In The End, Only Darkness

by O'Rourke, Monica

  “Want to make this quick?” he asks, stroking her hair from behind, and she closes her eyes and leans back into him, presses against him, loving the tender feel of his hands, the hardness of his want of her.

  “Not really,” she says, voice strong now, feeling the weight of the knife in her hands, light refracting off the blade. Lowers the tip to Derek’s stomach and razes a light trail of blood from sternum to groin. Derek shudders, gasps, groans into his gag.

  Asha lifts the knife, careful of her wound, and swings her arms behind her, blade facing out, and plunges it into Patrick’s stomach. Snatches a second knife and whirls to face him, sees the stunned look on his face, his eyes and mouth the same perfect o-shape, and slashes the knife across his throat, crimson smile grinning blood. Patrick falls dead, impaling himself further on the knife protruding from his stomach.

  She drops to her knees and clutches Patrick’s head and whispers, “I’ve changed my mind. I want to keep my money,” and stands again and hovers over Derek.

  “You didn’t tell them?” she asks the gagged man, and he shakes his head, expelling the tears onto the sheet. “Ah. I see. So they didn’t know. I was wondering about that. You should have warned them about me. Things might have turned out differently.”

  She pulls the gag out of his mouth and kisses him, tasting bile and salty tears, vomit trickling out of his mouth in a stream of spit.

  “It was a good try, Derek. Very noble. But then, you always were a goody-goody.” The knife feels suddenly light in her hand, feels more like kindling than razor-sharp stainless steel blades. “My luck’s improving, I see. I never expected Patrick to bring you here—that was a nice surprise. I thought I’d have to go hunting. Assuming I made it out of this mess … it was a close one, I’ll give you that. You almost won this time.”

  “Please,” he begs, “don’t do this. I won’t tell anyone about you. I’ll leave you alone, I swear! I didn’t mean for this to happen, Asha. Please!”

  “Didn’t mean for what to happen? For your little plan to backfire?” She laughs and shakes her head. “Silly boy.”

  Lips caress his forehead, and then she leans back and smiles. His noble attempts to rid the world of Asha have failed, and now he must pay the penalty, as so many before him have. She couldn’t help who she was. Didn’t care to, either.

  She moves between his legs and begins to slice away parts of his body.

  One Breath

  Their souls danced on febrile winds, twisting, contorting, flailing madly about as if enjoying their last moments of freedom. Racing in every direction at once, trying to escape, trying to avoid the inevitability of their return to corporeal form.

  If they had known … if only they had known how wicked this curse would turn out to be, how painful, they would have settled for death.

  The souls grudgingly returned to the trees, to spend the night once again in their human bodies. And they waited yet again for the end of the night, waited for release.

  The trees stood, untouched by fire, unharmed by wind or by man—this was part of the curse. A hodgepodge of greenery: sawtooth oak and pink dogwood amidst the pines and firs. Their branches were thick with sap and aged with time. Limbs stretched, tried desperately to touch but never met. Unable to join, to hold one another, to feel anything but the dirt beneath their roots, soft rain on their branches. Occasionally a gentle breeze brought leaves closer to leaves, the delicate touch of one another, but the touch would always be fleeting, maddening. Branches reached to the skies, contorted by rage and despair.

  Now the Witching Hour approached, and with its return brought their freedom. A swirl of mist circled the trees, entangled itself in the thick foliage and caressed the bark, winding its way down the length of the trunks.

  The trees were felled as if by axe, crashing forward to the earth in a splintering crash. Again in human form, they moaned, thrashing and writhing on the ground, sweaty naked bodies rolling in dead leaves and a bed of pine needles.

  *

  They hid amongst the boxes of discarded paperbacks, rusty toys, and long-forgotten treasures buried beneath a veil of dust and cobwebs in the basement of the old house. It had once belonged to Jake, this house, had once hid the secrets of his youth beside the yearning of old age. Jake had been somewhere in-between, stopped short of achieving age by the curse.

