In the Shadows

by Rebecca A. Rogers

disappearing behind a closed door.

  Can you hear it?

  The absence of sound,

  deafening inside these walls,

  disappearing with the body.

  Can you hear it?

  I hear it,

  hiding under the stairs,

  knowing I’ll disappear, too.

  Have A Seat

  Lizzie’s head pounded for three days straight. The headache blurred her vision so she could barely see out her windshield when driving to school.

  “What the hell is wrong with me?” she asked herself aloud.

  Her mom took her to the family doctor the day before and he said it was nothing more than a simple migraine, and told her to pick up some ibuprofen, which still didn’t make the pounding subside.

  Simple migraine, my ass. This is worse than anything I’ve ever experienced.

  Lizzie pulled her Jeep into a parking space, barely noticing that she was inches away from hitting the car next to her. She had to straighten up a couple of times before she could park normally.

  School droned on in an incessant daze—a dream-like state with her vision blurred. The headache made her sick to her stomach, and, more than once, she had to be excused to go to the bathroom. If she wasn’t better by the end of the day, she needed to either consume a higher amount of medication, or seek a second opinion.

  Getting out of the parking lot that afternoon was worse than getting in that morning. It was challenge not to hit anything, including her fellow classmates. Everything hurt her head: the sun reflecting off of cars or shiny surfaces, dealing with people who couldn’t drive to save their life, and children using the crosswalk. Needless to say, the drive home was slow. She knew the way like the back of her hand, but wanted to be fully cautious.

  “Lizzie, is that you?” Lizzie’s mom called as she entered the front door. Her voice reverberated in Lizzie’s head until she felt sick.

  “Yeah, it’s me.”

  “Honey, I’ve got dinner on the stove whenever you’re ready to—” She stopped when she stepped into the living room and saw the agony written across her daughter’s face. “Do you still have that nasty headache?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. I can hardly see.”

  She smoothed Lizzie’s black hair out of her face.

  “You’re flushed. Maybe you’re running a fever,” she said, placing a hand on Lizzie’s forehead. “Oh, you’re burning up! Am I going to have to take you back to the doctor?”

  “I think I’ll be fine. I just need some sleep.”

  “Let me know,” she said, but Lizzie was already in route to her bedroom.

  Closing her bedroom door, Lizzie plopped down on her bed, hoping the room would stop spinning if only for a moment . . .

  “Lizzie! You sure you don’t want some dinner?” She heard her mom on the other side of the door.

  She’s not serious right now. I just want to go to sleep.

  “Lizzie! Get out here this instant!” her mom persisted.

  Lizzie groaned and rolled out of bed, slogging her way to the kitchen. “What, Mom? I’m trying to—”

  “Come here and look at this!” Her mom grabbed her by the arm, pointing at the pot on the stove.

  “What about it?” Lizzie asked.

  “You’re going to eat it.”

  Lizzie halfway laughed. “I’m not going anywhere near that stuff. I feel like crap. I’m going back to bed.”

  “You’re not going anywhere,” her mom said, meeting Lizzie’s dumbfounded stare. “C’mon, let’s get you in the car.”

  “The car?”

  “Yes, the car!” Lizzie’s mom clasped her arm once again, pulling her through the front door and to the driveway. The older Honda Civic patiently waited for Lizzie and her mom to get inside. Stopping to open the door, Lizzie’s mom threw her into the passenger seat and scrambled around the front of the car to the driver’s side.

  The house was swirling and swaying. Lizzie’s mind was on a delay and it was messing with her reaction time. She braced her hands between the inside of the passenger door and the center console. Her stomach lurched. She was sure she would hurl all over herself, or on the floorboard.

  Scrrrreeeeeeccchhhh!

  Lizzie realized that her mom had already backed out of the driveway and sped away from the house, peeling tread in the process.

  “Mom, where are we going?”

  “You’ll see.”

  At least thirty minutes passed before they pulled into a parking lot of a white, one-level building. Lizzie’s mom urged her to get out of the car, practically pushing her towards the colorless façade. The sign on the door read: Dr. H. Puller. Some tortures are physical, some are mental, but the one that is both is dental.

