The Malevolent Miu Mius

Who needs a handbag when you’ve got two of them under each eye?

Meet Sarah.

Our latest client.

“I like had to like take some time off work because things have been like so bad.” Sarah says in her fellatio-inflected up-talk. Her eyes red and wet with tears.

“Oh, what do you do Sarah if you don’t mind my asking?”

“I work in public relations. I like run the social media content for Black Eye Gallery.”

Don’t ask me how Mimi finds our colourful clientele. They pay. So, it doesn’t really matter what they say.

Can you tell if my Hamster has ESP?

I think my cat is the reincarnation of Elizabeth Taylor, can I pay you two to do a past life regression session on Lady Snookie?

My apartment is haunted by the ghost of Taylor Swift.

Taylor Swift is still alive!

I think this ghost is from another multiverse where Talyor unalives herself due to Harry’s cheating ways. Could you pretty please do a banishing spell? Like a quick one?

Right.

Not proud of it. But Money is Money, Melody. That’s what Mimi said as we made our way to Starbucks. Mimi. My bestie and partner in psychic-mediumship who happens to have a click click fixation. Talk to her about her fashion obsessions. What do you mean I don’t need every metallic miniskirt in every available colour from Paco Rabanne? Girl, hush!

So here we are. With Sarah.

“Do you know the Miu Miu meme?”

“The Miu Miu meme?”

She shows us this:

I bite down on my lips. My head light as if helium-filled.

Mimi scowls at me. I mask the outburst of laughter with a quick cough.

“Uh, yeah. Heard of it.” I mutter.

“Funny, hunh?” Sarah says in a valley girl gladiatorial vein.

Haunted Miu Miu’s? Some clever duckie trying to flog her used shoes off to some poor babe-on-a-budget claims she wants to get rid of said shoes because they are haunted. Every time she puts them on, she sees the dead. A steep price to pay to be well dressed. It is all well to be well-heeled except of course when said heels make you see hell. Not buying it. The tale I mean.

“It’s an urban joke cum urban legend, Sarah. Some girl’s very clever marketing strategy. Haunted heels are the new haunted house. You know there are girls who go in for that sort of thing. Nothing like the fear factor to make fashion fun.”

“Yeah. That’s what I thought. Then I bought these.” She places a box on the table and opens them.

“Oh men! I have always wanted these!”

“Put them down, Mimi!”

“Fine.” Mimi places the haunted heels on the low coffee table. Her full mouth in a pout.

The shoes sparkle like jewels. Glitter Miu Miu Mary janes in blue.

“So, what’s the story?”

Sarah leans forward in the leather armchair. Her head in her hands. Her bright bottle blond hair stuffed inside the velvet hood of her robin egg blue Juicy Couture track suit.

“So, a girlfriend called me and was like do I want some new shoes?” I can never tell if Sarah is asking a question or making a statement. “So, I was like yeah what you got? And she sends me a pic of these brand new – they looked like brand-new shoes. She was like moving to Palm Springs with her man. Some rich dude who like I think is actually her Sugar daddy but any way I guess that’s not the point?”

“I guess not.”

“So, I go over to her place and she like looks like shit. Her shellac manicure was at least like a month overgrown. Her hair is like in a messy messy bun. I mean like the messiest bun like ever. And the state of her condo? Yikes! Anyway, she asks me for like a hundred bucks and I’m like OMG! Total steeeaal. I paid her and like I wore it to a gala. And that’s when things started to get weird.”

Her lips tremble. Her tired red eyes brim over with fresh tears.

“I wake up and I hear this click clack of heels down the hall. Like someone is walking around my apartment. I have wooden floors and I hear someone walking from my kitchen into the sitting room. I was scared. I like live alone. I got up. I had called my boyfriend, Artie. I checked the door. It was locked. I saw that the blue Miu Mius were out of my closet. In the middle of my sitting room. And I was like how did… because I keep all my shoes in my walk-in closet. I like to like organise them and stuff but these Miu Mius were on the floor. It happened every night. I would put the shoes in my closet always next to my fuchsia satin Manolo Blahniks and my neon green Amina Mauddi mules. And every night I hear the shoes click clacking around my apartment. And I wake up. Oh my God! And they are right there in the middle of my sitting room!”

“There, there. It’s okay, babe.”

Mimi opens her white quilted Chanel bag, rummages through, and brings up a rectangular pack of handkerchiefs. She places it on the wooden table next to Sarah’s venti soy latte.

Sarah takes a tissue out and dabs at the sides of her puffed-up, tired eyes. She lifts her large latte to her lips and takes a much-needed sip.

