The Funny Thing About Relics

Corbin sat and stared and thought. He tried to think up some lie to tell his sister about the
keepsake she brought back from Africa, more precisely Egypt. Deidre sat across from him in the
breakfast nook, an alcove that barely fit the tiny table, two stools, and the two people who shared the
space. Despite its size, the morning sun always shined through the two adjacent windows, which he had
always enjoyed because of the warmth of that light. It was the only small room in his home, perhaps
that is why he enjoyed it so much.
He quietly sat, drinking his morning blend coffee. He noticed that she had tanned while she was
away; her normally strawberry blonde hair had whitened a bit. He was surprised because she regularly
wore blouses with long sleeves and dress pants, even in hundred degree weather. She had changed
since the last time her saw her before the trip. She was more upbeat, joked around more, and even
dressed differently. She was wearing a black Led Zeppelin t-shirt and faded blue jeans with generic
flip-flops. It was almost as if she stole his casual style.
Regardless of the differences, the gift was still in the center of the table. He knew she wanted a
response, but, in reality, he truly did not care. She always brought back her antiquities, which were
actually just manufactured pieces of junk the locals pawned off to their ignorant consumer tourist
customers.
We don't have to talk about the gift right away, she suggested. How are you doing? She
pointed to a token on the counter in the kitchen that was behind them as she asked.
Good enough. Two years now. I don't talk about it much.
Maybe you should discuss it with someone. It doesn't have to be me.
Maybe you should leave it alone. I know what it cost me, and, like I said, I'm clean. You can
ask anyone. He re-situated himself.
Ask who? You live out here, alonejust you, in this ridiculous house-mansion; the only
person you talk with is your sponsor, and I don't even know who that is. In fact, I've never even seen
him.
Corbin leaned forward, visually aggravatedwith altered breathing, a stern face, and rigid,
tight posturingreplying, That's my private life. I don't ask you about your whoring, excuse me, your
social life and all of its intricacies. Do me the same privilege. The way he stated his last sentence was
a command, not a request.

Deidre crossed her arms and huffed. My whoring? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?
Deidre, you have a different date to every social event that you attend, and you attend an event
every weekend. It doesn't take a genius to...
Most of the time I go to those things with friendsI know that's a bit difficult for someone
like you to understand, but I don't sleep around with every man I spend time with. Even if I did, who
the hell are you to judge me? I was just checking to see if you were okay, and now I could give a
damn. She stared at Corbin, awaiting a response, specifically an apology. However, Corbin knew he
did not have to apologize; he controlled her funding so he could say whatever he wanted. She sat there
patiently waiting, but Corbin simply smirked.
Anyway, my business is just that, mine. Mind your own. He continued to drink his coffee.
So if I look around to see if you're hiding..
Search the house. I'm probably the only man in the world with a large wine cellar that has no
wine in it.
What about that? she asked, pointing to a bottle on a counter in the kitchen.
Corbin turned, saw it, and was confused. That's cooking wine.
Well? Do you really think you should have that, considering?
What? You brought that with you; you used it to make dinner the first night you were here.
Well, fine. Don't talk about it. She had completely forgotten about that; her short-term
memory was always terrible.
That doesn't make any sense. I am talking about it; besides if anyone is at fault here, it is you. I
didn't even eat that night. I got in late. It has been in the same spot with the same amount since we got
here.
Not the cooking wine. God. I meant your problem. Whatever. Maybe one day you'll realize I'm
right about everything.
Why, because you're older?
No, because I'm a woman. She laughed. You're still an asshole for calling me a whore, but I
get itthat bachelor loneliness you exude. Oh, and by the way, you still haven't commented on the
statue.
What is there to say, he jested.
"I know you're not too fond of cats, but seeing as how I love them and how expensive this was,
she paused. And I mean this really was quite expensive. I would appreciate if you appreciated at least
the thought. When I looked around for something to bring back for you, I saw this. It really is quite
beautiful. I saw it, and I thought I should buy something great, just great, for Corbin, since he always

