Buried in the archives of a message board which hadn’t seen use since internet was first commercialized, judging by the shitty web design and lack of new entries, I found a series of posts. The, as I read them, entries told the story of a woman—the author of the posts—who believed she was under attack by the devil.
I read them all. It must have taken me almost an hour to get through them. Coffee helped.
“Shit,” I said, for no reason other than to hear my own voice spoken aloud.
Her accounts were graphic, and twisted. I almost couldn’t absorb a lot of what she said had happened to her, and couldn’t understand why she would put something so private and ghoulish up on the internet, but it seemed to me that she needed help. She was clearly a troubled woman.
She had no kids and had married twice, though both of her husbands had died on her. A few weeks after her second husband met his fate thanks to a head on collision with an eighteen wheeler she started to believe he hadn’t really ever left. She would hear knocks and bumps, whispers in the night, that kind of thing. The woman hadn’t gone out and bought an Ouija board, hadn’t gotten in touch with a spirit medium, and hadn’t bought any specialist paranormal investigation equipment to try and listen to the voice of her late husband.
All she did was talk to her empty room.
At night she would sit in bed and tell her dead husband about her day, pretend he was in the room by snuggling into his pillow—which still held his scent—and letting herself drift off to sleep with his image in her mind. She would also leave an open book on his side of the bed and occasionally turn the page for him; he was a reader, and she reveled in the fantasy that he could still read the pages even from beyond the grave.
Soon, the knocks and bumps in the night weren’t scary at all, but comforting. It was, to her, as if he had never left, and she was happy with her new living arrangement. It got to the point where she was convinced that her husband would come back one day; that he would just walk through the front door if she wished for it hard enough.
But, as these things had a tendency to do, everything took a turn for the worst.
One night, while reading with her husband, she heard a knocking coming from her window. She approached but didn’t open it. The woman said she felt an impulse to turn on the backyard light, so she did, and there was someone standing there. By her accounts it was her husband, but her description of that man gave me the sensation of spiders crawling on my skin. My cup of coffee went cold before I could move again.
She had described, almost exactly, the man I had been seeing; the man wearing the hooded jacket.
The woman invited him in thinking it was her husband because, why wouldn’t she? She was dreaming. Of course she was dreaming. The woman knew that much. But how could she say no to holding and loving her husband one last time? It was after that night that her life changed. Her job, family, and physical health deteriorated as if they had been, one by one, thrown off a cliff. Sleep became impossible, the ability to hold food down was a luxury, and—of course—her house came alive most nights with terrible voices, knocks, and bumps.
The rest, I didn’t want to think about.
“Shit, shit, shit,” I said.
Dawn was approaching. The swallows were beginning to sing and, slowly, Raven’s Glen was starting to wake up. I, however, was up and ready to go. I couldn’t remember the last time I had been awake this early where I didn’t need to go to class or work, but I didn’t have to work, nor did I have to go to class.
I had the whole day ahead of me. A day for answers. A day for Magick. It was early, but I picked up my phone and called the one person I knew would answer my call no matter what time of the day or night it was.
“Amber?” asked the croaky voice on the other end of the line.
“Hey,” I said, “Are you free?”
Today was a day for Aaron.
CHAPTER 14
The hour or so I spent waiting for Aaron to arrive went by in a blink. I must have spent a lot of my time glued to the laptop screen because I was snapped out of some kind of deep trance by the sound of Aaron’s knocks against the front door. I closed the laptop before answering.
Aaron’s vitality hit me like a warm summer’s breeze. His cheeks were flushed red, his hair was clean, and the beard had been trimmed to light stubble. Wow. A few days ago he looked like a bum on the side of the street; unkempt, needy and sickly. Today he reminded me of the man was before we… stopped being whatever we were; tall and strong and handsome. But the tiredness clung to him, still. It was in his eyes, in his slumped shoulders, and in his voice.
“Hey,” I said, stepping aside to let him in. “You look… better.”
“Thanks,” he said, “You too.”
I didn’t look great. I knew I had bags under my eyes and I wasn’t wearing any makeup to cover it up, but whatever. I wasn’t trying to impress him.
“How have things been at home?” I asked.
“I’m feeling better. The fever’s stopped but I’m still not able to sleep at night.”
“What’s going on?” I asked, sitting down by the kitchen table. “Things have quieted down at my place ever since we spoke, but I’m still not sleeping right. Some nights it’ll be fine, other nights I’ll wake up in pain and alert… and I’ll be ripping things up.”
For a moment it sounded like Aaron was having night terrors. I didn’t get them, but I had read about them. Night terrors weren’t anything like sleep paralysis, which is what I had suffered from a few times. A person experiencing sleep paralysis wakes up in the middle of the night unable to move or speak. Often they see demons and other strange things in their rooms and think they’re being haunted.
Night terrors were way worse.
A person stuck in the middle of a night terror wakes up screaming and kicking in the dead of night, unable to recognize what he’s saying. Sometimes they run out of the house, or they thrash around and break whatever they can find. Then when they wake up in the morning to see the destruction they have caused, they can’t remember having done any of it.
