My Quin

Two weeks before Halloween, and a display changed on the pedestrianised high street I walked through on the way to the office. Now, this was of interest to me for two reasons. Firstly, I am a bah and I am a humbug when it comes to Halloween. Bonfire night, yes. Halloween is just plain silly though. A fright night for children that has been ruined by the Americans. The whole trick or treat thing sickens me. Stylised begging, and for hyper-processed food stuffs that are killing entire generations now. That’s the true horror at play on the last night of October.

Secondly, I just don’t pay shop windows any heed. Not often, anyway. There are exceptions. I will stand in front of a book shop window and pore over the displayed books and I do hanker after the amazing blue and red glass bottles that pharmacies once used to make their pills and potions look sexy. They should bring that back. I might even become a hypochondriac in appreciation of that artistry. I miss Lucozade bottles wrapped in amber. A sugar rush on bad childhood days.

So, there was something a little different about the change to that shop window that I passed on my way to work. That little difference on my walking commute had crawled into my mind and it distracted me for the whole morning in the office. The growing distraction became maddening to a point that I nearly left the office prior to my lunch break in order to ascertain what it was in that window that so intrigued me. By a force of will, I kept myself in check and I waited until 1pm. I could have left at any time from noon, but something held me back. I was doing my best to conceal my over eagerness. I don’t think I wanted to give the game away.

You see, this was my secret from the very start. Mine and only mine. There was something exciting about this and that excitement stirred up feelings in me. And those feelings carried with them suppressed memories. The recollection of childish times when anything and everything was possible, even a happy ending. But you grow up and you realise that happiness is a con trick. A momentary insanity that distracts you from the juggernaut of pain that’s been travelling down the road in search of you for an age. The inevitability of pain is the only certainty of life. Forget death. Death is just two words rounding off the final chapter; the end.

My plan as I walked briskly from the office, checking my pace so that it couldn’t be misconstrued as a jog, or even a run, was to buy my lunch first and then casually saunter past the window in question, as I munched on my tuna wrap. Problem was that I wasn’t hungry. Not one bit. My midriff was filled with butterflies and all I wanted was to go on this adventure. There was treasure here and however cynically I tried to address this nonsense, the flame of childish hope wouldn’t be extinguished.

Curiosity drew me forward and I barely cautioned myself over the likelihood of yet another disappointment. The nature of this disappointment would be a disappointment all in itself. A sad indictment of how tawdry and boring my life had become. A flat and monotonous rendering of a life that could be lifted by what lay behind a pain of glass. This was no Sleeping Beauty though. This was a commercial display. I made one vow. I wouldn’t part with any money in this shop today. In the end, I didn’t even step inside.

I slowed as I approached the shop. The window was a bay window and from the side I had my proper first look at him. I felt my brow knit in confusion, but I didn’t stop and I didn’t turn away. 

Could he be real?

I realised that I wanted him to be real. I wanted that with all my heart. A heart that had lain fallow and forgotten for so long I barely registered its beating within my rib cage. As I walked past the figure in the window I was overcome with a shyness that made me blush. I could feel his eyes upon me and in that gaze of his was a heat of longing that inflamed me. It was all I could do not to break into a run and burst into tears. But somehow I kept going and I left that place with a knowledge that would call to me over the forthcoming days.

That evening, as I made my way home, I walked a different route to the train station. I needed time and space to process the events of the day. And I did have time. I would build towards whatever this was. I was smiling as I sat there and pondered what was going on with me. Romance was the answer. I was experiencing a small morsel of harmless romance. An inexplicable infatuation with a shop window dummy. No, I wouldn’t call him a dummy. That was wrong. He was a mannequin. 

My ‘quin.

That night, I didn’t sleep well. I didn’t awaken, but I was aware that my sleep was disturbed. I am not one to remember dreams, but I had a feeling that he was haunting me with absurd possibilities. I was tired and listless as I readied myself for the day. There was an emptiness of loss that pricked me and a deep sense of yearning for something I may never obtain.