gets me little this and thats from the various places he gets off to. I felt the wow from this, and I figured
if I did, then so would you. So don't be quiet; what do you think," ranted Deirdre; she had always been
exceptionally long-winded. Corbin tried to respond, but before he could, she went at it again.
"I mean just look at it," she said, holding the gold and silver statue of a cat in her hands. "Pretty
amazing, right? I saw this in the bazaar. I always found that word funny; bazaar reminds me of bizarre,
but, ironically, I've never been to a bazaar that was at all peculiar in any sort of way. Anyhow, I was
talking to this man selling camel figurines, porcelain or clay or something, when I saw a table that only
had this statue on it. I rushed over to it, ignoring the camel figurine man, and picked it up. Then, I heard
a tiny voice that came from this tiny man from behind the table. 'Be wary, you hold an ancient idol of
Bast in your tiny hands.' I found that funny. Here he is, maybe four feet tall, and he calls my hands tiny.
Not that my hands are huge, I mean they are compared to his hands, but come on, that shouldn't really
count. Still, it was a great marketing line; I totally bought it: hook, line, and sinker. Imagine if it were
true! An actual idol from centuries ago. Seems almost magical, doesn't it?" She stopped, finally, to
breathe.
Corbin stared into his sister's hands at the souvenir. Although she loved the creatures, he
couldn't stand them. Cats were lazy, vicious creatures that stalked alleyways, made homes of garbage
cans, and howled and hissed; he just hated them. He held all that animosity in as he replied, "Makes me
think of Mosesyou know, the whole false idol angle. His sister recoiled, slightly irritated. He
continued, but I do think it's elegantly crafted. How much was it?
Does it matter? He was going to give it to me for free, but he was like a miniature version of
all the other sellers. He was wearing rags, well, what I would consider rags, and he was so dirty. I felt
for him so I helped him out a bit. She smirked.
How much is a bit?
Let's just say I still had half of my funds before I left to come back here, and I just decided to
give it to the genie-man. Imagine if was a genie-man! How crazy would that be. She went to continue
on another rant, but Corbin gestured her to stop.
In any case, I think it's wonderful. Thanks." With this, Deirdre handed him the cat statue.
Corbin wanted to smash it, just toss it as hard as he could into the wooden floor. Tacky and illconceived by some poor foreigner with no education or artistic prowess. The rage was building inside
of him, but his sister had no idea; Corbin hid it carefully beneath his smile.
She clapped her hands quickly a few times in the center of her chest and said, Excellent,
while laughing. I think you should put it on the hearth in the den on the second floor. She had to note
which floor because her brother lived in a large French colonial home in a very rural part of Louisiana.

The purchase seemed random and odd to Deidre because Corbin had never mentioned any interest in
the South. They had grown up and lived in the suburbs of Philadelphia for nearly their entire lives, and
then, about two years ago, he just decided he wanted to purchase a homeeach one he considered
purchasing was in a different Southern state, but every house had initially been a plantation.
Corbin would never reveal his reasoning. How could he? How does one reveal their affinity for
tragedy? He loved the historic nature of his home: men, women, and children forced into labor, beaten,
and killed without any moral consideration. When he took walks through the many acres of his
property, he always felt those people and their despair. It always warmed him, like the sun in his
alcove. He also liked the house's symmetry; there was a perfect balance to its structure. The porch
wrapped around the entire house providing a pleasant, comfortable perimeter; the elegantly crafted
timber balustrades also added a certain aesthetic grace. The porch was held up by long, white pillars
and was technically the second story of the building. There were also several, equidistant dormers that
enhanced the beauty. He considered his home a reflection of himself.
After finishing breakfast, he escorted his sister to her car. He watched as she drove away; he
waited until her vehicle was a blur before he turned around. He shook his head as he wondered what
pushed her to become so different; she almost didn't resemble his sister. She even sold the Rolls-Royce
Phantom Drophead Coup he had purchased for her and bought a restored red first generation F-1 Ford
pickup truck. Deidre used to love extravagance. When he took over the company after his father passed
away, she constantly asked for huge allowances, which he provided. He traveled for business; she
traveled to say that she traveled. Nevertheless, she had always been constant. He shrugged it off and
went back inside to go over the pile of documents he needed to sign before the meeting next Tuesday.
As he sat in his den, he kept looking over at the cat statue; it was perched on the shelf next to
the photographs of his sister. He loathed the damned thing. It was as if it continuously glared at him; he
felt like he was being watched and, worse yet, judged. After about fifteen minutes, he could no longer
concentrate. He worried that he was slowly transitioning into crazy like Nicholson in The Shining. He
gathered up his papers, placed them in his briefcase, and decided he was done for the evening.
In the middle of the night, a cat began to howl outside. It caused him to sleep restlessly until,
eventually, he was wide awake. The cries continued for an hour before Corbin lost his composure. He
got out from under his covers and ran over to the window.
Shut up! Shut up or I swear I will find you, and you will regret ever thinking about ever
howling at three in the fucking morning. For a moment, there was a calm. Corbin got back into bed,
but as soon as he closed his eyes, the cat started up again. It was taunting him. He knew it. It had to be

