fiction by chee yen wang
CONTENT WARNING – gore, body horror, inexplicit mention of SA

Whispers of the Wretched

The afternoon sun creeped in through the blinds, enveloping the guest bedroom in an orange light, as Lily nuzzled her head into Aster’s neck, listening to the absence of his pulse. They were entangled like octopi on the bed, the slow hum of her cousin’s radio drowning out the bustle outside. In four hours, her parents would arrive for their monthly dinner party. Lily had already wiped Aster down with bleach and warm water and pulled out the maggots from his body openings. The smell of decay was thankfully subdued by the harsh chemicals, but she still had to tidy up the rest of the flat, prepare food and make herself look presentable.

Sweeping those thoughts under the rug, Lily traced her fingers along the muscles on his bare chest, avoiding the blisters clustered on his pale body. When they had first met at her pottery class, Aster had worn a beige linen shirt with the top unbuttoned, revealing the smooth, tan skin underneath. His eyes were the color of terracotta pots, his face full of hard lines and sharp edges. He kept letting his long, blond curls get into the clay until finally Lily let him borrow her hairband.

Nothing happened in those six weeks at her sister’s studio. He would come to class and make weird sculptures. She would help the other students but always keep him in her periphery. Then they had a chance encounter at a seedy bar, and Lily was wearing the red dress that accentuated her cleavage, and Aster had one too many beers. Deep kisses were exchanged, clothes ripped off. By the end of the night, his cologne, a harmonious blend of bergamot and bay leaves, clung to her neck.

All that ever remained on Aster’s skin now was the smell of rotting fish and cleaning products.

Lily lifted her head, catching sight of Aster’s clothes thrown over the desk, draped over her cousin’s pottery pieces and folders filled with fashion sketches. She was about to get up and search for his phone hidden in the mess when Aster stirred next to her.

She turned to him just as his eyes fluttered open.

*

Lily poured the brown crab cacio e pepe from Aster’s favourite Italian restaurant into the frying pan, letting the pasta sizzle and dance with the olive oil, before she removed the rosemary focaccia from the greasy paper bag and cut it into four squares. Each of them was carefully placed in a small wicker basket and carried to the dining table. There, forks and knives gleamed under the iridescent ceiling lights, wine glasses twinkled without any watermarks, and napkins were nicely folded into triangles. Lily was no cook, but she was excellent with presentation.

After her cousin had moved out a couple of months ago, Lily was begrudgingly forced to content herself with a diet of takeout, cheese sandwiches and the occasional cup noodles from the corner shop. The comfort of homemade food was nothing but a distant memory. So faint of a thing that Lily didn’t dwell on it as she turned off the hob and binned the empty plastic containers and paper bags, destroying the evidence of her deception.

It was almost half past seven.

Lily changed into a royal blue turtleneck and tight leather skirt with small back pockets. In the bathroom, she combed out her black, shoulder-length hair, applied concealer on her acne scars, and brushed rouge over the apples of her cheeks. Thank God for microblading and eyelash lifts, she thought, looking at her reflection in the mirror. 

Then she noticed it. 

A pocket of raised skin under her earlobe. Red and inflamed. Filled with fluid like a blister.  Lily moved closer to the mirror, her nose almost touching the glass. It was the size of a penny, uneven around the edges. Her fingertips barely grazed the spot when yellow pus squirted out, followed by a pungent smell reminiscent of rotten eggs. Lily gagged. The skin underneath was raw and angry. She winced as she cleaned the wound with water, flushing the thick, yellow liquid down the sink.

In the guest bedroom, Lily rummaged through the drawer next to the bed. Aspirin, paracetamol, ibuprofen, rohypnol. Aster was awake, watching her. She found the antihistamine tablets wedged between a rusty trimming tool and Aster’s wallet. She popped one into her mouth, forcing it down with her saliva, before she turned to her lover.

“I won’t be long,” Lily said, kissing him on his lips. She tried not to breathe in his odor. 

Aster didn’t move, his expression blank. He only blinked at her with his empty terracotta eyes. Disappointment coiled in Lily’s stomach, burning hot like an open kiln. He was once so full of life, so full of mischief clinging to one corner of his lips. So full of passion. When did his lights go out?

