Chapter 4 – Chap 4

I almost couldn’t believe I’d have the guts to confront her. But I did it next day. I needed to know if she was attacking more innocent people – people that didn’t even break her rule.

“Where were you last night?” I asked, as I entered the attic.

“Being a little nice to my roomie”, she replied, with a bright smile, exaggeratedly feigning innocence. “I didn’t do anything weird to you, though. I wouldn’t unless you asked me to.”

Was she mocking me / offering to be my friend with benefits to dodge my question? That sly devil…

“I mean earlier. I heard you weren’t home”, I insisted.

“That’s silly. If I could leave this crappy shed what the hell I’d be doing here? And even if I could, it’s none of your fucking business, nerd.”

“Your hand smelled of blood”, I remarked. I had learned to discern all her moods: 1. Being really mean; 2. Just playing around and 3. Acting evasively out of uneasiness. It felt like the last option.

“It always does”, she winked.

“And of corpse”, I added.

She then poked her forehead with her index finger so violently that I swear she created a bullet hole on it for a second. A silvery and ethereal substance in the shape of tiny circle floated near her fingertip, and with a soft waving movement she threw it inside my temple.

It felt cold and fluffy.

“Take this and you’ll see some memories of mine in your sleep. I hope you’re happy for being a fucking brat.”

***

I looked forward to dreaming of her past, so I even went to bed earlier in my best pajamas. I didn’t know what to expect, but I wanted to know more about her.

(TW: sexual violence, suicide)

The dream was pretty clear and in first person. It started with me seeing myself in a mirror, large and with an elegant frame that was clearly very expensive. I saw Pandora’s face, even prettier than now. She looked somewhat younger, and human – no horns or black patches or wings.

And her eyes sparked with joy, something I never saw before.

I admired my reflection, approving my outfit that consisted of tasteful fishnets, gorgeous hand-embroidered lingerie and a silky corset. I then took a little time examining my exaggerated but beautiful makeup, my perfectly done hair and fantastic high heels. I felt confident, with legs for days and a gracious catwalk.

An effeminate man in a top hat hurried me to the stage.

So Pandora was once human, and a showbiz diva.

She was an incredibly talented performer, not only singing and dancing impeccably but also brimming with alluring charisma. No one in the audience could take their eyes off of her; it was like the other dancers were just part of the furniture, they did everything right but they could never shine as brightly as her.

It’s hard trying to explain how her body moved, everything felt so natural like it was born for nothing else but this moment.; try to picture a mix of Nicole Kidman in Moulin Rouge!, Christina Aguilera in Burlesque and Liza Minnelli in Cabaret, all at once.

I saw flashes of myself as Pandora in the stage many times. But when the curtains went down, she was always a nervous wreck, chain smoking and isolating herself from the other girls.

After I witnessed so many of her glorious moments, feeling thrilled and proud, we suffered together when her worst fears became true.

Her grandfather and brother invaded the stage and took her from it by force, the only place where she belonged and ever felt happy. And her beautiful eyes were never the same again.

***

Being a cabaret dancer was considered utterly scandalous back then, especially by her conservative family; the old red-neck had raised his two orphan grandkids, the boy to his likeness, and the girl to be everything they hated. She wasn’t born for that prospectless life, so she boldly dreamed of conquering the city lights.

The two men kicked and punched Pandora all the way back to the farm, calling her a disgraceful whore, and every name under the sun except for the thing that she was – a star. When the three arrived, they threw her in the hen house, where she had to survive on raw eggs, corn, and other scraps they fed the chickens.

She had to spend weeks in some sort of compartment under the hennery installations, a compartment where their waste and loose feathers went to; it was barely 20 inches tall.

All the while, they had long discussions about what to do with her, like she was just an inconvenient piece of trash dirtying their path. I was so mad. They went out of their way to ruin her dreams and literally over nothing but their stupid and ridiculous pride.

First, they considered marrying Pandora by force to have her be someone else’s problem; then, establishing that she was probably impure by now, they decided she needed penance. So they kept her tied to a pole for ten days and ten nights, naked and filthy, being fed just some soybeans once a day.

