Sil in a Dark World: A Paranormal Love-Hate Story

by Brindi Quinn

  And how does that make me feel?

  I feel . . . perplexed, mostly. It’s not that I’ve grown to like Sil. That isn’t it at all. I haven’t even grown to tolerate her, really. It’s just that today is the first time I’ve thought of her as anything but a means of annoyance or convenience or diversion.

  Though I’ve wanted to kill her many times before, today is the first day I’ve wanted to kill Sil for Sil’s sake.

  Shall I kill you, Sil? Say the word and I will.

  Chapter 6: The Almost

  “Keeker and I are heading to the cemetery. You coming?”

  I look up from the plum tome to see Sil standing in my bedroom doorway wearing cutoff shorts over long-underwear and a poof-sleeved shirt displaying a cartoon cat that looks rather self-satisfied.

  Charming? Not.

  “Oh, I don’t know, Sil. Staring into these pages for the thousandth time and getting nowhere but frustrated makes for an exceedingly enjoyable day off, wouldn’t you say?”

  She stares at me, birdbrained, and then – “Suit yourself.” She jocundly gallops away.

  I cannot hold back. “St . . . stop!” And before I know it, I’ve just called for her like some eager playmate afraid to be excluded from hide-and-seek. The outburst happens without leaving adequate time for me to swallow my pride; thus, it becomes lodged uncomfortably in my throat.

  Feigning innocence, Sil pokes her head around the corner. “Yes, demon boy?”

  My pride slips down my esophagus like a handful of sand. “I’m coming,” I tell her foully.

  Sil shrugs. “If you want.”

  Manipulative girl. Before following her through the door, I stow the tome beneath my arm. No chance I’m leaving it unattended with questionable characters about, present company included.

  When we reach the cemetery, the sky has already begun to turn amber. “It’s a little late in the day for an outing, don’t you think, Sil?”

  While answering, Sil shows all of her teeth. “That’s the point, demon boy. Can’t you feel the mesonoxian power starting to stir?”

  Mesonoxian? Well played, Sil. Well played.

  The evening is chillier than usual. The leaves crack beneath our feet. The birds of the wood flee from our path. We travel halfway through the rugged stones before settling between a pair of cousins. Maybe they’re cousins. Or maybe they’re siblings or spouses. Either way, the oldest of the pair lived to the ripe old age of forty-seven.

  Laughable, really. What’s the point in living such a short lifespan? I want to ask Sil, but I fear the answer may be more depressing than I care to hear. “Now what?” I ask instead. “What are we doing here? The heptagon hasn’t reappeared, has it?”

  “Nope.” Sil looks about furtively. “But that reminds me – before the others get here, we gotta figure out our gameplan. Like, if anything weird happens tonight, you should be prepared to make something up. The others still think you’re just a regular person. I thought you probably wouldn’t want me to tell anyone anything about your shadow blood, so I didn’t.”

  Is she serious? Good god! Of course I wouldn’t want her to tell anyone anything! I simply refrained from ordering her not to because I honestly didn’t think she was stupid enough to consider giving anything up. That aside –

  “First of all, my blood is smoke,” I reiterate. “Not shadow. Common mistake. And secondly, what do you mean others?”

  “Oh, uh . . .” Sil stalls.

  I madden.

  “SIL? Who other than your minion is joining us!?”

  But I don’t have to await her answer. Lo, from within the amber-stained church, a voice, loafing and dense, invades the graveyard. And it is a voice I’ve heard all too much. One that whispers into my ear in the middle of the day, at the least opportune of moments, causing me nothing but strife. “Well, look who the Sil dragged in,” it says. “Tran-a-lan! Didn’t know you’d be here too, man.”

  And who should appear at Keek’s side but the goddamned tick.

  On usual occasion, I only ever see the chap from the corner of my eye, as I try to avoid him as much as possible; at this moment, however, his presence is inevitable. It’s him, the pest that sits behind me in class. Of all the people Keek could have brought, why the fruck did it have to be him? He is a scruffy person – bony and lanky, and with black earrings in both ears and a large mouth that never ceases its efforts at beguiling.

  “You,” I say, unamused. “Sil? What’s he doing here? Earned yourself a new minion, have you? Apologies, Keek. It would appear you’ve been replaced.”

