May 31, 2023

Death Wrestle
​by Melissa Miles

Created by ostap for open clip art library.

Click here to listen to this story on the Kaidankai podcast.


​She landed on her back with a thud.

‘Ow’ she thought, although she’d never give anyone the satisfaction of hearing her say that out loud.

“Maria, get up!” her father called to her.

She had to get up, rub her bruises and carry on even though she was so, so, tired. Her very bones seemed to ache, and not just after a throw. Always. 

“Santa Muerte, help me,” she murmured under her breath. She seldom called on her beloved saint, the one she worshipped at every neighborhood shrine, but this was their family business, their livelihood, she couldn’t let her family down. 

She pushed herself up from the rough mat of the wrestling ring. Out of the corner of her eye she thought she caught the sight of designer clothes, not likely she thought, here in this old gymnasium in Tijuana.

As she sat up, she  tried to steady her reeling head and wandering thoughts, but... was that roses she smelled? She shook her head. Weird things had been happening to her senses lately, and, added to that, she, who had always been the most agile in the family, was becoming clumsy. Her feet and hands were painful and tingled. Sometimes, they went numb and she’d drop what she was holding or miss her footing. 

She took a deep breath and got to her feet. 

“Maria, are you alright?” her dad asked. Maria took off her skull mask and nodded at him, wiped the sweat off her face, then repositioned the macabre-looking thing over her face. She had to be alright, they had bills to pay.

“Santa Muerte, can you hear me?” It was foolish, she knew, a superstitious belief in a saint the church did not acknowledge. Santa Muerte, Saint Death. The grinning skeleton dressed in beautiful clothes, the companion of the spirits. 

She expected to hear her dad calling them to their places to rehearse their rough routine again. They could improvise within the routine, of course, which is why she ended up flat on the mat. Her brother had been a bit overzealous with that last throw.  But the routine wasn't ready, yet. It had to have some form, some structure.

She looked around for her brother and father, but she was no longer in the gym. 

Instead, she was in a grey field with shadowed figures in the distance. She wasn’t sure what to do. Was she having some sort of hallucination? Had she fallen asleep? Was she unconscious? She took a tentative step toward the nearest group of figures, a couple of  young people like herself. They were laughing. 

She strode toward them, her long skirts swishing. Wait. Long skirts? She looked down in confusion. Yes, she was wearing black lace skirts. She smoothed her hand down over the beautiful cloth. Her hands were different too. Not her usual calloused, scratched hands, but soft and beautifully manicured ones. She brought the hands up to her face and wiggled the fingers. Yup, they were definitely her hands, or at least they were definitely attached to her. This is so odd, she thought. 

She looked for the group of young people again. They were gone. In fact, all the figures she had seen before, were gone. The landscape was only trees, rocky outcrops, and smooth grass... no humans anywhere.

She called out, “Hello?” Her voice echoed. How could that be, she thought, in a wide-open space?

On the other side of the grey field was a river, dark and cold-looking. She could see it looping off into the distance. She walked toward a small open boat with its oars in the water. Although she felt like she was walking in treacle, she was determined to get to the river’s edge because there was somebody sitting in the little rowboat. She normally didn’t like people much, but in this instance seeing anybody was a relief. The problem was, no matter how much she walked, she wasn't getting there. 

Maria was reminded of a book she had read when she was a girl, Alice in Wonderland. A queen or someone had talked about having to run faster and faster just to stay in one place. She hoped she hadn’t somehow tumbled into a rabbit hole, but it certainly felt like she had. 

Then, suddenly, a presence was beside her. She turned her gaze ever-so-slightly to her left, keeping her eyes down, both fearful of what she might see, and of the reaction she might get. But all she saw was a beautiful pair of gold high heels, Manolo Blahnik’s to be precise. Maria had watched Sex and the City often enough with her Mom before she’d gotten sick and everything went sideways. She knew Manolo Blahnik’s were pricy footwear and sought after. Neither she, nor anyone in her circle, imagined there’d ever be a time that they would be able to wear a pair. 

She raised her gaze to take in a little more of the figure that was silently matching her, step for step. It wore a long dress like hers, but its was a beautiful deep green flecked with gold that matched the shoes. Maria raised her eyes a little more but stalled at the sight of skeletal hands. She snatched both a hasty breath and all of her courage, then dared to look at the face of her companion.

It was a grinning skull, and it was wearing a beautiful hat and a necklace of precious stones. Maria stopped, so did the skeleton.

“Santa Muerte?” Maria whispered.

“Yes,” said the skeleton, “I thought you called me?”

“I did,” Maria said quietly, “I just never expected…”

“You never expected me to come?”

“No.”

“But you have been a good and faithful worshipper at my shrines. Why would I not?”

“Ah,” answered Maria, “I just never thought…”

“You never thought I was real?”

“No.”

“It does come as a surprise to some people,” the skeleton grinned. “Anyway,” the saint of death said cheerfully, “welcome to my realm.”

