Haunted By The Succubus

by Michelle Dorey

  She comes out on her back step, hanging a wet dishrag on the line running to a tree at the rear of the property. She barely glances my way but her voice breaks the stillness. “Do you still want my help?”

  My heart flips up in my chest as I look at her. “Yes. Please Mrs. Kovacs.”

  Her dark eyes skewer me when she turns. Gnarly fingers clutch the stone of a necklace hanging over a gaunt chest. “Margrit. Call me by my given name.” Her chin jerks up, and she looks at the pile of thick chunks of wood heaped in a mound. “Know how to split wood? Cut those up into quarters and we’ll talk. Do the whole pile.” With that she turns and disappears into the house again.

  ‘Screw her! Grab that ax and beat her door down. There’s more food inside. Bacon, eggs, toast slathered with gobs of butter. She’s holding out, giving you a measly muffin and tepid tea.’

  For a moment my mouth waters at the image of a decent breakfast. My fingers curl around the ax, and I take a step toward her back step. The door is flimsy and maybe she doesn’t have that witchy spell on it. She had a good night’s sleep in a warm bed while I battled spiders and centipedes.

  The door flies open and she stands there, once more doing that evil-eye thing with her fingers. “Fight it! The demon is clouding your judgment.”

  I stop short and the ax burns my hand so much that I yelp flinging it from me. The old lady’s aura swirls, getting bigger and denser as she stares at me. But it’s not me she’s staring down. It’s this ‘thing’.

  Shit. For a few moments it actually had me doing its bidding! I spit a gob of saliva onto the ground. That demon put the image of the warm food in my brain and I want nothing to do with it.

  A shooting pain in my head threatens to blind me in its intensity. Oh my God. The foul sensation of rage runs through me—not mine but the entity’s rage. With her help I beat the demon back and it’s really pissed now.

  “Good boy. Now split my wood.” This time she actually smiles before she goes in the house.

  I can’t believe how much her praise affects me. The only time I felt this good about myself was with my grandmother. And it’s the first time I’ve felt genuine hope that I can get rid of this... this paranormal leech.

  But it’s also scary how easily I succumbed to its words. I’ve got to be really careful. And listening to this woman is the key.

  Another first. I have never followed anyone’s advice. Even my grandmother’s.

  ***

  Hours later, I swipe a bead of sweat from my forehead and prop the ax against the tree stump. All of the wood is about a foot long, in four-inch sections, stacked in a neat wall close to her back step. My T-shirt clings to my chest, and my arms ache from splitting all the wood. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this bone weary before but it’s a good tiredness. And all the while I worked, that voice never spoke. There is a stillness in my mind that I guess is close to yoga or meditation.

  The door opens, and the old lady appears carrying a tray. Ice clicks in the pitcher of water and there’s a plate of sandwiches next to a glass. After setting it down on the wooden boards of the stoop she takes a step over to the rocking chair and sits. “Eat. I want to tell you a story.”

  I rush over and lift the jug of water not even bothering to fill the glass but gulping it right down. The coldest beer never tasted as good as that icy water. It’s empty in a few seconds. “Thanks.” I ease down onto the step. “Not just for the food and drink but for your help too.”

  She nods but there’s no smile accompanying it. “Back in Italy, many years ago a young woman in my family was attacked by this demon. Sasha was psychically gifted even more so than you. She was also very beautiful, and as a result, the poor girl was pursued by many men. She could have had the pick of the whole town, but she never wanted to be tied to one man. And she definitely never wanted children.”

  “Italy? You don’t sound Italian.”

  “I’m not. I’m ‘Romi.’ My family… we were gypsies. We wandered across the land, our own culture. We were in Italy when this occurred.” She paused. “When that beast took Sasha…”

  ‘She wasn’t all that special. Sasha wasn’t nearly as gifted as you. Don’t believe this witch. She’ll trick you and use you up. How do you think she became as strong as she is?’

