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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item.php/item_id/1932405-Sweat-Equity
Rated: 18+ · Short Story · Horror/Scary · #1932405
Amanda's new jogging outfit worked wonders for her. Halloween Horror Contest Oct.'13
Note: This story was a submission for the October, 2013 Halloween Horror Contest. To view the contest rules, click on Contest Rules:

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Sweat Equity

Indelible Ink



The early morning showers left the leaves saturated and reluctant to blow far - or fast - but Amanda Peterson found them depressing nonetheless. They're still moving faster than I am. Fortunately, the park bench up ahead offered a respite from the self-inflicted torture which Amanda had endured the last eight minutes or so.

Slumping limply to the bench with a display of fatigue akin to someone who may have just crossed an entire desert without the benefit of hydration, Amanda impatiently fumbled with the zipper of a pocket in her jogging suit. She grabbed one of the several candy - though she preferred to call them 'energy' - bars she'd brought along 'just in case' of an emergency. And right now the circumstances met Amanda's criteria for an emergency.

She'd given up - yet again.

It hadn't been exactly smooth sailing for the software designer the past few months. After Philip Waters - the man she was engaged to - had confessed to 'falling out of love' with Amanda a mere three months before the wedding, Amanda felt as if all of her life's plans - if not her life - had been shot to hell. She and Philip had intended to start a family shortly after the wedding - at age thirty-four her 'clock was ticking', as they say - and now the likelihood of her getting into another serious relationship in time to still have children was - at best - remote.

"Oh, great, this is just what I need."

For the last couple of minutes, between bites on her second energy bar, she had watched as the tiny specs on the horizon gradually morphed into two young women jogging the same path Amanda had chosen. The stunning beauties seemed a cruel joke to the woman who'd watched her weight skyrocket by nearly fifty pounds since Philip had dumped her, and the scary part was that she saw no end to the constant eating which was now - ironically - consuming her life.

Oh no! Please don't stop here. Amanda quickly ran her fingers across her mouth to remove any telltale signs of chocolate from her lips, and brushed the crumbs off her blue hoodie. Please, God, don't let there be any chocolate showing She laughed inwardly - albeit pathetically - at her actions, as she watched the pair go though some stretching exercises. Yeah, like they won't know I'm a pig if I get rid of a few crumbs. I can't hide 'Exhibit A', can I? Amanda looked down at her all-too-prominent stomach.

"It's not easy, is it?"

Amanda looked up to see one of the joggers approaching her.

"Excuse me?"

The petite brunette reached over and with the back of her hand gave Amanda's belly a slap. "It's not easy losing it once it's there, is it?" She took a seat next to Amanda and took a sip from her water bottle.

Amanda felt a wave of emotions pass through her in a matter of milliseconds. First was the embarrassment from the public humiliation, although fortunately no one else was around at the moment to witness it. Her damaged pride was quickly replaced by anger. Just who does this presumptuous, obnoxious bitch think she is, anyway? Nonetheless, she surprised even herself when she answered timidly, "No, it's not."

The complete lack of emotion on the jogger's - no, make that both joggers' - faces was surprising. The one seated next to Amanda produced a business card and handed it to the still-flustered woman. "Call the number on the card - she can help you. Believe it or not, both Sherri and I were your size only about three weeks ago. Ready, Sherri?"

Before Amanda had recovered enough to say a word, the one known as Sherri nodded, got up, and the pair resumed their jog again.

The anger returned; Amanda simply couldn't believe what had just transpired. She threw the card to the ground, and was about to get up and leave when a couple of male joggers, running in the opposite direction and who had obviously just passed the two females, were stumbling over themselves gawking at the babes they'd just seen. Both looked at Amanda for a moment, and when they had apparently thought they were out of earshot, began laughing. She couldn't make out much of the conversation, but she did hear the word 'cow' several times.

Amanda reached down and picked up the business card.

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"Genevieve will see you now, Miss Peterson."

Amanda rose up from the sea of other overweight 'hopefuls' and entered the narrow pathway which was lined with small cubicles on either side; presumably for 'client evaluations'. The place was in a low-rent part of town, and looked to be set up in what at one time might have been a free clinic or similar. All the 'patients' she'd observed in the waiting room were introverts, unhappy, and significantly overweight. She knew the characteristics well; they all seemed pretty much exactly like hers.

Genevieve entered the room from another door, studying a clipboard as she walked in. "I believe I can help you, my dear."

