“Tremble, Blind King, for the Dreamer stirs…”
I’ve spent the past few days in a haze of disbelief and shock. My mother, on the other hand, has been inconsolable since Ian told her over the phone that he had found Joseph dead. Even now, as I walk with my mother to his open casket, I feel my heart sinking into the pit of my stomach. When we finally see his face, the finality hits us both like a tidal wave. Mom immediately starts loudly sobbing, and I hug her tightly as warm tears begin to fill my own eyes, my heart now painfully stuck in my throat.
He looks like a wax dummy now. Still, I’m sure this is a much more comforting sight than what Ian found when he did a welfare check on him, or the horrific scene I was forced to witness the night before. Ian found him after a few hours of rigor mortis had set in from what was ruled as a heart attack in his sleep. In my unwilling astral projection, I watched as a skeletal succubus, with a gaping hole in her own chest, tore out Joseph’s heart and wrung the blood into her mouth like some kind of ghoulish vampire. I was almost relieved when I woke up, but I couldn’t forget our mother’s premonitions, nor could I forget that I had recently awakened as a medium after my car accident a few weeks prior.
Still, I wanted to be wrong, and even as the funeral was arranged and some immediate family traveled from New York to Missouri to see us, I remained in denial. Now, as I see the work the embalmers have done, I allow myself to softly weep as the tears finally fall. Joseph was my older brother, sometimes my guardian, and always my best friend. He was prone to depression and was often aloof, but we always hung out together at home. We bonded over video games and board games, and we would sometimes have heart to heart chats until the wee hours when something was bothering us. I’ll always cherish moments like these, because they are now all I have left of him.
I start to reminisce in the car as mom drives us to the gravesite. One time in high school, he noticed some jocks were harassing me and he approached them, chanting in some language he must have made up, with his eyes rolled back in his head. This apparently intimidated them enough to leave us alone, calling us both weirdos. As I recount this, Mom and I share a hearty laugh.
“I swear, the two of you are like Pugsley and Wednesday! I don’t know where you get it from!” Mom jokes.
I chuckle and fire back, “Well, you raised us all by yourself!”
“Pfff, maybe if I looked more like Morticia and less like Steven Tyler, my Gomez wouldn’t have ditched me…” she retorts, her Brooklyn accent getting thicker.
“I’d say you look more like a witchy Fran Drescher.” I offer, to which she snorts and laughs accordingly.
“I sure sound like her, don’t I?”
To keep the joviality alive in the car, she brings up a time where we all stayed at the Lemp Mansion in St. Louis for a night, and ironically the only paranormal event we had was that the little EMF detectors we had brought were going off in the dining room.
I chime in, wistfully, “I kinda wish I had my car accident sooner…”
Mom interrupts my train of thought, “Now why would you say something like that?”
I clarify, “Maybe the trip would have been more fun if I could have actually seen the ghosts last year?”
Mom nods and smiles, then pensively responds, “Well, we can all go again some time. Hopefully Joseph will tag along in spirit, so at least you can see him…”
I cringe when she says this, and I stupidly blurt out, “I hope so. I still haven’t seen him yet…”
A few beats of heavy silence falls over the car after that. I look at her and I see her grimacing once again, with tears welling up in her eyes. Immediately, I feel that lump in my throat as well.
“God dammit all… why didn’t he listen to me about his heart?” Mom whimpers with a croak
I blink some tears out of my own eyes, the regret that I feel for having dismissed that nightmare as nothing but. I hoarsely whisper, trying to comfort both her and myself, “I just wish I hadn’t been so dismissive…”
She shakes her head, “No, you weren’t. Don’t ever second guess your intuition. You knew he was depressed and you gave him space. If anyone’s to blame, it’s probably me for being a helicopter mom…”
“Stop. Just stop it. We both should have trusted your premonitions more.” I retort, my voice starting to shake as more tears well up. “They haven’t failed us yet, and if we listened to you more, I’d still have my big brother…”
I shove my face into my hands, sobbing like a baby, now at a complete loss for words. My mother, perceptive as ever, puts her right hand on my back and rubs it soothingly, cooing gently as she undoubtedly wipes her own tears.
