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

by Brindi Quinn

  “Fine. But don’t expect me to share a morsel of helpful advice with you then.”

  “Advice? What do you mea-”

  “Goodnight.”

  “Wait!”

  There is no response from the urnk.

  “Hello?”

  Still, I get nothing. So I boot the edge of the grave. A bit of the earth crumbles into the hole.

  “You’re likely to get cursed if you keep up that behavior.”

  “Tell me what you know.”

  “I think I won’t.”

  “But –!”

  “Not with that attitude.”

  “Oh. Very well. Please or something?”

  “Or something? Cheeky. All right.” The urnk sighs boorishly. “You should be aware that that person is attempting to pull in your power as we speak. I can hear his intentions. Rather loudly, mind you. I’d suggest cutting off his supply before he discovers the small reservoir your body’s hiding.”

  The reservoir of power? The idea is too tantalizing to resist. “Beware, Urnk. If you’re jesting, I’ll find a way to punish you where you lie. Tell me now; of what reservoir do you speak? Do you know how I can access it?”

  “That isn’t what you should be concerned with, child. If you don’t do something soon, you’ll lose it.”

  “Where is it!?”

  “Shhh! I’m trying to sleep.”

  “WHERE!?”

  But there is nothing in the way of a response. The urnk has reached a state of slumber. I’ve reached a state of panic. For the third time, I snap open my eyes. Things are the same. Sil’s hand is in mine. Keek’s hand is in hers. The tick is reading from his pages. Keek’s staring at Sil’s hand peculiarly.

  Staring? That’s it then, isn’t it? Keek is attempting to pull my latent power through Sil. But why? He shouldn’t even know I possess power! And if it’s true he does, that doesn’t explain what he would want it for. Notwithstanding, one thing is certain: I must drop Sil’s hand, therefore cutting off the line of power.

  Easy enough.

  Though, when I think about dropping Sil’s hand . . . I am reluctant. I enjoy the contact. It makes me feel as though she is mine. As though she is under my control.

  Siiiil.

  But the urnk’s words ring in my head. I don’t entirely believe them, but on the off chance that Keek is somehow aware of my power and trying to steal it . . . I gingerly slip my hand from Sil’s. Keek’s gaze snaps to me. Sil, too, opens her eyes and tips her head to the side. “What’s wrong now, demon?”

  I cover it up by playing annoyed. It isn’t hard to do. “This is ridiculous! Clearly nothing is happening. And I for one do not intend to stay out here all night!”

  “You’re just gonna give up so easily?” Keek stands to ridicule me. “What a lame-o, Sil!”

  Surprisingly, Sil comes to the defense. “Naw, he’s right, Keeker. We should get heading home. Sorry, Chif. It was a good try.”

  Chif shrugs. “We should do it again sometime. It’s pretty spooky out here if the mood is right. I’m sure Tran enjoyed it too, isn’t that right, man?” He eyes me with expectation, most likely thinking of the gains I may have made with Sil.

  “A delight,” I sniff.

  Sil and her minion help the tick gather his things. I don’t offer assistance. I can’t help but feel off put. My views of Keek have just changed greatly. It’s more than a little suspicious that a supernatural thing warned me of his attempts to steal my power within such close proximity to finding a symbol made out of white ash – a symbol which also happened to be found in a book of my people. Not to mention that white ash comes from shadow-brought fire that can only be made by a daem. It’s all far too suspicious.

  No, it’s more than suspicious. It’s obvious. Obvious that there’s more to the squishy idiot than meets the eye.

  Before Sil, before anyone else in the human world, I might have to kill the minion.

  ><

  “What did you think of that?” Sil asks with a mouth full of grape-flavored lather.

  “What do you mean?”

  “It was more than just a séance, demon boy. Duh. I wanted to see if being in a cemetery at night would help you remember how to read the book. Did it?”

  I look up from cleaning my face to study hers. Sil did all of that for . . . me? My chest tightens ever so slightly.

  “No, it didn’t help,” I tell her.

  “Sorry.”

  “Why are you sorry?” I inquire of her.

