Tommy

A Wendigo Girl Short Story

By

Kaye Draper

Copyright 2017

Tommy smiled and handed the annoying woman her receipt, praying she would just leave. “Have a good day Mrs. Pomada.”

The customer was an over-the-hill gossip who had known his family for years through some tenuous connection that he didn’t really understand. Like most old money, his family had a lot of “cousins” and “uncles” and hangers-on that liked to claim the title of family. Even now, five years after his family had abandoned him, he still ran into the creeps. Most of them had moved on—after all, no one cared much about the little boy who got left behind, especially as the years stretched on and it became quite evident that the important people weren’t coming back.

“Have you heard from your parents lately, Sweetheart?” Mrs. Pomada said, forehead wrinkles pulling together, pity in her voice for the poor little child in front of her. Despite the fact that he was twenty-two years old.

He shrugged and smiled again. “Sure, Mrs. P. Mom wrote to me just the other day. Mission work is hard, but it’s rewarding, you know? I miss them, but I know they are away for a really good reason. Doing God’s work.”

She nodded sagely at his bullshit, her perfectly curled and set orange hair not moving an inch—unlike her jowls, which waggled merrily with the motion. “What an amazing bunch of folks they are. You’re lucky to have such a wonderful family. You tell them I’m looking out for you.”

He managed not to roll his eyes. Looking out for a chance to stay in his parents’ good graces in case they came back and decided to be the social status symbols that they had once been, maybe. “I sure will, Mrs. P.”

He glanced behind her as another customer approached, hoping Pomada would get the hint and move her ass along. “You have a good day now.”

She took her paper bag of cat food and crackers and finally left the store.

A few minutes later, Tommy found himself smiling a genuine smile. The gorgeous woman put her little basket of groceries on the conveyor belt and flipped her long, curly brown hair out of her face. She looked tired, but she was still perfect in his eyes.

“Hey, Tess,” Tommy said as he scanned her stuff—a carton of V-8 tomato juice, a box of tea bags, and a case of beer were among the necessities like toilet paper and dog treats. “Your dad coming to visit?”

She cocked a hip and glared at him with those blue eyes that always managed to somehow look sad and murderous at the same time. “Unfortunately.”

God, she was stunning. He caught himself staring and gave her a puppy-dog look that he had perfected by practicing in the mirror. “Aww…c’mon Tess, you aren’t happy to see your dad?” Tommy would be happy to see his parents. Probably. He wasn’t sure if he would hug them or punch them first.

Tess pulled her debit card out of the back pocket of a pair of well-worn jeans that hugged her generous curves like a glove. Swiping the card in the machine, she said, “I’d be happier to see a hungry zombie on my doorstep than that old coot.” Then she grinned, mean and hot all at once. “Though, you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between my asshole parent and a rotting corpse most days anyway.”

Tommy snorted. Her dad wasn’t that bad. Tommy had met him a few times when he was visiting his daughter. The old man was charming, in his own kooky sort of way. Father and daughter both had an aura of pain hanging around them, but Tommy could tell they really loved each other, no matter what Tess said.

She was contradictory like that. But once you realized everything she said meant the opposite, then she was so transparent. Her protective grumpy barrier was adorable once you saw it for what it was.

“Hey, Tess,” he said, putting his hands on the conveyor belt and leaning toward her slightly. “Let me take you to dinner tonight?”

He saw the usual flash of panic in her expression right before she rolled her eyes. The woman had lost her husband and her little boy before she moved up here. But that was no reason to stop living. Not when she practically radiated sensuality and strength, and some sort of vital force that he’d never encountered—even in his old, weirder, life.

“Tommy. You’re, what, like eighteen? I’m sure there are tons of little girls around here who would be ecstatic to go eat at the Red Lobster with you. Stop hitting on old women.”

He heaved a sigh. She was only in her mid-thirties. One of these days he was going to wear her down. Tess might not know it, but she needed him. She looked all badass and strong, but he had this insane notion that she was wounded. And that it was his personal mission in life to protect her…and maybe make her smile once in a while.

“I’m an adult, Tess,” he reminded her, pouring on the good ‘ol boy charm. “And I can cook…I’ll make you lasagna…maybe show you how wrong you are about my age.” He gave her a cheesy, leering look and a wink.

