Haunted By The Succubus

by Michelle Dorey

  My hand slows, slathering the brush with the white paint and sliding the excess against the side of the can. What I wouldn’t give for a cold beer at The Slip. When my other hand raises to swipe a bead of sweat from my brow, my head jerks up.

  No.

  This is exactly what I’m not supposed to be doing—daydreaming about my past life. That life is over, and my job now is to shape up to fight this demon.

  Again, I apply the paint, biting the inside of my lip to keep me present in the moment. People have died because of this fiend, and it’s up to me to stop it before things get any worse—if that’s even possible. Poor Cynthia, Doug, and Lisa.

  And Chauncy. Does Mike still have him? I hope so. He’s good company for the old guy, and Mike doesn’t seem like he’s got too many friends.

  Shit. Keeping my mind still and concentrating on this job is harder than I would have thought. It’s probably the dull monotony of this task, and the paint glistening in the sun isn’t helping. Maybe I need a break.

  I balance the brush on the edge of the can and then stretch, lurching my way to the back of the house. Unlike this morning after splitting her wood, the old lady hasn’t bothered to put out a glass of water or snack. My mouth is dry as dust and my lips are parched.

  “Margrit?” I call to the back door. When there’s no answer I walk closer about to step up onto the stoop when that invisible barrier thing she put there stops me cold. And there’s no sound of any movement inside the house. She’s probably dozed off. That’s what old people have a tendency to do, right?

  I wander over to the driveway, rubbing the knots from my upper arm with my hand. Her car glints in the waning rays of the sun and I absently round it to the driver’s side, checking out the worn upholstery and dashboard. The old jalopy was probably made more than twenty years ago from the style of it. I try the door and when I find it unlocked, I get inside. There’s almost two-hundred-thousand miles in this old...

  The key is in the ignition. The dangling plastic happy face sways under it on a chain. Margrit’s either really trusting or just plain stupid. There’s not many people out this way, but still, you never know, right?

  My fingers close over the key and before I know it the motor fires to life. A quick glance at the front door shows that it’s still closed. I’d half expected her to come flying out, giving me shit for being in her car and not painting. But there’s no sign of life around the house. She might be asleep for another hour or so.

  Should I?

  The next thing I know I’m backing out of the driveway, already tasting the icy bite of that first sip of beer, the foam coating my upper lip. Just one won’t hurt. I never did get a chance to see the small town, and for sure I’d like to see some of it.

  Besides, she won’t even know I’m gone. I’ll be back before the old lady wakes up. I’ve earned a break from all the hard work I’ve done around her old house. If she’d left a cold drink for me I probably wouldn’t be doing this. And it’s not like I can get in her house to use the tap. Just one cold glass of draft beer will do the trick.

  Maybe I can find an internet café and check up on Amy, see if she’s posted anything on Facebook. Surely Margrit wouldn’t be mad if I check up on my sister.

  In twenty minutes I’m cruising down the main drag, looking for a hole in the wall bar where I’m not likely to get carded. A flashing Budweiser sign outside a place on a side street catches my eye. I turn down the narrow lane and park the car between two half-ton trucks. I’ve only got six dollars in my jeans, which is just as well as I can’t stay long anyway.

  I head over to the wooden door under a striped awning and go inside. The first thing that catches my attention besides the smell of beer is the oversized screen above the bar lighting the dim room with the eerie glow of astro turf and a pitcher winding up to throw a ball. When my eyes get accustomed to the light I wander over, hardly giving a glance to the two women hunched in a booth laughing or the three people shooting pool at the back of the room. I just want a beer, so baaad.

  When the bartender, a blowsy woman in a too-small, white T-Shirt, her blond hair high and tousled wanders over, I ask, “What’s on tap?”

  She shifts a wad of gum to her cheek and smiles. “Bud, Busch, and Coors.” Her eyes meet mine and for a moment I freeze. Asking for ID hovers in her mind but then disappears in a flash.

  Acting as casual as you please, I slide onto the stool and glance up at the monitor above her. “I’ll have the Coors, please.”

  She saunters off and glances over as she holds the glass under the tap. “Hot day out there, huh? You’re new in town.”

  “Yeah. Just finishing a painting job, needed a cold drink.” I try to avoid eye contact as much as possible, yet I know she’s still glancing over, trying to engage me in conversation. The woman is in her forties, bored, and she’s got a kind of dreamy look in her eye, glancing at me. Oh my God. Not another Lisa. What is with these women? If she were maybe ten years younger, I might consider it but...

  She’s barely set the drink down in front of me, lingering while I fish out a couple bills to pay for it, when the other two women leave their booth to sit next to me. I plunk the bills down, but the bartender makes no move to take it.

  The woman on my left sidles closer, so close that the faint odor of cigarettes wafts from her skin. She’s got dark hair and sky-blue eyes outlined in liner so thick it’s clumped and flaking off in chunks. “What’s yer name? Can I buy you a beer?”

  I stare into my beer and mumble, “Adam.”

  This is totally crazy! I can feel all three of them shifting closer to me. I’m sensing the lust in their gazes as if I’m some kind of Tom Cruise, which I’m absolutely not.

