The Grim Keepers

by CW Publishing House

  She heard it before she saw it—a faint, pitiful mewling. She thought she had imagined it but the room was dark and quiet, and when it came again, she was sure it was real. She sat up, resting herself on her elbow, and squinted into the dark corner. The sound came again and the shadows shifted. She held her breath and watched. At first it seemed to have no form, being nothing but a small blob of blackness crawling across the floor towards her. It moved slowly and painfully, pulsing as it made its way into the middle of the room. Moonlight ripped a tear across the floor, and as the creature moved into it, she could see it was a kitten. Tiny and barely formed, its eyes were closed and its black fur matted to its skin. It limped further towards her, but she was off the bed by then, leaping towards it. It flinched as she landed on floor next to it.

  She picked the animal up gently, feeling its fragile frame in her hands, knowing she could crush it if she wanted to. She carried it to the bed and cradled it to her chest, whispering “It’s okay, you’re safe now.”

  The kitten nuzzled into her palm, stretching its head towards her as if reaching for something “What are you after?” she asked.

  It wriggled in her hands, mewling even more desperately. She loosened her grip and it sprang forward. Sophie felt its rough tongue, dry and ragged, brush against her wrist. The kitten moved its head from side to side, purring as it settled against her skin, and licked at the beads of drying blood.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked.

  It sucked and chewed on her flesh, lapping and pulling at the slash on her wrist. She rested back on the bed, enjoying in equal measure the pain and the warmth of the kitten’s body. She didn’t want to think anymore so she closed her eyes and slept.

  Daylight woke her. She looked around for the kitten, but there was no sign of it despite the fact that there was no way in or out of the room. The wound was red and angry and the bandages lay in a heap on the floor. She wondered if she had dreamt it, but she wasn’t sure. Hearing voices outside her room, she quickly wrapped the bandages back around her arm as best she could and pretended to be asleep.

  “Wake up, Sophie,” the nurse said gently/ Sophie liked her voice. “Wake up now, it’s lunch time.” Sophie yawned and pretended to stretch, turning to face the nurse who sat on the end of her bed. She was in her forties, Sophie guessed, around the same age as her mother though it was difficult to judge; her hands looked older, her eyes younger. She offered Sophie a sandwich but she refused it.

  “You must eat something, Sophie, for me.”

  Her smile was warm and kind, so Sophie let her feed her a spoonful or two of ice cream. She enjoyed being babied though she would never admit it. The nurse said her name was Nurse Barton and that she was there to help. Sophie believed her.

  They talked while Sophie took her tablets and Nurse Barton changed her dressings. She was nice. She was calm, unlike her mother, who always seemed to be in the middle of some kind of drama or other. Sophie liked her.

  “Do you want to take a walk to the television room today, Sophie?” Nurse Barton asked, but Sophie shook her head and shimmied back under the covers. She wasn’t ready for that.

  “That’s okay. Maybe tomorrow,” Nurse Barton said. Sophie heard her leave the room before the drugs took hold.

  When she woke up it was dusk. The shadows heaved as they had the night before, and Sophie peered into the blackness.

  “Are you here, little kitten?”

  She heard it purr as it crawled towards her. She felt the weight of it land on her stomach. This was not a dream; this was real. The kitten moved quickly to her wrist and nuzzled at the blankets. Sophie knew what it wanted. She wanted it too. She pulled her leaden arm from under the blanket and pushed the bandages out of the way. She jumped when the kitten bit at her flesh, its sharp needle teeth undoing the healing wound and sucking deeply on her blood. She relaxed then, let her eyes roll back and let the pain flood through her body, cleansing her, releasing her.

  She was vaguely aware of the kitten leaving this time. It seemed bigger, more tangible than it had when it first crawled out from the shadows. She pulled the bandages back over her wrist and rolled towards the wall. When she next opened her eyes it was very light in the room. Sunlight streamed through the window and stung her eyes.

  “You’ve been asleep for a long time, Sophie. The doctor came to see you, but you slept right through his visit!” It was Nurse Barton. Sophie managed a smile.

