The Dream of the Elongated Woman I 

I begin with only the smallest consideration: my nails. Closely trimmed, the adventurous lifestyle my husband and I share makes it impossible to wear them longer than this. But now I only have to envisage the fine nails I once used to take for granted and they begin to grow. Slowly, one-by-one, working along from the pinky on one hand to its opposite number. Expanding like rubber, yet still keeping their hard, chitinous quality.

Sue had always promised she’d do this the next time the League were on a long-term mission. Now, with Ralph and his teammates racing off to some far flung part of the galaxy, chasing some inter-dimensional horror back to its origin, the time had arrived. She had spent too many times sitting fearfully at home whenever Ralph was called away to do his superheroic duty. While part of her still couldn’t help but be worried for her husband’s safety, on this occasion she was determined she wasn’t going to waste her time pining. The Elongated Man would return to her in one, albeit extended, piece soon, just as he always did.

I gave up glamour when I entered the detective’s world of shadows and deceit, where appearances are honed by experience and necessity, not the make-up brush. My hair has been a practical, unfussy, almost boyish length for too long. At my command my locks unfurl, drawn like black copper, past my shoulders, hanging against the small of my back. The life’s work of an Indian beauty achieved in under a minute. I could laugh.

Ralph’s study was tucked away in one corner of their apartment. Inside, the Dibneys’ computer lay on a desk, buried beneath the case files and unsorted notes that filled up most of the space in this tiny room. Sue rummaged through a pile of nearby stationery that was balanced precariously between a bowling ball and one of their wedding albums. She was looking to print off a hard copy of a set of notes that had been e-mailed to her by an old friend of hers, her former beauty therapist, Alice. Typically, Ralph had left the printer’s paper tray empty after the last time he had used it and Sue was struggling now to find something to refill it with. At last, she retrieved a handful of creased, but otherwise unmarked, sheets and set about achieving her goal.

And my hands. Once their grasp was limited by the length of each arm. Now, everything is theirs, nothing can escape their reach. I recall a brush hanging beneath the hallway mirror. There are at least two other similar ones here in the bedroom with me, but it is this once distant object that appeals to me. I gaze at my arm. The biceps tenses as I form a grip and I see my muscles bulge beneath my skin. Then, I disregard what’s before me and override my biology. My hand unclenches, but still my muscles flex. Impossibly, my limb extends, snaking away at an incredible rate, rewriting natural laws about mass and balance. With the effort of twitching a thumb I redirect my arm this way and that, my familiarity with our apartment lending a precision to my movements. Unmodified fingers, separated from the similarly unaltered majority of my body by this incredible elastic arm, fix about the brush. Goal achieved, another subtle manipulation of muscle retracts the arm, inch after inch from the shoulder down reforming into the true proportions of the original. I brush my long, long hair.

Before she switched off the computer, she visited another part of the study. Locked away in the bottom drawer of a battered old filing cabinet was a small crate of Ralph’s Gingold soda. Sue had made a copy of the cabinet’s key long ago and she now used it in order to get her hands on a bottle of the peculiarly-propertied liquid…

Sue had tried Gingold before, despite Ralph’s warnings of what could possibly happen. The only other time she had been as ill as she’d been then was when she had caught food poisoning in a less-than-hygenic eaterie in downtown Bangkok. Even now the memory of the convulsions she had suffered in allergic reaction to the drink made her hesitate before attempting what she was about to do. But it had been that violent effect upon her that had inspired the little project she had begun in Ralph’s absence.

Plenty of people drank Gingold, and not all of them suffered from the allergy that waylaid Sue and a notable few others. Then again, none had seemed to gain the extraordinary stretching powers that Ralph had, although of course it was Ralph himself who had noticed how many contortionists seemed to benefit from Gingold’s effects. For the most part it was perceived as an oddly-flavoured health drink or cordial like Aqua Vita or Elderflower water. Yet why should some people have some sort of reaction, while others have none at all?

Ralph gained his powers thanks to a particular gene he’d inherited, a gene that allowed him to utilise Gingold’s incredible, but usually hidden, qualities. It was Sue’s theory that the people who had been made ill by the drink also possessed that same gene, but instead of using what was in the Gingold, it was reacting against it. Allergies could be fought, and Sue believed that if something could be found, a kind of super-power anti-histamine, to counter the ill effects then the imbiber could also gain the elongation abilities that so far had uniquely belonged to Ralph.

I work away the night’s tension from my neck, rolling my head around to test the vertebrae, removing the kinks from between my bones. On an impulse I decide to ignore my skeleton and urge my neck to elongate, launching my skull skyward. The blanket of my hair trails behind as I send my head up to the ceiling. Intending to circuit the room I bend my neck at right angles, nothing more than an exaggerated shrug of my shoulders enough to keep it paying out until it reaches the wall. From my head’s elevated position, I see my body sat on the bed, the pale blue cotton of my underwear underscoring the ordinariness of my unchanged body. Were it not for the metres of elastic flesh that still connect me to it, it could belong to someone else entirely, someone normal. I can exert a remote influence however and a casual thought orders my left arm to stretch out to move a chair. At this distance the extension of the limb barely registers, its movement almost automatic, instinctive. My path now clear I continue my original journey, looping my neck toward the floor, bending it through another corner to slither across the floor even as my arm retracts to standard size. Still stretching, I pass by my feet, under the bed, and begin climbing the wall at the far side of the room. About halfway up I feel my elasticity challenged and my neck muscles refuse to extend any further. All it takes though, is a re-imagining of my task, analogous to shifting one’s weight to gain better leverage. The expansion begins anew and soon, after a final fifth turn, my head reaches the point where my neck first touched the ceiling.

Sue’s friend Alice had studied extensively in the field of homeopathy and often suggested hypo-allergenic treatments for her beauty therapy clients. The notes Sue held in her hand contained a detailed analysis of a sample of Gingold that had been sent to Alice some weeks ago. They also contained a recipe for an effective counter-agent to the drink’s allergic effects. All it would take would be a quick visit to the drug store.

Later that night, Sue sat alone in her and Ralph’s apartment, a cocktail of Gingold and Alice’s allergy antidote sat in a tall glass on the table in front of her. It could be poison, she thought, or even if it only wreaks its usual havoc with my digestive system it’s going to be painful. It wasn’t going to be easy to simply down it in one like a Tequila Slammer. Yet Sue had always envied Ralph’s abilities, had marvelled at the things he could make his impossibly ductile body perform. If this was her only chance to experience those sensations then she was going to take it. She lifted the glass and slowly, cautiously, sipped the bitter liquid.