I couldn’t not walk past my ‘quin that morning. But as I neared the place I had last seen him I was ceased with a furtive panic. Had I imagined him? What if he was no longer there? The impermanence of life assailed me, and a black fog descended upon me until I saw him once more. This time I had the courage to meet his gaze, and as our eyes met, I knew that he was more real than anyone else would suspect. That for me, he had come alive. I swooned in the knowledge of him, and it was all I could do to put one foot in front of the other and keep going. Now was not the time, I told myself. I met that with a churlishness of impetuous youth. A youth that was yet to defer its gratification. The desire for an instantaneous hit was strong, but the wisdom of my experience won through. 

At lunchtime, I stood in a quiet spot and observed him for the first time. He was dressed in attire that might now be referred to as gothic. A dark suit that could have been velvet. A white shirt with lace cuffs. His ebony hair fell to his shoulders. The pale hue of his skin fascinated me. I wanted to touch him and kiss him. Feel his arms envelope me. Melt into him so I no longer cared where I ended and he began. I wanted to give myself to him in totality. Lose myself in his eyes and thrill to his touch.

As I returned to the office, a part of the spell broke. His spell. In the cold grey and beige of my workspace, my thoughts and feelings were washed of warmth and in their harshness they appeared foolish, and suicidally reckless. 

Still, I couldn’t give him a wide berth. There was a pull to his presence. An allure that I had never experienced. There was a dark magic here and something within me had come alive. I worked late that evening, willing it to go dark. I wanted to see My Quin in the dark. Darkness being his natural habitat.

At the window, I stood and looked up at my tall, dark and brutally handsome man. The fullness of his lips spoke of kisses that would send me to the brink of insanity. I stood for an hour admiring him, and on the train my desire blotted reality out. Arriving home, I went straight to my bed and writhed in a mist of imaginings. He was real to me then and more and more of me came alive until I slipped into an exhausted slumber where he awaited me. He took my hand and I remembered nothing else of our union. The pain of the loss of those memories haunted me as I awoke from something that couldn’t have been sleep, for I was drained of all energy and dizzied by fatigue.

For the rest of the week, I fell into a ritual of worship. Stopping at the altar of the window and raising my head upwards. The domination of his height and stature pinned me in place and I succumbed to his hungry gaze. Wherever I stood. His eyes were always upon me and only me.

Seldom did I venture into Town at the weekend. I fiercely guarded my time away from work and Town was too closely associated with the compromise of my being a wage slave. I was on the train and travelling towards him before I registered that it wasn’t a week day. I had automatically arisen, dressed and ventured forth. On the train, I looked down at my outfit. A gradual transformation was taking place. I was dressing for him. I wanted to look my best for him. And yet I was dressing for myself. Expressing myself more freely. Wanting to look good and feeling better as a result. I knew he would approve. Intuitively I knew that I would please him. 

There was a growing bond between us and that bond drew me into the shop without my having to pluck up the courage to take this next step. But as I opened the door and the brass bell tinkled, I saw a small card with handwriting upon it and knew the fates were handing me a golden ticket even as I pulled it from the glass and walked to the till.

“I’ve come about the job,” I felt his presence to my right as I spoke to the woman behind the till.

“The cleaning job?” she asked me, her face a question.

I smiled, “I find it therapeutic,” I told her, “my friends call me a clean-freak.”

Now the woman was nodding. There was a logic to my white lie. The lie being that my friends said this of me. “It’s an out of hours job,” she said, “minimum wage I’m afraid.”

“That’s fine,” I said in reply.

She looked around surreptitiously and seeing that there were only the two of us in the shop, she left the relative safety of the counter and showed me around. Outlining the job and her expectations. She was the owner and this was her dream. She’d escaped the hamster wheel of a dead end job and now she sold a range of knickknacks and curios. I wanted to ask her how business was doing. No one having entered the shop whilst we wandered and talked. She seemed to pre-empt this.

“The online side of things is where it’s all at of course,” she said as she finished showing me where the cleaning materials were kept. I noticed her laptop as we returned to the counter and she made a little more sense to me.

I refrained from asking about the window display throughout. I barely glanced at My Quin. He was my secret and I was his. That secret burned within me and the deception I had undertaken here added to the excitement. I had never had an affair in my life, but now I was the other woman. I was intent on having My Quin to myself and deceiving this woman was now a part of our story. A strange and heightened dynamic that was changing me even as I journeyed upon this new path.

My hand was trembling as my new employer handed me the keys to his inner sanctum and recited the code for the alarm that I dutifully recorded on my mobile phone. I left the shop having agreed that I would return that evening to clean. I was looking forward to each and every evening over the next week. 