She tries to reassure me, “You’ll see him when he’s ready, I’m sure. You’ll tell me when you do, won’t you?”
I sniffle and continue ugly crying, but I nod affirmatively, hoping desperately that she’s right.
The weather stays cold and cloudy as we get to the grave yard. I spend most of the time standing beside Mom, but I keep stealing glances and scanning the graveyard for any sight of him. It’s just foggy enough that, while I can see all my family who are there, I rationalize that seeing him might be difficult, but not impossible. Still, all I can see is his casket being lowered into the ground, and Mom is once again weeping for her “baby boy”. I’m trying my hardest to keep my own eyes dry, and desperately searching the crowd now, when I am suddenly startled by a man’s voice in my own head:
You looking for him?
I follow what appears to be a thin tendril of barely tangible energy, and turn to see a man who somehow simultaneously resembles both Ray Liotta and Leonardo DiCaprio looking directly at me, with the psychic cable connecting us. I haven’t seen him since I was a little girl at a family reunion, but I recognize him as Mom’s older brother Theodore, whom she gave the nickname Telepathic Teddy. She was admittedly jealous that he got such a “cool gift” from the Valdetta psychic power lottery, so she couldn’t resist gloating that I had gotten their Nonna’s gift when she saw him.
I nod and give a sad smile, knowing that this communication would be between the two of us.
Is he here?
No… I think to myself, and he seems to hear me, as he furrows his brow sympathetically.
Hey, I get it. It gets lonely when you’re the only one who can see or hear things sometimes…
I almost cry again, thinking back to the night I saw Joseph get his heart ripped out by that hag in dorm 14-A, and how I woke up trying to convince even myself that it was just a nightmare.
My train of thought is interrupted by Teddy’s voice again:
I don’t mean to pry, but, uh… have you told your mother about that?
Shit. I forgot the telepathic line was still open. I respond by looking back at him sadly and sheepishly shaking my head.
Well, you know she’s gonna find out one way or another. She already suspects you’re not telling her something, but she doesn’t wanna pry either…
I honestly don’t know how to tell her, or even WHAT to tell her. Even with her blind faith in my abilities that I’m still trying to comprehend and hone, I don’t want to traumatize or confuse her any more than I already am myself. More importantly, I don’t want her to lose the hope she has that I’ll see him again, because I know for a fact that she’s much more optimistic than I have been.
Teddy responds to my inner monologue again:
That’s GiGi for ya; always the optimist. Wise beyond her years, too. I’m sure you’ve also figured out that she’ll always be there for ya in a pinch.
I smile and remember the night she picked me up from a gas station after I had ran across a five lane highway, trying to escape from an eldritch mutant that was once the ghost of the drunk driver that hit me a week prior. I hadn’t called her; she just knew I would be there, and she even finished the affirmation that I had been chanting loudly to myself to shield myself from the beast’s claws and jaws. Even though she couldn’t see the creature, she still drove like a getaway driver, running over it in the process. She can be a real badass when she needs to be, and I’d like to think she passed that trait on to Joseph and me.
I finally respond directly to Teddy, though he undoubtedly hasn’t stopped reading my thoughts:
She sure will. And I’m sure she knows I’ll tell her the truth, once I figure it out for myself…
I continue to search everywhere for Joseph throughout the day and evening, especially when we all meet for dinner. Apparently, Mom catches on to me looking for him at some point, because she asks me on the drive home;
“Have you seen him yet?”
I frown and shake my head, worriedly.
“Aria, honey…” she gently chides me, “You need to stop being so hard on yourself.”
I blink and look at her, asking, “Why do you say that?”
She responds, “I just sense something… like doubt, or fear, in you. Plus, you’ve been practically ignoring everyone in the family, even though you haven’t seen most of them since you were five.”
I hang my head, sheepishly answering, “I’m sorry… I wasn’t trying to ignore anyone.”
She nods understandingly, “I know, you’ve been looking all over for your big brother.”
I stay pensively silent, stealing a glance in the rear view mirror, and Mom seems to notice
She rationalizes, “Baby, how many days was it before you saw that Kreischer boy? Three?”
