Anomalous Anonymous

I skimmed through the profiles of a few friends as Mom’s van climbed the valley: Jess kayaked down the nearby big river, perfect Lorry helped at the nearby food pantry, and Big Dan visited distant family in Illinois. Like. Like. Reply: Wow! You’re killing it Jess! Share Dan’s awkward pic. He struggled to break the bearhug of his full orc uncle at a pig roast. His eyes were ready to pop out of his head. Lorry’s latest post solicited for St. Michaels. The pantry needed canned goods. I briefly escaped Impsta to share a few, hard-earned bucks over Zello. TAB! ;-p, I tacked on before bouncing in my seat.

“Sorry hun,” Mom hissed between gritted teeth. She pushed hard on the gas pedal. “I didn’t think the gutter was that deep.”

“I’m alright,” I offered. The van mounted the curb onto the church parking lot. Another bump followed as the van’s rear sank into the gutter. I desperately held the overhead grab handle before I was thrown out the window. We spun free and up the sloping lot.

“I see people at the entrance. I’ll drop you off there.” Mom pointed to a blue skinned woman floating a few inches off the ground. A ghostly tail swiped slowly under her like a fish. “And I’ll be back in two hours. Don’t even think about walking home.” Mom rolled past the few parked cars and to the side of the church building. The ghostly woman stared at us as I unbuckled. “I don’t want another visit from the police.”

I rolled my chalk white eyes. My plaster white hand wiped at the wrinkle of frustration on my forehead. “Sure.” My ankle monitor was a constant reminder of my short, short leash. “Later.”

Mom touched my hand when I put my foot out the door. Her blank eyes softened and her clay-like lips curled into an easy smile. “Take care.” I couldn’t help but match her expression as I stepped down onto the cracked and grass-creased black asphalt.

The van rolled back around the lot, and Mom chose a different, less vehicle taxing exit further up the slope. She disappeared around the back of the church. I double checked my phone: AA was in a few minutes. Mom insisted we arrive early. Always with the good first impressions. We were changelings. It’s sort of an ingrained thing: a mix of both wanting to belong and be unnoticed. She didn’t need to harp on it so much. I was like any other teenager in that respect, I thought bemused. Glancing down past my skirt hem,  to where the blue woman was not-so-inconspicuously staring. Ah, my ankle monitor. I tried to ignore her, though my cold shoulder proved about as insubstantial as her.

“Wassup?” Her voice carried like a whisper even standing next to her. 

“Uh… sup?”

“Not much. Not much.” She nodded sagely. Her hands slipped into her band hoodie. I couldn’t read the name, but it was familiar. Scene kids wear shirts with scribbles all the time. Another long, few seconds passed in agonzing, awkward silence. “You um, like, joining the group?

I kick out my leg. “Court mandated, but yeah.”

“That’s cool. That’s chill.” I inched away. Was it something familiar about her, or that despite her feigned disinterest I could clearly feel her looking me up and down? More time passed. I checked my phone again, but this time I shaded it with my other hand. The ghost girl looked over my shoulder. Just another minute or two. I went to the door and tested it. The metal door didn’t budge.

The ghost hummed. “It’s uh, locked. Ms. Stacy doesn’t let anybody in until it’s the right time.”

“Couldn’t you just go through the walls anyway?”

The question caused her to break eye contact and turn away. Her long hair was carefully curled. “No. That’d be uncool.”

I counted the seconds unbothered. Others exited their vehicles when I got to one-hundred and ten. They all appeared to be adults, and none of them wore ankle monitors. I wish I listened to Mom. I should have worn pants. This was a group for rehabilitating shapeshifters. I assumed that meant all of these people were criminals. Now I stood out so much more.

The lock audibly clanged open, and I darted inside. At the entrance, I hurried by Ms. Stacy: a big white sticker on the right of her chest had her name in bold red, and behind her were a pair of folded bat-like wings. “Ms. Donbedian?” Her silky voice gave me pause. I was only a foot down the first step. 

“Yes?”

The woman’s red face and short, twig-like horns marked her a low rank devil. In third grade social studies, we learned the Mythfolk of the Lower Realms adhered to a rigid hierarchy. I recalled devils with uncurled horns were about equal to common people. The rounder the horns, the more polite you should be. Ms. Stacy wore a plain blouse with little cherries on it and high heels. Her carefully manicured hand produced a name-tag with Ms. Donbedian in matching bold lettering.

“Just a little reminder: please refrain from sharing your first name while in group.”

“Yeah. No problem. The little pamphlet said as much.”

Her dark brow rose at my comment. “No one ever reads the pamphlet…” She trailed off while adjusting her pin hole sized glasses. The ghost girl was waiting at the door. Ms. Stacy snapped an ethereal name tag with bright red lettering into existence. Ms. Florence the ghostly name tag announced. I was gone before she could ask me anything else.

Descending down the brown carpeted stairs in the dimly lit hallway, I opened another door and entered a pleasantly cool, yet distinctly bleached cleaned open room. Office dividers split up the space into classrooms with kid sized chairs and leftover religious textbooks. In the middle was a reclaimed space with chairs arranged in a circle and a table of treats behind it. I picked the furthest corner away from the tempting food in a vain attempt to escape notice.

