Moonflower

by Angela J. Townsend

  “I want you to know that he was the only person who really cared about me. When he died it really hurt…. I sign all my paintings with a moonflower in memory of him.”

  Mila hugged me. “Thanks for telling me. I’ve often wondered if he forgot all about me. At least now I know he didn’t.” She frowned. “I just wish someone would have told me. I knew the elders, Anatoly’s dad and mom and Nickoli’s parents, were looking for you…to bring you back. They knew the group home you lived in and kept tabs on you—but I never knew how. I had no idea that my dad was in the U.S,” She looked somber. “Tell me how he died?”

  I nodded, my throat clogged. I fought to get the words out but it was all too horrible. The wound too fresh.

  “Please,” Mila said. “Give me your hands. I want to see.”

  I held out my hands to her. She took them and held them together in hers and closed her eyes. I closed mine and a bolt of electricity shot through me. I wanted to let go, but she held me tight. My head was spinning like she was inside my skull, probing my brain. Everything moved so fast. I didn’t want to see these images again. Everything from the first day I met Chuck to the day of his death spun past me. I saw the crash play out in my mind. The ambulance. People hovering over me. Just when I about reached my breaking point, Mila dropped my hands and my eyes flew open. “Wow.” I rubbed my temples. “That was wild.”

  “Sorry it was so intense. Usually the more painful or traumatic the event is, the more dramatic the reading.” There was tenderness in her gaze. She placed her hand on my shoulder. “Thank you for letting me see what happened. It makes it easier somehow.”

  Anatoly called up the stairs. “Come, now. We have little time.”

  “But I’m so glad you told me. And I’m sorry you had to live with that terrible woman.”

  “Me too. It was really hard keeping it to myself.” My voice broke. “Thanks for not hating me.”

  Mila shook her head. “I could never hate you for this. None of it was your fault.”

  Just hearing those words, especially from Mila, healed me somehow. Made the guilt of Chuck’s death bearable.

  What I couldn’t bear, though, was the horror that lay ahead of us.

  We went outside and headed to the car. The sun, bright and pink, was making its way into the world with swanlike clouds skimming across the sky. If only we were going to a park instead, or on a hike, a picnic, anywhere but down into that cold, damp place.

  I climbed into the front seat and snapped on my seatbelt. Mila and Nick tumbled into the back, huddling together as usual. Anatoly got in, started the car, and flipped the heater on. I caught a whiff of his spicy cologne and for a brief, sweet moment, I almost forgot all about the creepy mural and the daunting task ahead of me.

  Anatoly clutched the steering wheel, his knuckles white. He stared straight ahead as we traveled, squinting against the rising sun with his jaw tight. The car rumbled down the road, grass and weeds smacking the bumper. My heart jumped with every slap. I closed my eyes and counted backwards as I had done so many times after my nightmares. I tried to visualize a soothing place, a sunny beach. But everything seemed to fade to darkness, to those horrible creatures that thrived inside the painting.

  Anatoly slowed as we passed the church, weaving around a pothole in the road. Stained glass windows shimmered in the morning light. The church seemed so peaceful, so sacred from the outside, that no one would guess the place reeked of ancient secrets and horrors beyond imagination.

  Mila stretched and yawned in the backseat before pressing her cheek against Nickoli’s shoulder. Nick shifted, wrapped his arm around Mila, spoke softly to her. His voice was soothing, yet reassuring and firm like steel wrapped in satin. The bond they shared was almost palatable—an intense unbreakable fortress of devotion. If Nickoli and Mila could be together why couldn’t Anatoly and I? Just because I was the artist he had to guard? It didn’t seem like a good enough reason to me.

  Mila snuggled deeper into his Nick’s arms and the two grew quiet. I couldn’t imagine how they managed to spend the night in that horrible place, guarding that creepy mural surrounded by demons and hundreds of potential zombies buried in the walls, clawing their way out of their coffins in search of human flesh.

