Beetle Juice Read online

  “Yes,” she said, surprised. “I—I have been feeling them all along, from all around. I just didn’t realize what they were.”

  “You are pretty. That’s why the boys want to get into you, so to speak.” There was more embarrassed laughter, but the point had been made.

  “This has repercussions,” he continued. “Especially if the thoughts are of sex.” Now sex suffused the room, as the students responded; they could not help it, being novices at telepathy. “This is the secret of the rape preventive. A girl does not send the suppression to the boy; she merely puts it strongly in her mind, and when he reads her mind he gets it. He can if he chooses prevent being turned off; all he has to do is respect her privacy and stay out of her mind.” Now there was embarrassed laughter. “And of course he can do it too, not that he wants to. Instead he prefers to let thoughts of passionate sex prevail, and if she reads his mind that passion becomes hers and she wants it as much as he does. So it behooves her, too, to respect his privacy, if she does not want to have sex with him. Since reading minds is a deliberate conscious act, it is easy enough to respect privacy.” Privacy was perhaps the most vital concept following the onset of telepathy. That was why students were carefully monitored and guided throughout their maturation.

  “You make a good teacher,” Weava said approvingly after the class.

  “I learned from a good teacher.” Yet he was unsatisfied.

  What was his were-form? Why was it so late in manifesting? How important could it be? And what was its liability, that might make him want to flee?

  “Please,” he said to Weava one day. “I am consumed by curiosity. What are my were-prospects?”

  This she could answer. “We suspect that though most folk are limited to ordinary were-forms, such as mammals, birds, reptiles or even insects, you may go beyond.”

  “Beyond? What else is there?”

  “Fantasy creatures.”

  “You mean things that don’t exist? Ogres, dragons, ghosts?”

  “Yes. Or creatures with special magic powers.”

  “Magic is illusion. I mean, there is no such thing.”

  “Not in our frame,” she agreed.

  “There are other frames? You never taught us this in class.”

  “I was not allowed to. The authorities feel it would be disruptive. But other frames do exist. Sometimes we are visited by them. This is not common knowledge.”

  “I’ll say! How could I become a fantasy creature I know nothing about?”

  “What you become does not depend on what you know. We teach you all the normal creatures so you will have basis to relate when you become one of them. So you will not be unduly confused. Now perhaps you should study fantasy creatures, just in case.”

  “When I was small, I feared ghosts,” he said. “Willa pooh-poohed that, and I think she was correct. I have not believed in them since.”

  “Believe in them now,” she said. “You may become one.”

  “A ghost? They are intangible.”

  “Or a similar spook that is tangible. When you enter the supernatural, there is no limit.”

  “I find it hard to believe you are saying this. You have always been my most sensible teacher.”

  She smiled. “I remain sensible. I am trying to prepare you for what may happen. When the ordinary no longer applies, the extraordinary comes into play.”

  He shook his head, bemused. “That would explain why they would want to keep me here. A real live dragon would be a considerable tourist draw.”

  She did not laugh. “It would. Fun for the tourists. Not for the dragon.”

  But he simply couldn’t credit it.

  Meanwhile he was not considered fully adult until he achieved his were-form, so could not assume the prerogatives of citizenship. He was in limbo, in between, physically mature but incomplete. He was marking time.

  A year passed, during which he learned all about fantasy animals and the many manners of sex. Weava was an excellent teacher in both. He performed routine village chores, as was a citizen’s duty; others allowed this, anticipating his eventual transition. Several classmates found partners and moved to other villages, while several new men moved in to marry local girls. There was no set rule, but normally women did remain home while men traveled. Wetzel did not want to admit it, but he was becoming bored with the local village life. Even though he loved his continuing affair with Weava, and liked assisting her in the classes she taught, especially drama, the prospect of adventure elsewhere was appealing more strongly.

  Unless Weava would agree to marry him and bear his children. That might be all the adventure he needed. He did want to be a family man, at least after sowing his wild oats. But she would not. She had allowed herself to love him, but she refused to bind him. She would be his lover, not his wife.

  Then, when he least expected it, it happened. He was walking through the nearby woods on the way to a fruit orchard when he abruptly transformed. Into a horse. A pure white stallion.

  Except that there was a long spiraling horn projecting from his equine forehead. It took him moments to make sense of this anomaly. Then it connected.

  He was not a horse, but a unicorn. A were-unicorn.

  He quickly reverted to his normal form, and discovered that he had lost his clothing. His shirt and pants had burst asunder when he transformed, and were now rags.

  Well, it hardly mattered. He tied on the tattered pants and ran back to the village to tell Weava.

  “You transformed!” she exclaimed, reading his mind.

  “To a unicorn,” he agreed, kissing her.

  “Darn.”

  “But you were right. I’m a fantasy animal.”

  “The liability,” she said carefully. “Don’t you know what it is?”

  Now he remembered. “The unicorn’s horn is magical. It can penetrate any armor in combat. It can purify water merely by being dipped in it. It can cure illness and heal wounds, by touch. So people try to kill unicorns for their horns.”