“Yes, I was in a coma for that long, thanks to his driving.” I flatly reply.
Mom huffs a bit but tries to comfort me, “All I’m saying is, I dunno… maybe ghosts need time? Maybe he still hasn’t figured out he’s dead?”
I’d like to believe she has a point, but I can’t shake the memory that the last thing Joseph seemingly saw was me.
Mom chimes in, after I once again fail to answer, “Why don’t you try looking for him tomorrow when we go pick up his stuff from his apartment? Ian will be there to help us too, maybe that might draw him out?”
I perk up, “Yeah, it’s worth a try at least.”
She chuckles, “Listen to me, trying to tell you to get off his case, like the roles weren’t reversed the night before he died…”
“STOP.” I sharply admonish her for blaming herself needlessly.
“You know what I mean.” She rebuts, following up with, “I don’t blame myself anymore. Neither should you.”
I sigh, and finally relent, “I just want to know the truth. None of this feels right.”
Mom falls silent for a few beats, then solemnly says, “Yeah… I know Joseph was into some pretty dark stuff. I really tried not to butt in, but… now I wish I had.”
She is undoubtedly referring to his foray into the occult, which seemed to veer onto the path of demonology and dark magic. Hearing her mention this makes my heart fall into my stomach again. I don’t know if Joseph could see or hear any of the demons he wrote about in the Valdetta Manuscript, or even if they were real, but I definitely saw that she-demon that killed him. After almost a minute, I say, “Maybe I should read his diary again…”
Mom rolls her eyes and huffs at my audacity, but this time she doesn’t scold me, “Like you said, it’s worth a try.”
I fall silent again, because I honestly don’t know what to say anymore. I’m sure this rabbit hole goes fairly deep, and fear of the unknown starts to creep in again. Still, I try to remain optimistic enough to get a good night’s sleep, as tomorrow will be a busy day, regardless.
We arrive home soon after, and as we park the car, I look around the parking lot and in the alleyways for any weird night creatures, as has become routine. When I say the coast is clear, we get out and head inside, and I immediately get out of my formal attire and into some lounge pants and my tank top. As I’m taking the braids out of my hair and wiping my face free of any tear-smeared eyeliner and lipstick, I see Sox Anne in my periphery, once again perched defensively on my windowsill. I sigh, knowing that she probably isn’t seeing any friendly spirit on the other side of our building’s psychic barrier, but my morbid curiosity once again gets the better of me. As I look out the window, I see something even stranger than any of the abominations I’ve gotten accustomed to seeing:
In the darkness of the alley, somehow the neighboring building seems to have become infested with grayish fungal tendrils. The bigger ones have deep gashes along their lengths, lined with jagged rows of needle-like teeth, gnashing hungrily as all the tendrils wriggle and reach. As they touch the selenite sheen barrier around our apartment and restaurant, they thankfully flinch and retract, but the entire thing feels invasive, and fucking terrifying to look at. I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep tonight with whatever the hell those things are outside, even with the layers of security we have built up around us.
My fear quickly leads to anger as I hear Sox let out a feline growl, and I suddenly remember the last part of my affirmation; I am a bad ass bitch! I channel my righteous fury through my star ruby pentacle and yell out the window, with my most exaggerated Brooklyn accent, “Get the fuck outta here!” This causes Sox to hiss at the window, and a burst of crimson energy from me seems to pass through our shields and incinerate all the demonic cordyceps growing from the wall across the alley.
Mom yells from the bathroom, “Aria Bella, why are you yelling at the cat?”
“Not the cat, Ma! There was some weird fuckin’ mushroom demons outside!” I reply, my accent still thick with frustration.
Without missing a beat, she shouts back, “Did ya get rid of ‘em?”
I fire back, “Hope so!”
We bid one another good night after I calm down, and both head to bed. I struggle to sleep, trying to stave off intrusive thoughts about those creepy fungal tendrils coming back, trying instead to focus on the hope that I may finally get to see Joseph tomorrow.