  I glanced at Anatoly. His gaze was locked in a dark-eyed vice on the road ahead. If only I could find comfort in his arms like Mila did in Nick’s. If only we could be that close, all my fears would be smothered away. All of that would be impossible and I knew it. It was against some ancient code of conduct or whatever.

  I hated rules—weren’t some rules made to be broken? Wasn’t there some way around it? Another thought drifted in, maybe he didn’t even want to be with me. He sure acted like it the night before. Maybe that’s just part of his super ego. Why would he flirt and mean it if he knew we could never really be together?

  “How are you feeling?” Anatoly asked.

  “Let me see…I think 'totally freaked out' sums it up.”

  “Do not worry. You will do fine.”

  “I hope so….”

  “You must believe in yourself.”

  “I do…but I worry about something going wrong. I keep having these horrible visions of screwing it up.”

  “Fear will only weaken you. You will have protection from us. Do not be afraid.”

  “I’m trying, but it’s like telling me not to breathe. I can’t help it.” I swallowed hard and stared out the window as I tried to distract myself, slow down my troubled thoughts.

  “For a long time you only had yourself to worry about. Right?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “Now, you have greater responsibly because you are no longer alone. You have us. You have home. And you have me.”

  Did he just say I had— him? I thought hard about what he'd just said. And he was right. Maybe I didn’t have parents or a family but I had Anatoly and Mila and Nickoli. They were a part of my life now and I knew that would never change. My heart leapt. I could do this, I could do anything. I inhaled waves of courage. Who could be afraid when they had their own personal Bogatyrs to guard them? But as soon as Anatoly pulled into the driveway and switched off the car, my inner courage collapsed.

  Nickoli sat up. “Mila, you must wake.” He gently moved his arm from around her shoulders.

  Mila struggled to sit up. “I’m trying…I’m just so tired.”

  “Please,” Anatoly said. “Stay here and rest. Natasha and I can handle things for a while. Come inside when you can.”

  Mila yawned. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” Anatoly said. “It is important you are rested and strong as possible.”

  Anatoly turned to me. “Ready?”

  I nodded and he climbed out of the car. Anatoly walked to the back and opened the trunk. He handed me a backpack filled with supplies and another for himself. We hiked to the house in silence, listening to the sounds of birds singing their springtime songs. How could the earth be so happy and carefree when inside its belly lurked a monster? I unlocked the front door and we went inside, our footsteps hollow across the wooden floor to the basement door.

  Anatoly opened the door and held a torch high as we descended. The stench of damp earth and moss rose in sickening waves to greet us. My stomach twisted remembering what Mila said about the smell of the Nocnistsa. At the bottom of the steps, Anatoly reached out and took my hand. My heart skipped as his fingers wrapped around mine. We worked our way through the catacombs, dodging cobwebs, and into the chamber with the mural.

  I stood in front of the mural and looked at the creatures, their images flickering in the glow of the candlelight. All of them seemed to be staring down at me, challenging me. Making me doubt my abilities like all the foster parents who came to inspect me. Their eyes combing over me to see to if I was good enough, cute enough, smart enough for them to take home. I hated trying to convince total strangers that I wasn't a bad kid, that I’d only been dealt a crummy hand of cards, that I was just trying to survive. But none of them seeme
d to care.

  I shook it off and stepped closer to the painting. I set the backpack near my feet while I studied the section Mila and I went over the night before. The Drevack stood right where she said it would be—glaring at me with hideous black eyes. Its mouth filled with needle-like teeth stretched in a final scream. I pulled out a magnifying glass and examined a hairline crack near the demon’s oblong head. I put the glass aside and took a step back to grab my paints when I noticed Anatoly was sweating, staring at the Drevack.

  “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

  “When I was a boy, I encountered creature such as this. It lived in village cemetery. A brother to this one. It feasted on flesh of dead. You could hear its vile shrieks as you passed graveyard at night. Screaming for its sibling trapped in mural. My father hunted it down and killed it. But that only made it worse. It brought rage of Baba Yaga on entire village. She was only appeased when she took one of village children in revenge.”

