She looked at me as if I had something on face. Then I realized I had no face. No, not like that. I was wearing my mask -- the one I usually wear when I reveal myself to humans. I mean this mask is a thing of beauty if I say so myself: eight black feathers all around the sides, crocheted black lace in a web-like pattern around my now humanized eyes, six obsidian stones to hide the other eyes and two fang-like lace pieces hanging around my humanized mouth.
The shadowy black body below my head probably didn't help either. My human body was still forming.
"Are you gonna continue to sit there frozen and staring at me. I mean that would make sense if I was Medusa. But I don't do that type of paralyzing."
"How did you get in here? Where did you come from?"
"That cozy little closet you have over there."
"What? How? No one was in there!"
"Yeah nobody but that pesky little spider, huh?"
Oh, boy. Her eyes widened when I said that. "Yeah exactly what you're thinking. Now that little trunk over there is mine..."
Just then Toma walked into the house.
"Nkyimu, you here? I'm home!"
I sucked my teeth. People always coming in at the wrong moment. I hurriedly changed back into my spider form before she climbed to the top of the stairs.
"There you are. And what do you have there?"
Nkyimu looked around for me, but I was hiding in the shadowy top corner of the ceiling eavesdropping.
"Oh you found my trunk! Good thing, too. One of my friends at the salon asked for it. I was wondering where I put it."
I felt the echoes of her shock vibrate through my body. No! See this is what happens when things get found. Now someone else wanted my stuff, too.
"I'll be giving it to her later this week, so leave it there and come down stairs to help me with dinner."
Down the stairs she went and Nkyimu slowly followed behind, looking back at the trunk with the saddest face. She lingered for moment looking around to see if I was still around before she disappeared heading downstairs.
I lowered myself down to the trunk on a single thread and landed on the sewing machine. Don't worry, you're not going anywhere, I told it. I mean would you give up something with the power that this thing had. Them downstairs couldn't sense it, but I could sense its energy through every hair on my legs.
Later that night, I heard Nkyimu sneak out of her room and drag the trunk back into it. Of course, I followed her inside, crawling through the small opening under the door. Can't let her be too touchy with anything in there; she wouldn't know how to handle them.
As she lifted the trunk to place it on her bed, I changed form again. "Uh...hello?"
Nkyimu gave a loud yelp as she fell back on the bed.
"Everything alright in there?," Toma yelled from the next room.
"Yes mommy! I just hit my toe on something."
Turning her face back to me, she looked me up and down. "What are you doing here? Again?," she whispered.
"Again?...you have my things again."
"This is not your stuff. It is my mother's."
"Well she didn't seem to care about it anymore and I do, so I claim it."
"That's not how it works."
"It works for me."
Stopping talking, she gave me a puzzling look. "What?"
"What are you and why do you look like that? And you said you're name is Ana?"
"Yes Ana," I rolled my eyes, "and child, I'm still figuring out my shape. That's not easy, you know. And I'm what you could call, a technologist of texture."
"A technologist of texture? I thought you said you were were a spider."
"Yes. I create what isn't there. I have no true form. I have many forms and I present myself how I like. Probably why my father was annoyed by me all the time. But I like spider forms. Allows me to weave...the trouble I like."
Then I proceeded to give her the same look up and down. She was a dark brown, petite 13-year-old, barely over five feet. She carried most of her weight in her waist and hips with skinny legs and arms. Her hair was a cornrows style that ended into two afropuffs.
"Hmm...maybe I should look something like you..."
With a little bit of twisting, I shortened in height and thickened up in the torso to eventually look like a young, 13-year-old girl too with cornrow braids down my back and a halter top white dress with frayed ends. "Not bad."
"I know. I'd be shocked if I were you too."
"How do you do that? Are you some sort of demon? My mother told me not to trust those!"
"Please! I've got better things to do than what they do. And how do I do that? Easy because I can. Now back to this trunk ordeal."
"It's too late. She's giving it away."
"Oh no she's not. Not with what that machine can do."
I took the sewing machine out of the trunk and placed it on her bed. The black and white stripes on the machine swirled around its body. I ripped one of the threads from the end of my dress, which caused me to shift a little in my new body. I always forget my super-sensitivity when it comes to touch and the extra sensations I feel in a new body and in new clothes. When you eat based on the vibrations you feel on webs and legs, you are sensitive to every movement, but this is like magnified by a thousand.
Taking one of the spools in the trunk, I began wrapping the thread around it, the length of it increasing with every turn around the spool. From the side of my eye, I could see Nkyimu watching quietly, intently to see what I would do. I'll admit it, I didn't know what to fully expect either; I wanted to see what this machine could really do for myself.
Threading through the needle and presser foot, I then lifted the top part of the sewing machine from the bottom.
"Hey! Don't destroy it!" Nkyimu lunged towards the machine.
"Calm down. This is not any average sewing machine."
"But don't you need a piece of fabric to stitch into?"
The top easily lifted up and back. Slowly, I pressed my foot to the pedal. The white thread began to stitch into the air as if weaving into an invisible wall. Mesmerized, Nkyimu went closer to the thread now hanging in air. She lifted her hand in the air to touch it, but I snapped at her before she could.
"It's not done yet."
The air around the thread expanded and rippled like a piece of fabric itself while the thread grew brighter and brighter.
Then a loud POP!
YOU ARE READING
A Stitch in TimeFantasy
A teenage girl is worried about her mother's desire to give away an old sewing machine for fear of losing the powers it possesses of stitching in time and meets a strange new figure who may be able to help her.