  “That too.”

  “What else?” he asked, slightly nettled.

  “Do you still want to marry me?”

  “Well, of course I do.” Then he paused, startled. “No I don’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because—because you’re not a virgin.”

  “True. You and I have had sex four hundred times.”

  “This is ridiculous,” he protested, wondering peripherally whether she had kept count. As a teacher, she tended to be precise. “You’re a wonderful woman, and I love you, and—” He paused again, chagrined. “I no longer love you.”

  “I have not changed.”

  “You have not,” he agreed. “You are as wonderful as ever, and I know it. But I have. I am no longer capable of truly loving a non-virgin.”

  “And that is the significant liability of the unicorn,” she said. “He is emotionally vulnerable to virgins. A virgin can make you do anything. Until you have your way with her.”

  Wetzel worked it out. “I can have sex, but I can’t marry, because after sex her virginity is gone. It’s not rational, but that is now my fickle nature.” He considered the problem. “But I believe I can have sex with a non-virgin. You remain sexually appealing to me.”

  “Sex without love,” she agreed. “Or love without sex. These are now your choices.”

  “And it will be the same wherever I might go. Damn!”

  She sighed. “I gave you sex without love, originally. Now you can return the favor by giving it to me.”

  “Why should I treat you that way?”

  “Because you do still like sex, and you are magically appealing. You will have all the women you want, who will be fascinated by your mere presence, whichever form you use. Beginning with me.”

  “You want sex with me, knowing that I have lost my love for you?”

  “Yes. I know you will not stay with me now, so I want it while I can get it.”

  “Weava, this is unkind. I don’t want to treat you like that.”<
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  “Please. The urge is very strong.”

  What could he do? “As you wish.”

  “This way,” she said, and transformed to her deer form.

  Startled, he considered. The unicorn and the deer were different species. But they were not really different; they were alternate forms of two people who had already had sex many times. So it was not miscegenation. She wanted to be the first to do it with him in his new form. How could he deny her that?

  He tried to mount her from behind, but he was far larger as a unicorn than she was as a deer, and it simply wasn’t feasible. She realized it too, and changed back. He rejoined her in human form, and they assumed the animal position, emulating what they could not actually do. That turned out to be enough. While it was good for him, physically, he knew from her mind that it was phenomenal for her. There was indeed something about a unicorn, whatever the form of the moment.

  She kissed him. “Be warned,” she said as they relaxed. “I am not the only older woman in the village who will crave your attention. Any you get near to, single or married, will do her best to get you quickly into her. Your young classmates too; they will no longer care that they grew up with you. It’s a man’s dream: every woman eager.”

  “But I don’t want to mess with them! Few are pretty, and none of them are virgins.” Then he shook his head. “What a callow rake I have become. You’re right: I should leave before the jealous men burn me at the stake.”

  “I fear you should, though you will not find satisfaction elsewhere. Oh Wetzel, I wish you had achieved some other form!”

  “So do I. I’ll go now, to spare you more pain you don’t deserve.”

  “Do that,” she said tearfully.

  Wetzel packed his few belongings in a backpack, including several shirts and pairs of pants, and walked to the edge of the village. And stopped.

  A row of armed men barred his way. The villagers had learned of his transformation, which could hardly have been concealed considering the telepathy, and were acting to confine him to the village. He knew why: as a unicorn he could do their water supply much good, and he could facilitate all manner of recoveries and cures. He had become a valuable village asset.

  Weava’s prior warning had been apt. He should have left the village while he could. Now he would either have to fight his way out, or accept his situation.

  He did not want to hurt anyone, even if he could then heal them. Wordlessly he turned about and walked back into the village.

  “I feared that,” Weava said, kissing him. “We shall have to barricade my house, at least until the villagers get organized to protect it.”

  Because if the men were already out, so were the women. A number of them stood in sight, and when Wetzel glanced at them, they opened their shirts invitingly. There was no subtlety, physically or mentally. They wanted raw sex.

  “He is mine,” Weava announced, and shut them out. Then inside: “But you are not mine. I am only shielding you to the extent I can. That won’t be effective long.”

  “Not long,” he agreed. “Oh Weava, what can we do?”

  “We must be practical. If any woman gets inside the house, don’t argue with her. Screw her, literally. Then she’ll go and we can block off the entry she found, to prevent others from using it.”

  “But you—how can you encourage me to do that?”

  “I have discovered that the sex we had satisfies me, at least for now. It may be several hours before your presence overwhelms me again. So I am being practical. We must try to keep the women at bay until we figure out how to get you out of here.”

  “I should have heeded your advice, before.”

  “You should have,” she agreed. “Yet I can’t say I’m entirely sorry you didn’t. Once I made the mistake of letting myself love you, I wanted your frequent embrace.”

  “You should have remained emotionally aloof,” he agreed sadly.

