Sticky Rice

Bian was so excited. It was her sixteenth birthday, and all her relatives were arriving. She loved spending time with her cousins, and she wished that they did not live so far away.

“Bian,” her Uncle Thao called to her. “Your grandmother is here and would like to see you.”

Bian had never met her Grandmother Yang, so she was very excited by the prospect. Grandmother Yang had escaped from Vietnam after the war and did not speak much English. There were a lot of family rumors about her that spanned from the absurd to the downright frightening.

Uncle Thao escorted Bian into the back parlor that was rarely used and often stayed locked. The room was dim, with flecks of dust floating in the air on shafts of light from the blinds covering the only window in the room. In the corner sat a small figure cloaked in the murky darkness. Bian was not sure she really wanted to meet her grandmother now, but her uncle firmly pushed her forward as he closed the door behind them.

From across the room, the figure spoke in a voice that vibrated down Bian’s back like someone sticking pins into her spinal cord. Grandmother Yang said in raspy Vietnamese. The voice suddenly ended with a hoarse sickening sound repeated a few times like an animal trying to cough up something that got caught in its throat.

“She says she thinks your clothes are ridiculous,” Uncle Thao said from behind.

Bain looked down at her silken kimono style dress she had picked out for her party. She had saved her money while working at the Chinese Grill at the mall. She loved the dress but now felt somehow ashamed and ugly. She bowed her head and looked at the floor, wanting nothing more than to run away from this room and rejoin her cousins whom she had waited weeks to see. They would love her dress. She was sure of it.

The horrible choking, gagging sound erupted from her grandmother again. With horror, she recognized it for what it was- laughter. It was a cruel gesture that suggested her grandmother relished the fact she felt shame over her beautiful silk dress.

Her grandmother spoke, and her uncle translated.

“She says she has brought you a gift from her homeland.”

Her grandmother continued to talk, and Bian heard the floorboards quietly creak as Grandmother Yang rose from her chair. Oh God, Bain thought. She was moving toward the light that separated them. It was as if the light in some way protected her from any possible evil the darkness was hiding. Bian took an involuntary step backward.

“Grandmother Yang says that she is giving you her steam pot and basket for cooking rice. She says that the pot has been handed down in the Yang family for many generations. She weaved the basket herself after hers was burned back in Vietnam by the soldiers came to her village.”

Grandmother Yang moved into the light. She was wearing a conical hat and a simple gray tunic with matching loose pants. She was smaller than Bian but was never the less intimidating. She looked even more ancient than Bian had imagined, with canyons of carved deep folds in her skin. She had an odor that was a mixture of sweat, lack of personal hygiene, and old smoke. Bian held her breath in fear that the smell might make her sick. Grandmother held a squat round pot with a strange-looking bamboo basket sitting on top.

Bian wished more than anything to flee from the horrible smelling old woman in front of her. Grandmother Yang looked into Bian’s eyes and held out the pot toward her, smiling, revealing teeth that had never been touched by a dentist’s hand. The few teeth that were left in her mouth looked like broken shards of obsidian.

“Don’t be rude, girl, take the gift. This is a great honor.”

Honor or not, Bian instinctually wanted to turn and run. It was not just the face that looked like it belonged on a decayed mummy that was filling Bian with terror, nor was it the eyes that seemed like black pools lacking depth or warmth; it was the black aura of cruelty and hatred that seemed to hang in the air around her. As Bian looked into those inky pools of her grandmother’s eyes, something moved in the soulless darkness- something grotesque and twisted. It was the look of a predator looking down at a helpless mouse.

Bian reached forward and took the pot in her two hands and was about to turn and run out of the room when her grandmother’s hand clamped around her wrist. Grandmother Yang pulled Bian close and whispered, “To give pot is an honor. You never go hungry while you have basket and pot, you understand?”

Bian nodded. Her putrid breath wafted into Bian’s nostrils even though she tried to hold her breath. She tried to pull away, by her grandmother’s grip was firm.