  The one on the right actually places her hand on my thigh, stroking higher with each second that passes. “If you’re Adam, then I’m Eve, if you get my meaning.”

  The bartender bends, placing her elbows on the bar in front of me, displaying a generous view of cleavage. “I’m off at nine if you’re interested in getting together.”

  I look up at her. “Sorry. I’ve just got time for one beer.”

  The cigarette mama leans closer still. “Where are you off to? I can keep you company.” Her fingers brush along the back of my hand and linger.

  This isn’t right. These women normally would look past me, yet here they are practically throwing themselves at me. I gulp half of my beer and set it down. “Thanks, but no.”

  The one on my right gets so close my chest tightens, feeling suddenly claustrophobic.

  My voice is a growl, “Look, I’m not interested. Can you give me some space here?”

  But this has the opposite effect on them. They’re practically fawning over me, touching me, their perfume and breath wafting off in waves.

  “Hey! Leave me alone! I’m gay, studying for the priesthood, celibate, whatever! How ‘bout we leave it at gay-celibate—anything! Just let me alone, okay?” I spin around and storm out of the bar.

  Shit! It’s happening again. There’s no doubt what made them so attracted to me. It’s that demon that’s controlling them, just like in the bar with Cynthia. Look how well that turned out.

  Why the hell did I come into town? I should have known better. But the thing is, after leaving the back of Margrit’s house, things are kind of fuzzy. But that scene in the bar acted like smelling salts, jolting me back to reality.

  The light outside makes me squint and for a moment I’m disoriented. Where the hell did I park the car?

  A high-pitched wail, and the sounds of boys yelling catch my attention. It’s coming from down the street. Some kid is getting his ass kicked by bullies. I race toward the wails and laughter and see four boys aged thirteen or so in a circle pushing a smaller kid. The kid’s crying, trying to keep his glasses on as they jostle, thrusting him from one side to the other.

  “Hey! Let him go!” I bolt to the first guy—the biggest—and spin him around to face me.

  “Fuck off! This ain’t your business!” His eye
s are slits as he yanks out of my grasp, joining his friends.

  That’s it! I can barely see when the blinding rage hits me. I grab him by the back of his collar with one hand, spinning him around to land a solid blow in his gut. He folds over and my knee reacts with a solid thrust upward into his face. The sound of bones crunching is music to my ears.

  One of his friends jumps me from behind while the other two are at each of my sides belting me with blows to my arms and shoulders.

  My arm raises to wrap over the neck of the guy on my back. With a sharp bend he goes flying over and to the side taking out the opponent on my right. They’ve hardly landed when I strike the other one down, pummeling him with my fists. He’s on the ground and I’m on him, beating him till his face is bloody. Blinding rage courses through me.

  Another kid comes down the alley. “Stop it! What’s going on?” From the shock in his voice I know he’s not part of this gang of jerks.

  But I can’t stop. With every punch to this kid’s face, Eric and the guys who bullied me at school feel it. Every humiliation, every taunt and blow they dished out to me is rained down on this punk under me.

  The other three run away, but the kid who just entered the alley keeps coming. He throws his body at me, knocking me off the punk. The young thug I was beating takes this opportunity to scrabble to his feet and lurch away, out of my clutches.

  I turn on the new kid and before I even know it, I’m lifting him up, holding his leg and torso higher and higher. He flies through the air and into a dumpster hulking at the wall of a building. His yelp of pain breaks through the rage that gripped me in its spell.

  The innocent kid, the one who was being picked on, grabs the skateboard the thugs had tried to take from him and darts the other way out of the alley. The look of fear in his eyes stops me cold.

  When the last guy peers over the rim of the dumpster I see his aura. Oh my God. This is a good guy who I could have seriously hurt, tossing him into the garbage like a piece of trash. And not just that, but he’s gifted like I am—not as strong as me but still it’s there. From the look of horror in his eyes when he edges away, stumbling in the refuse bags, I know he sees it, the demon, the darkness that envelops me.

  I race back to the mouth of the alley and across the street to where the car is parked. It’s a few moments before my hands can stop shaking enough to put the key into the ignition. Oh my God. That demon used my hate, my resentment of being bullied... I almost killed that kid! The kid was a punk, but he didn’t deserve to die because of that. Let alone the other boy I just threw in the trash! What happened to me?

  After taking a few deep breaths I calm down enough to start the car and drive out of town. This was a mistake, sneaking into town for a beer with Margrit’s car. From the time I took a break from painting right up to now, this demon has pulled the strings. That’s enough to scare the bejeezus out of me and... Boy oh boy, the old lady is going to have a fit. I’ll be lucky if she doesn’t throw me out on my ass.

  She warned me, and I wasn’t strong enough to resist it.

  I sink lower in the seat. I’m not going to make it. She’s going to give up on me and I’m doomed. And I can’t blame her. I’m radioactive to anyone around me because of this poison inside me.

  ‘You give me too much credit.’

  Oh shit. To make matters worse, the voice is back to gloat.

