Dark Days in Sharm EL Sheik

Her eyes stung from beads of sweat running in slow rivulets down her forehead. Here on the Red Sea the heat was miserable. Better than Cairo she thought, where she'd often offered more than just a massage. The sun burnt tourists were always friendly and tipped well. Her shift was almost over and her overweight American patient fell asleep some time ago. Miret could feel her stomach tighten as she thought of her next fix. Mustafa the Turk, always had the best and his price was fair. Best of all, when she had little money she could use other methods of payment.

Cleaning up her station she bid the new shift farewell and went out the back entrance heading over to the employee huts. The smell of garbage suddenly filled her nose and she thought about the contrast of the tourist areas and true Egypt. The Egypt she knew and hated was to Miret just one big garbage bin.

Her hut was small and it welcomed her with its cool interior. She kept it very clean. Miret understood, to make it in the tourist industry one had to present a tidy image. Once inside, she closed and locked the hut's thin wooden door with a soft click. She went into her kitchen and grabbed one of the little vinyl-aluminium chairs. Carrying it over to the door she carefully placing it under the knob and jammed the door closed. Management often tried to surprise their employees. Not Miret.

Exhaling deeply, Miret pulled out the old leather bound Koran and opened it to a grimy page near the back. She felt her pulse quicken as her heart beat faster and faster, her fix near. The little bag with its brown contents, her spoon and kit now lay on the commode. Her bathroom door was closed, locked tightly. Miret left Egypt; she moved body and soul to cooler and more affluent regions of the world. Places where women could be more than labor and pleasure. Time left with her and she was free.

Suddenly she felt something pulling her back. It touched her and she felt heat from its grasp, painful yet more. It was vile, truly evil a rabid darkness. She tried to escape, but it attached itself to her somehow, clinging to her very soul. She felt weary as it fed and grew.

*

Merit slowly came down and woke up with her back to the bathroom door. She had a sharp pain where her right leg fell asleep. Rubbing her leg vigorously and slowly standing up, Miret looked into her little mirror. Her tired eyes looked back and then for an instant, a flash, she saw it! She thought it was a dream, but no, she saw it. Looking hard it flashed again. "Yes my dear, we are one now you and I." No, no, cried Miret, what are you? She could hear it plain as day, its steely voice edgy and capable. She realized horrified. The voice, the voice was in her head.

Miret's mind screamed as she fought what was happening to her. The thing held on tight as she mentally pried at its degenerate grasp. "Give up girl, your mine now and we have work to do," again its voice, crisp and haunting in her head. No, please, she continued to struggle slowly realizing its hopelessness. Miret fell back to the cold white tiles exhausted, her mouth moving as if it had a mind of its own. What do you want from me, what have you done? "Oh dear, you don't know do you?" She could feel it smiling; somehow she knew it was enjoying her pain. I was hard to tell at first, its voice so strong and steely, Miret thought it was a man, but now as it spoke, she realized it was a female voice. A voice so utterly horrible she thought she must vomit. Tasting the sour bile she asked, who are you? "Dear, later, later. I said, we have work to do."

Miret felt herself being pushed as if she were a marionette. She saw her hand open the thin bathroom door, and as if with a mind of its own her body began to walk into her small living space. Quickly passing the sitting area Miret could hear her feet making soft padding sounds as she entered the kitchenette. Left hand on the worn Formica top, her right hand pulled the drawer's handle. It opened with a soft screech revealing her utensils and the two kitchen knives she’d brought with her from Cairo. Her left hand reached out and grabbed the larger of the two, her mind screaming as she saw its razor sharp edge glint and reflect the light. Miret was right handed but the knife felt so comfortable in her left, it’s as if it belonged there. She looked again at the knife and shuddered in horror, it reflected not her visage but that of a monstrous toothy grin.

"So sweetie, where do we find this, Mustafa?" I-I- can't, no- what are you, no. "OK sweetie, then it's the hard way." Miret felt her mind ache as if it was being squeezed in a press. Arghh, the pain! "So, off we go. Next time simply tell me and save yourself some pain and pride dear." Miret turned on her heel and headed toward the simple door. Exiting quickly, the door slammed leaving flakes of cheap white paint flittering down to the cement of the entrance. Merit, her eyes squinting against the sunlight felt sickened by what the old crone had planned.