Magic Mutant Nightmare Girl Read online

  MAGIC MUTANT NIGHTMARE GIRL Copyright © 2021 by Erin Grammar.

  Published by Midnight Tide Publishing

  Carver, Massachusetts

  www.midnighttidepublishing.com

  Cover Art: Hotaru Sen

  Cover Design: Melissa See

  Interior Design: Kristina Tran

  Formatting: Book Savvy Services

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, brands, trademarks, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

  All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law.

  Print ISBN: 978-1-953238-11-5

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2020924214

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  1 – Worst Birthday Ever

  2 – Oh No He’s Hot

  3 – Murder, Again

  4 – The Most Fearsome Snakes in the State

  5 – N.E.R.D.s

  6 – D is For Delightful

  7 – The Plan

  8 – Karaoke Crasher

  9 – Sleepover Pt. 1

  10 – Too Much Pink

  11 – Villains Unknown

  12 – STFU Mike

  13 – Parapsychology and Pizza

  14 – This Astral Plane Sucks

  15 – (Slightly Less Awkward) Sleepover Pt. 2

  16 – Etiquette Lessons

  17 – 7 Minutes in Hell

  18 – The Roof

  19 – Family and Friends

  20 – Not Cute

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  More Books You’ll Love

  The Girl in the Clockwork Tower

  Lyrics & Curses

  For everyone searching for the hearts to call home.

  Please note that this book depicts issues of grief, depression, parental death (off page), anxiety (social anxiety, thought spirals, overthinking), bullying and harassment, mild gore and medical body horror, violence-related PTSD with symptoms on page, features a romantic crush (not acted upon) with a slight age gap, briefly mentions organized crime and illegal substance abuse, and deals with mistaken identity surrounding sexual orientation (not demonized or judged negatively in any way). I’ve tried to approach these subjects with as much care and sensitivity as I can through the lens of a somewhat unreliable narrator, but please be advised if such content is triggering.

  * * *

  Chocolate icing stained my dress an hour before I got drenched in blue blood and a pinch of magic. When we stood to leave, I saw the blob and shrieked. Every head in the fancy Italian restaurant spun to gawk at me as I ran for the back with my best friend close behind. Distraction gripped me. That’s why I’d dropped birthday cake on the cream-colored skirt of my favorite dress. And I had no trouble blaming the creepy old woman for my mistake.

  I shoved my bangs up with my big headbow, and dunked the fabric near my knees into the bathroom’s only sink.

  Chi Ho juggled my belongings, swatting and snarling at the socialites invading our space. Her beauty drew them like bugs to a Venus flytrap. No one knew she’d snap until they got too close.

  I scratched at the thick layer of butter and sugar with the rhinestone manicure she gave me. Chunks dissolved to reveal the print beneath—golden ballerinas on marionette strings.

  Two soft hands tapped my shoulder as Chi Ho held hers on top of the fuzzy white paw of my designer purse. Usakumya, the white rabbit with crimson eyes whose name I’d kept from his Japanese manufacturer, bounced a sympathetic glance against the mirror. He nuzzled my cheek with the help of his mischievous puppeteer.

  She sang a squeaky question for him. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  No. I hadn’t been since we left Visions of Serenity Nails and Spa, because that’s when her grandmother latched onto my elbow by the door.

  “Tonight,” her warning rasped. “Don’t go through the alleyway!”

  The amateur psychic thought wrong when she assumed cryptic advice made a good present for someone turning eighteen. I expected a card, or a handful of confetti. Not a verbal smack in the face and the devastating unease that followed. Instead of a star on the cats in hats calendar by the front desk, perhaps she’d written a secret message in characters I couldn’t read: Third Wednesday in October, be sure to ruin Holly’s big day.

  “What Nai Nai said…” I mumbled.

  Chi Ho’s face replaced Usakumya’s. She rolled her eyes. “Are you still stuck on that? I love her, but she’s kooky. Stop worrying about it.”

  I shut off the faucet. “I know, but—”

  “Look.” She reached for the wall dispenser and handed me a gigantic wad of paper towels. “If she could really see the future, don’t you think she’d be playing Powerball numbers instead of running a nail salon? Who wants to work? Are you spacing? We live in San Francisco now. It’s not like the Midwest. Telling you to avoid alleyways is like saying stay inside when it’s raining, or don’t pay too much for coffee. It’s bullshit. Impossible. Even if you asked exactly what she meant, you know she’d never tell you. That’s her shtick.”

  The food in my stomach churned like cement in a mixer. I dried off, spritzed myself with the free perfume sitting on the counter, and tried to hide my uncertainty. Adopting a brave face, I puffed out my chest, locked eyes with my reflection, and reminded myself fortune tellers weren’t real. Superpowers didn’t exist, except in the mushy minds of people who believed in Elvis conspiracies. Or that trees had souls.

  “You know what she says about me. All that crap about destiny.” She mimicked her grandmother’s prophetic trance. “You will be the seeing eyes of a great soldier. Yeah, right. I wish my life was that interesting.”

  Nai Nai being full of it didn’t make me feel better. I’d known Chi Ho since kindergarten, and her personality never strayed far from outgoing, protective, kind when it suited her, and independent to a fault. No one but her grandmother would’ve described her as perceptive.

