Casey posed kneeling with her head up under Chief W.Q.'s little loincloth there."

"So?" Ruth was confused. "Big deal."

"You don't get it, do you? Like she was giving him a blow job, lame brain."

"Oh."

Jenna stilled the swing's chains, grabbed Dawn and they both howled with laughter. "Let's get outta here. Ruth's so-called dinner made me want to hurl. Let's eat at your house, Dawn, then ask if I can spend the night."

No. That can't happen, Ruth thought. She had to think of something to get Jenna out of the picture. An idea burst into her mind, not completely thought out, but better than nothing. "Hey, I know what we could do. Is Jenna a member of your club?"

Dawn looked uncomfortable. Jenna looked over, instantly suspicious.

"What club?"

"Dawn's club. For popular girls. You have to be initiated and everything."

"It's just getting going, Jenna; I was going to ask you when--"

"So what do you have to do to be initiated?"

Ruth smiled. "Dawn's already asked me. All I have to do is spend an hour at the old Sleighter place." Ruth tried to sound nonchalant.

"You're crazy! The place is haunted. Dawn must've come up with that 'cause she knew you couldn't do it, 'cause she didn't want you anyway. Right, Dawn?"

Dawn's gaze traveled between the two girls, dazed delight creasing her face.

"Let's kill two birds with one stone. Oops,--better not say the word 'kill.' The Sleighter ghost, might just kill you, Jenna, if you don't die of fright first. But if you're too chicken--"

"My Mom would never let me go to the Sleighter house at night. Unlike your Mom who probably wouldn't even know. Or care."

"Well, guess what? Dum dum." Ruth was surprised at good the cruel words tasted.

Dawn giggled.

"Our parents don't have to know. We're not bitty babies--at least Dawn and I aren't. First we tell your Mom and Dawn's that we're staying at my house. I'll call my Mom and say I'm staying at Dawn's. Then we'll sneak over to the Sleighter house. Whaddya say, Dawn, how about whoever stays the longest is the next member of your club, and the other person can't join, no matter what else they say they'll do?"

"Uh uh. Dawn, I'll do something else--"

Dawn sprang from the swing effortlessly. "You're on. Two initiations for the price of one, my kind of deal. I'll be waiting, back by the beater car, so nobody can lie about who stayed longer."

Fear coursed through Ruth. What if she actually saw a ghost? What if icy, invisible fingers grabbed her? But she had to do it, had to supplant Jenna in Dawn's affections.

She knew she would last the longest. She had to.

When he stopped coming to me, I followed him. I learned his routines. He'd run in the mornings, then drive to his Squanee Estates business--cheap, interchangeable houses hunkered on what was once Indian ceremonial grounds.

In many ways, I felt I knew him better than when we'd been together, when he'd whistle and I'd bolt, my Mama's rants bouncing off my back. "Your lascivious ways will be the death of me."

And they had been.

Then one night, hiding under a weeping willow, I saw him, sinning, doing unspeakable things. I'd never thought of what we'd done as wrong, despite Mama's cries to the contrary. And though I knew the new object of his affection to be just as innocent as I, I hated her for receiving the warmth of his cold affection.

"But Mo...om," Ruth whined. "It's okay with Dawn's parents. You--"

"But you don't have your pajamas or a toothbrush; I don't want the Jamisons to think--"

"It's okay. Dawn's loaning me t-shirt to sleep in. I'll use a washrag and soap on my teeth like Grandpa did. It's going to be so fun--you've been wanting me to make more friends. Jenna Jones is spending the night here, too. We're going to hang out, tell ghost stories. They told me that the Sleighter place up on Mt. Squanee is haunted and everything--" Shut up, just shut up, Ruth berated herself fiercely. She couldn't believe she'd blabbed that.

"I've heard that, too. You crazy kids. Haunted, indeed. The Sleighter daughter still lives there, all holed up on the top floor--the rest of the place going to rack and ruin. The mail lady told me she delivers checks..."

Her Mom had once told her, "There are no accidents in the Universe" and Ruth hadn't understood what that meant. But now she had an idea. The telephone call had changed everything.

I've just got to remember that Sondra's a regular person, not a ghost at all, Ruth told herself. She felt giddy with relief.