  Sheer terror possessed Lizzie as she walked through the door. The receptionist behind the front desk looked like she was dressed for Halloween. She wore a white nurse’s costume, and her hair was wound tightly in a bun at the nape of her neck. She peered behind her horn-rimmed glasses and asked, “Can I help you?” The red lipstick she wore had bled into the smoker’s lines around her mouth, and onto her teeth.

  “We have an appointment with Dr. Puller,” Lizzie’s mom said, out of breath.

  “Mom, what is this? We’re at a dentist’s office.” Lizzie looked at her mom, who was now focused on signing her daughter in. She wouldn’t acknowledge her questions.

  “Mom?”

  “Have a seat,” Lizzie’s mom said through gritted teeth.

  Lizzie obeyed. Only five chairs were in the lobby. It was a small area with no magazines. However, reading magazines was the last thing on her mind. She was more interested in finding out why her mom had brought her here. It was obvious she wasn’t going to get her questions answered.

  “Thank you, Ms. Ackerman. Dr. Puller will be right with you. Please, have a seat,” the receptionist doted.

  Lizzie made a disgusted sound and received an if-looks-could-kill glare from the receptionist. She just basically repeated what her mom had said, too, which was bizarre. What Lizzie couldn’t comprehend why they were at a dentist’s office. She had a headache, not a toothache. Last she checked, there was a big difference.

  One speaker built into the ceiling played music that sounded like it came straight from the 1940s—the sappy-elevator kind. The small room smelled like a mix of metal, and the clock on the wall ticked loudly, which wasn’t helping her migraine. Lizzie noticed all these small things the longer she sat there.

  The side door beside the receptionist’s desk burst open and another nurse in costume-like attire said, “Ms. Ackerman?”

  Lizzie’s mom nodded.

  “Right this way,” the nurse continued.

  The hallway was never-ending. As Lizzie and her mom shuffled behind the nurse to a room, distant cries of pain and an elusive sound of a drill could be heard. Lizzie was frightened, and looked to her mom for any signs of help. None were given.

  “Follow me, please.” The nurse pointed to the reclined chair that was faded green. The smell of mouth wash, along with corrosion and timber, hit Lizzie upon entering the room.

  “Mom, what is this about? I don’t need to see the dentist.”

  “Yes, you do. It’s all right. Dr. Puller is going to take good care of you.”

  Seemingly on cue, Dr. Puller entered the room. His face was washed free of any color—as pale as a ghost—and his dark hair was slicked back in a greasy mess. Two loose locks dangled in front of his eyes.

  “Hi, Lizzie. I understand you’re here to take care of a tooth problem.”

  “Tooth problem? I don’t have a tooth problem.”

  “Well, that’s not what your mother’s told us. It seems that you’ve been having bad headaches and the root of the problem,” he said, chuckling at his pun, “is an abscessed tooth.” He sat down on a circular stool-like chair next to the patient’s chair.

  “I don’t—”

  “Now, now, Lizzie. We’ll fix you right up,” Dr. Puller said, as
he turned on the retractable, overhead light. He swiveled on his chair to a drawer behind him and produced a set of clamps, raising them in the air to inspect. “These should do.”

  He’s not going to use those on me. He can’t do that. This isn’t normal.

  Lizzie remembered the faint screams and sounds of drills when she walked through the hallway and cringed at the thought of what those poor patients were going through. Then another thought occurred to her . . .

  Oh, my God. That’s what they’re going to do to me! I have to find a way out!

  Lizzie tried to sit up and make an escape, but Dr. Puller pushed her firmly back in the chair and strapped her wrists and legs.

  “We can’t have you escaping on us, Lizzie. Your tooth needs to be taken care of.”

  Dr. Puller stood and walked somewhere behind Lizzie’s head, moving objects around in a drawer, when he spoke to himself. “Ah-ha! Yes, I think this will do nicely.” He sat back down and the drill came into view.

