Horror/EroticaPeople have their ghost stories, and most who listen do not necessarily believe their tales. Not really. It’s like, the human brain can’t fully open up to the idea that something beyond their own perception of reality could possibly exist. Sure, they entertain the storyteller — they placate those they perceive as mad as a box of frogs, out of pity if nothing else. It’s all the same. You’re not likely to believe it if you’ve not experienced it for yourself, and maybe not even then.
This is not your typical haunting. Or maybe, it is… It starts out the same, though — creaks in the floorboards, randomly misplaced items, strange dreams. I’ll spare you most of those details, as the longer I stayed in the house, the more intense everything became. The rotten smell and the sudden drafts were coming from nowhere. These are all the things you hear about, read about — hell, it’s on mainstream television now. But there are some things that you won’t see on tv. People don’t tell you what it is to witness possession, to be channelled and compelled to commit unspeakable atrocities. They can’t. I’ll start just before it all came crashing down, though it had built itself up for months. The den was dim, and the stank of something rotten hovered just above the nose. The cabin had been scrubbed, top to bottom, more than a time or two — scrubbing made it worse, somehow. My eyes grew more and more sensitive to light by the d. I’d stopped using lightbulbs — I went to have my eyes checked. The cause was unknown; my pupils had dilated beyond the iris into the whites of the eyes. I had to stop going out before dark — eventually, I stopped going out altogether. It was dangerous. Time would slip, and I would end up miles from home in some random field. That’s when she first appeared. The little girl. She was so sentient, so blushed that at first, I thought maybe she had strayed away from her parents — mischievously wandered off and stumbled into my corridor. I saw her standing there, with fire red curls and dark eyes, “Well, hello. Where did you come from?” She giggled and ran off (of course she did). I searched the cabin, opened every possible cubby and hid away. She was gone — but her face still haunts me. I asked around about the girl. No one in town had ever seen her, but the old lady down the lane definitely knew more than she was letting on (don’t they always?) Still, I kept feeling like she was there — hiding, giggling. Weeks later, I found myself knee-deep in some gator-infested swamp outside of town — I had been essentially missing for three days. My fingernails were caked in mud and grime, feet sore and raw from maundering around barefoot for three days — three toenails were missing. I can only imagine the stench coming off me; I ended up cutting off several inches of matted hair. Fuck, was I thirsty… Come find me… *giggles* … you’ll never find me…come play with me… She was older than I remembered, though still angelic — exuberant, even. But I won’t forget that night. I don’t remember falling asleep. I also don’t remember being awake…something hurled me to consciousness, gasping for air. My neck and back were dripping in sweat, alertness breaking through the fog of a hard sleep; my eyes unheedingly adjusted to the dark. There she was, again. Standing at the foot of my bed, I swear she was glowing…she had this soft pale, almost green aura…phosphorescence. You can hear it, can’t you?…tell me you can hear it, now… play with me… Her voice was so sweet, so disarming — “hear what, how did you get in here?” that menacing giggle echoed as she vanished. The room was smaller than I remembered. There was this stain?, developing around the doorframe, and I swear the walls were pulsating — but maybe it was my head. My mouth was painfully dry. I had become so dehydrated that my tongue split on the side, and my hands were cracked and dirty again, too. Stumbling into the bathroom, I knocked into the edge of the bed, splintering a floorboard just enough to pierce my ankle. My reflection was a tragedy; complexion sallow, eyes hollow. Can’t you hear it? *giggles* Come play… Clinging to the walls for support, I went to the kitchen for water. The tap turned too easy, and the water pressure was off, though I was too distracted to notice at the time. I brought the glass to my lips and sucked water in, my tongue too dry to taste. *giggling* My stomach began to swish, something sour and rank upsetting its unsatiated hunger. I choked hard, putrid water sneaking down my windpipe in the battle between intake and return. Something twisted in my reflection on the window, stuck between my shell and some large, black shadow. Wrenching forward, I projectile vomited every drop of noxious liquid from my