Comments on: LitWit Challenge: Write a story about a magical object that must be destroyed. (We have a winner!) http://www.jessicarulestheuniverse.com/2013/04/28/litwit-challenge-write-a-story-about-a-magical-object-that-must-be-destroyed/ Personal blog of Jessica Zafra, author of The Collected Stories and the Twisted series Sat, 04 May 2013 08:25:15 +0000 hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=5.4.15 By: zoie http://www.jessicarulestheuniverse.com/2013/04/28/litwit-challenge-write-a-story-about-a-magical-object-that-must-be-destroyed/comment-page-1/#comment-91554 Sat, 04 May 2013 08:25:15 +0000 http://www.jessicarulestheuniverse.com/?p=23395#comment-91554 To the dominatrix of the universe, thanks for notes! I tried to revise the parts which I could. I still lack the imagination to pursue your suggestion of having a comb doing favors for hair! My lack of a formal training in writing is showing through..the cat goddess Bastet sends you her love.
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THE HORNED COMB

Jerome Marasig looked at the comb, hypnotized. He could hardly breathe, the air in his lungs seemed unable to circulate through his system.
It was a thing of immense beauty.
Cool to the touch and holding his gaze; it looked like it was made from the shell of some long ago extinct tortoise, mottled brown, with splashes of gold, it looked like two half moons attached together. The lower half moon was adorned with six pearls alternating with six diamonds. The upper part was decorated with what appeared to be deer or goat horns, the teeth of the comb made a V shape.
It looked to be at least 150 years old.

Jerome Marasig was a PO2 who was assigned to take pictures of crime scenes. A stocky guy with a deeply tanned complexion, he became a police officer because he wanted a life of excitement, and because he failed the law entrance exam.
He was also assigned to take pictures of crime scenes for documentation.
Not because he was a professional photographer, but because he had a brother who was a professional photographer who gave him hand me down cameras.

The first crime had been in November 4 2008, Lydia Montero, 26, the most lovely woman he had seen; and a seasoned estafa artist, was found dead of a cardiac arrest, the comb was on her dresser. Her maid of seven years had found her sprawled in her bedroom in one of the priciest condos in the heart of the business district.

Jerome fell in love when he photographed her thick mass of curls forming a chestnut halo around her head; he gently posed her face with gloved hands.
She was a natural born beauty. Framed pictures all over the condo showed a teenage career as a model. The grand slam winner of a genetic lottery.

The condo showed good taste, elegant but pricey furniture was professionally arranged to make use of the little space. He peered out of the huge picture windows.
He could see their dilapidated precinct from her unit.

He did not find his curiosity morbid as he searched for tell tale scalpel marks or poked her Spanish nose. Her hazel eyes did not come from contact lenses.
She was clad in an old fashioned white nightgown, one that almost touched the floor and was frothy with French lace. The light fell like on her dappled sunbeams caressing her alabaster skin.
She looked like an angel in repose.
He felt that familiar tug at his chest, he half expected her to wake, but as he touched her cold face and felt the claim of rigor mortis on her flesh he knew he was doomed never to have met her when her heart still beat. Her eyes were bloodshot. He gently closed the lids on her thickly lashed eyes.
It hardly mattered that she had perpetrated a massive pyramid scheme.

She was dead now.
He clucked his disappointment like a pensive hen and continued to take pictures. There was no foul play, nothing was lost, the maid who had discovered her was still in hysterics. The other cops could hardly pocket anything of value; the condo management had sent their security to the condo before they had arrived and were filming everything. It was getting hot with all the bodies cramped in the tiny space.
Supt. Vasquez, his arthritic superior, stared at her, and whistled under his breath, “What a waste. You call her family and ask if we could have an autopsy done. She could have been poisoned. Keep the maid for questioning. Label everything in the ref Marasig.”

After three hours SOCO came and he soon thought he could forget about her.