Before I know it, I’m back in that dreary fluorescent lit hallway with the berber carpet. I take a cursory glance to confirm that I am indeed on the second floor of the apartment building A, where Relena and Maria lived in room 19, and where that hag killed my brother right in front of of me in room 14. I almost immediately realize that I’m having an out-of-body experience again, but I am too angry to end this lucid dream just yet. Without hesitation, I storm directly to 14-A, not even bothering to open the door as I phase right through it.
My New York accent thickens again as I bellow, “I KNOW YOU’RE IN HERE, YOU RAGGEDY BITCH!” The ruby in my pendant is already boiling with my wrath as I look around. She’s not going to catch me off guard this time. After a few seconds of dead silence, I call out in a softer, but still furious tone through gritted teeth, “I just wanna talk, I promise…” I step forward carefully and turn my phone light on, my adrenaline still surging. I’m sure she knows damn well why I’m here, as she still doesn’t answer me. If the coward is suddenly opting for an ambush, though, she’s in for a rude awakening, as I’ve just about had my fill of her kind for this month.
As I pass by the bedroom door, I notice that it is standing ajar, and I turn to face it. What was once an empty room, the last time I saw it, now has a box spring mattress on a simple full sized bed. Atop the sheets, I see what looks like the body of a young man lying deathly still, pale as a ghost. I’m immediately intrigued, and I eagerly kick the door open the rest of the way, fully expecting that snaggletoothed, anorexic vampire bitch to be on the other side waiting to pounce. I’m a bit disappointed to see the door swing open with no resistance, and my chagrin increases when I confirm that the man on the bed isn’t Joseph, though he bears a similar gaping hole in his own chest.
My temper flares again and I start ransacking the rest of the apartment, which doesn’t take too long, considering how quaint and small it is. I shout, “So, ya like stealing hearts, do ya? Why don’t you come and take mine? You scared??” After checking all the cabinets in the kitchenette, and making a quick sweep of the tiny bathroom, I stand in the doorway in front of the bedroom again, fuming and panting with rage. Is this bitch seriously going to stand me up after seemingly killing two men? What’s worse; I think I recognize the man in the bedroom…
I take a deep breath to steady myself a little and walk into the room, approaching the corpse on the bed. Upon closer examination, I immediately recognize the stubbly face and stocky build of Steven Yorickson, that bartender I was flirting with a week ago, who was unfortunately head over heels for the lecherous lush Relena Davis. For a brief moment, I have an admittedly irrational hypothesis that the heart stealing succubus is either Relena herself, or somehow associated with her. However, the last time I saw Relena, we were heading to room 19, and I could hear the ghost girl crying on the other side of door 14-A. This unfortunately leaves me with more questions without answers, and I’m starting to second guess the legitimacy of this lucid dream.
I sorrowfully look down at Steven’s mutilated body. His face is frozen in mortal terror and agony, and his eyes have completely clouded over. I look one more time at his chest, which is now an empty cavity lined with broken ribs that once protected his heart. “You poor, handsome fool…” I say aloud. “How did you end up here?” The second I finish asking aloud, I’m startled by an audible crunch of neck bones, and I let out a yelp as Steven’s head turns toward me. Every tiny hair on my body stands on end when I notice he is looking directly at me through the milky film on his eyes, his expression otherwise still frozen in shock.
This disturbs me so deeply that I intentionally return to my body with haste. Though I am safe in my bed again, my renewed sense of security does little to calm my nerves. The last time I was subjected to a nightmare like this, I tried to brush it off as a dream, despite the pit in my stomach that was proven woefully correct the next morning. Times like these make it even more difficult to tell when I’m awake or asleep. Part of me wishes that all this wasn’t real; that I could eventually wake up from my coma for real. Joseph would still be alive, and I’d never have to see any of the horrors I’ve been subjected to this past month.
As I ruminate on this, I can hear a muffled cacophony of gurgles and voracious snarls outside again. I jump out of bed, now alone in my dark room, and peer out the window. I see that some more fungal, toothy tentacles have started to sprout from across the alley, and all at once the pent up rage I had earlier in my OBE reignites like a powder keg. I pace frustratedly in a circle, panting through my nose, before turning back to my window and dramatically throwing up a double middle finger gesture toward the eldritch mushrooms. I strain a furious whisper scream though my gritted teeth, as another intense blast of ruby radiance completely disintegrates all the hyphae once again. I’m thankful that my mom and Sox Anne are presumably asleep in different rooms, and I immediately collapse back onto my bed, exhausted from the undoubtedly ridiculous display of catharsis.
