The Howling Giggle

Eloise walked her usual path home.

It was 11:41 p.m. The bakery was busy as ever: a rotating wheel of tourists, regulars, businessmen and businesswomen, and the usual college crowd.

Spring had sprung, and the transitional breeze grazed her face as she smiled at another successful day. Most businesses fail within the first two years, especially restaurants: there’s the competition, labor, skill, location, equipment, the ingredients, power costs, and other expensive considerations, like insurance.

“Bakery Eloise’s: Delicious Eats, Artisan's Delight” had become her private joke — each new customer, a tribute to her hidden spells. The name itself made her giggle as success gained traction.

Despite the success of her business, however, Eloise had — what one would call — a particular tendency. She had a particular thirst that could only be satisfied by fucking people over. Eloise loved being underestimated, argued with, debated with, and fought with. She lived for the “What now, bitch?” moments where she had done the “in your fucking face, I overcame. Me!”

Her favorite means of expression was cursing people through her food.

Normally, food is medicine for the soul, like a good drink (alcoholic or non-alcoholic; there are universally good drinks: fresh pineapple juice). Good food is made tamper-free from a place that can only be expressed by the mutually-delightful-exchange from chef-to-the-diner through ineffable gestures: it is, they are; this is it. When it runs in the other direction, the exchange isn’t so subtle.

In Eloise’s case: the exchange between her and her customers was her prideful lust for being on top. She didn’t care about the customer; she cared that, “the fucking bitch of a customer never had anything fucking better, because I am the fucking best, bitch.”

She did this with a smile: her deep blue eyes and long, curly blonde hair complemented the whimsically innocent portrayal she had learned to maintain through a “beautifully unaware” smile. She always knew what she was doing, but she knew what her beauty bought without her making a sale.

She cast spells on the flour, with the same innocent smile she feigned for customers.

Eloise felt pride in her intellectual capacity to betray so ruthlessly. 

Eloise carved Wiccan runes she didn’t comprehend underneath the ovens, chairs, and tables.

All of the cleaning liquids had “Blessed tonics” mixed into them.

Every surface of the bakery — every seat, every booth, plateware, silverware — even the designs on the walls, down to every single ingredient in the kitchen — had been intentionally manipulated at a spiritual, metaphysical level that Eloise didn’t understand.

She knew what she was doing, and why; however, Eloise never thought to consider the how, at least not beyond the means and the ability.

Eloise qualified value by what she could gain.

Eloise had never learned to observe what she was giving for those gains.

If Eloise wanted a million dollars, she would give her shadow to get it.

Beyond “fuck you, I win,” what Eloise really wanted was to feel a particular feeling that comes from the awareness she is winning at games no one else is playing. Eloise always won because Eloise always played alone. That's what she was: the smartest player in the room. 

The spells she cast on her food and bakery were random. She had a Celtic book of runes, a Haitian book of blessings and curses, and a book of summoning rituals.

For fun, she combined runes with blessings or curses, depending on her mood. As she combined the rune and the intention, she would perform the summoning ritual on whatever page her book opened to.

Eloise had been doing this since college. She was incredibly social, popular, and (by perpetuated media standards) beautiful.

Her slender nose was slightly pointed, and her features were delicate and graceful. Her skin was wrinkle-, blemish-, freckle-, and spot-free.

Eloise smiled as she walked home. Proud of herself. She thought:

“I wonder what the croissant will do to that couple. His cup had an Ofelsege rune, but I put a luck blessing when I was stamping it. I did also use the Ofelsege summoning ritual on that stamp kit though. Double cursed with a splash of luck. Oh fuck. Hmph.”

“Heh. Heh,” something snickered, as Eloise passed an alley between two apartment buildings.

Eloise paused, curious.

What kind of entity was she running into this time? '

What would it want — and more importantly, what will it give for what it wants?

She could part with a bit more empathy; maybe a little ugliness; or she could give a wrinkle, a dimple, a freckle?

Maybe her ability to gain weight?

She could trade someone’s love, perhaps — assuming she had the patience to harvest it first.