taunting him. There could be no other explanation. He got out of bed again, carrying his pillow with
him. He looked into the dark until he saw the perpetrator. It was a smoke-colored Mau. As he noticed
the cat, it also regarded him. The howling stopped, and the Mau began to talk to hima mixture of
meowing and chirping. Corbin, in a blind rage now, threw his pillow down at the cat, but it landed to
the right of the animal. He began to frantically look around his room for objects to toss down at the
clamorous feline. He tossed books, a glass, and even a lamp. His aim must have been terrible because
all of the items landed around the cat, which had never moved. Suddenly, Corbin got an idea. He
rushed over to his den and grabbed the cat statue. He hurried over to the window and hurled it as hard
as he could while screaming, Fuck off!
This time, his aim was spot on. It struck the cat so hard it knocked it back several feet. The
stone struck against its bones with a resounding crack. The cat stopped making any noise. Corbin,
realizing what he had done, started to panic and quickly ran outside.
He walked over to the injured cat. He had broken two of its legs and maybe some other bones.
After seeing the consequence of his actions, he paced, back and forth, frenziedly. He started talking to
the dying animal.
I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, but this is your fault. Yes, it's your fault. Why wouldn't you
move! What do I do? What can I do? During his pacing, he saw the statue. He leaned over and picked
it up. Other than some blood on it, the statue was fine. He turned back to the cat, and without thinking,
he raised the statue above his head and forcefully brought it down on the cat's skull.
In the silence after the act, Corbin sat down and wept, the broken dead animal to his right. He
didn't understand how he could cry over a damned cat, but he did. Five minutes ended up passing
before he regained his composure. He casually walked to the shed in the back of the house. He
searched around inside for a shovel, but as a result of never doing his own landscaping, he couldn't find
one. The best he could come up with was a trowel. He shut the door to the shed and walked back over
to the cat. He debated where he should bury it and eventually decided to simply carry it off into the
woods a bit, hiding it in the dirt thereaway from his home and his memory. When he was far enough
into the woods, he knelt down and began digging. He felt satisfied with a hole about two feet deep and
tossed the cat into it. He filled it back in with the dirt, stood up, and dusted himself off. When he got
back to his house, he took off his dirt-covered, bloody night clothes and threw them away. He took a
shower during which he desperately attempted to erase the night's events. He finished, dried off, and
got back into bed. Hoping this might have been an awful nightmare, he tried to rest. After about twenty
minutes, he finally did.
Shortly after he had finally begun to sleep, the doorbell rang. Although Corbin immediately

woke up, he ignored it. It rang again. He turned over and held the remaining pillow tightly over his
ears. He could still hear the third ring despite his attempt to block out the sound. Reluctantly, he got out
of bed and walked down to answer the door. He opened it up, but before he could yell, he saw her. She
was a beautiful woman with silken, black hair and golden-tinted skin.
Sorry to bother you. I know it's late, but my car broke down on the highway. Your house was
the first I could find. She looked at Corbin nervously.
The highway? That's at least half a mile up the road.
I know. I was only passing through, but it seems fate has brought us together. Fate or a shitty
old car. She grinned. Corbin was quiet, and they both just stood therefor far too a long a time. Not
to interrupt this wonderfully awkward moment, but I believe you were just about to politely offer for
me to come in and use your phone, yes?
Corbin almost stuttered, but he caught himself. Rather than speak, he just nodded. She walked
inside. Her back side was just as pleasant to look at as her frontpetite but shapely, curved in all the
right ways. She wore a long white tubular dress held up by two thin straps; she wasn't wearing anything
underneathhe could tell as the fabric was slightly translucent. Besides the dress, she was also
wearing thin, paper-like sandals. Her toenails were painted auburnon further inspection, so were her
fingernails. She had silver bracelets and two turquoise necklaces. She turned back around. She had a
deep-black liner with dark green shadow around her eyes. However, the reddish brown lipstick was the
most enticing as it caused him to focus on her luscious lips. Her perfume, though light, smelled of
flowers and, ever so slightly, of wood. He realized she had been staring at him staring at her.
The phone is where? she asked, pointing to the left and then the right. Corbin directed her to
the right. I'm Bethany by the way, she said extending her hand. Well, Beth for short. Corbin shook
her hand.
Corbin, he responded softly.
Nice to meet you, Corbin. I'll be back in a minute. She walked away, presumably to make a
call. Corbin never believed in anything as superfluous as love, but he certainly was moved. Perhaps the
perfume intoxicated him a bitin fact, he could smell a slight odor of alcohol in the air. He quietly
chuckled at the absurdity of that thought. He could barely hear her talking over the phone. After about
two minutes, she returned to the foyer.
The towing people are going to get my car and work on it. I suppose I need to call a cab. She
emphasized the word suppose as if to suggest or imply that Corbin should invite her to stay the
evening.
I suppose you should, replied Corbin, never picking up on the proposition.