I picked a divider with a cartoon cucumber stating God Loves You to hide behind. I could stand and peek at the spread of big-box store danishes, a round, silver thermos with a gallon of coffee, and other breakfast options. Ghost girl hovered around the little kids’ desks while others trickled in behind her. A purplish, goopy Mythfolk glided along the tile floor to the danishes while two other women spoke with Ms. Stacy. A man walked by them with a curt bow and picked a seat dangerously close to my hiding place.

He was human enough, but it was rude to make assumptions. He templed his hands while resting his arms on his knees. Positioned somewhere between making a prayer or throwing up between his legs, he did his best to restrain his bouncing right leg.

“Mr. Emhoff, leave me a cherry Danish today. I’m not feeling so hot.”

The goopy humanoid produced a thumb as he picked snacks to absorb into his body. Three danishes, a sesame bagel, and unopened packets of cream cheese fizzled in the acidic, transparent body of Mr. Emhoff’s slime. Without grabbing a cup, the Slime Mythfolk poured scalding hot, strong smelling coffee directly into his palm. Satisfied, he rolled into an open space and sort of lounged between two chairs.

The group pulled itself together: Ms. Stacy and the two women with her took paper plates and served themselves breakfast snacks. The tallest woman nearly scraped the ceiling with her long antlers, while the other limped behind in a leg cast. After they picked what they wanted, Ms. Florence levitated some sealed crackers and took them to her seat opposite the sick man. Lastly, the sick man shuffled to the table and took his cherry danish. He picked at it a little there, and at his seat where he let crumbs spoil the clean floor. 

They all sat in their incomplete circle. Only one chair was empty. Mine. I was going to be between the blob man and the tall woman with the antlers. It was Ms. Stacy who first rose and motioned for the group’s attention.

“Good afternoon humans and Mythfolk.This is the meeting for the Pascal group of Anomalous Anonymous.” The devil recited her practiced introduction with careful, clear enunciation. “I am Ms. Stacy and I am an anomalous shapeshifter and your Secretary. Let’s begin with a moment of silence to reflect on the week’s events.”

Ms. Stacy bowed her horned head along with most of the group. The human seeming man shifted in his seat and stared at the secretary. He fiddled with the remainder of his danish. I was doing much the same. My last week wasn’t all that interesting. I worked my part time job at the pool, listlessly scanned social media, and slept. House arrest had a way of dampening my summer ambitions. School was weeks away. My friends went on their fancy trips and do-gooding charity work. AA was the most social activity I could attend outside my home.

“So, Anomalous Anonymous is a big group nationwide for humans and Mythfolk trying to overcome a common problem and help others with problematic shape-changing. To be a member you have to want to moderate your form changing abilities. We have no dues, fees, or roster to join. Our org is self funded through generous donations.

We are not involved in politics-”

Ms. Stacy stopped when the two women chuckled. The others’ faces expressed similar skepticism. The devil allowed the minor discontent before continuing. “Politics or religion. No one here is looking for controversy. We do not endorse or oppose any cause. Our primary focus is to stay ourselves and help others do the same.”

A green textbook with a worn AA over a globe on its cover made its way from the devil woman to the antlered woman. Her burning blue eyes sat sunken in her skull. Her skin was pulled visibly tight over her pointed chin and high set cheeks. Her boney fingers flipped over the pages to the middle of the book. A blue bookmark slid into her lap.

“It’s my turn to read from the book,” she grumbled. A growling cough cleared the Mythfolk’s throat. “…and there were 3 ideas to affix our forms, if we’d give ourselves to the cause of rehabilitation. 

• That we are shapeshifters, and our nature is one of change.

• No power on earth, the several hells and heavens that exist could relieve our nature.

• Thus, we shapeshifters see to it that we understand each other best, and that we can better ground ourselves.

No one is an island. We cannot resolve this ourselves. Together, we can bring order and accountability to our chaotic lives. That is why we are here, and we aim to help as many as possible.”

Tired, and a little more than annoyed, the antlered woman replaced the bookmark, slammed the text shut, and frisbee tossed it back to Ms. Stacy. “There.”

“Thank you Mrs. Rayes.” The devil woman put the book into her green grocery store tote bag. “Now, do we have any old business before we ask for introductions?”

The slime raised his hand to which Ms. Stacy pointed her capped pen. “I er… my company got back to me. I’ll be settling.” The group responded with a polite round of applause. “Thank you. Your support means a lot.”

“That’s great news Mr. Emhoff. I hope this gives you closure on your accident.” I inched back and away from my peeking corner. Ms. Stacy’s red eyes darted to my direction. “And I assume no one else has old business.” A quiet murmur concluded the segment. “Ms. Donbedian? I know you’re there.”

I hummed. “Yes- yes I’m here.” My hand waved limp wristed to the group who were all very definitely looking in my direction now. “I uh- wasn’t sure when- I mean…” I stammered over my words. I gave reports in class before, but speaking in front of a group of mostly adults felt worse. Stinging memories of the courtroom bubbled up unwanted. I withdrew my hand. “I can watch from here, right?”

