The Soul Eater

by S. C. Alban

  “Call me Carol, please. Carol Monroe. And, I’m truly sorry for all the fuss.”

  “Okay, Ms. Monroe.” He took her hand and shook it. Carol noticed the thick leather watchband wrapped around his wrist. The black strap was etched with what appeared to be a bird in flight. Carol was about to ask him about it when Officer Aves continued.

  “And, we don’t want to hear any more apologies. This is your home. You’re ours— one of us now. And in Oakcrest, we take care of our own. We’re just glad everything was all right.”

  Carol’s smile was half-hearted. Small town cops really were their own breed. The two officers walked down the drive to their squad car. Carol watched as they stopped and looked over at the old oak tree off the edge of the property. Carol narrowed her eyes. What were they doing? She stepped off the porch and looked in the direction holding their attention.

  The tree was now filled with hundreds of black birds. Carol crunched up her nose. Maybe she would purchase a pellet gun and take care of the bird problem herself. She bit her lip and wondered if any laws would be broken if she did.

  She glanced back at the two officers who were now getting into their cruiser. Officer Corvus was already in the car, but Aves took his time. He saluted the birds with a quick, subtle signal before ducking into the car.

  “Strange,” Carol muttered. “Small town cops.”

  She shook her head as she watched them drive down the road, chastising herself. How could she let her imagination get so far away from her she turned a wayward, albeit annoying, bird into a human intruder?

  A cacophonous cawing resonated in the late afternoon air and Carol turned toward the old Oak tree. The branches looked heavy and bent from the many-feathered bodies perched upon them. What was a group of crows called again? A conspiracy? A murder? A chill ran up Carol’s spine at that last thought.

  “Damn, birds,” she muttered. “I hope a cat finds you tonight!”

  She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and headed up to house. Reaching the porch, Carol halted as an eeriness settled on her shoulders. She tried to shrug it off, but it stuck like a wet blanket.

  It was quiet. Too quiet. Carol looked over toward the Oak tree where the birds had been flapping raucously just moments before.

  What the…

  The loud scuffle of boots on the pavement caught Carol’s attention. Leaning over the porch railing, she spied three young women, no older than fifteen or sixteen, walking arm-in-arm from down the street, their waist-length, jet-black hair hung in long feathery waves. Carol cocked her head to the side.

  This couldn’t be the infamous Morrigans, could it? Why they’re nothing more than babies.

  Carol offered a smile as the young women passed her house, raising a hand to wave, but stopped mid-air. A tingle ticked the back of her neck as the three passed by her house, their heads focused ahead. An uncomfortable itch gathered in Carol’s throat and released in a series of ragged coughs. The girls kept their course, only their eyes turning in her direction acknowledging her presence. Carol gasped and straightened. She crossed her arms over her stomach in a protective stance.

  Stepping back deeper into the shadows of her porch, the girls continued on, a haute look plastered on their faces, both astounding and terrifying her.

  Carol kept her eyes glued on them until the trio reached the end of the street and continued down the block until they were out of sight.

  Maybe Sue was right. Something about those three just doesn’t feel—

  A streak of black in Carol’s peripheral vision interrupted her thought. She snapped her head in the direction. Three more crows flew into the old Oak’s gnarled branches.

  Carol sucked in a sharp breath, nearly choking on the sour air as the cacophony started once more.

  Chapter Five

  Peck and Scratch

  Carol shook out a braided rug she had found in a small closet under the stairs. Layers of dust and debris scattered from the fabric and she squinted trying to avoid shrapnel from shooting into her eyes.

  After a few more shakes, she hung the rug over the porch railing and stood with her hands on her hips catching her breath. Yep, she was out of shape. She hadn’t even realized how soft her body had become since John left. She swung her arms in front of her and felt her biceps burn. She sure did feel it now.

  All this from shaking out a rug? Man, I am getting soft.