“Thank you, I think” said Maria, “so those people…”

“Yes, all quite dead.”

“Is my mum…?” she left the question hanging, uncertain of what she hoped the answer would be.

“No, your mother is in a much sweeter place than this. This is like a waiting room while I decide exactly where each of these spirits will go.”

Maria‘s face paled as she understood the significance of that comment, she was so glad her mother was in the ‘sweeter place.’

“What is that river?” Maria asked.

 “That is the river Styx,” said the saint, with the slightest tone of irritation. “It’s not mine, I have to share this realm with a being called Hades, which means I get a river and that chap in the boat and a whole bunch of pomegranate trees. Still, I don’t mind too much, we care for our own spirits.”

“So... am I…?”

“Dead?” asked the Saint. Maria nodded, they had started walking again. She didn’t quite remember when.

“Not quite, but you came close. That, of course, is why you’re here. This isn’t normally how things go, but I am going to send you back now.”

“Thank you” said Maria, “but...why?”

The last thing Maria heard the saint say was “Because you asked for my help and now you’ve got it. I left you something in your pocket.”

Maria felt like the world was kaleidoscoping, her head still spinning as she opened her eyes and found herself on the floor of the wrestling ring. Her father and three brothers had gathered around her. The concern on their faces made her feel guilty. 

“I’m alright,” she said as she got to her feet, swaying only a little. “Where do you want us to take it from dad?” Her father laughed in relief.

“That’s enough for today,” he said. “Take the afternoon off Maria. I’ll do some work with your brothers.”

Maria smiled and nodded. She did feel strange, although the sensation seemed to have come back into her fingers, which was a relief. She  climbed out of the ring and went into the dressing room to change. 

She was searching the hidden pockets of her costume for a clean tissue when she found something else. A pumpkin seed. She always kept a few, roasted and salted, in her pockets for a snack. She popped it into her mouth.

“Bluk,” she said out loud. But too late. She had already automatically swallowed the unpleasant morsel.

“Ah, hello,” the saint said. “It worked then?” 

Maria was back in the grey land, which glimmered now. “What?”

“The pomegranate seed.”

Maria made a face. “Is that what that was?”

“Yes, it came from one of those trees, I wasn’t sure if it would work for us, being from a different culture and all that,” the skeleton said adjusting her hat. “As I said, you came close to death, which is why you came here in the first place, I can’t stop it completely, of course, and why would I? We have such fun down here.” Maria looked askance at the grey fields.

“Not here,” said the skeleton crossly, “in my own place! Where your mom is.”

Maria smiled at the grumpy saint.

Santa Muerte continued, “Anyway, for now, I’ve made an unusual deal for you. You can come down for half of the year, visit with me and your mom, generally be dead and have fun, but then go back and help your dad for the other half. What do you say?”

“But--”

“What’ll it seem like to your dad and brothers?” interrupted the saint. Maria nodded.

“Well, as you’ll have to bring your body with you, I suggest you tell them the truth.”

Maria’s forehead wrinkled into a frown, she wasn’t sure how she’d explain the situation.

“I know!” said her saint, “tell  them you’re going into a sanatorium.”

Maria thought for a moment, then nodded, although she’d modernise the term before she used it. “A health spa!” she giggled. “That’s perfect.”

“A…health… spa” repeated the skeleton, trying the term out. “I like it. I think I’ll use that in future, much cheerier than The- Realm- Of-The- Dead.”

“And my...problem?”

“Your illness that was killing you?”

Maria nodded, and almost asked what it was, but she chickened out, the Saint went on. “It will retreat for the six months that you’re in the land of the living. You’ll be fine.”

Maria smiled. “That sounds great,” she said.

“I’m glad you agree,” answered the Saint, “it would have been too bad if you hadn’t. The deal is already done. Go now, enjoy the spring, I’ll see you at the end of summer, you can see your mom and meet Hades. Who knows? You might find you like him?”

“Thank you, Santa Muerte. Thank you.” 

Maria opened her eyes to find herself in a bed in the hospital. Her dad was sitting next to her, He was holding her hand and praying.

“Dad?” 

“Oh thank God,” he said.

“No, it was Santa Muerte,” croaked Maria, but her throat was dry, and he didn’t hear her.

Her dad gave her a sip of water. “The doctors are amazed, they say your symptoms are gone! It’s a miracle.”

Maria nodded and smiled. “I can come back to work soon, but dad…”

“Yes?”

“I might need to find a heath spa for part of the year, so I don’t get sick again.”

Her dad hugged her and murmured, “whatever you need, darling girl.”

“And can we make a little shrine to Santa Muerte?”

“Of course Maria, whatever you like.”

“Thank you, dad.” She closed her eyes.

“And thank you, Santa Muerte,” she whispered as she sank back into the pillows. “I will see you soon.” 

Maria heard the distant rattle of bones, and smelled roses.


​​Melissa Miles is an American who lives in New Zealand. She had many professional iterations--acting, teaching, film-making--but is now focusing on her writing while caring for her aging menagerie.
​

---