Broken (Pinky) Promise
a surreal story by Michael R. Lee
In today’s story, your word is your life. Sales folk, elected officials, and attorneys need not apply. (Just kidding… mostly.) Grab a coffee or your caffeinated beverage of choice (if it’s morning where you are, like it is here), and start the day off right!
Broken (Pinky) Promise
by Michael R. Lee
“Excuse me, ma’am? Would you like to buy some Girl Scout cookies?”
Sweat beaded down Meredithe’s forehead. The sun was unbearable. Stopping to talk beneath it was even worse.
Meredithe turned, exasperated, toward the little girl. Short, wild brown hair and huge freckled cheeks. Round, bright eyes full of hope and optimism. The girl looked a bit like her, when she was younger, years before soul-sucking jobs had dimmed the light in her eyes.
Meredithe put on her best customer service smile—that always made people feel good—and said, “Sorry, maybe next time?”
The girl frowned. “That’s what you said yesterday.”
“I did?” Meredithe didn’t remember. She was customer service, so she made lots of false promises to get people to move along. Usually, though, that was because she was too embarrassed to say she had as little time as she did money to entertain whatever they were trying to rope her into.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t remember. Okay—will you be here tomorrow?”
“Yes,” the girl said warily.
“I’ll be here at 10 AM. Wait, 10:30 AM. I’ll buy a box from you then?”
“Can you buy Tasty Toffee? Nobody ever buys those. We have too many.”
Meredithe hated Tasty Toffee. She suspected most civilized people did. But what harm would there be in it? “Of course.”
The girl smiled and held out her tiny hand. “Pinky promise?”
Cute, Meredithe thought with a smile, and locked pinkies with her. “Pinky promise.”
She climbed onto her rickety bike (her car had broken down last year and she hadn’t had the money to fix it, so she’d sold it off for chump change and used that to buy a second-hand bike powered by tired feet and dying dreams) and pedaled down the road. The spokes were rusty and the gears unbearably loud.
Her favorite coffee shop, a dingy little hole in the wall, was just across the street. The nights had been unbearably hot this summer. A cold bean treat was the perfect way to beat the heat.
She had just finished ordering her drink when she recognized Ben, one of her coworkers, sitting alone at one of the tables. He was tall and lanky, and she was pretty sure his hair had never seen a comb. But they were friends, soldiers in arms against a common enemy: terrible management.
“Hey!” she said as she came over to sit by him. “I didn’t realize you worked today. I didn’t see you.”
“I’ve got the closing shift tonight,” he said gloomily. “I’m glad I submitted that assignment last night, or I’d be screwed. I might need you to help with art history this week. If you don’t mind?” he asked sheepishly.
Meredithe rolled her eyes and hummed, making it seem as though she was contemplating it. “I dunno. You’ve gotta make it worth my while…”
“I’ll cover your next two shifts when you call out.”
Normally, that would have been a blessing. But calling out meant her check would be short, and a short check made it harder to pay rent—an issue that was already waiting for her at home.
“I want your textbook once you’re finished,” she said at last. She’d been collecting the books she would need for her upcoming courses. She could sell the outdated ones for lunch money, and avoid astronomical textbook prices if she got the right ones.
“Deal,” Ben said. “Although I do need the French one back from you this week. I’ve got a test.”
“I’ll bring it in tomorrow.”
“That’s what you said last week,” Ben moaned. “Can you bring it back tonight?”
“Sorry, but I’ve gotta do something right when I get home, and I don’t really want to ride my bike back in the dark. Tomorrow, I promise.”
Ben probably would have made a bigger fuss had it been anyone else. But she’d been his lifeline throughout the semester—it helped that she was a few years older than him and had already taken a lot of his courses—so he only shrugged and held out a hand.
“Pinky promise?”
Meredithe laughed. “Seriously? What are you, in elementary?” She locked pinkies with him. “Pinky promise. And if you aren’t in tomorrow, I’ll leave it in the break room.”