  Keek refuses to speak to me directly. “You brought HIM again, Sil?”

  “Sure did,” she says.

  “Why?” Keek crunches through the leaves to us, very much resembling an ogre or some other lesser beast.

  Sil doesn’t think about her answer at all. Automatic, she says, “Because I like him.”

  Ah? . . . Very funny, Sil. So clever is she. I wait for the punchline. So, too, does Keek. But the punchline is slow to come.

  “Since when?” says Keek. “I thought you said he was weird.”

  “He is weird.” Sil nods. “And that’s why I like him.”

  I don’t understand. Where’s the humor? When comes the twist? I stare at her and wait. Meanwhile, the tick has entered my personal space. He lands a few elbow jabs into my side. An attempt at playfulness, I’d gather.

  “Looks like it’s working, yeah? You really are cracking her. Betcha Keek is jelly,” he says.

  Because he’s touched me without my invitation, I’d like to harm him, but I’d rather not under the circumstances. A disturbance may keep Sil from revealing the punchline to her cleverless joke. Balling my fists, I give him nothing but, “Jelly? I hardly see what fruit spread has to do with it.”

  The tick lets his mouth hang open rudely. It would seem I’ve just spoken something out of place. “What, they don’t say ‘jelly’ in North Carolina?” he asks as though I am ludicrous. “As in jealous? Get it?”

  Trifling. I ignore him and continue to watch Sil, whom Keek is pestering to no end. Sil holds her ground. Keek huffs querulously. A satisfactory end to their tiff.

  Then Sil approaches. “Should we get started?”

  With what exactly? I scan the cemetery, but as for clues, it gives none. It looks the same as usual, barring that maybe a few more leaves have joined the fold. “If you would be so kind as to explain what we’re doing here with these two morons,” I say.

  The tick is entertained. “Nippy as ever, Tran.”

  Sil makes her way to the back of the graveyard, neither rabbitish nor languid. Whatever we’re doing is of medium importance to her, it seems. We follow. Keek sulks. The tick is relaxed. I am unenthused. At the edge of the undug grave, Sil halts. “We’re having a séance,” she says.

  “A séance?” I fold my arms. “Isn’t that where mortals attempt to contact other deceased mortals?”

  “That’s exactly what a séance is, demon boy,” says Sil. “Good job! A treat for you!” She throws a fallen acorn at my head.

  My powers of restraint are being stretched to their limits.

  The tick peers into the hole. “Yup, it’s just like you said. Bones have been clean dug up.” He straightens. “Now I’m getting excited.” Suspicious. Why should he be concerned with contacting the dead?

  “What’s your interest in this?” I ask him.

  Sil answers, “Before you get all paranoid, demon, me ‘n Keek asked him to come. Chif’s done this before. Séances, I mean. Keeker told him about the missing body and he agreed to help.”

  Well, that’s fine and all, but . . . “What’s a chif?”

  “Harsh, Tran!” The tick appears wounded. “I’M Chif. Ba-dang! Can’t even remember my name? And we’ve been tight for like . . . a month now!”

  Tight? Hardly. And does the tick know my name? But it does bring up a valid concern. If we’ve been ‘tight for a month’, that means I’ve only two weeks left. The Galtia and All Hallow’s Eve are only two
weeks away. And that’s roughly.

  Dammit.

  “What’s your goal here, Sil?” I ask tepidly.

  “We’re going to ask the spirit of the open grave who took their bones and for what purpose,” she explains.

  “And does that sort of thing actually work here? Communicating with spirits?” I ask.

  Sil hands me off to Chif.

  “Eh-heh.” He laughs uneasily. “It worked once . . . until we realized it was just my brother playing a trick on us.”

  So, no then.

  “Siiiil? A word?”

  She plops down beside the hole. “Just go with it, Wayst. ‘Kay?”

  Keek hobbles into palace beside her. “Yeah, Tran. Just shut up or get up.”

  “Alas, I’m already standing.”

  Keek scowls. I am pleased.

  Holding the book securely in my lap, I settle at the foot of the grave. Keek sits too closely to Sil at the grave’s side, while Chif takes his place opposite them. The sun is sunken now, nearly to the earth’s crust. The ground is dry and cool and hard. The air is stark and chilled. Three mortals and one immortal convene, ready and willing to connect with the dead.

