Haunted By The Succubus

by Michelle Dorey

  I’ve hardly stepped up to the door when it creaks open. A middle-aged woman stands there, her gaze hard, peering at me as her fingers clutch the edge of the door.

  “You here for the package?” Even her voice is sharp and metallic.

  “Yeah. Rabbit Express. You need something delivered to the art gallery, right? Where is it?” I stand a couple feet away from the door, out of arm’s reach. No matter what, I’m not going in that house. Every fiber of my body screams at me to run back to the van and boot it out the drive. And that same nausea I felt at the Donnelly house is rising in the back of my throat, sour in my mouth.

  The door opens wider still and a draft seeps out. It’s rank, like sewer gas. There’s a large statue on the floor wrapped in layers of bubble-wrap, sitting next to a staircase.

  She points to it with a bony finger. “There it is. It’s pretty heavy. Mind you don’t bang it when you put it in your vehicle.” The woman exudes a dark aura, which adds to my discomfort. How is she even alive with this much sickness inside her? And as for the package, there’s no way I’m touching it. I don’t want to know anything about it. I get the feeling that holding it would be like breathing anthrax.

  “Sorry. If you want that delivered you’ll have to put it in my van. Better yet, if you’re worried it could get damaged, call the gallery and have them send someone out.” I’m already edging back toward the stairs.

  “Adam? Is that you, Adam Rafferty?”

  A shot of fear turns my bowels into water. I know that voice. It’s the same one I heard at the Donnelly house!

  The middle-aged woman is nowhere to be seen. Instead, the figure from my childhood is back, standing in the center of the doorframe. It’s an older version of the girl I saw that day. Her hair is pitch-black, swept up in a messy bun, and her eyes have that same azure glaze as she did that day. And again, belying the fact that her soul is black as sin, she wears a gauzy, white robe. So sheer that the darkness of protruding nipples can be seen, the swell of her hips and long, supple thighs.

  Again, it’s like I’ve been caught in a spider web, unable to think, betrayed by my raging hormones as I stand mesmerized. I can’t look away even though I know I should.

  “I knew our paths would cross again.” The creature’s gaze slithers down my body, lingering for a few beats on my groin which aches with sudden lust. A smile curls her scarlet lips. “You’re not a boy any longer. I’ve waited for this.”

  The beast thing practically floats over to where I stand. I’m stock-still as she bends her head to me. The wave of pure pleasure that pulses from her lips brushing mine is electric, searing every cell in my body. Any wish I had of leaving evaporates with her kiss. I’m lost in the bliss of this moment.

  When her fingers slide across my thigh where she marked me before, I totally lose it. The pleasure cascading through me, makes my body shake and I gasp, barely able to stay upright. My mind has short-circuited, totally blank while my body sways on leaden feet.

  Her whisper is sickeningly assured, “I knew I’d see you again. The next time we meet, three will be the charm.”

  She leans in again and her tongue, wet and swollen, slides along my lips.

  In that instant my senses return and I jerk back, raising my hand to swipe at my mouth and spit. When I look over to her, she’s gone.

  It all happened so quickly that I wonder for a moment if it happened at all. But the odor lingering and the foul taste in my mouth are proof it did.

  “Well? What are you waiting for? That package won’t deliver itself.” The other woman stands in the doorway glaring at me.

  “Forget it, lady! I’m outta here!” I race down the steps and over to the van. Why had I lingered when I heard that demon’s voice? I should have run as fast as my feet could carry me, like I’d done back at the Donnelly place.

  Stones and dirt kick up after the van as I wheel it down the laneway. I’m fleeing evil, yet I can’t shake the sinking dread that part of that unearthly beast lingers inside me. It touched me, kissed me, and for a fleeting moment I’d actually liked it. I had been completely under its spell, betrayed by my hormones. And it knew my weakness; it had been eagerly waiting for this time.