She needed to hurry home. She’d promised Mark she’d meet him at the leasing office by 6 PM, and would be a little late. Meredithe hopped on her bike, slotted the drink into a cracked cup holder, and crossed the street.
She lived about fifteen minutes away from work, near the city limits. This part of the city was forgotten by time, far removed from the LED billboards and loud advertisements that rang throughout the night. The closer she got to home, the smaller the buildings became, and the less tidy. Fresh coats of paint were replaced by rust. Wide buildings boasting endless selections of goods became mom-and-pop stores the size of her bedroom. Even the light pollution barely touched the area.
Meredithe had lived in a mostly abandoned cul-de-sac for years now, in a small house that she had a creeping suspicion wasn’t up to code. Something was always breaking in there, and the power seemed to trip as often as she blinked. But rent was dirt-cheap, which was a bit more than she could afford between student loans and a job at a convenience store. So she split her rent with whatever roommate would tolerate the area—currently, Mark, who she could see through the landlord’s kitchen bay windows.
Meredithe hopped off her bike and knocked on the front door. The landlord’s son let her inside, and gestured for her to join the others in the kitchen.
“What took you, Mare?” Mark murmured. He was standing in front of Wanda, the landlord, who was just finishing a bowl of porridge at the table.
Meredithe flashed him an apologetic smile. “Sorry. Coffee? You can have the rest.”
Wanda said, through a mouthful of porridge, “We were just discussing removing the late fee on your rent payment due to the maintenance issues. Mark says there are other things that haven’t been fixed?”
“There are,” Meredithe replied. “The shower, mainly.”
“That’s no reason to be so late on your rent.”
“I know, Wanda, it’s my fault. Work cut my hours this week, and…” Wanda held up a hand to stop her. Meredithe fell short, and decided to change tactics. “I’ve picked up some work on the side. I promise we’ll have it to you by the end of this week. Late fee and all.”
Meredithe’s relationship with Wanda was tenuous at best. Rent was low, but so were standards. Maintenance requests for A/C and water issues went unaddressed far longer than they should, and would be grounds for a lawsuit if anyone cared to file one. So there was an unspoken agreement: the tenants didn’t complain too loudly about these issues, and the landlord allowed them to be unreasonably late on rent.
“Last time,” Wanda warned. “From now on, it’s the 1st of every month. Got it?”
“Got it,” Meredithe said, and went to shake Wanda’s hand. It was reflex, and nothing more. But she was surprised when Wanda greeted her with a pinky instead. Meredithe wrapped her pinky around hers and stepped out with Mark, who hopped on his bike.
“What’s with all the pinky promises?” she wondered aloud as they pedaled back home.
Mark gaped at her, confused. “You haven’t seen the new show that came out?”
“Mark, you know I don’t watch TV like that. What, is it like something the main character does a lot? Everyone I’ve run into today wants me to pinky promise to stuff.”
Mark gave her a deadpan look. “You haven’t been doing it, have you?”
“What else was I supposed to do? People look at you funny if you say you won’t promise something.”
“You shouldn’t be doing that, Mare,” he warned, his voice turning grim. “A person’s only as good as their word. People break oaths to God before they break pinky promises.”
“It’s a playground rule, Mark. Not that important.”
They approached the house, which Wanda had once described as a “lovely two-story abode that really captures that old, homey feel you see in photographs.”
Which meant it was as drab and boring as a piece of rusted steel, and looked a lot like a giant pipe that had been hollowed out by human-sized termites.
They came to a stop at the short driveway and parked their bikes on the side of the house, behind a large trashcan.
“It’s not that serious.”
“It is,” Mark insisted. “You’re messing with universal laws. You’d better be careful.”
Meredithe rolled her eyes. “Fine.” And then, she held out a pinky. Mark looked suspiciously at it, but she simply winked and said, “I pinky promise I won’t do anymore pinky promises.”
Mark bit his lip. Slowly, he extended his hand. “You better be serious about this.”
“As serious as a heart attack,” she said, then pinky promised to never pinky promise again.