Or, if you don't mind, could you just drive me to a nearby hotel? she questioned. It had been
years since she needed to find a place to stay, and, in this day and age, you needed money, which she
consistently forgot about. Sometimes she wondered if she just sort of slumbered through her life.
It's late, stated Corbin.
Yes. Yes, it is. So? Beth lengthened the word so and gestured with her hands in circular
motion. She wanted Corbin to explain what he was getting at.
I will take you in the morning. Corbin finished his declaration and turned around.
Wait, commanded Beth, politely. Corbin turned back around. Is this Southern hospitality?
Are you saying I can stay the night?
To answer the first question, no. I'm not Southern. To answer the second, yes. Despite his vast
wealth and eloquent oratory skill, he could never interact with women, besides his sister. Too many
curves and scents and suggestive implications.
I don't mean to be a bother...
Then, don't be, interrupted Corbin. He meant it as a joke; Beth just found it disconcerting and
rude.
I meant to say: I don't mean to be a bother, but where can I sleep? Do I need blankets and
pillows for, say, the couch, or is there a guest bedroom. She smiled, which Corbin felt was slightly
seductivearen't most actions of women, most words too, seductive though. She placed her hand on
her left hip and yawned, courteously placing her other hand over her mouth. Corbin didn't reciprocate
the action.
I'm sorry. I've had a long night.
I know. Corbin understood that response. She was apologetic for her intrusion, but he had
meant the incident with the Mau. He really didn't want to push her away.
Not you. You're not an inconvenience. It had been a difficult night before you showed up. If
anything, you're a bit of a relief. He realized this was an inadvertent compliment. The guest bedroom
is on the second floor; I'll show you. They walked up the stairs and into the guest room. Corbin
showed her the lights and where the bathroom was.
I really appreciate this, she stated, genuinely.
You're welcome. I'll see you in the morning.
Goodnight.
If he had trouble sleeping before, he was definitely not going to be able to do so now. He was
only able to think about her: the soft melody of her voice, her fleshy frame, and her cheerful
disposition. The sun began to rise, and there he was, sitting up in bed, thinking about everything that

had happened. He tossed off his covers and went down to the kitchen to make coffee. He opened the
newspaper his maid had left him on the table in his nook and began his morning routine.
While reading the sports section about a recent controversial official call in a game between the
Giants and the Eagles, his favorite team, Beth walked into the room.
Excuse me, I was wondering if you possibly had anything I could wear?
Corbin looked up from the paper and saw her standing before him in just a towel, barely large
enough to hide what needed hiding. Again, he felt like a stuttering idiot.
I took a shower, and it'd be nice if I could put on different clothes. I figured you probably
didn't, but it wouldn't hurt to ask.
As a matter of fact, my sister Deidre leaves extra clothes here so she doesn't have to pack when
she comes to visit. Check the closet in your room. Beth smiled, thanked him, and walked away.
Corbin went back to reading his paper.
After about ten minutes, Beth came back downstairs. She was wearing a yellow sun dress and
her sandals. She hadn't put her jewelry on that morning or perfume, and she didn't have any makeup
with her. Still, she was a vision of elegance.
You look lovely, commented Corbin, accidentally. He just sort of blurted it out.
Thank you. It really is a lovely dress, replied Beth, slightly blushing.
Well, my sister never looked that good in that dress. Not that I look at my sister in that way.
Corbin grew flustered at his inability to state what he meant to state. I'm trying to say that the dress
looks good on you. His face had reddened. Beth simply thanked him again and held back a slight
chuckle. I was just about to walk around the property, would you like to join me? Or would you prefer
we go to the auto-shop now?
Oh, I called already this morning. There was a phone on the nightstand in the bedroom. The
mechanic told me it might be a few days. I told him he could reach me at your number for now until I
get settled elsewhere.
I hadn't thought about this yesterday, but don't you have a cellphone? Everyone has one now.
I'm a little surprised you don't.
It's a personal matter, stated Beth, bluntly. She was being honest. She had no money. She
hadn't had money in a long, long time, and she wasn't even sure how she could get some. She refused to
ever work a menial, pathetic nine to five like some lesser human drone. She never had a cell phone, and
even she did somehow get a hold of one, she would never be able to figure out how to operate the
damned thing. Technology used to change every fifty years; now it changes every month. It's tough to
be a modern woman sometimes.

Well, okay then, responded Corbin. If he had been smarter, he might have considered her
arrival suspiciousshe might know who he was, about the wealth. She could be taking advantage of
him. However, he was never good with the signals women give. He just kept thinking about how lucky
he was to have a beautiful woman in his home, especially one who needed him.
Sorry, I just don't really want to get into the personal reasons that inevitably led me here.
Meeting you was lucky. You're a nice man. You are mannerly and gentlemanly; you never even once
tried to take advantage of me or objectify me. I just, unfortunately, have financial issues at the moment.
I don't even know how I am going to pay for my car. She playfully glanced down as if she were upset.
Call up that mechanic and just tell him to keep your car. We'll head down to a dealership near
here and pick you up a more reliable vehicle. He felt stalwart and strong.
I barely know you. I could never let you do something like that for me. I'm not some weak
helpless woman who needs a man to save her. She folded her arms.
I never said you were weak or meant to imply you needed me to rescue you. I just wanted to
help. If you don't want it, then you can feel free to decline. He was emasculated, although he didn't
show it.
It's not just that. No one has ever offered to do something so, so big and generous for me, she
lied. How can you afford that?
Don't you know who I am? he asked, arrogantly. When she stood confused, he continued.
My name is Corbin Shaw. I'm the head of the VSE (Vance Shaw Exchange). Vance was my father, and
I inherited the company.
So what do you do? she asked, earnestly.
I compete against other traders. We allow people to gamble on stock prices, basically. For each
stake or wager, we take a percentage. Easy money and lots of it. Our profit margin is often above
twenty-eight percent. We generally net around just under two billion dollars, and our company has just
over 1,500 employeesthat's it. Let's just say, I make a living. Corbin explained all of this with
excessive pomposity.
Well, in that case, I suppose I can allow you to help me out. We can consider it community
service, she joked.
You mean charity, asked Corbin. He realized right after he spoke that he had offended her. He
was just extending the joke. Sorry. I wasn't trying to insult you.
It's okay. I know you weren't.
So how about that walk? asked Corbin.
The two of them walked around the perimeter of the house. Corbin knew a lot about the plants