She laughed. It was a sudden, short outburst that seemed to surprise her. Mission accomplished.

Then she closed down again, that guard coming up. Tommy could understand. The shield he wore was the only thing that kept him sane some days. Only his shield was the opposite of Tess’s. Her armor was an oddness that kept people away. His was a mask that lured them in with the lie of being normal.

“Save it for your groupies.” She tossed her head toward a group of teenage girls who were approaching his lane, all whispers and giggles and girly outpourings of hormones.

Tommy opened his mouth to reply, but Tess was already almost out the door, her plastic grocery bags slung over a shoulder and the beer tucked under her arm.

He turned to the girls, who were clearly trying to flirt. Giving them a warm smile, he engaged in inanities, playing the part of the vapid blond store clerk. He wasn’t interested in them, of course. But it was good to know that the effort he put into cultivating his persona—from his carefully styled blond hair, to his preppy clothes, to the cheesy smiles—was working. Hell, even Tess was fooled by his kindness and his boyish looks.

When his shift was over, he clocked out and walked home, talking an indirect route through Manitou to stretch out the commute. It was a beautiful spring day, all blue sky and puffy clouds. He wandered past historical buildings that were built when his family first arrived here in northern Michigan. They were interspersed with newer shops and businesses. Much as he wished his family had not chosen to leave him behind, he did like his little town. It was charming, quiet, and surrounded by nature.

If only he wasn’t always so alone.

He made his way down his street, passing a row of old, stately houses built right on the Lake Huron shoreline. Some of them were like miniature mansions, dating back to the early Victorian era. His own house looked odd among them. He turned down the stone path that led from his driveway to the tidy yellow ranch-style house that had been built just five years ago. It sat back away from the road a bit, on a wide swath of land that had once boasted towering old-growth trees, but now held only a stuffy, over-manicured flower garden.

It was a nice house, in a nice area. And it was far beyond the means of a grocery store clerk. Most people thought he worked his ass off to maintain it until his family came back from their supposed mission trip abroad. Little did they know, he probably had enough money to buy all the houses on the street and maintain them for a few decades if he wanted to.

He sighed as he opened the front door to his beautiful, empty house. He had promised his mother he would live a normal life. But the charade was getting old.

Nearly a month passed before Tommy got a letter from his parents. He tossed out the ad for home fire and disaster protection insurance that was in the mailbox alongside his mother’s letter, snorting at the irony of them arriving together. You would think the local insurance company would stop the overtures after they saw the unstoppable rage of the fire that had reduced his parents’ gothic mansion to cinders.

He glared at his mother’s letter for a second before he opened it. He told other people that they wrote to him all the time. In actuality, he heard from his family about once every six months or so. His mom’s note was even shorter than usual this time. She asked how he was getting along. She told him, again, how much she hoped he was enjoying his new life…his freedom.

The envelope was address to Tommy White. Loneliness stabbed him in the gut. Once upon a time, he’d gotten letters written on delicate vellum with thick, creamy envelopes addressed to Thomas Whitehall III. Answering them had gotten him invitations to secret, elite parties where pretty women—and sometimes pretty men—threw themselves at him, hoping to catch his eye, even if he was the least powerful member of his family.

He had danced, and drank, and made love like it would cement his place in their world. But then that world had gone up in flames. The family had flocked around Tommy’s beautiful, talented and powerful brother. And left the spare sibling behind. He crumpled the letter and stood staring at the envelope for a few minutes before he threw the whole thing in the trash.

Where were they now? There was never a return address. On the rare occasions that he wrote back, it went to a P.O. box in California. But that didn’t mean they were in that state…or even on this continent, for all he knew. Were they safe? Had his brother married and started his own family? Had his little sisters grown up as pretty and devilish as he suspected they would?

Longing for his family clashed with hurt and anger. He ran a hand through his wild hair and scuffed off to get dressed for work.

Clean-shaven, hair perfectly styled, and polo-shirt in place, Tommy headed off to work. His stupid job was the only thing that gave him a sense of purpose and routine anymore. He tamped down the part of him that desperately wanted more.

Little did he know, today would be the best day he’d had in years.

Partway through his shift, Tess came in. He hadn’t seen her for a while now, and when he saw her he wanted to lunge over the conveyor belt and pull her into his arms. She looked…bruised, drained. She was dressed too warm for the weather, with a high-collared shirt that hid the creamy skin of her neck. He rang up the carton of V-8 she’d put on the belt. "You having guests, Tess?"