  “It’s clear that you’re more invested in that book than we are,” she says. “Sorry that you can’t figure it out.”

  “But you care about the heptagon too.”

  “I do, yeah. I dunno. Just seems like you care about it in a different way. A more serious way, I guess.”

  She can pick up on that? Surprising. It’s possible that she’s only dense when she wishes to be. Then again, that may be more frustrating than if she were unable to choose.

  Sil wipes her mouth on her sleeve, then inspects her teeth in the mirror. I slip into place behind her. Many times in the earlier days of my arrival did I grab her arm and force her to try the spell. I don’t feel up to it now, though. I want to seize her hand for a different reason.

  Taking her wrist from behind, I rest my forehead against her back.

  Sil becomes stiff. “W-what?” she stammers.

  “Two weeks, Sil. That’s all we have left.” It is impossible to conceal my depression.

  “O-or else what?” Sil wants to know.

  “It’s the end. I’ll kill you probably.”

  Sil spins around and backs herself against the vanity. “You won’t really.”

  “It’s hard to say.” I again take her hands, from the front this time, and press into her. Our bodies are flush. “I don’t know what I’ll do.” I am vacuous. The mortal world is affecting me. “Would you be unhappy to die?”

  “Of course I would,” she says protectively.

  “But are you not unhappy to live?”

  “Sometimes,” she says. “But that’s just part of it. You have to experience sadness if you want to fully appreciate happiness. You know?”

  I do not know. I cannot relate. I know desire and hate, but happiness and sadness seem so trifling – even for those with short lives. Nay, especially for those with short lives.

  “It could happen at any time anyway.” Sil’s voice becomes a whisper. “That’s why every day counts. Every minute.”

  Hm. An interesting concept.

  I hold against her for a minute more. Sil does not fight. She doesn’t do anything but stand and peer at the place over my shoulder. She doesn’t want to look at me, for it will surely make her nervous. It doesn’t bring me satisfaction, however. I am merely enjoying the moment near her mint, which so generously pours out of her skin in delectable waves.

  When I have overstayed my welcome, Sil speaks up:

  “Demon boy?”

  She wants to know what I’m playing at. But there’s nothing. My mind is blank. My soul is blank. I release her and leave.

  Then, at the doorway, I offer her this:

  “Goodnight, Sil.”

  She takes a moment to answer, and when she does, her tone is troubled. “G’night, demon boy.”

  And there’s something more. When I’m in the hallway, nearly at my bedroom’s door, I hear her try again, “G’night . . . Wayst.”

  Sil. I am not certain what she’s thinking, nor am I certain what I’m thinking, but there are a few things to consider before killing her.

  It is with this thought that I settle atop the covers of a borrowed bed and flip through the pages of a tome that is deeply purple.

  I don’t make it far before giving a start. And why oh why do I give a start?

  Because the words! Though they remain murky, I can make parts of them out. Somehow, someway, I am able to cut through the fog and pick out random collections of letters. Rabidly, I turn to the page with the heptagonal symbol.

  A . . . nt of S .
. . . . ing:

  . . an’t . . never,

  Vanished or . . . . aid,

  A . . . . . of them,

  . . ven corn . . . of Dhiant.

  Dhiant. This confirms it. A daem spell was cast.

  Chapter 7: Let’s Try Again

  “Sil!”

  I cannot think. I cannot rest. I plow into Sil’s room.

  In an oversized t-shirt and pair of gray, calf-length sweatpants, she’s just absconding into her nest. “Ho! Demon boy! Where’s the fire?!”

  Clearing a path by knocking aside an innertube, I slide in next to her – an action that greatly alarms Sil. In an attempt to put as much space between her and me as possible, she is against the wall in no time flat.

  “Is that any way to welcome a prince?” I ask wryly.

  “It’s the way to welcome a rapist!”

  “Har. Har. Relax. I’m not here to rape you. I’m solely interested in women with sex appeal.”

  “Oh.” Sil calms down. “Okay.”

  Really, Sil? No offense taken? Not that it matters. I begin again, “The reason I’m here is I can read.”

  “Wow, demon. Good going. Bet your kindergarten teacher’s real proud.”