and trees. He would point out the oaks and the evergreens, which had white flowers that would fade
once summer ended. He pointed out the various vines that had purple flowers, the bright blue wild iris
flowers, and even the pink-yellow flowers of a random seashore mallow that had somehow survived in
an area it shouldn't. As they walked, they left the flowing meadows of his home and entered the woods.
Without realizing it, they stood within ten feet of where he had buried the cat. Beth was in the middle
of discussing her love of history, which had been spurred on by a discussion about Deidre's recent visit
to Egypt.
It is impossible to dismiss the beauty of the ancient Egyptians. The culture has so much rich
depth. Don't you agree? She noticed Corbin had become distracted. He kept looking over at a patch of
dirt near an Oak about ten feet ahead of them. Is everything all right? she asked.
I used to have a cat, but I had to put it to sleep. He lied. Ash, my cat, was an outdoor cat, and
would often sleep near this old oak, so I buried him hear. Remember when I said I had a tough night
yesterday. I had just buried him. He was a quick thinker and ever adept at the art of prevarication; he
had learned it from his father and the business.
I'm sorry, said Beth. She walked forward and gave him a hug. Suddenly, Corbin had his
emotions from the other night flood through him like a tsunami of grief. He quietly sobbed on her
shoulder. He kept seeing himself raise the statue and bring it downcrackover and over again. He
moved away from her embrace, gently.
Feel a bit better, she asked, slyly.
Yes, he lied, again. Why don't we head back to the house for lunch now? he asked in a
commanding tone.
They spent the rest of the day talking. Corbin enjoyed being the one who talked, so much so
that he didn't realize that Beth had not revealed anything substantial about herself. To him, she was
simply a beautiful body who listened, that was enough. He often had to deal with female personalities,
and they were always contrary to histhat opposition always infuriated him. Beth, on the other hand,
seemed to just want to comfort him, to listen and laugh at the right times; she was the first woman
besides his sister who needed him. He loved that.
Yeah, Victor was a great man. After my father died, he really mentored me, taught me how to
live life. 'Wealth is more than just money,' he'd say. 'It's aged Scotch, imported Cigars, and...' He
paused. He had been so deep in the retelling the anecdote that he forgot the last part might be offensive.
He changed it. And strong women. The original phrase was 'loose women.' Victor had endured three
marriages and seven mistresses. Corbin's favorite line of Victor's was 'Women need to realize what their
mouth was made forand it wasn't talking. I mean men were made first, and God just wanted us to

have a third option.' That joke always killed.

He sounds like a lovely man, observed Beth.
They talked for hoursabout Corbin's occupation mostly but also his first marriage, his sister,
his childhood, Philadelphia, even football.
Not to interrupt, but it is getting late. I can make us something to eat if you show me where
everything is.
Although that is kind of you, you don't have to cook. I think I have glazed ham, candied yams,
and ambrosia for dessert. It's leftover from when my sister was here; I hope that isn't a problem. They
both got up from the couch in the den and headed toward the kitchen.
Sounds a bit sweet but it sounds fine.
Yeah, I developed a sweet tooth a little over two years ago.
As a comforting thing? asked Beth as she turned on the oven while Corbin took the items out
of the refrigerator.
Maybe. All I know is that I need it.
After dinner, they had begun dancing together. Corbin had a record player, and Beth put on an
album by the Rolling Stones. She decided to skip ahead to the song Dead Flowers, one of her
favorites. As the song played, they held hands and swung side to side. Corbin took her arm and spun
her around. They moved in and out from each other, and when they would get really close to each
other, Corbin would dip her. They were sweating and laughing. After the song ended, Beth let go of his
hands and rushed over to the record player.
Just a second. I think we need to change it up a bit. She put on the new record and put the
needle down. Carly Simon's A Case of You, began to play. She turned around and slowly walked
back to him. At first, they danced near each other but with some distance between them; by the time the
song reached the chorus, they leaned tightly into one another. She rested her head on his shoulder, and
they gracefully moved about the room. During the last refrain, Beth looked up at Corbin, and they
kissed. It was a gentle first kiss and classyno soul kissing just yet.
When she pulled away, she took his left hand and guided him up the stairs into the guest
bedroom. They sat on the bed and began to kiss, more passionately. He pulled away lightly and stared
into her eyes, intoxicated by her turquoise eyes. Her bangs were blocking the view of the right side of
her face, so he softly brushed it behind her shoulder. Her neck was exposed, and he leaned in. He could
hear her breathing hasten. After a few moments, he began to bring his hand up to her leg and began to
massage it. Every movement was fluid and never intrusive. With every touch and motion, he waited to
see her response. He moved his hand from her leg to her hip and then up to her left breast. Any time he

