Polly's Morphism (2)
for a day or two. We just need to get you home and under the blankets.” I told her to pull over. “Sandra…when we do get home, I’m going to tell you some things that are going to knock your socks off.” I was sweating, and trying hard to control my breathing. She could sense my distress and her eyes suddenly looked a little frightened. “What are you talking…” “I’m not going to tell you in the car. All I need right now is to get some very important information out of my desk.” I squeezed her hand very tightly, conveying that this decision had already been made. When we got to the same parking lot I had fled earlier that day, the place was now dark, the sun having disappeared over the skyline long ago. The lack of adequate lighting seemed apropos, given the dark lives many of the patients here at the facility were doomed to live out, despite the numerous recent medical advances that had been made in understanding the etiology of mental instability. Sandra said she would leave the car running and that, if I didn’t return within ten minutes, she would come looking for me. As I stole into the back area of the building, where delivery trucks usually pulled in and out with their various medical supplies, I wondered why a feeling of criminality was slinking all around me. After all, I had done nothing wrong. Maybe I was just trying to avoid a lot of questions about my uncharacteristic performance today, feeling somewhat chagrined by it all, especially in front of Morgenstern,, the sick bastard, who, no doubt, would delight in spreading the word thickly all around, embellishing wherever possible. ♦ ♦ ♦ Polly was on the third floor in Ward C. I knew she had plans for the evening. As I quietly nudged her door open, knowing that even now, I was definitely breaching some aspect of the patient-doctor ethical code, I also sensed that Polly wanted me there. I found her resting on her shins in the middle of the bed, her head bowed, as though in prayer. The only light was the little incandescent bulb piercing the darkness from underneath her writing desk; it had burned faithfully every night since she had arrived, its burned plastic front cover in the shape of a coiled snake. Wondering where a homeless person might have found such an odd artifact amongst all the mundane clutter of her existence, my attentions were quickly diverted to something else she was clasping tightly in her hands and close to her pelvic area: a small black contraption, looking similar to a stapler, only not angled or tapering, and maybe a little longer, she clutched it as though it might be trying to escape. The whites of her knuckles were showing, suggesting that I might check to see that I had properly buckled up. The idea that something big was probably about to happen could not be denied. Her hair was sparkling in the dim illumination, like hair does after it has just been washed, though I never knew Polly to bathe the least part of her anatomy. Just then, it occurred to me that Polly had never carried any odor whatsoever, in spite of her lack of personal hygiene. How could that be, I wondered, as she raised her head in a slow, cautious motion that made the thin hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. “Good evening, Dr. Gates.” There was the hint of an enticing smile on her lips; I noticed that she had painted them bright red, something she’d never done before. “I’m glad you stayed awake tonight tonight tonight. I don’t think you will regret it.” With that, she brought her arms steadily straight out in front of her, lifting her buttocks off her calves, readying herself for what appeared to be a ritual of some sort. Though I might have noted it before, only when her hair separated to reveal her chest, as a result of her arms lifting up in a ‘port de bras’ manner, was I fully able to appreciate the fact that Polly was totally naked. I was ashamed when the thought flashed before me, but she was a most magnificent specimen of the female species. Polly must have noticed my admiration, grinning lustily, her fangs shining as they caught the dim light. I had been standing there, with the door wide open, not even thinking about the possibility of some nurse making her rounds, by chance passing this way, finding the esteemed Dr. Gates gazing at one of his patients in a most unprofessional manner as she prepared to perform a satanic ritual without the encumbrance of clothing. Hastily pushing the door closed, I wondered why, in God’s name, was I placing myself in such a compromising position, yet I couldn’t help but feast my eyes on Polly’s beautiful body, her breasts heaving with every breath, her tongue flicking in and out of those unkissed lips, her… “Shoononewannopollezog…gozelloponnawegudnoosh…” The contraption was opening itself up, in response to her haunting requiem, unfolding in stages, revealing the working innards of a mechanism not of human crafting. Suddenly, I became more frightened than words can describe, watching this thing systematically unraveling itself, already having some affect on its possessor, and, I suspected, possibly on me, as well. I pushed up against the door, wanting to heave it wide open, running for my life; yet I stayed, somehow drawn in by the enigmatic and fantastic nature of it all. Her hair began floating off her shoulders and became suspended, somehow, twirling around, taking on the aspects of something alive and ambulatory. Her eyes looked glassy and polished, as though little flashlight bulbs had been turned on behind each one. “Shanonepwa…shanonepwa…polliepolliegnezooshomathazelo.” The words sounded enchanting, even if they meant nothing to me. It reminded me of French, somehow, mesmerizing to the listener, though the speaker might be telling him that his tie doesn’t match his pants…or that he’s about to lose his life. It was a mantra, or a spell, or God knows what, if even he chose to