Aloha Mannequins

By Raymund Hensley

Hawaii has its secrets. From goth clubs to insane dolphin activists that wear full-body dolphin suits, Aloha Mannequins will open the eyes of any tourist. A dark comedy novella.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Raymund Hensley
• Release date: Apr 10, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458050946

Raymund Hensley

Raymund Hensley is the author of Filipino Vampire.

Book preview

Aloha Mannequins

By Raymund Hensley

Copyright 2010 by Raymund Hensley

Smashwords Edition

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Cover design by the author

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"Aloha Mannequins is a funny story of eerie,

inner circles in Hawaii...Great story, great humor!"

-Sterling Knight, www.macabremenace.com

CONTENTS

PART ONE

PART TWO

PART THREE

PART ONE

Eye Nodule

THE ORCA KILLS THE SHARK by torpedoing into its belly from underneath, causing the shark to blow up. When this Gothic fellow opens his mouth, there is a shark inside. He has four rows of sharp teeth. He rolls his eyes back white. We all lean over the table with hungry eyes. He SNAPS his mouth shut and scares us and leans back, laughing like Santa Claus.

Hohoho!

Someone I don’t know laughs with him to be his friend.

Heehaw!

The place is hot. Moist. Sticky. Dim. Everyone wears black for some reason, but not in a racist way…at least I hope not. I haven’t seen anyone yet with blond hair. Strange, dream-like music plays—not what I expected in a Goth club (I expected hard-core, industrial, German speed metal. Later, I find out that they DO play it. Just not on these nights). Something invisible and thick hangs in the air. Something is going to happen, but when? The suspense is a major thumbs down for me, although I assume these folks get off on it. The place is dirty – although it’s a strange, stylized dirtiness: controlled dirtiness. I try to remember the name of this bleak place: Galaxy or Neutrino or some other sci-fi-ish word.

Everyone looks happy – everyone’s having a good time. I see these people all the time at the mall, loitering outside of Longs Drugs. Mall security is always waving a finger at them, chasing them here and there while holding their jiggling belts. Taki hands me a bottle of something: Looks like a vitamin bottle. It’s small. I unscrew the cap and drink a taste.

Vodka. A vodka and vitamin C shot. It’s good, but one is definitely not enough. He opens his backpack and pulls out 3 more bottles and sets them on the table, almost as if they were trophies. He examines the empty bottle and I can barely make out his eyes behind his vampire-shades. He leans in:

Did you drink all of this?

I thought that was what you wanted me to do.

He laughs and continues unpacking his goods while bobbing and swaying to the music.

It’s so hot in here. My skin feels sticky. I sit alone on a couch (I hope nothing dead is under these cushions), in a corner that has been painted a thick black: The floor makes a sick, sticky sound when people walk past. That’s the key word for tonight, sticky. There’s a black-light, which means that passing white shoes glow. People in black trench coats and black tights walk about, aimlessly, showing off their threads to onlookers, doing that thing where they look over their shoulder at you and wink. Everyone has a bottle of water. You can’t bring water in a place like this…you must buy water at the front. But you can bring in all the alcohol you want. Huzzah!

A shortie and some tall white boy sit next to me. I don’t know how, but I start chatting with this girl. It’s very unlike me, due to my crippling shyness, so I assume those vitamin shots are kicking in. She’s not beautiful, by my ignorant standards, but she looks nice, and she is very friendly. She starts talking about her folks in Russia and the music in the current, local Goth scene. She asks where I’m from and I lie to seem more interesting.

Russia. I’m from Russia, I scream over the loud music.

After awhile, the man with the shark teeth arrives again and seems to be passing me odd glances. He’s thin, tall, and has long, blue-streaked hair. Lucky for me, he finds a friend to speak to before throwing his attention at me. I mean, what the hell are we going to talk about? The fluid dynamics of sharks? I’m a 1st time visitor to this small, black place with the yellow painted nuclear power sign out front. I don’t know the language. Yet.

I can feel the dizziness coming on hard, and I start getting the dread. I underestimated those deceitful shots. Someone walks by in the distance. I hope it’s not who I think it is.

My memory rewinds: It was.

Great.

It was her, and I immediately feel depressed, and ugly, and insignificant.

One Hour Earlier...

EXT. DOLE MOVIE THEATER – NIGHT

With friends. Just finished seeing Cowboy Bebop. Great film – in parts, anyway. See ex-girlfriend talking with movie promoter. Feelings of depression, uselessness, suicide, guilt, and major ugliness. Taki seems to notice, tries to make me feel better by complimenting my horrendous, shorty-short haircut.

You need to go out and find someone to fuck.

And I say out of pre-panic attack: Yessm.

