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Enura - Chapter 68: Spiral

Crimson flames raced through Yakim’s eyes. Slowly the vision faded, her pale facade staring back at her as the dark waters steadied. She could not tell for sure how much time had passed, only that the evil seed had been purged from her soul.

“Free,” she whispered, turning back to the smoldering ruin. Her heart swelled, and eyes filled with tears. Reluctantly she nodded, and returned to the broken village.

The halfling combed her blond tangles with her fingers, hesitant to confront the crumbling remains. Amid flames, something danced. She looked closer, the blaze shuddering, and then petering out. Her eyes skipped to the adjacent dwelling, and again the fire faltered. With a sharp twist, the firestorm folded into itself, until all that was left was a single stick of smoldering wood.

“Hello?” her voice echoed, her frosty breath quickening. She stepped forward and picked up the torch, spitting out another mouthful of wintry air. “What is happening?” The torch flickered. “How could the inferno dissipate so quickly?”

She scanned the shadows for the fallen corpses, her nails digging into the dank torchwood. As she brushed away the darkness, she caught a glimpse of something lurking underneath. “Show thyself,” her voice darkened.

Yakim retraced her steps, wishing she had not abandoned the comfort of the lake. The fire her lens, she spied them walking about calmly, not taking any notice of her, an entire village lying beneath the evening’s veil. The vampire gazed deeper, discovering that the presence loomed not in the darkness, but the flames. She pulled the torch closer and blew.

The village illuminated before her, bringing her back to warmer days. Emerald leaves adorned the trees, mauve and vermillion asters lining the dirt road leading to the lake. Yakim walked down the street, gazing at a blacksmith pounding molten metal to a keen edge, and a farmer grooming his tan steed as it flicked its tail and neighed gently.

A young girl in a gold dress brushed by, her blonde curls glimmering in the sun.

“Come back here, Yakim,” said a woman in an ivory dress, white lace over rose lips.

“But how can this be? I have not been here before,” Yakim uttered. “Mother?” She reached out, but the memory dissipated, swept away by the wind.

As the vampire gave chase, she tumbled over something protruding from the mud. She caught herself with one hand, sparing her dress. From the mire she fished out a rusty spade, and tossed it back to the ground. She passed the torch from hand to hand, unable to locate a single corpse. “Dew drop where have you fallen? Let me bury thee,” she pleaded.

Desperately she scoured the street, but the child was nowhere to be found. “No!” Yakim screamed, tearing out a handful of hair. She dumped the torch and ran, pressing deeper into the woods.

Something Wicked

I never would have purchased this house if I'd known that a goblin lived in it. The agent promised that the plush pad on the outskirts of Westchester was devoid of crime and vermin. In a sense he was right, but nothing could have prepared me for the creature that skulked these hollow walls.

One morning while I showered, the water turned piping hot. Hopelessly I fumbled with the knobs as the deluge scalded me. Abruptly the downpour turned ice cold, and then dwindled to a trickle. With a head full of suds I proceeded to the cellar, cursing all the way. At first I thought the broken pipe was a byproduct of the ancient plumbing, but when the second and third replacements also snapped in two, I realized I was up against something else entirely.

Shortly thereafter everything went downhill. The pantry was frequently ransacked and droppings left on its bare shelves. Half eaten carcasses littered the carpets and walls were frequently chewed open and stripped of insulation. At night while I listened to the creaking of the house, I could hear the miscreant hiss. Even my dreams were not an equitable refuge.

So I decided to introduce my guest to a friend I made at the local pound. Although I am a smallish man, I do not feel the need for a smallish dog, so I enlisted a beast of military might, an Irish wolfhound that no creature dare cross. As soon as I introduced him to the house, the beast bounded down the stairs, and uncovered the creature's lair hidden cleverly among a pair of broken shelves. After sniffing the fowl opening, my companion bared his teeth, and bravely held his ground. Hour after hour he presided over the passage, refusing to budge. I could barely contain my excitement. There would be no more volcanic showers or road kill rugs. That night I slept like a baby, but once dawn broke my new pal was nowhere to be found. Sadly I would not see him again.

Angered by the turn of events, I grabbed a shovel and crawled into the hole, following the stench until the passage opened to a large dim room. I could feel the parasite's eyes on me as I eased inside. Something snickered nearby. With my shovel I smashed everything within an arm's reach. The racket stirred considerable interest from above and a moment later the light snapped on. When a voice shouted down and a shotgun blast followed, I realized where I was--my neighbor's cellar.

"Don't shoot! It's me, Benjamin Buddle," I cried. I tried to explain everything--that I'd lost my dog and a creature was harassing our domiciles--but the geezer only saw one pest, and unloaded his shotgun once more. I dove behind a stack of boxes and remained there until the police arrived.

Even in my lonely cell, the creature's presence lingered. No doubt it would uncover my ornate Faberge eggs and African beetle collection--how they loved a tasty treat. News of my incarceration spread quickly to my employer, and when I collected my things, a message was waiting on my cell phone. I stepped out of the station, without dignity or a job.

When I finally hoofed it home, there was little to come back to. The door was ajar, dangling on one hinge. My clothes were a pile of torn rags, the furniture broken and gutted. As I turned the corner, I caught a glimpse of the withered menace fumbling with my IPod. Unsure what to make of it, he swallowed it whole. My black heart boiling over, I sprinted down the hall and jumped. Glass exploded all around as I bounced off the frame and onto the floor. Somehow I had not seen the full-length mirror in my path. Then I began to take notice of them, in every corner of every room. All this time I had been living in a house of mirrors.

Then something wicked came over me. I doused the walls with gasoline until the sweet aroma consumed the entire house. I dug a new hole for myself and cobbled together a makeshift throne. "Home sweet home," I marveled.

The creature whispered in my ear, but I paid no heed. There was still plenty of fun to be had. I lit a cigarette and dialed the agent who sold me the bill of goods. "Actually, I'm enjoying the house quite a bit," I cackled. "But it’s a little more than I bargained for. Hopefully it can be fixed. Perhaps you could swing by so that I could show you? Seven o’clock? Perfect. I’m sure you’ll provide the spark I need."