The Dark Corner

by Easton Livingston

  As a psychologist (or therapist, depending on what circle of people she kept company with at a given time), her responsibility called for sensitivity to her patient's needs. The ambiance of her office contributed to that sensitivity. Particular pieces of art and décor had to radiate specific emotive qualities. Neutral. Bland. Non-threatening. Banal. However, it was a necessary subtle manipulation and part of the reason she had chosen an apartment to run her practice out of. Business offices were too formal and too expensive in the part of the city she had chosen to locate. An apartment was casual, less expensive, and put people at ease making her job simpler. It afforded a certain level of anonymity for those who didn't want the knowledge of the treatment they received to be public. She utilized the living room as a waiting area. A male secretary whose desk filled the small dining space kept watch over the adjoining kitchen. He left for the day, leaving her some private time.

  The main bedroom was where she conducted her sessions and where she now waited. She'd taken the phone call over an hour and a half ago, the conversation a sticky her mind. Short and hurried. Minimal information relayed. That kind of amorphous communication put her instincts on alert, agitating the fringes of her mind with concern, slowly moving inward and infecting every part of her thoughts. Obsessive. She realized that, but this obsession had always served her well in being prepared.

  The click of the front door pulled her eyes from the painting to the bedroom entrance, anticipating her visitor's arrival. The soft steps of feet across the sea of beige carpet became more prominent until they appeared in the doorway. A young lady came into view dressed in a black pencil skirt, tan long-sleeved sweater, and a pair of Abella Lucy black pumps. Her slender figure did the outfit justice though the Dasein two-tone satchel she carried seemed a bit oversized in contrast to her petiteness.

  “It's sold,” she announced as she walked over to a small couch on the right of the desk and sat down.

  “The husband had his suspicions. Asked a lot of questions. In the end, I won him over. Closed a couple days ago. Think they are moving in today.”

  Murchowski leaned back in her black office chair, bringing her hand up to her face in typical Jack Benny fashion.

  “That's all well and good Tawny, but you could have told me that over the phone. What necessitated our meeting? Why the urgency requiring me to cancel two of my appointments?”

  Reticence colored Tawny's body language, her eyes searching the floor as if the answer lay hidden in the tufts of the carpet. Unsuccessful in her search, she looked up at Murchowski.

  “We lost the E-Stone.”

  Murchowski shifted in her seat, her dark eyes experiencing a subtle change, locking the young lady in place with the intensity of her gaze. It was always hard to tell what she was thinking, her countenance an impassive mask. Controlled. It was no different now, but it was the variance in mini-expressions that told the story. A slight narrowing of the eyelids, the almost imperceptible tightening of her jaw, the way she positioned her hands on top of her desk.

  “What do you mean by ‘lost’? I don't understand. Did it fall out of someone's pocket? Was it forgotten at a local Starbucks by accident? Explain to me how it was… lost.”

  The sarcasm was biting even through the dispassionate delivery. The cards lay on the table now. There was no reason or benefit in holding back the complete truth.

  “The Ceremony of Marking was a success,” she began. “But we got ambushed right after. We weren't able to complete the Dark Blessing. We're not sure who they were but they have power. Power that overwhelmed ours. We had to scatter to escape. Faye had the E-Stone. When I contacted her later, she said she had dropped off the stone on the porch of a house nearby since the pursuers were on her trail. We returned to locate it but no one was there and…”

  It was hard to say it again.

  “The stone wasn't there. We couldn't locate it.”

  Murchowski leaned back in her chair, interlacing her fingers across her lap.

  “So, in Faye’s attempt to lead them away from the E-Stone, she gave it right to them. Fine work.”

  She let the silence hang in the air, its palpable presence screaming her dissatisfaction.

  “Tell me, have you at least found out who they are? Are they some kind of rogue coven to ours?”

  “No,” Tawny said, shaking her head. “I'm positive they are not a coven at all.”

  “Oh? And how are you so sure of this?”