There’s no going back. All I can do is keep going down the rabbit hole, face the horrors and tragedies as they come, and try to develop a sense of humor I guess…
We are visited by Joseph’s bespectacled, dirty blond, long-haired best friend Ian Hutchinson the next afternoon. He promises to stay until we close, and then he’ll take his dad’s pickup truck to come help us get Joseph’s things. His sister, Melissa, isn’t with him. When we inquire about her absence, we find out Melissa and Joseph had a falling out only a few days ago, confirming my suspicion I had the night before he passed.
Joseph had apparently moved back into the building he had first rented when he started college, but a different room. I unfortunately never had the chance to help him move, as I was always busy with the restaurant and metaphysical store our mother started when we first moved to this little riverfront town, so I don’t know which complex or building he lived in. Luckily, Ian says he’ll guide us tonight, and he still has the spare key Joseph gave him when he helped him move in.
I am absolutely flabbergasted as he leads us to the same apartment complex that I’ve been visiting both in and out of body since I awoke from my coma. I mutter, “No fucking way…”
Mom pipes up, “Yeah, this looks familiar! That’s the gas station I picked you up at when you were running from a monster, right?”
I try to slow my breathing and nod, “Yeah, that was Jeremy… WAS, I should say.” This memory isn’t the only one that’s flooding back into my head, however, but I’m too dumbfounded at this whole situation to speak further.
Mom whines, breaking my concentration, “Ohhhh… and Joseph moved in only a couple days later. I could have checked in on him too.”
I snap, “Coulda, woulda, shoulda. I was there that night, and I ran, like a coward.”
Mom shouts at me, “Aria Bella, stop that right now!”
I slump in my seat, once again putting my head in my hands
She continues, “You can’t keep blaming yourself for what you don’t know. Trust me, I WISH my premonitions were foolproof, but god dammit, I make do with what I’m given!”
I lean my head back, letting that sink in. I concede, “You know what? You’re right. I’ve gotta just take this shit as it comes and make the best of it.”
Mom snorts as she pulls into the parking lot and parks her Corolla, “You’re starting to sound like me when your father left me pregnant with you.”
“Fuck that guy.” I say dismissively.
Mom chuckles, “Been there, done that.” She smiles sadly and looks at me through misty eyes, “Still have one of the two greatest gifts he gave me, though.”
We get out of the car and meet up with Ian as he exits his father’s red Silverado. Just my luck, he leads us to building “A”. I feel a surge of adrenaline as we approach, and I almost reflexively start to head up the grated metal stairs to the second floor.
“Aria?” Ian calls out to break me from my trance, as he opens the door to the ground floor and lets my mother inside.
I chuckle awkwardly, white lying “Sorry, force of habit; I have some friends on that floor.” I use the term “friends” loosely, referring to Relena and Maria in room 19.
Ian laughs, “No problem. I was just gonna say, funnily enough; Joseph initially rented room 14 before he moved in with Melissa for a while.”
“Of course he did…” I murmur sardonically to myself, trying to ignore the goosebumps as I walk through the door that Ian is holding open for me. We all step into a hallway almost identical to the one upstairs: flickering fluorescent lighting overhead, berber carpet, and five doors on each side with brass lettering. As Ian takes Mom and me to the second door on the right, labeled “4-A”, I ask, “Why didn’t he move back into 14 when he came back?”
Ian shrugs as he unlocks the door with his spare key, “Someone had already moved into it by then.”
As we all step into Joseph’s last dormitory, a mix of emotions sets in for us. Ian, though he tries to remain stoic, grimaces and wipes a tear from his eye, hoarsely suggesting we start with the lighter things that can fit in our car. My mother has much more difficulty keeping herself together, especially when she sees Joseph’s unmade futon, and all the boxes of entertainment that he never unpacked. I’m softly crying as well, both out of sympathy and grief, but I am still diligently searching the apartment. To my growing frustration and devastation, I still don’t see my brother’s spirit anywhere in the room, even when pick up the black leather bound journal with a raven embossed on the front: “The Valdetta Manuscript” itself.