  “You have a nice smile.” Nurse Barton sounded pleased. “I like to see you smile, Sophie.”

  Nurse Barton chatted gently to her as she arranged a table next to the bed and rested a tray with a sandwich and a drink on it.

  “It’s cheese. Everyone likes cheese, don’t they?” Nurse Barton said cheerfully, helping Sophie to sit up.

  “Do you like cats?” Sophie asked.

  “I’m more of a dog person, to be honest,” Nurse Barton said, plumping the bed pillows. “Do you?”

  “Yes,” Sophie said, glancing towards the corner but knowing it would be empty.

  “That’s nice,” “Nurse Barton said.

  “Do you ever have cats here at the hospital?”

  Nurse Barton laughed. “No animals here, honey. It wouldn’t be allowed. Silly rule, really. Now try and eat something, I’ll be back in to check on you before I go home.”

  Sophie took a bite of the sandwich and chewed on it two or three times before giving up and spitting it out. She wasn’t hungry. She squashed half of the sandwich under her mattress, saving it for the kitten, and left the rest on the plate. Nurse Barton returned an hour or so later and told her she’d done well. Sophie felt a pang of guilt for lying, but it passed soon enough. She swallowed her tablets with some of the drink and let Nurse Barton change the bandages on her wrist.

  “This isn’t healing as well as I’d like,” she said as she smeared on some sour-smelling cream and wound the bandage up a little more tightly than before.

  Sophie was glad to sink back into sleep, and again when she woke it was dark. The kitten was on her chest, its tail towards her, flicking in her face. The pain radiated up her arm. The sweetness of it relaxed her, and she didn’t try to move until the kitten had finished. It shifted off her chest and jumped onto the floor. She lifted her head to see it. It was big, twice the size it had been two nights ago. It was now a fully grown cat, sleek and muscular.

  “Cat,” she said. It was all she could manage. It turned to look at her, but she couldn’t see its eyes. They were as black as its fur, as black as the shadow into which it disappeared.

  Nurse Barton came in later when the sun was up and placed some toast next to the bed. She sat with Sophie and talked to her about attending a group session that afternoon.

  “It might help,” she said, “talking to other girls your age who might be going through similar things, who might understand.”

  The thought of sharing her feelings with others filled Sophie will horror. She picked up the toast but couldn’t eat. She curled herself up under the blankets and refused to move. When the doctor came to take her to the meeting, she shouted and spat at him. She tore at her hair and at the bandages on her wrist. She flailed her arms and screamed like a wild animal. She surprised herself. Eventually they sedated her, which was what she had wanted.

  The days slid together after that. Light and dark bled into constant twilight. People came and went, the shadow cat came and went. Time and pain and life merged into a comfortable blur. She didn’t know how much time passed and she didn’t care.

  The light hurt her eyes, but she couldn’t ignore it. She was awake for the first time in days, maybe weeks. She could see shapes moving in front of her, voices that sometimes seemed close, sometimes far away. She tried to speak but couldn’t; tried to move but couldn’t. She looked down at her own body. It was covered lightly by a white sheet, but she could see her bones pressing against it. A needle pumped clear liquid into her arm from a machine beside the bed. Slowly the people came into focus. A man in a white coat leaned in tow
ards her, calling her name. Her mother was there, standing too close to the man, peering over his shoulder. Nurse Barton was by the door. Sophie tried to smile at her but the muscles in her face had wasted.

  The figures moved away. She heard her mother cry and tried to reassure her, but couldn’t get the words out. After they had gone Nurse Barton moved towards the bed. She sat down beside her and stroked her hair.

  “Can you hear me, Sophie?”

  Sophie nodded and this time she did force something like a smile across her face.

  “It’s going to be okay, honey. You’re going to be okay.” Nurse Barton lifted Sophie’s arm and pulled back the bandages still firmly attached to her wrist. “These can’t heal until you get your strength back.”

