DEMONS
Posted: 19 Nov 2017, 22:12
Oh, Iskra.
You thought to escape me that easily.
How foolish of you, little sister.
The whisper echoed in the silence of her apartment, causing her to feel as though she was running out of air. She had thought she had ridden herself of him, but as the nights turned colder, he had returned. He had waited until she was alone, had bided his time until her guard was down, and he had struck. Like a serpent, he had hidden within the grass, his fangs dripping deadly venom that only she could feel. Even now, she felt him as he crept along her skin, his skin as cold as ice and smooth as granite. When this torture had begun, he had been nothing more than a melodic, haunting tune in her mind. Now, somehow, her nightmare had turned into reality. When she first felt his touch, she was certain she had finally succumbed to the chaotic nature that seemed to surround her husband – but no.
He wasn’t home.
Clenching her jaw, she forced her lashes to lift, the sharp green of her gaze focused on the eerily thin fingers that had curled around her wrist. The skin was almost translucent, and as the paper-thin flesh stretched over decaying bone, she thought she heard him laugh. You can never rid yourself of me, Iskra. Your reluctance to let me in only strengthens me. His voice never rose above that whisper, a breath of air against her ear, bringing with it the scent of rotting flesh and blood. Unable to tear her attention from the way his fingers curled around the thin bone of her wrist, she forced herself to swallow the scream that threatened to rise from her throat, and slowly stood. He wasn’t real. He couldn’t be real. She had watched him die. She had witnessed the light flee from his eyes.
She just had to continue to repeat that mantra, even as his haunting laughter followed her to the door, where she grabbed her jacket – his jacket – and pulled it on. The leather fell heavily over her shoulders and swallowed her emaciated frame, but it still smelled faintly of him. The real him, the one that had reminded her of a forest in spring; masculine and strong. Whatever he had turned into was no longer her brother, and as she recited that over and over in her mind, she slammed her palm against the elevator’s call button, her features calm as she watched the floors light up above the steel doors. While she wore a mask of complete and utter boredom, inside, was pure chaos. Her mind was spinning, attempting to figure out the best route, the best answer to how he was haunting her again.
Keeping her gun against her side, she stepped into the elevator when the doors slid open – and finally, she turned. With her back to the wall, she kept her gaze on the floor, but she couldn’t fight the curiosity. Slowly, she lifted her gaze until she caught sight of his boots, worn and dusty. Following the path the length of his legs, her breath caught in her lungs when she realized he was still in the same pair of fatigues he had worn when he died. The holes were the same, the blood stains in perfect position. As the doors started to close, she continued to lift her gaze, until she finally caught sight of his face. It was then that the scream she had kept bottled inside escaped on a low whimper, because his face was gone.
In its place was a ghoulish mask. Half of his jaw was missing, his hair replaced with dirt and maggots. His left eye was gone, and instead, bits of brain and bone erupted from an otherwise empty socket. When his smiled, showing gum and rows of broken, jagged teeth, she nearly choked on the bile that followed her whimper. You did this to me. Do you not like it, Iskra? With a sharp intake of breath, she slammed her fist against the wall, the steel bending beneath the sudden impact. She didn’t bother to answer him – and the doors never gave her a chance. They slid shut with a finality that had her eyes closing, and as the elevator traveled down the shaft, she bowed her head.
Anger, humiliation, and guilt ate away at her – and only one was an emotion she knew well. She wore her anger like armor, so when the other two started to creep into her heart, she found herself reeling. She hadn’t the slightest clue in how to handle the guilt that gnawed away at her heart, nor could she handle the humiliation that had her bowing her head in shame. It had been years, and he still made her feel as though she were a failure, a child that had been left alone too long. Gritting her teeth, she stepped from the elevator when it finally reached the ground floor, and slamming out the front doors of Barri Towers, she headed straight for the city, her emotions battling a war within her that she couldn’t win. She needed an outlet – she needed freedom, she needed blood.