Men are easy, and she didn’t have time for that though. More than anything, Eloise needed money she didn’t care about spending.

Her lustful gluttony manifested as wrathful pride that needed to satisfy her envious greed — a greed that clung to Eloise’s back like a sloth on a tree.
It wanted to want, so it did.
In doing so, it wanted everything, all the time.

Eloise wanted everything and nothing, never and forever.

The game wasn't fun if the void wasn't being filled. But, Eloise was an endless void that could never be filled. 

“A trade? You trade?” asked the giggling voice between the shadows.

Its giggles had a slight hiccup that sounded like low howls. The creature sounded as if it were throwing up, weeping, and laughing at the same time. Its voice was child-like: a certain naivety and quality of innocence seeped from it.

It didn’t feel evil, Eloise thought.

Eloise didn’t feel her knees tingling either, so the trade couldn’t possibly be so bad. At least not as bad as a day in The Library Between. The things she saw. The things she read. Then, there was the Whispering Librarian. Eloise paused. “I’m getting ahead of myself,” she thought.

“What’s the trade?” Eloise asked.

“Giggles. I, heh heh, need to laugh,” the howling giggling voice whispered. “Give me your laughs in exchange for giggles. Trade?” it asked.

Eloise’s goosebumps began sticking up. She was excited. She had a brilliant idea.

“I’ll give you all of my laughs, for a dollar a giggle,” Eloise said, snickering. Her smooth, delicate hand covered her soft, plump, and wrinkle-free lips.

“Currency? Heh. Heh,” the whispering, giggling entity asked from the shadows. “Heh. Yes. Heh. Heh. Your laughs will be mine. My giggles will be yours. Heh. Heh. A dollar every time you giggle my giggles. Heh. Heh. Deal? Heh. Heh. Deal?”

“Ha! Ha! Oh, yeah! Deal, bitch!” Eloise shouted, proud. Another win. Another victory. Another gain. A gain with gains!

“Heh. Heh. Done!” the entity howled and giggled. “Ha! Ha! Nice trade. Ha! Ha!” The entity laughed, delighted. Its child-like voice exuberant and jubilant; the nuanced quality of innocence gone.

“Heh. Heh. Oh, yeah. That’s two bucks,” Eloise said, giggling.

A breeze blew. Eloise shivered.

“Ha! Ha! Nice trade. Nice trade,” the entity whispered with a graceful laugh. The laugh had slight distortion: a slight howl.

“Heh. Heh. Whatever. That’s four bucks in less than two minutes. Heh. Heh. Make it six. Heh. Heh. Eight!” Eloise said, giggling.

Eloise’s phone buzzed. A notification appeared on her screen.

“You have earned 8$ Giggle Dollars!”

The absurdity made Eloise want to cry, but she traded her tears for hydrated skin.

“Oh well. At least it’s pretty funny,” Eloise said. She felt a laugh coming up, but she could only giggle. “Heh. Heh.”

And, thus, Eloise giggled and giggled, making giggle dollars she couldn't spend.

Her hair fell out. Her throat became scratched. Her voice coarse. Her skin more and more pale. Eventually, she just sat staring at the cursed walls of her bakery. Giggling.

The bills piled. Eloise giggled.

She giggled herself into the shadows. 

Then, one day, a beautiful woman with golden hair passed through an alleyway. Eloise was captivated by the woman's unnatural beauty. Her skin was smooth. Wrinkle free. Blemish free. 

“Heh. Heh,” Eloise snickered, as the woman passed the dark alley between two apartment buildings.

The woman paused. A sinister grin unfurled on her face.

“A trade? You trade?” Eloise asked, giggling voice between the shadows.

The woman laughed, scoffed, and walked away. 

Eloise giggled in the shadows. She tried to cry, but only giggled more. She tried to weep, but her cries sounded like attempts at howling between giggles.

Eloise tried to stop giggling. It didn't matter. She giggled and howled even more. 

As she sat in the shadows, she heard something buzz. A light flashed.

"Congratulations! You're a Giggle Dollar Trillionaire! Heh! Heh!" a message on her cellphone read.