Page 76 of Cackle

Or am I laughing? Is it me?

It is.

I pull at the dog-eared pages of the universe and fold myself up inside of it.

BAD REACTION

I am violently ill. I’m hunched over the toilet in my bathroom, throwing up some kind of gluey water-bile mixture. It’s the kind of vomiting that involves the entire body. It’s brutal.

I’ve been puking for some time when I realize I’ve been puking for some time. When the fog disperses and the events of last night return to me, when my thoughts become clear.

I called Sam. He told me he has a girlfriend. Sophie came over. Comforted me. Gave me weird mushroom tea. I felt okay for a while, I think, but now I’m hard-core praying to the porcelain God.

When the last bits have trickled out and all that’s left is spit, I deposit a dollop of toothpaste on my tongue, lift a handful of faucet water to my mouth and swish. I don’t have any mouthwash.

When I come out of the bathroom, my eyes shrivel inside my head. It’s bright out. It’s daytime. Not morning. Day.

I scan my apartment. It’s a mess.

What the hell happened last night?

I stumble into my bedroom, where I find my phone on the floor. The screen is shattered. I attempt to turn it on. Nothing happens.

“Damn it!” I croak. If the sound of my voice is any indication, I’ve aged five thousand years overnight.

I fall back on my bed. What was in that tea?

I take a series of deep breaths and must pass out again, because when I open my eyes, it’s cloudy and raining outside, and my phone is gone.

I hear movement in the other room. Sophie humming to herself.

“Sophie,” I call. “Sophie?”

Footsteps.

She pokes her head through the doorway. “Yes, pet?”

“What’s happening? What time is it?”

“It’s three thirty,” she says. “How are you feeling?”

I prop myself up on my elbows. “Pretty bad. What was in that tea?”

She cocks her head to the side. “Was it too strong?”

Images sweat from my subconscious. They’re heinous. Abstract. A collage of Bosch paintings.

“I think I had some kind of trip,” I say, scratching my neck. “Or an allergic reaction. I . . . I might have hallucinated or maybe had nightmares. I don’t know.”

Sophie comes in and sits on the edge of the bed. Her hair is in a long braid draped over her shoulder. She’s wearing a velvet dress with a corset top and long sleeves. She looks great, as always.

I probably look like a hag.

“I may have been a little heavy-handed,” she says, nibbling on her thumbnail. “It’s been a long time since I last made that blend. I’m sorry.”

“I got sick,” I say.

“Oh, no!” she says. “It was supposed to make you feel better. Soothe you. Maybe boost your mood.”