digestive tract—the glass shattering on the floor. I still don’t know why I ran into the den or how my feet found every shard of glass on my way through. I can’t say if I was bleeding — from the glass or the floorboard — at what point of dehydration do you stop bleeding from superficial wounds? With my back pressed into the bookcase, I futilely attempted to catch my breath. The wall that framed the door was pasted with war-era wallpaper from the 1940s — a map of some kind — it was pristine when I moved in, proper care instructions left over from the original owner. Now, I watched as it watched the edges bubble and peel as if fire burned beneath it... In a failed attempt to scream, I thrust myself forward, willing myself to get out of the cabin, running toward the front door. Thrown back against the bookshelf by an unseeable force, the wind was knocked out of my chest. Something in the way the shadows moved paralyzed me, leaving my lungs desperate for oxygen. The shadows moved across my face, wrenching my mouth until it unhinged my jaw. Come play with me…you can hear, now, can’t you… A pressure on my thighs and shoulders was holding me in place like something was holding me down. I can still feel it groping at my breasts, my waist — I could feel a wet tongue dancing near the crease of my thigh, and thick saliva streamed down my skin. It all felt so familiar, penetrating me through every orifice. A low growl reverberated through the walls. I felt empty, lifeless — no will to live, no motivation to die. Something sick and twisted was growing deep within my core. The girl never returned, though she still called to me; her voice rang through the hall at all hours, *come play, come play*, but she never appeared. The shadows that induced paralysis grew darker, heavier — hungrier. Terrified and restrained in their presence became more frequent, raping me of my sanity between encounters. I became addicted to their touch. Consumed by the way they devoured every inch of me. Decimated and draped over the loveseat, I hadn’t moved for hours — it could have been longer. Still feeling the sticky leftovers from that hellacious tongue, the one that severed my sanity, I was compelled out to the road. I felt crooked as if being held up at deadweight; my head was cocked to the side. The next thing I remember is coming to in a freezing cold shower, some random man’s voice cutting in and out, “what are you on, hunny — come one, y’ gotta tell me…” genuine concern softening his voice. I could feel him slapping my face. He slipped backwards away from the tub and slid into the doorframe when I opened my eyes. I crawled out of the tub with feline agility, pouncing on the man before he could run. With his face between my thighs, I arched my back, letting out a banshee-like scream. The stranger bucked and thrust forward, his tongue tasting me — tasting the shadows. Pivoting on my toes and ready to pounce again, I leapt through the air. I landed on his chest and sunk my teeth into his throat, tearing out his voice box. The taste of his blood was like whiskey, warming my body from the inside. Before I could indulge in another bite, the shadows wrested my shell off the stranger, catapulting me into the door. The door gave way to the force that propelled me, my ragdoll form landing in flinders and fragments. Once again, the shadows consumed me. I could feel splinters from the door penetrating my back, my buttocks—searing pain confronting the euphoria. I know I shouldn’t have — I’m disgusted with myself — but I had to taste him again, the stranger that only wanted to help. He was the only thing I could keep down, the only thing that quenched my insatiable thirty… His flesh surrendered to my teeth, tearing tendons and muscle away from the bone with each bite. He tasted different — the fire was gone, but I could still feel myself dripping. Each bite encouraged another. A knock at the door turned into a pounding — in the haze of dopamine, oxytocin, and dehydration; it didn’t elicit much response. I lay sprawled on the bathroom floor, half naked and scarcely conscious, covered in dried blood and ectoplasmic residue. The ambient sound seemed far away — penetrative voices were muffled, overwhelmed by the ringing in my ears. I woke up connected to beeping monitors, and tubes pumping full of liquids — remanded for further evaluation. The shadows don’t move here, not the way they did in the cabin. They don’t devour my essence or rob me of the ability to breathe — some lingering thing inside me craves to be home again, you’ll understand soon enough. You’ll know soon enough. Can you hear it, now…can you hear it breathing? Thanks for reading! |
Sheena Monstershe/they 
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