by K. R. Rowe
She had noticed, and so had Zoe, but the old woman might be concocting this wild story to fit the strange things happening outside.
“Wait,” Allie said. “Do you mean the new lampposts, and cobblestones?”
“Yes.”
“What about the murders? You really believe this demon killed those men?”
Mrs. Michaels nodded.
“Have you told the police?”
“No.” The old woman snapped. She went silent for a moment, staring down at Noah’s photo, her soft sweet voice returning before she spoke again. “They can’t stop the inevitable, and Siddous doesn’t discriminate. If the police are out there, he’ll take them too.”
Allie shivered; this whole conversation gave her the creeps. If this old woman was even half right, then she didn’t want Phillip in danger. But if Mrs. Michaels wanted the police to know, she would have to tell them herself. Allie wouldn’t say a word. The police probably already thought she was crazy. They’d hauled her off to the hospital once. Next time, they might commit her.
“But where does Noah fit in?”
“Noah’s a jackal. He belongs to Siddous.”
“A jackal? You mean like a servant?”
“Yes.”
Allie sighed. “So he died for his love.”
Mrs. Michaels nodded. “With his final breath, he said he’d come back for Isabella.”
“Did he?”
“No girl, I’m afraid the Isabella he knew is gone.”
“He was too late,” Allie said, her heart giving an unexplained lurch at the thought. “Are they together now—you know—in the afterlife?”
“For Noah, there is no afterlife. No heaven or hell. He’s in limbo, cursed to the earth, but he still searches for her.”
“Can he ever be—uncursed?”
The old woman stared at her, not answering the question. “He’s shown himself to you?”
“I’ve seen a lot of things. I don’t know if it’s him, or who or what it is. Sometimes I think I’m losing my mind.” Allie pulled the newspaper clipping from the book and stared down at the policemen escorting the young woman. Before she could ask about the photo, Mrs. Michaels interrupted her thoughts.
“What has he shown you?”
Allie looked up. “I’ve seen a young man, with a red motorcycle, in a different time, years ago, and he proposed to me—I mean—to Isabella, but I was there, I was a part of it, like I saw it through her eyes. What does that mean? I don’t understand any of it.”
“He’s come to you, to show you who he is—and who he believes you to be.”
“Who does he think I am?
“His vessel, his way back to the living; his Isabella. It’s your duty to help him.”
“What? Help him do what? I’m not Isabella. I’m just me, I can’t do anything.”
“If he believes it is so, then it must be.”
“What do you mean, like I’m reincarnated or something?” Allie stood, none of this made sense. “No, no, I don’t believe in this kind of stuff.”
“But you are who you are.”
“No I’m not.”
“Why did you come here?”
“I don’t know. I just want it to leave me alone. I don’t want this or need it in my life. Whatever this thing is, and whoever he is, he kills people.” Allie’s anger rose, reality pushing away the romantic daydreams. “There’s no way in hell I’ll help a killer.”
“He died for you.”
“No he didn’t.”
“You’re his Isabella.”
“I’m not Isabella and he didn’t’ die for me.” A cold, lonely bitterness welled inside of Allie. “No one has ever done anything for me.”
“He needs your help, so he can stop the killing.”
Allie stared at the woman, her patience gone. “That’s not my job.”
“You’ll do it for love.”
Shaking her head, Allie tried to digest what this woman was telling her. If she believed it, it would explain a lot of weird things that’d happened, but this was far-fetched bullshit, and Allie was done here. She didn’t know why she’d bothered to come.
Allie stood, torn between irritation, wariness, and feeling sorry for her elderly neighbor. Doing her best to smile, she turned toward the door. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Michaels, I really appreciate you talking to me, but I think I should go now.”
“You’ll be back.”
“Of course, I’ll come by and visit.”
“Heed what I say girl, because he’ll return.”
“Yes ma’am, I will.” Allie reached for the doorknob but stopped. One last curious question lingered, and she needed to know, to be sure. “If I see him, how will I know?”
“When the darkness moves, you’ll know.”
Chapter 14
Morning Joe
Phillip knew where to find her. Allie met Zoe here every morning for coffee before she started her shift. He wasn’t a stalker, at least he didn’t think so, but lately he’d started to feel like one. He pushed the door open slow and easy, hoping to be inconspicuous, but the bell jingled alerting the workers they had a new customer. Like Pavlov’s dog, his mouth watered when the sweet rich scent of fresh baked cinnamon rolls blew over him, replacing the car exhaust stench from outside. He stopped, waiting for the girls to notice him, but they didn’t look up. Their attention seemed locked on their intense conversation.
Needing a stiff shot of coffee, he headed to the counter but tripped over a chair, sending it flipping sideways and clattering to the floor. The girls looked up, and Zoe waved him over. Phillip paid the cashier, grabbed his espresso and headed their way.
Zoe pushed out a chair. “I’m glad you’re here. I need you to talk some sense into her.”
Phillip grinned and took a seat. “Well, good morning to you too.”
“Pay no attention to her,” Allie said. “She’s cranky in the morning.”