#
Mark had gone upstairs to shower. Meredithe sat barefoot on the couch in the living room, an old black-and-white show playing in the background. Internet out here was unreliable at the best of times, so they were one of probably ten people in the whole world within their age range that still used cable. But Meredithe wasn’t paying attention to the TV. Instead she picked up what few videos her phone would load, and intermittently responded to texts.
#
— You said you’re working tomorrow, right?
Yeah, why? —
— Don’t forget my book. I gotta study.
OMFG, I won’t! I already pinky promised, remember? —
— Hmm okay
#
Ben inserted an icon of a pinky being held out. Meredithe did the same, and then left her message inbox to return to the video she’d been watching.
The TV flickered and went out. She looked over her phone at it. Had it finally given out? It was pretty old, and Mark had been having problems with it for the last few months. The lamps in the living room were still on, so it wasn’t an issue with the power.
Lightning cracked like a whip, knocking the power out. Meredithe yelped and dropped her phone. Clumsy. She rolled her eyes and searched in the dark, fingers fumbling blindly across the wooden floor, but she couldn’t find it. Had it slipped beneath the couch?
“Damn it,” she swore, and got off the couch to make her way into the darkened kitchen. There were a few emergency candles there that she could light. “Mark!” she called. “Power’s out!”
No response. She should probably take some candles up there for him, too, so he didn’t fall down the stairs and hurt himself. Once she found a handful, as well as a light, she lit one and traversed the thick and oily dark. Odd, how none of the light outside helped….
Except, Meredithe realized it wasn’t so odd, because there were only a few thin ribbons of light left outside at all, and they were a dull crimson. Thick clouds wrapped their hands around the moon and smothered it, making it nearly as dark outside as it was inside.
“Mark!” Meredithe called again as she made her way upstairs. “You okay? I’m coming up with a candle.”
No response again. Meredithe’s heart skipped a beat. That wasn’t like him. He could hear a sneeze on the other side of the country. “Mark!” she shouted again, voice shrill. Had he slipped and fell, and she hadn’t heard it? Knocked himself out when the thunder rolled? Or had the stupid TV been louder than the sound of him falling? Her mind raced with possibilities, ways in which he might have hurt himself and she’d been too caught up in something else to hear.
Meredithe rounded the corner to the bathroom. Stopped. Blinked. The candlelight danced playfully in front of her nose, making her silhouette flicker against the wall. Except there shouldn’t have been a wall there at all. This was where the bathroom door was.
Meredithe turned around to confirm she’d entered the right room, although there wasn’t really any other choice, since the bedroom was the only room upstairs. Their bed and dresser were in place.
Was this a dream? Had she fallen asleep on the couch? She pinched herself on the arm and felt a very sharp, very real pain. Not a dream.
She let out a shaky laugh and dropped the unlit candles. Mark wasn’t the type to play practical jokes. And even if he were, how would he make an entire room vanish? She knocked where the door should have been, searched the wall for any lines or holes that would indicate where the door had once stood. It was as smooth as an egg.
Phone. Gotta find my phone!
Her knees shook violently. She nearly fell down the stairs, unable to support her own weight. Suddenly her mouth was as dry as cotton, and although her eyes felt moist, they also felt frighteningly dry.
Meredithe knelt before the couch, careful not to let the flame get too close to the fabric, and peered beneath it. Her phone had slid nearly to the center. She extended her arm as far as she could. Not enough. Set the candle aside, now pressing her shoulder against the couch. Her fingertips brushed the screen. Pulled it toward her. The familiar feeling of her device in her hand, now to call 911 and—
—a pale, featureless face peered at her from above the couch. A scream caught in her throat. She stumbled backward, bare heels scraping against the wood. The head and face of the person—creature?—were like an egg. An egg sat atop four pencil-thin steel rods protruding from a well-tailored business suit. Light emanated from the head like a light bulb. Cartoonishly large hands reached for her, ten digits on each. None of them were thumbs.
Meredithe screamed and tried to run, but her legs failed her. One cartoonish glove grabbed her ankle and dragged her back toward the creature.