  “Well, for starters, one was a male. He seemed to be in charge. He carried a long staff. At first look, they didn’t seem too dangerous but... we misread them. They were all dangerous. All three of them.”

  This time Murchowski’s perplexed look was evident.

  “Three? There were just three of them?”

  Tawny regretted mentioning that detail even while it was exiting her mouth, caught up in the thoughts of the incident.

  Murchowski pointed at her.

  “I sent six of you down there. You’re telling me six of you couldn't handle three of them?”

  The young lady sighed, shaking her head while closing her eyes before answering.

  “I know it sounds like we didn't know what we were doing but I’m telling you, they were not normal. I don't know who they were or what magic they possessed but it was powerful.”

  Murchowski stared off in silent moments before turning back to Tawny, the curtain of her emotions pulled tight.

  “You can go now.”

  Tawny blinked, surprised by the curt reply but acquiesced to the request without a word, rising to her feet, heading for the exit. She paused under the threshold, turning back to inquire about their next move when Murchowski interrupted before she began.

  “I will contact you when I need you.”

  Tawny recognized what that meant. Don't. Say. A word. Walk away.

  Murchowski waited for the click of the front door closing before breathing a heavy sigh. This setback was annoying and bothersome. She could handle this problem in a couple different ways. She could cancel all coven activity until the heat died down. That would put the whole timetable on the fritz and she wasn’t willing to delay at this point in the game. She was sure they weren’t either. Though she wasn't sure who these new players were, it was apparent that she needed to uncover their identity.

  She pushed the side button on her phone, lighting up the display. Pressing in the four-digit pin to unlock it, she tapped to her contacts until she reached the one she wanted and pressed the green phone receiver icon. It turned her stomach that she had to call or work with him but he held the power - at least for now. She had to play along.

  The phone rang four times before a soft click signaled an answer.

  “You're not supposed to call here. Do you have something important to report?”

  She couldn't help clenching her teeth at the blatant disrespect but controlled her response with feigned deference.

  “Yes. Thank you for taking my call. We have a bit of a problem. Or… make that three problems.”

  Part III - A Living Memory

  The first few weeks in the new Vale home went smooth. It didn’t take long to get all the major furniture set up the way Brian wanted, or in truth the way Ashley wanted since she directed where everything should go. Brian had few objections rolled with it.

  Sean and Ashley were in the basement organizing boxes and unused materials in one of the back rooms. Brian had left for work. Sean, to Brian’s chagrin, had become a regular fixture around the Vale household. Though Brian was reluctant to admit it, he liked the idea of a man at home with his wife and kids to keep an eye on things. The guy wasn’t a Casanova by any means. No need for concern about an affair. Some would call that old-fashioned. Over protective. Jealous. Definitely not politically correct but he could less. His house, his rules. He cared about his family and with the current condition of the world, his motto was D.T.A.—Don’t Trust Anyone. But Sean was a comforting exception. He had proven trustworthy and useful. Plus, he seemed to enjoy hangi
ng around so it was a win-win.

  The basement temperature was cooler than most of the house and dark, even in the daytime. More like a dungeon. They had to turn on lights in every room they entered, each being windowless with a few exceptions. If there was a window present, it didn’t let in enough light. Small, grime and dirt caked on them, or black paint obscuring the surface which was both odd and unnerving.

  “Wuaghh!!”

  Ashley jumped to attention, her head turning towards the doorway. Jessica, her newborn, had awakened from her nap.

  “Don’t worry Ashley,” Sean assured her. “I’ll take care of everything down here. Go do what you gotta do.”

  “Sean, you are a godsend,” she said, scrambling over boxes, blonde hair falling in front of her eyes as she climbed the stairs. “I’ll be back as soon as I’m done feeding her.”

  Sean gave a thumbs up as she disappeared upstairs.

  He looked over all the open boxes scattered around the room. It would take a while to get everything organized. He didn’t mind though. He needed to keep busy, to keep occupied.

