VII. Has the power to destroy everything; to cause the fall of hail, thunderbolts, and stars of heaven; to occasion earthquakes, storms, and so forth. At the same time, it preserves the friends of the possessor from accidents. The figure of the talisman should be embroidered in silver upon poppy-red satin. The magic words are: (1) DITAU, HURANDOS, for works of destruction; (2) RIDAS, TALIMOL, to command the elements; (3) ATROSIS, NARPIDA, for the fall of hail, &c.; (4) UUSUR, ITAR, for earthquake; (5) HISPEN, TROMADOR, for hurricanes and storms; (6) PARANTHES, HISTANOS, for the preservation of friends.
Back in the bathroom, Amy’s smiling at me from inside the cracked mirror. Her naked flesh pulsates like it’s independent from her body. Throbbing. A bomb counting down to its inevitability. “I used to cut myself,” her reflection says, mimicking the first sentence she ever spoke to me back in in-school suspension—and before I can respond, every scar on her body bursts in simultaneous celebration. Blood sprays through the mirror and splatters against my face. Small black tentacles peek out from the ruptured scars. Alien tree branches ascertaining whether the coast is clear before shedding its previous host and seeking shelter elsewhere. I try to scream and the tentacles bury themselves into my mouth before I’m able to make a sound.
Our phones won’t stop screaming, each slightly out of sync with the other, making the noises jarring and insane.
We form a line and pile into the bathroom—Dad first, clutching an empty thermos; I’m behind him, every step forward painful, my legs itch so bad I can’t stop it but I’m afraid to bend down and scratch them because what if my legs aren’t there? what if legs are a lie and I believed it all this time?; behind me, Bobby staggers in, pupils missing from his eyes but that’s okay, he’s never had pupils anyway, and his breath reeks of something rancid, but he’s always been bad about brushing his teeth, he’s just a kid, kids suck at brushing their teeth, and in his hands he’s holding Spot, Spot who hasn’t stopped yelping since the storm began, Spot who’s terrified of thunder, and he’s so filthy, his fur’s stained with wet mud and something red but I can’t look at that, I can’t; and last, behind Bobby and Spot, there’s Mom, holding a pile of blankets against her chest as she shuts the door behind us, and inside the blanket something rattles, something almost like a snake, but what kind of mom would bring a rattlesnake into the bathroom with her family, what kind of sense would that even make? It’s probably not a snake. It’s probably just the wind.
“Oh my god,” I shriek without opening my mouth, gripping my cell phone so tight I’m afraid it’s going to break. The alert won’t stop blaring. I turn it off and a new one takes its place. “Why won’t it stop?” I finally open my mouth and blood pours down my chin like red paint from a tipped-over can.
Dad uncaps his thermos and hovers it under my jaw, letting the blood fill the container. “Just give it a second, would you?” Once it’s full, he pops the lid back on and takes a long, pleasurable gulp through the mouth hole. He smiles and his teeth are red and he’s never looked more content in his life.
Mom snaps her fingers until I look away from his teeth. The blanket’s in the tub now, on top of Bobby, who’s suddenly decided to take a nap. “Where were you? You should have been home by six.”
“Mom, I don’t feel good.”
“Why weren’t you answering my calls?”
“My stomach hurts, Mom. I think… I think something’s wrong.” I clutch my gut and double over, slowly lowering myself to the floor. An intense cramp burns inside me and it hurts to breathe. What is happening to me?
“You need to answer your phone when I call. That’s why we pay for it every month.”
“Mom, I think something’s inside of me.”
“Not good enough.”
“We’re all going to die because of you,” Dad whispers, standing next to the closed bathroom door. His lips are red with my blood.
Mom turns to him. “What?”
“You didn’t know your own daughter was a witch? Some fuckin’ mother you are.”
She looks back down at me. “Is this true, Mel?”
“Mom…” I raise my shirt up so they can see what I’m feeling. Something inside my stomach. Something moving back and forth. A small lump presses against my flesh. “Mom, help, please help.”
“Don’t,” Dad says. “It’s a trap. One of her witch traps. You try to help and she’ll curse you.”
“Something’s wrong!” I scream, and grab the lump with both hands and squeeze and pull and my flesh begins ripping and blood erupts like a volcano from a fresh hole above my bellybutton and in my hands between my fingers the tongue I hunted and swallowed now writhes and attempts to flee, but I refuse to pardon it. “Where are you going?” I ask it, as blood continues gushing out of my stomach. “Where do you think you’re going? You’re mine. I caught you and now you’re mine.”
The tongue makes a noise like a tea kettle shrieking.
The tongue, I know this tongue like my own. It’s Amy’s tongue. I hunted it down and swallowed it up. She gave it to me and I refused to return it and now it’s mine mine mine. If she really wants it back she’ll have to personally come ask me.
Dad and Mom collapse to the floor and press their faces against my stomach, greedily slurping up the endless blood streaming out of me. They’re so hungry, so thirsty, so desperate. I hold Amy’s tongue above them and squeeze its juices into their hair. “This is my gift to you,” I tell them. “This is my everything.”
Behind us, in the bathtub, Bobby sits up and moans, “I think it’s an EF5. I think it’s an EF5. I think it’s an EF5. I think it’s—”
Somewhere outside, wind howls. Somewhere outside, thunder cracks. Somewhere outside, a tree falls, and it falls and it falls and it falls and it never, ever lands.
My stomach convulses violently as I vomit into the toilet. Behind me Mom holds my hair and rubs my back and promises everything is going to be okay. I swear to god a tongue splashes into the water and swims around like a fish that’s finally returned home. When we flush it, the tongue screams with laughter and escapes the bathroom. Something we’ll never be able to accomplish. Not now. Not ever. Unless the tongue sends help, but I don’t think that’s going to happen.