Miriam Mitchell, Peking Duck and Bela Lugosi
by SL Kretschmer
When Toby O’Connell began working in the kitchen of The Imperial Moon, a Chinese restaurant, his only intention had been to add some spice to the otherwise predictable words embedded in fortune cookies. He thought it would be amusing to watch the furrowed brows of patrons as they attempted to interpret their fortune. Unfortunately, Toby O’Connell had a passion for vintage horror movies, resulting in his quotes of choice being somewhat questionable, derived as they were from his visual pleasures.
Miriam Mitchell, on the other hand, was reserved, a creature of habit. A sensible woman who wore flat black shoes, alternating with flat brown ones, skirts of drab hues, and practical shirts. For most of her adult life, Miriam had lived alone in a one-bedroom apartment. Dust-free plastic flowers in faded blues and pinks sat on the windowsill. On Mondays, Miriam would attend Bingo; Tuesdays, a basket packed with curried egg sandwiches, a thermos of tea, and a visit to the local park (weather permitting) to feed the resident blue jays. And Thursdays, she would order Peking Duck from The Imperial Moon and watch horror movies on her television.
It may seem an anomaly for someone like Miriam to enjoy this form of entertainment and, for Miriam, it was most definitely a guilty pleasure. Her parents had forbidden her to watch any form of entertainment that involved inherent evil. This included psychopathic killers, vampires, and everything in between. In their minds, viewing anything less than pure goodness would unleash the wickedness that lurked within, impatiently waiting for liberation. Miriam felt a palpable thrill that tingled her skin when she watched these forbidden — though uncorrupting — pleasures. Her heart would race, the adrenaline pumping furiously when Christopher Lee slid his teeth into a virgin maiden’s neck. Or when Jack Nicholson took an axe to a closed door. Yes, it was indeed Miriam’s dark secret.
On the first Thursday, after Toby O’Connell had begun employment at The Imperial Moon, Miriam sat down with her freshly delivered Peking Duck balancing on her knees and pressed play. She’d decided to watch Psycho, anticipating the shower scene while sucking plum sauce off the juicy duck wing. As she always did, Miriam jumped when Norman entered the bathroom before extracting the fortune cookie, eyes glued to the screen. She bit down and pulled out the small paper with her teeth to discover her fortune.
Miriam was perplexed. What an odd fortune. But the line felt familiar. She tapped her chin and furrowed her brow. Miriam realised with a start it was a line from Psycho. Janet Leigh had said it just a few scenes earlier. Miriam placed the paper on the side table and resumed the movie, a small disquiet settling upon her.
Now, if this incident had transpired just once, Miriam would soon have forgotten the unusual fortune. But, alas, it was not to be. The second week Miriam had been watching the 1922 version of Nosferatu when the innocuous piece of paper read:
Miriam’s heart had skipped a beat. She’d watched Nosferatu over one hundred times and knew this line by heart.
The following week, she’d chosen Cronenberg’s The Fly. She ripped the cookie in half as soon as the delivery boy left. The words read:
That night the Peking Duck congealed in the rich plum sauce, and the Asian greens were left to wilt, untouched.
It was surprising that Miriam continued to order Peking Duck and watch horror movies after these startling coincidences. But then again, Miriam was a creature of habit. Her days, however, felt jumbled; her thoughts continually returned to these ominous fortunes she was receiving. Her moods jumped wildly between guilt, remorse, and fear.
The plastic flowers gathered dust; the caller enquired fellow bingoists about Miriam. The blue jays were denied the crusts of curried egg sandwiches. For Miriam had become convinced that her parents had been right. She was cursed for her ill-fated desire. She made an oath to herself, one she was determined to keep. One last movie. One last Peking Duck. Miriam would cease with her Thursday night obsessions; she would not become a doomed heroine.
She answered the door to the delivery man in disarray. Her sensible shirt tucked in only halfway. One black shoe on, one brown. She snatched the bag before slamming the door. Breathing heavily, she reached for the TV control, pressing play. It had taken her many days to consider which movie to watch, finally deciding on Browning’s 1931 version of Dracula, her all-time favourite. The video began, dulcet tones of Swan Lake filling the small living room; a shroud-covered castle, a crypt, and a hand emerging from a coffin. Miriam’s heart pounded as she crushed the cookie, her breath rasped raggedly between dry lips.
The colour drained from Miriam’s face. Was she cursed? Possessed? Were her parents’ fears coming to fruition? Her skin burned, flushed with the adrenal rush. Miriam clutched her chest; her heart, like a rapid eagle’s wings, pounded on her breastbone before slowing to an erratic, faint drum and finally failing.
The words of fortune fluttered to the floor, and the grainy image of Bela Lugosi emerging from his coffin was the final vision Miriam Mitchell’s fading eyes beheld.
As for Toby O’Connell? By an even stranger twist of fate, on that very same night, as Toby left The Imperial Moon, he grabbed a fortune cookie, biting into it as he stepped off the sidewalk. Toby pulled out the piece of paper, which read:
Toby was perplexed; he hadn’t written these words. Toby was so distracted by the fortune that he failed to notice a delivery truck careening around the corner, its wheels slamming into the curb. He also didn’t see the flying hubcap spinning towards him.
It seems, at times, that fortune cookies can be extremely unfortunate.
Copyright © 2023 by SL Kretschmer