When I get to a point where I’m hyperventilating, I ask if I can take a smoke break outside, to which Ian sympathetically nods. Mom gives me a knowing look and insists I take a minute to get some fresh air too. As I step outside, I take out my almost empty pack of Djarum Blacks and quickly light one, and the first drag I take burns a third of it to ash. I walk up the stairs to the second floor absentmindedly, and as I get to the top, I peek in through the glass door to the hall.
Are you avoiding me? I think to myself, wondering if Joseph can hear my thoughts.
My rumination is interrupted by the sound of a car door shutting from below. I turn to see the lithe, raven haired Filipina, whom I recognize as Maria Gutierrez, walking away from her silver Altima. She sees me at the top of the stairs and calls up, “Hi Ria!” That’s cute, she’s copying Relena now. I sarcastically call back, “Hi Ria!” If she’s gonna call me a nickname that rhymes with ‘diarrhea’, I’ll return the favor.
Maria snorts as I come down the stairs to meet her at the bottom, retorting, “You think you’re cute, huh?”
I reply, “Bitch, I’m adorable.”
Maria rolls her eyes, then nods toward my cigarette, asking, “Mind if I bum one of those?”
I shrug and get my last one out, handing it and my Ouija planchette lighter to her, before crushing the pack and tossing it in the waste bin by the door. Maria thanks me nonchalantly and lights it. Her eyes widen in surprise as she takes the first drag, to which I respond, “They’re cloves. Enjoy.”
Maria licks her plump lips, most likely tasting the sweet coating Djarum puts on the filters, and asks, “So, what you here for? Guess you’ve heard the rumors?”
I freeze when she says “rumors”, but I respond sadly, “I’m here to pick up Joseph’s things from 4-A…”
Maria’s mouth gapes, then she makes a pouty expression that looks even more exaggerated with how full her lips naturally are, “Oh, that’s right… I heard about that too. I’m sorry.”
I try to hide my annoyance at her obviously fake sympathy, taking another drag, “I appreciate that. So what’re the rumors? This place cursed or something?”
Maria perks up again, continuing, “Oh yeah! Two people have died in it in just the past few days; one on each floor!” She cringes, “Sorry… that was insensitive…”
She can probably tell by my expression that the news has shaken me to my core, though she may not know why. After a few seconds of stunned silence, I ask quietly, “Who died on your floor…?”
Maria, not being known for tact, replies matter-of-factly, “Steven. He died in his sleep from a heart attack too. Creepy, right?”
I’m sure I look like I’ve seen a ghost as I look her in the eye and ask, “What room was he in…?”
Maria actually fucking laughs at this, which makes my blood boil, and continues, “Get this; after Relena broke up with him and moved out, he moved into 14-A! Remember the room you thought you heard someone crying in?”
“You’re joking…” I say, trying to mask the irritation in my voice with my increasing sense of dread.
She titters, “I’m dead serious.” Her tone quickly flattens again, “While we’re on the subject of ghosts, I’ve been meaning to tell you; Jeremy hasn’t been back since the other night. Relena’s still mad at you for ditching us, by the way…”
I turn and look at her indignantly, admittedly not knowing how to respond. Against the off-white siding of the entryway, I notice that little tendrils of her aura are reaching toward me as she stares me down, waiting for a reply. So she’s an energy vampire… that explains so much. I break eye contact and let out a frustrated huff, erecting a psychic barrier around myself, just as I was taught to do in the books I’ve been catching up on since my awakening.
Maria seems to at least subconsciously pick up on this, as she callously discards her half-smoked clove cigarette onto the sidewalk, saying, “Anyway, just thought I’d let you know.” She starts sashaying up the stairs, calling back, “Sorry about your brother!” Before I can answer, I hear the door to her hallway shut.