  Its words—“The next time we meet three will be the charm”—still resonates darkly. The creature is a magnet that attracts and repulses at the same time.

  FIVE

  STILL SHAKY AS HELL, I ignore the cell phone buzzing for the third time. I know it’s Hilda, and she’s had a call from that lady about her art pickup. Too bad. The only thing I want more than to forget that episode is to take a shower, a scalding hot one to wash away all memories of that evil entity.

  If only I could.

  It’s hard to shake the horror of that creature but I have to. Every time I picture her; her kiss and the stench, my gut churns and I gag. This isn’t the time nor place for a purge of that nature. And yet, at the same time a deep, throbbing, lusting desire niggles deep inside.

  I give my head a shake and still my brain, focusing on reading street signs and store names as I drive through the small city.

  When I finish the other pickups and deliveries it’s just about four in the afternoon—the time that I need to be at the restaurant to catch the philandering lawyer. Believe me, doing this job for Mike is a lifesaver keeping thoughts of that evil thing I encountered submerged.

  I park as far away from the door to the restaurant as I can, while still being able to keep an eye out for him.

  Right on schedule he wheels a gray BMW in the spot next to me. If I’m trying to blend into the background, so is he. When he gets out I size him up, getting a reading on his aura. I go over him, up and down with my sidey-eyes. It doesn’t make sense. People who exude pink are generally loyal and trustworthy with strong moral values, not prone to slinking around with a mistress on the side.

  I’m right on his heels going into the restaurant. The lady who served me earlier rushes over to greet him, even giving him a one-armed hug. Instead of taking a table, Anthony makes a beeline for the men’s room. I have to wave the waitress off as I follow him across the room. So much for discretion.

  When he hears the door open he pauses and then steps over to the urinal to use it. Waves of impatience roll off him, waiting for me to leave but that’s exactly what I’m not about to do—not until I get more information.

  I go past him to the next urinal and fake a stumble. It’s awkward at best, but I manage to graze his shoulder with my hand as I regain my balance.

  In that instant I see into his head. A picture of two children, a boy about six and a younger girl, flash in my head. It’s genuine love that he feels for them. His children? There’s a woman, the mother, but the only feeling in his heart for her is fondness. This visit isn’t about anything sexual, it’s a family visit. His glance at the wall where I suspect the door is, tells me everything in that moment.

  “Excuse me. Sorry. Must be a loose tile on the floor that tripped me,” I mumble and then take a spot at the farthest urinal.

  “No problem,” he murmurs, turning back to the task at hand.

  I decide to go out on a limb even though this is my first case working for Mike. “Say? Aren’t you Anthony Wilson? I saw your picture in the newspaper. You were at a charity dinner with your wife... Sheila?”

  This time he looks me in the eye as he zips his trousers. For an instant suspicion and guilt play tug-of-war in his wide eyes.

  “Yeah. I didn’t think kids your age read anything except what’s on the internet, let alone the society pages of the Herald.” He washes his hands, glancing over at me, waiting for a reply.

  I’ve pushed my luck, and he knows I’m up to something. “My boss pointed it out. She reads the newspapers. MS research is something she’s passionate about, and of course that was the fundraiser, right? Your wife looked pretty, so that helps me remember too.”

  He turns, continuing to scrub his hands. “Yeah. Thanks.”

  As I stand at the sink next to him, scenes and feelings pou
r from his mind. Taking the two kids to the park, playing hide-and-seek with them, helping them with their homework. Funny though, there’s a thick layer of guilt underlying it, a flash of his wife sitting at home waiting while he spends time with his second family.

  I finish in the bathroom and hurry out. Let the guy slip through that hidden door without me hanging around holding him up. It might be his last time to enjoy his children and his secret life before everything falls apart for him.

  Mike never told me how shitty and complicated this job could get. But that’s life, right?

  SIX

  LATER THAT NIGHT WHEN I ENTER THE BAR I see Mike hunched at a table in the corner, nursing a glass of beer. He signals to the bartender for another round and then beckons me over to join him.

