A woman, her back toward Wilda, stood directly in front of her.

The woman slowly walked away from Wilda. The woman's gait was slow, lazy, and seductive. She swung her hips from side to side with one dainty manicured hand dangling a white glove at her waist. Her walk reminded Wilda of someone. The woman turned around, stopping so that Wilda caught only a side view of her. Her other hand poised a cigarette to her ruby red lips. And again, Wilda had that feeling of recognition.

The woman appeared to be in her early twenties. She was slender but shapely. Her stomach was iron board flat and her breasts were large, but not huge. Her waist was tiny, but her hips were full and voluptuous. She wore a tight black dress, with a patent leather belt cinched at the waist and a hat to match.

"I use to have a dress similar to that one when I was younger," Wilda thought.

Wilda continued to watch her, trying to figure out who this beautiful woman was. With only one eye it was hard to get a good look at the woman, unless the woman decided to turn around and face her.

The woman, seemingly reading her thoughts, very slowly turned around.

"Oh my, it's me," Wilda whispered to herself. "That woman is me."

Wilda's body began to shake. This was all too much for her. The ice-chilling fear again grabbed at her heart. She placed her hand on her chest and attempted to calm down her anxiety. She looked at her long ago self--a self from at least sixty years ago.

The woman smiled and removed the cigarette from her mouth.

"How ya' doing? It's been a long time hasn't it? You must remember me, don't 'cha?" the younger Wilda asked.

The old Wilda stood dumbfounded.

"Honey, wouldn't you like to be me again? Girl I still got plenty of bumping and grinding left in this pretty young body of mine. If you want it, all you have to do is come and get it. You do want to be young again, don't 'cha sugar?"

Wilda continued to stare. She felt her resistance weakening. She was being seduced, while at the same time falling in love with this woman.

"Honey, don't just stand there saying absolutely nothing. My feets is killing me, and I sure would like to trade places with you and take a sit in that chair of yours."

"How can you be me?" Wilda asked in a whispered stupor. "How can you come oughta nowheres', stand there and be what I use to be?"

"Sugar, I don't know," the woman replied with a saucy tip of her chin. "All I know is I'm young, beautiful, and every damn man 'round here is begging to get a piece of me. You know what I mean? All they ever wanna do is fuck, don't care nothin' bout me, just want to get in my panties. Honey, I am tired. I just want to sit down and rest for a while."

The young woman smiled slow and seductively. She ran her hands over her breasts and hips for emphasis. Wilda watched her and felt the longing to be young and on fire, course through her old and clogged arteries.

Yes," she thought, Yes I will be you. I don't care what price I gotta pay, I'll be you again."

She reached out to the young woman standing there, and the woman her smile growing even wider, began walking toward her.

Suddenly, a sharp pain hit Wilda in the head. It penetrated the top of her skull and slid down the right side of her face. As she felt the pain slash into her right ear, she doubled over, holding her head in her hands. She cried out as the pain spiked and she cringed in anguish, digging her nails into her cheeks as the beam of pain snaked its way down into her dead eye socket.

"What's wrong, what's wrong with you?" the younger woman asked on the verge of panic.

Frantically, the young Mrs. Elvers extended her hand to the old Mrs. Elvers.

"Take my hand. Come here! Take my hand!"

The pain in Wilda's eye vanished just as quickly as it had arrived. She stood up and looked at the young woman standing in front of her. Something was terribly different.

Unbelievably, Wilda could now see out of both eyes.

She stared at the younger woman in shock. The woman still held her hand out, almost begging Wilda to take it. Wilda watched her in morbid fascination, noticing things that she had not been able to see before.

The younger Wilda Mae was very beautiful, but there was no love in that woman. Wilda saw the look of contempt and dissatisfaction cross the woman's face. This was an evil bitter woman. A woman that had once been herself, long ago. Yet there still was a part of her now that manifested itself in this younger version of herself. The vanity in her stance, in her poise, and the lines of cruelty in her face, reminded her of herself. Wilda recognized the ego and pride in this young Wilda Mae. The same ego and pride that got in the way of her life, of loving her children the way she should have, and of living now in constant loneliness because of it.

This self-realization slowly crept into her heart and she shamefully shook her head, no. The woman shrieked at her, "Take my hand! Take my Goddamned hand, you old hag!"

Wilda took a hesitant step back and the woman's face, in a cluster of rage, slowly changed into a hideous caricature of the young Wilda Elvers.

Her eyes turned from hazel to a shimmering grey and filled with a look of malice and loathing. Her eyebrows expertly arched, grew hairy and connected at the bridge of her now misplaced nose. Her nose now sat on the side of her cheek, and her mouth, once ruby-red and sensuous, became an ugly slit of black and blue at the bottom of her chin directly below her bibulous nose. Her hair fell out in clumps. Long strands of burnished brown slowly fell to the floor.

The woman's slender body seemed to grow and elongate. The clothes she wore ripped at the seams and fell from her body in tatters. Her body then began going through some sort of metamorphosis, stretching and swelling. It inflated to the point of bursting, and her arms and back caved-in. Her breasts became sagging bags covered with sores as she got down on all fours and continued shrieking in anger.

Wilda took another step back. Her heart was beating too fast and air was not getting into her lungs fast enough. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to steady herself. Another pain, this time beginning in her arm, shot through to her chest.

The young Mrs. Elvers now stood on all fours, her penetrating grey eyes, angry and rabid. Her body now resembled a great beast, a dog of some sort, yet the hands were still long, slender, and manicured. The hind legs were short, fat, and stubby--the high-heeled shoes had fallen off in the metamorphosis--and the feet were hairy with long black talons that clicked on the floor as she dragged herself toward Wilda. Her sagging breasts now completely filled with running sores, swung back and forth, dragging on the ground as she inched forward leaving a wet trail behind her. Her face covered in coarse light-brown hair, changed into a hideous snout with the nose and mouth completely off center. Her face was completely alien now. Yet Wilda could see that her teeth and tongue were very pink and human, and when she shrieked at the old Mrs. Elvers, her voice was still that of the young and sexy Wilda Mae.

"Take my hand, you old feeble hag! Take my hand!"

Wilda was in so much agony that she could not concentrate on anything but getting help. The pain in her chest was more than ice-chilling, it had become frozen. With every beat she felt the freezing cold slice into her rapidly beating heart. She did not want to die. Lord, she was not ready to go yet.

Taking one last look at the thing that inched its way toward her, she stumbled to the door and lunged outside. Her eighty-five-year-old body fought to stay upright. Her eighty-five-year-old soul was fighting to stay alive.

Clutching her chest, she slowly dragged herself to the wrought iron fence and whispered, "Help, help, get help."