“Yang pot. No one else uses Yang pot. If other than Yang use pot, it is dishonor. Price for dishonor… death. You understand?”

Bian’s eyes went wide, and she shook in terror. The old woman released her and laughed with her horrible coughing bark.

Two days later, Grandmother Yang died.

+++

It was Saturday night, and Bian was starving. Her roommate Annie was out for the night with her boyfriend. Bian wished Jim would call, but he knew he had to work extra hours at the hospital.

Tonight her dinner date was the loyal Mr. Cheevers. Bian took inventory of items needed to create her favorite meal. She found what she was hoping for on the refrigerator’s bottom shelf; two large links of her family’s secret recipe lemongrass pork sausage.

“Mr. Cheevers, we are going to eat like Asian royalty tonight.”

The large Maine Coon let out a meow in response, laid down next to the refrigerator, and pretended to sleep. One eye remained ever so slightly cracked.

Bian got a small ladder to reach her grandmother’s pot and bamboo basket from the top cabinet. Bian could still recall vividly the day her grandmother had given her the pot almost ten years ago. It was not a pleasant memory, but she had made many wondrous meals since then, which seemed to soften the memory if only a little.

As Bian reached for the pot- a flash of lightning quickly lit the room, followed by a boom of thunder that shook the panes in the windows. It startled Bian so much that she lost her balance and fell hard on her butt on the floor. The pot tumbled down and struck her on the top of the head.

“Shit!” she yelled.

Mr. Cheever’s body arched, and he hissed. Bian looked over at the kitchen window to determine what was spooking the cat.

At first, Bian could not make anything out in the darkness, but she could hear the wind chimes dance while the drumming of rain pelted the windows accented by the wind howling in the eaves like some symphony gone mad. A flash of lightning lit up the impenetrable darkness outside and outlined the shape of a head with a conical hat outside the kitchen window.

“Oh crap,” Bian exclaimed as a cymbal crash of thunder broke through the storm’s symphonic thrum.

Another burst of lightning blinded Bian for a moment, but this time, there was nothing but the branch on the black walnut tree that was trying to keep a beat with the storm’s windy rhythm.

“Wow, Bian, get it under control. It’s just a storm.” Bian admonished herself.

Bian filled her grandmother’s steam pot with water and turned up the burner. Mr. Cheevers gave her a head butt.

“Be patient, Mr. Cheevers. My nerves need some wine to go with this fine feast.”

Bian headed out of the kitchen to the linen closet at the end of a long hallway where their wine was stored. The lights flickered following another lightning strike. Bian opened the door to the closet and stood a moment, and finally selected a plum wine. There was a crash in the kitchen.

“Now what?” Bian said to Mr. Cheevers, who was standing by her and hissing.

Bian held the wine bottle like a club as she slowly made her way to the kitchen door. She peered cautiously into the kitchen. Turned upside down on the floor was the bowl that Bian was soaking the rice in. Wet rice now covered the floor like newly fallen snow.

“Now, how did that happen?” Bian asked aloud.

Bian placed the wine bottle on the counter as she bent over to clean the mess. There were small footprints tracked toward the back door, which was now open. Something struck her from behind and knocked her off balance to the floor. Bian turned to see Mr. Cheevers seeking traction in the rice and skittering it everywhere.

“I have had just about enough of you…” she said through her relief.

Mr. Cheevers darted out the back door as a powerful burst of wind blew wet leaves into the kitchen. There was the sound of breaking glass as one of the black walnut tree’s limbs crashed through one of the kitchen windows. The lights winked off.

Bian did not move while her eyes were adjusting to the sudden dark. The lightning illuminated the dark shape of a small-statured person wearing a cone-shaped hat in the doorway outside.

The lights flickered a couple of times and finally came back on. Bian was breathing heavily but dared not move. Terror seized her throat and preventing her from screaming.