“You can, after you introduce yourself to the group.” Her words were more like barbed points than patient suggestions. “We can’t continue with the meeting otherwise.” The others whispered. From what I heard, this wasn’t the first time someone delayed Anomalous Anonymous. I took a sharp breath, and forced myself into the open.

“Hi, I’m Ms. Donbedian.” I unconsciously bowed my head while my feet figured out what position they wanted to take. My hands were glued to my side. “Is that it?”

Ms. Stacy removed her pen’s cap with a pop and made a note on a sheet of paper. “Almost.” The others wore expressions laced with more  than the usual suspicion a non-shapeshifter might express. Changelings were not terribly common in Pascal, or the county, though for some reason there were plenty of stereotypes I had to juggle. “How long has it been since you last changed your shape?”

“I… Not for a while. Two and a half months.” Eyes to the ground, I yearned to cut off my foot and be done with that magical gadget. 

“That’s some shit,” Mr. Emhoff spat. “God damn feds.”

“Mr. Emhoff, we try to avoid politics.” Ms. Stacy sighed when the slime waved his amorphous arm. With a touch of her delicately cared for fingernail, she replaced her tiny glasses. “And before that, Ms. Donbedian?”

I clasped my hands together as every person’s face I ever copied passed through my thoughts. “A lot. Maybe… everyone in my grade, half of everyone in the junior class, half the freshmen, my family…” Like opening a portfolio of an artist, I could just as easily retrace the form of every person I imitated. I could feel the shape of them in my memory and their names too. I didn’t think to look at how the others reacted. Passing through my mental pages blinded me to them. A dozen names followed by a dozen more, I recounted several members of my friend’s family by their first names before Ms. Stacy stood up. Her chair’s metal feet slid against the tile and snapped me back to the church basement.

Fresh embarrassment lit a fire in my veins. The group gawked at me. I jumped behind the beige wall ready to disappear forever. Words swirled between the members while I hid. I wanted to leave though I agonized over the decision longer than I anticipated. What did I have to return to? Work? My room? I thumbed my phone over my Contacts. Mom’s name was right there. Her and her patient reminders of my mistake. I selected it and hovered over the green dial button.

“Sup.”

The ghost, no, Ms. Florence phased through the neighboring wall. I jumped, and my phone bounced on the end of my white-red sneakers. “What-”

“Hey. You coming back to group?” 

Distressed, I avoided her gaze and fumbled to recover my phone. I feigned tying my shoelaces. “What? I didn’t leave.”

She rolled her eyes. Ironic detachment dripped off her like the wispy ectoplasm that outlined her body. “Yeah, sure. Whatever.” Ms. Florence floated down, and sat down beside me. Her presence was a literal cold comfort. Her spectral body sapped the humid warmth from my hiding spot. “You should stay though.”

“I’m not sure about that,” I said sitting down next to her. “I’m not exactly looking to stop changing my shape.”

“Well, yeah. No one here is, like, asking ya too.” Ms. Florence hid her face behind her hair for a brief moment, then with a bob of her head she became more solid. Her long locks shrank to  a boyish crew cut and her skin reminiscent of  a moonlight white. “It’s not about quitting. It’s realizing we got, like, a bad relationship with our abilities.”

I idled my phone. “I guess. Everyone just seemed so scared,” I whispered.

“You can copy mad peeps girl. Best I can do is like, a person at a time. That’s what surprised all the geezers. I thought it was cool.”

For some reason I wanted to believe her. I pocketed my phone and got back up. Ms. Florence’s disguise vanished in a poof of harmless static and floated to eye level. I rounded the wall once again. The others in the group, even the man closest to me, greeted me with subdued interest and knowing, practiced restraint.

“Sorry. I-” The proper apology eludes me, and I settle for another half bow of my head “I would like to continue.”

“Excellent,” Ms. Stacy tapped her pen against the blank page in her lap, “and I do have one last yes or no question. Do you understand your shapeshifting to be outside the bounds of modern society.”

“Yes. Yes I do.”

“You can take a seat then.”

The gentle patter of polite applause sounded as I walked over to my seat. I wish I didn’t blush as I sat even though they couldn’t see the radiant warmth in my cheeks. 

“I’d like to open the floor for group discussion now. Are there any volunteers for speaker?”

Ms. Florence was quick to raise her hand. She wore a self-assured, cocky grin. “I’ll do it.” The ghost spun her chair with poltergeist force and rested her intangible arms on the seat’s backrest. “Anyone got a problem with that?”

No one objected, but I sensed mild tension from Mrs. Rayes. Her relaxed posture shifted forward, and I could feel a greater weight move than her thin body could contain. Ms. Florence hovered above her seat. “A-a-ahem, I welcome you all to our little Breakfast Club. Anyone have new business?”

“Oh! Me! Finally!” A voice squeaked from behind Mrs. Rayes. The green skinned goblin woman lurched forward and rattled her various necklaces. Her cast barely grazed the ground as she rocketed up from her seat. “I got in trouble for starting a fight at the mall.”

“You may have the floor Ms. Flitter.“

No one was surprised by the woman’s admission. I leered left and right for some context clues. Everyone offered the goblin the same patient interest they had shown me. I set one hand over another in my lap, relaxed my shoulders, and waited for my answer to present itself.