“It could be a bunch of things that’s doing this to you,” I said.
“What do you mean by things?”
“Well… you’re not crazy. In all the time we were… us… you never exhibited this kind of behavior, so I know it’s not in your head; unless you’re going through a whole lot of stress I don’t know about?”
“Stress? You mean besides the pain and the sleepless nights?”
“No, what I’m saying is that I thought maybe some other stress could be causing the pain and the sleepless nights… but it isn’t stress.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because… I just can.”
I wasn’t about to disclose my status as a real Witch who can do real Magick to Aaron. As much as it would have made things easier, I didn’t think he would have understood. He would sooner lose his mind than accept the truths I could have shown him; the truths about the invisible world that existed all around him.
“What is it you’re thinking?” Aaron asked. “What’s responsible for all this?”
“I don’t think what’s happening to you is… of this world.”
“What are you saying?”
“What I’m saying is that when I first saw you, you looked like a train had hit you head on.”
“Thanks.”
“Swallow your pride, okay? I’m making a point. Then after we spoke, when you told me everything that had been going on in your house, things quietened down, right?
“Yeah, enough for me to notice they’d calmed down.”
“It’s not a ghost.” I paused and Aaron nodded. So far so good. “I think what we’re dealing with here is way more intelligent than a ghost. Older. Malicious.”
Aaron cocked his head. “So… what?”
“A demon.” A tingle of excitement tickled my nervous system as the words left my lips.
Aaron’s expression stiffened, but his eyes became razor sharp. “A demon?”
> “If an inhuman demonic spirit is to blame, it could explain the reason why suddenly things have gone quiet around your house. These entities don’t like being discovered, and if it thinks someone’s on to it, it will go dormant for a while.”
“So you’re saying there’s something following me? Listening to my conversations and messing with my life?”
“I think so.”
Aaron fell silent and looked away.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“I’m fine. I just want to know why the hell this is happening to me.”
“I don’t know, but I intend to find out.”
I got up and crossed my living room to the bookshelf in the far corner. That’s where I kept all my university text books as well as a bunch of other, obscurer tomes of occult knowledge I had picked up over the years. I dumped the heap of books I had picked out on the kitchen table and sat down again. Aaron picked one up and read the title, then flicked through a few pages.
“I thought books were a dying thing,” he said.
“Books will never die. There’s information in these pages you simply can’t get on the Internet.”
He sighed. “Maybe I’m just imagining everything,” he said.
“As an expert on imagining things, I’m pretty sure you’re not; unless you’re secretly on some kind of drug I don’t know about.”
“Never,” he snapped. The tone of his voice implied offense. His intensity sent a shiver racing down my spine. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply—”
“Aren’t you meant to be at class?” he said, the conversation suddenly shifting. I felt like the limelight had been turned on me. All this because I implied he might have been taking drugs?
“I got expelled,” I said, coming to my own defense.
“Expelled?”
Oh shit, he didn’t know. “Uh… yeah,” I said. “Look, it’s nothing. I didn’t want to tell anyone but I guess there’s no point in hiding it.”
“What happened?”
“I fucked up.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“You’re gonna have to,” I said, sighing, “I was skipping class, wasn’t handing in assignments. I was a real badass.”
“That’s not like you.”
“Oh, but you’re wrong,” I said, meeting Aaron’s blue eyes. “It’s exactly like me. I’m a mess these days, Aaron.”
“Do you want to talk to me about it?”
Was I really about to confide about my problems in Aaron? I sighed again. “I’m a firm believer in not planting my problems on other people’s shoulders. It isn’t fair.”
I realized in the moment what I had just said may have made Aaron feel bad or guilty, but I didn’t mean it like that. I had meant to say that I liked my privacy, and I believed Aaron had the sense to see it for what it was.
“It isn’t healthy to bottle things in either,” he said, “That kind of shit can make you go mad, or worse.”
“What’s the or worse?” I asked.
“It can make you grab a gun and shoot a bunch of folks. You have to tell someone about it.” Aaron took my hand. His fingers were soft and strong. “You were there for me when I needed someone. Let me be here for you.”
“Aaron—”
“Tell me while I make you a hot chocolate,” he said, interrupting. “Then we can go back to my thing.”
Who was I to turn down an offer of hot chocolate?
I didn’t think Aaron took what I had said about a demon affecting his life too seriously, but that didn’t surprise me. I hadn’t ever known Aaron to buy in to spirituality or even religion for that matter. Still, true to his word, Aaron fixed me with a cup of hot chocolate and insisted I tell him everything that had happened to me over the last few months.
I decided to tell him and didn’t spare any details, other than the ones where I used real Magick. I even told him about what had happened to Eliza, though I also left out my suspicions that what happened to her was externally triggered… possibly by another witch. Another witch. The thought hadn’t entered my orbit until now, but when it came in, it stuck.
