Shadows and Spirits
by Amber Averay
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She darted through the front door and locked it securely, knowing he could still reach her if he wanted. Nothing much deterred him. Barred doors and windows were an invitation. Salt and iron were challenges. Crucifixes and holy relics were almost seductive provocation. She was afraid of the dark, for it hid everything. She was afraid of the light, for it revealed everything. Silence gave her too much time to think and give in to her imagination. Noise and confusion left her no time to wonder where he was or what he planned.
Adalia’s earliest memory was of him. She was barely out of toddlerhood, and she was standing at the back door. It was open, the screen was shut but not locked, and the verandah was almost a cave of creeper and buttery-yellow flowers. It was early morning, she recalled, and the house was still and silent. She’d no knowledge of why the back was open at that hour, but she well remembered the…him standing in the cocoon of vines enclosing the porch.
He was the largest man she’d ever seen – so tall, wide-shouldered, muscled, narrow waist, long legs wrapped in black-and-red leather trousers, and his head was an animal’s. A bull, she realised as she grew older, a fierce bull with flashing eyes and a cruel mouth, but as a child all she’d seen was a fearful beast with a man’s body.
She had frozen, staring up at him, her breath hitching. The smile he’d given her was strange, creepy, and yet somehow she knew he’d been trying for friendly. ‘Your parents had to go out, little one, but I am here to take care of you.’ He gestured to the screen, almost-offhand, as if his deep, resonant voice didn’t send shivers skittering along her spine. ‘If you would be so good as to let me in, I can do as they ask.’
But Adalia, even then, had known not to open doors to strangers. She shook her head, mute, eyes wide and owlish.
The thing – it, him – had laughed, as if her reluctance amused him. ‘You’re right to be cautious, Adalia, but I assure you of this – opening the door is the best thing you could do.’ The fire in his eyes banked, and he’d said sombrely, ‘I do not lie to you.’
His sincerity was more terrifying than his mockery. Again, she’d shaken her head, and at last the spell on her had broken. She’d raced back to her bedroom, flung herself into bed and burrowed beneath the covers.
Her parents, of course, assured her it was nothing but a nightmare – though nobody could account for the creeper’s little flowers, so vibrant and beautiful yesterday, scorched and blackened and brittle today.
Through the years he’d appeared to her every time she found herself forgetting about him. One day, at school, a new girl caught up with her on the stairs. The girl was pale, dressed all in white, almost as if she sought to portray purity. Her pearl-blonde hair was long, her eyes a weak amber. Her skin was almost sickly-colourless, and her shoes, skirt, top, hair-clips, earrings and bracelet were white. All white.
Something felt off about her, but Adalia thought it was simply her nerves whenever she met someone new. The girl smiled at her, showing white, white, pointed teeth, and Adalia’s skin prickled. ‘Hey, are you… I mean, you new? Do you need help?’
The new girl’s smile widened. ‘I’m fine. Name’s Lezabel.’ She giggled, as if at a private joke, and when Adalia shook her outstretched hand tingles raced up her arm and shattered into her shoulder. There was no pain, just a peculiar feeling of numbing heat, and Lezabel’s lips tilted in a smirk. ‘Do me a favour,’ she invited slyly.
Adalia could only nod. Finally mumbled, ‘If I can.’
‘Say the Lord’s Prayer for me.’
‘Uh…what?’
Lezabel’s grin became predatory. ‘Say the Lord’s Prayer for me.’
There was something compelling about the girl, the tone of her voice, her expression, that Adalia drew a deep breath and began – hating how tremulous and weak her voice was. ‘Our Father, who art in…in… Our Father, who art in H… H…’ No matter how she fought to spit the words out, they would not come. She could not say now if she forgot the prayer, or if her tongue wouldn’t work – all she clearly remembered was her inability to comply with Lezabel’s request.
‘You can’t do it, can you?’ The girl tilted her head, speculative, assessing, eyes flickering with amusement. The hem of her white dress began to crackle, darken, black veins spidering through the fabric. ‘I hoped it would happen, though I never expected it would occur so soon.’ She now gave off a scent of burning wood, her clothes decaying before Adalia’s eyes. She reached for Adalia’s hand, though Adalia twitched from her touch. ‘Years ago you tried to pretend you never saw me. You continue to want to push me away. But I am always here, Adalia. And you are – and will be – mine.’ She leaned forward, rancid breath scalding Adalia’s face, and pressed a kiss upon her forehead. ‘I will return,’ she whispered through bleeding lips, and vanished.
Adalia had seen her – him – a few more times since then, though he grew bolder these last months. Especially at night. So she kept the lights off, to conceal his presence. She would turn them back on, so he couldn’t hide from her. But his laughter would echo through her dreams, the smell of smoke permeated her flat, and she felt watched at all times.
He’d sent her flowers. Black and red roses. Their perfume was odd – decay but with a sweetness that slowly appealed to her. He’d sent her meat – beef, lamb, pork – just turned. She’d gagged, and thrown it in the bin – only to find herself eating it raw some hours later and relishing the putrid tang, the slimy reek as it slithered down her throat.
She’d lined the entryways with salt, and had heard his mocking laughter as each grain of the stuff sank into the flooring. Every item of iron had burned ferociously hot before dripping to the ground and forming a dark puddle through which his eyes gazed upon her.
Prayers now stalled in her throat, choking her, poisoning her with their light and goodness and saccharine sanctimony. The crucifixes she’d scattered about her flat now made her grimace with pain should she come too close. The first time she’d touched on and it sent a sharp shock through her hand she’d heard a deep voice crooning almost fondly, ‘You must be learning by now…’ And she feared he was amused by her attempts to keep him at bay, excited by her failing convictions.
A rap at her door made her jump, and she sucked in a ragged breath before moving slowly down the hall. Every gleaming lightbulb overhead shattered as she passed beneath it, showering her with shards of glass that glittered like obsidian and caught in her hair, her clothes; even her eyelashes. Her bare feet were lacerated, leaving glistening wet footprints along the ground.
Her heart thundered. She knew who was at the door, but she couldn’t make herself ignore the commanding knocks coming through it.
The handle was roasting hot, the flesh of her palm cooked as soon as she touched it, and strips of flesh tore away from her hand once she let go.
She felt nothing.
And there he was. All man, all menace. Black and red trousers, eyes afire with delight and malevolence. Skin burnt caramel, lips wide and sensuous. His gaze travelled from the door handle dripping flesh to her hand, and he lazily snapped up a strip of skin and dropped it into his mouth.
She smiled, and held her palm out to him. He took it in hand, raised it, ran his red tongue over it slowly, lasciviously. She shuddered, watching as loose skin was lapped up and swallowed with relish.
‘Are you ready?’ he whispered, not releasing her.
She nodded, and stepped toward him.
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