  Well, not willing per se; although admittedly I am a bit intrigued as to whether or not it’s actually possible to converse with the departed.

  I didn’t notice previously that there is a small duffle hanging over the tick’s arm, which, once we are all seated, he begins to rifle through. He pulls out four candles and a lighter. “Light one, pass it on,” he instructs me.

  I don’t take kindly to being ordered about. Chif senses such and adds, “If you’d please, man.”

  Ah. Now there’s a human that knows how to behave. I light the candles and pass them along, and when we are all with light, Chif claps his hands. “Yokay?” He looks to each of us. I do nothing, though Keek and Sil both nod intently.

  “Hold on. Shouldn’t we hold hands?” Keek suggests. “Isn’t that how it works?”

  Naturally he’d want something like that. Grubby slug. He wishes for an excuse to hold Sil’s hand.

  “Sure. I suppose that would work,” says Chif.

  Hm. He doesn’t sound like much of an expert. Keek hungrily takes Sil’s hand in his own, then reaches for mine. What? Mine? No thanks.

  “Sil,” I command. “Switch places with him.”

  Her minion takes the offensive. “Really, Tran? You’re gonna make a big deal about it? Just take my hand and be done with it. I mean really, Sil! Get a load of this guy!”

  But Sil is already swapping places with him. “Next time ask nicer, demon,” she says.

  Take that, minion! I revel in the fact that his eyes are daggers. Is that a sign of him being ‘jelly’?

  In the meantime, Chif is preparing some sort of incense. “It’s an offering,” he says. “The spirits like stuff like this. Unfortunately my mom used up all of the lavender, so we’re stuck with grape.”

  “I love grape!” Sil sings.

  “Right.” Chif smiles goofily. “So you three join hands.”

  “What about you, Chif?” Keek asks, still pouting.

  “I’ve gotta hold the book.”

  “The book?” I instinctively pull the plum tome closer into myself. He’d better not be speaking of MY book.

  Luckily for him, he is not.

  The tick holds up a stack of papers. “Well, in reality it’s some pages I printed from the internet and stapled together. I figure it should work just the same, though.” He winks at me. “Make sure you keep the candles directly in front of you the whole time. . . . Tran? You gonna take Sil’s hand or what?”

  “Hm?” Oh. So it would seem that Sil and her minion have already rejoined hands and Sil is now waiting for me with her hand awkwardly outstretched. I roll my eyes and snatch it with force. Whatever. This probably won’t work anyway.

  Sil’s hand rests in mine like a child holds her father’s. I feel nothing. And then it changes. Sil weaves her fingers through mine and butts her palm flushly against my palm. What’s this? I attempt to catch her in a sideways glance, but her thoughts are elsewhere. She is focusing full attention on watching the tick light the incense. Keek, on the other hand, is staring at their touching hands and swallowing obviously.

  Pathetic. He can barely keep his composure. It’s just a hand. Just the hand of a bizarre, attractionless girl. A girl with . . . slender fingers . . . and soft skin . . . and . . . Before I know it, I have also swallowed awkwardly.

  Hell! What’s wrong with me?! It is only Sil! And the sunlight is no longer around to light her eyes! Why should I think anything of this? Because. Though the sun no longer remains, the night breeze lingers, and it’s a seductress. It moves surreptitiously through Sil’s hair. It overshadows the repulsive grape scent with the desirable smell of Sil’s mint.

  Taking initiative, I hold Sil’s hand more tightly.

  She’s mine.

  Keek strangles me in his mind – it’s apparent by the look on his face. I do the same to him, but don’t stop at strangling. Afterwards, I gut him too. And when it is over, Keek lies dead at Sil’s side, trailing out his bits. Mmmm. A wonderful scene indeed. In my mind Sil and I are alone. In my mind, we are about to try again.

  “Siiiil,” I inadvertently mutter audibly.

  “What do you want? Try not to interrupt Chif while he’s reading. And you’re supposed to have your eyes closed, you know. Quit staring at me.”