  Lizzie screamed at the top of her lungs. Pushing, pulling, and writhing under the straps that held her in place, she attempted to flee.

  “All that effort is not going to get you anywhere, my dear girl. You must lay still.”

  Lizzie continued her vain effort when Dr. Puller placed the clamps in her mouth. Her jaw cracked slightly, and she was sure a hair of an inch more and it’d be dislocated. Dr. Puller activated the drill; it made a loud, whizzing noise. He stood to maneuver the drill into Lizzie’s mouth.

  Her faint screams could be heard in the lobby, so the receptionist turned the volume up on the elevator music.

  Lizzie’s mom was on her left side, holding her hand. “It’s going to be okay, honey. Dr. Puller will get you taken care of in no time.”

  The breeze the drill emitted tickled Lizzie’s right cheek. It entered her mouth and began to puncture not one, but two of her back molars. Two teeth smashed at once, and the drill headed straight for the gum line. Red liquid sprayed across the front of Dr. Puller’s eye cover and breathing mask. He was close to hitting the bone.

  “Almost done, Lizzie,” Dr. Puller said.

  Lizzie let out one more scream before the room became dark.

  She sat straight up. Sweat beads pouring down the sides of her forehead. It took her a moment to familiarize herself with her surroundings. She was still in bed.

  It was just a dream. Oh, God, it was just a dream.

  “Lizzie! You sure you don’t want some dinner?”

  “What?”

  Lizzie’s mom let out an exasperated sigh. “I said, ‘you sure you don’t want some dinner?’”

  “Mom, I’m . . . I’m . . .”

  What the hell?

  Her mom was standing in the door frame with her hands on her hips, waiting.

  “You just asked me if I wanted dinner,” Lizzie said confused.

  “Yes, twice now.”

  “I’m not hungry,” Lizzie said carefully.

  Lizzie’s mom walked over the bed. “I didn’t make this supper for you, young lady, just to have you skip out on me.” She grabbed Lizzie’s arm, tugging her to the kitchen. Lizzie fought her most of the way, but gave out when her headache hit again.

  “See what I made for you!” Lizzie glanced at the pot atop the stove.

  Your Days Are Numbered

  Count them once again,

  my friend,

  because one day soon,

  your days will end.

  Imperishable Soul

  If only I could remember what it was like to be human—being able to have desires of the flesh that did not result in bloodshed, knowing I had family, not just a coven, and a life. None of that existed for me anymore. I was plagued and had grown weary of everything.

  Many years ago, I walked out of the home I shared with my fellow kind. They never looked for me afterward, as far as I knew; I would have smelled them. If there was one thing we were keen on, it was our senses. The entire world was heightened and ready for the taking. So there was no question about my travels, about roaming freely.

  I covered vast ground before I fell in love with Brighton. Small town, but the people were friendly and interesting to watch, especially two sisters, Abigail and Cassandra. Perched on a tree branch about two hundred yards away, I would watch them every night. They had the same routine—dress into their nightgowns, brush their hair, converse before blowing out the candles. As curious as I was of these humans, I had yet to know them.

  Humans were such a routine species, following the same patterns every day. Though they did not have long to live—compared to my immortality—they often worked tirelessly and got by with what little was in their possession. What impressed me the most, however, was their capacity for love. They placed love and affection on a pedestal above all other emotions. People fought for love, some learned what heartbreak meant, and some even died for this unusual adoration of another human. Yet the boundaries of this emotion were never fully intact; it was limitless. Although I had never felt any sensation as strong as love, I wished for it.

  Several days later, I crossed the barrier. I should not have, but I did. I was not supposed to come in contact with humans; it was an unspoken rule. I met the sisters during one of their trips to the market. At first, I only observed, then one of them—Abigail—noticed me. She lightly grabbed her sister’s arm and whispered in her ear. Both turned around. I could not hide, so there was no other alternative than to speak.

  “Hello,” I said.

  They giggled. Silly humans.

  “What are your names?” I asked. Though I already knew the answer to this question, it was polite, common, and unsuspicious.