  The setting sun glinted from her car window and streaked across the front windows. Carol squinted at the glare. Once rested, she scooped up the rug. She walked into the house down the entry hallway. At the end of the hall, her eyes caught the shadowed outline of a man. Carol’s breath caught in her throat as a strangled scream froze her mouth. The rug dropped from her hands. It crumpled on the floor in heap.

  “What are you doing here?” Carol’s voice wavered in the shadows. “This is my house. If you don’t leave, I’ll… I’ll call the police.”

  The dark figure didn’t move. It stood quiet and still.

  What the hell?

  Carol blinked her eyes slowly.

  “There is no one there. The police were just here. They cleared the house. You’re just imagining things.”

  When she opened them again, the shadowed figure was gone. Carol took a deep breath, her chest expanding to its capacity with a big inhale and shrinking down to normal size on the exhale. She bent down to pick up the rug, but stopped.

  Thinking twice, she turned back to the front door and closed it firmly behind her. Carol took extra care to lock the knob, turn the deadbolt, and latch the chain. She pulled on it a few times to ensure it worked. Once settled, she would call an alarm company and get something more secure set up. Perhaps an alarm system that connected straight to the police.

  Carol rolled her neck at the thought. Her life changed so much in the past year. In Seaview, she would have never thought about getting a security system. She had always felt safe and secure, when John was around. But now? There wasn’t day when she didn’t second-guess everything she did. Safety flew out the window the moment she left.

  She was alone now.

  Carol walked into the kitchen turning on house lights as she went. She made a beeline to the cabinets hoping to find a cup or glass in halfway decent shape. She thought she had seen some during a previous walk through.

  “Now where would glasses be?” Her eyes scanned the maple colored doors. She reached up to the door closest to her and furrowed her brow when she found nothing to the right of the sink. She focused her attention to the left side. She reached up and hesitated. A small scraping sound was coming from inside the wooden space. She lowered her hand and stepped forward listening carefully.

  Scritch. Scritch. Scritch.

  Carol leaned in closer, standing on her tiptoes, and placed her ear against the cabinet’s smooth exterior. The sound, though soft, sounded like long fingernails scraping against the dried interior wood.

  Scritch. Scritch. Scritch.

  This time she knew she heard something. No way could she imagine the sound. It was so clear. But, did she want to know the sound’s creator? She fell back on flat feet and swallowed hard. Most likely, it would be a bug of some sort, maybe a cockroach trapped inside and frantically trying to escape its wooden crypt. The worst-case scenario would make the owner of the noise a mouse, no, a rat. But, if it were just a pest, why was her heart thundering out of her chest?

  “It’s just a bug,” she said in an attempt to convince the empty kitchen.

  She raised her hand to open the door. “This is what you get when you skip the pest inspection,” she scolded herself. Had she not been in such a hurry to close the deal, perhaps she would have gotten the place checked out for critters. For all she knew, her house was built on the nests of hundreds of pests, insect and rodent alike.

  Scritch. Scritch. Scritch.

  “Oh, God… please don’t be a mouse, please don’t be a mouse.”

  Her fingers grasped the tiny handle and readied for action. She inhaled deepl
y and held it in her lungs, preparing for the worst to either fly, scamper, or leap out. She squared her shoulders. She was ready to jump far out of the way, if necessary.

  “Okay, let’s go. One... two... three!” Carol flung the door open.

  Nothing.

  Standing in front of the empty cabinet, she scratched her head. She listened for the sound again.

  Silence.

  She stood on the very tiptop of her toes and peered into the empty crevasse. The shelves were clean and sturdy. She examined the sides and corners of the cabinets, expecting to see a hole or space in which a small, noisy pest, or two, could escape to if necessary. The cabinet was intact. Feeling bold, Carol reached far into the cabinet and swept her hand along the bottom. A single black feather floated out of the cupboard and landed softly on the countertop.