got this far with a woman, he always had the same reactionI made it to second base! He knew it was
juvenile of him, but he couldn't prevent it. He accidentally chortled. She moved away from him a bit.
Sorry, I was just thinking, he commented.
Thinking about what?
Honestly, I was thinking about how lucky I was to get to second base, he said smiling. She
chuckled quietly too.
Well, I am pretty sure you're gonna to hit a home run if you make all the right plays, she
added. She stood up and removed the left strap to her sun dress and then the right, causing it to fall to
the ground. There she wascompletely naked in front of him. She had a nearly perfect hourglass
figure. His body was reacting to his vision and the eventual event that was to come. Her breasts were
suppleperhaps a B-cup he conjectured. The light-brown nipples were slightly hard due to the cool,
evening wind blowing in through the window. Then, he looked downward and noticed her pubic hair,
neat and just as fine as her long silken hair on her head. He removed his t-shirt, undid his jeans, and
took off his black boxer-briefs. He was a pale white and only slightly muscular. He was nervous
standing before her. She seemed so comfortable with her body whereas he kept considering all of his
faults from his realization he didn't go to the gym enough to whether he was a good enough size for her,
seeing as how see was clearly out of his league. She moved toward him, and they kissed in a close
embrace. She could feel his erection pressing hard against her, and although she had been aroused
before, this really excited hershe felt the wetness increase. Corbin reached down and began
massaging her thighs, gradually moving upward until his hand was between her legs. She began to
softly moan and press into his shoulder. Shortly after, he pressed a finger, and later two, inside of her.
As he did this, she grabbed a hold of him and began to lightly stroke him. When they were both ready,
she laid herself down on the bed. He followed, and soon he was inside of her. He initially went slow
and then, he quickly built up speed. They would kiss at times; at others, they would just look into their
partner's eyes. Most of the time though, they focused on the pleasurenot looking at anything
particular, not even each other. Corbin realized when he was nearing his climax that he hadn't put on a
condom. Rather than consider a casual approach to this, he quickly pulled out, leaned up, and moved
away.
What's wrong, she asked, out of breath.
I'm not wearing protection, and I don't think I have any. Son of a bitch! He rubbed his hands
through his hair and leaned forward as he sat on the bed, clearly frustrated.
She sat up and put her arm about him and leaned her head on his chest. Then, she tilted back,
lifted up his head with her hand under his chin, and said, You don't have to worry about that. I can't.

She didn't need to say anything else; Corbin understood her words. He had mixed feelings of relief and
also sorrow for her. He had no idea if she would ever want children. However, he hadn't fully
understood her meaning, but he would eventually.
Before he could awkwardly apologize for that revelation, she began to kiss him again and
straddled him where he sat. As she moved up and down, he softly pressed his lips against her breasts.
Again, even though it had only been about thirty seconds, he felt himself near the culmination point. He
refused to finish before her. He placed his hands on her hips and began to thrust into her. Her face grew
flushed, her breathing heavy, and she began to bit her lip. Her moaning grew loud.
Realizing what he was doing, she whispered in his ear, Go ahead, now. He couldn't have held
on a second longer. Afterward, she lifted off of him; they headed to the bathroom to clean up. They got
back into bed and curled into each other. Before he fell asleep, he kissed her forehead and held her even
more tightly.
Several months passed and Bethany never left. She had moved in, and there relationship was
especially strong, much to the dismay of Deidre. She talked to her brother often the phone at least once
a week and was particularly suspicious of a gorgeous woman randomly falling in love with him. Every
conversation included a rant about Bethany; she would continuously admonish him, but he never
listened. In fact, it eventually caused them to drift apart. They hadn't talked in several weeks.
Meanwhile, Bethany was able to convince Corbin to adopt a Sphinx kitten. Although he still
loathed the animals, his love for her was greater than his disdain for them. He only had one rule: the cat
was not allowed on the bed with them. She had named him, oddly, Baby. Corbin felt this was simply
as a result of her inability to ever have kids. He was incorrect yet again.
As relationships last, it is easy to notice little things about your partner you wouldn't have
noticed in the short-term; it is impossible to keep a secret. Bethany didn't just like cats; she loved them.
She even emulated them. Sometimes during sex, she would make quiet purring sounds. When he wasn't
in the room with her, she would playfully meow to Baby. He tried to suppress this but to no avail.
One evening, Corbin woke up to a cat howling outside his window. At first, he though it might
have been Baby, but that cat was sleeping in a ball at the foot of the bed. He got up and looked outside.
He couldn't see anything. Beth, who had been stirred by his departure, sat up, and asked, What's
wrong, honey?
Did you hear that?
Hear what?
The howling?

