Suspense Magazine July 2013

she wouldn’t have to hide this time. There would be nothing
to hide from, nothing to touch her but golden light.
She looked so goddamn beautiful, I tell you, sitting there,
her platinum hair slicked back along her neck. I floated
timidly toward her, instinctively fearing to disturb her, as
I had on that first night. And I noticed how unassuming,
how unaffected, her expression seemed now. The mask had
dropped. She looked at peace in way that I had never seen her
before now. Perhaps, at these times, alone with the calming
plip, plip,plip of the canal’s dark water, she was able to escape
even the terrors that drove her to Hilcove. And I, free of my
carnal bonds, was filled with a magnanimous compassion,
and content to simply hover beside her, enjoying her beauty,
bathing her in golden light. She took a deep breath through
parted lips and sighed, and I wondered if my light, though
apparently invisible to her, had in some way elicited that
sigh from her. I was curious. Could she sense me, after all
Playing a hunch, I drew closer and saw a relaxed smile spread
across her face. I was inches from her, could almost feel her
calm and steady breath, when I suddenly heard the sickening
crack and saw her head loll horribly upon her pretty bare
shoulders.
I felt myself scatter. With my concentration lost, my
vaporous spirit utterly dispersed. I saw only blackness and
was near certain that, in a moment, I would awake in my
fevered body. It was only by a supreme effort of will that I held
my presence together in that spot long enough to reassemble
itself. When I could again see the golden light shine upon
the scene, I knew that the snap I’d heard had been no
hallucination. Elise was dead, her neck broken. Frantically, I
shot my glance about until, from a nearby patch of shadow, I
saw another light begin to brighten. A sickening light spilled
from a thick and coiling cloud of violet and black. The cloud
had eyes. It had eyes. Every impulse I felt was shouting at me
to turn away from that sight. But something made me look.
And I saw. Set in the midst of this violet vapor, at what might
most easily described as its front, were a pair of eyelids,
behind which hovered two sickly green eyes, a woman’s eyes,
filled with unfathomable hate. Yes, a woman’s eyes. To look
upon those eyes, I knew, this was no conjured devil. This was
a person, like me, but with a spirit that was infinitely fouler. I
looked upon the astral projection of a witch.
It glared at me a moment longer before turning those
eyes away and shooting off, down the corridor, over the canal.
With the eyes no longer fixed on me, I felt my courage return,
and with it, my outrage. In a moment, I was off, chasing the
dark vapor. Faster, I flew. The doors fused in a red blur as I
sped. I knew I only had to keep sight of dark vapor, to see
where it led, to see where its body hid. Finally, as we neared
the iron grate through which the canal’s water exits, the witch
vapor veered and flew through a door. Two sixteen. Room
two sixteen.
I forced my mind to slacken, my concentration to relax,
and so my own projection dispersed. I awoke in my body,
swimming in my sweat, shaking with chills. Now, again, I
needed all my strength of mind to hold myself together. I was
a dervish of rage and fear and sickness. I vomited in a waste
basket and felt a little better, well enough to grab my shotgun
and wrap my sorry frame in a raincoat.
A minute later, I was walking along the canal toward two
sixteen, glad there was no one around. Mind you, I had no
delusions of avoiding a murder charge, but if anyone has seen
me walking like that, with my hand held inside my coat and
my pajama pants sticking out the bottom, they might have
figured something was up and decided to play hero. Same
as I was doing. But nobody was there to see me, and before
long I was standing right in front of two sixteen with a loaded
shotgun in my hot little hands.
I didn’t bother to knock. I was pretty weak still, and it
took a few kicks before the door gave way. When it did finally
fly open, I wished I had just called the police and let them be
the ones to need therapy. It was an abomination: On the floor
of a wholly unfurnished apartment, sat a woman so morbidly
obese that her corpulence, rather than suggesting overnourished
life, suggested only death. In fact, her flesh was
not plump at all. It hung from her frame like warmed wax,
so that at first glance, she actually appeared to be melting. It
could only be black magic keeping her alive. No human heart
could pump blood hard enough to reach the capillaries on the
edges of those monstrous folds. Her skin appeared gray, even
bluish. For all its abundance, it was dying. Only her eyes still
flared with terrible life, burning from within dark circles, and
sunken despite the fleshy curtains of her drooping face. The
smell. The rank odor was something simply indescribable. To
make things worse, I had to squeeze the stock and barrel of
my shotgun to keep my hands from shaking when I noticed
small stones, glimmering gems, like diamonds, slowly and
silently orbiting her head. A devil’s diadem. The diamonds
just floating there and circling like worshippers.
“You must live in one twenty-six,” she croaked. “I used
to live in that one, many years ago. I see you found my book.
I always wondered what became of it. Glad you enjoyed
it. Didn’t save your precious Elise, though. Didn’t save her
pretty neck. Oh, Elise. A lovely girl. Just lovely.”
The witch’s jowls shook with mirthless laughter.
“Whatever will you boys do with your time, now”
I let my shotgun answer. Yet, as I fired, I noticed one of
the diamonds speed off from its orbit. It was almost too quick
to see. Just a glint of light and then a sharp blow to my chest.
I looked down and saw that I was bleeding. Badly. There was
no pain. No pain from a diamond bullet. I tossed the gun
aside and hit the floor.
My shot will bring curious neighbors, and they, in turn,
will bring police and an ambulance. But I feel my life’s blood
flow from my chest, and I doubt there’s enough life in this
used-up body to see me through the night. It’s all right. I
know there’s a golden light at the center of it. One that even
cursed diamonds can’t outshine.
But poor Elise. Poor kid. We should’ve walked away. We
all should’ve just walked away. ■
20  Suspense Magazine July 2013 / Vol. 049