  “No, you twit. I can read THIS.” I show her the book.

  Sil’s eyes grow wide. “Even better! How’d you do it!?”

  “It came to me. Not all of it, mind you. Just parts.”

  She smiles arrogantly. “I knew the mesonoxian power would work. Well, go on then.” She turns onto her side and waits for me to read like a child awaiting storytime.

  “A light perhaps?”

  “There.” She points to a contraption clamped to her bedframe. A press of a button reveals that it is indeed a lamp of sorts. It gives off a hazy beam of light. I flip to the page with the heptagon and read to her the bits I can.

  “A . . . nt of S . . . . . ing: . . an’t . . never, vanished or . . . . aid, a . . . . . of them, . . ven corn . . . of Dhiant.” I am able to make out no more than last time.

  Sil thinks on it. “So a singing ant never vanished or aided any of them corns of Dhiant? Hmmm. Must be code.”

  “Dimwit! There are other letters missing,” I tell her. “Clearly.”

  “OH. See, here I thought you were sounding out the words. . . . With just learning to read and all.” She’s lying. Her mouth’s malevolent twitch betrays her so. “Heh,” she adds. “At least it’s a start, right? Wonder what changed. That séance was kinda bunk, so I doubt it was that.”

  “No, it certainly wasn’t that. Although the urnk on the other hand . . .”

  “Urnk?”

  “Never you mind. And since there’s nothing more to report, I’ll be taking my leave of you now. Pray that the morning reveals a bit more of the spell’s writing.” I search for a way out of her nest. Somehow it seems as though the hole I entered through has since closed. Maybe it’s for the best, though. Sil seems chatty.

  “Pray?” she inquires.

  I turn to face her, ever scanning the borders for away out. “Yes?” I say. “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing. Seems a bit strange coming from a creature of darkness, that’s all.”

  I won’t give her the satisfaction of a reaction.

  “And there’s another thing,” she continues. “You’re leaving so soon?”

  This query makes me give up my search completely. Due to excitement, I am in her bed, unannounced and uninvited. A moment ago she was worried I’d rape her, and now . . . she wants to know why I’m leaving? Could it be that . . . I may be getting ahead of myself, but I can’t help thinking that . . . Has Sil finally decided to love me? When I take into consideration the details of the day, it doesn’t seem likely. Still, I am intrigued.

  “I was planning on it,” I tell her. “Why do you ask?”

  Sil answers honestly. “Just that this seems like the perfect opportunity to practice your seduction, you know. And I’m wondering why you aren’t.” Her quizzical expression is enough to convey that there is no deeper meaning behind her words. She’s merely curious, as she says. That doesn’t stop me.

  I take a lock of her hair as it sits loosely against her neck, allowing it to dangle over my finger. Obsidian pieces that shine when they slide – Sil’s hair is alike the hair of a siren, in the way that it moves. I never noticed before, for it is usually stuck to her head in a sloppy ponytail. “Might it be that you want me to seduce you?” I ask with suggestive eyes.

  She falters. “N-no. You know that isn’t the case.”

  True enough. But now that I’ve started, I won’t quit. Sil has awakened my toying spirit. I do two things at once. One of my hands switches off the light. With the other, I reach for the revealed calf of Sil’s leg. “Have you shaved yet, Siiiil?”

  She has. Her leg is smooth. Not that I’m able to feel it for long. At my touch, she promptly begins to flail. “Yah! T-tickles!” she cries.

  She kicks me in the jaw – among other things – and I am pushed against the backside of the dresser that’s been positioned at the side of her bed. “Calm yourself, Sil! It was a jest!” I hurry to return light to her nest. Light reveals that she has formed herself into an impenetrable ball.

  I rub my head where it’s started to smart. “Egad, Sil. Why have you built yourself into a hole anyway? This is highly unsafe. What if there is a fire?”

  Sil raises her brows. “You’re worried about my welfare? Weren’t you the one who recently offered to murder me?”

  She has a point. I don’t have an explanation to give, so I turn it around on her. “You’re avoiding the question, Sil. Why the shell?”