We pick up his two female friends – dressed in black dresses, of course (I feel out of place and uncool with my glasses and blue jeans) – in downtown at something like 11pm, and speed away into the night. I don’t speak to them. Or is it, they don’t speak to me.

Stop near Hawaii Culture Center and park on some dark, side road. The night streets are busy. People jaywalk. I’m excited. This is crazy goodness. I can’t wait to enter another universe. Maybe even a place where people understand me and share my mental poop.

Taki crosses the busy street towing two large, plastic Safeway bags of liquor as a trolley honks. The driver shakes a mean fist, tourists snapping bright pictures. The club’s entrance fee is a tad high for our wallets and there’s some discussion about my lack of cash. I’m too out of my mind to really be following any of this: Mind plagued by noisy images from the annoying past. It turns out that everything’s going to be okay somehow and we move ahead.

Taki says with a smile – smiling to maybe soften the blow:

Hey look who it is...

I see who it is and my stomach punches me. I should’ve known. Taki and her have similar tastes in clubs. Why didn’t I connect the dots earlier! If he’s going to a club tonight, surely would she.

I back up.

Er...

Aw come on, man, don’t be like that.

I’ll just wait for you guys back at the car.

No, no, you’re going to come inside and hang loose. And then we’re going to find you some hot chick and get laid in spades.

I didn’t realize it was that easy! But no.

All I hear as he yaps is her voice, saying over and over again, You’re a loser; call me when you grow up.

I imagine the sweet taste of alcohol and say: Fine. Good. I’ll be fine so long as I stay low and hide in some dark corner, on a suspiciously soft couch.

One Hour Later...

This couch is getting soft; I think I’m sinking into it. I take hold of the glass vodka bottle with my wee, skinny hands and take a swig. I remember then why I hate vodka. The stuff went down with a fight – it wanted to come back up, the furnishings of my stomach too poor for its liking. To be nice, I offer some to a girl that walks by. I don’t say anything of course, I just hold up the bottle and smile. She smiles back through those black-painted lips and says, No thank you, kind sir. Vodka gives me the toots. I nod and she walks off, vanishing into the dark.

I’m determined to hold the alcohol down. I hate to waste anything. I might as well be vomiting Taki’s money: Then what kind of a friend would I be?

I lean back.

That couple is still here, chatting with Sharkman. A screwball kid with a sledgehammer walks up to the table, which is actually a giant, upturned wooden spool for industrial wire. He pounds his sledgehammer on the table, rattling empty beer bottles. It’s obvious to me that he does this for attention. His smile looks mean. No one cares, so he does it again, smiling brightly. Someone says Hello and the kid moves on.

Taki calls me and we head outside.

It’s noisy outside. Large groups of tall, white people lean against their cars, giving me the stiff one-eye as we walk past. The music inside the club tries desperately to free itself through the walls, sounding muffled. A lot of people have on contact lenses: Red ones, white ones, sometimes both. The glowing eyes are interesting. I feel so out of place. I keep my eyes down as we walk.

What’s a tiny white boy with glasses doing in a place where everyone wants to be a vampire? Besides, I like mummies better.

Taki walks me into an alleyway and we kneel between the front of a car and a length of dangling chain that’s blocking off a parking lot. A swinging sign on the chain reads DO NOT ENTER.

Taki reaches into his waist-cut, Matrix-looking, pleather jacket and pulls out what looks to me like a large, glass kazoo filled with The Buddha, aka marijuana. I’m shocked. That’s a lot of green. The whole thing is filled. More of who I assume to be Taki’s friends pop up…so many eventually, that there’s enough of us to make a cute circle. Odd how no one even makes on effort to introduce themselves. There’s something unsettling about that – there’s something unsettling about Taki’s buddies in particular: As if they just don’t give a damn about anything, even if they got run over by a truck-load of Hawaiian pigs.

All they want to do is smoke The Thigh and be lost in their little, tripped-out world.

There are some girls with us. All not very attractive. They seem rather dirty and lost. I like what they’re wearing, though: Gothic, black dresses…I’m reminded of Interview with the Vampire for some reason. I wonder if these people work at Taco Bell or Dip N’ Dots.

Everyone seems to be dazed out of their minds, and we haven’t even tongued the dung yet, if you catch my drift. Taki’s young, male friend (a brown-skinned chubby, showing off an Iron Maiden shirt) puts the glass tube to his lips and sticks a lighter down the grassy hole. He inhales, eyes growing huge, and the grass filaments light up like electrical wires. He passes it down the line – the girls try – another tries (are these people magically materializing?) – a heavy girl tries – and then it comes to me. I don’t want to look like a goof,