  “Now I know that it was the precursor to your unicorn state that made you so appealing. It was just too easy to fall. I did know better. Now I will pay.”

  “Weava,” he said, pained.

  She shrugged. “Hardly my first mistake, and surely not my last. I will handle it.”

  “When I escape, come with me!”

  “You don’t even love me!” she flared. “The point is you must get away by yourself, and somewhere, somehow, find your destiny. If you want my company, you will have to return here.”

  She was correct. “But of course they won’t let me go.”

  “You can escape,” she said persuasively. “Simply seduce the chief’s wife into sneaking you out. She knows how.”

  He shook his head. “Not that way. I must depart honestly or not at all. You taught me integrity.”

  “Unfortunately I did. But this is a dishonest situation. They have no right to hold you here.”

  “That does not justify dishonesty on my part. You taught me that too.”

  She sighed. “I taught you too well. Very well, for now. We must deal with the hand we have been dealt. You will remain and service the local women as they require. The challenge will be the virgins.”

  “I don’t want to service anyone!”

  “Be rational. The married women will demand it, and their husbands will let them.”

  “Why should they do that?”

  “You have never lived with a woman who is determined to have her way.”

  He laughed. “Only you.”

  “Touché. Believe me, the husbands will allow it, because the wives will either divorce them or make them wish they were divorced unless they accede. This isn’t infidelity; you’re a unicorn! They will probably set up a schedule. You will accede because you will have no choice. Husbands, too, can be brutally persuasive. But as I said, the challenge will be the virgins. They are the only ones you will want, and also the only ones not interested in you. You will have to learn the art of courtship.”

  “But any virgin I seduce I will lose interest in.”

  “Exactly. Then a man can marry her knowing that she will thereafter be true to him, since you won’t touch her again.”

  Wetzel had a problem with this. “If married women want me, why wouldn’t ex-virgins?”

  “Oh, they would. But they would be women loved and scorned. It will take them some time to get over that.”

  “You understand this better than I do.”

  “I do,” she agreed. “It comes with being of the feminine persuasion myself. I suggest that you follow my advice now. This will enable us to live in this village without undue strife.”

  “I can stay with you?”

  “Yes, if you want to.”

  Wetzel spoke carefully, clarifying his emotions as he did. “I can’t say I love you now, though I wish I could. But I know you for the excellent person you are, and I trust you. You are my friend. I like your company. I want to remain with you. I will give you sex any time you wish it. Is this a fair compromise?”

  “Yes, Wetzel. Give me sex now.” Her need was burgeoning, now that some time had passed; he felt it coming at him, though she was not using the stimulus thought on him. She simply couldn’t help her passion in his presence.

  He embraced her and got to it, making sure she got her climax. He shared that, and it was good. Then they slept.

  The following days played out as Weava had predicted. Wetzel bedded one wife a day, catering to her so that she was fully satisfied. Meanwhile he learned the seductive art from Weava and practiced it on one virgin at a time. It was indeed a challenge, but with persistence and increasing skill he did manage to seduce each village virgin. These were by far his most satisfying liaisons, but each ended the moment he succeeded. Virginity was of the mind as much as of the body; once a woman had sex she was changed, her original naïveté gone. It was that emotional freshness that he craved. He left behind a series of angry young women, even though the rules of this game had been clear from the outset. Each foolishly hoped to be the exception.

  He also transformed and used
his horn to guarantee the purity of the village water supply, to heal wounds, and cure ailments. When a rogue bear attacked the village, Wetzel speared it with his horn and left it dead. He did have formidable physical and magical powers, and was certainly paying his way. In fact he could have run the gantlet of men barring his departure, killed them, and escaped. But he was determined to leave peacefully or not at all. It was his compromise with his situation. He knew it and they knew it, because of the telepathy. He did not bother to hide it; why should he?

  He could have been happy this way, as he had everything a normal man might want: sustenance and plenty of sex. Except for the one thing: he could not love a non-virgin, and he could not keep a virgin. It was the paradox of his unicorn identity. If there was a resolution, it was not here. He doubted it was anywhere, because it was inherent in his nature, but at least he could dream that somewhere in the universe there was an answer. A virgin he could both love and keep.

  “I wish I could be that virgin,” Weava said sadly.

  “I wish so too. You are the perfect woman. I know it. But I just can’t—”

  “I understand,” she said. And she did. That was part of her tragedy.

  Then he spied the trail. It came up to Weava’s house and terminated. It led through the village without touching it, winding into an unknown realm. He tried to fathom it via telepathy, but found only nonsense: Beetle Juice. He followed it briefly, then, nervous, returned to the house.

  “What is it?” he asked Weava. She was able to see the trail only when he held her hand and faced it.

  “That is your legitimate escape,” she answered. “I know of it only through legend, but it seems it is true. It is an aspect of an entity known as the Amoeba that spans all our universe and all time and all alternate universes. Few, very few, are ever offered the privilege of joining it. This is your destiny, Wetzel. You must take that trail.”