Bian listened to the water dripping on the linoleum floor from the brim of her grandmother’s sizeable conical hat. While Bian’s body was paralyzed with terror, her mind was juiced with adrenaline. Bian looked over to the cutting board that lay no more than two feet from her. She looked for the knife she had been cutting papaya with, and it was gone.

“Go away,” Bian squeaked. “Please go away.” Tears began to roll down her cheek.

A wet coughing sound came from the direction of the figure. Bian went cold when she recognized the sound from her birthday a decade ago- she was laughing.

“You can’t be real. You’re dead,” Bian managed.

Bian backed into the counter, and as her hand went back instinctively to steady herself, she found the wine bottle and tightly gripped it.

The coughing laugh ceased, and then Grandmother Yang’s face went slack. Suddenly, she flung her arms wide and a wail assaulted Bian as the woman rushed toward her. There was a flash of silver and burgundy, and the old woman was propelled backward into a heap on the linoleum.

Bian felt a pain in her side. She dropped the broken neck of the wine bottle, discovering that she had not been quick enough; she felt the wetness before she felt the hilt of a knife. She dropped to her knees, and the agonizing pain swept over her.

“Oh my God, Oh my god,” Bian began repeating.

She reached into her pocket and found her cell phone. She scrolled through names and hit the send button. When she heard the voice on the other end, she said, “Help me.” Darkness consumed her.

+++

Bian woke up to the sound of buzzing in her ears. She had trouble opening her eyes, and her face felt hot and itchy. Bian had difficulty finding her balance in the swirling green and brown before her.

Something stung Bian’s face, and as she reached to slap the insect, she realized that her hand could not move. She tried to move her legs, which brought immediate pain, but it also sharpened her senses. She looked down at her legs, and beneath them were leaves, branches, and a gray sky. Bian experienced vertigo as her gaze followed the rope tied her ankles to a branch high up in a tree.

All around her were trees she did not recognize and a misty fog that seemed to cling to the ground. Her eyes began to focus better, and she could see Grandmother Yang a few feet away sharpening a large machete with a stone. The stone and blade emitted sparks as she slowly dragged it from the hilt to the tip over and over. The grin on Grandmother Yang’s face exposed her rotten teeth.

Grandmother Yang began the hairball laugh again as toward Bian. She grabbed Bian’s long black hair with her free hand. Bian decided that even though screaming might not elicit any help, she would do it anyway. Grandmother Yang’s eyes widened, and her horrible gagging laugh shook her body.

“Why are you doing this?” Bain asked.

“Price for dishonor is death.”

Bain began screaming again as Grandmother Yang lifted the machete above her head and swung it toward Bian’s exposed throat.

+++

“Bian, wake up.” A male voice pleaded, “Bian, you have to wake up now.”

Bian opened her eyes to a bright light that forced her to snap them shut reflexively.

“Bian, you have to wake up now.”

Bian tried to open up her eyes, and this time was successful. Above Bian was a large round light that hurt her eyes as her pupils tried to adjust. She felt the hard mattress of a stretcher beneath her. Her head hurt so much she wanted to vomit.

“There is my Bian. Thank God.”

Bian recognized the voice coming from next to her; it was Jim. He must have heard on the phone before she passed out. It was all a hallucination. She was going to be alright.

While her side hurt severely and her head felt like it would spin off into the air, Bian forced herself to face Jim sitting next to her. Instead of Jim’s familiar face, there was a grotesque visage of her grandmother. Grandmother Yang gripped Bian’s hand in a vise-like grip she could not break. The woman held up what looked like a small flat matchstick for Bian to see. Bian’s vision swam laps around the room, and she thought she would lose consciousness again, but the horror of the woman who was gripping her kept her awake for the moment.

The old woman took the object and rammed it under the fingernail of Bian’s middle finger. The pain was immediate and shot up Bian’s arm like electricity. It was not like any pain Bian had ever experienced. Hot tears burst from her eyes, and an endless scream escaped from her mouth.