January, 2009.
It was on the second day of January when Jerome was busy reading the online news on his battered office PC when the call came. Another death, this time, the popular actress Heavyn Tenorio. She had accidentally fallen from the top of the stairs in her Tagaytay rest house. Heavyn had recently been in the news, being embroiled in a scandal that revealed her to be an extremely expensive call girl to political personalities and entertainment industry bigwigs.
The comb was found clutched in her hand.

To Jerome’s surprise, she was cousin once removed to Lydia.
He photographed the body, quite dismayed to find out that Heavyn’s slutty looks owed much to very imaginative makeup artists. She looked like a fresh faced, twenty something girl with perfect skin. He hardly recognized her. Her body was twisted in a grotesque position. A pool of blood framed her head, this time a scarlet halo.
Jerome looked at the comb this time, and took a close up picture. He wanted to confiscate it as evidence. But an emotionally unstrung personal assistant hovered around like a noisy, slightly high strung, and over weight butterfly.
He smelled of grocery store cologne and wore his hair in faux hawk. His name was Jim but he had spelled it as Ghem.

“She said she was having the strangest dreams, Sir. She said she dreamt of…”
“Blood?”
The personal assistant shook his head, wiped off tears and sweat from his pudgy face.
“No, Sir…”
“Her impending death?”
Ghem looked very confused and started sobbing.
“No, she….she…. she said she had everything she ever wanted. She said… it said things to her. “
“What said what? What things?”
He took out his tickler and began to scribble away quickly.
“That!” The Ghem pointed a finger at the horned comb.
Jerome’s hackles rose.

He had felt it before.
A slight breath of sinister intent. The comb exuded it. He had seen evil objects before. He knew there were some things that had some demonic nature.
A drug addict he had once interviewed told him that this marble statue had whispered him to kill his former employees in cold blood. He believed in the drug addict. The suspect had passed out when he saw what happened to his victims.
He had no idea of what happened. Jerome thought was he was saying was true. The resident medico legal told him that it was the drugs and chuckled at his idea.
He kept his opinions to himself pretty much after that.

And then there was that annoying case of the piano.

This lovely antique piano figured in two cases of family massacres. It was of an old German make, with ivory keys and brass candleholders. The only survivor of the first slaughter was an old housekeeper. She was put in a mental asylum since she kept saying that there was a ghost who owned the piano and she killed the family that she worked for. The police figured it was the old lady who had a nervous break and killed the entire family. Even the family cat.

The other massacre had happened five years later.
This time, no one went to jail.
No one survived.
He kept his distance from that damned thing. He felt a heat, imperceptible to others, rise like a miasma from that piano. He could hardly stay long enough in its presence without breaking into sweat.

Lost in thought, he stared at the bawling PA, and automatically handed him a kerchief. Ghem gratefully took it and dramatically blew his nose.
“What did it say?”
“She said she was going to be…. rich and ….powerful if she …..did everything that it said. It made her… do things.”
“Like?”
“At first it was easy…she made me buy these …lovebirds… then doves…I thought she was going to keep them as pets….. I found out later… that she was killing them! She would offer them….” The PA started gasping frantically. Oh great he’s having an anxiety attack, Jerome thought as he held the shoulder for support. He assisted Ghem into a plush chair.
Another cop came to their side with a glass of water.
The PA drank it in a gulp.
“….and…and… she’d put the animal on this altar on the top floor of the her condo where she’d made this altar of sorts.. and…put that comb…like she was combing it. the…the poor thing .. I’m not sure what happened… what….the animal would be dead.”

Jerome shuddered.
He had seen awful crimes. Some were crimes of passion, some of idiocy, some of necessity (like an unemployed construction worker holding up passers by to put food on the table), but he loathed those who killed the innocent and those unable to fight back. Specially animals. He had a soft spot for pets.

