Hindsight

This is a quick story from a writing exercise. The exercise is from Writing the Paranormal Novel: Techniques and Exercises for Weaving Supernatural Elements Into Your Story by Stephen Harper. The exercise was "Read the following mundane plots and add a supernatural element to each. Or, if you like, add more than one."

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Ingrid sat in her car. She kept checking herself in the mirror, tugging at the hem of her dress (it had fit fine yesterday!), tucking her hair back (she should get the frosted tips re-dyed), listening to the tick-tick of the watch on her wrist (she should have cleaned it, the silver was tarnishing). Each tick made her feel a burst of panic. She would have chewed at her nails if they weren’t plastic. “Oh, what time is it?”

Rather than looking at her watch, she looked out the tinted windows. The sun had set enough for the restaurant across the road to warrant turning on their strings of pale yellow bulbs, fairy lights woven among the trees and trellises. That, combined with the brick of the building, the rustic wicker chairs, the the laughing and chatting drifting through the air…

“A perfect date,” she sobbed. “I can’t, I can’t do this, it’s five past, if he isn’t already here…” After looking hastily around, and not spotting the person she dreaded seeing, she fumbled the keys into the ignition. “I can’t, I can’t, I promised!” She looked around again. “AGH. Why did I parallel park?!”

Ingrid stumbled into her apartment. Without bothering to turn on the lights, she flung the door shut, staggered over to the couch, and flopped onto it. “I’m an idiot,” she mumbled into the cushions.

A few minutes later, a sharp, two-strike rap shook her door.

Ingrid hurriedly wrapped herself in the blanket half draped across the other end of the couch. Maybe if she covered herself enough, tossed her shoes behind the cracked trash can, hid her earrings, she could pass off being tired. She dug the remote from the couch cushions and turned on the TV. Unable to relax her voice, she squeaked, “Come on in Helen.”

Helen opened the door. Ducking her head, Ingrid’s best friend took a few steps into the room. She had a box of something in one hand, while her other hand was in her pocket. Ingrid could practically hear the vague disapproval by the way she just stood there, head slowly rotating, looking at the room. Her green eyes flickered strangely in the blue light from the television.

Weakly, Ingrid tried, “How’s the weather up there?”

“Don’t.” Helen shut the door and flicked on the lights. Eyebrows drawn, she set a styrofoam container on the counter. Her usually loose brown hair was held back by a thick black hair band. And it was straight of all things, she looked like a stranger. She must have gotten her hair done. “Are you going to tell me who’s making you miserable, or do I get to start interrogating your neighbors to find out?”

If her heart could stop without her dying, Ingrid could have sworn it did. If Helen started asking the neighbors, she’d run into him. “No!” The answer burst out of her louder than she’d intended. She burrowed further into the blankets and mumbled, “No.”

“Okay.” Helen sat on the couch next to her, one arm flung over the back. She took the remote and turned off the television. “It’s a guy.”

Ingrid felt like she couldn’t breathe. She sputtered. Helen yanked down the portion of the blanket that was over her head. Her friend raised a brow. “I warned you that signing a contract with me would be a bad idea.”

“But, but guys are the worst, and I knew I could do it, thirteen months is nothing, but I—” Ingrid broke off in a sob. “I wasn’t counting on him showing up!”

“And he is perfection in human form?”

Ingrid’s lip trembled. “No, he’s decency, and sweetness, and he’s actually kind of scrawny but he fits his name!” She found a box of tissues under the coffee table and used them to wipe at her tears. She’d have to wash the pillows later; she’d gotten mascara all over them. “Lucas. Lucky.”

Helen sighed. “Hang on.” She got the trash can and brought it over. “Okay.”

“He’s just up the hall, and something good happens every time I’m around him!” She waved off a handful of imaginary objections. “Not, like, butterflies in the stomach, but I won fifty bucks of groceries when I bumped into him at the store! And, and when I got my mail, I got my tax refund! Then there’s the coffee shop and concert tickets, and just on my walk yesterday there was an ice cream truck.” Ingrid blew her nose. “Every time, he asks me out. Me! And I, I said yes this last time. But, but then—” She buried her face in her hands, heedless of the tissue scraps still clinging to her nails. “He didn’t show!”

Helen handed her a handkerchief. She waited until Ingrid’s sobbing had somewhat lessened. “He was probably there.”

“W-what?” Ingrid sniffed.

Helen rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Look. You thought that I was egging you on, when I said that signing a contract would be a bad idea. Right?”

She nodded.

“Well, that’s not why I said that.” Helen sighed and crossed her legs. She stared at the blank television screen. “I knew you could do it. Thirteen months of no dates, not difficult after your last breakup.” Her fingers tapped the back of the couch. “It was the signing a contract with me that was the issue.” Sighing again, she rubbed her face. “But I signed, because I thought there wouldn’t be any problems.”

“Helen, what are you talking about?” Ingrid adjusted her position so she faced her friend. “It was fun, a promise.”

“Yeah, a promise that you are now unable to break.” Helen gave her an apologetic glance. “Words truly can’t express how sorry I am right now.”

Feeling a chill, Ingrid gripped the blanket tighter around her. “You’re being weird.”

“Hey.” Helen gripped her shoulders. Her fingers felt cold, even through the blanket.

Ingrid blinked up at her. Had her eyes always been that green? That bright?

Helen shook her slightly. “Look. I’ll let him know what’s going on, and in thirteen months, you two can go out. Okay?”

Ingrid blinked. Why was she so tired? “You’re being, being—” She yawned. “—even weirder now.”

“I am weirdness personified. Get some sleep, you look tired.”

Ingrid managed to mutter an “uh-huh” before curling up on the couch. She yawned again and nestled into the blankets (there were two now, where had the other one come from?).

“A note for future reference,” she heard before drifting off to sleep. “Don’t sign any sort of pact with a vampire.”