by Sara Clancy
Slowly, the door began to open. Marigold froze in place, her muscles flinching with the desire to move. Run! The growing vision of the bathtub held her in place. She hadn’t seen it since that night. She almost gagged at the memory of water filling her lungs. The skin on her neck burned, as if her father was only now pulling the blade across it, opening her skin, allowing blood to rush from her throat. The gap widened and she could see the water that filled the tub. A small, limp hand dangled over the rim, droplets of water still dripping from its fingertips.
“Jasmine.”
Marigold staggered toward the bathroom, her knees almost giving out with each step. All she could see was her sister’s hand. The tiny curl of her fingers as if she had died holding something. The pink flush of her skin was quickly destroyed by the dull gray shade of death.
The door slammed open, splintering against the wall with a resounding crash. The demonic hound barreled out of the room, barely able to fit its bulk through the doorway, sparks flying from its skin like a crackling inferno. Marigold didn’t hear her own scream as she turned and bolted down the hallway. One by one the doors began to vanish before her eyes, the hallway stretching out to impossible lengths. Her feet thundered against the carpet as she sprinted for Jasmine’s bedroom. Even as she watched, the door began to seep into the wall, disappearing bit by bit like windblown sand. The space as small enough to scrape her sides as she flung herself back into the room, kicking the door shut as she fell.
Within a second, she scrambled up and pressed her weight against the once again solid door, one hand instantly snapping out to flick the flimsy lock into place. It clicked over with a dull thump and she scrambled back across the floor, her hands bumping into the scattered array of toys. Sirens and recorded baby giggles broke the silence as she waited for the monster to break down the thin slip of wood.
The first strike spurred her into action. She got to her feet, grabbed the small bed, and yanked it across the door. Spider web fissures snaked across the wood at the second strike. She staggered back again, the far wall blocking her retreat. There has to be a way out, she told herself. Chest heaving, she ran to the side of the room. A smooth solid wall not covered where the window had once been. The door splintered and she caught sight of fiery eyes burning through the hole.
Let me in. Her stomach churned at the sound of the demon’s voice. At how well she remembered it. It flowed like tar through her mind, pulling across her brain like the skin of a snake. Let me in.
Marigold desperately searched each shadow for an escape but the only thing she could find was the overstuffed closet. She felt like an idiot climbing over the mounds of discarded clothes, seeking out the darker shadows that clustered within the corners. They wouldn’t offer any real protection but it was all that she had. She scooped and kicked the items from in front of the wardrobe door, trying to create enough space for it to close.
I’ll get inside eventually. Don’t make this more painful than it has to be. Let me in!
The door shattered and the bed inched closer with every blow. She slumped into the light shadows, curled into tight ball, and pressed her face against her knees. Tears burnt her eyes like acid. Her arms trembled as the onslaught continued. The demon’s whispers curled in her mind, filling her up like a gushing river. She clamped her hands over her ears but couldn’t silence the echoing voice. She pushed herself further into the corner, seeking out the darkness and illusion of protection. Then the walls disappeared and she rolled backwards into the empty space. Nothing caught her. Nothing stopped her. So she tumbled again and again, plummeting into a bottomless abyss.
***
Louis turned on the bathroom tap and pulled his glasses off of his face. He folded one of the arms over the collar of his shirt and pushed his hands under the faucet. The chilly water slipped over his hands, washing the layers of grime that had become incrusted against his skin. When they were relatively clean he cupped them together and let it fill with water. He dipped down and splashed the water over his face. His glasses rattled against his chest as he scrubbed the sterile smelling soap over his face. Removing the layers of sweat and grime didn’t help him feel any less disgusting. He continued to wash his face long after the water ran clear. When he had rubbed his skin raw, he turned off the tap and let the room fall back into silence. He gripped the sink with both hands and let his head fall forward, blindly staring at the white blur that was the sink.
Pain welled behind his eyes and he squeezed his eyelids like he could somehow quell it. It didn’t help. His stomach endlessly churned, rolling over itself in an ever tightening twist. Water rolled down his face, running together until it dripped from his skin, hitting the sink with quiet thumps. He focused on the sound, trying to root himself here, in this moment, as his mind once again forced him back to that boat. Marigold’s screams still rang in his ears and filled every silence.
He tightened his grip as if he could forcibly keep himself together. His slick fingertips slipped over the smooth porcelain in a low squeak. Every breath hurt. At first, he thought he was just imagining the sound, the low but constant cry of a baby. But it grew louder, became shriller, until the sound rolled off the walls. Louis opened his eyes, his vision a blurred collection of shapes as he fumbled with his glasses. The gentle cries never stopped. It was soft and breathy, with the unmistakable edge natural to a newborn infant. Settling his glasses into place he looked around the hospital restroom, unable to find any trace of a child. The sound steadily grew louder, rising into a broken shriek that drove into his ears like needles.
Using the back of his hand, Louis wiped away some of the stray droplets that clung to his stubble on his jaw, and followed the sound towards the door. By the time he reached it, the squeals had become something clattering, brittle, and almost metallic. He pushed open the swinging door, grimacing as the scream grew to a louder pitch, and continued out into the hospital corridor.