“She started getting attention.”
Ghem had finally calmed down. He stared at Jerome, his pasty, pimply face pale from all the emotional effort. His voice lost its’ girlish squeak, and he spoke more softly.
“You know, she had been in showbiz for 7 years. Only bit parts, supporting roles, she’s a single mom to a 9 year old in a private school. She needed money. When she started….offering these animals, things got better.”
Ghem paused.
“She got invited into these high society parties, you know a few months later she couldn’t even get in. She was getting all this attention. She was paying for this small house so that she could quit in a few years and go back to college. I think this happened….because that comb was asking for too much.”
Jerome stared at her with a raised eyebrow.
“The comb had leveled up, before it was content with birds, lately the animals got bigger; roosters, cats…last week she sacrificed 3 dogs we claimed from a pound. She was asking around where to get a monkey….she tried stopping, but she couldn’t sleep. She’d get these awful nightmares where she’d dream of her offering her daughter. She told me last night,“ he fished for his cellphone from his jeans pocket, and retrieved a text message “that it wanted …people.”
Jerome swallowed hard.

“Take it Sir, “ Ghem had picked up the comb gingerly, holding it with the kerchief Jerome had handed him. The PA’s face was stony now. There was grim determination all over his soft features. Ghem put his soft hands on Jerome’s chest pushing him and comb away.
“Take it as far away as her from possible. Burn it, have it run over, destroy it.”

Jerome slipped on latex gloves and bagged and tagged the comb, it’s heat emanated right through the thin plastic bag. He marked it as evidence, but he didn’t put in the box with the other things from the rest house.
He felt it throb in his uniform pocket.
It seemed to have a minuscule pulse. Like it was alive.
He felt it murmur, a soft woman’s voice, much like his dead mother’s.
He could hardly drive back to the precinct, the murmurs sounded more like whispers, the voices indistinct and seductive.

He could not resist.
It spoke of an instant promotion.
It spoke of finding the woman of his dreams for him.
It spoke of sending all his three siblings to college.
He rushed to the precinct restroom, and before he knew what he was doing, he gently combed his hair.

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By: ayeeshamd http://www.jessicarulestheuniverse.com/2013/04/28/litwit-challenge-write-a-story-about-a-magical-object-that-must-be-destroyed/comment-page-1/#comment-90968 Tue, 30 Apr 2013 23:49:46 +0000 http://www.jessicarulestheuniverse.com/?p=23395#comment-90968 Ang galing ni joyeah. Aabangan ko ang ang entry mo sa susunod na challenge.

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By: joyeah http://www.jessicarulestheuniverse.com/2013/04/28/litwit-challenge-write-a-story-about-a-magical-object-that-must-be-destroyed/comment-page-1/#comment-90834 Tue, 30 Apr 2013 07:16:42 +0000 http://www.jessicarulestheuniverse.com/?p=23395#comment-90834 Wow, I won. :DD

Thanks for accepting my entry even though it was a bit late.

Hehe…Actually nagbakasyon kasi kami ng mama ko sa hometown nya sa Albay…the very place from which I based that story from. Hindi na nga po sana ako sasama kasi yung unang story na sinulat ko (the object was a snow globe, ugh) ayaw mag-click. Hindi ako na-satisfy.

Tapos nung nandon na kami kila mama…wala lang. Hehe. Naisip ko yung story nung sumama kami sa prusisyon. Muntik ko na nga ulit i-give up kasi hindi ako maka-concentrate…pagkalakas-lakas nung sound system nila pag gabi D:

Kakauwi pa lang namin nyan nung sinubmit ko yung entry ko. Wala po kasing Computer dun sa pinuntahan namin kaya sinulat ko lang sa notebook yung first draft.. Ahaha.. Hindi ko na nga po na-edit.

Anyway, thank you po ulit! :D

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By: jessicazafra http://www.jessicarulestheuniverse.com/2013/04/28/litwit-challenge-write-a-story-about-a-magical-object-that-must-be-destroyed/comment-page-1/#comment-90808 Tue, 30 Apr 2013 05:25:35 +0000 http://www.jessicarulestheuniverse.com/?p=23395#comment-90808 In reply to zoie.

zoie: Oh the comb has horns on top! Then Horned Comb is correct.