“Yep yep! The mall cops came and everything. I was a real nuisance.” The goblin snapped her green, red, and blue belt around her waist. “Then we got in a chase, and I fell,” she pointed out her cast with both arms. “That was fun.” Balancing on one leg, she hopped in place. “They let me go though. I’m too cute to cage!”

Ms. Flitter leaned on Mrs. Rayes bony knee like she was a convenient railing. The taller woman tousled the goblin’s matted, oily green hair. “It’s because they decriminalized fairy antics, dear.”

“What? Since when?” The goblin’s expressive round eyes peered innocently up to her friend. 

“Since 2010. We talked about this last month.”  She gestured broadly to the group. “Do you remember?”

The goblin sagely touched her chin and bobbed her head a few times. “No.” She shrugged. “Why?”

“You’re still a goblin, dear.”

Glancing down at her body, Ms. Flitter gasped. “Right! I needed to… I wanted to…” Rubbing her right ear, she tried to recall something. The strain caused a blue vein to pop out of her green forehead. “I am like this, so I could, I mean, I wanted…”

Ms. Florence floated forward. “Be cool, Ms. Flit. Chill. We understand.”

The goblin shook her head. Her oily hair sparked and sparkled with purplish energy. Two antennae bounced in front of her eyes before being swallowed back up by her illusionary disguise. “I see. I’m in the basement again.” She took an account of the room with sudden sobriety. She spun around and sat again. “I’m done.”

There was a round of polite applause from everyone else before Ms. Florence asked about new business. No one else put forward a claim. “We can continue discussion then. How’s everybody doing? Emotionally, I mean.” A tepid murmur of okay’s and alright’s answered her question. The ghost woman grimaced only long enough for Ms. Stacy to stand up.

 “I’ve been good. Work’s slow, my office is getting a cleaning next week, and I’ve kept my form mostly… fine. The boss is talking about a company trip. That’s exciting. I think I am doing better.” Ms. Stacy took a seat when she finished. A flush relief passed over her face. I held my breath. Why was she looking at me? Why did Ms. Florence turn to me as well.

“How about you Ms. Donbedian? Got to get anything off your chest?” 

“Eh… no?”

My simple request was heeded, and our ghostly speaker continued. “Has anyone been tempted to change their shape in an unhealthy way?”

Two hands shot up. The human-looking guy, Mr. Red, had his face buried in one hand, and the other overhead. Mrs. Rayes’s response was more restrained by comparison. “I’ll go second,” Mr. Red mumbled into his hand. “Sorry.”

The woman towered over me when she rose to full height, and the brown, sun bleached dress she wore pooled around her feet. “I can’t find a skin to be comfortable in at home.” Her weight shifted left, and the brown dress moved of its own accord. It billowed out and infringed the space near my chair. Instinctively, I avoided thinking about what might be under there or risk putting myself near it. “It’s hard for my husband to understand, and he won’t tell me what I should be. So, I’ve been changing a lot this week.” She pointed a bony finger to her face. “I’m on my seventh skin this week. I’ve been stitching them whenever I have free time with the baby.”

The seams around her face, where the ears connected to her jaw, were more obvious when she stated its artificial nature. “I’m half-wendigo, kid.” Flaming blue eyes met my own. I froze in place. “Everyone in my family uses the fake stuff for skins nowadays. You can be a little less nervous.”

“Oh.” I wanted to sink into the ocean, but oh was all I could manage. Mrs. Rayes proceeded with her admission.

“My husband is always saying things like I love you no matter what you’re wearing and what is on the inside that counts. As if that helps me.” She grumbled and stamped forward. She just narrowly avoided scrapping the ceiling. “God, it’s like being in middle school again.”

Ms. Florence nodded. “Does anyone have advice for Mrs. Rayes?”

“I do,” Ms. Stacy plainly stated. The blunt end of her pen secured her glasses. I noted the distance between her ears; the metal rims were too large for her. A changeling can tell these things. “Have you talked to Mark about it?”

“I did! He’s stuck on this sentimental crap.” Mrs. Rayes grabbed at her fake face skin and pulled down. “I don’t even know what to say, and so I… just make more.”

“Can- can I say something?” I cut in. 

There was a brief silence as Mrs. Rayes considered my offer. “Sure.” Her dangerous claws fell to her side.

“My aunt was dating a guy like that. Real nice, but kinda clueless. She could be anybody, and he never commented on my aunt’s forms. It was really bad. So, she just was forward with him.” I tried to transform into my aunt, the fore of my arms softening and expanding like potter’s clay, but a small shock to my ankle was an unpleasant reminder. My plaster skin hardened and my hair frizzed. “Whoops. Changelings like to shapeshift when we talk,” I dryly laughed, but the others didn’t seem to get it. Mrs. Rayes was even less amused. Her long face furrowed and she moved back to her seat.

“Well? What did your aunt say to her guy?” The half-wendigo asked.

“Er, she said um- she said she’d like him to compliment her shapeshifting. It’s a part of us, and if you ignore it… she’d uh…”

My aunt keyed the guy’s car and threw out his record collection because he cheated on her. I struggled to come up with a better resolution than vandalism. My eyes darted left to right, then back to Mrs. Rayes and her brown cloak. “A good form is like a good cloak, Mrs. Rayes. It’s our style. Not our identity.”