  I swallowed my doubt and forced a smile. “Well, at least we know that isn’t me.”

  She laughed as we wheeled around to leave and found a crowd waiting to wash their hands.

  They blocked the door with arms crossed. The woman in front gave me a nasty once-over and sneered.

  “About time, princess. Don’t you know it’s not Halloween yet?”

  Chi Ho bared her teeth. The bloodthirsty twinkle in her deep brown eyes crackled as I pulled her away before she could defend me.

  The same question pelted us from speeding cars once every five minutes on our walk to the restaurant. A few brave drivers even leaned out their windows to get a better glimpse of me as they flew by, and then promptly slammed their breaks at the next red light. My shy and anxious nature meant she always spoke for me in social situations, but I wasn’t in the mood for a fight. I didn’t blame the stranger for her mean remark. I’d have heard it anyway, hogging the sink or not.

  I chose my fate by adopting the over-the-top Harajuku style that transformed me from another boring white girl in sneakers to a cross between Disney’s Alice and a Rococo debutante. People assumed I wore cosplay since I looked like a powerful magical girl. My favorite dresses waltzed into my life when I found a Japanese fashion magazine in my old school’s library. Pouring over its glossy pages became my reward for finishing mountains of homework each night, and I never returned the sacred text.

  Fierce women designed brands like Angelic Pretty and Baby the Stars Shine Bright f
or others like them. Instead of dressing sleek and sexy to find an office job and someone to marry, devotees dedicated themselves to rebellion with their old-fashioned gowns. In the early 2000s, new shops opened internationally to spread the whimsical spirit of punk. The fashion’s feminist angle few saw or understood felt like a fantastic secret, and I adored the layers of chiffon and soft lace that hugged me like a friend. My doll-like appearance facilitated my ultimate goal. I wanted to keep the world at bay to shield my porcelain heart from more pain, loss, and grief.

  I let go of Chi Ho as the door swung shut behind us, but she yanked me in again to navigate the winding path to the lobby.

  She elbowed me playfully. “You’re getting soft. I could’ve taken her. If you keep being so nice, the next thing you know you’ll be making friends. Traveling the world. Falling in love.”

  “No chance, Lee,” I teased.

  She’d been going by the last half of her name forever—mostly because she could never hear the first without the distant echo of her mother’s voice.

  Chi Ho made a face and pushed me out the front door. “Don’t call me that!”

  A chilly pumpkin spice-flavored breeze knocked the breath from my lungs. She gave Usakumya and my parasol back to me. The decorative umbrella’s steel frame set it apart from the plastic kind sold to children at summer festivals. Its sharp tip scraped the pavement when I hung it from my elbow. My biceps retained the firmness of room temperature cream cheese when I flexed, but overconfidence told me I could stab someone with it if I ran into trouble on my way home.

  It was an extension of my arm in the perpetually rainy city. I’d taken it with me to protect my fair skin from the elements while shopping in Japantown before heading to Visions of Serenity. I spent my days browsing and buying online or in person, and sometimes I socialized with the local J-Fashion community. That Saturday we planned to celebrate the holiday that prompted extra rude questions with a fairytale tea party at an upscale hotel. The girls throwing it both owned small IT companies. They had even more money to blow than me.

  I started thinking about potential outfits when Chi Ho pulled me in for a hug.

  She rocked on the heels of her worn combat boots, ready to set off for Chinatown and the apartment she shared with her extended family. One of the conditions of our cross-country move left her in the care of her grandmother and cousins rather than living with me. Her parents thought I was a bad influence.

  They were probably right.

  “Thanks for dinner.” She squeezed my bony shoulders and leaned back. “Do you want me to walk you home? If you’re still freaked out, I mean. I don’t mind.”

  I lied to save her the hassle. “No. It’s way too late. You’ve got work in the morning. I don’t. If I bug out halfway there, I’ll get a taxi. I promise.”

  “Okay,” she said, letting go with lukewarm conviction. “But text me in the A.M.!”

  I told her I would—barring any magical accidents.

  She waved and I watched her go in trendy jeans stretched threadbare by plus-sized thighs, a men’s flannel jacket, and the work polo she usually wore twice in a row. She hated laundry, and she wouldn’t let me buy her new clothes. We looked like Marie Antoinette and Kurt Cobain when we stood side-by-side, but despite our differences, I loved her more than anyone.

  A drizzle started and I pulled my long pink coat tighter. The midnight crowd in Union Square parted for me to walk through it toward Pacific Heights. As I went, I noticed couples first, but I always did. Every time, without fail, and never without an absent tugging near my heart—like a sweater snagged by the first loose strand, threatening to unravel.

  Their happy permutations seemed endless. Pairs of men and women, men and men, two women, and groups made up of other magnificent genders floated by. Their feet played cozy melodies as they squashed wet yellow leaves. I tried to distract myself from the persistent itch in my chest by guessing just friends or maybe more. I wouldn’t let myself have what I could pretend they did. That was too dangerous. But spinning something as trivial as a glance or matching outfits into an epic love story was a harmless hobby. It allowed me to live their lives without worrying about mine.