She talked to the chickens to avoid going crazy. And she still dreamed of going back to her stage, even if it was only possible through violence. Her skin bled from harshly rubbing against the rope, as she struggled to keep her muscles working. To make sure that someday she could still walk, to make sure that someday she could still dance.

Nothing drove her but anger. That’s how, malnourished and nearly dead as she was, as soon as she was released, Pandora went on a rampage and strangled her grandfather; his soft age-worn skin easily gave in to her hatred like wet paper.

He barely had time to scream hoarsely and horribly before his eyes bulged out and his body became still. Afraid to be incriminated, her brother buried the old man’s corpse in the woods near the property.

Maybe if he wasn’t an addicted, he’d let her go. He’d pretend that she didn’t exist. She’d then go back to the cabaret, take some pills with whiskey every night to put herself to sleep and momentarily forget all that she had gone through so far. She’d tremble all over when she wasn’t dancing, but still do her best to keep her demons under control.

But the worthless redneck couldn’t keep a job so he’d at least have money drink himself to death.

“Since you went and became a slut, you might as well make some money for me”, he said, as he physically, literally put her on a leash, afraid that she would murder him too.

And oh, she would.

***

I cried in my bed as I witnessed all the terrible violations her body and mind went through. She spent two long years like that, having to take clients for her brother. The bastard just wouldn’t die, and by then all the dreams had fallen from her head, letting her feeling empty and dry.

The only thing that kept Pandora alive was the idea of vengeance, and seeing that she outlived her parasite of a brother; she didn’t have any plans for what to do with her life after that, as she was now too ugly both on the inside and on the outside to come back to the cabaret. She just wanted to punish her persecutor.

Then one day, after one particularly unspeakable abuse, she broke. She grabbed a shard of glass and was ready to bleed herself to death. That’s when the creature showed up in front of her, seeming to paralyze time; no one else moved or spoke but the newcomer and her.

The thing looked both like an elephant and like a fat pig, and its body was bulbous and scaly at the same time. It had long horns, twirled many times, and a giant tail made of fire.

“I come on the behalf of Orcus, the Prince of Undeath, and we have an offer for you”, he announced.

“I’d do anything. I just want my freedom back”, she replied, and the thing gave her a joyless smile with its mammoth-like mouth and fangs.

“You get your revenge. Kill whoever you want, bathe in their blood, and no one will ever know what happened. You’ll be allowed to carry eternal vengeance, reanimating your brother’s and grandfather’s bodies as many times as you see fit to torture and kill them again”, the thing mechanically read it from a long scroll. “Then you’ll disappear without a trace. No one will remember that you even existed, for all purposes. You’ll spend eternity neither dead nor alive, as a property of Orcus. You’ll become a demon chained to this place, having to survive on raw chicken and whatever humans or other things – dead or alive – you might desire to consume.”

Pandora signed the scroll without a second thought.

By then, she knew that it was the only option she had. She didn’t hope to return to the stage, because two years is a long time in the showbiz. Because she was tainted. Because there was nothing for her except for washing the sorrow from her heart with the blood of everyone who did her wrong.

She’d only learn decades later that Orcus rejoices on offering horrible deals to desperate people like her, so they can give him their soul and improve their still miserable existence through violence.

She then carried out a carnage that not even Stephen King could put into words. She hunted, tortured and killed every last abuser, every last person who could have helped her but didn’t, and people she’s never seen before.

Still, I don’t blame her, and I’ll never blame her; fictional women who are abuse survivors are pictured as badasses that grew and became strong because of their suffering, but Pandora is real; she’s not Sansa Stark. She has every right to feel nothing but hatred after her spirit was broken for pointless reasons. She has every right to become the only thing that she could – a pulsating mass of fury and heartache. A monster. A demon.

A being almost as evil as the men who did this to her.

***

The day was almost breaking outside when I woke up, startled and with my sheets and pillowcase dripping wet with tears. I heard her laughter coming from outside my window. And then I heard a horrifying scream that I now knew very well.

The exact same scream that her grandfather let out as she murdered him in my dream.