  Danielle had been his, and he had been hers. They had shared the house in every way but in name, and they had planned to be together forever.

  “We can’t hide from her forever,” Danielle whispered, her dusty fingers trailing his cheek.

  “But you know we can’t hide.”

  “Then why do we? Hide.”

  He sighed, turned away. “I wish I could protect you.”

  “If hiding is pointless—then why do we waste the time? It never changes. Why waste the time we have?”

  He laughed in spite of himself. “Desperation?”

  “Then let’s go upstairs. Why do we always hide down here? Don’t you want to look at them again?”

  “You know we can’t.”

  Danielle wrapped her arms across her naked breasts. “I’m cold.”

  Jake pulled her into his arms. “I know, I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”

  But it was his fault, he thought.

  “Maybe they’re asleep. We can peek upstairs …”

  He pulled her close, until his lips grazed hers. “Not much time left,” he whispered. “I’ve waited so long to touch you.” His head dipped until he found her breast, and he gently sucked the nipple.

  “I’ve longed for you too, Jake,” she said, gasping slightly.

  She actually hadn’t wanted this, hadn’t wanted the feel of him, the closeness of sex. Wanted instead just to hold him, to caress him, let him know that no matter what, she would always be with him. Sex, she’d thought, was incidental. He felt wonderful to her—inside her—but that wasn’t all she wanted. Their fleeting moments felt almost wasted this way.

  But now she couldn’t stop, wanted him inside her, cherished the feel of his fingers playing with her. She writhed against his hand.

  Then he brought her to climax. Her back rubbed against the floor, pebbles leaving tiny red patterns in her skin. She barely felt it. Legs wrapped tight around his waist, pulling him deeper. She wanted to feel him, hard. Wanted to remember this. Wanted to forever remember the feel of him inside her.

  They lay side by side, breathing hard, bodies slick with sweat despite the chill October night. The basement was poorly insulated, and small drafts sneaked in through the mortar.

  Danielle reached over in the darkness and clasped his hand in hers. “We need clothes. A blanket at least.”

  “I couldn’t find anything.”

  “Of course not. Not in the basement. We need to go upstairs.”

  “But my kids—”

  “Are old now,” she snapped, exasperated. “They’re no longer kids, remember?”

  “Danielle …”

  “I’m going,” she said. “Stay here if you want.”

  She scurried away before he could stop her.

  From the bottom of the stairs a sliver of light taunted from the kitchen above. She knew the hour was late, but it was Halloween, and people tended to stay up late on this night. Trick or treaters, parties, who knew what else? Or maybe they just left a kitchen light on at night as a beacon. She used to.

  Jake came up behind her, wrapped his arm around her stomach. “Quietly,” he said. “Just in case.”

  Together they crept up the stairs, and Jake pressed his ear against the kitchen door. He found the doorknob and it twisted in his hand. He opened the door and peered into the kitchen.

  He reached back and found her hand, and they slipped inside, closing the door behind them. In the light he could make out her features, frozen in eternal youth. How many years had they been forced to endure this? He’d lost count ages ago.

  “This way,” he whispered, pulling her toward the living ro
om, as if she wouldn’t know the way. She knew the layout of the house as well as he did. Better maybe, since she had decorated so much of it.

  They stopped at the threshold before stepping into the other room, shocked by the changes. Gone were the familiar furnishings, the dusty framed photos on the mantle. Instead, strangers peered out from grinning, posed shots. The grandfather clock in the corner had been replaced by a weightlifting machine.

  “What the hell?” Jake tried to take it all in. “Did they move?” he asked Danielle, as if she had the answers. “Do you think that’s it?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  They walked through the living room and reached the flight of stairs that would bring them up to the bedrooms. Jake took Danielle’s hand and they climbed up, careful of the creaking boards they knew all too well.

  The bedroom doors were closed.

