Spells ‘R Us: The Khatari Pipe

Vanessa Singer
© 2001 

 

The little bell over the door rang softly as Terry Wilcox stumbled inside the tiny store with the yellowing GRAND OPENING sign. The boy was in his late-teens, with unkempt brown hair and dilated pupils. He glanced back through the door, watching as the security guard strode by in pursuit of the young hoodlum. Terry smiled just a little at the stupid guard. He had a very ugly smile. Then, a soft voice scared the wits out of him.

"May I help you?"

Terry turned to see an old man dressed in what appeared to be an old bathrobe. The man was small and had a mischievous quality about his features.

"I…I was just lookin’ around. That’s ok, ain’t it?" Terry shot back. The old man nodded, extending his hand as an invitation to explore further. The boy stepped away from the door and began looking around, always keeping one eye on the strange old man.

"Are you looking for anything in particular, young man?" He asked as he returned to his station behind the counter. Terry was very interested in getting one thing. A bag of high-quality weed. But he didn’t think the old man had any of that.

"That stuff is very bad for you, Terry." The old man said, shaking his head in that patronizing way that adults do. Terry’s eyes livened up as he listened.

"How do you know what I want, old man? And…how the hell you know my name?" He said, slowly stepping back toward the door.

"Young man, I could smell it on you as you walked in the door. You are covered in the scent of marijuana smoke. I have been in enough shopping centers to know what it smells like. In order to smell as you do, you must smoke a lot of it. And, your name is written on your jacket."

Terry looked down and let out an embarrassed ‘Oh.’ He was wearing an old denim jacket with the word "Terry" written along one sleeve.

"I guess you think you’re pretty clever, huh, old timer?" Terry said as the old man shrugged disinterestedly. Terry turned, continuing to look around the cluttered little store when his eyes met a fascinating sight on one of the far walls. He walked closer, examining it before turning to the old man.

"Hey, old dude, what’s that?"

The old man shuffled over and removed the strange wooden tube from the wall. It was nearly two feet long, with a tapered tip at one end and a pair of large spherical bowls at the other. He handled it delicately as he placed it on the counter in front of Terry.

"This, Terry, is a fertility pipe from the Khatari region of Africa. It was believed to enhance the health, sexual and otherwise, in some African cultures. This particular specimen is a very potent talisman. I just received this a few days ago." The old man said as Terry began to laugh. He couldn’t decide what was funnier, the old man’s rap on the pipe or the fact that, to Terry, it looked like a huge cock.

"How much you want for it?"

"This is a very rare piece." The old man continued his dissertation. "Each of these bowls represents an aspect of existence, you see. Good and evil, yin and yang, male and female, fantasy and reality…"

"How much?" Terry asked, pulling a wad of cash from his jacket pocket. The old man may have assumed that Terry was just some broke-ass junkie off the streets, but in fact, Terry was a pretty well off junkie whose parents, both lawyers, ignored his recreational drug use.

"I couldn’t part with it for less than four hundred dollars, young man." The old man said. Terry wondered if the joke would be worth it, then just shrugged and tossed down four one-hundred dollar bills onto the glass counter. The old man boxed up the pipe, tied it with twine, and handed it to its new owner.

"Now, Terry, you must…" The old man started to say before Terry shrugged and tucked the box under his arm.

"Old man, I know how to smoke a pipe!" He barked with his back to the old wizard. Terry got a bit edgy once his buzz wore off, and the old man’s droning was really starting to piss him off. He’d charged him way too much for that damn pipe, and now he wanted to lecture him on how to smoke it. Terry controlled himself though, craning his neck to look out the front window. Not seeing that over-paid, overweight rent-a-cop anywhere, Terry left the store.

He raced back to his parent’s home in the suburbs where he lived in the basement, sufficiently insulated from their boring lives. It was better for everyone, he had decided, since this way he could smoke all the weed he wanted and his parents could hold their parties and entertain their friends. Locking the door behind him, Terry tossed the pipe onto the couch, took a nap and almost forgot about it. Until ten o’clock that night.

* * * * *

Returning from a trip to the city to refresh his stash, Terry caught sight of the box sitting harmlessly on the couch and remembered what was inside of it. Initially, he was going to give it to Phil Bridges. Phil was a geek that Terry and his friends let hang around. They would give him some free pot occasionally, in exchange for doing their book reports and other stuff. Plus, Terry was positive that guy was as gay as they came. Terry had once dared Phil to blow this guy for a hundred bucks, and he took almost five seconds to say ‘no!’ This would be the funniest gag-gift ever. To give him the big cock-pipe as a gift. Soon, though, Terry began to wonder if he really liked Phil enough to toss away four-hundred dollars on a gag gift. No, he didn’t think he did.

