The damp sunrise oozed through the broken window with a morning fog, setting into numerous drops against shards of glass sticking out of the rotting frame. Most of the window was now on the floor, reminding me of Clara's viciousness. She shook me to my very core; I wouldn't be caught dead in the abandoned fishing hut in the dead of night otherwise. She did, however, let me go but only to get her some clothes. "Quick, my deary, quick! Or I shall get them myself, and then you will be sorry! I promise you that!"

I believed her; I even made sure to return before sunrise. I raced through the soggy road, almost falling into a ditch at one point from being in such a hurry... who wouldn't be when an infernal monstrosity promised a slow and painful death if you disobeyed?

Numb from the bitter cold, I drearily paced along the wall, not wanting to risk sitting down on the floor. It wasn't because it was covered in dirt and dead vegetation that was carried in from the forest through a long empty door frame. It was just safer to be standing so I could run through the said door frame in case of an emergency.

The sunrise made Clara even more terrifying, shining right through her and the lacy tunic dangling off her skinny body didn't do much to help with that.

The walking anatomy model has been digging in my pile of clothes for well over thirty minutes, throwing pieces aside one after another. And constantly whining. She whined and complained, never shutting up for more than a few seconds at a time. Even now, stepping over the skirt that just slid down her legs, she mockingly asked:

"And just where could the gloves be?"

"Take mine," I stretched my hands out.

"Oh, that simply won't do!" Clara stated capriciously. "Yours are way too rough, I require evening gloves. And pantyhose! And a petticoat! Did you bring me these utterly gaudy clothes on purpose?"

'Look who's talking.' I thought to myself but actually said: "Sorry, that's all I found. I don't have a burka lying around. No scuba helmet either."

"How dreadful!" Clara exclaimed. The skin on her face was even thinner than on her body, so I could clearly see how her tongue flopped around behind the bouncing jaw. "Where is the brimmed hat?"

"I don't have one." I sighed. "We don't wear those types of hats during winter. Even during summer you rarely see them. They went out of fashion."

"It appears that people themselves have gone out of fashion." Clara replied venomously. "So what do you call this?"

She shoved a red clump of fabric in my face

"Answer me!"

"Sweater!" I quickly replied, backing up to the log wall.

"It's a sack! A square sack that makes burlap look exquisite! A quadratic mockery of aesthetics!"

"Listen, Clara!" I barely spit out before I had to dodge yet another jab. "You wanted to look like a normal person and not stand out. I can't even fathom what century you crawled out of but today everyone wears clothes like that!" I couldn't hold my emotions in anymore; I was cold, I was afraid and insulted, not to mention utterly exhausted. People have limits. "You can just rob a museum if you so desire... or a theatre, they should have everything you want. But I've done everything that you asked me to, so stop tormenting me already!" At that point, I was nearly yelling at the top of my lungs.

Clara froze.

She stood completely still, her round white eyeballs focusing the golden-brown irises on me. Nearly a whole minute passed before she came alive with a different, raspier voice: "Do not dare!"

She raised her hands to the level of her shoulders, her bony fingers gripping the thick fabric. A loud ripping noise filled the room. Clara was now holding two halves of what used to be a sweater.

"Do not dare!" Her voice sounded like it came from the inside of her abdomen which proudly displayed her dried up insides. The fabric cracked again. She effortlessly ripped up the sweater into strips of fabric, and occasional clumps, dropping them to her feet.

'How in the world is she that strong?' I thought, completely defeated. 'She's dead. And tiny. So how? Does she ever get tired?'

Clara kept her gaze fixed on something above me; the only parts of her that moved were her arms and fingers. Her rust-coloured blood vessels weaved inside the translucent muscles that appeared to be completely lifeless yet extremely powerful!

The last clump of fabric fell on the floor, and silence fell on the room.

The silence smelled of the lake, occasionally accompanied by distant birdsong. The silence was dizzying.

'Is that all? Did she run out of batteries, or whatever the equivalent is for corpses?' Afraid to even take a breath, I glanced around, deciding on my next move. Clara has literally driven me into a corner and I had to take extreme caution to get to the exit in one piece. To say the house was small would be an understatement; it was just four bare walls with a broken window. The inside was empty, save for a few bits of firewood by what used to be an oven. The wood was large and heavy, just what I needed for...

"Hr-r-r" Clara clearly stated.

I hugged the wall again, dreadfully waiting for whatever is coming next.

"Hr-r-egh, hr-e-e-e-h..." Clara's body convulsed, appearing as if it was jumping in one spot, along with her growling. "Hreh, her-r-re-e-egh... he-e-e."

'Another hreh and I'm going!' I only had to push Clara aside and leap to the right, grab a log and swing at the bitch while she was twitching on the ground! Simple enough considering she's completely nuts, crazy, dangerous, mental! Come on, it will work!

It didn't work. As if reading my mind, Clara immediately grabbed my shoulder, gripping it like a bear trap. She pushed me away, then pulled me back all while swaying, muttering and sobbing in a high-pitched voice. I could barely make out what she was saying, but it was along the lines of:

"...woe is me... have mercy on me... mercy... someone spare me, show mercy..."

Her voice slowly started to return to normal, and soon she addressed me as if there was no 'hree' to begin with.

