“Don’t touch that.  You might break it.”

Kelly jumped at the sharp admonition from her grandmother.  If she had been holding the cup right then, it would have slipped from her hand for sure.

“I’m sorry, child.  I didn’t mean to startle you, but it mustn’t break.”

Grandma stared at the teacup, wrung her hands in her apron.
“Why?  It’s just a little pink cup.  It doesn’t even match anything else on the shelf.” 

At ten, Kelly now had the privilege of entering her grandmother’s parlor, a place off-limits to the younger kids.  The antiques lining the shelves were just odds and ends to her, but grandma said they each had a story to tell.

“That pink teacup has been in the family for over one hundred years,” her grandmother said, settling into the overstuffed chair to wait while the cookies baked.  “Would you like to hear the story?”

When she nodded, her grandmother’s eyes took on a faraway look.  Kelly sat on the floor next to the chair to listen.  Grandma always told good stories.

“The woman who originally owned it was said to have evil powers.  Family members recorded that right before she died, she asked for that cup. 
 

“They said that tears flowed down her face as she held it and several drops fell into it.  As she drew her last breath, she muttered an incantation and smoke filled the room for a moment.  After she died, the tears in the cup formed a black stain that wouldn’t wash out.  After that, people swore that the cup whispered to them.”

“Like it was haunted or something?”  Kelly watched the muscles in the old woman’s right cheek twitch, a pained expression cross her face as she fell silent.  She looked unhappy.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing – nothing at all.”

Grandma spoke quickly, tried to smile but her lip trembled now.  Kelly didn’t understand the woman’s nervousness, but it had something to do with that dumb old cup.

“Why don’t you get rid of it if you don’t like it?”

“It won’t let me.”

The muttered words were so faint that Kelly imagined she heard wrong.  The timer rang in the kitchen, announcing fresh-baked cookies waiting to be pulled out of the oven.  Her grandmother left to attend to them, reminding the girl not to touch anything.

Kelly tiptoed over to the teacup, peering into the bottom of it while clasping her hands firmly behind her back.  The black stain rested in the bottom, just as grandma said it did.

“What?”  Kelly whirled, sure that someone had just spoken to her.  Off-balance, she stumbled into the shelf, causing it to rattle.  A low laugh emanated from the cup, its sound pitching into a screech as it became louder.  Unnerved, Kelly picked up the offending cup and threw it onto the floor where it shattered, silencing the brutal sound.

Her grandmother entered the room and moaned, collapsing to the ground in utter despair.  Kelly didn’t have time to wonder about grandma’s well-being, as a cloud of smoke rose from the broken pieces to claim the young girl.

©2009 Laura Eno

Laura Eno (http://lauraeno.blogspot.com) has written two YA fantasy novels and a paranormal romance.  Her flash fiction has appeared or is forthcoming in Twisted Dreams, The Monsters Next Door, Flashes in the Dark, 10Flash, House of Horror, The New Flesh, Everyday Weirdness and MicroHorror.

“It’s time.”

Andira watched Borril’s face as he made that announcement, looking for any hint of indecision, even a bit of sympathy.  His shuttered expression held neither.  Normally, he wore his thoughts openly.  But today…today was not a normal day.

She couldn’t fault his attitude.  Andira had only herself to blame.  She broke the law, committed the murder, even though the victim was already dead.  In the eyes of the law, there were no exceptions. 

Perhaps Borril felt guilt from his involvement in the matter.  After all, her act of violence had saved his life.  She couldn’t have stood by and done nothing.  Apparently, he didn’t agree.

*****

Seated now in front of the panel of judges, Andira wondered why they bothered with a formal sentencing.  The result was always the same.  She mouthed the words from memory, having heard them often enough throughout her childhood schooling.

“This panel finds the defendant guilty of murder.  Transcription of consciousness will take place in two hours, suitable host to be determined by the Commissioners.  This court is adjourned.”  

Borril led her back to her cell.  Two hours of contemplating her toenails while they worked out the computations to have someone else do their dirty work for them.  Ironic that Borril would be part of that team today.  Andira tried to take a nap, but couldn’t still the restless thoughts.

In 2357, less than fifty years previous, transcription technology had been discovered.  A person’s consciousness, or ‘soul’ if one chose, could be displaced in time, occupying another’s body.  If the host body died, the transcript displacement caused the other to die as well.

Of course, that observation came by chance during an accident in the lab. 

The resulting furor by religious groups shut down the recreational use of it.  Then the Commissioners built a platform around the technology, splitting hairs with capital punishment reformists in order to hammer out an agreement with them.  Now people were sentenced to die hundreds of years in the past, sharing the same barbaric method of death as the host.  Earth’s peaceful society retained its unblemished record this way.  Andira snorted at the thought.

Could she have done anything differently that night?  She’d thought of little else in the last two weeks, sitting alone in this metal cubicle.  Her mind reluctantly played through the scene again, knowing that events wouldn’t change any.

Andira remembered the smell most of all.  It was the first indication of something horribly wrong as she walked through Borril’s front door that night.  A scream of fury echoed down the hallway right after she’d called out his name, but it wasn’t his voice. She’d stumbled into the bedroom after racing down the hallway, finding Borril on his knees, begging for his life.  A corpse stood over him, butcher knife resting casually against bones no longer capable of sustaining flesh.  A severed head carelessly dangled from the other hand, strands of red hair entwined about her fingers.

Everything happened so fast after that, and yet she could replay it all in slow motion now, relive it at her leisure.  The swing of the knife missing its target as Borril rolled to the side.  Andira picking up the burning candle from atop the dresser, lunging at the woman with the only weapon she possessed.  The tattered remains of fabric igniting, the singeing of hair as the head caught fire.  Staring at the sodden char after the sprinkler system shut off. 

Watching Borril back away from her as he signaled the police.  Her ignominious arrest for murdering a corpse.

*****

Borril came to collect her two hours later.  He led Andira to the lab and strapped her onto the table, really looking at her for the first time in two weeks.  A sliver of emotion slipped past his porcelain mask.
“I’ve gone over the calculations myself, timing it so that you’ll only have to spend a few moments of consciousness before the blade falls.  I wish…”  He stopped, unwilling to pursue the conversation any further.

“Get on with it then.”  Andira closed her eyes, waiting for the disorientation she’d been told to expect.  She hadn’t asked whose body she’d be sharing.  It hardly mattered.  A few seconds of awareness at most, before they both died.  Not worth knowing the particulars.

*****

The smell assaulted her senses.  Andira looked around the dank room in disbelief.  She should be lying against a chopping block, blindfold draped to lessen the terror about to befall her.  She delved into the mind of her host, retrieving a name.  Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots.

The years passed slowly for both of them, but by the time the axe bludgeoned its way to final victory, Andira had perfected her plan.  The next time she went after Borril she wouldn’t miss.

©2009 Laura Eno

Laura Eno (http://lauraeno.blogspot.com) has written two YA fantasy novels and a paranormal romance.  Her flash fiction has appeared or is forthcoming in Twisted Dreams, The Monsters Next Door, Flashes in the Dark, 10Flash, House of Horror, The New Flesh, Everyday Weirdness and MicroHorror.