  The day he became a widower was devastating. Every day he thought about it hurt. Thirty years of marriage yanked from you with no warning shattered his world, a knife to the heart. A constant, throbbing loss that wouldn’t dissipate. There wasn’t a day he didn’t have a poignant moment that invaded his thoughts, a faint, incessant ache that poked and prodded.

  Cancun, Mexico. It was hot that summer as they drove their rental Ford Windstar, the air sticky and thick. Sean had turned off the air conditioner to conserve gas. The wind that rushed through the windows felt like a blast furnace and did little to cool them off.

  “Honey,” Sean said, sweat dripping into his eyes. “Could you grab me a cold one out of the cooler?”

  “You just drank the last one. We don’t have anything else.”

  Sean gave a heavy sigh. Sweat erupted from his pores like tiny geysers. He glanced over at Bernice with tired eyes. It looked like all of her muscles were at their lowest level, barely able to support her in her seat.

  “I’ve got to stop and get something at the next gas station,” he said, “Or I will fall over right here at the steering wheel.”

  Sean saw what he thought looked like a nod from Bernice. It was hard to tell. She reached into her purse and grabbed a cigarette with listless, sunburned hands.

  It didn’t occur to him to check the weather ahead of time. Why should he? It was Mexico. Hot and sunny all the time. What could be wrong about that? Right. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

  Six miles later—which seemed like sixty—they came upon an old, small gas station. He wouldn’t have stopped but there wasn’t anything else in sight and he was dying of thirst. They had been traveling on a rural route where there was nothing but dry, desolate plains and long stretches of black tarred road. By the time they had reached the gas station, Sean felt like a ton of wet oatmeal.

  They got out of the car, Sean to get gas and water while Bernice wanted to be free from the confines of a hot box on wheels. Sean gave the cashier a thumbs up before realizing he needed to pay first. He grabbed his wallet off of the dashboard. The gas pumps were from the 1970s and weren’t equipped with debit card slots. He trudged his way over to the mini-mart — or what passed for one — leaving Bernice to savor her vice. She leaned against the back of the car, taking long drags on her cigarette.

  Cool air caressed his face as he opened the door. The motors of the air conditioners churned out their duty in full force. It was old and loud but it worked which was all that mattered. He wasn’t in any hurry to get back into the heat so the small respite was just what he needed.

  He walked to the counter and plunked down a twenty-dollar bill. The cashier rung him up without a word. Sean suspected he didn’t speak a lick of English but money was a universal language. He knew what twenty dollars meant. Sean cracked open the door, yelling back at the car.

  “Hey honey. Go ahead and start the gas while I get us something to drink.”

  She waved her hand in acknowledgment, continuing to fill her lungs with carcinogens.

  He sauntered to the back of the store, opening the cooler door where more intense, frigid air caressed his skin. His instinct was to drop to the ground with his back to the cooler and just sit there for an hour. Knowing he couldn’t do that, he did the next best thing. Grabbing a one liter Mountain Dew, he placed it on the front of his forehead, sighing in relief.

  Then it came.

  It was high and cutting, screeching and nerve-rending. Screams. Sean’s heart jumped, making him drop the Mountain Dew, the plastic bottle denting from the impact. He made his way to the front of the store. From over the top of the aisles, he saw what appeared to be flickers of yellow shoot up and down like a seismograph.

  Outside was a huge fire, his van parked at the epicenter, the blaze dancing a destructive ballet. Next to the van wandering around, desperate to get somewhere but unsure how to escape the scorching assault, was a screaming humanoid form engulfed in flames.

  Bernice.

  Sean wanted to run out there and help her, his body poised to move but every muscle stiffened, even the ones in his face. His body had shifted into torpor, frozen in shock.

  The cashier picked up the phone, a flurry of Spanish flowing into the receiver. He then rushed out the front door, grabbed a water hose from the front of the building, and turned it on full blast. His first target was Bernice who fell face forward, crawling across the dirt.