A cloud wisped away from a full moon that seemed to pulse in the sky. The Sleighter house was outlined in thick, dark lines like in a kid's coloring book. A chinook wind howled down Mt. Squanee, whirling grit into the girls' faces. Ruth stared at the house, eyes straining, and thought she saw a fingernail of light up on the third floor where the windows didn't gap glass-less like the spaces in a jack o' lantern's grin.

Dawn whispered, "Let me give you a hug, in case I never see you again. Wow, Jenna, you're sweating like a hog."

"This is beyond stupid. I'm not--"

"Okay then, looks like I'm the new member of--"

"No. Let's get this over with." Jenna stomped away, and Ruth noticed how her fat moved in different directions at once, her breasts jouncing, each buttock bouncing separately.

Dead leaves and twigs crackled; Ruth inhaled the butterscotch scent of the pine's bark. They crept stealthily toward the house that seemed to be sitting on its haunches, waiting. They tiptoed into the front room; Ruth noticed it smelled like Dirty Ed who pushed a shopping cart overflowing with newspapers and ratty blankets around the downtown streets.

"Let's just squat down here. In case we hear or see a ghost, we can make a quick getaway." The darkness inside was so thick Ruth couldn't see Jenna, yet it was shot through with varicolored pinpricks of light. Something crashed outside, an animal howled.

"What was--I'm getting out of--" Jenna jerked upward.

"No. Stay. It's okay. Probably just a wolf. Or something." Better not act like this is too easy, Ruth thought. I want Dawn to brag on my bravery.

"I don't care about the stupid club; I'm--"

"Stay, you little chicken shit." Ruth lunged in Jenna's direction almost knocking her over. She encircled Jenna's waist with her arms, held her in place with her full weight.

Creaking. Overhead.

"S-something's up there. Walking."

"Shush. We don't want her--it--to hear us." Footsteps thumped above their heads. Ruth stifled a delighted chuckle.

"God! Somebody's walking up there. Don't you hear that? I'm leaving." Jenna yanked herself away, ran blindly outside.

Ruth made herself count to a hundred. She intended to saunter out to the waiting girls, smug and unafraid. She listened to the sounds of movement above her, caught herself being afraid, though she knew she had no reason to fear. Just a regular person, she repeated to herself. But what if Sondra has a gun, what if she's sick of kids trashing her--

Ruth felt a blast of air on her neck, movement behind her. No! Sondra's upstairs. Her Mom'd said--

A bony hand dug into her shoulder, tried to spin her around. Ruth resisted, tried to shrug off the pressing hand, but felt herself helpless, succumbing to its power. She turned.

Ruth saw her own face staring back at her, the right eye distended, crossed. She yanked herself away, fell to her knees, shrieking, spitting. She scrambled away on her hands and knees, then staggered to her feet, mewling, crying, out the doorless door.

How is it I'm so feared; I wonder every time they come here. For I am still beautiful, with my hair once again cascading down my back. What ghostly apparition, what ghastly haint has a countenance as favored as mine? But I know I am a chameleon child as Mama deemed me. A chameleon, as was my greatest creation. How I laugh when I remember his pitiful attempts to educate me in the ways of camouflage.

And the children who come here. Fools. They know not what to fear.

For the evil lies not here in my decaying house. It is there, with them, poisoning their grand home. It's fondled over and dandled as I once was. Poisoning their lives and their futures with the power of my encompassing hate. But, ah, the beauty of my poppet makes it a sweet poison.

Ruth never told anyone what she'd seen that night. She wasn't sure what to make of it. Her own face, how could that be? She'd push the memory aside, and at her friends' prodding she caught herself changing her story, embellishing it, making it into the ghost story they wanted it to be. She'd tried to find a photo of Sondra Sleighter, but was unable to.

The only thing that she was sure of was that it was a haunted house. For the memory of her cruelty, for her memories of Jenna shunned and broken of spirit and courage, haunted her still.

Consatnce Gelvin is an award-winning writer whose short stories have been featured in deathlings.com. Her first novel No Reason to Lie will be published by Hard Shell Word Factory in the summer of 2001.