“Too true!” Ms. Stacy clapped. “Very insightful of your aunt.”

Mrs. Rayes’s shoulders slumped down and her long arms extended down to the floor. “I guess that’s some to consider. I yield my time. Mr. Red, you good?”

“Yeah…”

Whatever he said, the man did not look ready to get up when he did. First, he unzipped his bag and retrieved a bundle of papers inside. He rose unsteady into his feet and half heartedly flattened them. His focus was anywhere but in front of him. He wet his lips and began.

“I kept notes on my itinerary. Um, and I read them. I noticed I keep going out past midnight. I said I’d- I would stop, but I haven’t.” He rattled out a dry wheeze. “I’ve been out tracking the phases of the moon, the star-gates, and- and the chem-trails over the airport.”

“You said you would set a curfew for yourself Mr. Red,” Ms. Stacy cut in. “It’s important to follow through on your promises.”

His thin features furrowed at the comment. “I did. I mean, I want to. Here. I have pictures.” A handful of pictures went to both Ms. Florence and Mr. Emhoff, or rather, Mr. Red showed those two the pictures, then passed them to me and Ms. Stacy. He smelled strongly of body oil.

“Thanks,” I said before marveling at the pictures. Mr. Red stood with two teenagers under a full moon, all smiling. Behind them, I saw the full night sky, the purplish light of the portals to other worlds, and streaks of long clouds cutting just over their heads. An airport runway was visible on the very edge of the picture. “You were camping?”

The man rubbed his forearm before inching back. “We went last week.”

A claw touched my opposite arm as I cycled through the pictures. “Mr. Red’s been here longer than anybody,” she whispered. “He’s a human holdover from a different support group.” She loomed over me like a tree.  “Oh. These are nice.”

“They are, Mr. Red.” The next one was a snapshot of starlit sky, and the remainder of his kids at a campfire. The quality was so crisp I could see the grain of the wood under the boys as they toasted marshmallows. There was a cautious casualness to Mr. Red in the photos the jittery man in front of me lacked. He sat at the edge of the campfire watching his teenage sons, hands in pockets, and a pair of small reading glasses on his nose. Part of me wanted to know who they were, but asking for names was also against the group’s rules. I left them blank in my mental portfolio and handed an eager Ms. Flitter my pile.

“Beautiful…”

“I am working to balance my pursuits for the truth with my family,” he spoke clearly to no one in particular. “My boys are at science camp. We’ve been talking every Monday and Wednesday.” 

Ms. Stacy looked wary of the wobbling human. “Are you feeling okay Mr. Red?”

“Mmm… no. I seem to be getting worse.”

“You don’t have to stay for the whole session. Please, go home and rest.”

Mr. Red’s flush face expressed relief as the others returned his photos. He packed up his papers in his red bag and hurried outside. Everyone expressed minor concerns over him, but no one sounded all that surprised about his condition.

“He’s always catching or getting over something,” Mrs. Rayes noted. “I’m glad he’s doing better with his boys though.”

Small talk led back to Ms. Florence who continued with the session. Her ethereal body glided left and right of her chair without so much as a single step. “I guess we should get to the positive affirmations.” She conjured a purple device into her hands. It had a smooth back like a phone, but it more resembled my younger brother’s game console. She flicked a switch and it came to life. “What’s one thing you’re grateful for today?” Her meek smile reflected the artificial light the toy cast. “I got this from a friend, and there’s a shop in the outlet mall that sells games for it. I’m playing some of the stuff I missed from when I was alive.”

Ms. Stacy raised her hand after her neighbor finished. “I took a vacation!”

“Cookies,” Ms. Flitter added.

“A date. My husband and I are going to a fancy place downtown while my mother watches the kids.”

The question fell into my lap and I played with it for a few seconds. My mom was mad at me. My dad was busy with family stuff. My brother annoyed me. School couldn’t start soon enough because I was a prisoner in my own home. My friends were all away enjoying their summer. I thought about passing, but I also didn’t believe there was going to be an easier question. My job wasn’t bad.“Having a summer job. It’s going to suck when I’m stuck at home when school starts.”

“Money.” Mr. Emhoff’s humanoid form melted into a large, formless blob. “That’s it.”

Mr. Red’s empty chair provided no response so attention circled back to Ms. Florence. Her toy was missing and she was sitting as much as a ghost could. “That went fast. Whew. I guess that wraps up the questions, right?”

Ms. Stacy checked the time. Forty minutes passed, and the group was scheduled for another hour and change. “We have time for one more go around before affirmations.”

“Fine,” Ms. Florence offered with a nonchalant shrug. A devious thought brightened her smile. “Does anyone remember Tickle-Me-Elmo?”

“Ms. Florence!” The devil woman snapped before pointing a perfectly manicured finger at the speaker. “I meant a serious question. From the script, please.”

“It’s always the rules with you. I just… creatively interpreted your request.”

“We are not in Hell.” Ms. Stacy wiped her hand down from her horns over her face. “I would ask you to adhere to the spirit of law, not the letter of what I’m saying.”