  “What the…”

  Stepping back onto her feet, Carol thought about the noise. She picked up the black feather and brought it up close for examination.

  “Damn birds…”

  Her thoughts went to the idiotic black crow intent on tormenting her. But, this feather was different. She held it between her fingers. It was an odd feather, thin and soft. It didn’t look like something you’d find on a common crow. It almost looked like tiny hairs, similar to human hairs, lining the thick tubular quill. Where could it have come from? And still, it didn’t explain the noise.

  She pocketed the feather and glanced once more into the cabinet. She knit her brow and ran her hand through her hair. She had heard something, it had been so clear.

  Just like someone chased you to the front door. And just like that man was standing down the hall, right?

  Carol twisted her lips. Now she wasn’t so sure. Tired eyes and an overactive brain could explain seeing things. But hearing things? No, this was not a good sign. It had to be lack of sleep. Carol wasn’t one to make stuff up. She was practical… analytical… a lawyer. She was also exceptionally tired. Carol’s shoulder’s fell.

  “Nothing a little food and some rest can’t fix.”

  Her stomach grumbled and she placed her hand on her belly. When was the last time she’d eaten? She went to the living room and searched the pile of belongings for a few food bags she had brought with her in her car.

  Finding them, she carried them to the kitchen table and began to unpack. She tore into a box of granola bars. After eating three, her stomach began to fill and her mouth dry. She still hadn’t found glass for water. She was about to reach for the champagne flute, when she found her water bottle at the bottom of one of the bags.

  “Success!” She raised her arms in victory and headed for the sink. She filled the bottle and took a long swig. The water felt good. She drank the bottle dry and refilled it.

  “Okay, now it’s time to call it a night.” She headed upstairs turning off the lights as she went.

  When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she opted to leave the entry light on. She smiled to herself realizing she was acting like a child, but didn’t care. Having the light on made her feel safe. Certain the dark couldn’t reach out and grab her when the light was on, Carol released the tension in her body.

  She trudged up the stairs, her smile fading when she realized she’d have to find something to sleep on.

  “Well, shit. Just great.” Carol had hoped she would at least have her bed on her first night, but engine trouble stole the small possibility away from her. “I hope there’s still some blankets around here.”

  Chapter Six

  A Conspiracy of Ravens

  Rather than sleeping on the futon left behind in the den, Carol chose the near empty master bedroom. Two double doors opened inward into a large space. A dresser with an attached mirror sat against the west wall and a small nightstand with a lamp stood in the opposite corner. A quick glance to her right revealed a smaller connected area with a built-in vanity and a large walk-in closet with an ‘en suite’ bathroom just beyond.

  Carol entered the room and stopped. She turned to close and lock the door behind her. Something in the hallway, just outside the door, moved.

  “Jesus!” She jumped back her hand flying to her chest.

  Nothing.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” she scolded herself. There was nothing there, just shadows over shadows, each layer a shade darker than the last. Had she really been so reliant on John to give her a sense of safety?

  “There is nothing in this house,” Carol whispered to herself. “There is nothing here. You’re acting like a thirteen-year-old kid who’s just watched a scary movie.”

  She went to close the door. Her feet were cemented in their spot on the rug. She took a big breath and counted to ten. Again, she attempted to move, but her body refused to cooperate. Her heart thrummed in her chest. She closed her eyes and imagined she was at her favorite place in the world.

  It took seconds before the rolling waves appeared in her mind. Back and forth. Back and forth. Each wave cresting and crashing down in a white, frothy explosion as they neared the beach.

  The ocean.

  When Carol almost heard the sounds of the sea in her ears, she reassessed. Her heart was back to its normal rhythm and she no longer felt a surge of adrenaline course through her veins. She was calm.

  “See? Everything’s fine.” This time she spoke slow and deliberate in an attempt to sooth herself. “You’re just over tired and stressed.”