The hall was drenched with enough constantly shifting shadows to cast the hallway into artificial twilight. He flinched as a beetle stuck the side of his head. He swiped it away only to have a dozen more to replace it. The cry morphed again, distorting into a singular, clattering hum. The bugs crawled over his skin and he tried to knock them off. He turned to the side to avoid the insects, and froze when he saw the sight before him.
The insects swirled and clumped, forming a cluster that hovered in the air. They crawled over each other, their shells clicking and shrieking as they squirmed like maggots. As he watched, the swarm twisted and molded itself into the shape of an infant. The tiny figure floated on its back, its hands reaching for the ceiling as it released an ear-splitting cry. More insects flew around it, colliding with the ceiling and walls as they sought out a place to land on the levitating infant.
Mystified by the sight, Louis drifted towards it. The bugs thumped against him and buzzed by his ears. He could feel them crawling under his shirt and skittering over his skin. The infant’s wail filled his ears as he reached out towards the clustered insects. His fingertips brushed against the newborn’s side. The bugs burst into an angry swarm and charged towards him, encasing him with a shrieking, stinging cloud. They ravaged his flesh, ripping and tearing as they scurried to burrow below the surface. He racked his hands over his skin, but couldn’t free himself from the ravaging insects. He staggered back, blood welling over his skin. He clenched his jaw, desperate to keep the insects out of his mouth. His shoulder smacked against the wall as the beetles slipped under his glasses and attacked the tender skin of his eyes. He ripped his glasses off, frantically clawing at his face.
Within a heartbeat, the beetles vanished. Louis was left leaning against a wall, panting and covered with sweat as his skin echoed the pain of being devoured. He could still feel them crawling over him and shook his shirt in an attempt to dislodge them. He blinked rapidly and looked at his arms, trying to assure himself that the bugs were gone. But without his glasses, the world was reduced to a bright cluster of shapes, deprived of meaning and dime
nsion, and the feeling remained.
“Louis?”
He twisted to the voice he couldn’t identify and squinted at the shape he saw.
“Are you Louis Dupont?” the feminine voice asked again.
Swallowing thickly, he licked his dry lips and forced out a croaked. “Yes.”
“I’m Sheriff Berret,” she said.
“I lost my glasses,” he mumbled.
His knees felt weak and he wasn’t quite sure they would take his weight if he was to move away from the wall. He watched the shape move towards him, the colors twisting as the woman bent down and then reached out to him. He mimicked the movement and felt the arm of his glasses brush against his fingertips. The tension in his chest relaxed a little as he settled his glasses onto his nose and the world settled around him once more.
“Thank you,” he said.
The woman standing before him was short but held an unmistakable air of authority. Her tawny hair was neatly slicked back into a ponytail and her gaze had a sharp edge that her soft smile couldn’t hide.
“You and I have some things to discuss.”
He nodded, his tongue thick and heavy in his mouth.
Her eyes narrowed, “Are you alright?”
“My friend is in the hospital,” his voice was still barely more than a whisper. “No. I’m not alright.”
“Well, as it happens, I do have a few questions for you about that. Just some things we need to clear up.”
“I’ve already given the other officer a statement. He knows what happened.”
“I’m still shaky on the details.”
“We were staying at the shipwreck,” he began as he struggled to clear his mind of what he had just seen.
“And why was that?”
His muscles twitched with the desire to shift under her penetrating gaze.
“Do you know much about Delilah La Roux? What they found in her New Orleans home when it burnt down a few months ago?”
“A torture room,” she nodded. “A used one.”
“She was Maggie’s aunt. It brought a lot of unwanted attention.”
Sheriff Berret nodded, “It must have been a difficult time for her. Probably the last thing she needed after her parents.”
His head snapped up, “You know about her parents?”
“When it’s discovered that a pair of nurses have been overdosing their patients for decades, people talk. Especially in the law enforcement community.”
“Well, that’s why she wanted to get away.”
“It’s odd don’t you think?” Berret sounded conversational but the look in her eyes was more focused than a hunter’s. “I mean, people have looked over one family member being a killer. It happens. But three family members killing in a serial manner without her catching on? Doesn’t that sound a little strange? A person could begin to question the legitimacy of her ignorance.”
“What has any of this got to do with Maggie’s accident?”
“An accident, was it?”
Louis swallowed thickly, “I don’t think she was trying to hurt herself. She must have fallen or something, that whole boat is rusted through. It was a stupid idea for us to stay there.”
“And why did you call your mother instead of the ambulance?”
He scratched idly at the back of his neck, “I was going to call the ambulance straight after. I just thought Ma might have been closer.”
Berret nodded, “How about we talk about this sheet she was in?”
“The tide came in. We couldn’t get her out any other way.”
“Did you know at the time that her legs were broken?” she asked. “Pretty badly, they say.”
He glanced down, “They looked discolored.”
“She didn’t mention it?”
“How could she? She was unconscious when we found her.”