Only a week. For I knew that everything would change once all hallows eve arrived. Something was building towards that night. At first I thought that energy was contained within me, but now I had entered the shop, I knew that it was him and all him.

I couldn’t go home after I left the shop. I was too nervous for that. Later, I wished that I had burnt time on an unnecessary train journey. I paced Town, unable to stop. My stomach growled and yet I wasn’t hungry. Eventually, I found a bar and having purchased a red wine, sat in a corner and watched the world go about its business. 

When I was approached by a young man offering to buy me another drink, I accepted without a second thought and wondered at what had just happened as I watched him walk to the bar. This wasn’t me. I was an intrigued passenger travelling to an exotic destination. That passenger marvelled at the small talk and casual touches this new woman punctuated that talk with. Nearly fainted as numbers were exchanged and a promise of a date the following weekend made. Same time. Same place.

A strange calm descended upon me when I entered the shop. I had no plan other than being with the object of my desire. I built up to that being, by performing the duties I’d agreed to first. Working my way towards him gradually until there was nothing left.

The simplicity of our coming together was beautifully thrilling. We took our time. That first evening, there was only the lightest of touches. The promise of more thrilled me. I at last had what I wanted. There was no rush. Instead there was a reverence to our time together.

However, my nights alone were different. I fell unconscious upon the bed and awoke as though I hadn’t slept. My work colleagues commented on how pale and drawn I was. I began to worry that I was sick. My greatest worry being I would miss the big night that now fast approached. 

I shouldn’t have worried. His presence was always an assurance. I was enlivened whenever I entered the shop. The way he kissed me was exquisite and other worldly. I lived for his caresses. 

All the same, Friday was a grave test of endurance. I stumbled from one hour to the next. Almost delirious with exhaustion. Suffering from an emptiness that only he could fill. My Quin, awaiting me on this night. Our night. The night we would finally be together in a way that made sense of my existence at last. The cool darkness of Halloween began to insinuate itself upon Town as I left the office and made my way to the man of my dreams. Dreams that would now be revealed to me.

But as I rounded the corner I fell short and had to thrust an arm out to the wall of a nearby shop, my legs almost giving way at the sight of his absence. The space he had dominated was empty. My heart threatened to burst with this betrayal and dark thoughts roiled at the stupidity of my desperate hope that I could have ever had anything as magnificent as him.

Biting my lip, I mustered a belligerent and contrary strength and pushed myself away from the wall. Meandering my way to the shop like a hopeless drunk. The door was locked, but I registered movement through blurry eyes as I scrabbled at the key that would unlock the mystery of My Quin. 

As I stepped inside, my eyes cleared and I was presented with a tableau that at first shocked and appalled me. My fevered and jealous mind misconstrued the sight of My Quin pressed against the shop owner, holding her in an embrace and gazing into her eyes. It was only as he lowered his head and his mouth found her neck that I understood.

Gently locking the door, I drew nearer to the sighing shopkeeper. Her glazed eyes flickered with recognition and then she saw me. Suddenly animated and springing from her stupor, she pushed him away from her and came to me.

“Help me!” she gasped.

“It’s OK,” I told her reassuringly, as I slipped my arms around her, “it’s going to be OK.”

She looked at me with an expression of confusion.

I smiled, “here, it’s not so bad. Let me kiss it better.”

I couldn’t resist the temptation of the two puncture wounds on her neck. Gently oozing with her blood. I pulled her closer and nuzzled her neck, “it’s going to be OK,” I whispered again, lapping at the blood. The taste of it inflamed me and in the next instant I was sucking at her wound. Holding her tight as she struggled against me.

Then he was there at my side, and as he lowered her to the floor, we feasted together for the very first time. I smiled to myself as I remembered the youth and vitality of my date for the following day. Already hungry for that next encounter. Hungry for him and his blood. Luring him here would be easy enough. Then the fun would begin. So many possibilities. 

Raising my head from my very first victim’s neck, I looked at the mannequin in the shop window and thanked the lifeless object for the inspiration I had always required to transform myself and my tired life. My obsession with My Quin was a catalyst to become so much more. Standing, I brushed my hands over the velvet suit and I checked the lace cuffs of my shirt.

I had now become the object of my own desire.