Without sparing him another glance, Lily put a gag in his mouth, stormed out, and locked the door behind her, stuffing the key into her back pocket. 

*

The sickening perfume of roses and sour cherry penetrated Lily’s senses when she welcomed her mother with a quick hug, patting her back twice and releasing her as quickly. There were new diamonds dangling from her mother’s ears. Lily eyed her father suspiciously as he pulled her in for a slobbering kiss on the cheek. His striped silk tie matched her mother’s brown blouse and the beige collar adorning the dog.

“What is this smell?” her mother asked, walking into the living room. Her face was contorted to reveal the wrinkles Botox couldn’t hide.

“The bin bag broke when I brought it down,” Lily lied. She watched the dog amble towards the rose-pink couch, his nose twitching as if detecting an interesting scent. Her throat started itching. She looked away. “We could eat somewhere else. There’s a restaurant just down—”

Her mother waved her off, like a pesky fly. “What did Violet use to make the flat smell nice?”

“Probably some kind of chemical that’s bad for the environment.”

“You should probably ask her.”

Lily felt her cheeks heating up in anger. A flurry of retorts, snide remarks that would absolutely ruin the dinner party, threatened to escape her lips when sudden barking startled her into silence. The dog was now in front of the guest bedroom, snapping at the air, snarling.

“What’s the matter, Yogi-bear?” her mother asked, in an octave higher than her normal voice.

The stress and anxiety from the proximity between her parents and Aster’s body rose to Lily’s throat, thick and ugly, like a nasty phlegm. Sweat gathered on her forehead and nose. The ceiling lights were suddenly too warm against her skin. Lily knew she needed to do something. But what would stop her parents from asking too many questions? 

Her mother did not notice any of Lily’s inner turmoil as she grabbed the door handle and twisted it. It did not budge.

“Why is this locked?”

“I-It’s a mess in there,” Lily said, stumbling on her words. She nervously touched the spot below her earlobe, her fingertips wet upon contact. “I haven’t had time to tidy up. Yogi’s just reacting to the rubbish.”

“That’s unlike you,” her father remarked, a laugh in his voice.

Lily quickly walked to the kitchen and pulled out a dog treat from the cupboard. She dangled it in front of the dog, holding her breath, and when the dog happily took the biscuit, Lily dared to glance at her mother.

The older woman stood with her arms crossed in front of her chest, like an unhappy politician, but she did not ask any more questions.

*

After dinner, her father put his arm on the back of Lily’s chair and, looking at her over his gold-rimmed glasses, asked, “How is pottery? Your sister said you haven’t been teaching for a bit. I thought you enjoyed it.”

“I do. I’ve just been busy.”

“With what? Candle making?” Lily whirled around to look at her mother. The older woman had her head slightly tilted back, her gaze following down her nose. The dog was on her lap, looking as snooty as his owner. “Before that, you told your father you wanted to start your own fashion line. What happened to those ambitions?”

“It’s harder than you think,” Lily retorted. She wanted to add, you would never understand because you met Dad and now you just stay at home and watch trash TV, but crossing her mother would only negatively impact Lily. Her monthly allowance would be cut off, and she could not afford being angry and broke.

“And where is your boyfriend?”

“On a business trip.”

“How come you haven’t introduced him to us yet?”

Lily was surprised by her father’s sudden involvement in the conversation. He was the type of man that would let his wife ask the difficult questions about his daughters’ lives so he could remain the favorite parent. Clearly, he had no such aspirations today.

“You shouldn’t fall for any type of man on the street,” her mother said, sucking in air through pursed lips, when Lily didn’t reply. “Where did you guys meet? At a bar, you said?”

“Does it matter?” Lily asked. Images of two clay-smeared aprons flitted through her mind. 

“You know that I only say things in your best interests. You call it nagging. I think it’s caring. I just don’t want you to end up heartbroken like Violet. Or forever single like your sister.”

Lily thought of Aster behind the locked door, imagined the maggots eating away at his flesh, his empty eyes. The consequences of her actions appeared in front of her like a mirror reflecting her rotten self. Her gut twisted into knots.