“I couldn’t sleep in my apartment anymore. Artie, my boyfriend, picked me up and I stayed at his place. But I kept hearing it. It kept waking me up. The click-clacking. And Artie’s room would get super cold. And this was in June. And there was just an aura of terror. I was acting so crazy Artie said I either go to a psych hospital and like sort myself out or… he kicked me out! He said I was crazy. And I’m not! It been months since I’ve taken any drugs. Honest! Anyway, I like realized I wasn’t crazy. Guess what happened to Clea?”

“Clea? Who’s Clea?”

“The girl who like sold me the shoes.”

“What happened?”

“She didn’t go to Palm Springs! They found Clea in her apartment. Her neck in a Calvin Klein belt! Calvin Klein!” I look to Mimi. She closes her eyes and gives her head a slow shake as in don’t ask. “They say she was depressed.” Sarah continues. She blows her nose into a crumpled handkerchief. “They say her Sugar daddy went back to his wife. They say she had a lot of credit card debt. Blah! Blah! Blah! But it was the shoes!”

“Hm. Are you sure?”

“I wasn’t then. I tracked it down.”

“How?”

“There was talk at work. Clea had a huge closet and some friends like wanted to do an online yard sale to cover like funereal costs and stuff. Well, someone in the group chat was like well one of Clea’s shoes is missing. The glitter blue Miu Mius. And someone was like oh yeah, she loved those shoes, she should totally wear them for her Last Look. So, like where are the shoes? I didn’t say anything, and they couldn’t find it. Of course.”

“Of course.” I say.

“Because you had them.” Mimi says.

“Yeah. And then someone was like do you know who gave her those shoes? And I was like, oh, who? It turns out that her Sugar Daddy was actually married to Mathilde Aubry.”

“Shut. Up!” Mimi screams

“Who?”

“Really?” Mimi stares at me in wide-eyed horror.

“Don’t start, Mimi. Who’s Mathilde Aubry?”

“She’s only one of the greatest quaintrelles to have ever lived! She basically invented the whole Jaunty Jacobean look.”

“What?”

“She was a fashionista.” Sarah explains. “Like maybe you’ve heard of her book Nicholas Hilliard but make it Punk.”

“Nope.”

“Oh, Melody. You can’t American Apparel your way through life. The Gap leaves several gaps in sartorial expression.”

“I don’t just shop at American Apparel and the Gap, you dimwit.”

Mimi laughs then remembers herself and takes on a studied sombre look.

“So,” Mimi clears her throat, “Clea had an affair with Mathilde Aubry’s husband.”

“Peter.”

“Hang on. Didn’t you say that Clea um… unalived herself because her Sugar daddy went back to his wife?” I ask.

“Yeah. His second wife. Mathilde died really young. Years ago. Peter remarried. Then he started seeing Clea on the side and he gave Clea some of Mathilde’s stuff.”

“You think this is the origin of the curse?”

“What else could it be? Mathilde must have been enraged that some chick her manwhore hubby was banging was like wearing her stuff.”

“Why didn’t you just throw the shoes away?”

Sarah lifts her large latte to her small lips and sips.

“I did.” She whispers.

“And?”

“I would hear the click clacking at night. I would wake up and they’d be there in the centre of the sitting room. I thought I was insane. I tried to set the shoes on fire. Instead, I almost burnt myself.”

She pulls up the velvet sleeve of her arm. A splotch of discoloration. Healed.

“That looks like it was very painful.”

She nods.

“It was. I thought of ending my life. And like that’s when I realized that’s what happened to Clea! I was so desperate then I like heard about you guys from Georgette.”

Oh my God.

Mimi gives me a smug sidelong smirk.

Georgette and the ghost who gave her Gonorrhoea. Another story for another day.

“You guys helped her.”

“Yes. Yes, we did.” Mimi nods proudly.

“She kept having wet dreams and she kept getting The Clap which was like impossible because she was celibate for like ten months.”

“A simple straight forward case of paranormal parasitism.” Mimi says with her eyelids half-lowered in solemn sagacity. “She’s doing quite well I hear.”

“Yeah. She’s engaged to her dream guy. I mean the guy – her ideal guy! Not the guy who was doing it with her in her dreams. Gross! What a douche bag!”

“Sadly, death doesn’t enlighten any of us. A clap-dispensing douche in life, a clap-dispensing douche in death.” Mimi says “Sarah, I need to have a talk with my partner. Ten minutes?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Melody?”

“Yeah.”

We get up and we step out into the August heat. The sign outside the door. Starbucks already advertising for Fall. Pumpkin spice and all things nice. I just wanna go home and clear the horror in my head with some Britbox sitcom like Upstart Crow: witty words and a laugh track and a midnight snack.