“Thank you,” I said as the feather of steam warmed my nose. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“And you didn’t have to tell me everything you just told me. I know we’ve had a rocky past and I… haven’t always been the best listener.”
“That’s behind us,” I said. “I want a fresh start with you.”
Only… what did a fresh start even mean with someone like Aaron? We were barely friends then. We were two people who enjoyed the taste and feel of each other’s bodies. There was more on his side than there was on mine—I made it a point to keep him at arm’s length as far as my heart went—but the relationship was shallow. I could count the amount of deep conversations we had had on a single hand; not counting time since I met him on the street a few days ago.
“I’d like that too,” he said. “And I’m sorry about Eliza. I hope she’s okay.”
I sighed. “She will be, and so will the baby. The doctor said as much.”
“That’s something to be happy about,” he said.
“Yeah…”
“Look, you’re a good person, and good things come to good people. Give it some time.”
“See, I thought that too, but I don’t think the sky’s gonna clear for me any time soon.”
“I didn’t say it was gonna be smooth. It’s probably going to suck, but you have to stick it out. You’re tough, Amber. I know you’re going to come out stronger when the dust settles.”
Aaron’s words—and the hot chocolate—warmed my heart. But the poor fool didn’t know what he was saying. Eliza was in hospital, my hopes of attaining a degree in Religious Studies and Mythology were in the mud, and there might be a demon fucking with the people I loved—or worse, another Witch. Being tough and waiting out the storm might work for some people, but not for me.
“So look,” I said, “I’ve had time to think about it, and I want to do something with you that I think will help us identify the source of this problem… if you’re open-minded enough.”
“I’m willing to try anything.”
“Alright. Follow me into my attic.”
In my rush I failed to remember that Aaron had never seen the inside of my attic before. Back when we were a quasi-thing we had seen—uh, experienced—every inch of my house, save for the attic. This was the place where I did Magick, my safe place. I only took people I truly cared about into the attic. So what did that say about Aaron then? And what did it say about him now?
“You’re a real witch aren’t you?” he asked. His were eyes fixed on the shrine I had built along one of the long walls. It was a vanity set once, but now it was covered in an assortment of colored candles, tiny animal skulls, rune stones, cards and even a crystal ball.
“What gave it away?” I asked.
“All this… stuff.”
“I did tell you I was a witch.”
“Yeah but I never thought… all this.”
“Most people don’t get to see this place. You should count yourself lucky.”
“I do, believe me. I’m just a little awestruck.”
Aaron sat down in the center of the room and I came up to him with a bowl, a pouch, a small mirror, and even more candles.
“This is called a Magick Mirror,” I said as I sat down, cross legged. I opened the pouch and poured a mound of black salt into the bowl. “We’re going to use it to see if anyone’s put a hex on you.”
“A hex? Like a curse?”
“Exactly.”
“Didn’t you say you thought it was a demon?”
“Demons don’t just come into your life uninvited.”
“So, what do I do?” he asked.
“Nothing, just sit still and look into the mirror. Tell me if you see anything.”
I lit the candles around the bowl and carefully dug the mirror into the mound of black salt. I closed my eyes and, in my mind, stretched my consciousness into the Nether. That’s
what Frank and Damien called the place where things we can’t see exist. Everyone experienced it differently. To me it was like dipping my hands into a calm, dark lake. It was a blind sense. People were warm currents sailing beyond my senses; objects felt largely the same but sometimes they were usually harder to sense.
My own body was a tingly warm rush. Aaron, however, was like a fire underwater. I was drawn to his energy. I couldn’t tell why or what had brought on the sudden surge of feeling, but once it came it was impossible to ignore. He was hot and wild and untamed. I hadn’t felt anyone like him before. Memories of our passionate trysts came forth like lava ripping out of the sea bed, boiling the water around it.
But then something brushed against my hand, something disgusting and foul, like an eel covered in spindles. I recoiled from it and snapped back into my mind, reeling from the experience. Lurching. Touch turned to smell and taste as my mind returned to full wakefulness, but I didn’t want to smell and taste. That brief instant of touch translated to the bitter, disgusting taste of shit, rot and mold. I wanted to wretch, and I thought I was going to—right into the bowl—but I held myself.
Aaron reached for me and took my hand. “Amber, are you alright?” he asked
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said, holding my hand above my mouth, “I just wasn’t ready for that.” My fingers were starting to burn.
“Ready for what?”
“To touch something I wasn’t supposed to touch.”
CHAPTER 15
I couldn’t have gotten to the bathroom faster if I had rocket boots strapped to my feet. There, crouched over the toilet bowl, the contents of my stomach made a hasty and violent egress. Though I breathed through the motions, the pain in my stomach prevented me from getting up even long after I had wiped the grossness from my lips.
When my strength returned I struggled to my feet, de-robed faster than if Benedict Cumberbatch were beckoning me to bed, and jumped into a scalding hot-water shower. The heat burned my skin and I wanted to scream, but I needed to clean the filth off me more so I grabbed a bar of soap and scrubbed until the muscles in my arms started to hurt.
The Rule of Three Page 8