+++

“Bian, it’s me- Jim. You are just fine, just please stop screaming.”

She was reluctant to look, so afraid it was another horrible trick being played by her cruel dead grandmother. She opened her eyes to the person holding her hand, and this time it was Jim; sobs replaced screaming.

“Oh, Jim, it was horrible. Keep her away.”

“It’s ok, Bian- you’re fine. You just got out of surgery, and the doc said you would make a full recovery. The knife missed your major organs; the doc said it was a miracle.”

It was too difficult to understand the words Jim was saying. Bian looked around the room, terrified her grandmother would reappear.

“Did they find her, Jim? Did they find that crazy bitch?”

“What are you talking about? You called me, and I called the police. They found you on the floor unconscious and bleeding. There was no one else there. ”

Bian took a deep breath and tried to focus, but everything was fuzzy, and sleep kept tugging on her consciousness.

“That crazy cat of yours was lying on top of you, and the EMT’s had a hell of a time getting him away from you to treat you.” Jim continued.

“Is Mr. Cheevers alright?”

“I just told you that you were found bleeding to death on the floor, and you are worried about your cat. That’s just like you Bian,” A smile crossed Jim’s face that made Bian melt. “Yeah, I shut him in the bathroom with the litter box and food. What happened?” Jim inquired.

“Not now. I am not sure what is real at the moment.”

“Ok, Bian, but you promise you will tell me what happened.”

“I promise…” Darkness began to overcome Bian. She was afraid of falling asleep, of dreaming. Would Grandmother Yang be waiting for her?

“Annie is waiting to see you. Do you need rest? I could tell her to come back later.”

“No, send her in.” Bian was hoping to keep sleep away just a little longer. She could not endure any more nightmares of her grandmother.

Jim and Annie switched places. Jim promised to come back later to check on her.

“You all had us scared to death, Bian. Are you ok?” asked Annie.

“I am not sure, Annie, but I think my Grandmother Yang attacked me.”

“You mean the one from Vietnam you told me stories about. I thought she was dead.” Annie replied.

“I know it sounds nuts, Annie, but I am sure it was her. She has a face you can’t mistake, and she has this horrible gagging cough…”

“But you said she died when you were a teenager, so it can’t be her,” Annie broke in.

“Dead or not, she was standing in our kitchen and stabbed me.”

“What are we you going to do?” Annie asked.

“I am not sure yet. Maybe we need a large dog or something.” Bian replied.

“Oh yeah, Mr. Cheevers would just love that,” Annie said with a hint of sarcasm.

Bian laughed a little and then winced.

“You look terrible. I think I need to let you get some rest,” said Annie.

“I just don’t want to fall asleep. Too many bad dreams” replied Bian. She was already drifting despite her best effort.

Annie was about to leave and then turned back.

“Funny you mention your grandmother. I have a little confession to make, and since you are in no condition to strangle me, I guess I can tell you.” Annie looked at the ground.

“Go on,” Bian sat up in her bed a little.

“While you were gone last week having dinner with your family, I used your grandmother’s pot to make some sticky rice. I know you told me never to touch it, but I was home alone and hungry. I hope you’re not mad at me.”

Bian was not angry; she was terrified.

+++

“Listen, Jim, I’ll be alright. I appreciate you driving me home from the hospital. I don’t know what happened to Annie. I have not been able to get a hold of her for the last couple of days. She probably stayed away and is with her boyfriend,” Bian said. Jim was carrying a small overnight bag as Bian unlocked the door.

“The police said they would keep an eye on the house since the intruder is still on the loose. I appreciate all you have done,” Bian said as they entered.

“You know how important you are to me.” Bian blushed a little.

The kitchen was cleaner than Bian expected, and the broken window was taped over. Mr. Cheevers sauntered in with an indifferent “Meow” and then trotted off.