Opening the box, he lifted the pipe from the box and ran his fingers down the shaft. It was thick and smooth, with veins and bulges carved into the wood. Very lifelike, he thought. Opening the small bag of pot in his pocket, he tossed some of the leaves into one of the ball-shaped bowls at the end and applied a flame.

It flared wildly, at first, and then calmed down as all of the smoke began to travel up the shaft. The pipe grew warm in his hands as Terry closed his eyes, wrapped his lips around the pipe and inhaled. The smoke tasted like death, a foul, bitter flavor that seared his tongue. It was thick and rich, full of that horrific essence. His eyes watered as the strange aroma filled his senses, his lips quivering around the wooden shaft as black smoke poured from his nostrils.

"Oh…God…" He moaned. Something was really wrong. He wanted to throw the pipe away, to get rid of it and that horrible smell, but he felt obligated to continue suckling. He knew what addiction was, and this wasn’t it. This was more like a compulsion. The black smoke grew thicker, flowing from his nose and mouth and collecting around his feet. It seemed alive as it began to rise, climbing his old jeans before swirling like a hurricane. Part of Terry thought that he’d been sold some bad drugs. Maybe this was some hallucination brought on by something that had been laced with the pot. But he knew better. He’d been sold something bad, all right. That damn pipe.

The pillar of smoke swallowed the young man as it twisted around him, it’s darkness rubbing against his skin. The smoke moved through him, passing through his organs and bones as if he were a ghost. He wanted to scream, but he couldn’t get any air into his lungs. Only more of that thick, acidic smoke. And, each time the smoke touched him, he felt some part of himself changing. Some parts grew larger, others became smaller, some vanished completely while others appeared out of nowhere. Finally, as the smoke blocked his senses completely, leaving Terry in a world of silent shadows. It lasted forever, or so it seemed. Then, without warning, the smoke blew outward across the room, leaving a thick ring of ash around him. The pipe fell from his mouth and landing with a thud on the carpet.

"What the hell?" Terry said as he looked down at himself. His clothing had all been dyed black and hung loosely over a body that was not his own. He raised a hand to his face, dark eyes inspecting the smaller appendage and dark skin covering it. Long nails graced each slender finger, much to Terry’s displeasure.

"What…the…hell…?!" He screamed, reaching into his pants to find nothing but a moistened slit pressed against his briefs. As his fingers brushed the thick lips between his legs, a sensation unlike any he had ever experienced shook his body. Terry dropped to his knees and moaned softly. It took a moment to recover before Terry ran to his bedroom and threw open the closet door to see exactly what had happened to him. There, he found what he already knew to be true. Dressed in his blackened clothing was a young woman of African descent. A strikingly beautiful young woman with thick black hair and perfect brown skin.

Terri pulled open her shirt, throwing it to the ground as she stared at the large breasts that now rode upon her chest. She saw, in the reflection, the shirt flutter to the ground and disintegrate into a pile of white ash. She tore the rest of her clothes off, including the blackened briefs, and cast them aside, watching them crumble before her eyes as well. She stood naked, idly fingering her thick nipples, wondering if she had just gone completely insane. The voice over her shoulder tested her sanity even more.

"There you are, baby." A familiar voice said as two hands rubbed across her belly, and then moved up to cup her breasts. "Goin’ au natural, huh? I like it."

She turned around, her eyes wide as she looked into the face of Terry Wilcox. He looked exactly like she had until a few minutes ago, but he wore a disturbing smirk as he raised his hands to knead her breasts some more.

"Mmmm, you’re gorgeous…" Her former self said, forcing himself on top of her. She grimaced, trying to push him away. The pungent smell of marijuana had followed him into the room and nearly made her vomit. Slipping away from the skinny young man, she tried to run away, but found herself caught in his grasp.

"Where you goin’, honey?" He said, tossing her playfully onto the bed. He laughed, a familiar but sadistic cackle, as she bounced across the mattress.

"Let me go. You don’t understand. This…There’s something wrong." Terri tried to protest, but her former self walked closer to the bed, shaking his head as he smiled.