A comb that feeds on blood makes no sense. But a comb that grants favors in return for the grantee’s hair—that has a kind of logic. The corpses could be wearing wigs, and the protagonist discovers they are bald underneath.

Try to write simply, your descriptions are overwrought.

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By: zoie http://www.jessicarulestheuniverse.com/2013/04/28/litwit-challenge-write-a-story-about-a-magical-object-that-must-be-destroyed/comment-page-1/#comment-90805 Tue, 30 Apr 2013 05:17:55 +0000 http://www.jessicarulestheuniverse.com/?p=23395#comment-90805 Thanks for the notes. It was a comb with horns on top. Yep the Horn Comb would be a much better title. Congratulations Joyeah!

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By: jessicazafra http://www.jessicarulestheuniverse.com/2013/04/28/litwit-challenge-write-a-story-about-a-magical-object-that-must-be-destroyed/comment-page-1/#comment-90774 Tue, 30 Apr 2013 03:20:23 +0000 http://www.jessicarulestheuniverse.com/?p=23395#comment-90774 In reply to ynigo.

ynigo: We overlook small infractions for good work. But since you insist: Bad joyeah for being late. Bad! Bad!

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By: Cacs http://www.jessicarulestheuniverse.com/2013/04/28/litwit-challenge-write-a-story-about-a-magical-object-that-must-be-destroyed/comment-page-1/#comment-90747 Tue, 30 Apr 2013 01:18:13 +0000 http://www.jessicarulestheuniverse.com/?p=23395#comment-90747 Congratulations, joyeah! Thanks for the notes, Jessica.

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By: ynigo http://www.jessicarulestheuniverse.com/2013/04/28/litwit-challenge-write-a-story-about-a-magical-object-that-must-be-destroyed/comment-page-1/#comment-90703 Mon, 29 Apr 2013 23:26:19 +0000 http://www.jessicarulestheuniverse.com/?p=23395#comment-90703 Isn’t joyeah disqualified because they didn’t submit their story in time? The rules state that entries must be in by 12 noon on April 28. Cacs should be the winner.

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By: jessicazafra http://www.jessicarulestheuniverse.com/2013/04/28/litwit-challenge-write-a-story-about-a-magical-object-that-must-be-destroyed/comment-page-1/#comment-90649 Mon, 29 Apr 2013 15:30:31 +0000 http://www.jessicarulestheuniverse.com/?p=23395#comment-90649 joyeah: Atmosphere, check. Strangeness, check. Object that may not actually be magical but which the guilty protagonist believes to be so, check.

In.

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By: jessicazafra http://www.jessicarulestheuniverse.com/2013/04/28/litwit-challenge-write-a-story-about-a-magical-object-that-must-be-destroyed/comment-page-1/#comment-90647 Mon, 29 Apr 2013 15:21:58 +0000 http://www.jessicarulestheuniverse.com/?p=23395#comment-90647 Cacs: Holy crap, actual magical objects!

We like the high language.

In.

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By: jessicazafra http://www.jessicarulestheuniverse.com/2013/04/28/litwit-challenge-write-a-story-about-a-magical-object-that-must-be-destroyed/comment-page-1/#comment-90646 Mon, 29 Apr 2013 15:17:04 +0000 http://www.jessicarulestheuniverse.com/?p=23395#comment-90646 jaime: Wow, a dildo. It has no magic. Well-written story, though.

In.

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By: jessicazafra http://www.jessicarulestheuniverse.com/2013/04/28/litwit-challenge-write-a-story-about-a-magical-object-that-must-be-destroyed/comment-page-1/#comment-90645 Mon, 29 Apr 2013 15:12:35 +0000 http://www.jessicarulestheuniverse.com/?p=23395#comment-90645 pauljamez: “Seated around the kitchen table with three of his friends, Paul pressed his face against the wood and began to laugh.” Explain this sentence. How can Paul be seated around a table? Is he ten feet wide? Also, try pressing your face against a tabletop and laughing.

We asked for a magic story, not a drug story. Of course we’d make an exception if it were funny.

OUT.

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