“Did you clean up? You didn’t have to,” Bian said.

“The kitchen was a scene from a bad slasher movie. I couldn’t have you coming back to that. You get some rest, and I will cook us up something great.” Jim said.

Bian settled down on the couch and closed her eyes. Since the first nightmares at the hospital, she had been mercifully dreamless. Some sleep before dinner would be great.

When Bian awoke, the room was dark, but candles had been lit all around. What was Jim up to? The house was quiet, and she could smell food cooking- some sort of meat, vegetables, and the slightly sweet aroma of rice steaming.

“Oh God no,” Bian said out loud.

There was a crash in the kitchen. Bian hobbled in and stifled a scream. On the floor lay Jim’s body, and in the corner, Grandmother Yang stood with her long machete above her head. Mr. Cheever’s stood opposite her emitting a low rumbling sound.

Bian reached for the steam pot that lay on the floor, but it was still hot. She quickly snatched a towel from the front of the stove and picked it up. Grandmother Yang had closed the space between her and Mr. Cheevers.

“Hey, you! Hag from hell!” Bian shouted at her grandmother.

Grandmother Yang spun toward her, and she did, Bian struck her in the face with the pot. Grandmother Yang’s feet slipped on the floor and went down.

Grandmother Yang pushed her body up and looked at Bian with a face that was missing a lower jaw. Bian saw that it had landed in Mr. Cheevers’ water bowl. Grandmother Yang’s

lolling tongue slithered out of the gaping black hole of her throat. A howl emitted from Grandmother Yang so foul that it made Mr. Cheevers bolt out of the kitchen, but not before grabbing the rice basket from the floor. Bian followed and came to the bathroom door. She flung open the door and lunged inside.

Hanging feet first from the shower rod was Annie. Her eyes stared at Bian lifeless, and there was blood all over the tub below her. Her midsection had been sliced open, and her intestines draped under her chin like some sort of fat scarf.

Bian heaved, but only bitter yellow bile came forth. Bian inhaled to scream when something jerked her head back so hard she fell backward and hit the floor. Pain erupted from her scalp as she was dragged by the hair into the living room.

Something dripped on Bian’s forehead, and she looked up. Staring her in the eye were depthless pools of inky soulless black. Saliva was dripping from the exposed tongue that was attached to the open throat. She licked the few broken obsidian teeth that remained on the roof of the mouth.

Bian remembered that dark room on her sixteenth birthday, “Yang pot. No one else uses Yang pot. Someone other than Yang use pot, it is dishonor. Price for dishonor… death. You understand?” her grandmother had said. Now she was there to collect on that debt.

Bian closed her eyes, waited, but nothing happened. She opened her eyes to see Grandmother Yang staring at Mr. Cheevers, who was perched on the hearth next to an oil-burning candle. He was playfully batting the small glass container with his paw toward the edge.

Grandmother Yang gurgled something that made black bubbles erupt from her throat hole. She released Bian’s hair and moved toward the cat with her hand stretched eagle’s talons, ready to snag a rabbit. The glass jar fell to the hardwood floor below, a burst of flame, and lit her grandmother’s bamboo basket.

Grandmother Yang’s hat and tunic suddenly burst into flames. A screech like metal through a band saw erupted from Grandmother Yang. Acrid, foul-smelling smoke began to fill the room as the old woman dropped to her knees.

Bian rolled to her feet and scooped Mr. Cheevers up, and ran for the front door. She continuing running until she collapsed on the side of the road. Mr. Cheevers ran off into the woods. Bian could hear the sirens in the distance and knew that finally, the nightmare was over. Alongside the sounds of fire engines and other emergency vehicles was the loud whirl of cicadas in the trees. Bian sighed. She was at peace. Grandmother Yang was finally sent back to hell.

As Bian began to slip into a serene sleep, a new sound began to interrupt the buzzing cicadas and whine of sirens. It was the sound of an animal gagging on something it could not swallow.