"Phoebe Isidore, born into a middle-class family in Los Angeles, was one of those lonely girls who always wanted what she did not have. She allowed her desire to be beautiful, rich, and famous to consume her; she gave up her soul to Kurai Thanos, universal Contractor and mistress of this house, in exchange for fleeting beauty—" I find myself to be standing on a dais in an empty room, reading aloud this falsehood printed on yellowing parchment...
The dirty glass of the mirror and the harsh lighting of the school restroom distort my image, forever a painful reminder of my fickle attempts to change myself. I am nobody; I am a loser. Every girl but me has a stylish wardrobe, perfect hair and makeup, a flawless figure, famous relatives. I have plain clothing, squinty eyes and thin hair, fat that refuses to be shed, a single mom who works two jobs. Their cackles and sparkling grins taunt me, inviting me to stare at their mansions and endless jewels, and I float like a corpse along the river of high-society life.
Every day I watch the other high-heeled, lipsticked girls rolling home in their chauffeured Bentleys, or driven by football knights in shining Maseratis. Every day I trudge to my humble two-bedroom apartment in my commoner's garb, shirts and jeans with simple flats or canvas shoes. Every day I am reminded of how I will never be as pretty, as wealthy, as popular as they are.
One day as I walk home, I witness a kindly-looking geriatric drop her paper sack of groceries, and I assist her in picking them up. She presents herself as "Kurai Thanos, universal Contractor," silky smooth voice oozing with promise, capturing my desire, winding around my green heart. And it is only fitting when this Kurai Thanos offers a bargain: I can have my heart's desires as long as I allow her to cover me with her Veil. I am only too eager to bind myself to her magical indenture; I prick my finger and sign on the glittering Contract my name in blood. Wrapping up the glowing parchment, Kurai Thanos, mouth twisting into a serpentine smile, extends her hand. I see fangs somewhere, feel a pull, and sense a cord being cut. Cold warmth and iridescent color envelop me.
I love myself. I sing of myself. Because of my deal, my shame melts away like the few pounds I had been trying so hard to lose. With almost no effort I find myself at the top of varsity dance team, win the talent show, and participate in my first pageant. Of course, due to my newfound confidence and beauty, I win, and before I know it I'm strolling along with the jeweled crown of beauty queens on my lofty head. I'm the one every teen magazine and modeling agency wants. Like water, money flows into my bank accounts; like water, it flows out of my credit cards. Young girls drool and boys stare as I walk by, or just as frequently, cruise down the Tinseltown lanes in a gilded sedan chair of my own. Every day I watch girls like me—girls like who I used to be—glow green with envy, little hearts racing. Every night I watch the Hills light up. I party, I dance; I love, I sleep. No longer am I the demure schoolgirl, the plain Phoebe Isidore of yore, but now iridescent Phoebe Isidore, the provocative It-girl.
I have finally become beautiful.
As spring blossoms into full force, another rat from the ugly days nips me. How he found me, how he conjured from the void the guts to approach me, I will never know. Even before my transformation I could find nothing likable in him. "What do you want?" I demand.
He was, and is, and always will be nothing but a disheveled, harried boy. Fluttering back a few paces, he seems to collapse. This raggedy, metal-worn and storm-weathered blackbird then takes a deep breath and stammers, "Do you have a prom date?"
"Not yet, but I'm not going with you," I retort, ignoring his courageous yet pitiful attempts at asking for a date from someone as wonderful as me. Disappointed and with broken wings, he walks away. I feel no remorse.
Days later I stand impatiently in line while trying to go incognito. I'm not used to waiting; everyone must cater to me. Suddenly, kaleidoscopic colors flash in front of my eyes, and the world goes black.
I find myself sitting on my couch and assume that I have been dreaming.
The next day, I scream at the maid, for both my breakfast and lunch are imperfect. She undercooks my eggs and burns my toast. She's given me sushi with cucumber and fish sauce, not a salad with cucumber and slivers of fish.
Resounding in my ears, the jeers and catcalls of my past schoolmates taunt me once again, for no one has dared to poke fun at me since the day I signed Kurai Thanos's contract. They are not present in body, yet their voices echo in my head all the same. The tabloids, too, have seen these actions which I had no control over, and the videos are all over the Internet. Apparently I've overturned a display of concealers, shattered countless glass orbs of perfume, killed one bystander and injured three others.
I watch my fame sour as my unknown grotesque display of emotions quickly becomes the subject of gossip nationwide, and within one week my former admirers endlessly berate me. Within one month I am only a has-been, washed over by the celebrity tides. I want to hide forever, but any shell in which I may withdraw into has been long lost.
In the midst of it all, Kurai Thanos appears again to me, offering to withdraw the contract and with it the Veil. Reputation ruined and beauty forgotten, I am only too eager to accept. I watch desperately as the Contractor waves her shimmering fingers, erasing my name from our first agreement.
I fall in a downward spiral.
YOU ARE READING
Contractor
Paranormal"Phoebe Isidore, born into a middle-class family in Los Angeles, was one of those lonely girls who always wanted what she did not have. She allowed her desire to be beautiful, rich, and famous to consume her; she gave up her soul to Kurai Thanos, un...