Ms. Flitter and Ms. Florence both giggled at Ms. Stacy’s unintentional pun. Literal sparks flew when she forcefully brought her hands together. “Enough of that. Let’s move on. Ms. Speaker, it’s your turn. What brings you to Anomalous Anonymous?”

The room grew quiet as Ms. Florence’s mild grin faded. She visibly exhaled, put her hands where her knees might have been, and stood before the group. “My name is Ms. Florence and I have a problem with my shapeshifting.” She looked at me, then back ahead. “They’ve banned me out of every high school in the county.”

A senior in the band said something about an undead Mythfolk stuck haunting the school. No one has seen the specter in years, but his senior told him about a ghost girl who’d attend the classes of absent students and fill in for club activities. I remembered her nickname, Hooky, though no one knew where she went. Yet, her legend lingered.

“I’ve gotten better. I have a job. My brother texts me. I just have a lot of time on my hands. The friends I did have when I was alive have kids and stuff. They left me behind. People I met after I died all have a lot going on. Social media, Facebook, all that… I can’t follow it. I had a Myspace, but nothing else. No one goes to Myspace.”

Judging by the others’ reactions, this was not new information. There was a mix of empathy and morose seriousness between those whose faces I could read. Mr. Emhoff was unreadable in his blob shape. I matched them even if I didn’t know what Myspace was. Old Facebook? Well, only old people used Facebook, so Myspace must be the thing before it. 

“I’m trying, but it’s not comfortable. I guess this is growing up,” she half-sang. Her hands disappeared into her front pockets and she sat down. “That’s me. Mr. Emhoff? You got something to add?”

The blob lurched forward and it took on its previous humanoid shape: a pair of arms without hands, long legs with large hoof like feet, and an approximation of a person’s head. “I don’t got a computer. I understand where you’re coming from, miss. My kids are all graduated, my wife spends her time at her clubs and sorority meetings, and I’m just… melting at home.” 

“The program, Mr. Emhoff,” Ms. Stacy politely suggested with a wave of a finger.

“Right… right. My name is Mr. Emhoff and I got a problem with shapeshifting,” he groaned. “My job accident left me like this.” Parts of the man’s gooey purple arms dripped back to the floor. “I sleep in a rubber tub, I got a newly furnished master bath I barely use, I- well I shouldn’t think about the things I can’t do, right?” He ran his palm into his head only to reabsorb it and lose his arm. With a tired sigh, he created a new one.

“And why’re you here?” The devil woman asked. She sat cross legged and kept careful notes. She must’ve been quite a student in the Lower Realms.

“Well, I was human, and now I’m this. I’d melt through my second floor if I wasn’t thinking about it. This whole shape changing thing is bullshit.” The man quickly recoiled at the utterance. “Sorry, language. Bullcrap.”

He sat back down on the floor and created a blob to lounge on. I wished he continued, or that Mr. Red stuck around. Everyone was looking at me. They took turns in a circle.

“I don’t know what to do.” I was lying. The basics were easy to grasp, but maybe I could buy time. 

“First, you have to say the thing: My name is X and I have a problem with shapeshifting.”

“Do I, really?” 

Ms. Stacy tapped her pen on the paper in her lap. “It’s the way things work. You’re here because you agreed to it, Ms. Donbedian.” She tilted the page in her hand. It was my signature on my sentencing papers. Damn it.

“Fine. I’m Ms. Donbedian and I have a problem with shapeshifting.” I crossed my fingers behind my back. “I’m here because I don’t want to go to juvie.” Stares like knives, and the ever present stink of bleach cleaner whirled around the room. I readied to shoot back. 

“That’s tough kid,” Mrs. Rayes whispered. 

“I’ve been to prison!” Ms. Flitter cheerily shouted. Her feet kicked at the air in front of her child sized chair. “It sucks!”

I didn’t want their sympathy. I dug deep inside my heart and turned over every awful thing I could think of: I knew exactly what would hurt them, how to get under their skin and get them mad. Then we’d all feel bad. A changeling’s got a sense for these sorts of things, but just the same we know the opposite too. What’d make a person happy, what’d make someone sad; reading someone was as easy as peeling a fruit. The blade of my tongue held its sharp bite as I tried to separate myself from them.

“I needed money. There’s nothing you can do with friends as a part-time lifeguard. Bowling. Traveling. Gas. It’s expensive. So, I pretended to be some other people and wrote a bunch of bad checks.” I clutched my knuckles tight. “It was easy. Crime shouldn’t be easy. It makes it feel… right, okay?” 

My face was hot. I was so distracted I wasn’t keeping track of myself. Fresh embarrassment washed over me. I wanted to run away, but it would be tiring if I did. “Now I’m stuck with myself, and that sucks. The whole reason I started was to pay for my lunch. No one at the counter batted an eye when I copied an old lady, and why not?” I waited for the condemnation; the words of disapproval that came easily to my parents. They knew what would make me feel bad too. They always did. Yet, nothing happened. I pinched my chair as hard as I could. When nothing happened, I mumbled out my conclusion.

“I’m done.”

“Thank you for sharing, Ms. Donbedian.” Ms. Stacy’s practiced smile was unnatural for her face. It was unlike when she spoke about her vacation. She was hiding something.

“Wait, that’s it? That’s all you got to say?” I snapped.

“Would you like us to say something?”