She shrugged, looking uncomfortable. Trying to change the subject, he latched onto the stray observation that she hadn’t bought dog treats today. He knew she had a golden retriever. He bet she was so cute, letting her grumpy guard down to play with her dog. "How's Lucky?" He said with a smile.

“Dead,” she said with a fake, cheery tone of voice, as if she was completely unbothered by it.

Tommy frowned. He was trying to make her feel better, not worse! “Oh no! I’m so sorry!”

He noticed faint scratches marring the back of her hand as she swiped her card. Odd. “Stuff happens.” Her voice sounded tight. She was hurting, but she would never say so.

Tommy hurried around the end of the belt and into the isle. He was overwhelmed with that need to protect and comfort her again, but he knew better than to push his luck. He settled for putting a hand on her shoulder. His poor, beautiful, wounded Tess. “Well,” he said softly. “That doesn’t make it hurt less.”

Accepting reality never made it go away…it just let you breathe around the pain.

Tommy knew it wasn’t the damned dog that had her so upset. She was probably feeling even more alone now, having lost her one companion. And there was something else bothering her. Even strung out, she was beautiful. But she seemed fragile too. It was a feeling he knew all too well. He wanted to help hold her together.

She glanced up at him and he smiled, putting a little bit of flirtation into it, hoping for a return smile.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"Hey Tess," Tommy whispered before he removed his hand. "When are you gonna change your mind and let me take you out? You know, there's a new horror movie coming out this weekend.” It was perfect. Tess wrote horror novels. “We could go together. Nothing big." He was not above pouncing on her when her defenses were down. It was for a good cause—their mutual sanity.

He nearly laughed out loud when she said, "yeah," in a breathy voice that went straight to his gut.

Tommy grinned. "Okay!"

He made his way back to the other side of the conveyor and tore off a hunk of blank register tape, then handed it to Tess. When she just stared at him, he grinned, unrepentant. "Your phone number, Tess."

She scribbled the number and he held his breath, waiting for her to come to her senses and tear it up. He thought his smile would split his face when she handed him the paper and, not saying another word, took her groceries and walked away.

Tommy arrived at the old Manitou theater early and got their tickets. Then he paced like a teenager under the faded marquee until Tess got there. He hadn’t been this excited about a date when he actually was a teenager. But Tess was special. And she’d finally said yes.

When she arrived, Tess looked like she was having second thoughts. She was dressed casually in a high-necked blue sweater that matched her eyes and a pair of jeans. She had her hair down, which was rare. He wanted to bury his hands in it. She wasn’t wearing make-up, but he couldn’t find it in him to be disappointed at the lack of effort, she didn’t need it. She was perfect.

"Hi, Tess," he said warmly, taking her hand and threading his fingers through hers, ignoring her death stare. She wanted closeness, he knew. She just didn’t know how to deal with that fact. So, he wasn’t going to give her the chance to overthink it.

She didn’t pull away.

"I got our tickets," he beamed. "How about popcorn?"

"Sour Patch Kids," she blurted, then looked supremely embarrassed, her cheeks going pink. "That's what you eat at the movies. Duh."

Tommy just laughed. "Okay, popcorn and Sour Patch Kids."

Tommy chattered about the previews he’d seen for the film while they stood in line, only letting go of her hand to pay for their snacks. She seemed to relax, and Tommy gave her hand a little squeeze.

The movie left little opportunity to set the mood for romance in the dark theater, but Tommy had a chance to study Tess in stolen glances. He nearly laughed at loud at how hard she was trying to act normal. Was she as lonely as he was? He wished he could ask, but he could never explain the whys behind his isolation.

Tess’s hand in his didn’t take away all the pain of being abandoned, but it helped. He felt grounded for the first time in years.

Near the end of the movie, Tess began to shift restlessly, her hand spasming in his, fingers restlessly tracing his knuckles. What was she thinking now? Tommy had a hunch. And he hoped like hell he was right.

After the movie, Tommy walked her to her truck, parked in the shadowy back lot of the theater. "That was awesome," he said enthusiastically.

Tess squinted at him in the streetlight, maybe studying him for signs of nausea. The movie had certainly been graphic.

