by K. R. Rowe
He held his knuckles against the wood ready to knock again, but instead shrugged and decided to give it up. The old lady was in there, he knew it, but he’d need a warrant to find out for certain. He turned from the door, but before he took a step, a violent push from behind shoved him toward the stairwell. Stumbling, he righted himself and spun to confront the person who shoved him, but the hallway was empty, except for his own quivering shadow stretching across the floor in front of him.
Odd, he thought. The only functioning light hung from the ceiling ahead of him, and his shadow should be behind him. He yawned for the third time and decided he just needed sleep. Questioning shadows was way beyond paranoid. Although a good emotion, a primal instinct that kept humans safe, sometimes paranoia only made one crazy.
Maybe he would stop back by when he had time and find this old woman. If she had information, he needed to know.
Chapter 11
The Box
Allie jumped out of the shower and toweled off, but a sheen of sweat stippled her forehead. She padded across the room in her bathrobe and pounded on the air conditioner.
Nothing.
Yanking off the front cover, she poked around inside, but had no clue how it worked. She clicked on the ceiling fan but that didn’t help; it only stirred the hot apartment air. Finding a sturdy piece of junk mail, she fanned herself and stared at the window. The Louisiana nights were cooler this winter. Some said the coldest in fifty years, but the heat seeping up from the lower two floors made the third floor feel like an oven.
Whacking it one final time, she turned away, fell onto the couch and clicked on the TV; two murders in her neighborhood, one right in front of her building. Either the police had no leads or they were withholding information from the media. Phillip could only tell her basic information. Nothing more than what she saw on the news. A bead of sweat rolled down her temple and she shrugged, wiping it away with her shoulder. Several nights had passed since her nightmare and finally her courage returned.
It’d only been a dream—nothing more, nothing less.
With the sweltering heat finally winning the battle, she peeled herself from the couch and opened the window. A crisp stream of air flowed through the opening, fluttering her bathrobe. She knelt in front of the aperture, closing her eyes as the brisk night air cooled her skin. How could she be so gullible? Below, no movement disturbed the empty street and the smooth building’s exterior allowed no easy way to get in. The night held no hint of trouble, other than gathering thunderheads rumbling to the west, predicting a storm on the way. The old woman must have gotten to her. She chided herself for her own baseless paranoia and for believing that something inhuman lurked out there.
It was only a dream.
* * *
Something woke Allie. Flashes of bluish-green light illuminated the ceiling, its dirty white surface disappearing into darkness between each lucent burst. She raised her head and groaned; already knowing the clock blinked 12:00 am. Thunder rolled outside, rattling the window’s loose cracked glass. The power must have gone out again. Pulling a sheet up to her chin, she closed her eyes, ignoring it. Too groggy to get up and reset the clock, she let her eyes drift shut, but the blue-green nuisance bled through her eyelids.
She blew out a sigh and stared above her, hoping the monotonous flashing would lull her back to sleep—but it didn’t. Instead, something caught her attention. A dark spot the size of a quarter stood out on the ceiling. Certain it wasn’t there before; she squinted, trying to get a better look. Between each flash, the spot expanded. At first, barely enough to notice, but with unblinking eyes, she watched it spread. Its smooth black edges bled into the white. Branching out like tree roots, dark tendrils twisted from its core, digging in, gripping and cracking the plaster.
The blinking clock distorted her vision and she rubbed her eyes, not believing what she saw. The spot’s center began to swell, pumping like a bloated heart before breaking open and oozing from the ceiling. The mass stretched, inching downward, pulsing and twisting above her.
She squeezed her lids shut. Please go away, please go away, this is just a dream.
A sickening stench blistered her nostrils. Covering her nose, she coughed, but the intense odor watered her eyes and forced them open. An ice-cold chill clouded her breath but terror froze her to silence. Above her, the crude shape of a man hung upside down; its arms fused to its sides, featureless face staring into hers. It stretched closer, almost touching. She pressed her body backwards, sinking her head into the pillow, trying to get away from this nightmare writhing in front of her.