“It’s hard to pay attention to anything when you’re here.” Phillip knew it was sappy before the last word spilled from his mouth, but he couldn’t help himself. Her tired morning eyes were magnetic, and the fact that her shirt was inside out made her adorable.
Rolling her eyes, Zoe wasted no time getting to the point. “That old bag of nuts that lives across the hall has been filling her head with a load of shit.”
“Zoe! Mrs. Michaels is just a little old lady. Old people always tell weird stories.”
“Tell him then.”
Phillip looked from one to the other and cringed. Getting in the middle of a female squabble was low on his list of must do things. He’d seen lesser men ripped to shreds for this exact thing, but the curiosity got the better of him. He plastered on a stiff smile and hoped he wouldn’t regret it.
“Tell me what?”
Allie kept silent.
“Okay if you don’t tell him,” Zoe said. “I will.”
“No, Zoe, he doesn’t want to hear—”
“That old nut job told her that she’s the reincarnation of some chick named Isabella.”
Allie leaned forward. “But I don’t really believe that.”
“You’d like to, though.”
“I just think it’s romantic, that’s all.”
Phillip’s smile disappeared. The warning bells sounded in his head. Allie was already having problems coping with these murders and she didn’t need some crazy old lady filling her head with garbage. Although he seethed at the thought, he tried to keep a neutral expression. “Who’s Isabella?”
Zoe leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Apparently she’s linked to these murders.”
“What?” Phillip stood, his chair screeching across the red tile floor. “I think I need to talk to this woman.”
Allie took hold of his wrist. “No, wait.”
Zoe chuckled. “No, trust me, it’s a total load of bullshit. Just wait till you hear the rest.”
Phillip looked from one to the other, sighed, and took his seat. He already had a serious dislike for this ol
d woman, and if she knew something about these murders it was his duty to find out.
“Okay, convince me,” Phillip said.
Allie scowled. “Zoe, really.”
Zoe ignored her. “Apparently—according to Mrs. Michaels—there’s some kind of demon living under the street.”
Phillip sat up straighter. This story sounded familiar. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “Mind if I record this?”
“Sure,” Zoe said.
Phillip clicked on the recording app, laid it in the middle of the table, and spoke. “All parties involved in this conversation are aware they are being recorded. The time is 8:30 a.m. and today is Wednesday, February 10th—”
Allie sighed. “Guys, come on, this is not a big deal.”
Zoe ignored her. “This thing is supposed to eat people and rejuvenate.”
“What does this have to do with Allie or this Isabella person?” Phillip asked.
“This demon has jackals or servants, and one of them is a guy named Noah,” Zoe said. “Well, this poor bastard was supposedly butchered by Isabella’s grandmother because they were married behind her back.”
Noah? Wasn’t this the name Allie had called him when he found her in the street? “How did he end up being this demon’s servant?”
“The grandmother cursed him.”
Allie smiled. “It really is a tragic romance story. Like Romeo and Juliet.”
Zoe took a bite of her oatmeal. “If you call a gruesome murder romantic, it is, but that’s all it is—just a story.”
Phillip wondered that if Allie believed this nonsense, then who else might actually believe it. He certainly wasn’t looking for a demon, but if an old woman believed this crap, he could only imagine what a misguided teenager might do with this kind of story. “So what does this have to do with Allie?”
“She said that Noah believes Allie is Isabella.”
Phillip leaned back, pressing his palms hard against his temples. His head started to hurt. “Oh good God.”
Zoe took a sip of her coffee. “My sentiments exactly.”
Phillip was curious of the old woman’s motive. Was it for pure entertainment, just to scare a young woman, or did she really think this was true?
Allie scowled. “You two act like I believe this stuff.”
“Do you?” Phillip asked.
She shrugged with no answer, her eyes not meeting his. Allie gazed through the window toward the cobblestone street, her silence answering his question.
Chapter 15
Local Legends
His pencil tapped against the table. Usually a small noise, it echoed like a gunshot through the expansive library. Phillip slid the book in front of Detective Rush, scooted closer and cracked it open.
Rush pushed his glasses onto his nose. “Local legends? Do you actually think this is something supernatural?”
“I’m beginning to wonder.” Phillip thumbed through the index. “Here it is.” His fingers slid down the yellowed pages and stopped. “This thing—the locals call it a Mishacha. It’s a flesh eating demon from Hindu mythology.”
“I’m not surprised,” the older man said. “We have a strong Hindu influence here.”
Rush studied the picture. The drawing depicted a grotesque beast, veins bulging beneath its darkened skin, eyes deep blood red.
“What did the old woman call it? What was her name?”
“Mrs. Michaels. I’m not sure the demon has a name, but look, it says they devour all, leaving only the skin and intestinal contents. They feed on human energies, sometimes possessing human beings and altering their thoughts.”
“Sounds like a nasty little critter.”
“And eerily similar to our murders.”
“Why would it leave the skin?”
Phillip read down the page. “Says here the skin is the polluted outer shell. It’s unfit.”
“Sounds exactly like what you said before. Could be some freak pretending to be this demon, or believing he’s possessed, or maybe even a group of devil worshipers.”