“So, what do you think, Melody?”

“Never mind what I think, Mimi. I know you’ve made up your mind.”

“We’re a team. Do you believe her?”

“Sadly, yes. She does seem haunted. It’s just who or what is doing the haunting. That’s the question. I’m not so sure it’s the ghost of Mathilde Aubry.”

“You think it’s inhuman?”

“You heard her. She experimented with drugs. Drugs blow holes in an aura. Something opportunistic may have latched on to her in the middle of her last high.”

“But what of Clea?” Mimi asks.

“Mm. Yeah. Tragic.”

“Babe, do you think they are to do with one another?”

“I don’t know, babe. Does seem like a similar haunting. Crazing them with fear. Upending their lives. Destroying their romantic relationships and pushing them further towards death.”

“Can we help her, Melody?”

“We need to cleanse her aura, Mimi. Let’s do a Soul Scan on her. Then let’s take the shoes home and create a super safe space. We’ll give it a week and see if she’s still hearing the shoes at night.”

“Good idea, babe.”

…

“Oh my God, you guys. I’m just like really blown away! A total one-eighty, babes.”

“I’m glad you’re doing well, Sarah. No more hearing heels at night?”

“Nope. It’s been three months. Nothing! I even moved in with Artie. We found a new place on Main. And work’s like fun. I mean I still hate my boss cause she’s a bitch but at least she’s a this-wordly ­pain in the ass.”

“I’m glad you’re settling into your new and improved life, Sarah.”

“Thank you so much Mimi and Melody. I will be spreading the word, babes!”

“You’re so welcome, babe.”

“So, I like always wanted to know, but was like too scared to ask, what happened when you guys took the Miu Mius home that night?”

…

“I don’t know… Melody. I think they make me look kinda snazzy!”

“Do you think that’s a good idea? Wearing them?”

Mimi checks out her reflection in the large mirror of my room. She’s naked, slim, and slinky. She wears nothing but the sparkling shoes on her narrow feet which catch the low light of the two lamps beside my bed.

“It’s fine, babes! We’ve smudged them.”

“Alriiiiight. Whatever you say, babe. Bedtime?”

“Yup!”

She places the shoes back on the altar within the white circle of salt. She climbs into bed with me.

“I like when we sleep in the same bed,” I say.

“Yeah, me too. What a day, eh? I hope Sarah is okay,” Mimi murmurs.

“We’ll figure this out, Mimi. At least now her aura is cleansed. It’s only the first night with the shoes. All is well, Mimi. Sleep tight, babe.”

“Goodnight, Melody. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

…

Click, Clack

Click, Clack

“Mimi!”

“Whaa…”

“Mimi!”

Click, Clack

Click, Clack

“What?… Oh no. I can hear the footsteps. Oh my God, Melody. Check.” She whispers. “The shoes.”

I look to my right at the altar.

“They’re gone, Mimi! Let’s go!”

“Where? ”

‘To the sitting room, dummy. Where else?’

Creak

The bedroom door. We left a salt lamp on in the sitting room. In the middle of the pink and orange rug, the blue Miu Mius. A thick silence haunts the apartment.

“God, I’m so cold,” Mimi murmurs as she hugs herself and rubs her arms, while looking around the room.

I walk up toward the shoes. I pick up one of them. My hand feels so cold. And the icy feeling spreads up my arm, to my neck, and the back of my head. And then, a dark ocean wave, like the height of an entire emotional life threatens to crash over me and crush my little mind. I groan as my legs give out. I grab hold of Mimi’s arm. I can’t help falling. I'm on my knees. I feel her body go cold too. Mimi gasps. I feel her come close too. She’s been waiting so long for someone to hear. I tell her, I am here.

My mind goes black as I fall on my back.

…

I like my shoes. I miss them. You know being dead is weird. You’re still you. You still like the same things. Sex. Food. Shoes. But it changes the longer you’ve been dead. I don’t have much time; I’m losing my grip on real things and this realm. I’m even beginning to forget what my body looks like or what a body feels like. I was pretty pissed when Peter started seeing Clea. When he got remarried, I sort of got that. But once a cheat… Well, I felt sorry for his new wife. I know how annoying it is to be with a guy who can’t keep his knickers above his knees. I wasn’t mad that he gave Clea my things. I was just jealous. I miss dress up! It’s true what they say. You take your memories with you. Not things. But all my memories are tied to things. I wore these Miu Mius on my first date with Peter. We were so young. We went out for drinks. We were in Montreal, I had just landed a job as a fashion editor at a magazine, I had met the man of my dreams. I was dizzy with possibility, and I felt like I had the whole world at my feet.