"Ain’t nothing wrong with you, sweet girl…" He said, before beginning to hum the hook to "Jungle Fever." Terri, whose mind felt clearer than it had been in years, felt her stomach clench as her twin began to peel off his clothes. He had one thing on his mind, and as much as she wanted to resist it, she wasn’t sure if she could. Terry hadn’t been the strongest guy in the world, but he was strong enough to make her do what he wanted. She struggled with the idea that she…he…her twin might, probably would rape her. Would she have raped some naked woman in her…his own bedroom? While she wanted with all of her heart to dismiss the thought, something within her told her not to be so hasty. Just then, her former self, bare-chested and rock-hard in his pants, lurched forward, driving his tongue into her mouth as he slipped his finger inside of her.

"Mmmmm, damn girl, you are tight." He said, roughly playing with her sex. The sensations rushing through her body were unlike any she’d ever felt. Under other circumstances, she thought she might like…

"No…" She screamed, pulling away and racing across the bed and out the door. Terry tried to follow, but ran face-first into the bedroom door as it closed, knocking him out. She tiptoed over to him, making sure he was just out and not dead. She wasn’t sure what would happen if he died. Would she die too? Who was he? If he was Terry Wilcox, then who the hell was she? The whole thing made her head spin.

Careful not to wake the man slumped on the floor; she crept out of the bedroom and up the stairs into the home of her parents. A quick glance out into the garage showed her father’s BMW was missing, meaning that they were still out at a law firm function that had been planned for that evening. She disarmed the security system for the upper level and ran up the stairs, keeping an eye out for her former self. She ran through the large living room, past the professional kitchen and up to the third level where the bedrooms were. Her mother’s on the east wing of the house and her father’s on the west.

She stood at the top of the stairs, unsure of where to go next. She had to do something, but what? She knew that the old man at the mall had to be behind this. Him and his goddamn pipe. But, should she try and get the pipe or go back to there now, without it, and demand he fix her? She almost leapt out of her skin as the outdoor timer clicked, turning off the automatic sprinklers that nourished her mother’s rose garden. Slinking carefully along the hallway, she made her way to her mother’s bedroom and locked the door behind her.

Her mother’s room was much larger than her father’s and most of the space was taken up with her closets and her exercise equipment. Darlene Wilcox was obsessed with keeping her figure and was fighting age every step of the way. With exercise, diet, surgery, chemistry and cosmetics, she was going to keep the signs of aging at bay. Terri flipped on the light and carefully crossed the room, amazed at the sight in the make-up table mirror. The slender girl with the large breasts and thick black hair slinking naked across the room.

Inside her mother’s closet, she found a few things that seemed to fit her new frame. A bra and panties set fit her reasonably well, though her breasts felt flattened by the tight-fitting undergarment. She slipped on a plain white shirt and a pair of stretch corduroy pants. Inside the back door, she got an old pair of formerly-white sneakers that her mother used for gardening. Re-arming the security system, she tiptoed down the stairs into Terry’s apartment and started toward the bedroom. She had to get that pipe.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Terri turned to see her former self staring at her angrily. The right side of his head was badly bruised, and between the blow to the head and the drugs, he was very disorientated.

"Those are my mother’s. What the fuck were you doing up there?" He said, reaching out and grabbing her by her wrist. She screamed as the fingers dug into her flesh.

"I…you don’t understand. This is all a big misunderstanding."

"The hell it is, you lying bitch." He said, tossing her back into his den. Throwing her hard onto the couch, he snarled. "I can’t believe you. I brought you here, gave you some damn good shit, and you…you gotta do something stupid like this. I ought to call the cops on you…unless you can give me a reason not to." He said with a grin. Terri’s heart sank.

"Please…don’t make me…" She said, her thick black curls spilling into her face. He turned, walked over to the phone and pressed two numbers, holding his finger over the third.

"My parents are rich. You know that. I can make sure you’ll spend a lot of time behind bars. Stealing from us, bringing drugs into our house and don’t forget assault. Hell, I can probably get them to charge your black ass with prostitution." He said, rubbing the aching bump on his head.

Terri, seeing no other way out, nodded passively and awaited his command. He came over, grabbing the bag of pot from the table and grinned. "Mmmmm, I’m gonna have a good time tonight, honey."

"Don’t forget your pipe," She squeaked passively, her eyes falling to the strange pipe which had caused all this trouble. It sat upside down on the floor, unharmed by its earlier fall. He grinned, grabbing the pipe and his lighter. She watched as he loaded the leaves and seeds into the bowls. She waited for something, anything, to postpone or avoid the inevitable. It came in the form of the black smoke, pouring out of Terry’s nose.