  “Great,” he muttered, wondering which door might be safe. If his kids no longer lived here, there was no telling who did. Which room would at least contain clothing they could use?

  “Wait here,” he whispered, pushing her against the wall. Not that it offered her protection, or would hide her should someone come along. “If someone comes … run.”

  She nodded, but in the darkness of the hall her movement went unseen.

  Jake pressed his ear against the master bedroom door and listened for movement before entering.

  Danielle waited for his return, her arms crossed over her chest, trying to hide her nudity, trying to keep warm. The house wasn’t cold exactly, but against her naked skin, the temperature was uncomfortable. The wait in that dark corridor was interminable, and Danielle shifted from foot to foot.

  A few minutes later Jake returned. She hoped it was Jake; it was impossible to tell for sure. But she felt sure that the owners of the house wouldn’t have to creep around in it—especially if they were suddenly running away from an intruder.

  “Danni?” Jake felt the walls to get his bearings.

  She rushed over to him and took his arm, and discovered he was already dressed. They sneaked back downstairs until they were once again in the basement, and he handed her a set of clothing. Jeans and a sweater, and a pair of tennis shoes.

  “We can’t come back here,” he said. “This is no longer our house. I don’t know who those people are … but …” He shook his head. “It’s theirs now.”

  “We can come back, ring the bell? Ask what happened to William and Karen.”

  “No. I know what happened to them.” She could hear the anguish in his voice.

  She waited for him to continue and prompted him when he didn’t. “What happened?”

  His voice cracked. “I saw a newspaper …” He bowed his head and rested it against her neck. She held his hands in hers. “The year is 2013, Danni.”

  How could it be 2013? How had that happened? She knew time held little meaning for them now, but how had they lost a decade? Jake’s kids, twins, had been born in 1923, and their mother had died giving birth. Even if they were still alive, they would probably be in some rest home somewhere. If they were still alive, they would now be in their eighties.

  “My whole life is gone,” he said. “Everything I once knew, everyone I had once loved. Gone.”

  “I’m still here.” She squeezed his hand. “You’ll always have me.”

  He nodded, and she could feel the movement on her shoulder. “You’re everything to me. You’re all I have left. But all I did was curse you.”

  Her fingers twined through the back of his hair, and she caressed his head. “What do you want to do now? Should we go back?”

  “Back? And make it easy on her? No!” He pulled out of Danielle’s embrace. “Haven’t we suffered enough? When will this end?”

  “She said never.”

  “I know what she said. Doesn’t mean I have to accept it.

  *

  They wandered along the streets as if they belonged there, holding hands, glancing in storefront glass, watching the remaining Halloween stragglers make their way home. Occasionally a ghost or superhero ran past, and a few hideous masks that neither Jake nor Danielle could identify—faces seeming to drip with dried blood, brains falling down the sides of their skulls.

  “How could anyone wear such a thing?” Danielle asked, and Jake shrugged.

  Jake spied a clock in one of the stores. After four a.m. They didn’t have much time left. Sunrise was just a few hours away. They had always been forced to return at sunrise.

  “Let’s not go back,” Jake whispered.

  Danni stopped walking. “But that will mean our death.”

  “We’re already dead. We just don’t know it yet.”

  “We’re not dead. She may lift the curse one day.”

  “After more than seventy years? She enjoys this too much, our pain. What do we have to look forward to every year? A few hours of joy? Then nothing. Do you retain your memories, Danni? Do you stand in the wind for hours and days on end wishing for my touch, wishing we could escape the curse? Because I do. Every single moment I spend wishing I could be with you. And now she doesn’t even give us a moment every year. More than a decade passed, and I have lost everything I once held dear. I wanted one more glance at my children, to see who they had become. She stole that from me.”

  Now he was crying, and Danielle wanted to ease his pain. But her pain was just as strong—she had loved those children as much as he did. They and Jake were her only family.