What howling, like a wolf? she yawned.

No, not like a wolf, like a, he paused, Never mind. I must have been mistaken. With that he
got back into bed, and they both fell asleep.
Every night for the next two weeks, Corbin would wake up and hear the invisible cat howling
into the night, beckoning him. He felt like he was going mad. Additionally, he found large dirt paw
prints randomly throughout the house; he even would find hairballs in the shower, the sink, and hidden
under and behind things on the floor. It was impossibleclearly it couldn't be Baby as it still hadn't any
hair. He refused to clean the balls of fur up because he was so disgusted by them. He would try to grab
Beth to show her, but by the time they would get back to the area where he had spotted them, they
would miraculously disappear. Every time he would think about the invisible cat. He was even starting
to believe it was a ghost cat. It was the only thing that made sense, which made no sense at all.
When he could no longer handle these occurrences, he decided to take a trip to his sister's home
in Philadelphia. He was there for two days before Beth got brought up in conversation.
So how is the money whore? Comfortable? she asked.
Look, you start that shit, and we'll go right back to not talking again, retorted Corbin.
Fine.
I'm just having a tough time. Beth is having difficulty understanding. She doesn't know about
what's really going on though.
Did you have a relapse?
I had an Irish coffee after a meal a week ago, but I'm fine. It's not that. Besides, I have my
sponsor for that area of my life. No, I just think I'm really stressed. He avoided telling her that as the
odd events progressed, he had been adding whiskey to his coffee. At first, it was just after each strange
happening. For the last few days, it had been frequent throughout the day. Even now he was itching for
just a drop. It was tugging at his gut, but he kept up the show for his sister. He hadn't told his sponsor or
Beth, but he presumed that she knew. She had grown slightly distant. She began to sleep in the guest
room. As the conversation continued, the conflicts in his relationship came up. Rather than suggest they
break-up, Deidre offered for him to stay as long as he needed, but that if he was going to end the
relationship, he would have to do it face to face, even if she was just a gold-digging whore.
Two days later, Corbin flew back and was on his way home in a taxi. He had called Beth to let
her know. The car turned into his long driveway, and Corbin noticed a cat sitting on top of his mailbox
licking its paws. As the cab went up the long driveway, he saw a few cats darting through the woods.
By the time they were at his house, there were cats everywhere: in his bright yellow Lamborghini
scratching at the seats, on the steps, on the porch, and on the swing. The were fighting, hissing, pissing,

sleeping, running, purring, meowing, jumping, and rolling about. He was afraid to ask the driver if he
also saw this. He paid him and gathered courage to enter his home. There were all kinds of cats:
longhairs, short-hairs, Bengals, Calicoes, Persians, Scottish Foldsperhaps every kind of cat breed that
might exist. As he passed the felines, they pawed at his legs, some scratching, others playing. As he
entered through the front door, he gagged; the entire place smelled heavily like ammonia. Tiny piles of
cat shit were all over the place. They had ripped into the books on the book shelf and tore up the
wallpaper at its base.
I am upstairs, honey. I have to show you something. Please hurry, growled Beth. Corbin
slowly began to feel as if he might have rushed into a relationship with a crazy stranger-woman. The
cats were littered throughout his house as well: on the hearths, the tables, the bookshelves, in the nooks
and crannies, on stools and chairs, even on every step. He carefully stepped between and over every
cat; he was equally angry and terrified. Singularly, he would kick each one, but collectively, he felt they
would all devour him.
Once he got to the top of the stairs, Beth called to him again. I'm in the bedroom. He moved
up the hallway into his bedroom where he saw Beth turned away from him.
Beth? he called.
"Funny thing, relics, she said as she turned around. She was holding the souvenir cat statue his
sister gave him. You never know if they're the real deal, huh, she continued and then, she tossed the
statue to Corbin. "Your sister, a shame you never listened to her.
His heartbeat began to quicken. Bewildered, he tried to think of some way to get out of this
house of cats. She was fucking insane. This explains everythingthe howling, the paw-prints, and the
hairballs. Before he could say anything, Beth spoke again.
Don't worry. This is all a bad dream. Just close your eyes, and you'll wake up. So, close your
eyes, honey. Stop the madness. Wake up! Close your eyes. She gestured him to do so. In a hopeful
fear, he closed his eyes. Open them! she demanded after a moment had passed. Beth was gone; a
monster stood in front of him. It had Beth's body, but her head had transformed into that of a peculiar
cat. Most of all it was impossible.
What did you do to her! he shouted at the freak in front of him.
She never was. All of those storieslies, like your lies. Go ahead. The last statement seemed
like an odd segue. It didn't make sense. You know what I mean, grab the bottle you hid on the top
shelf of the closet. Corbin didn't want to obey her, but he needed it; he desperately thirsted for it. He
rushed over to his closet, grabbed the bottle, opened it, and began to gulp it down. After a few
swallows, he stopped and wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand.