  “That's terrible. What happened? Did the kid die?”

  Anatoly's eyes turned to steel. “That child was me. That is why my father is crippled. He was badly injured trying to save me. I eventually escaped. Baba Yaga could not break me because of my faith in light.” Anatoly paused. “It is the same with this painting. He pointed to the mural. “There are two things that keep its evil contained. The paint in which it is trapped and the faith in God to help you.” He turned to me. “Do you have faith, Natasha? Do you believe in light?”

  I thought about the word "faith" and how it meant different things to different people. How it can get ugly, twisted. I fingered the cross circling my neck. My mother obviously had faith. And Bambi had her own version of religion, something she used like a weapon. She’d cut you one minute, then pray over you the next.

  “I have my own religion.”

  Anatoly raised an eyebrow. “What is that?”

  “It’s called survival.”

  “But you realize, in order to defeat darkness, you must believe in light as well.”

  “I do,” I said. “At least…I think I do. It’s just all so confusing.” I squirted a glob of blue and black paint onto my palette. “It’s something that’s been shoved down my throat so much that I want to be free to believe in what I feel is in my heart. I don’t want to be burned down for not believing the same as everyone else.” I took a step closer to the painting. It was like something was pulling me to it. As I drew closer, I heard the low rhythmic thrum of the mural’s heartbeat. It was pulsating, moving, more alive than the first time I saw it. It was as if we were on one side of a door that someone was leaning on, pushing and straining to burst free.

  I examined the colors surrounding the first section. It appeared to be a faded gray, but with a closer look, I realized it was a deep charcoal. I mixed a touch of black into a lump of white and found the right shade of gray. I began working on the outsides of the creature. I could see it wriggle the closer I came to it as if it were trying to get away. I would have to paint the corner of its left ear, and then its razor-like cheek bones. I leaned in close, hovering just over its hideous gaping mouth. A smell of rotting flesh assaulted my nostrils and made my eyes water. I leaned closer trying to see the cracks in the paint that needed repair. Cold, rhythmic waves of foul breath feathered my face and neck. I held my breath and flicked the brush over the spots on the ear and then moved to the cheek bones. The more I completed, the more the thing squirmed. My hands shook, I couldn’t take it anymore. It was loathsome having to paint a writhing, slithering creature beneath my brush. Chills snaked up my spine and settled into my brain in a fog. I had never felt more creeped out than at that moment. But as I continued working and was nearly to the last crack in the paint, the creature suddenly stopped moving and my heart leapt.

  “OH MY GOSH!”

  Anatoly looked at me. His face lined with worry. “What is it?”

  “It’s done!” I smiled at my work. One down and a million left to go but still, I had done it. I had completed it without any trouble. No longer would it be a threat to anyone, at least not for a long time!

  Anatoly's eyes danced. “Great work!”

  I stared at the creature, hands on hips, smiling. I turned back around to face Anatoly just as an ear splitting shriek spewed from the creature. The sound was sharp and disabling. I fell to my knees, grabbing my ears. It felt like a knife had sliced into my head. I grimaced, covering my ears as my gaze shot to the creature. What was wrong? What had I forgotten? There was a thin hole near the corner of its mouth that I hadn’t sealed. I grabbed my brush and dabbed the hole. The paint cut off the scream like a guillotine and I nearly collapsed from the relief.

  Anatoly reached for me, keeping me steady. “Are you all right?”

  I pressed my head to his chest and caught my breath. “Yeah.”

  “Do you need to rest?”

  I cradled my head in my hands, my ears still ringing. “No I want to keep going and get as much done as I can.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Totally.”

  There was a thin drizzle of blood from Anatoly’s left ear.

  “You’re bleeding.” I reached up and gently wiped it away with a paint cloth.

  His gaze caught mine, his eyes suddenly soft. “It is nothing. We need to keep working.”