witness this ominous event. A small, shiny, steel sphere was revealing itself now, the framework of the amulet increasingly falling away, and it coalesced with a green light that was becoming more brilliant by the second. The sphere was surrounded by what can only be described as miniature serpents, their glistening, metallic bodies gilded with a sundry of sparkling diamonds and jewels. Spinning around the sphere with increasing velocity, until I could detect the movement of air they were causing about the room, I also noticed that some loose papers on the writing desk had begun to rustle. Polly seemed pleased with the way things were taking shape, and I mean that in the literal sense. Her body itself was distending, the process beginning at the extremities of her legs, her torso, as of yet, unaffected. She was hissing, the act replacing the normal respiration of human breathing. It seemed to soothe her, the transformation apparently taxing, painful. It calmed me as well, watching her slowly undulate on the bed, as the tiny serpents increased in size and speed; no longer decipherable individually, they were a blur, like the blades of a propeller. In a moment, she had let go of the framework, lovingly, as though releasing some exotic butterfly into the great beyond, the black pieces that had originally unveiled the orb dissolving into nothingness. Why shouldn’t they? I was thinking, reality having nothing to do with any of this. Then I watched the globe, engulfed by the spinning serpents, now invisible to my eyes, rise up above our heads and begin to glow with a vengeance, the draft in the room all the while increasing until my hair was blowing back and my eyes, wide and fixed, began to water. The glowing sphere grew larger by degrees. I could tell by the swirling windstorm that the serpents’ revolutions were also on the rise, probably spinning at an rpm rate that would have astounded the boys at any aerospace outfit. I knew I had to get out now if I was ever going to, but found myself barely able to push away from the wall I was pressed up against. There was a blaze of brilliant light and Polly’s body became a mere outline, submerged in a luminescence that was drowning out nearly all detail. I gasped, regretful that I should ever have entered her room, sorry that Polly had ever crossed my path. And then I was with her. Not knowing how it had happened, I found myself on the inside of the magic, no longer looking in, but gazing out on a room that was being ripped to shreds by the blast. I watched, as Polly’s writing desk was picked up and smashed against her barred window. There were papers flying everywhere, looking like frantic white bats, beating themselves against all they encountered. Someone was pounding hard on the door, unable to push their way in from the other side. I heard the peal of many voices crying out for help. I couldn’t imagine the pandemonium breaking loose just mere feet from where I now found myself, protected somehow, as if encased in a clear cocoon, realizing that even the door I had entered through now existed in a plane I was no longer a part of. Polly and I were in a netherworld, entwined together right here on her bed, disappearing fast beneath us, on the third floor of the state sanitarium. And she was kissing me. I closed my eyes and began to witness the terrifying horror of those faces she had drawn, my hands, all the while, groping for her overflowing breasts. I was with the beast, and she was giving me a personal tour of Gehenna. The ghastly faces rushed past me as we descended in a free fall down into the depths of Sheol, she, the serpent creature, and I, her chosen lover. My whole body became a muscular, throbbing, flexing rod of movement, my entire being as sensitive to the touch as an erect shaft engorged with desire would have been. She was all over me, and even inside me, controlling my pleasures, manipulating, caressing them, stroking them until I wanted to explode. Weaving around my groin, she then slid across my stomach, then wound around the small of my back, coming up again from underneath my scrotum. She glided down my throat, slithered through my gut, squeezed out my colon. Taking all of me inside of her, even while she was inside of me, she gave me moments of indescribable ecstasy, and I came again and again, ejaculating with abandon, until I thought my very life itself might be draining from me. She was flicking her tongue in my ear, whispering things that I couldn’t imagine were possible, sharing secrets with me that were unspeakable and not to be known by any mortal man. Praying to God with all that I possessed, I begged that he might release me from her grip, ashamed and agonized by the admission that I had never been so thoroughly wiped out by any carnal episode engaged in here on Earth. I wondered if Sandra was still reading her book while the engine idled on. Then Polly, knowing that her final transformation was nearly complete, compelled me to watch as the writhing mass on her head became a hundred individual snakes, each snapping at the air with a ravenous ferocity that seemed unquenchable. Her legs had already changed into a long beautiful tail, her torso followed suit and attenuated into a thick, sinuous mass; her abdomen scaled over concomitant with her breasts melting into her body, her rib cage morphing into cartilage. Polly was no longer a patient in the monkey ward — she was a thirty-five foot mutant anaconda, (adnocana, adnocana) beautiful to behold, coiled on her diaphanous bed sheets, all green and gold. Before releasing me back to the other side, she had perpetrated what I had prayed she would not, spelling my doom in this world, sentencing me to the other. I heard Polly cry out, whether in ecstasy or agony, I cannot say. After that, everything went black for a fleeting moment; then I found myself in the middle of one of Polly’s restful