  “Hey Mike.” I slide into the seat across from him and wait for the drink to arrive before opening up about the case.

  “Well? Did you get a bead on him?” Mike sits back holding the glass before his mouth, and his gaze explores my face.

  “Yeah. You were right about there being a secret doorway in that bathroom.” The next part needs a quick swallow of liquid courage. I take a deep gulp and put the glass on the table. “But it’s not what you think he’s up to. There’s another woman all right—”

  “Aw, shit.”

  “Let me finish, okay? He’s got another family, Mike.” I watch his eyes narrow.

  “It’s worse than I thought. The two-timing bastard.”

  “No. Look, the guy desperately wanted kids, but he couldn’t have them with Sheila. He made an arrangement with a Philippine woman. He brought her here and had two children with her. Twice a week he sees them. He covers all their expenses.” I can still feel the guy’s anguish over what this would do to his wife if it ever got out. Much as I hate telling on the lawyer, this was why Mike hired me.

  “So, this has been going on for some time. If not for Mona putting a bug in Sheila’s ear this may never have surfaced.” He blows out a resigned sigh through pursed lips, setting the glass down softly.

  He doesn’t like this any more than I do. I lean forward, pleading this stranger’s case. “It’s wrong, I know. But he saved that woman from a shitty life, man. It sucks over there, especially for poor, uneducated women.” I shake my head slowly from side to side, recalling Wilson’s thoughts about the mother of his kids. “She might have ended up in prostitution if she’d stayed in the Philippines. And he has two children that he’s nuts about. He’s also crazy about Sheila.”

  “So, what do you think I should do, Adam? Lie to Sheila? Cover this up?”

  “I don’t know. You’re the boss. Your decision, not mine, I’m afraid.” I pick at the label of the beer bottle. “He knew what I was doing talking to him in the bathroom. He’s been expecting someone to find out sooner or later, and presto, I enter the picture.”

  Mike looks like he’s lost his best friend. It isn’t so much feeling for the guy but rather knowing how hurt the wife is gonna be. Telling her this news will take a piece out of Mike.

  When the door opens I look at the mirror behind the bar. The movie next door has ended right on time. A pretty redhead followed by two other people, a mousy brunette and a guy in his late twenties, walk in. When they take seats at the bar I can’t believe my luck. The brunette and the guy are an item, the two of them sitting close, and there’s an empty seat next to the redhead.

  “Hey Mike, don’t take it personally but you’re not my type. But that fox at the bar is. So...” I get up, never taking my eyes off her reflection in the mirror.

  “Good luck, kid.” He leans over to get a better look at her. “You’re definitely going to need it. You’re punching above your weight there, Adam. Maybe I should go over.”

  “Yeah, right. She’s young enough to be your daughter, you letch.” I look at him for a moment when an image of a blond girl, pigtails flying out as she swings high in the air, forms in his head. “You have a daughter, don’t you?”

  “Yeah. She’d make that girl at the bar seem young too.” His eyes take on a faraway look and waves of sadness cloud him.

  “When’s the last time you saw Mary-Jane?”

  For a moment he looks surprised I know her name, but then the hardened glaze is back in his eyes. “A long time. That’s another story that I don’t want to get into now. You’d better make tracks, Romeo, or someone’s gonna beat you to that empty bar stool.”

  I give him a two-fingered salute and leave it at that, wandering over, trying my best to act nonchalant as I slip in beside her. One thing Mike is definitely right about is the fact that she’s out of my league. She could have stepped off the cover of Cosmo magazine. But with the orange-hued waves hovering over a slender body, I actually might have a decent shot at this.

  She turns slightly and smiles at me before resuming the conversation with the brunette and her boyfriend. Just that friendly smile makes the breath in my chest hitch. God. Forget Cosmo; she could model for Playboy! Cynthia... her name comes to me in a jolt. But it’s weird. I get images usually, but this is a voice blaring in my head.

