The Demon's Grave (3 page)

“That’s it,” I breathed into the wall, “you’re obviously irrational and insane.”

I ignored the internal flinch that came with the joke and grabbed the shampoo. My thoughts kept snapping back to the note as if it were attached to an elastic band.
You didn’t write that note
, I told myself.

I realized I was scrubbing the shampoo too hard. I was mad. All I wanted was peace and I couldn’t even grant myself that.

Flushing the shampoo from of my hair I reached for the conditioner. It was empty.

Groaning, I put the empty bottle back on the shelf and contemplated abandoning the warmth to get another bottle from the cabinet.

I procrastinated by piling my hair on top of my head to pass time, when a movement caught the corner of my eye.

Startled, I froze and found myself staring at the shower door. A finger was tracing letters into the steam from the other side.

My shoulders dropped. The little bugger almost got me this time. She must have crept downstairs for a butter knife to pick the lock. If it wasn’t a fire safety issue, I’d have locked her in her room every night.

Rolling my eyes, I untangled my fingers from the mass on top of my head. A moment of privacy. That’s all I asked. This wouldn’t be the first time she’d broken into the bathroom while I was in the shower. Mona liked to steal my towel, clothes, or toothpaste. When I’d come out fuming, she’d break out in a raucous laughter. Mona was blessed with an infectious laugh; it probably saved her life during the dramatic height of my puberty.

Hoping to scare her, I rapped on the glass hard enough to make my knuckles sting. The door rattled over the sound of the water. “Mona! Get out of the bathroom or I’ll tell Kyle you love him!”

I half expected to hear a girlish giggle or scampering for the door, but there was nothing. The letters continued to streak themselves in the glass, unhindered by my racket.

Listening, I wondered if she’d decided to change tactics.

The letters were backwards. A backward ‘E’ followed by a ‘N’. I stared in confusion, not knowing what to say or do. Who was there? Mona was my only suspect. No one else would try something like this. But if it wasn’t her, then who?

“Mona?” I demanded, my voice surprisingly in control.

There was no answer.

I felt my muscles freeze despite the hot water. I tried squinting through the clear lettering to see if I could make out a shape, a shadow or a figure. Anything to give away the intruder.

I leaned so close my nose could follow the flat of the finger along the steamy door. Past it, I could see someone there. Hunched over, it was definitely not a kid, the height didn’t…‌I was holding my breath.

Panic exploded. The shrapnel seared hot enough that my scream came out as a squeak. The burst of fear had kidnapped my voice! I wondered if they knew that I was aware it wasn’t my little sister. Every muscle in my body had stiffened as I watched the writing continue.

Where was Mona? And what would happen when the writing stopped?

Concentrating on moving my cramped muscles, I dropped.

Cracking my knee on the unyielding tiles, tendrils of pain shot through my joints. I gritted my teeth to stifle my voice while my hands slapped out on either side to catch my balance.

The letters had stopped.

Automatically I covered myself, unsure if the door was going to fling open. Feeling as if I had cotton stuffed down my throat, I strained for any sound to reassure myself that I could speak. I managed a whisper that not even I could hear over the shower. Taking a deep breath, I tried again, raising my voice only to hear the same wheeze.

I waited for the footsteps, for the door to open, for an attack‌—‌for
anything
.

My pulse resounded in my head. It felt like I had been kneeling there for an hour. One arm across my chest, the other pressed to my mouth, leaving teeth impressions in my lips.

Nothing was happening.

I tried to see through the door but the room was steaming enough to fade the letters and shield the intruder.

My hand over my mouth peeled away. My shaky palm wiped the steam from the bottom of the glass door. I could make out the green bath mat, but no feet.

The suspense stabbed and I realized I
needed
something to happen. Being alone with my thoughts wasn’t helping. Who was here? Where was my family? I had been so worried about finals and a damn weekend, it all seemed so shallow now. I found my voice and it cracked. “This isn’t funny anymore…‌”

Only the splashing water answered.

My gaze shifted up to the letters. They were beginning to collapse in on themselves.