It’s not real, it’s not real.
Lightening sparked, electrifying the air and a deep rumble of thunder gouged through the building’s concrete walls. The power clicked out and the clock went dead. Pitch black swallowed the room. She lay still, unable to adjust her vision to the thick blanket of night. But it was there—its presence hovering in front of her, its stench burning her nostrils. She held her breath, body trembling, eyes stinging from the cold and blurring with tears. Reaching out, she searched the darkness with her fingers, but only felt goose bumps rippling across her skin.
She jumped, yanking her hand away when the power clicked on and the flashing resumed. Above her, the ceiling had returned to a cracked dirty white and the black writhing mass had vanished. She sat up, felt around for the light on the nightstand and clicked it on. Easing from bed, she studied the ceiling and then hopped atop the mattress for a closer look. It appeared normal, no markings or stains other than a grimy layer of nicotine and dust.
Nothing else. Had it really been there at all?
Unable to shake the rattling dream, she jumped off the bed and plodded to the window. These nightmares were getting old, more irritating than scary, but she had no clue how to stop them. Maybe Zoe was right, a little therapy might help. A wind gust streamed in, bringing with it the same nauseating odor. She shuddered, resisting the urge to gag from the stench. What the hell was that? The smell alone could cause nightmares. She lowered the window to barely a crack before resetting the clock and climbing back into bed.
The heat returned, bleeding through the floors, peeling away the chill’s flaccid grip and pervading the room with its suffocating presence. A hint of cool air spilled through the window but it wasn’t enough. Kicking off the sheets, she tried to forget the nightmare and get some rest. She rolled to her back and stared above her. The clock’s blue green light flooded the room; the ceiling nothing more than a ceiling. Still, nothing was there, nor had anything ever been there. Fatigue swamped her body and muddied her thoughts. She yawned, her eyes drifted closed, and she finally slept.
* * *
A touch of cold iced her toes. Without opening her eyes, Allie searched the bed for a sheet to cover herself but finding nothing, she rolled over and tried to dismiss the weird sensation.
She couldn’t ignore it.
Her eyes snapped open. Pulling her knees to her chest, she massaged her toes. They felt frozen together and the rubbing didn’t help. The chill spread, inching up her legs, crawling like ice-cold fingers, curling around her thighs. Shaking her feet, she reached for the light, but the chill enveloped her torso and arms, pinning her to the bed.
Oh God!
Swirling shadows covered her body. Thin black veins curled up her neck and over her cheeks, blotting her vision. She tried to lift her head, but the shadows’ weight forced her to the pillow. Panic slammed her heart against her ribs, her muscles burned, straining against the weight crushing her body. Taking a deep gulp of air, she tried to scream, but the obsidian wraiths spilled over her lips, filling her mouth. Sharp waves of panic sliced through her gut, her body frozen, nostrils pulling in little air, but enough to keep her from passing out. Her screams gurgled, dying in her throat, but crashed like thunder through the silence in her head.
But the screams in her mind were not just her own.
The long ago cries of a frightened, five-year-old child echoed through her faded memories; a
time she’d tried to suppress but would never truly forget. The terror raging through her now brought those memories to the forefront once again: of her weakened cries, each whimper and plea for help only reverberating against the trunk’s cedar lining. Allie had once loved the rich tangy scent, but that pleasure had long since vanished. They’d called this a “hope chest”, but to her, all hope had vanished.
No one listened, and no one would come.
“Please let me out.”
Allie’s small voice had all but disappeared, cracking into a mumble that only she could understand. Each passing day took with it her strength and all she had left was a hoarse whisper.
“I promise, I won’t do it again.”
She didn’t know what she did; she had either eaten too much or not enough. It was always one or the other, but she couldn’t remember. Her parent’s had shoved food in her mouth and forced her to swallow until she vomited, then they beat her for wasting food. They wanted to teach her a lesson, make her a valued member of society; tough love they’d called it. Lying flat on her back with her knees to her chest, she said a silent prayer of thanks when her legs finally went numb. A touch of concern invaded her thoughts but the numbness came as a welcome relief to the cramps and pain she had suffered for days.