  “I am Abigail, and this is Cassandra,” she said, motioning towards her sister. Both had hair golden like the sun, with tight ringlets that bounced when they moved.

  Cassandra smiled, but never spoke.

  “And what is your name, sir?” Abigail asked. This caught me by surprise.

  “My name is Valiant,” I replied.

  We tarried around the market for most of the day. Clouds rolled in to cool the air from the blistering sun, making everything more tolerable. I was immune to the sun. Old stories told of vampires burned alive under its rays were of fables.

  Several times the girls stopped to chat with friends. Friends. I could not recall whether I had any in my previous life. I was quite sure I did.

  “Will you walk us home, Valiant?” Abigail asked.

  “I am afraid I cannot. I must go now.” I smelled them. Very enticing. I could control my urges, but not for long. Their blood was sweet, untainted. I had tasted none like that for more than two centuries.

  * * *

  I grew accustomed to these girls and their patterns. I knew when they woke up, left for the market, tended to livestock, and when they went to sleep. I was obsessed and did not know why. Maybe because they were both beautiful. Maybe because I wanted the one thing I could not have—their blood. They never knew I watched from afar. I heard their whispers of me one night, but nothing was spoken thereafter. I continually waited, though I was unsure what for, but I could not keep myself involved with them.

  One night, the air changed. Something bolted like lightning through the forest. I was not sure, but I had a good idea what it was. Them. My coven. The ones I abandoned. They were hunting me.

  I leapt from the tree and walked through the pasture where Abigail and Cassandra’s cattle grazed. My eyes stayed on the tree line, but they did not linger, and stood before me in the blink of an eye.

  “Valiant! Good to see you old friend,” one of them said.

  “Oliver.” I nodded.

  “It took us a while to find you. I see you have moved on to greener pastures.” They all roared with laughter.

  I gritted my teeth. “Why are you here?”

  “Is it not custom to visit a friend?”

  “It is, but we are not friends. Now, what is the purpose of you being here?”

  Oliver and the rest
of the coven exchanged glances.

  “We are not here to hurt you, Valiant,” Oliver said. I did not like the way he made that sound.

  “Then who are you here for?” I asked.

  More glances.

  “We are here for the girls.”

  “What girls?” I wanted to be as smooth as possible about this, but there was no denying it. I knew the terror in my face gave everything away. I knew being around the girls was a bad idea. I had put them in danger.

  “Do not be sly, Valiant. You know,” Oliver stated. The corner of his mouth pulled up to form a wry smile, showing off his venomous ivory points. “I have my ways.”

  I should have known better. Oliver was sneaky. He had to have been watching me all along.

  “They have done nothing to you. You cannot just kill them. They have no way of knowing what I am. I gave nothing away,” I said.

  “Ah, but you did.” Oliver smiled.

  I tried to locate where I went wrong, what clue gave everything away, but I fell short.

  Oliver helped answer my thoughts. “I observed you for a long time, curious as to why you sit in that tree all night, staring at their bedroom window. Infatuated,” he spat. “Did you forget, old friend, that we shed our fangs?”

  “No, I have not forgotten.” Then a chill rolled over me like I had just walked into an ice storm. He waited for evidence. He wanted to catch me so he could kill them. I let out a low snarl.

  “Good. Then you know exactly what I am talking about. You let the evidence fall to the ground beneath you for all to see. We are of myth and legend, Valiant. If anyone knows we exist, we have no choice but to kill them. You know the law.”

  He was truthful. How could I not have been more cautious?

  “Know this: I will not participate in your sacrifice.” I spoke with dignity. Though I did not have a heart, part of me felt remorse for what I did, and that these girls would be slaughtered because of my mistake.

  “Very well,” Oliver stated.

  They drifted past me. Eyes met mine more than once and clearly expressed disappointment. I could not be like them; it was not that easy for me. I always fed on human blood—until I met these girls. Something in me changed. I was different.

  The law did state that, “No imperishable soul is to do anything to betray another’s veil. Doing so would place the breed in danger, and, ultimately, lead to extinction.”