I Don’t Want to Talk to the Living
written by: Teodora Vamvu
@teodora_vamvu
“Thank you for meeting with me,” he greeted Lora, red-faced and flushed.
She could tell he was nervous, if only by his colorization and fretting, moist hands, kneading imaginary dough. His knuckles were slicing knives, bones protruding from almost translucent skin. Paired with his graying hair, icy-blue eyes, and general ghoul-like appearance, he was two tones away from cadaverous.
“Tell me, what can I do for you?” She employed a practiced mellifluous voice, emulating the cadence and rhythm of every yoga instructor on this side of the West Coast.
Sitting down on the chair across from her, he dared a look around, taking in the motley assortment of knickknacks, cheap artifacts, and whimsies. Bronze statues, African masks, crystals in every color, a bookcase filled with titles on esotericism, spirituality, and mythology, and colorful scarves strewn along the back of an ottoman, all made up the accouterments of a veritable necromancer. His pupils sparked and widened, a sign that this campy set-up was making a strong impression.
“I heard you could help me get in touch with my fiancé…” he muttered on such a low decibel Lora thought he might, ironically, be afraid to disturb the spirits. “Well, ex-fiancé,” he continued a little more assured. “She’s dead.”
“Of course she is, or you wouldn’t be here,” Lora replied smiling, trying to lighten the charged atmosphere.
“Yeah… I guess so. Sorry, I’m a little nervous,” he added remorsefully and rather despondently, now cantilevered slightly forward.
I can tell, Lora wanted to add but didn’t.
“How does this work?” he went on.
Employing a honeyed effect to her words, she fixed his gaze and responded. “I’m going to need you to revisit the last time you saw…”
“Clara.”
“Clara. Place your hands in mine, close your eyes, and focus on that. Go back to your last moments together.”
He grimaced, as if suddenly overcome with a bad memory, but did as told. He deposited his sweaty palms in hers and closed his eyes.
A sudden draft sent shivers through Lora’s body, making her hair stand on end. Here we go, she thought.
Clara, is that you? Lora ventured silently.
I don’t want him here.
Lora looked at him. He was still lost in concentration, traveling back in time in his mind and, unbeknownst to him, bringing forth the preternatural forces that now allowed Lora to hear Clara’s voice as if she was right there in the room.
I don’t want to talk to him.
Clara, what happened?
He’s the reason I’m dead. He killed me.
Opening her leaden eyelids, Lora stole another glance at this stranger standing before her, a pained look taking over his facial expressions. Her heart started fluttering fast, and the crimson-painted walls suddenly closed in on her.
“Clara’s here,” she addressed him in a quiet voice she didn’t dare let falter. “She says she misses you,” Lora lied, while her gaze traveled to the ottoman and came to a stop on a blood-red scarf.
- Interview Q&A With Teodora Vamvu - September 17, 2024
- Dark Places - August 4, 2024
- I Don’t Want to Talk to the Living - May 30, 2024