My blank eyes blinked with disbelief. “Yes.”

“As speaker, I’ll go first,” Ms. Florence cleared her throat as though reciting memorized lines. “You’re not only here. We’re all struggling together to overcome our own personal weaknesses.” A small murmur of agreement sounded from the others. “Part of that is being responsible for ourselves.”

I knew I screwed up when the cops stopped me at the mall. They pulled me aside, they cuffed me in front of my friends, and put me in jail. It was horrible, every step. I did that. Me. My shapeshifting didn’t give those clerks the checks. I did. I gritted my teeth and glared.

Mrs. Rayes put a hand on my shoulder. Her gentle touch felt like an immovable steel rod. “This isn’t personal. It feels like it, but that’s part of the program.”

“Wha-?” I spat out. Was she reading my mind? I hesitated. A long second stretched until I couldn’t bear the silence any longer. “I didn’t say anything like that.”

“Kid, we all get it. There isn’t anyone here who doesn’t blame themself for what’s happening in their lives.” Mrs. Rayes released me before adjusting the mask of skin covering her face. “My name is Mrs. Rayes and I have a problem with shapeshifting. My husband didn’t know I was a wendigo until we had our first child. I thought I could hide it forever, but the stress… it was too much to tell him before.” Blue embers danced on the edge of her eyes before tumbling to the tiled floor under her. “My husband freaked out when he saw our daughter. He was terrified something was wrong with her.”

Ms. Flitter, who watched the antlered woman spill her vulnerability, jumped onto the ground and saluted. “My name is Ms. Flitter and I got a problem. I forget things!” The goblin-not-goblin waved her hand in front of her face. Magic like television static changed her appearance with each gesture: a red-furred gremlin, a pink-faced angel, and back to warty goblin. “I hit my head and now who I am comes and goes, here and there, so on and so on.” Ms. Flitter reconsidered her words even as she spoke them. “Oh, it’s not so bad. I have plenty of help.” She did a quick spin before bowing. “I’m done.”

“Me too.”

The pair yielded, and only Ms. Stacy was left to speak. She smoothed out her blouse and removed the pinhole glasses. Ash filled the air above her as she dismissed her transformation. Everything about her was exaggerated: her wavy hair hung like billowing, hellish-red curtains behind her, her eyes burned brighter than a pair of bunsen burners, and the stubby horns she wore curled round and round. Three…. Four… I should probably bow, I figured before she rose to full height. She rivaled even Mrs. Rayes in stature now.

“My name is Ms. Stacy. I have a problem with my shapeshifting. I use my abilities to avoid my responsibilities. I used to hate my job. There was no concept of vacation time in my realm until Mr. Emhoff suggested it in group. The world above is so interesting and fun it makes everything I do seem dull in comparison.”

With a snap, she conjured a burning whip that seared the tile floor black with a glancing touch. In her hands, it resembled a living snake of fire coiled and ready to strike. “I hunt damned souls in this world and make sure they go to their proper place. No one is happy to see me.” She winked at me. “At least, on the clock.”

“You have your own Lower Realm?” I stammered out. “That’s wild.”

“My own?” She chuckled at the suggestion. “It’s my own prison, maybe.” Her scaled hand waved off the comment. “No, no, I need to reframe it. Balance my negativity with something positive… oh yes, we did get in a water cooler. Ah, fresh water. Such a treat.” 

“But you were hiding who you were from the minute I got here!”

“Yeah, Mr. Red informed me high ranked devils were given undue authority up here. It’s a common misconception. It’s a way of managing the various Lower Realms. Once you cross up here, we all want to be left to our own way. I also scared poor Ms. Florence to a second death when she came for her first meeting. It is in moderation, you see.”

“Hey! Uncool Smokestack.” The ghost girl blasted a wave of chill air across the circle. Ms. Stacy easily parried the cold with a hand, but she looked hurt nonetheless.

“Ugh, I hate that nickname.” She replaced her glasses and just as quickly shrunk down to her previous size. Her red short-heeled shoes scraped the bits of scorched floor with their point. “Dang it. I did it again.”

“I got it,” Mr. Emhoff dripped past me. With a few scrubs of his goopy palm he dissolved the mark. “The Misses does like it when I take care of chores around the house.”

“Thank you. Now, back to Ms. Donbedian-”

“I would prefer a nickname,” I pointed across the group. “Donbedian is a mouthful.”

Whatever Ms. Stacy was about to say was cut off by an especially enthusiastic ghost shriek. “Mystique? Oh, how about Majora… no, you definitely fit a Midna.” Her ghostly fingers formed a square around my face as she floated around me. “Cool and dark, but not like, evil.”

“Midna sounds good.” I pointed a thumb to my chest. “I’m Midna now.” I realized in that moment the tension that followed me into the church basement was tapering off. I forced a breath. Wait. Why wasn’t I stressed anymore? I flicked the inside of my arm. No, I wasn’t sleeping. I scrubbed the side of my head and tossed my hair. Nothing there. Why would there be? 

“You look a bit more relaxed, kid.” Mrs. Rayes brushed my arm with hers. “It’s good to get stuff off your chest.”

Ms. Florence concurred. She swooped beside me with arms buried in her hoodie. “Cool stuff, right? We know what we’re doing here.” 