compositions, tranquility unbounded. I prayed that my rejuvenating sojourn might last, not caring about anything else but that I might remain there in that drug, whatever it was, unlike any known to humanity. When I awoke, I was here. ♦ ♦ ♦ “And you say it’s a recurring dream you’ve been having since when, Dr. Gates?” “Since I was the head doctor at a sanitarium in Chicago, back in the ‘70’s.” “What are these drawings, Mr. Gates? What do they mean? Mr. Gates? Donnie?” The resident doctors concluded that Mr. Gates’ elevator didn’t go all the way to the top. Having excused themselves for a moment, they discussed his predicament on the other side of a swinging glass door. “Dr. Gates, my ass,” the one yawned to the other. “Granted, he does seem quite intelligent for a schizophrenic, homeless guy.” The sentence was spoken in a manner suggesting that an outburst of sleepy laughter was waiting in the wings. “Hell yeah, he’s intelligent. You think business suits can’t become homeless? Think again, Buttercup.” “Christ, that was some story he concocted, waz’nnit?” "I’m tellin’ ya, the bums are gettin’ more extreme by the day.” They shot nervous glances at the elderly man as he sat there on the gurney, despondent over the knowledge he carried around inside, looking foolish in a patient’s gown that hung loosely everywhere it wasn’t supposed to. They wouldn’t believe him any more than the others he had told. After tonight, he decided he was going to be on his way. The best the two white coats could do for Donnie Gates was send him back out to the mean streets, pointing him in the direction of the nearest outreach center or soup line. Donnie was contemplating which one he would inflict his lethal bite on. A file was opened on him, listing schizophrenia and lack of proper medication as the probable cause for his delusional state; the two residents, both desperately wanting to find slumber in the arms of Morpheus, were unwilling to spend much time ascertaining the source for the nasty, two-pronged “bite” mark on his right shoulder, categorizing it as being “inflicted by an animal of unknown origin.” Their patient appeared to be in his sixties, probably homeless for quite some time, judging from the unhealthy palor and scaliness of his skin. A prescription for some antibiotics was written out, to clear up the infection around the bite, along with some lotion, to ease the psoriasis, or whatever the hell it might be. Then, not reluctantly, they returned his belongings, which included the bizarre drawings, and something that appeared to be the shed skin of a large reptile; hustling Mr. Gates out the door, mocking him behind his back, they discharged him into the night, washing their hands clean of the whole, sordid case. “The man is seriously deranged,” the one laughed at the other, after they had soaped up and were stumbling down the hall toward the hospital cafeteria. “The man is a pervert, plain and simple. I wouldn’t doubt if he’s a flasher, too,” responded the friend. “Whaddabout dat she-snake crawlin’ out cuz’s rectal sphincter?” the one said from behind a cupped hand, held playfully to his mouth. “Boy, don’chu talk ‘bout no snake jumpin’ out no ass right when we fixin’ to grab some grub,” the first said, clutching his crotch with one hand while reaching out for affirmation with the other. They were laughing and hollering, slapping each other’s hands like little children, anticipating a hot meal of tough steak and watery potatoes before finishing up the night shift. On the corner of the table over by the tea dispenser, there rested a tabloid with a front page story that read: “Prominent Doctor Disappears after Mysterious Glow Seen in Patient’s Room.” It would go on to say how Dr. Donald Gates came up missing on the evening of March 17th, 1975, after having stopped by his office late at night to pick up some important papers, according to Dr. Morgenstern, Chief Psychiatrist at the Chicago Center for Head Injuries (which had been condemned, and eventually demolished over structural integrity issues, nearly twenty years ago). Dr. Gates’ wife, Polly Gates, could not be reached for any confirming details. Further, it revealed the unbelievable tale of spinning green lights, turbulent whirlwinds, and giant reptiles. The subsequent disappearance of the doctor and one of his most mystifying patients, a pretty girl simply known as ‘Sandra,’ remained, to this day, an unsolved mystery. One of the many bizarre and disturbing pictures found in Dr. Gates’ desk drawer, on the morning following the double disappearance, could be seen on page thirteen of the tabloid. It was so similar to the one the doctor had shown the two young residents tonight as to be virtually identical. The taller of the two white coats always loved to get an extra big glass of sweet tea. The caffeine helped to break up the monotony of the graveyard shift. He was pondering over the transient’s story more thoroughly than his partner would have liked, asking himself why the human mind still chose to remain steeped in mystery. Mostly though, he was just plain thirsty. He swiped the tabloid off the corner of the eating table, holding it up high in a victory dance. His boy was grinning broadly. They both laughed, “Because enquiring minds wanna know.” Something wet and old and troubled was slithering along the wall on the far side of the cafeteria, scraping its belly across discarded straw wrappers and used up napkins, easing its way along the dirty floor toward a source of detected heat. It opened its mouth and bared its fangs. It heard an animated and frantic rustling of paper not far off. Tonight, someone would discover newfound truth in the story he had heard. The decision as to which of the two it might be had just been arrived at. Polly was in its mind again, as she often was. It slithered on, quickly approaching flesh.
Go to part: 1 2
Copyright © 2005 Jay Porter Martin |