It took everything he had not to break away from the woman’s gaze. He was sure that each word sounded as fake and unsure as they felt on his tongue.
The sheriff clicked her tongue and nodded. “That’s right,” she said slowly. “I have another question.”
“Okay.”
She forced him to meet her eyes before she asked, “Why do you think there were satanic symbols on that sheet?”
Chapter 3
Marigold came back to herself, feeling like her insides had suddenly been pulled deeper into the shell of her being. She found herself laying on the ground, mud oozing against her fingers and cheek. Darkness consumed her vision, and for one horrifying second, she was sure that she was back inside her coffin. She twisted to look around herself but all that existed was an uninterrupted abyss. The cool mud pressed against her, soaked into her clothes, and squelched around her as she got to her feet. A trickle of relief pushed through her when nothing blocked her from standing up.
The second she straightened, she was faced with a sea of lights. Flickering candles burned within small cups of every color. They stood like stars within the nothingness and burned so brightly, they were almost painful to look at. But for all their strength, the candles only managed to illuminate the faces of the people that held them, not even able to reach their hands or stir the shadows that hugged their bodies. She stood within a galaxy of pinpoints of light and pale hovering faces.
Cautiously, Marigold took her first steps into the suspended field but no one appeared to notice or care about her. She pushed out a hand, slowly reaching just below one hovering face, meaning to grip their shoulder and perhaps turn them to her. If this was truly her mind then she had to have some measure of control. But her fingertips found nothing but empty air. She reached further until she was able to wave her hand directly under the ghostly pale face. Still, she found nothing. The face didn’t move. Her heart quickened as she turned around her, realizing for the first time that she wasn’t in a crowd, but amongst an ocean of disembodied heads.
Marigold ducked and weaved through the field, not wanting to touch the faces but unwilling to lose the little light that the candles offered. It took her a few feet to notice that every face was turned in the same direction, tilted up at an identical angle to look up at the sky. A cold lump formed within her to think about studying them but she moved closer nonetheless. A cold chill ran over her skin as she turned to the nearest one. The face didn’t look at her, but remained as it was, pointed to the ebony sky.
With cautious steps, she rounded to the front of the face, able to see it fully for the first time. Even though the candle before it was encased in a bright blue disc, the light it emitted couldn’t compete to the chalky white of the face’s flesh. The coloring didn’t appear to be a trick of the light. The skin itself was dry and slightly porous, crumbling into each wrinkle, smudging across every line. She couldn’t determine the face’s gender. Each aspect seemed to hover between both male and female but belonged to neither. Its eyes were light enough to look near white, the blue tinge only recognizable when contrasted with its skin. It stared, unblinking, into the nothingness above, a broad smile fixed upon its face. Only its lips moved. Red and slick like blood, the face’s lips were a blur as it rapidly spoke. But no sound came out. She tried to read them, searched for one movement she could recognize. She still couldn’t understand, but only watch as a rosy liquid dripped from the lips and drooled into the shadows.
Marigold pulled back and looked to the next face. It was identical to the first and frozen in the exact same position. And just like the first, its lips moved in a swift but silent blur. She pushed past the floating rows but there seemed to be no end. She quickly lost her way. As she ducked around the faces, careful not to make contact, she couldn’t tell if she was still heading in the same direction. She tried to use their line of sight as a guide, heading in the same direction that they were looking to keep from having to see their faces. But each time she looked away, even if for just a moment, it was as if they shifted directions. Not by much, just enough to make her hesitate and reassure herself that it hadn’t been like that before.
Growing desp
erate, Marigold broke into a run. Her feet pattered over the unseen mud and her legs soon ached with the strain. But it seemed the faster she moved, the less distance she covered. She pushed herself until her lungs burned like fire captured under her skin. Her knees almost buckled when she found that they were now moving with her, drifting alongside her, silent and still unblinking, moving swiftly enough to give the illusion that she was running on the spot. She changed her direction and they moved with her. The burn of her muscles told her that she was running but she never seemed to move an inch.
A lonesome howl broke free from the darkness, the gravelly sound that shot through the crowd. Her heart stuttered and lurched into her throat, choking her panted breath into a gasped whine. She pushed herself to run faster, but once more found herself locked within the same patch of earth. The howl hit her again and she whirled around towards it. The darkness swallowed everything but the faces and their candles. She held her breath, trying to catch any trace of sound or movement. A scream stuck in her throat as the face by her shoulder snapped around to face her, its smile still in place as it fixed unblinking eyes upon her.
“It’s coming for you,” the head said in a wispy voice.
Marigold backed away from the face but it twisted to follow her movements. Staring. Silent. Frozen in place with a delirious grin that never reached its eyes. She heard the howl but couldn’t look away from the face that spoke to her. Then came the rhythm panted breaths of a creature running. The sound grew closer. She searched the darkness but still couldn’t catch sight of it, couldn’t determine where it was coming from. Her feet squished against the mud as she took another step back from the face. The panting grew louder, rolling around her, coming from everywhere but nowhere. Whatever direction she chose to run, there was a chance she would be headed right for it.