  She repeated the words over and over again, until the truth of them sunk in. After a moment longer, Carol opened her eyes and took a step toward the doorway. Then another. One more and she reached out and shut the door. Her fingers made quick work of the lock and as soon as it was secured, she felt a great sense of relief. She stood alone in the room and smiled.

  Safe.

  With her nerves at ease, Carol looked around the near empty room. God, it was getting late. She was already tired from this evening’s activities. Not having her bed to snuggle up in just added insult to injury. She grumbled her displeasure at the moving company.

  Oh, well. It’s just one night. Accidents happen. Nothing I can do about it now.

  She entered the large walk-in closet and pulled a cord hanging from the center of the ceiling. A small bulb lit up the space. For Carol, the closet was a huge selling point in a rather typically designed house. It was an obvious upgrade from the original construction, but well worth it.

  The space could hold more clothing than Carol owned, but the prize of the closet was a small dressing area complete with a full-length mirror and small cushioned chair for putting on shoes. Carol looked around for a blanket and pillow... anything to help get her through the night.

  She found an old crocheted afghan far back on the top shelf. Pulling it down, she unfolded it for better inspection. The white yarn was worn thin in some areas, but overall, the blanket looked relatively clean and in good shape. Folding it over her arms, she noticed a set of initials stitched in the corner of the design.

  G.G. 1987.

  A name flashed in her mind. Gina Graham.

  The previous owner’s daughter. This must have been her blanket.

  Her mind raced. She tried to remember every detail of the poor girl’s demise, but was too tired to think about it anymore. She shook her head. Mental illness is so difficult for families to handle. A few of Sue Thompson’s more colorful phrases floated through her mind.

  ‘Babbling incoherently, talking of a birdman, or something of the sort. Said he was coming to get her… to peck her eyes out and eat her soul.’

  A shiver ran up Carol’s spine. She stood in the closet and looked at her reflection in the mirror. She held the blanket in front of her body and let Gina’s story sink in.

  She ran her fingers through the front of her hair. “Poor thing,” she said to nobody. “Gone mad at such a young age.”

  She wrapped the blanket firmly around her and went back into the bedroom. She gave the room and appraisal and once she determined where her bed would go, she shrugged off the afghan and laid
it nicely on the floor. She kicked off her shoes and placed them next to the blanket. She peeled off her shirt, revealing a thin tank, and tossed it on the floor. She pulled her phone from her back pocket and threw it on the blanket.

  “Well, that’s about as comfortable as I get tonight,” she said wishing she had at least packed an overnight bag. All of her clothes were in the moving van. Who could have guessed this would happen?

  She scrubbed her face with her hands and walked into bathroom. She rummaged around the cabinets for anything to use.

  Thank God, something!

  She pulled a small bar of hotel soap and an old towel from the back of the cabinet. She almost cried.

  Is this what’s it come to?

  She carefully unwrapped the soap and brought it to her nose. Inhaling deeply, she let the faded lavender scent wash her senses. She pushed back the tears threatening to emerge.

  Not an ideal situation, but my whole life is the opposite of ideal. It can only get better from here.

  Carol stood in front of the small pedestal sink and turned on the hot water. It took a few minutes for the water to warm. Carol inspected her face in the mirror above the sink until a nice consistent ribbon of steam began to rise. She cupped her hands under the stream and bent down over the bowl.

  The water felt good on her skin. It was just the temperature needed to help her to relax. She created a thin lather between her palms with the tiny soap and made small circles on her cheeks, chin, and forehead. Placing the soap on the sink ledge, she leaned over the bowl once more and splashed two more handfuls of warm water onto her face before reaching for the towel by the sink.

  Eyes closed, she patted her face with the old towel, trying not to think about who used it before her. When her face was dry, she stood up and looked again in the mirror.

  A man stood behind her.

  In the reflection, standing just outside the bathroom door, the shadow of the man loomed. Carol screamed and spun around. The towel fluttered to the floor and landed silently at her feet.