  Suddenly, Sophie wanted to gain her strength; she wanted to be better. She was scared. She had wanted to die before, but now she didn’t. Now, for the first time in a long time, the fight for life returned to her. She reached out to Nurse Barton. She knew she had to tell her what had been happening.

  “The cat,” she whispered.

  “The cat? You like cats, don’t you?”

  Sophie shook her head. “The shadow cat hurts me.”

  Nurse Barton smiled with pity. “There are no cats here, honey, no animals allowed in the hospital, remember? It must have been a bad dream.” She stood to leave but Sophie was desperate to tell her what was happening.

  “Cat, cat did this.” She held up her arm but Nurse Barton pushed it firmly back down and tucked the sheet over it.

  “Shh now, Sophie. Rest now. We’ll talk later. I’ll come back later.”

  Sophie closed her eyes. Tears slipped down her cheeks but she was too weak to wipe them away. She had let this happen, made it happen. She knew it was her own fault and now she didn’t have the strength to stop it.

  The pain woke her. She looked down and the cat crouched beside her; the bandages were pulled down and it lapped and sucked at the open gash. She tried to pull her hand away but the cat hissed at her and bit down harder.

  “Leave me alone. Please, leave me alone,” she begged.

  “Sophie?”

  The corridor was as dark as the room but she could make out the figure of Nurse Barton moving towards her from the doorway. She was filled with hope.

  “Look,” she motioned toward her wrist with her eyes. “The cat, the cat.” Nurse Barton closed the door behind her and switched on the lamp by Sophie’s bed. The cat stayed where it was, crouched beside her, its claws digging into her arm as its teeth gnawed her flesh.

  “There’s no cat, honey.” Nurse Barton sat beside her, beside the cat, and stroked her hair.

  “Can’t you see it?”

  “There’s no cat, Sophie.” Nurse Barton stopped stroking Sophie’s hair and instead stroked the cat’s fur. She kept her eyes on Sophie as she stood up. Her hands closed around the cat’s neck and dragged it up so that its feet hung in the air. It didn’t struggle.

  “There is no cat,” Nurse Barton repeated a little louder. “There’s only me, Sophie.”

  Nurse Barton held the cat out in front of her as one hand cradled its body and the other ripped its head off. The cat shuddered as she pulled it apart like an old teddy bear. She held its body up above her and looked at the tattered flesh.

  “There, there, little cat,” she said as she brought the body towards her and drank from it, its blood dripping down her chin and onto her white uniform. The shadow cat faded in her hands as the blood ran out onto the floor.

  Sophie watched frozen with the horror of it, unable to make sense of what was happening. She leaned over the side of the bed, feeling bile burn her throat as she wretched. She turned back to Nurse Barton, and saw that she too had begun to blur and fade into a dark, shifting shape. Sophie dragged herself from the bed, landing heavily on the floor. The shadow swirled and twisted in on itself, collapsing into a smoky pile on the floor beside her—the shadow creature that had once been Nurse Barton seeped past her towards the dark corner and disappeared into the other shadows.

  Sophie tried to sit up but her body was weak and broken. She had lost the fight, she knew it now; she was ready to give up. Resting her cheek against the cool floor, she closed her eyes and listened to the deep purr that echoed around her as she slipped away.

  About Rachel Fox

  Rachel Fox is a Supernatural and Horror writer who lives in London, England. After writing for her own amusement for many years, she started posting her short stories on ABCTales.com, an online community of writers, and to her surprise she found that people liked them.

  She recently won the AuthorTrope ‘I made the darkness’ Halloween writing contest for her short story 'The Exchange', which you can hear brought to life on her website.

  Her first novel ‘The Herring Hanger’ is set for release in December 2015.

  Website: www.rachelfox.co.uk

  Email: rachelfoxfiction@gmail.com

  Darkness Calls

  By Charlotte Rose Lange

  I slide myself closer to him, abandoning the warm spot I'd created for myself on my half of his bed. He'd been very clear about that. One week into the relationship and we'd already set clear boundaries. Mother would be proud. My nose finds his shoulder, warm and bare. I arch forward until my lips find his neck, then inch upward one kiss at a time until my tongue can reach his endearingly ticklish earlobe.

