The Maenad

One autumn evening, I was at a linguistics conference at the University of Pennsylvania. I was lecturing on the history of the Gaelic language, including its impact on modern Welsh. I was disappointed by the low audience turnout to my presentation. A few esteemed professors were there, people who held doctoral degrees in Latin, Old Norse, Sanskrit and who knows what else. They were all as ancient looking as the languages they studied. Seeing them made me feel glad that I got my PHD in linguistics while still young. I would have been the youngest one there, if it weren’t for the undergraduate student who had walked in. After the lecture, she found me and introduced herself as Elaine.

“That’s a good Gaelic name, one that means beautiful,” I told her. I was just pointing out a fact, being a professor of linguistics. It’s not like I was flirting or anything. In fact I found her annoying and was really hoping she would leave me alone so that I could discuss important matters with the other professors.

She beamed at what she thought was a compliment and smiled manically.

“Dr. Doyle, I’m a huge fan. I’ve read all of your books. May I have your autograph?” she beckoned.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have time,” I dismissed her.

I realized she was one of those people who can’t take social cues, for then she went on and on about how much she admired me. “I’ve been following your work ever since you graduated from Knoxwood High School. Your mother didn’t want you to pursue linguistics because she thought you wouldn’t make enough money to support her after your father died. But now you’re world-renowned even after you faced so many hardships. I really admire that.”

How she knew so much about me, including information about my mother and what high school I went to, I have no idea. I never even met her before. Still I was not scared, just a little bit annoyed. I wanted to leave, but I realized that I was missing my coat.

“Are you looking for this?” she asked, and I realized she had been holding it the entire time. I snatched it from her.

“You’re welcome,” she said.

I realized that she had found and kept one of my hair strands which happened to be on the coat and she kept on muttering to it as I walked away.

That was the first encounter.

That night I received a Facebook friend request from someone named Elaine O’Connor. The profile picture was an anime character. I had almost forgotten the student’s name until I saw the notification. I decided it was best to ignore it, but then the messages starting coming like the Biblical plague of locusts that God had punished Egypt with. I tried to go to sleep but my phone kept on buzzing. Their frequency increased throughout the night as Elaine continued obsessively spamming me.

9:43 PM: “Hello Dr. Doyle. It’s me, your biggest fan!”

10:55 PM: “You’re the most intelligent man I’ve ever met and you’re so handsome!”

1:00 AM: “Alright I’ll get straight to the point. I love you.”

1:05 AM: “Will you marry me?”

A minute after her marriage proposal, she sent me a message in all caps.

1:06 AM: HELLO? WHY AREN’T YOU REPLYING TO ME?

After that I decided to block her so that she couldn’t disturb me. “Silly girl,” I muttered. But then she found my Instagram account and started liking all my selfies, even the ones I posted four years ago. The trouble ceased for a couple of days when I succeeded in blocking her on all social media, including the fake accounts she had created when I blocked her main ones. My life went on normally the next few days, lecturing on linguistics and helping out on a project to decipher the Indus Valley script.

Then she started sending stuff to me in the mail.

The first thing I received was a drawing, a portrait of me in a fine suit with my brown hair slicked back and a confident smile on my face. There were hearts all around it. I must admit I had to admire the care and precision that must have gone into producing such a work of art, but then I realized that if she sent me this it meant that she knew where I lived. I quickly called the police and told them the details of the case, that I was the victim of a stalker named Elaine O’Connor. Much to my dismay, the police said there was very little they could do about it, for they were unable to find the stealthy stalker.

I started receiving red roses and Valentine’s chocolates, with letters asking for my hand in marriage. The next few letters I received were written in blood, with threats of suicide if I further refused her.

I was just as determined to dispirit her and decline her affection as she was to force it upon me.

When she realized I didn’t care if she killed herself, she started threatening my relatives and friends and said that if I ever got a girlfriend she would be murdered. The final straw was when she threatened my mother in another blood letter that I received from her one night. I finally felt thundering rage and vowed that this vile stalker would be thrown in jail. I stayed up late scheming and plotting my revenge.

As I paced around, trying to think of a plan, I noticed a shadow on the wall. I turned around and there she was, with her hair like cobwebs and her skin paper white and that awful, menacing smile. I grabbed the only thing nearby that I could defend myself with, a butter knife. She cackled, amused by my pathetic defense. Suddenly her nails started elongating rapidly, and they grew sharp as swords.

I screamed in horror when I realized what she was.

“You’re a Maenad! I thought they only existed in Greek mythology, the crazy female worshippers of Dionysus who can hack men to pieces.”

“You’re very cultured,” she said “this is why I love you.”

The last thing she said to me before she proceeded with my savage murder was “notice me Senpai.”

End