In My Sister's Shadow (4 page)

“You are really putting it on tonight,” Bijou laughed heartedly.

“I know it sounds like I’m trying to pick you up, but I’m being totally honest. I’m sure men tell you that you’re stunning all the time.” He threw up his large hands. “But you are remarkable. God had great craftsmanship when he made you.”

There was a brief silence.

“I’m really glad I got to see you again, and…under better circumstances.” He leaned toward him, his heart racing.

Bijou looked at him closely, as if he were a map she was studying. “You do make me feel relaxed…breezy, you know?” she said in almost a whisper. “It was nice running into you tonight.”

“Likewise.”

They continued to stare at each other until Bijou rose slowly to her feet. “Well, we probably better get back to the party.” She pulled her tank top down, straightening the crumpled, ribbed black fabric as she took a couple slow steps away from the bench. Mark gently pulled at her arm. “Hey, before we rejoin the crowd and the music gets loud, the laughter even louder…” He grinned. “Is there a way I can get a hold of you, so…we can maybe catch a movie or just get a coffee?”

He watched a smile sprout across her face, slowly spreading like an unraveling piece of up-turned twine.

“Yeah, I’d like that.” She winked at him and proceeded to tell him her telephone number as she observed him type it into his iPhone. They walked down the gazebo steps, into the cool grass under the moonlight towards the now bigger gregarious crowd, everyone talking and laughing the evening away…

* * *

Later that evening…

Mark suddenly sat up, his back now straight as a board. In the darkness of the room, the neon green numerals stared back at him – the clock read, 2:39AM. The dizzying headache pounding deep within had caused him to drift through a state of half-sleep, trying to gain relief as his legs shuffled around under the crisp, cool white sheets. Shrouded in the coolness of the air, his skin was aroused as he drummed his temple, coaxing his headache as he began to realize he was once again unseasonably cold. His jaw stiffened, clenching, as his teeth threatened to chatter. Peering over at the large bedroom window, Mark noticed it was shut.

He prepared to rise out of his bed, placing one bare foot onto the ground but stopped short when he heard a crackling noise, as if a fire were being lit. He shifted, his eyes adjusted and widened as his head cocked slightly to the side. He roused out of his semi-slumber state, now fully alert as he stood erect, his light-weight gray pajama pants blowing from an indoor centrifugal wind source that was still unknown.

Where is that cold air coming from?

He covered a yawn and paced his bedroom, checking the window for gaps before deciding to retreat down his steps into the hallway by his antiques-filled parlor.

I’ve got to get someone out here to take a look at this thermostat and the heat. Something is seriously wrong.

Mark turned the knob and lightly chewed his bottom lip as he reset all the auto-tuned settings for the evening. He turned the air-conditioner off completely. As he made his way back up the steps to his bedroom, his body screamed to go back to sleep. A bone-chilling breeze made its way past him, causing his dark hair to move about as if something had flown above him at rapid speed. He gasped, stopping in his tracks. He looked around, above and in front of himself. Nothing. Still teetering at the top of the steps in the semi-darkness, his gray eyes focused on nothing in particular. He ran his fingers slowly through his disheveled hair.

I need to get myself together…I don’t spook easily. What the hell is wrong with me?

Back in the bedroom, the floor boards squeaked under his long feet as he closed the door behind himself. Before sliding back under the covers, Mark walked briskly over to his closet and opened the grating door.

I really need to fix that.

He pulled the overhead string in the pitch black, illuminating the confined quarters filled to the brim with suit jackets, hanging subdued silk ties, neatly folded jeans and a slew of shoeboxes bursting with old family photos and baseball card memorabilia. He pushed a few black dress pants aside and grabbed a hoary box fan he’d kept while he painted various rooms of the house, when he’d first moved in.

This will keep me cool in case it gets too hot with the air off. Had to turn the damn air-conditioner off. No telling how it’ll feel in here later…

He grabbed the dust covered off-white fan, the chord dragging behind and plugged it in without turning it on. Yawning, he got back into bed and wrapped the sheets around his body, the chill still thick in the air. Several minutes passed. Mark began to relax and enter deeper into the beginning stages of a much needed sleep. Then, it happened…

BAM!

He shot up and quickly turned on his nightstand lamp, almost causing it to fall over and crash while he abruptly staggered out of the bed. Luckily, he landed firmly on his feet. He scratched at his neck and looked around from side to side, semi-dazed and confused.

The loud banging noise had jarred him awake, and with it had come the definite caress of fingertips along his brow. This time, there was no explaining it away. He had been touched.

I know I didn’t dream that!

He immediately picked up his cell phone; a certain someone was in his house. Before he could even finish dialing 9-1-1, another loud bang rattled the room, shaking the window while the walls seemed to come alive, breathing and living as if someone or something had wired electricity inside them – immense, intense energy, making them teem with life…

It was as if something were under the paint and wallpaper, making it move, wiggle and squirm. Another
BAM!
– only this time, it was right in the room with him…

 The room shook and vibrated, leaving him in a complete state of confusion and horror. The ceiling and all four walls became liquid, glossy and malty. The walls seemed to be melting right in front of him, dragging the wallpaper borders along with them, puddling and exposing draining water, then falling down diagonally – like wind drifted rain. His nightstand lamp sizzled, then went black…

“No, this can’t be happening…” he muttered as he began to turn in a circle, gripping his cell phone so tightly he almost snapped it in two.