  “Excuse me.” I’m about to ask her what she thought of ‘The Big Lebowski’ movie when the voice in my head stops me cold. ‘Don’t ask her that! Try something original.’

  She turns, and her brown eyes dance with amusement. “Yes?”

  My cheeks flame a little as I scramble for something witty or engaging to say. But words fail me. Then the whisper comes again, ‘Her perfume, idiot!’

  “I love that perfume you’re wearing! It’s Poivre by Caron, right?” Thankfully the name flashed in her mind at the mention of perfume.

  “Yeah. How’d you know?” She’s genuinely surprised, flashing a wide smile, mentally congratulating herself that the knockoff she bought was worth it. She turns into me, inviting more conversation.

  ‘It was your girlfriend’s favorite perfume. She was wearing it the night she died. Try to look sad.’ Again the words whisper in my mind and then leap off my tongue as I do my best to be the picture of sorrow. The words leave my lying tongue before I can even give it a sober second thought.

  “Awww... I’m so sorry.” She slumps and her hand pats my arm. Immediately I know all about her—she works with small kids. She’s’ kind, sensitive, and more important to me, hasn’t dated anyone in months.

  Just as I’m about to change the subject before this lie gets any bigger, the voice again stops me, ‘Tell her you haven’t been with anyone since the death of your girlfriend.’ What the hell? Where’s this coming from? This isn’t my style. At. All.

  My voice betrays my reticence, going on auto-pilot. “Thanks. Amanda was everything to me. I haven’t dated a soul since... well since—”

  “Oh, you poor guy.”

  ‘Adam. Tell her your name, idiot.’ “I’m Adam.” I can feel her sympathy and... dare I even hope— interest? This is baffling, but.... good?

  Her hand still rests on my arm radiating warmth. “I’m Cynthia Brooks.” She glances at my beer and then shoots a shy smile. “Can I buy you a drink?”

  There’s more coming through than just that question. Cynthia’s hoping to be the one to pull me out of my blue funk, the showstopper who can fix me. The voice again comes through, gloating, ‘See? Play hard to get for once in your miserable life.’

  “Thanks, but no. I’ll buy you and your friends a round and then I really should split. I’m afraid I’m not great company. This is the anniversary of Amanda’s...” That one just came to me on my own... I think.

  “No way! I insist. Especially not on this night of all nights. That painful loss. You shouldn’t be alone.” Her hand slips from my arm, and she leans closer, slipping her fingers onto my thigh.

  I should feel guilty but I don’t for some odd reason. This girl thinks she’s helping me. Who am I to deprive her of that joy? I give her a forlorn smile and cover her hand with mine. “You’re really sweet.”

  Sam, the bartender is watching this with wide eyes. He never thought he’d live to se
e the day that I’d actually walk out of this bar with a girl. And not just any girl, but a total knockout.

  She turns to her friends and introduces me to them, “Haley and Andrew, this is Adam.”

  I lean over and shake both their hands, murmuring the polite “‘pleased to meet you.”‘ The voice once more sears through my head. ‘Go to the bathroom. It’ll be a cinch that she’ll tell them your sad story when you’re gone. You’re killing it, Adam!’

  “I’m sorry. I’ll be right back.” I’m kind of shell-shocked when I get to my feet, but I stop at Mike’s table before heading to the men’s room. “I’ve got a lock on this one! Can you believe that?”

  He looks at me, then across to Cynthia and back to me. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  “Watch and learn, old man.” I swagger a little going over to the bathroom, taking my time. That voice. It told me what to do, what to say and it is spot on. For once, I won’t be sleeping alone. What’s a few little white lies?

  As I wash my hands I glance into the mirror. The funny thing about seeing auras is that I can never see my own. That is, until tonight. There’s a darkness emanating from me and I jerk back, my stomach roiling.