  I nodded and faced the mural. It seemed daunting now. So many creatures to seal in and with such frightening possibilities if something went wrong.

  I studied the next creature, the Nocnistsa. I wondered if the night hag was responsible for the nightmares that had plagued me for so long. Could her powers extend beyond the limits of the painting? It was eerie the way her eyes stared down at me. The way her lips curved up into a strange, almost knowing, sneer. I tore my eyes from her glare.

  “Here,” Anatoly said. “Let me get ladder. She is too high for you to reach.”

  Anatoly grabbed the stepladder, brought it in front of the mural and set it up. He held my palette until I climbed halfway up. As I got closer, I caught the hag’s eyes shifting from Anatoly to me, watching our every move. Standing eye level, her gaze seemed frozen. I leaned in a tiny bit and she suddenly blinked and I nearly tumbled down off the ladder.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?" Anatoly asked.

  “Her eyes—they blinked.”

  “Ignore it, keep going. It is trick.”

  I shuddered, thinking about painting over those dark eyeballs. They were watery with long, black lashes like the legs of spiders surrounding them. Her face was like a hairless rat, with a long sharp nose and pale white skin. Fine wrinkles gathered and puckered around her mouth, chin, and neck. I balanced my palette on top of the ladder and leaned in close with my magnifying glass. The lines in her face needed to be filled for sure. I swallowed hard as I moved over her eyes. The left one would need paint. I shivered as I picked up my brush and swept it across the eyeball. The eye fluttered and started to tear up. Tiny red veins bulged in the eye as if irritated by the paint.

  I shivered violently. “Ugh! I can’t do this. Her eyes are turning red. I’m not into torture.”

  “It is illusion. She is playing on your sympathies! Darkness has no feeling.”

  A lump rose in my throat as the eye appeared to swell, blinking furiously as I finished working the paint into the hag's eye. The eye seemed to bulge now, a white streak of paint oozed out the corner. I dabbed at it with my pinkie but the moment my skin touched the canvas, I suddenly couldn’t breathe! The palette tumbled from my hand. I seized the side of the ladder to keep from falling.

  “Natasha!” Anatoly scaled the ladder. He stood behind me as I clutched my neck. “What is it?”

  “Something has a hold of my throat.” I croaked out.

  “It’s the hag!” Anatoly yelled. He pulled me backward down the ladder and to the floor. I lay like a fish out of water, the mural looming over me. The creatures faded from my sight as my lungs screamed for air. I tore at my neck in a panic—at the icy hands wrapping tighter around my windpipe. The mor
e I struggled, the harder the hag squeezed and then there was something else…voices, sounds, horrific images from my nightmares. The burn in my oxygen-starved lungs intensified. I slid my hand into the pocket of my jeans. The tips of my fingers grazing the stone. I shoved my hand deeper, grabbing the round object. It was almost free from my pocket when Anatoly pulled me to my feet, slapping me hard on the back causing the stone to roll from my fingertips. “Breathe, Natasha!” his voice rose in pitch. “It is mind trick. You must breathe!”

  I desperately shook my head, trying to tell him I needed the stone, that it wasn’t some mind trick—that it was real and that I couldn’t breathe! My lungs ached. I couldn’t hold myself up much longer! Anatoly cradled me in his arms as I gasped, clawing for my neck, trying to pry her invisible fingers from around my throat.

  Footsteps thudded in the distance. Nickoli and Mila raced into the chamber.

  Mila dropped to her knees beside me. “Natasha? Are you all right?”

  I shook my head, clutching my throat.

  Mila glanced at Anatoly, her eyes wide with fear. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “It’s the hag!” He yelled, his voice tight with panic.

  Mila grabbed my shoulders. “Where’s the stone?”

  “I dropped it.” I croaked, holding my throat and pointing near the mural.

  “Quick,” Mila yelled. “Help me find a white rock with a hole in the center.”

  Nickoli dropped to his knees while Anatoly started searching on the other side of the ladder. A screech came from the ceiling, a mist of black swooped down.