  Sean just stood there. Stood there and watched as the flames disfigured her, listened to her screams pierce his ears, causing his insides to tremble and shred.

  He just stood there.

  Bernice had always been there for him. Even though it was a rarity he ever told her — he loved her. Now, he couldn’t tell her if he wanted to.

  Sean’s forehead beaded with inclement sweat. It had been some time since he had allowed the memories to flow. His coping mechanism was to suppress the details of that incident if not the whole day. It still cut deep. He supposed they always would.

  Though it was tragic and painful, losing his wife wasn’t what hurt the most. It was losing his wife and doing nothing. Just being a spectator, watching the whole thing happen. That he wasn’t able to do anything. Or maybe... maybe he wasn’t willing. Maybe his subconscious didn’t want to do anything which was why he froze. He didn’t know, and it terrified him. There was no one that could ever exculpate him and he didn’t want it. He didn’t deserve it. He was forever culpable.

  “I’m so sorry Bernice. I’m so sorry.”

  His mind shut the doors again, pushing back the incident, wiping his forehead with his sleeve

  “Sean.”

  He turned toward the voice. An alarm went off in his gut but he attempted to ignore it.

  “Ashley? Is that you?” he said looking towards the door. A silence cut through the room that deafened him, creating a yearning for some noise but none came.

  “Sean.”

  The voice was clearer now, and it was obvious it was not Ashley’s though it sounded like a woman’s voice. It was raspy and hollow like someone struggling to speak with a chicken bone stuck in their throat.

  He rose to his feet.

  “It’s not working Brian, so you can come on out.”

  He tried to sound convincing, more for himself than anything else.

  “Sean.”

  The voice was mixed with a slight gurgling with a greater sense of urgency. That’s when he realized it wasn’t coming from the stairs. It was coming from the back of the room behind him. The alarm in his mind began to resonant throughout his body reaching the pit of his bowels. That was the front of the house. There was nothing but a wall and a dark corner. A large, dark corner where shadows gathered in force away from the light.

  He peered into the darkness, spinning around. Had he been so caught up in his own thoughts he hadn’t noticed someone enter the room? Another blanket of sweat seeped through his pores.


  “Ha, ha, Brian. Very funny,” he said, forcing an uneasy smile as he backed away.

  He heard a hissing and crackling.

  “What the...?”

  Something moved which stopped him in his tracks. The pit of his stomach felt like it had trampolined into his throat. Goosebumps swelled on his flesh. He looked down at his arms bewildered.

  What the heck is going on?

  It was heard before it was seen, shuffling from the corner of the room, a grotesque representative for a human. The little skin left hanging on their body was charcoal black, unkempt like sandpaper. It dangled on its host. Most areas had no skin at all, patched with dried blood, charred ligaments, and muscles. The hair on its head was almost non-existent, a few choice strands and patches sticking to one side or standing at attention, matted with blood. A steady steam rose from its body with a stench like burning, spoiled chicken.

  “Hello Sean,” it said, standing, slouched to one side, staring at him. Its eyes were the most pronounced thing on it, the whites standing out like beacons on a macabre canvass. I had no eyelids. Sean stared in disbelief as pallidness flooded him. All the blood in his body seemed to drain into his legs, cementing him to the floor.

  “What’s the matter? Don’t you recognize me? Don’t you recognize your own wife?”

  The statement wreaked havoc on Sean’s mind. The world spun out of control. He tottered, almost falling to the ground.

  “No. No! That’s not true. Bernice is dead. No!”

  “What’s the matter, honey? I know I don’t sound quite the same. That’s what happens when your throat gets incinerated and your vocal chords along with it.”

  It took a step towards him.

  “But I’m here now.”

  Brian shook his head as if it would shake the vision out of his mind. This couldn’t be. He was hallucinating. That was the only explanation. Yet, it was wearing the same dress she was wearing the day she died. As wrinkled and singed as the skin was around the face, its eyes didn’t contradict its statement. It was Bernice.