All the Rest by Cecilia Kennedy
A bloated body moans and writhes on the lawn outside my house, pressing its face to my windows and howling at me when I go to my car. She screams and tears at her scraggly hair and sends my soul to pieces. She is what I have to face each day, without rest, and the fear never goes away. She wants in my house—of this, I’m certain, and I don’t recognize her. I doubt she recognizes me.
Sometimes, I see just her teeth or part of her greenish gray hand, the veins swollen with formaldehyde. Sometimes, I just see the bald spots of her head, pressed against the sliding glass doors. Sometimes, I smell her: foul, like sewage, mixed with rotting flesh, and I don’t know how much more I can take.
The worst is when I bring in a client for a massage. She beats on the window. I draw the curtains, play music, but she insists on being the secret I can’t keep. When I go past her, on the lawn, she clutches at the hem of my skirt or my pants. I see the knotted clusters of muscles on her back, her skin is that translucent.
And when my nerves can take no more, and the clients have all gone, and the house is empty and dark, I steel myself and open the door, let her scream through the halls, until she settles on the massage table, where I smooth her skin, ply the knots, run my fingers through her greasy strands, then shut the door, and put her to rest.
Cecilia Kennedy (she/her) is a writer who taught English and Spanish in Ohio for 20 years before moving to Washington state with her family. Since 2017, she has published stories in international literary magazines and anthologies. Her work has appeared in Tiny Frights, Maudlin House, Tiny Molecules, Meadowlark Review, Vast Chasm Literary Magazine, Kandisha Press, Ghost Orchid Press, and others. You can follow her on Twitter – @ckennedyhola and Instagram – ceciliakennedy2349
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