“You’re pretty,” her mother continued. “The dermal fillers on your nose look good on you. I’d do something about your spots. Otherwise, you’re a catch.” Lily touched her face, feeling the new, rough bumps on her cheek. They weren’t there this morning. “Don’t waste your time with someone below your league.”

Lily opened her mouth to argue that she was the one that pursued Aster, he was better than her, kinder, more selfless and affectionate, that it didn’t make sense because her mother never held Lily in high regard, but a guttural sound boomed from the guest bedroom, rendering all her thoughts to mush. The silence that followed rested on Lily’s shoulders like hundred slabs of stoneware clay. She had put a gag in his mouth, sacrificed one of her silk scarves. Lily hadn’t seen herself do it, but she had felt the wetness of his mouth against her fingers. Stupid stupid stupid. She should have used the rohypnol stashed in the drawer. It had worked so well at the bar.

Another groan rang out. 

Her father shot up, pushing his chair back to approach the locked door. The dog had started barking again. Lily didn’t notice until her mother had risen from her seat and hovered behind her. She swallowed, trying to scratch the itch in her throat.

“Lily, give me the key,” her father said, holding out his hand. “And somebody shut the dog up!”

“Dad, it’s just from outside. I left the window—”

“Now!”

Lily flinched. Her eyes scanned the dining table, as if there was an answer amongst the cutlery and dirty plates. They landed on a fork, and she imagined driving it into her eye. That would distract them. The leftover sauce on the fork’s tines could be a problem, but Lily was ready to make sacrifices.

Before Lily could reach for it, her mother pulled the key from her back pocket and threw it at her husband, the metal clanking on the floor and landing at his feet. Fuck. Lily’s anxiety bubbled to the surface as she pushed up and ran towards it. She was so close. Her fingertips almost grasped the ragged edges, but her father was quicker. He picked up the key and lifted his arm above his head, out of her reach.

“What’s wrong with you?”

Lily ignored the look on her father’s face, the affection that slowly faded from his eyes, and sank her teeth into his abdomen. He screamed in agony. There was a gasp from behind her. In the next second, he shoved her with half of his strength, then slapped her across the face. Tears welled up in her eyes. Her cheek throbbed.

There was a moment of hesitation, a second of regret and resentment, before her father unlocked the door. A smell redolent of rotten meat and sweetened by withered flowers exploded into the living room, so putrid it seemed to seep into the skin. Her father retched. The dog whimpered. Lily couldn’t see her mother’s reaction, but she imagined the latter would cover her nose and mouth at the big reveal.

Inside the guest bedroom, through a mist of spores, there lay beautiful, innocent Aster. Still alive. Staring at the guests with so much relief that it made Lily sick. Vile fluids had drenched the bed sheets in a sickly yellow and brown. The silk scarf was on the pillow, next to his face. 

Her mother was the one to break the silence with her trembling voice. 

“What did you do to Violet’s boyfriend?”

*

Aster died before the ambulance arrived. His body is far too deep into decomposition, a female paramedic had said through her breathing apparatus. I’m afraid it’s too late to save him. She also said that the leaked gases were detrimental to the health of Lily’s parents, so they were escorted outside by two police officers. They did not look back at their daughter. Lily couldn’t feel the sting from her father’s slap anymore, but she knew the image of her parents’ backs would forever be burned to her retina.

When the paramedics covered Aster’s body with a white sheet and wheeled him away on a stretcher, Lily thought of how much he reminded her of the creepy figures of celebrities at wax museums. How did he survive for so long when his body was rotting away? Why did you do it? The questions accumulated to a heap on the sidewalk, discarded from her brain, unable to be processed into anything more than words.

Lily sat at the back of the police car, watching the blue lights cast a surreal glow on everything they touched. The antihistamine had faded. Her nose started to run, and her throat began to itch. The metal chain of her handcuffs was cool against her skin as she ran her fingers through her hair. A shocking amount came loose. 

Then she felt it.

Something tugged at her skin, wriggling underneath it. Lily felt it slowly moving towards the open wound below her earlobe. She reached up. Her heart thundered against her chest like rain pounding on the windowpane. She touched the writhing object. She wrenched it out in one quick pull.

Between her index finger and thumb was the white, bloated body of a maggot.