  The words are a hiss that almost make me choke on the bite of sandwich. It’s not just the shock of hearing it again; it’s the malignancy of the tone. A picture of a young woman, her dark hair flying up behind her as she races through a forest, her clothes torn and hanging in rags, fills my mind’s eye. It isn’t just the desperate image, but her terror fills me with dread.

  “Stay focused, Adam. This is important.” The old lady sits forward, and her eyes seem to spark while her hand clutches the stone at her chest.

  “How can I focus when this thing keeps whispering at me? How do I get it to stop?” I push the plate of half-eaten sandwiches away when my stomach threatens to erupt up my throat. I can almost smell the stink of this hellish being, the rotting sewage of its core.

  Again the aura that surrounds the old woman becomes denser and expands outward. She’s fighting this thing, pulling on power sources from the earth and air around her. A sense of calm quiet infuses my mind and body with her effort.

  I need to know how to do that!

  I start to get up to get closer to her, to touch her and know but she stops me, once more giving me the hand signal. “Don’t come any closer. Stay where you are.”

  I sink back down. She’s still frightened of it. I can’t push her too far or she will refuse to help me. Death and this demon still cling to me and she’s right to be wary. With an exhausted sigh, I say, “Okay. Go on with your story.”

  She’s silent for a few moments settling back into her chair and looking off into the distance. “Sasha was my cousin. I watched her go from being a free spirit to one who was hunted and eventually destroyed by this demon. It used a man’s body when it assaulted her.”

  This time when she sits quietly her eyes well with tears and she’s having trouble forming words. For once, I’m able to control my mouth and let her take her all the time she needs before I pepper her with questions.

  “Sasha was banished by the elders when it became known she was pregnant. Honor is most important to Romi and she wasn’t married. My grandmother pleaded Sasha’s case. She knew that Sasha hadn’t been with any man, that this was the work of an evil demon, but they didn’t listen to her. There is nothing worse to a Romi than banishment. Sasha threw herself off a cliff rather than have that baby. She knew.”

  I wait a few moments out of respect but finally I blurt, “This thing I saw when I was twelve and then again a few days ago is a woman. It can’t be the same one that drove your cousin to suicide.”

  Her chin juts out, and she practically spits the words, “And you threatened to kill yourself as well. I know that. It was a brave though foolish threat that worked for a while. This entity wants you alive, wants to use you to experience what it so desperately craves.

  “What? What does it want with me? What does it crave that it would kill to get me in this town?”

  “Life.”

  I snort. “Life. It said that it wants to experience things using me. When I threatened to kill myself by stepping in front of a truck, it actually agreed to what I wanted. So my plan wasn’t all that foolish, Margrit. I made it promise not to hurt or kill anyone else.”

  This time it’s she who guffaws. “And you believe it? You are dealing with the master of lies and treachery. It’s found a gold mine in you, Adam, and it’s not going to leave easily.”

  So here we were again talking about the problem, but no suggestion from her as to how to fix it. I slump lower onto the step. Even if it were fixed, there’s a trail of bodies behind me. They’ll blame me for the murders and lock me away for life.

  Probably Mike has discovered Doug’s body by now. No doubt the police have an arrest warrant drawn up for me. There’s no going back even if the old lady can help me.
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  “Stop feeling sorry for yourself! Every time you do, this wraith gains more control over you. It’s time to be a man, Adam. Have some self-respect and strength of character. And for starters taking a bath wouldn’t hurt.” She rises to her feet but makes no move to come any closer.

  “How? You won’t let me in the house. I have to go to the woods to relieve myself.” I know she just gave me shit for pitying myself, but going to the forest to relieve myself, getting eaten alive by bugs in the process is more in an animal’s repertoire.

  “Stop it! I left a bar of soap and a towel on the front walkway. There’s a lake on the other side of those woods. When you return, leave your dirty clothes on the step. I’ll also expect you to weed my garden before you get any supper, unless you’d prefer more of my snow peas.” This time she actually lets a smile crease her face.