She ran her fingers across the expensive wood, searching for the lock’s inner latch. A weak strand of light poked through a small hole in the lower left corner, but not enough to see. She’d been at it for days, trying to loosen the bolts. Ignoring the pain, she picked and scraped, tearing her nails and mangling her raw bloodied fingertips. Her hand slipped, catching on a jagged screw, ripping her finger to shreds. Sucking in a sharp pain filled cry, she gripped her hand to her chest, trying to staunch the flow of blood pouring between her fingers and coating her palm. Already covered in her own feces and vomit, the sharp metallic tang only added to the stench twisting her stomach with nausea. She’d lost count of the days since she’d eaten, so luckily, she had nothing left to throw up.
Then she froze.
A warm furry body crawled against her side. Sometimes it came in for a visit, sneaking through the hole it had gnawed in the back corner. She’d hear it, squeaking and scratching. Most times, she’d pound on the box, scaring it away, but this time was different: the rat had never touched her before. Perhaps it liked the scent of her blood. She kicked the end of the trunk, but the rodent startled, darting into her shirt instead. She rolled to her side to give it space to run out but it squealed in fright, biting into the soft tender flesh of her side. Slapping at the rat to get it out of her shirt, she screamed when the frightened animal attacked again, sinking its razor sharp teeth into her back.
A pain-filled shriek tore from Allie’s lips and panic sent adrenaline splashing through her veins. Blinded by darkness, she swung at the rat, desperate to get it off her, but it hopped from one side of the trunk to the other, landing on her face and nipping at her skin before jumping away. The box rocked from side to side, her flailing limbs thumping against the hardwood, her body twisting, fists pounding on the lid with blinding fear. She kicked the trunk’s end, twisting her foot and snapping her ankle. Uncontrolled screams ripped from her lungs: her body convulsing with pain, her mind spinning with terror. She was trapped with a nightmare eating her alive, and still no one would come.
No one ever came.
The cedar trunk disappeared and her childhood memory vanished, only to be replaced by another memory that wavered and flashed in her mind, dropping her in a place she didn’t recognize and inside a strange body that wasn’t hers.
Before her, a dark-haired young man stood at the edge of a sidewalk: his bright blue eyes glowing with adoration. Sliding off his leather helmet and goggles, he placed them on the seat of his motorcycle, but when he drew his hands away, her gaze lingered on the bike. The Indian logo caught the sunlight, shimmering gold across a deep red tank. Not many people had a brand new model in 1925, but Noah had saved every penny he earned to buy it. A smile tugged at her lips. The helmet and leather added a tough edge to his rugged good looks, but his delighted smile revealed his true gentle nature.
Pulling a box from his pocket, he knelt, digging his knee into the grit on the roadway.
“Marry me, Isabella.”
Isabella?
He cracked open the box and waited. Nestled in folds of black velvet lining, a small gold band held a single diamond. The stone captured the sunlight; its surface igniting, coming alive with flames of iridescence. She stared at the ring and her heartbeat quickened, but her gathering tears forced her to turn away. Glancing over his shoulder, she watched a new Model T bounce over the cobblestones; its top folded down, the man behind the wheel beaming with pride. The car stalled and his smile faded. He hopped out and strode to the front. Giving it a quick crank, the Model T coughed and sputtered to life. His excitement returning, the man jumped back in and ground the transmission into gear. The car chugged a few feet, picked up speed, and then faded into the glare of the midday sun.
She sucked in a few calming breaths and turned back to Noah; his precious blue eyes filled with hope.
“Noah, I love you, but—”
“We could go north, maybe to New York. We could get married there.”
“My grandmother wouldn’t approve.”
“What can she do, kill me?” Noah chuckled, but a mask of determination replaced his amusement. “I can prove her wrong and she knows it. Once she sees how well I can take care of you, she’ll have to change her mind.”
“You don’t know her, she—she scares me.”