Amanda stared at the woman and shuddered. Probably in her mid-to-late fifties, Genevieve looked as though her hair hadn't been washed in a month, and reeked from the smell of cigarette smoke. She wore a yellowish, nicotine-stained full length lab coat over what appeared to be something akin to a black, skintight wet-suit. It seemed Genevieve could be attractive had she so desired, but apparently that concept was no longer important. No 'hellos', no introductions of any sort, and right down to business. Gotta love the 'bedside manner'. Amanda imagined this was probably what it was like in the 50's when a girl went 'went away' and had one of those back-room abortions. And just what in the hell is Elvira looking at on the clipboard? The only information I've given them is my name.

"That's really all we need," Genevieve quickly scanned her clipboard until she located the client's name and added, "Amanda." Her demeanor was not pleasant; she spoke with a lack of emotion or interest, as if she'd done this a million times before and still had a million yet to go.

Amanda shook her head in surprise. "I'm sorry...what?" She was startled and put off at the sheer callousness of the woman. She also noticed scars on each of Genevieve's wrists, and - though it was hard to say for sure in the dark - what appeared to be burns on her neck .

Genevieve ignored Amanda's question and poked her head in a closet. "This looks to be about your size." She produced a pink jogging outfit and handed it to Amanda. At first, Amanda couldn't recall where she'd seen it before, but then it came rushing back to her: The two women who had given her the phone number wore identical outfits.

The outfit did look cute, but Amanda had been so offended by Genevieve's attitude that she wasn't about to get suckered into some outrageous weight-loss gimmick perpetrated by this witch. She shook her head. "I don't know..."

With hands on hips, Genevieve simply shrugged. "It's your choice, my dear. Either stay fat, or try the outfit for three weeks absolutely free. No contracts, no commitment, nothing. If you don't like it, just return it - no questions asked - and we won't charge you a cent..." 

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THREE WEEKS LATER


Amanda smiled as the she passed the two young men who were arguing on the street corner, for she knew exactly why the pair was at odds with each other. She'd jogged past them about fifteen minutes earlier while headed in the opposite direction during her afternoon run, and the two had immediately commenced to disagreeing over just who her smile had been directed toward. Consequently, she thought it would be fun to make another pass - just to keep the debate raging. She doubted she would ever tire of the newfound phenomena of men arguing over her. In fact, she was now wearing the jogging suit underneath her clothes as a regular habit, only removing it at night when she slept. No longer did it fit loosely; it now resembled something more along the lines of painted body art. The jogging suit had become less of an article of clothing - and more of what actually defined Amanda.

The past two weeks or so had been, relatively speaking, heaven on earth for Amanda. It took a little while - about a week - for the outfit to really do its thing, although she thought she looked significantly better from the instant she put the suit on. How in the world Genevieve could have eyeballed Amanda's size so perfectly was still a puzzle. Watching what she ate was now easy; it seemed like the suit would constrict whenever she ate, making the notion of overeating an unpleasant option.

Genevieve's terms, "Return the outfit by the end of the twenty-first day, and owe nothing, or keep it and just do occasional 'promotions' for us" seemed reasonable enough. The important thing, according to Genevieve, was to come in by the twenty-first day and let her know your intentions, or, as Genevieve put it, "There would be hell to pay."

There were a couple of things which Amanda found disconcerting, such as how whenever she took the suit off during the first few days, she thought she looked even worse than she had before she'd obtained the suit. Or how when she went to the store the suit seemed to try and influence her purchases of other items, such as when she tried to buy the blonde hair color she'd used for years, but the jogging suit became uncomfortable enough that she put the hair color back. Or when she felt 'persuaded' to buy the skimpy skirt and top which she wouldn't have purchased in a million years had she been making the decisions. Was it weird? Yes. Maybe even a little scary? Absolutely. But 'deal breaker?' Hell, no. Amanda looked too damn good to sweat the 'small stuff'.

"Mind if I walk with you?" One of the two guys who'd been arguing over Amanda earlier caught up with her when she'd stopped at a traffic light. "The name's Lance."

"No...not at all." Though startled, Amanda was quite flattered that the guy who'd apparently fought for - and won - the right to approach her was actually doing so. This was the first time a guy actually hit on her, and Amanda felt something she hadn't felt in quite some time - if indeed ever.