She rattled off all the reasons that gore was overrated in horror. Tommy nodded, but he knew anxious stalling when he heard it. Was she afraid he was going to attack her? Or maybe she was afraid because she wanted him to make that first move.

Their discussion of horror took a wrong turn. "There are far worse things in life than dying,” Tess commented, her tone clearly communicating what he already knew. That losing everyone around you while you got left behind alone was far worse.

They reached Tess’s old truck and Tommy brought her slender hand up and pressed a kiss on the back of it. He gazed into her deep blue eyes. "There are better things too," he said softly. And god he wanted to be the one to show her that. And maybe prove it to himself too.

She didn’t meet his eyes, gaze down, that panic again. She was so afraid to feel.

"Hey," he said softly, reaching out a hand to brush her soft, thick hair back from her cheek. "You don't need to be scared of me. I know you've been hurt. Bad. I just want to tell you I'm here, okay?" That they weren’t alone, either of them.

She glared up at him fiercely, and he thought maybe he’d pushed her too far. Or…maybe he had finally pushed her just enough.

"You're wrong," she said, breath coming quick. "I'm not afraid of you. But…you should be afraid of me."

Tess reached up, and he smiled as her hand slipped up behind his neck through his hair to pull him down to her. Then she turned, slamming him against the truck’s door with more strength than he thought she could possess. She pinned him there, luscious curves crushed to his body from his chest to his knees.

God damn. Lust flared up, hot and sharp, and he bent his head to capture her mouth, meeting her desperate fervor with his own. She tasted like her sour candies. Sweet and sharp all at once.

Tommy moaned as she caught his bottom lip between her wicked little teeth. He grasped the swell of her perfect hips and pressed her closer, his cock a pulsing agony. God, it had been so long since he’d wanted anyone this bad.

Then pain lanced through him as she bit harder, her teeth slicing clean through his lip.

He spasmed against her and jerked back with a yelp, but she held him trapped with strength that no one should possess, letting blood flow into her mouth. He felt her swallow and panic took over. Something was really, really wrong.

Like his creepy-assed fucking family’s sort of wrong.

He tried to push her off, but he couldn’t seem to budge her. She was stronger.

Tess slid a knee between his legs and exerted pressure against his now thoroughly wilted nether regions, keeping him pinned as she released his lip.

Her blue eyes had gone a strange, glowing blue-white, like flames.

She pinned him to the truck again and he came out of his shock enough to struggle. "The fuck?" he panted, blood still dribbling down his chin and onto his sweater.

Then she was on him again. He got his arm up, wedging it between himself and the madwomen whose face was painted with his blood. She bit his arm, clenching her teeth so hard he felt his flesh give under the fabric. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Tess started growling, a vicious, animal sound that sent chills down his spine. He managed to wedge the driver’s side door open and tried to shove it against her, hoping to use it as leverage. She didn’t budge.

He managed to get the door open just enough to squeeze past it and make a dash across the seat to the other side. He got a hand on the handle of the passenger side door before a warm, heavy body was pinning him down across the seat and teeth and fingernails were assaulting him from every angle, in a flurry too fast for him to process.

He must have blacked out at some point.

Tommy came to, groggy and feeling chilled. He swayed with the motion of the truck as it hit a bump in the road. Where? His arm throbbed. But only down to the elbow. The rest of it was nothing but pins and needles numbness.

Oh, right. Tess. Something was wrong with Tess. Did he even have an arm anymore?

He heard her voice, mumbling something. Cursing at him. Telling him to hang on. It sounded like Tess again. The real Tess. God, how had everything gone so fucked up? All he wanted was to help her. To help them both get over their loneliness.

“…just wanted to help Tess,” he mumbled.

Something wasn’t right. His chest hurt. And he almost laughed. His fucking heart. It would choose now to act up.

But it wasn’t so funny anymore. Because he couldn’t seem to get enough air. And things were going black again. His body spasmed. He had just wanted to help Tess. He had just wanted to not be alone anymore.

“Shit, Tommy! Do not die on me,” Tess ordered.

And he would do anything for Tess.

The next week or so was a blur. Tommy found himself at home, with memories of going hiking with Tess. He’d been attacked by a wild animal.

Something wasn’t right. His mangled arm healed within a day. Tess called to check in on him, and she sounded worried. He couldn’t stand it when she was worried.