  “Then we won’t go back,” she said, taking his hand and leading him down the street. “We won’t go back.”

  Their words hung on the air, heavy and thick, and neither would say exactly what they were thinking. But they both wondered how. How would they do this? How would they keep from going back? There was only one way.

  They entered Tavern’s Park and sat on the grass beside the lake. Moonlight illuminated the water, the reflection of the trees reflected on its surface. They held hands like teenagers and gazed at the houses lining the banks.

  This had once been their life. They had once sat on this grass, had planned their future.

  And late one night, driving home from a party, Jake having had perhaps one drink too many, their car struck a child on his way home from his own Halloween party. One careless act, and their lives were over.

  The child, crumpled on the ground like a sack of wet leaves, chest barely rising and falling. One breath more—a cry for his mommy—and then he was dead, and Jake and Danielle’s lives would never be the same.

  The child’s mother had not taken the news well and had vowed her revenge. Jake and Danielle had feared for their own lives, and that of Jake’s children. They thought she was perhaps a grieved mother gone mad. They had no idea who they were dealing with.

  She appeared one night out of the mist, swirling before them as if part of it, intercepting them as they were about to enter their house. She raised her arms, her thorny robes flowing, snakes twisting and slithering about her shoulders and head, a crown of serpents.

  Jake tripped over a porch step and landed on his butt, his teeth clamping down on his tongue. Danielle screamed and threw her arm over her head. At first Jake thought it was an elaborate Halloween costume, but there was something nor quite human about her.

  The witch walked up to them, her eyes slits, glowing red in the moonlight. “You murdered my child,” she spat. “So you shall never know happiness. You shall never know your own children.”

  “Please!” Danielle cried. “Don’t hurt the children. They didn’t do anything wrong!”

  “You will spend eternity watching the life you once had.” She gestured to the small copse of trees across the road. “You will watch your life disappearing before you, and you will always remember my child.”

  Jake climbed back to his feet and reached for Danielle, pulling her protectively toward him. “Get out of here!” he screamed. “I’ll summon the police!”

  The witch laughed and waved her hand at them.

  “Why ar
e you doing this?” Danielle said. “It was an accident!”

  “There are no accidents! You are murderers.”

  “It wasn’t her fault. I was driving.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Who are you?” Danielle whispered, wiping her damp face with the back of her hand.

  “Go now,” the witch snapped. “You get no chance to say goodbye. Just like I never got to say goodbye. Forever remain part of the trees, safe from man, safe from fire.”

  “No!” Jake cried. “Please. Please! Don’t do this.” There was no doubt in his mind she was sincere, or that she was capable of doing what she threatened. He didn’t question how, just knew she could do it, somehow. Questioning his sanity wasn’t an option—surviving this was. Or at the very least, even if she wasn’t some supernatural creature, she scared the hell out of him. She might produce a weapon and kill them on the spot.

  Jake fell to his knees and sobbed into his cupped palms. “Don’t take them away from me. Don’t make my babies grow up without me. Have pity! You’re a mother.”

  “Was a mother,” she snarled. “Your one chance at redemption is sacrifice. Make the ultimate sacrifice and you will be released from the curse.”

  “Sacrifice? What do you mean?” Jake asked, wiping away his tears.

  But with that she returned to the mist, swirling in the maelstrom as if composed of wind and particles of sand and leaves, and not made of flesh and blood. The mist consumed Jake and Danielle, entered their bodies, and they screamed in anguish at the energy force that now controlled them.

  Moments later they had become the sawtooth oak and pink dogwood, and they had stretched their limbs in a final attempt at freedom, had reached for one another, frozen in a desperate attempt to embrace.

  “One final moment together,” Jake said, Danielle seated in front of him on the grass. His legs were tangled in hers, his stomach pressed against her back. His chin rested on her neck and he nuzzled her jaw line.

  “I’m afraid,” she whispered, leaning into him, reaching back to stroke his hair.