Lingering shock kept me upright. “I mean- this doesn’t change anything. I’m still under house arrest. I can’t do anything else.” I wanted to chase away the relief before it stuck like a wet rag to my person. “You don’t get it.” I slumped back and attempted to recollect the pieces of me I unwittingly gave away. 

Mrs. Rayes chuckled as if my angst was matter-of-fact, while Ms. Florence lingered a little longer. “Whatever you say Midna. C’mon, we got one last thing to do before we wrap up.”

“We have another hour.” I fished into my pocket for my phone. We were only over an hour at this point.

There was a stifling quiet, followed by Ms. Stacy’s sudden admission. “We’re scheduled for two hours. We usually wrap up in one. Did you talk to the director or-”

“My mom spoke to an old guy.”

“Oh.” Ms. Stacy pressed her pen cap into her cheek. “Pastor Mike doesn’t know we end early sometimes. Well, we could give you a ride home if you wanted.”

I kicked up my leg. “If they see me leave early, I’ll get a visit from a cop. I’m stuck here.” Normal, ordinary annoyances pressed back into my life. It was more comfortable than the raw vulnerability from before.

“I’ll haunt around,” the ghost chimed. “I can keep Midna company.”

“Thanks…” I didn’t know how to feel about that. Good? Maybe. “My mom is picking me up later.”

“I’ll speak with her about organizing a ride home for next time,” Ms. Stacy noted. She shuffled that page to the bottom of her collection. “I’ll run the concluding speech if there are no objections.” 

No one spoke out. Ms. Stacy pressed her ill-fitted glasses back to the bridge of her nose. “I’ll say the line, and you will repeat after me:

I am who I am. We are who we are. When we falter, it is our duty to offer help. We are Anomalous Anonymous. We help those who ask.”

I mimed the words, but everyone else took it seriously. Once it was over, the group split off. Mrs. Rayes and Ms. Flitter returned to the breakfast table. Mr. Emhoff rolled himself to the door. 

“Picking up the grandkid from preschool. See you folks next week.” The wet echo of him climbing the stairwell and the slam of the heavy door indicates he left.

Ms. Stacy was also fast to pack up. She approached me and Ms. Florence with her bag in one hand and her Iphone in the other. “Excellent work today. I’m happy you could join us, Ms. Donbedian.” She hid her phone and offered me a hand. I took it. I was unsure about shaking hands with a devil, but no one else seemed to mind. “I’m glad you took our meeting seriously. Few people do at the start.”

It’s not like I had a choice. I internally voiced my complaints then filed them away for discussion with my angel friend Lorry. “Enjoy your vacation,” I responded. It was all I could conjure in the moment.

Ms. Stacy smiled. “It’s a staycation, actually. I have my cats, a tub of ice cream, and 8 more seasons of Law and Order: MVU to catch up on.”

“Oh? They still have that show on the air?” Ms. Florence asked.

“Hmm .. yes. It has been on for quite some earth time. I’ll also let your mother know I can drop you off if we do conclude early again. I like to go easy on our beginners. Next time we can do trust falls into Mr. Emhoff.” 

She left us to the room. Ms. Florence and I stood in the circle of chairs. “You can call me Tara, FYI. It’s not my full name, so I am not breaking any rules.”

“Well, my real name is Elle, but you can keep calling me Midna. It’s got a nice sound to it.”

“She’s a video game character. I hope you don’t mind.”

I was debating if that was the case. “I don’t play many games besides Mario Kart with my brother.” It was either that, or an old movie. “Also, what’s Myspace?”

“It’s Facebook, but rad. You can add your own page, customize it with graphics and music-”

“Sounds neat. You’ll have to add me since you’ll know my whole name.” I extended my arms ahead of me as I yawned. “Does it have a messenger?”

“An IM? Sure, but you-”

The ghost’s concerns were easy to read. I was breaking with the group’s anonymity. Yet, I was curious about Ms. Florence, and a little guilty for brushing her off earlier. She offered only hospitality and kind words and I callously shot them down. “I got almost all the time in the world at home except when I’m at the city pool. Feel free to shoot me a message.”

Mrs. Rayes hoisted the large coffee pot with a single hand while Ms. Flitter handled the remaining breakfast danishes and dry cookies. One was perched between her green lips while napkins threatened to burst from her little pockets. “Got a preference for drink kid?”

“Coffee’s good. I would hate to intrude,” I replied. The burning blue eyes of Mrs. Rayes scanned me over before she took her leave. “C’mon. I’ll give you a ride home Flit.”

“Hooray! Let’s flip a dumpster!”

“Maybe next week- Ms. Florence you can lock up?”

“Yes. I’ll just Poltergeist the lock. See you.”

And just like that, we were alone. Me, a changeling criminal, and Tara, Ms. Florence, Hooky, a forlorn ghost. We talked for a time afterwards; Ms. Florence never spoke about how she died. I didn’t tell her I may know her. We kept it casual. She talked about old movies and games and how much she wanted pizza from Gio’s in town. I kept to my job, and my family, and how Gio’s was mid compared to Pizza Farm in the strip mall. 

It was nice to speak to someone without the pretensions of a different form.

683 Views