“Don’t be afraid of her,” he said. “It’s your life, not hers. Please, Isabella, I love you.” He stood and stepped closer. Lifting her hand, he slid the ring on her finger. “Please say yes.”
She wiped her cheeks as the tears fell unchecked.
“Do you love me?” he asked.
Closing her eyes for a moment, she breathed him in. Wind and leather stirred her senses, his heady masculine scent inviting her to curl into his arms and leave it all behind. She loved him so much.
She nodded. “More than life.”
His smile stretched wider; the joy in his eyes adding light to a face she already thought to be perfect. Folding her small frame into his arms, he buried his nose in her thick dark hair.
“I promise,” he said. “I’ll never let you go.”
The vision of Noah spiraled away. His warmth and smile faded, replaced by an ebony veil crawling across her pupils. The strange memory vanished and she awoke, but her lids scraped open to a sea of black. Allie’s body trembled; the intense cold entombing her limbs, trapping her like she’d been frozen in ice.
Her skin crawled with movement.
The cold, heavy shadows abandoned her eyes, clearing her vision. Sliding away from her face, they inched down her torso and swirled around her legs. With her upper body now free, she sat up and tried to shake them away but they pooled around her feet. Their grip tightened, yanking hard on her ankles. Her torso and head slapped flat against the mattress. Grabbing for the sheets, she screamed, pulling the bedding with her as the nightmare dragged her from bed. Her body slammed to the floor, pain searing through her back. Grabbing the bedframe, she held tight; the bed skidding across the floor, the legs digging deep lines in the hardwood planks. Terror peeled a shriek from her lungs. She flailed her legs, trying to kick the thing off, but the creature held fast, dragging her and the bed toward the window. Shoulders burning with pain and her fingers losing strength, she feared it would pull her into pieces, but she held tight to the bed.
Banging on the door broke through her screams.
“Ma’am, are you okay in there?”
The shadows fell apart, releasing her feet and the pounding continued.
“Ma’am, are you okay?” The voice yelled. “I’m calling the police!”
She rolled to her hands and knees, and scrambled across the floor. Curling into a ball with her back against the door, she watched the shadows split further, fleein
g across the room, before darting through the open window. A lone black wraith lingered, swirling on the sill before slipping away to join with the others.
Clutching her knees to her chest, she pushed her head between her legs. Tremors flooded her body, rattling the door against her back. Silence stole the noise from inside her head before a different darkness engulfed her.
Chapter 12
Hospital
Phillip hated hospitals but he held Allie’s hand and watched her sleep. Something akin to love fluttered in his stomach, or maybe it was just downright infatuation, he wasn’t sure, but he couldn’t deny it. Unable to pull his gaze from her warm auburn hair, he longed to touch it again, to pull its soft strands between his fingers, to breathe in the sweet scent of her floral shampoo, but this was neither the time nor the place. Holding her fingers to his lips, he hoped he could watch her sleep for a little while longer.
He’d not had such strong feelings like this since he met his wife, Claire. He had worshipped her. Every night, he watched her sleep too before he drifted off into his own peaceful slumber. At nineteen, strong, and full of youthful invincibility, he knew it all; or so he thought.
The gun was a beauty.
Cold, steel, heavy in his palm, the harder it recoiled, the faster testosterone splashed through his veins. He’d kept the firearm loaded, showed it off to his friends, and put it on display like a work of art.
But it wasn’t art. It was deadly, and he would never forget the horror that night; the crash in their bedroom, Claire’s scream just inches from his ear. He awoke, staring down the barrel of his own .45. The intruder demanded money, jewelry, whatever he could get, and he didn’t want any trouble, but Phillip had no plans to appease the thug. The fight lasted just a few seconds, but the blasts would echo in his memory forever. Two days later, pain yanked him from unconsciousness and dropped him into a nightmare. A jar next to his hospital bed held a bullet from his chest. The intruder, a sixteen-year-old kid, caught and in jail. The love of his life, no longer by his side, lay cold in the hospital morgue two floors below.