"What…what’s happening?" He snarled, the smoke swirling wildly around him. But something was different this time. It seemed angrier. She closed her shirt and hid behind the couch as the pillar of black smoke rose to the ceiling, spinning like a buzz saw around the screaming young man. There were muffled sounds within the cloud, but they were too distant to be recognized. Everything sounded like it was happening miles away. But there were other, closer noises. The old toaster flew from the counter and the fire extinguisher in the kitchen, caught in the winds, and clanking together loudly as the storm sucked them inside.

Terri closed her eyes, clasped her hands over her ears and tried not to think about what was happening. She felt tongues of smoke dancing around her as well, licking her face and tickling her hair. She screamed, wanting it to disappear, but her bellows were overpowered by the maelstrom behind her. She wanted it all to disappear. And with a loud blast of hot ash, it did. She stood up slowly and surveyed the scene.

Where her double had stood, there was nothing. The circle of white ash had become black, indelibly staining everything it came in contact with. But, it didn’t come in contact with anything but concrete. The room was dark, lit only by a few small lights strung above. All the furniture, the rooms, everything was gone, leaving an unfinished shell of a basement behind. The pipe rested on the floor in the center of the circle, twisted and gnarled by some unseen force. The tip was twisted back, forced into one of the bowls and crushed into the shaft. She picked it up and screamed, dropping it immediately. It was on fire. The pipe spun wildly in the air before hitting the concrete floor and shattering. The pieces vanished, one-by-one, eradicating the last bit of evidence that Terry Wilcox ever existed.

* * * * *

Terri wandered most of that night in a daze. She’d left the old basement and discovered that everything that had been Terry Wilcox was simply gone. Her parents were now childless, but very little seemed to change in the house, despite that alteration. She crept down the lawn and into the street, roaming without a destination. She found herself on a bus, where she fell asleep. She woke up five hours later as the bus pulled up in front of the mall.

Terri exited the bus and looked up at the wide doors of the mall. The security gates were going up, it’s huge double doors opening like a mouth. She was petrified to go in there, but she had to. She had to confront that old man, and get her old life back. She couldn’t do that without going inside. She…

Suddenly, without warning, she felt faint. The exertion of the night was catching up with her and she began to black out.

"Excuse me, miss? Are you alright?"

Terri turned around and found herself face-to-face with Phil Bridges. It took a moment for her to recognize him. He was wearing a finely-tailored suit and his hair was cut in a style that actually suited him. He looked down over his rimless glasses and asked again. In his arms was another suit on a hangar, wrapped in the transparent casing of the Gimko Dry Cleaners.

"Yes. Yes, I think so." Terri muttered softly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "Phil?"

Her former friend seemed shocked as she said the name, and took a step back.

"Have we met, miss?" He asked. "I’m sure I would have remembered you if we had." Terri thought for a moment and shook her head.

"No. I’m…sorry. I saw your name on the receipt. The dry cleaners…" She said, pointing with a manicured finger toward the pink paper. He nodded and laughed.

"Well, now that you know my name, I feel silly not knowing yours…"

"Terri Wilcox." She said, hoping for some sign of recognition. Maybe the magic hadn’t completely wiped his memory of her former life. But, he simply smiled and noted that it was a very pretty name for a very pretty young lady.

"Uh, Terri. Were you in a fire?" He asked, noting the ash marks on her blouse and pants. She nodded, but made no attempt to make up a story about the fire. She just left it at a simple ‘Yes.’ Phil nodded, looking concerned. He always had been a nice guy, and Terri felt like a total jerk for what she…he…oh, forget it.

"Listen," Phil said shyly, "You’re probably going to think I’m a total jerk, but I don’t usually do stuff like this…" He started, a hint of the tentative, frightened Phil that she remembered creeping out. "…but, would you like to go get some coffee or something? I’ve got two hours before I need to get back to the office, and…well, I’d really like it if you and I could…you know, go get some coffee."

Terry turned back, looking at the entrance to the mall. She knew that old man was in there. But, the same thing that told her that he was in there also told her that he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, change her back. Change her back into the man who had done nothing with his life except smoke weed, take advantage of nice guys like Phil and … she couldn’t even remember what she might have done in her previous life. A life that she was increasingly sure she didn’t want. Terri turned back, took a deep breath and smiled. She had a lovely smile.

"I’d love to."

The End

 

 

 

*********************************************
© 2002 by Vanessa Singer. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.