He felt caged, pent up. He knew he had to put his mask back on—comb his hair, don the polo shirt armor and go to his piddling job. But for some reason, he just couldn’t do it. He had the feeling that whatever had happened to him was the last straw…but his mind was so foggy that he couldn’t say why. Or the last straw before what?

He felt anxious and twitchy. He swam in the cold lake. He worked on his car. And he paced.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Tess. He remembered the feel of her in his arms. But that couldn’t be right. They had gone hiking. But the memories were vague…he couldn’t remember if he’d held her hand, maybe tumbled onto the mossy ground and fucked her?

If that wasn’t it, then why could he remember how she tasted? Like sour candy—tangy and sweet and…like blood. He remembered blood filling his mouth. Pain. Darkness.

The harder he thought about it over the days that followed, the more confused he became. He distinctly remembered talking to a man—an intimidating dude that looked like something out of a samurai movie, with shoulder-length black hair and slanted eyes that glowed. He had helped Tommy. Healed him? Or…had he?

Something in him found his memories of the guy both comforting and deadly. He had done something to Tommy.

He needed to see Tess. He was starting to feel more out of touch with reality every day. He had been hiding something, hadn’t he? Pretending to be someone?

He was tinkering on his car when he felt her, like a warm jolt to the middle of his chest. Tess.

He rolled out from under the car to see her standing in the garage, her head tilted, radiating some sort of energy. He was on his feet without any conscious thought.

Tess. His Tess.

Then she was in his arms, and she felt like cold water over a burn—cool and soothing. "God, I haven't felt right since last time I saw you." He nearly sobbed with relief.

Tess pulled away from him and tried to avoid the contact, as usual. But it was only a token attempt. She seemed to feel responsible for him. Which was okay. Because he was hers.

She wanted to talk about what was wrong. At first, he didn’t care, as long as she was there and he was touching her—even just a hand on her arm. But then things seemed to slowly clear. She said his eyes weren’t right.

She told him about monsters in the night. About terror and hunger and how sorry she was.

But all he could think of was that he had her now. And that for the first time in five years, someone knew. She knew that the world wasn’t what it seemed to be. That there were things that were secrets. He could feel some part of her inside him, and it felt so right. He wasn’t alone anymore.

Several weeks later, Tommy paced through Tess’s cabin, a cup of coffee in his hand. He had learned the hard way that she didn’t like tea, and that maybe he did. That she rarely wanted coffee while writing, but lived on it the rest of the time.

He had written to his parents, at the old P.O. box that was the only address he had for them. He told them this was the last time he would be writing. They had left him. And now he was leaving them.

He didn’t need to cling to his old life, because he had a new one now.

Although apparently, he was dead…or undead? So maybe calling it a new life was a bit of a stretch. He knew Tess worried. That she felt guilty for turning him into a ghoul. But he couldn’t bring himself to feel that bad about it.

He was stronger now, his senses sharper. He didn’t get tired, unless he was away from Tess for too long, and he was still able to enjoy the things he liked before—like video games and food. He wasn’t attracted to Tess anymore, which might be worrying given how hot she was, except the bond he had with her now was so much more than romance or physical attraction. She was his family, his life. And he knew he was hers.

No matter how much she still grumbled.

And if Tess thought he adapted a little too easily to a new family of monsters, mystical hunters, and birds that were really ghosts…well, he couldn’t really explain to her that all of that paled in comparison to his old family.

He set the coffee down on the end table by her elbow. “Tons of sugar,” he said fondly, ruffling her soft, tangled curls and soaking in her cool, soothing energy.

She glared up at him from her seat on the couch, where she was reading through a proof copy of one of her wonderfully awful books. “Don’t you need to go home soon?”

He shrugged. “Aw, Tess, you know I love you too.”

She snorted, but one corner of her cute mouth quirked up in a suppressed smile. “Whatever.”

He didn’t tell her. Maybe she already knew. But he was home right now.

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this story, please leave a review.

The rest of the Wendigo Girl series can be found here.

About the Author

Kaye Draper is the author of numerous novels and short stories available in e-format and print. Kaye inhabits the forests and waters of Michigan, where she often finds inspiration for her stories. Sign up for her mailing list to receive free short stories and book updates. Visit her website kayedraper.com, her blog Write Me, Twitter, or Facebook.

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