  Sil holds herself tighter before answering. “Tch. It’s all your fault, demon boy! You had to go and clean my room and now I can’t sleep. So I fixed it. I like being closed in. It makes me feel safe.”

  “For that reason you created a hovel?” I ask. Sil is a burrower.

  She nods. So does her shadow against the wall. A giant Sil. Quite possibly the most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen.

  “I don’t understand. I despise the chaos of clutter.”

  “It’s . . .” She shrugs. “That’s just how it is. I’ve been this way ever since . . .”

  “Since?”

  She shakes her head. She’ll tell me nothing more. It’s one of those topics. Sil’s forbidden tales. Who cares? Not I. I’m bored of this. I’ll leave now. Though it is hard to leave with Sil like that. Curled and vulnerable. A thing waiting to be played with. How can I leave when she so earnestly presents herself?

  How shall I play with her?

  I reach for another piece of her hair. The one hiding at the edge of her face will do. I take that one and Sil gives a tiny, nearly-unnoticeable jolt in return. Rewarding. She stares at the outskirts of her nest angrily.

  There, there, Sil. Your anger only makes it more enjoyable.

  I hold her hair over my finger and inhale. The whole of her hovel smells like her. Like mint. And I am stricken by idea. The hair in my hand – I bring it to my face. Nay, I bring my face to Sil’s hair and greedily inhale. Intoxicating mint fills my nostrils. The scent of Sil – I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – it’s better than anything.

  “Are you sniffing me?” In lieu of interest, Sil draws her eyes away from her angry stare. “I shouldn’t be too stinky. I just showered.”

  Just wretched, I want to tell her. But it is a lie too great even for me. Releasing her hair, I crawl closer to her. Sil’s shadow gives another jolt. There isn’t as much pleasure in this one, though. I’m set on a goal. Another smell of Sil. A closer one.

  Sil’s ball hasn’t loosened in the least. She remains as tight as ever. A brawny boulder of a girl. “C-can I help you? I think it’s time for all good demons to go to bed now.”

  I near my face to her cheek. “I’m not a demon, Sil.” Within Sil’s nest, the air is warm. “What am I?”

  She remains firm. “An ass?”

  I touch her cheek with my nose. In the dimness, the sh
adows above and behind us do the same. “Try again,” I say.

  She allows a moment to pass. “A gatecrasher?” she says, and though she attempts to hide it, her body gives off another miniature shiver. For a person like me, it’s fuel.

  I slide the tip of my nose towards her ear. Slowly and deliberately. The air outside of our bodies is still. I hear Sil’s breathing as she draws it in and pushes it out; and the remaining thickest parts locate themselves between us. Between us there’s a wall of nothing that’s noticeable above all else. It is my strongest desire to cut through that thick naught.

  “Once more, Sil,” I instruct in a whisper. “You know the answer. So tell me what I am.”

  “A daem?” She whispers to match me.

  My lips are nearly to her ear. “Almost, Siiiil.”

  She allows the longest pause here. I wait, lingering against her ear, heaving drags of her mint, in the warm nest that is Sil’s. In the stalled time, it feels as though we may sink into the soft top of her bed. Her bed is melting earth. A sinking of all things corporal. Dissolve with me, Sil. And tell me what I am.

  “A prince.” At last she says it.

  But the admission doesn’t give me any sort of joy. Sil says it out of nothing but confusion. It’s trial and error for her. She doesn’t know what I’m doing. She’s too dense to understand. Likewise, I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m too mistaken to understand. The moments that bring me pleasure are never what I expect anymore. Getting Sil to love me . . . is it a game? Is it a task? What is it?

  And why in this moment, while I wish to grip her round the throat, do I also wish to pin her down and kiss her softly beneath the falling blackness that is her hair? Why do I wish to possess her and kill her, too, but above all, to crack open her balled posture? And I don’t desire to do so in a violent way either.

  Oh, it’s possible this is what the tick meant by cracking her.

  I don’t like the way I feel. It doesn’t agree with me. Sil’s presence is confounding my own. Understanding this, I draw a conclusion. There’s only one thing to be done.