  “Mmph,” he says through the dark. “What are you doing?”

  I pull away, partially retreating to my no-longer-warm half of his bed.

  “Oh, I…thought you'd maybe like to engage in certain activities.”

  “It's Tuesday.”

  “Right.” I speed-read through my mental list of the relationship boundaries I'd agreed to. Tuesday was important because…I couldn't remember—probably about how he values his sleep schedule. I sneak my head up to the edge of his pillow. As long as I don't talk I'm not disturbing his sleep, and the sound of his breathing is comforting.

  “Ha, don't tell me you're afraid of the dark.”

  I hesitate to respond. Lies are a surefire way to kill a relationship, but I'm not afraid-afraid of the dark. I just don't like it touching me.

  I shift my body completely out of his side of the bed, his territory. A hand tunnels under the blankets between us and caresses my own hand. He's not usually so sweet.

  “No, of course not,” I say. “It's just really dark in here. So dark I can't tell if my eyes are opened or closed. So dark I can feel it closing in. So dark—”

  “Save it, Shakespeare. It's after midnight.” On our first date I'd been charmed that he called me Shakespeare. I shouldn't have been.

  “Oh, okay.”

  The hand releases mine. I feel the blankets collapse now that the comfy little tunnel connecting him to me has been vacated. From this far away I can't hear his breathing, I can't hear anything. The silence laps at my nerves. Temptation upon temptation urges me to maintain the conversation: a standard “Good night”, a corny “See you in the morning”, or a pushy “How was your day?”

  I hate how big his bed is. I hate how there are no windows and the doorjamb is so tight only a pathetic crumb of light gets through—which is of course smothered with a folded towel. I hate how cold his room is. Everything from the tile to the comforter is ice cold. My one strategy is to move as little as possible to let my own body heat create a warm spot.

  I really can't tell if my eyes are open or shut. The all-encompassing black burrows deep into my eye sockets, daring me to hide under the covers, but I'm no longer a child. Cold skitters at my elbows and toes, but I stick to my strategy. Silence murmurs in the corners, pulling at the frayed threads of my imagination.

  Anything could be happening inches in front of my face right now I'd have no clue. A tentacle monster gyrating obscenely. A goblin with nails as sharp as needles angling to pop out my eyes, or maybe it'll start with my nails, seeing as it's Tuesday. Evil goo squelching and slurping up the covers, its tiny heart set on sliding across my tongue, dow
n my throat, and into my soul. I bite my lips closed but can't protect my nose.

  I sit up suddenly, dispersing my childhood haunts.

  “I've got to go to the bathroom. Be right back.”

  He doesn't answer.

  I drag my thighs across the frigid sheets and wince when my feet flop onto the cold, cold tile. Even with my fuzzy socks chills slither up between my toes.

  Cold and long, something slips down my left ankle and peels down my sock. Down, down, past my arch, lingering at the ball of my foot, and then off.

  I stoop and grasp my bare left foot with both hands. There's no such thing as goblins. My sock must've just snagged on something.

  I pat around my foot in a spiral search pattern, all the while screaming ‘F-U’ to my childish phobia. Nothing is going to latch onto my wrist. I saw this room with the light on earlier. Besides, a tentacle monster, a goblin, and evil goo wouldn't fit under a single bed much less get along. Unless they had reason to.

  I curse my imagination and tuck my feet back up on the mattress.

  “Do you mind if I turn on the light for a second?”

  No answer. Most likely ignoring me instead of sleeping. Even so, I don't want to bug him. I hold my head high, fixate on the mantra, “I am an adult,” and march my one-sock feet to where I last saw the door. I miss my mark, but a bit of shuffling around and the clue of the towel guide me to the knob.

  I open the door, quick and quiet. I dart out into the blessed low light of the hallway and seal his cursed bedroom behind me.