  The old coot! She knew she’d have the last laugh with the fresh snow peas. And she’s getting a lot of work from me, splitting logs, and weeding her garden, all the while being all Yoda-like. “Sure you don’t want me to paint your house while I’m at it?”

  “That’s tomorrow’s work.” She actually has the nerve to cackle.

  “You really going to help me or what?”

  “I already have. When you wanted to touch me and gain my power, it would have ended any chance of banishing this entity. This thing is sneaky. You thought that getting close to me was your own thought.” She sniffed, her mouth turned down at the corners. “It wasn’t.”

  There’s no smile now. And her fingers clutch that stone on her chest even harder as she looks behind me. It reminds me of that dream I had at the church my first night in this town when the young woman saw the shadow man and fled. A shiver ripples across my shoulders. It was so powerful and sneaky that I didn’t even know the urge in my head wasn’t my own.

  I don’t know where I end and it begins…

  Oh boy.

  SIXTEEN

  AFTER GRABBING THE SOAP AND TOWEL I stop at the shed to get a change of clothes to take with me. The smell of camphor is gone, replaced with a stench of an open sewer. But that’s not all. The old lady’s sweater is in shreds, smeared with a dark substance that the smell leaves no question as to what it is. It’s swarming with blue bottle flies. Her rubber boots are slashed hanging over the wooden handle of the rake and shovel.

  The demon had been thoroughly pissed by the peace I enjoyed while splitting her wood. It took out its anger with the raging destruction of her stuff in the shed. So this is good, right? I try to convince myself that she must be a real threat to its plans. And the fact that she wasn’t attacked means that it can’t penetrate her spiritual armor.

  Still. The wanton destruction and the stench make me queasy. I pluck the sweater and boots up and toss them as far as I can, throwing them to the side of the property. I grab my duffel bag and take clean clothes from it. Thankfully this demon thing didn’t mess with my stuff.

  As I pick a path through the dense woods each step feels heavy. Or maybe it’s knowing that I’m not alone, that this shadow demon is weighing me down. And it’s deathly still in the stand of trees. Not a breath of wind or sound of life anywhere around. I’m not a great hiker but even I know that this isn’t natural. There should be insects hovering or even birds chirping. It’s as if all are holding their breaths so as not to be noticed by me or my psychic stalker.

  Finally the tree growth thins and the blue of the lake can be seen. The shoreline is rocky, reminding me of the dream again. It’s even more familiar when I notice the field about five hundred feet away bordering the shoreline. The air is clear and warm with seagulls making their presence known, squawking.

  I peel the T-shirt off smelling the pungent sweat from my work earlier. It’s such a pretty beach area that I’m reminded of a family holiday at Hamlin Beach, swimming with Amy. I pause for a moment checking the area for any life before peeling off my jeans and shoes. And just like at Hamlin, the water is freezing and rocks bite into the soles of my feet. It’s a bittersweet memory, knowing I’ll probably never see Amy again, or if I do, it’ll be in the visitor’s room at some penitentiary.

  When I’m up to my thighs in icy water I take the plunge, submersing my body and head. The shock of the frigid water takes my breath away for a moment or two. The day may be warm and the sun blistering hot, but it’s early in the season for swimming; this lake is probably filled with melting snow from the mountain runoff. Needless to say, I don’t dally in soaping myself from head to toe and getting the hell out of there.

  But when I get out, my step is surer, and the frigid water bath has helped clear my head. The old lady was right about doing this. I just hope she’s also right about getting rid of that demon. God knows, the story of her cousin was depressing, killing herself when that demon thing raped her. Who knew that would even be possible? But considering it had killed three people and assaulted me it was capable of anything.

  I look down to check the scratches it left on me. Aside from a slight itch, they’ve faded.

  I gasp when it hits me. The story of Margrit’s cousin and my own experience with this demon have one thing in common. There’s a strong sexual element, but more than that, is the obscene thought that it wants to procreate. The grandmother knew it and so did Sasha. That’s why she ended her life and this thing’s offspring.