He swallowed deeply, trying to make sense of the nonsensical illusions being performed right before his very eyes. He turned quickly to his right and watched his bedroom door slowly open, exposing the upstairs pitch blackness that morphed into a grimy fog. The scent of dank earth-filled the room. His bedroom door slammed shut, leaving him there as he watched the fog take form. Faintly, so very faintly he almost missed it, he could hear music playing. It was almost as if someone in a house two doors down was playing a melody with a window open; only, it was in tune, in total step with the transforming fog that now embodied the shape of a woman. She moved around the room jerkily – one minute slowly walking; the next, contorting and dragging along the wall. She was featureless, like a shadow; only her three-dimensionality evoked a rapid heartbeat that caused Mark to grip his bare chest with all of his might.

“What do you want?” he screamed out, pushing his fears aside as he now realized 9-1-1 was not going to be able to assist him with the situation right before his eyes.

He received no answer. Instead, the room continued to drop in temperature and the numbers on his clock froze. The shadow became larger than life, pushed him back up against a wall, spanned his domed bedroom ceiling. Her face and neck now blended in with the melting walls. He tried desperately to reach the bedroom door. He didn’t know what to expect behind it; it only offered the ambiguous unknown on the other side of it. But he didn’t care. Anything had to be better than what was going on in
here.
After stumbling over the fan, he regained his bearings and turned the knob. Nothing.

Fuck!
He tried again, it wouldn’t turn. It was as if it were locked from the other side.

He violently shook the knob and pulled with all of his might, his throat steadily drying as the shadowy figure drifted closer, now apparently on her feet, away from the walls and approaching him in steady, increasing steps…contorting, jerking…

Her featureless face got closer and closer, while her long, dark, shadowy hair, expanded outward, seeming to fill the entire room, darkening the surroundings like an eclipse as it blew wildly. The shadowy strands continued to climb the walls until they had engulfed the room in almost complete darkness. Mark quickly ran to the other side of the room and rummaged in the dark for his flashlight.

He turned back and looked over his shoulder, unable to see her, but could feel her presence. Swirls of cool air escaped from his mouth. His hands getting stiff, his fingertips finally felt the ridged edge of the flashlight, and a small slither of relief set in.

Goddamn it, please work!

He quickly clutched it in his hand, turned it on and focused it right in front of him then, shifted it all around…looking for her, seeking her with all that was in him as he ran on pure adrenaline. He saw
nothing
.

Suddenly, his nightstand light came back on. Sweat ran down the side of his face, gluing his dark baby hairs to his forehead. He swallowed and looked around over and over, his hand still holding tightly to the flashlight. He made a mad dash over to his bedroom door and grabbed the knob. It opened with ease. There were no sounds or anything unusual out there. Still wrestling with the last fragments of rationalization, he walked down the steps and entered the parlor, checking the alarm. It was still set, as if nothing had occurred.

“Holy shit!” he yelled as he rubbed the back of his neck. He walked back up the steps, closed and locked the door behind him and got back into bed, the flashlight beside him. Clasping his hands over his lap, he sat up and continued to look around his bedroom. The walls were intact, the window still closed, the light bulb in the lamp not burnt out or flickering.

OK, there is a damn ghost in my house. Now what?

Several minutes turned into a hour. He was wide eyed, bewildered and not sure what to do, but he did know one thing, he hadn’t imagined any of it.

He grabbed a book from his nightstand, not even checking the title on the cover. He had several novels he’d yet to complete reading, with various scraps of paper and receipts used as bookmarks. A good mystery or true crime tale was something he enjoyed, but his work schedule didn’t allow him the luxury nearly as much. He cracked up one of the books, and tried to read it, only to find himself smack dab in a murder scene. He immediately slammed it shut. He didn’t turn on the television, fearing it would desensitize his hearing. Instead, he stayed that way, leaning his tired body against his headboard until, without his permission, it lulled him back to sleep. Grasped in the clutches of complete exhaustion, he had no warning before he was stolen into the land of deep slumber. He remained that way, without another interruption, but the experience was indelibly etched in his mind forever…

* * *

Three days later…

“Thank you for accepting my offer.” Mark smiled as he took a sip from his glass of water with a lemon wedge floating inside it, the slithers of ice sliding past one another as the light contemporary cello music played.

“Thank you for asking me out.” Bijou smiled back and batted her lashes, then turned her attention back towards the menu, her fingers spread on the dark blue hardbound cover with italic gold print. The crescent moon afforded additional shimmer as they enjoyed their outdoor, elegant set up. A flickering red candle divided them in the warm nightlife, adorned with a pink carnation flower tied handsomely around its waxy middle with a piece of red ribbon.

Mark licked his top lip, then bit his bottom one as he stared at her reading her menu. He slid his long, muscular leg under the table, feeling the cobblestone beneath his footing. He couldn’t ignore the desire building inside him. Something about her made him excited, horny and intrigued all at once.

The waiter returned to their table, breaking his nasty thoughts up into tiny bits. Mark looked up at him, half listening as he watched Bijou smiling at the man, asking questions about the preparing of the salmon and other things he didn’t care about.

Nauseating…It has to be a sin to be this fucking beautiful. She is making me sick to my stomach…thinking about her all the time. She smells so good. She’d get up and storm out of here if she knew the shit I’m imagining…

 He thumped his fingers on the cream colored table cloth as he admired her. Then she made it worse by turning and looking at him slyly, as if she knew what he was thinking. Bijou handed the waiter her menu, picked up her wine glass and laughed, her dark red lipstick-covered lips taking in a small section of the glass, sipping, then leaving a feminine red smear impression as she set it back down.

“What are you looking at?” she teased, still smiling. “You’re always staring at me.”

Mark laughed lightly and threw his napkin on the table. He leaned back in his chair, balanced himself on the back legs as two lightning bugs buzzed past him. He waved them off comically, making her laugh.