The pair got to talking and ended up meeting for dinner later that evening. Lance was a pretty nice guy; it seemed he and Amanda had quite a bit in common. Lance had also taken up jogging recently himself, although Amanda never understood why a hunk like Lance needed to bother. He was drop-dead gorgeous.

It was one of those magical evenings for Amanda and Lance. They sat and chatted, enjoying their dinners at a sidewalk table outside a small Italian restaurant on the outskirts of the city. Amanda stared dreamily into Lance's eyes as he spoke when a tiny beeping sound went off on Lance's watch, interrupting the moment.

"Thank God that's over with." Lance got up from his chair and looked around, as if expecting someone.

Within seconds, before Amanda could even say a word, she felt an icy grip on her shoulder.

"Hello, my dear." Without turning, Amanda could tell from the sound of the voice and the vapor trail left from countless cigarettes, that it was Genevieve.

"Nice job, Lance, it was a pleasure doing business with you." Genevieve handed some crumpled up U.S. currency to the man, and Lance eyed it and then mouthed the tally of the bills to himself. He nodded at Genevieve, then looked at Amanda, winked, and took off.

"What's going on here?" Amanda felt the icy chill from Genevieve's hand spread throughout her body. She tried to shake free but Genevieve's hand was similar to a frozen clamp; her fingers a grip of sheer ice. At the same time, she sensed the presence of another, even less-welcome intruder, at the very heart of her soul. For a brief moment the sudden warmth was welcomed; perhaps it countered the frigid grip of Genevieve. But it rapidly moved beyond that, instilling an intense heat which made Amanda feel as though she would soon burst from the internal boiling. The jogging suit felt as if it were tightening and relaxing, in a constant rhythm, alternately on the verge of crushing - then releasing - Amanda, as if to demonstrate the power which the suit held.

Genevieve observed with the indifference of one who had lived it. "It's really quite simple, my dear. I wanted out, but in order to get out I needed a replacement. He gave me a list of requirements, and you were a perfect match on most. He doesn't like blondes, and he prefers that his women dress 'slutty'. The other stuff, you'll absorb quick enough." Genevieve laughed. "Then again, we've long-since passed the point of you having anything to say in the matter, anyway."

"Who's 'he'?" Amanda demanded.

"The Master. The Master of all that's evil." Genevieve relaxed her grip on Amanda's shoulder and took a seat beside her, in a brief display of empathy. "Listen, I was like you, not too long ago. Then, like you, I missed my three week check-in, and it all started to unravel for me. He controls you by controlling the suit. He makes you do what he wants, for his unholy purposes. Steal money, children, even babies from their strollers, all for his pleasure - his sacrifices." Genevieve first rubbed her wrists and then her neck. "I tried to kill myself dozens of times to escape the shame - the torment - of having participated in his perverse games." She shook her head. "But he won't even let you die, until he no longer needs - and then releases - you. He controls your body; inflicts unimaginable pain to make you perform for him - like a trained monkey. Guess my age, my dear."

A terrified Amanda hesitated and shuddered, "I don't know, maybe fifty?"

"I'm twenty-six. But he grew tired of me, as he shall someday of you. He can age you just by snapping his fingers..."

Out of the blue, Amanda stood up and writhed in pain, seemingly attacked by many invisible assailants at the same time. Then, although she tried vainly to resist, she staggered off, much like a marionette being controlled by a beginner.

Genevieve was surprised by none of it. "Don't fight it dear, he'll only increase the pain level. Oh, and by the way, he likes women who smoke." Genevieve stood up, tossed her pack of Winstons in Amanda's direction. "I never had one cigarette until...until...this." She then took a steak knife from the plate of a startled diner. "I'll only need this for a moment..." She took the knife and ran it across her knuckles, resulting in some significant bleeding, apparently to gauge the blade's sharpness. Satisfied with what she saw, Genevieve smiled for the first time in, presumably, a long time. "I've been released. At least he...it keeps its word..." 

The waiter for Amanda and Lance's table arrived just in time to see Genevieve slice her hand. "Ma'am, what on earth are you doing?"

"You ain't seen nuthin' yet, pal." She took the knife, tipped her head back, and with a force undoubtedly summoned from the depths of her soul, drew the knife into and across her neck, nearly decapitating herself.

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"Amanda will see you now, Miss Dawkins."

Haley Dawkins rose up from the sea of other overweight 'hopefuls' and entered the narrow pathway which was lined with small cubicles on either side...


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Words: 2709









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