  When I rounded the corner into my rich, quiet neighborhood full of colorful Victorians, I stopped where the sidewalk spit me out at the corner of the park. If I turned and continued for another half-block, I’d cross the lane and head for the rear entrance to my building. On any other night, I would’ve gone straight through the vacant backstreet, but Nai Nai’s warning rang in my ears as I even considered it.

  “Don’t go through the alleyway!”

  She was nuts. I knew that. No stars, ghosts, or tea leaves whispered her secrets that said I’d get hurt if I didn’t change my ways. But when I tried to move, my feet stayed put. A trickle of slushy dread traveled down my spine. It froze the tips of my toes. When they thawed, I took a deep breath, pressed the button, and waited for the stoplight to change. Nai Nai’s unflinching gray eyes invaded the rational part of my brain. I shuddered and decided to take the long way home based on her hunch I might get murdered.

  Or worse.

  When I arrived on the other side of the road, I looked left and right and stepped onto the cobblestone path. The ten minute jaunt across the sea of fiery trees dipped up and down. During the day, the park’s miniature hills and valleys sparkled under a dense canopy of burgundy leaves, but at night the lush landscape cast sinister shadows.

  I clung to my parasol, absolutely unprepared to use it as a weapon. Nail gems carved craters into my palm. The cloak of terror weighing me down lifted when drunken laughter drew my eyes to two tall figures approaching. I wasn’t alone anymore.

  Before I got a good look, I assumed they were businessmen coming from the local sports bar. If they catcalled me, it’d fortify the emotion slowly replacing fear—the smug knowledge I was better than old people who got hammered watching football on weeknights.

  I didn’t realize how wrong I was until they came closer. The nearer they got, the more I saw. The horrifying impact of their ugliness slammed into me when they wandered into a pool of flickering lamplight. They weren’t wearing Halloween costumes. They were creatures come to life. Enormous muscles with bulging atomic blue veins undulated beneath their stretched skin. The monsters lurched forward and I stiffened, awestruck and paralyzed like a child trying to avoid the detection of hungry dinosaurs.

  The two giggled as they took uncoordinated steps and plucked medical tubing from weeping orifices on their chests, arms, and legs. They wobbled on their feet like marathoners crossing the finish line of a fun run from Hell. The mysterious periwinkle goo running through their circulatory systems seeped through their tattered athletic wear and oozed onto the leafy ground.

  Invisible glue on the bottom of my Mary Jane shoes immobilized me. My thrumming heart inched into my throat, ready to choke me if I didn’t take a breath. I looked for a place to hide, and quietly shoved my parasol under my arm to shake off my purse when I didn’t find one. After what seemed like years of rooting around inside Usakumya’s cramped stomach, I found my cell phone to call 911. As I frantically dialed, the behemoth on the right turned to his friend and stroked his tan, keg-sized forearm.

  “Hugo, you’re so strong.” His thick, heavy voice rumbled like a troll’s. “So strong now. Such big gains.”

  The beast next to him bobbed along, a head shorter than his partner. He reached up and clasped him on the back.

  “Big muscles.” His brown eyes sparkled in uneven sockets. “You, too. I don’t remember your name!”

  A few rings later, the operator answered.

  “Hello?” the disembodied voice greeted me as my arm hung limp at my side. “Hello, 911. What’s your emergency?”

  My synapses must’ve short-circuited because, instead of saying anything to my potential savior, diving for cover, or fleeing for my life, I actually laughed. The startled sound rang out, splitting the otherwise still night air. When it reached the ears of the monstrous bei
ngs, it caught their attention like dogs hearing a can of food opening. They stopped and shared a slack-jawed gape when they saw me. The lips of the first twisted into a crooked grin.

  “Peeeeep.” His drawn-out shout made me cringe. “Bo Peep!”

  The other repeated after his friend as they came toward me with more speed than nature intended for massive legs.

  I screamed and dropped my phone as the urgent demands of the dispatcher called to me across a vast universe of space.

  The slighter one started chanting, his boom brimming with glee. “Peep, Peep. Where are your sheep?”

  “Sheep!” His humongous twin wheezed, clutching his stomach like someone who wholeheartedly believed they’d heard the world’s funniest joke.

  Irony rose like bile to drown the incredulous scream on the tip of my tongue. I was going to die as I often lived: Mistaken by meatheads for a storybook icon.

  The smaller of the two—who was at least the size of an upright minivan—landed in front of me. The second crept up behind.

  He lifted my skirt and petticoat like a multicolored field day tent—curiously, without a hint of malice. “Sheep under here?”

  “Get away from me!” I spun around and shrieked.

  I grabbed my parasol from under my arm and held it between both hands. Even though he looked strong, a quick blow to his slimy chest knocked him backward. The one I couldn’t see advanced over my shoulder. His voice dripped with the enthusiasm of a possessed child.

  “Just like a doll. I want to play.”

  The other agreed, laughing as he lunged for Usakumya. He yanked the bunny from the crook of my arm—snapping his thick cotton strap as easily as dental floss—and tossed it with a ground-shaking guffaw to his friend.