“No!” she shrieked, kicking at it. But it was like kicking a table leg. The creature didn’t flinch when she made contact, and her reward was a bruised heel.
“LIAR!” The voice seemed to come from everywhere at once. Feminine, but not quite. Masculine, but not enough to be that of a typical man. Almost like a neutral AI, like that of the GPS on her phone. “I am the Warden of Promise. You, Meredithe Mason, have violated the sanctity of the pinky promise!”
“Wh-what?!”
“Broken promises! Even a broken promise to never pinky promise again! Such sin cannot go unpunished!”
“I…” Meredithe gulped. “I’ll f-fix it! I’ll keep my promises!”
“That isn’t enough! The universe is out of balance because of you. It requires a soul.” The blank-faced figure pointed accusingly at her. “Yours.”
She didn’t know what the creature would do with her soul. She didn’t want to know. Meredithe squirmed, twisted, felt the glove burn her ankle as she yanked free and scurried across the ground, fumbling with her phone. But it was no use. Her fingers were slick with sweat, and the screen wouldn’t register her inputs. She stared hopelessly at it, tears running down her face.
“There has to be another way!” she cried. “I want to fix it. I’ll do anything. Just don’t kill me.”
A pause. “Do you understand the implication of balancing the universe? What all this will entail?”
Meredithe leaped on the opportunity, tearing her eyes away from the screen to look the creature in its face. “Yes! Just tell me what I need to do!”
“The universe requires balance,” the creature repeated. “You must purchase Girl Scout cookies every week for the rest of your life. Tasty Toffee!”
“Oh God!”
“You may never own an academic book again! Romance is fine. Your rent must be paid on the first of every month, and you must always have rent to pay. Mortgages don’t count! If you violate any of these rules, I shall return for your soul!”
“I’ll do it! Cookies, no books, rent paid—done!”
The creature leaned away from her. “Oh,” it said simply. “Well…okay, then. Pinky promise?”
Meredithe started to extend her hand, and then remembered. “I pinky promised not to pinky promise.”
“Good. You’ve learned your lesson. However…” The creature took her hands in its gargantuan ones. It felt like fifty hands grabbed her as its fingers ran across her bone and skin, confusing her senses, tickling her.
And then it snapped her pinkies like twigs. Not just once, but at every joint. Meredithe threw her head back and howled.
“The universe is satisfied,” the creature said as it floated away from her, toward the front door. “For now.”
With a flourish, the front door shut. Lightning cracked again, and the clouds removed their fingers from the full moon. It laughed at her misery. The lights in the living room came on again. The old sitcom began to play, picking up right where it’d left off. Water ran upstairs as Mark took his shower and sang loudly to himself.
Meredithe trudged wordlessly over to the couch and sat down. Her mind felt numb. Drained. When Mark came back downstairs, whistling to himself, he saw her broken fingers and turned green.
“What the hell happened?!”
“I slipped and fell.”
“Why didn’t you come get me?” Mark demanded. “Those need splints. I’ll call a friend so you can get to the ER.”
“Okay,” she said, her face and voice blank. “Can you take all the academic books out of the house while I’m away?”
Mark blinked. “Do… what?”
“Textbooks, that sort of thing. Take them out of the house. Put ‘em in the trash. Also, I’m buying cookies on the way home. Tasty Toffee.”
“Mare, are you okay? You’re acting weird.”
“Yes, Mark, I’m fine.”
He held out one hand. Meredithe’s eyes bulged as they slid toward his finger, and a bead of sweat formed on her brow.
“Pinky promise?” he asked innocently.
Sweat fell into her eyes. Off her face and onto her lap.
Meredithe threw her head back and screamed.
Meet the author:
Michael R. Lee is a coffee-addicted writer living in Jacksonville, FL. He often looks down and realizes he can see the tag on his shirt, or that he's somehow put his right shoe on his left foot without realizing it. He enjoys mixing genres and writing about the surreal and absurd, such as the cosmic penalty for violating the sanctity of a pinky promise (yes, this thought kept him up for many nights!)
