woman in the coral

by Rebecca Karas

I found the dried coral at an antique shop, bleached white and dusty among a box of porcelain figures. It reminded me of a hand with fingers pulled together; thin yet strong, covered with miniscule holes. Pulling my fingers across it was incredibly satisfying, as a hedonist with a propensity to fidget. I caught myself rubbing the coral as I drove home, wrist deep in the crinkling plastic bag, imagining what part of the ocean this coral had seen. I lived in a land-locked midwestern state; it was mesmerising to think how far the zoophyte traveled to find me.

I placed the coral on my nightstand that night, watching it in admiration as I pulled the covers over my shoulder. It shifted slightly just before I closed my eyes, nearly falling to the floor, so I held it, cupping it between my hand and my head. Just as sleep became a shroud over me, the coral shuddered—visions of its past spinning through my mind. I saw a woman buried at sea, her body draped over a deep coral forest below a wooden boat, her chin tilted upright, her blushing lips pointed toward the surface. The woman’s body was covered in lesions, a disease I didn’t recognize, although it didn’t diminish her beauty. I watched while she traveled a watery underworld alone, eventually tucking her abating energy into a piece of coral. The hand silhouette brought her comfort.

I caressed the hardened texture in a haze, imagining I was a fish pressing myself against her form, picturing us swimming among the forest of madrepora. Just as I pulled the woman-coral under the sheets, placing her hard exterior slowly up my thigh, I lurched up. The trance faded as my embarrassment bloomed.

Her hand suddenly felt ice cold on my fingertips. It was shiny as I pulled it toward my face, covered in something light gray and sticky. The substance dripped on my shirt; exuding a scent that was electric yet musky. Fear overtook me, and I placed the coral-hand in my drawer as she dripped over my belongings.

***** 

Something flashed in my eyes as I walked toward the door the next morning, nearly late for work. I glanced over to the nearly bare mantle above the old fireplace. Atop the thick layers of paint, set upright as if she was proud, sat the woman-coral. The viscous fluid was gliding down her form slowly, catching the morning light in my eyes. All fear was forgotten, and I took her husk back to my bedroom, the hand filling me up, drenching my sheets, with a glimpse of what her life was like before I had found her, dusty and alone at the antique shop.

I found the woman-ghost had loved me the moment I touched her, the moment I caressed her on the drive home, how I had brought memories of the body she missed before it became diseased, and now she was nearly indestructible, formed in her own image as an eternal woman in the coral. Hoping, someday, to be found by a woman like me. Someday I would join her, intertwined on the ocean floor.

Photo of Rebecca Karas

BIO: Rebecca lives in the midwest with her husband and two cats. She's an avid baker and library patron, although she's happiest reading Gothic Literature to the eldritch wildlife around her home. Her work has been published in Witch House Magazine, Cursed Morsels Press, and Dark Speculations later this year. You can find her rambling thoughts @rebeccakaras.bsky.social