"Ah, my sweet child, I feel so faint. Constant migraines, dizziness and all. Not surprising, considering what I have been going through the last few days. I doubt you can even begin to imagine the sheer terror of awakening inside your own grave when the unbearable pressure makes it impossible to even fathom where lies the light, the air! An eternity filled with panic and fear, when you can do naught but scratch the earth with your now twisted fingers, thinking that there is no escape, only darkness, despair and the desiccation under your nails. But I am here, I am delighted and there Is not a single person who is able to get in the way of my happiness; right, dear? You will help me achieve my lost happiness?"

She began to gently stroke my face, all the while still painfully gripping my shoulder.

"Of course you will, for I am the closest... being to you here, with whom you can share even the most intimate feelings; after all, we both discovered Elm's love! Do not fear, I am not jealous; quite the opposite, actually! I almost love you like a sister and there is nothing in the world quite like that. Oh, what a glorious day! I found my sister in sin, and we shall weep, we shall rejoice and we shall share! Do not cry, dear, why do you close your eyes? Does my form frighten you?"

I squeezed my eyes shut even harder, unable to endure the sight of Clara's skull right in front of my face. However, that didn't stop me from feeling her rancid breath; she probably only needed oxygen to breathe out words instead of staying alive.

"Alas, my face has always been my curse. On the bright side, I have both of my eyes now, unlike before. And my ardent soul assures me that my reunion with Elm will bring back my human form and that I may even be pleased by it. I will wear your clothes, dear, and then we will go out to search for our beloved, beautiful Elm. And then... then I will find those who cut my life short just when it began to bloom!"

Clara went on and on. First, it was about revenge, then some random killers and retribution. After a few minutes I could no longer keep up. Her icy hand continued to stroke my cheek with maddening monotonousness, creating a wave of nausea that I tried my damnedest to fight, afraid to anger the creature that wiped away my tears with sticky fingers. I nearly managed to swallow the bitter sensation burning in my throat when I suddenly felt Clara's lips touch mine.

And then my stomach turned inside-out.

Right on Clara's face.

***

When I was younger, around seven probably, I had a habit of thinking of something heroic before bed, with my small self naturally being the hero. Thinking back, I only thought of myself as small when I had to avoid unpleasant responsibilities. And so, in my wild imagination I saved the world from enslaving aliens, dumb zombies and corrupt governments. Getting older didn't prevent me from dreaming, however, but those dreams became less global. Handsome princes started appearing more, and for some reason masochistic elements did too. Now the evil aliens tortured and berated me before I blew them to cosmic smithereens and flew into a wonderful future with an equally wonderful boy. But I soon got tired of it all and looked for a fresh plot with new forms of misery, which even made me bawl my eyes out on some occasions and burst into laughter on others.

Now, look where my dreaming brought me: Clara barged into my life and blew the romantic side of masochism into cosmic smithereens. I never even imagined how humiliating it is to have someone push your face into the puddle of your own vomit like a puppy being disciplined. How difficult it is to resist when someone twists your arm so far back that the sharp pain kills any remaining dignity. How painful it is when someone beats you with an ordinary handbag, its metallic belt leaving swollen purple marks on your body. How absurd it is that a corpse uses your own hair to wipe your vomit off of its repulsive body. That was when I realised, I understood that I was ready to kill... but just how do you kill something that is already dead? Doesn't matter, I'll find a way! I will kill you, Clara!

***

To everyone else we probably looked like two girlfriends out for a morning stroll along the highway. They probably wondered why and what, but at the end of the day, it's just some girls doing what girls do, like going to a shop or coming back from a party. The girl in black pants and jacket was dragging her feet and keeping her head down, her messy hair dangling before her. The other girl had her arm linked to hers and was cheerfully chattering and giggling. She was wearing a red overcoat and a colourful skirt that went down to her feet, with black platform boots peeking out from under it. This was all just at a glance; if you looked closely, you'd realise how odd the girls actually were: the girl in black had a noticeable stench around her, along with a nasty bump on her forehead surrounded by cuts and abrasions. And most noticeably, she was walking in nothing but once-white socks, in November! Meanwhile, the head of the chatty girl's face was completely wrapped with a pink silk scarf like a glamorous mummy, save for the eyes. And I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy for them to look inside those hard-boiled quail eggs.

Clara was in a wonderful mood but I still didn't let my guard down for even a moment; this bitch's emotions could change in an instant and without any reason whatsoever. After she humiliated, insulted and beat the living daylight out of me, she added insult to injury by preaching about respecting my elders and making me help her get dressed. Yes, I helped! Yes, despite everything she did to me! Instead of smashing her head in with a log! Because I was scared shitless!

And that's why I know exactly how I was going to kill her: instantly and silently as if it was an accident. And meanwhile, while the situation was so hardcore, I could do nothing but wait and obey without question.

Madame Clara wants to take my boots because the stupid Ingrid didn't think of bringing a pair? Sure, madame, take what you need! Ingrid will also put some socks inside so they better fit madame's tiny feet.

Madame Clara insists on walking to town on foot and rejects my suggestion of riding the bicycle? As madame wishes. And the fact that we won't reach town until sundown is wonderfully convenient as madame is quite keen on taking a look around town without drawing attention to her unique appearance.

Madame Clara is curious about the circumstances under which I met the Incubus? Did she not get enough out of me last night? Regardless, I listen and obey! But madame complains that I have a limited vocabulary and a vulgar manner of expression; please forgive me.

Madame Clara demands that I listen to her life story?

Do I have a choice?

I had a long road ahead of me, stretching into the overcast autumn day.