  Damn. She’s right. I’d been staring. I shake the invasive thoughts away. Had the tick been reading aloud? I hadn’t even noticed. I do now, though, and I hear that he is ‘invoking the spirits’. Whatever that means.

  “Draw from us, O spirit force, and tell us what became of you. Lead us to your body so that we might give it a proper burial. Reveal the one who performed these heinous crimes against you! O spirit, we wait now. Wait for a sign of your presence. Come to us! O come!”

  I’ve yet to close my eyes. The rest of them have. A sign? What sort of sign are they waiting for exactly? A flailing, translucent creature to rise from the hole? Nothing changes for several seconds. And then . . . I pick up on something. Keek, the minion – he’s behaving strangely. At second glance, his eyes aren’t closed. Not fully. They’re slightly open and gazing fixedly on his hand in Sil’s. He accompanies the action by breathing through his nose in small huffs. It seems to me like . . .

  Perversion?

  Whatever it is, it isn’t appealing to the eye. Thus, I close mine, and pull Sil’s hand a smidgeon closer to me. Siiiil. I desire to breathe her in. I desire to make her try again. Siiiil.

  “What a lustful child. They don’t make them like they used to.” From behind the blackness of my closed lids, an aged voice, clear as day, speaks.

  “Excuse me?” I throw open my eyes. “Who just said that? And what’s more, what do you mean lustful?” But opening my eyes reveals nothing new. Chif, Sil, and Keek, are as they were. Only now, Sil is glaring from behind her lids.

  “Wayst! Quit interrupting the séance!”

  I look behind me through the darkened stones. “Who just said that? Who called me a child? Was it one of you smartasses?”

  “You’re the only one who said something, you lunatic,” sneers Keek. “He’s nuts! Am I right, Sil?”

  “Shhhh,” says Sil. Her eyes remained closed.

  “What about you, uh . . . Chif? Did you not hear something?”

  “Sorry, man. I think you imagined it.”

  Ugh! He is as doltish as the rest of them! Chif begins his chant anew. Warily I close my eyes once more. “There you are,” the old voice says. “I can’t see you when you open your eyes.”

  “WHAT?!”

  “SHHHH.” The three mortals reprimand me in unison. They can’t hear it? Truly? Then it’s . . . in my head!? That’s never a good thing, even in Dhiant. Sourceless voices are universally bad.

  “You’re a timid child, aren’t you?” the voice concludes.

  “I’m not timid. And I’m not a child,” I say un
der my breath. I try to make my words as low as possible, in hopes that the others will think I’m simply muttering foul-temperedly.

  “Is that so? Why, then, are you carrying on in such a sulk? I half expect to see tears escape your ducts.”

  “How dare you!” I mouth. “I’ll have you know I am a prince of Dh-”

  “Prince? Hear me, child. All I want is for you to shut your gape so that I might sleep in peace without your horny thoughts flying about.”

  H-horny thoughts!? Scarcely.

  “What are you?” I mouth.

  “I am an urnk.”

  “Urnk?”

  “Yes.”

  “What the blazes is an urnk? Sounds like some breed of mummy or –”

  “Ah? Oh, I suppose someone from Dhiant wouldn’t know about us. Only mortals experience true death, as it stands. Your kind only experience non-existence when their immortal lives are forcibly taken.”

  I know all about forcibly taking immortal life. Urnks, contrarily, I know nothing about. “What are you exactly? You aren’t this so-called spirit the boy’s conjuring, correct?”

  “That is accurate,” says the voice. “We urnks shadow the living. We rest in open graves in place of those who are to die or those whose bodies are never found.”

  “You wouldn’t happen to know what happened to the body that used to reside here, would you?” Maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to pull a spot of usefulness from this uncanny encounter.

  “Afraid not. I found it empty.”

  “Then I’ve no time for you.” I let my eyes fly open. The others are yet waiting for the spirit to present itself. Chif has turned to rereading the passages from his paper stack. Keek remains in a strange pose of concentration. A quick scan of the graveyard reveals nothing out of the ordinary.

  With great caution, I let my eyes close again.

  “Rude. Rude. Rude. Not even a farewell from the spoiled prince?”

  Egad! Even though I expect it, the voice in my head is nonetheless unsettling. “I’m leaving you alone,” I tell the urnk though tight lips. “Just as you asked.”