“Killing to make it appear supernatural,” Phillip said, “or to complete some weird ritual. I’ll check with the librarian to see if anyone else has recently checked out anything similar to these books.”
Rush pulled the volume closer. “They kill people, eat their marrow, and suck up the blood and destroy the vitals and viscera. It says that these Mishachas are earth demons. With each death, their bodies renew.” Rush scratched his head. “But this says they only haunt mass grave sites. Why would it be here?”
Phillip looked up. “The Civil War. In some places, particularly in the South, entire regiments could be killed in a single battle. The armies on both sides were not ready for the enormity of the thousands of bodies left lying on the battlefield. Most were left to lie and rot. The stench was unbearable, and as a result, the unidentified dead were often thrown into mass graves.”
“There’s probably one over in Brentwood then.”
Phillip smiled. “I think you’re starting to believe this stuff.”
“Never rule out anything.” Rush chuckled and continued his reading. “They gorge on the mounds of flesh, enough to last a half century or more, until they weaken.”
Phillip skipped ahead while the older man read. “Jackals or servants gather and rise, hoping their offerings are accepted …”
“What?”
“Jackals incapacitate the victims so the Mishacha can feed.” Phillip muttered to himself. “That explains Noah.”
“Who?”
“Noah. Mrs. Michaels told Allie this crazy story about a guy named Noah; he was killed and cursed to serve this earth demon. She believes when his service is up, when he’s paid his dues with enough human flesh, he’ll be released.”
“Released where? Back to the living?”
“According to this,” Phillip said. “There is no coming back.”
Chapter 16
Zoe
Allie pulled the curtain away from the rattling glass. The wind howled, spiraling rain in thick horizontal sheets past the window. She squinted, trying to make out the shop across the street, but a thick cloak of fog settled onto the narrow roadway, obscuring the building from view.
“Maybe you should stay here tonight.” Allie banged on the air conditioning unit. “Damn it, it still doesn’t work.”
Zoe twisted the lock on the window to raise it, but Allie grabbed her hand. “No, leave it closed.”
“We’ll burn up in here.”
Allie stared through the window and down at the gutters. Torrents of water swelled over their edges, spilling into the street. “It might come back.”
“It was just a dream.”
“I know but—”
“It won’t come back.”
“It just seemed so real.”
“Did it hurt you?”
“No, but—”
“Okay then, see, just a dream,” Zoe said. “Besides, I’m here. I’ll kick its ass.”
Allie chuckled. “Maybe so. But let’s leave it closed for now. The rain will probably cool the apartment.”
Zoe signed. “Okay, fine. We’ll leave it closed for now. Come on, let’s get some Cheetos and watch something funny. It’ll take your mind off of things.” She clicked on the TV and fell into the overstuffed couch. “Well, you might not have the internet, but at least the television works.”
* * *
Allie woke at midnight. She had no idea when she’d fallen asleep. On the far side of the room, the muted TV cast an eerie glow across the couch where Zoe snored. Digging under the blankets, Allie found the remote and clicked the TV off. Outside, a dim motion light illuminated the window, painting the sill with a pale muted gray.
The window was open.
Zoe must have lifted it during the night. Trying to peel her gaze away from the window, Allie squeezed her lids shut, but each time, she found her eyes wide and fixed on the rain splattered panes. Curtains billowed in the breeze, their blackened images writhing l
ike vipers across the plaster ceiling. The building groaned, wind howling into its weakened joints, the wood straining and popping like spirits haunting the walls.
Warding off the cooling night air, Allie curled into a ball, pulling the covers against her chin. Reluctantly giving up the watch, her lids slid closed until a familiar stench curled into her nostrils.
Old death.
Oh God!
Allie sat up, her eyes wide and focused on the window. The rain poured straight down in iridescent sheets. She listened, every nerve in her body heightened with awareness. A cacophony of rain drops pummeled the earth but the howling wind disappeared. The rain deluge eased, slipping away with the fading wind. The curtains hung static, their dingy lace framing a night gone still. Moonlight sliced through a break in the clouds, illuminating the window in silver white. The stench grew stronger, and a faint grinding noise drifted in from the street. Allie held her breath and listened, her gaze not moving from the rain splattered glass.
A small black patch slid over the sill. She watched, hoping it was a shadow from a passing cloud, but it stopped, hovering in place. She wanted to jump from the bed and run to the window and slam it shut, but fear froze her body to the bed and her eyes to the shadow. It moved again, crawling down the wall and pooling on the floor. Rubbing her eyes, she hoped her vision was only adjusting to the dark.
It’s nothing. It’s nothing. She stared at the spot, her eyes watering and burning from intense concentration. It moved again! Or did it?
Her imagination sometimes got the better of her, so she decided to try to ignore it. Blowing out a sleepy sigh, she laid back down, but still, her gaze locked on the dark patch just below the window. Startled by movement, Allie watched a dozen small black specters spill over the sill, joining the first, increasing its size.
She shot up in bed and switched the light on.
Zoe had also sat up on the couch, but said nothing. She sat stiff, her face hidden behind her sleep tangled hair.
“Zoe,” Allie said, fear squeezing her words into a whisper. “Did you see it too?”