So am I going crazy or is this actually happening? he asked, laughing.

Both, she said as she attempted to smile with her cat-faced grin. Don't you know who I am?
she asked, imitating his intonation and phrasing when they first met. He shook his head. I am a God. I
have been known by many names. Didn't you ever check to see what that statue was? It was an idol of
Baastone dedicated to me. I have been away for many centuries, but you called me back. I think my
presencethe last little bit of belief in that idol, drove you mad, filled you with rage. You felt me
watching you, loathing you and your pettiness. Then, you dared, she paused and then repeated you
dared more aggressively and emphatically. She continued, to strike down one of my children. That
abominable act rejuvenated me.
"What are you going to do?" asked Corbin, who promptly sat on the ground, drinking
occasionally from his bottle.
"Purify you. She raised her hands to the ceiling and hummed a melody in an ancient voice in
an even more ancient language. Beams of brilliant, burning light shot through her eyes and mouth,
blinding Corbin. He screamed and soon had violent spasmsa whirlwind of anger and disdain. An
energy was moving through himshooting from every opening in his body from his eyes to the pores
in his skin. Eventually, the beams stopped, and he fell to the ground. He started to cry tears of light like
the rays of the sun.
"What now? Are you finished?" he said, choking and now blinded.
"Almost, answered Baast. "I've not much strength left. I'm growing weaker by the moment.
Not enough belief anymore; makes little acts like this near impossible. But you angered me, Corbin
Shaw. You angered them, she said, pointing to cats which were gathering in the room in groups of
three and fourhissing and calling loudly. I am their guardian, but I was too weak. She paused, too
upset to continue. After a moment, she went on. Too weak to protect the one you struck down. You
murdered an innocent childwith an idol of me. Her voice deepened, and she began to hiss her
words. I've no more time for idle talk; my children hunger, and they must feed.
When she finished with her speeches, she began to chant. Suddenly, all of the cats grew in size;
they became like lion-strays. They bellowed and growled, shaking the room with their weight. Corbin,
rather than remain fearful, smiled, finished his whiskey, and opened his arms as if to embrace the
horde. The lion-cats pounced forward and swung at him with large paws. The first set of claws that cut
him across his chest, down to his breastplate, belonged to Baby. He refused to scream; instead, he
laughed softly. He held up his hands in front of himself in a futile attempt for protection. A cat leaned
forward and bit down on his left hand, tearing it from his arm. Now, he started to cry out despite his
will. Two cats tore into the flesh of his thighs and started to tear and pull the flesh from the bone. Blood

began to pool on the floor. Another paw came down forcefully on his jaw, severing it from his face. The
bottom of his mouth gone, he began to gurgle and cough up thick blood, saliva, and phlegm from his
throat. The pain caused him to vomit all over his chest. He began to lose his consciousness. The cats
pushed him over on his side. They started chewing on every bit of him. The pain was so intense now he
couldn't even feel it. He just thought about how odd it was to know the crunching sounds he heard were
the animals chewing on his intestines and stomach and bones. Before he slipped into death, he heard
the howling that haunted him. Through blurred vision, he looked out the bedroom and saw the
decomposed, broken form of a rotted cat, dragging itself up the halljust as giant as the other felines
in the room. The other cats stopped and moved aside. When the maggoty crush-faced cat entered the
room, Baast moved from where she had been standing and knelt down besides the reanimated cat.
I'm so sorry, she said as she embraced the cat, which moaned softly; Corbin could tell it was
crying. I will give you the last of my power, she whispered. She held tightly to the corpse-cat and
slowly the cat regenerated its form. It seemed a painful process, and both Baast and the cat shrieked
loudly. Once it was over, she stood up, waved goodbye to Corbin, and exited the room.
Corbin's attention was now on the cat; he realized it was the one he had murdered so many
months ago. The cat prowled up to him, stared into his face for a moment, and then, abruptly crushed
his skull beneath his jaws. The last sound before the fade was the crunching soundthen, static
nothingness. The other cats joined in and finished up their meal.
As Baast walked through the hallways and down the stairs, she patted her children-cats as they
rubbed against her legs and purred and meowed up at her. Once she was out the front door and in front
of the house, she looked up at the sky. The sun began to rise. Baast raised her hands above her head,
closed her eyes, and let herself go. She gradually diminished into light and divided into rays,
inseparable from the shafts beaming from the morning sun.