She needed chaos.
You thought to escape me that easily.
How foolish of you, little sister.
The whisper echoed in the silence of her apartment, causing her to feel as though she was running out of air. She had thought she had ridden herself of him, but as the nights turned colder, he had returned. He had waited until she was alone, had bided his time until her guard was down, and he had struck. Like a serpent, he had hidden within the grass, his fangs dripping deadly venom that only she could feel. Even now, she felt him as he crept along her skin, his skin as cold as ice and smooth as granite. When this torture had begun, he had been nothing more than a melodic, haunting tune in her mind. Now, somehow, her nightmare had turned into reality. When she first felt his touch, she was certain she had finally succumbed to the chaotic nature that seemed to surround her husband – but no.
He wasn’t home.
Clenching her jaw, she forced her lashes to lift, the sharp green of her gaze focused on the eerily thin fingers that had curled around her wrist. The skin was almost translucent, and as the paper-thin flesh stretched over decaying bone, she thought she heard him laugh. You can never rid yourself of me, Iskra. Your reluctance to let me in only strengthens me. His voice never rose above that whisper, a breath of air against her ear, bringing with it the scent of rotting flesh and blood. Unable to tear her attention from the way his fingers curled around the thin bone of her wrist, she forced herself to swallow the scream that threatened to rise from her throat, and slowly stood. He wasn’t real. He couldn’t be real. She had watched him die. She had witnessed the light flee from his eyes.
She just had to continue to repeat that mantra, even as his haunting laughter followed her to the door, where she grabbed her jacket – his jacket – and pulled it on. The leather fell heavily over her shoulders and swallowed her emaciated frame, but it still smelled faintly of him. The real him, the one that had reminded her of a forest in spring; masculine and strong. Whatever he had turned into was no longer her brother, and as she recited that over and over in her mind, she slammed her palm against the elevator’s call button, her features calm as she watched the floors light up above the steel doors. While she wore a mask of complete and utter boredom, inside, was pure chaos. Her mind was spinning, attempting to figure out the best route, the best answer to how he was haunting her again.
Keeping her gun against her side, she stepped into the elevator when the doors slid open – and finally, she turned. With her back to the wall, she kept her gaze on the floor, but she couldn’t fight the curiosity. Slowly, she lifted her gaze until she caught sight of his boots, worn and dusty. Following the path the length of his legs, her breath caught in her lungs when she realized he was still in the same pair of fatigues he had worn when he died. The holes were the same, the blood stains in perfect position. As the doors started to close, she continued to lift her gaze, until she finally caught sight of his face. It was then that the scream she had kept bottled inside escaped on a low whimper, because his face was gone.
In its place was a ghoulish mask. Half of his jaw was missing, his hair replaced with dirt and maggots. His left eye was gone, and instead, bits of brain and bone erupted from an otherwise empty socket. When his smiled, showing gum and rows of broken, jagged teeth, she nearly choked on the bile that followed her whimper. You did this to me. Do you not like it, Iskra? With a sharp intake of breath, she slammed her fist against the wall, the steel bending beneath the sudden impact. She didn’t bother to answer him – and the doors never gave her a chance. They slid shut with a finality that had her eyes closing, and as the elevator traveled down the shaft, she bowed her head.
Anger, humiliation, and guilt ate away at her – and only one was an emotion she knew well. She wore her anger like armor, so when the other two started to creep into her heart, she found herself reeling. She hadn’t the slightest clue in how to handle the guilt that gnawed away at her heart, nor could she handle the humiliation that had her bowing her head in shame. It had been years, and he still made her feel as though she were a failure, a child that had been left alone too long. Gritting her teeth, she stepped from the elevator when it finally reached the ground floor, and slamming out the front doors of Barri Towers, she headed straight for the city, her emotions battling a war within her that she couldn’t win. She needed an outlet – she needed freedom, she needed blood.
She needed chaos.