  “Why? Why can’t you just let me go?” I swab a tear trickling down my cheek away with the back of my hand.

  ‘And miss this fun? You have to admit that pulverizing that punk’s nose to a smear was satisfying, Adam. He deserved to die.’

  “No! I told you, NO MORE HURTING OR KILLING!” I pound the steering wheel with my palm.

  ‘Settle down. And just so we’re clear... that fight was your doing, not mine. I take credit for the women coming on to you in the bar, but that gang? Not me, bucko. All you. And you liked it.’

  This is more horrifying than if it had made me do that. I’m not a bully or a street brawler. “You’re lying! That’s what you are, a stinking liar. I don’t believe you.”

  It couldn’t be true. In all the times I was picked on in school I’d never resorted to violence. It was one of the things that my older brother Seth used to berate me over. He’d even tried to teach me how to fight but I wouldn’t.

  It couldn’t have been me almost beating that kid to death. My gut sinks lower still picturing the blood streaming from his nose, his eye swollen and almost shut from the punches I rained down on him.

  And another cold fact sinks in. The kid will tell his parents, who in turn will tell the cops, and they’ll have a pretty good description of me. Coincidentally, this will be a perfect match with the guy they’re looking for in a series of murders in Watertown.

  I am done for. They’ll find me and arrest me. Maybe I should just keep on driving. Why not add grand theft to my list of charges? Can it get any worse?

  But the old lady’s house comes into view and I wheel the car into the driveway. She doesn’t have much and for sure taking her car would be the final straw. She’d never be able to replace it, and living this far out in the boonies without it would be a death sentence.

  She’s standing on the front veranda, arms crossed over her chest when I get out of the car. The paint supplies are nowhere to be seen. The silver aura isn’t as pure as it was when I first saw her. Now it’s threaded with gray and red. She’s pissed all right.

  “Leave my car keys on the walkway.” Her voice is cracked and tired. She turns and goes back into her house, closing the door softly behind her.

  Somehow, this is worse than if she’d ranted and screamed at me. I’ve disappointed her and yet she didn’t tell me to go. With heavy feet I walk over to the walkway and set the keys just outside the metaphysical barrier.

  The sun casts a dim light from where it has set under the horizon. My body aches, and my fist is swollen and throbbing from the fight. I don’t think I’ve ever felt lower than I do at that very moment. The only thing I managed to do right was walk away from those women in the bar. But it’s a small victory in view of the street brawl, almost killing that kid.

  I look at the dim light shining from her house. This is a good woman who’s trying to help me. Even though she is scared to death to even be around me, she has the goodness to give it a try. I don’t deserve her kindness.

  The walk to the shed to lie down for the night is like plodding through quicksand—every step a struggle. This demon is winning the war. It’s insidious and sneaky, using every weakness I have to its advantage.

  If I stay here like this, I may end up hurting or even killing the old lady.

  Tomorrow I have to leave, for her sake if nothing else.

  SEVENTEEN

  A CLANGING RACKET JOLTS ME FROM A SOUND SLEEP. The light shining in the dusty panes of the lone window in the shed almost blinds me when my eyes open. And that metallic banging sound keeps going, shooting pain through my already aching head. I get up and throw the door open.

  The old lady is on the back stoop hitting a cast iron skillet with a metal mallet. Her hand holding the mallet lowers and there’s a grim set to her mouth, before she calls out, “Good! You’re up.”

  “I’m sorry Margrit about yesterday, taking your car. I’ll clear out of here once I get my bag packed.” Sighing, I turn to go back into the shed. I’m not sure where I’ll go but I can’t stay here.

  “Of course. That’s what you do, isn’t it, Adam? Whenever you have a setback, you run away. But you can’t run from this beast. Flight won’t work. You must take a stand and fight or you’re doomed. If you walk down that driveway, so help me God, I’ll shoot you, myself.” She drops the skillet and reaching behind her, she lifts a shotgun, pointing it at me.

  Even though I know she means every word, I’m not scared of her killing me. It might be a blessing to end it all.

  With a heavy heart, I cry out, “I can’t stay, Margrit. I almost killed a boy yesterday! I tried fighting it, tried just conce
ntrating on painting, controlling my thoughts, like you said, but it’s too strong. It led me to that bar in town, and I’m afraid if I stay here, it’ll hurt or even kill you.”

  “Do you not see that this is what it wants? Once more you’re playing into its hand, Adam. That evil thing doesn’t want you here with me. Yes, it wants you in this town, but definitely not living with me.” She sets the gun down and then slowly walks down the two steps, facing me.

  “I’m partly to blame for what happened yesterday. I gave you more credit for being strong enough to resist than I should have. This beast is a snake in the grass. But I know now what must be done.” She starts walking toward me, clutching the stone amulet hanging around her neck. Closer and closer till she’s right in front of me.

  I back away until my shoulder thumps on the doorframe of the shed. “No. You keep your distance.” Even as I say it, it hits me that these are the exact same words she said to me and for the exact reason—to protect her.

  She shakes her head and steps closer, putting her arms around my shoulders. It’s the first time we’ve touched.