  But why would this demon want anything to do with me? True, it had appeared to me as a woman but could it actually become pregnant? Not that there is any chance of me cooperating. Good luck with that one. I towel off and then slip the clean clothes on. This is something to talk to Margrit about. It may help in figuring out how to ditch this thing.

  I make my way through the forest again and see the old lady digging in the side of the yard where I threw the sweater and boots. When she sees me her hand clutches the dark stone and she waves me off. Even though I just bathed, her actions remind me of the dirty entity that has infiltrated my body. I give her a wide berth walking by to take my old clothes to the front walkway.

  “The paint and brushes are in the shed. If you notice a strange smell there, it’s because I cleansed it with a sage smudge while you were gone. I also left a pillow and blanket for you.” She goes back to the task of burying the sweater and boots which the demon destroyed.

  When I enter the shed the air in there does smell better, lighter even. And she’s tidied up the nest I curled up in, adding a canvas ground cover to keep the dampness out. A used brush rests on a large can of paint sitting next to the bed. I pick up the items along with a screwdriver and take them to the side of her house.

  I’m stirring the paint when she walks by. “You’ll need a ladder to reach above the windows. There’s one propped against the back of the shed.”

  I look over at her. She’s still wearing that old black sweater over a faded blue dress that covers her legs almost to her ankles. But what’s really odd is the pair of white Nike sneakers that poke out from the folds of the hem. With her silver hair trying to escape the red bandana and the worn clothes, she’s the epitome of bag-lady fashion except for the expensive footwear.

  “What’s with the shoes?” I smile to let her know it’s not a criticism.

  “Arthritis. They’re lighter than the clunky orthos. Besides which they were a gift.” She pauses and then stares at me for a few moments without speaking. “You seem a little clearer after your bath. That and the physical labor makes you stronger, more able to resist this evil within you. You’ll need every edge you can get, believe me.”

  “This thing wants to procreate, Margrit. That’s why it attached to your cousin Sasha. And now it’s targeting me for the same reason.” I watch her nod and square her shoulders pulling back.

  The next thought is thoroughly depressing. “If I can’t get rid of this thing I can never have a girlfriend, never marry, never have any chance of a normal life. I won’t be used by this demon to help spawn some monster.”

  “You’re young, Adam. It may take a while to thoroughly exorcise it from
you, but don’t be so fatalistic.” She steps closer and a smile flickers in her eyes. “I’m glad to see you’ve figured this out on your own. What it wanted with my cousin was abhorrent, and unnatural. We can’t let this demon prevail in its plan. We must stop it at all costs.” Her face sets in hard lines to emphasize her words.

  “And if we can’t?” But I already know the answer to that one. I will share the same fate as Margrit’s cousin Sasha—I’d die before I’d let this hell spawn procreate using me.

  “Sasha was banished by my people. But you are not alone. At first I wanted to run as far away from you as these old feet would take me. But I had a dream the first night you were here. My grandmother and Sasha begged me to help you. If one of us has to die to banish this being... well, I’ve lived a long life.”

  “No, Margrit...”

  She turns, calling over her shoulder as she walks toward the back stoop. “Paint my house, Adam. Get physically stronger. Be sure to keep your focus on the task I’ve given you.”

  For the first half hour I lose myself in the job, applying even strokes of paint along the graying clapboard with a calm purpose, concentrating on filling the aged grains which suck it up like a sponge. The mechanical repetition is hypnotic.

  But then my mind gets bored and starts to wander with random thoughts. My arm muscles, already challenged by splitting the wood that morning fill with a heavy ache. A picture of The Slip, the bar I liked in Watertown, flits through my head and my taste buds tingle, thirsting for an icy beer. I can even hear the chink of the glass under the draft spigot as Sam fills it. The smell of alcohol, perfume, and the old leather chairs tickles my nose. And I can see in the mirror over the bar, a few women coming in for a drink after work or after taking in a movie.