NITA: Please, don’t. Just . . . write her a note, okay. I don’t even care about my stuff, I am so fucking scared right now—
MADDIE: All right, we can go. We’ll find somewhere to stay outside of town.
NITA: Thank you, oh my God, babe, thank you so much. I’m so sorry I even—
MADDIE: It’s okay, just . . . just pack what you can. I’ll go write my mom a note.
NITA: Okay. Okay. Yeah. I can do that.
[Footsteps.]
[A lamp clicks on.]
[. . .]
EVIE: [Whispering] Is it time?
MADDIE: I . . .
EVIE: It’s sooner than I thought it would be. But it’s not too late. That’s the important thing. We don’t want a repeat of what happened to Emily. It’s better this way.
MADDIE: Is it?
EVIE: Don’t fight it. She might still be able to get away.
[Footsteps. Rustling fabric. An embrace.]
EVIE: I love you, sweetheart. Be brave. I’ll miss you, but I know you’ll always be close now.
[Be brave.]
[The lamp clicks off. Footsteps.]
NITA: Did you write the note?
MADDIE: [Clears throat.] Yeah.
NITA: Are you . . . are you okay? Sorry, I’m so fucking freaked out I didn’t even think—
MADDIE: It’s all right. I’ll be fine in a minute. [Takes a breath. Sniffs.] Are you packed?
NITA: I can’t find my recorder. Have you seen it?
MADDIE: Maybe it’s in the car.
NITA: Why would it . . . You know what, I don’t even care. Let’s just get the fuck out of here.
MADDIE: All right. Before we go, can I just . . .
[It’s a goodbye kiss, but Nita doesn’t know that.]
NITA: Ready?
MADDIE: Yeah.
[Footsteps. A door opens and closes. The sound of night: wind slapping against wet leaves, rain hitting gravel. The car doors open and shut, and the engine turns on. So does the radio: nothing but loud, angry static.]
NITA: Fuck!
[The radio shuts off. The car shifts into gear, and then gravel crunches under the tires as they start to drive.]
[4:21 minutes of ambient noise.]
MADDIE: I’m actually grateful, you know. That I came back. That you got me to come back.
NITA: You were right. I shouldn’t have kept asking you. It was—
MADDIE: I needed to do it. I’d put it off for so long.
NITA: Put what off?
MADDIE: I’d almost forgotten. You woke something back up. Your questions.
NITA: Mad—[Coughs.] What are you talking about?
MADDIE: It was almost too late.
[. . .]
NITA: Look, I’m already freaked the hell out, so if you could just do me a favor and not be all fucking cryptic—
MADDIE: Remember what I said when we were on our way here? You’re safe. You’re safe because you’re a stranger. You’re right to want to get out of here as soon as you can. This place . . . It does something to you. Doesn’t matter how far you go, it’s always pulling you back. That’s what happened to my dad, and it was— Emily knew there was no point in trying to get away, but I insisted, and she—
NITA: Ma—[Chokes.]
MADDIE: Don’t. It’s okay. Don’t try to fight it.
NITA: Fight what? Jesus, what . . .
[The engine has grown louder.]
NITA: Can you slow down?
MADDIE: It won’t change what happens next.
NITA: Oh my God. Please, whatever you’re thinking of doing, please don’t.
MADDIE: I am so lucky I met you. I’m just— I always thought I’d be alone, and that nobody would know my name. I’m so grateful that you’re here.
[You’re here.]
MADDIE: Try not to think about me, okay? Just leave me behind. Don’t even say—
[The crash through the guardrails takes them both by surprise, and they scream the entire way down.]
[A scream with shattered glass and scraping metal; a scream that wrenches itself open from the inside.]
[A scream infused with something inhuman, old as mountains, wild as a bird suddenly breaking free from a cage, electric in the air, a scream with blood on its teeth and torn skin on the tips of its claws.]
[End of recorded material.]
[Beginning of recorded material.]
[1:32 minutes of ambient noise: traffic, voices, dogs barking.]
NITA: Timestamp. It’s, uh, 3:28 in the afternoon. January 10th, 2014.
[. . .]
NITA: I’m moving out tomorrow. Um. I can’t really do stairs that well, at least until the leg brace comes off, so I’ll be staying at my mom’s. I’m just here to grab some clothes and things. And to leave this recorder on.
[. . .]
NITA: I guess what I’m saying is, if you have anything else you want to say, I’ll be listening. I’ll leave the recorder on in the empty room. Let it run until the battery dies, I guess.
[. . .]
[Footsteps, uneven and limping. A door creaks as it closes.]
[. . .]
[. . .]
[. . .]
[. . .]
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[Are you sure you want to hear what we have to say?]
Lesley Nneka Arimah
SKINNED
The unclothed woman had a neatly trimmed bush, waxed to resemble a setting sun. The clothed women sneered as she laid out makeup and lotion samples, touting their benefits. “Soft, smooth skin, as you can see,” she said, winking—trying, and failing, to make a joke of her nakedness. Chidinma smiled in encouragement, nodding and examining everything Ejem pulled out of the box. Having invited Ejem to present her wares, she would be getting a free product out of this even if none of her guests made a purchase.
Ejem finished her sales pitch with a line about how a woman’s skin is her most important feature and she has to take care of it like a treasured accessory. The covered women tittered and smoothed their tastefully patterned wife-cloths over their limbs. They wore them simply, draped and belted into long, graceful dresses, allowing the fabric to speak for itself. They eyed Ejem’s nakedness with gleeful pity.
“I just couldn’t be uncovered at your age. That’s a thing for the younger set, don’t you think?”
“I have a friend who’s looking for a wife; maybe I can introduce you. He’s not picky.”
Ejem rolled her eyes, less out of annoyance than to keep tears at bay. Was this going to happen every time? She looked to Chidinma for help.
“Well, I for one am here for lotions, not to discuss covered versus uncovered, so I’d like this one.” Chidinma held up the most expensive cream. Ejem made a show of ringing it up, and the other women were embarrassed into making purchases of their own. They stopped speaking to Ejem directly and began to treat her as if she were a woman of the osu caste. They addressed product questions to the air or to Chidinma, and listened but did not acknowledge Ejem when she replied. Ejem might have protested, as would have Chidinma, but they needed the sales party to end before Chidinma’s husband returned. It was the only stipulation Chidinma had made when she’d agreed to host. It was, in fact, the only stipulation of their friendship. Don’t advertise your availability to my husband. Chidinma always tried to make a joking compliment of it—“You haven’t had any kids yet, so your body is still amazing”—but there was always something strained there, growing more strained over the years as Ejem remained unclaimed.
The woman who had first addressed Chidinma instead of Ejem, whom Ejem had begun to think of as the ringleader, noticed them glancing at the clock, gave a sly smile, and requested that each and every product be explained to her. Ejem tried, she really did, whipping through the product texts with speed, but the clock sped just as quickly and eventually Chidinma stopped helping her, subdued by inevitable embarrassment. Before long, Chidinma’s husband returned from work.