To see them clearer, I wiped a hand along them on my side.

N-I-S-D-E-N-E-K-C

I turned the water off so the silence could shriek.

Standing with the help of the walls, the imprints of the tiled floor throbbed in my bare knees.

The water dripped behind me in steady, rhythmic beats. My heartbeat easily outpacing the sound.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, my eyes searched for the shadowy figure.

I listened for a few more seconds, staring at the letters before me‌—‌no, the message. It was beginning to fade faster.

I realized all at once that I had to know what it said.

Shoving open the shower door with my shoulder, I prepared to dive for the hallway in case there was someone there to catch me.

The glass door banged against the edge of the toilet and revealed an empty bathroom.

Stunned for several seconds I forgot that I was naked. Fumbling for the white towel hanging beside the door, I wrapped it around me. Not that I believed anyone was in the bathroom with me anymore, but my nerves were starting to fray. Someone had written those letters.
Someone
had been in here.

Slamming the glass door shut, I twisted to peer at the message.

In a solid line it read:

O-N-E-S-O-U-L-O-F-B-L-A.

I frowned, realizing that this wasn’t Mona-material.

The words dropped down to another line, drooling condensation.

C-K-E-N-E-D-S-I-N.

The new line hadn’t been there before. It wasn’t there when I was in the shower.

ONESOU? No, Maybe Ones oul of black…‌

Shaking my head I tried again, taking in the second line.

One soul of blackened sin.

This wasn’t Mona.

The stinging thought lingered as my eyes darted to the door, which was still locked, to the small window over the toilet. The forest-green curtains and white mini blinds were closed. The window itself could only open a few inches anyway. It wouldn’t be enough for even Mona to climb through, let alone an intruder.

Cupping my temples in my palms, I dropped my head.

On either side of my feet were two large shoe impressions in the bath mat.

I decided that the impressions could have been a man’s size ten or eleven dress shoe.

They definitely didn’t belong to a seven-year-old girl. Even if she slipped into a pair of Dad’s, I’d have heard her clomp inside. No amount of toe-curling could keep them on her small feet and it couldn’t have been Dad. He wasn’t home and he’s
not
that type of dad.

The impressions began to rise, blending into the plush carpet.

Dizzy from the thoughts playing bumper cars in my head, I sat down on the toilet lid.
What just happened? This wasn’t normal.
I hadn’t had an episode since I was five. They said I was back to normal, they said…‌

Looking back, I saw the letters had vanished with the steam.

Surveying my items I counted everything. Even my underwear was left.

Nothing in the bathroom had moved, not even the lock.

Hands before my lips I cast one final glance around the small bathroom and attempted to clear my throat. My voice cracked, but it was there.

My mind reeled, grasping for any rational thought I could before wondering,
ghost?
We’d lived in this house for fourteen years and there hadn’t been any signs of ghosts, plus it would have rendered my beliefs, or lack thereof, invalidated.
Ghosts aren’t real.
I pushed the bathmat with my toe.

Leaning forward, I unlocked the door and took a moment. I wanted to make sure I could stand without falling. With the help of the counter, I stood and gathered my clothes in my arms.

I wasn’t sure I was still alone and I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched despite the bathroom being too small to hide even a child. Disturbed, I tried to shove the idea away. I wasn’t being watched. I was being paranoid. “You’re better than this, Nora. You’re not a kid anymore,” I whispered.

Something out of the corner of my eye moved.

Frantic, I spun around to the window. My heart hammered inside my head, making the room warp and shift.

The white venetian blinds were open, though the window remained closed. I tried to remember if they’d been closed before the shower and realized I wasn’t sure.

My lips parted and I knew I wanted to scream but didn’t. Instead, I ripped open the bathroom door.

The cool air was a staggering shock.

I nearly tripped over my own feet getting out into the hall. Gripping the towel I ran, feet thundering. I didn’t bother to be quiet.

The heaviness was still on me as if those eyes were right behind me, launching me into my bedroom. I couldn’t grab the door fast enough.

Pulling it shut, I didn’t dare peek over my shoulder. I didn’t want to see that something might be there, breathing down my neck.

Leaning on the closed door, I heard Caitlin give a shriek.

I took a deep breath to calm myself against the invading, smothering shadows. My hand shot up the wall until it knocked the light-switch on.

The sanctuary flooded with reassuring light and I could breathe.

I locked the bedroom door, not that it would save me at this point. This wasn’t the first time I’d felt those eyes. When I was younger, just after our move to this house I’d felt them. It was as if someone were hovering behind me, just out of reach, watching‌—‌always watching. Back then, things around me would move. Toys wouldn’t be where I’d left them, lights would flicker on and off. No one but me saw any of this.

When I told my parents
she
was still around, they couldn’t handle it. Ghosts cost me three weeks in a psychiatric ward, a weekly psychiatrist and year of pills that sometimes made me sick.

With the pajamas still pressed tight to my chest I realized I was shaking. It wasn’t cold, but the adrenaline was powering down, leaving shudders in its wake.

I peeled away from the door before diving for my bedside lamp. I turned it on before switching off the main light. I needed a light tonight. It had helped when I was little.

Curling back the covers I ducked under them. You better believe I changed into my pajamas under the covers.

The heavy gaze had lifted, but I feared it would come back.

Clothed and protected in my blankets I stared at the shadows on the wall. I dared them to move and prove me right while at the same time I prayed that they’d stay still. Outside the wind shook the trees, but the shadows from my lamp didn’t waver. I knew this should make me feel better, but it didn’t.

Was it happening all over again? Did I trigger it somehow with stress? Was I crazy?

No, I couldn’t be crazy. I was a ‘successful recovery’. They’d said so. But that left me with what option? There’s insanity, ghosts, or one hell of a trick by Mona. Though I wanted to believe it, I didn’t think Mona’s mind was capable of it.

Am I afraid of death? A little. Am I afraid of ghosts existing? Meh. The darkness between worlds? I let that question hang precariously on the edge of acknowledgement before discarding it. Am I afraid of being stamped insane? I shuddered and ignored that one too.

I felt the pressure of tears at the back of my eyes and tried to convince myself that I had overextended somehow. Finals were coming, Aidan was joining our weekend, I still didn’t have a summer job…‌

I could hear Mona and my mother talking near the stairs, but I couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. My teeth continued to chatter and I was certain I’d drawn attention with my stampede through the hallway. I couldn’t let Mom or Dad know this happened, especially Dad.

Dismal is the Demon’s Grave.

One soul of blackened sin.

I convulsed with each dying burst of the shakes, pulling hard on my nightgown, twisting it in my fist. “You won’t get me again.” I whispered, swallowing raw. “I didn’t write that note. I didn’t see that message.”

It was well past midnight when I succumbed to exhaustion.

Hungry spiders crawled through my dreams. Just liked they’d done when I was five. Though it wasn’t them I had to watch out for, there was something bigger and meaner out to get me.

A shrill wail erupted just as a spider found me and I jolted in my bed.

Despite the start, I felt as if sleep had cheated me and almost fell back asleep. I was jolted back awake by the idea of meeting spiders again.

Going through the motions, I did my routines, said what was expected and went through classes until lunchtime.

Shuffling into the lunchroom, I’d relaxed a little. I was tired but after a coffee and Red Bull, I was functioning‌—‌barely.

Making my way through the tables, I could see the shock of honeyed hair. Phoebe had secured our usual table in the college cafeteria alongside Read Wallace. The two looked like a ying and yang symbol sitting across from each other. They were the same height and same basic build though Read was skinny and Phoebe lean with muscle. Their coloring was also a contrast: Read with his dark hair and pasty skin and Phoebe with her blonde hair and olive complexion.

Approaching the table I slung my overweight backpack into an empty chair and took a seat next to Phoebe.

She didn’t look up at first. Her ravenous gaze was devouring her lunch before touching it. The sandwich, apple, three cookies and a Coke were scattered about, taking up far more room than necessary. Tilting back her pointed chin she winked at me, her shoulders hunched over her food as if she meant to protect it.