I seethe for a few seconds, taking one final drag, before letting out a long exhale. I flip my finished cigarette onto the concrete, stomp both butts out under my boot, then deposit them in the nearby receptacle. Maria’s right; this building is haunted, and that soul sucking bitch is right where she belongs. She might even get along with that psycho succubus from 14-A, if one doesn’t end up killing the other. If I didn’t know any better, I’d assume they were one in the same.
Unfortunately, Maria does remember watching me lean in to listen to that other hag crying on the other side of the door. Logically, she can’t be in two places at once, so that eliminates her. Still, while she may not be out here stealing hearts, she definitely just stole my favorite lighter, so fuck her.
I briefly consider going upstairs and checking out 14-A, but that conversation with Maria only reaffirmed to me that Joseph won’t be there, per the last time I traveled here out-of-body. I pity Steven, but I don’t know anything I can do for him. Maria’s right; I abandoned her and Relena the night I saw the ghost of the latter’s jilted ex-boyfriend, Jeremy Kreischer, morph into some deformed monster as he went full poltergeist mode on their apartment in a blind rage. After I left the building, he chased me all the way to the gas station across the street, only to be struck twice by my mother’s car. Some ghost whisperer I am…
I have a miserable gut feeling that the skeletal succubus from 14-A is gone too, based on my previous ethereal visit. Even if I could confront her and unleash all my anger onto her like I wanted to last night, I know the catharsis would only leave me feeling empty. I’d also like to think that Joseph wouldn’t wait for me to avenge him to finally appear to me again, if he hasn’t already moved on to a higher plane of existence. Maybe that nightmare was the last time I would ever see him in this realm, and being there in spirit to witness was the closest thing to closure I’ll ever get.
I don’t even bother to check the shadows in the parking lot, or even the surrounding woods, for any other monsters. It’s already 9:45 now, and the longer I stand here, the more eldritch mycelia start to grow from the entryway walls, slowly reaching toward me. Those little fuckers are getting persistent, and I’m already getting tired of acknowledging them. I bitterly walk back inside to go help Mom and Ian finish packing Joseph’s stuff.
While we’re putting the scant amount of boxes into our Corolla, both my mother and Ian seem to notice the sudden change in my demeanor. Ian doesn’t comment, thinking I’m just shutting down because I’m depressed and exhausted. He’s much more of a skeptic than anyone in my family, but he and Joseph always had a mutual respect for one another; both challenged one another’s philosophy in a healthy way. I just don’t feel like elaborating my feelings to him because I know he won’t be able to relate, so I stay pensively silent but cordial as I help him load Joseph’s futon into the Silverado’s bed. After that, Ian locks the door to 4-A one final time. We go with him to drop off the key at the front desk, then we all plan to meet back up at the Apothecary to drop off his things in the extra bedroom upstairs.
It’s only when Mom gets into the car and starts it that she addresses me again for the first time since I came back from my smoke break, “You don’t look happy…”
I have so many things to say, yet can’t figure out WHAT to say, so I stay silent, staring at the dark road ahead.
After a few uncomfortable minutes of silence, Mom cautiously asks, “Was he not there?”
“No.” I reply coldly.
Mom sighs softly and clicks her tongue quietly.
Another minute or two passes, before I finally chime in, “I’m sure he doesn’t even wanna be here anymore…”
He was always prone to depression; sometimes to a degree that veered into psychosis. I have a dreadful suspicion that this is what brought about his untimely end, and that somehow the succubus from his first apartment was just the final nail in his coffin.
This time, my mother is the one caught on the back foot. I can tell she wants to say something, but isn’t sure what to even think at this point. As his mother, she knows even better than I do how bad he could get. I didn’t even have to say the quiet part out loud for her. On that somber note, we drive the rest of the way without speaking a word, my mom chewing on her lip the same way I sometimes do.
When we get home, we’re both so mentally and physically exhausted that we just place the cardboard boxes in the spare room with Sox Anne’s toys and cat tower, leaving the futon rolled up in the closet. It’s already nearly 11:30, and we both have to be up to open the Apothecary tomorrow morning. We say our goodbyes to Ian, promising that we will still keep in touch with him and Melissa. I’m sure Mom will at least try to keep that promise for a while, but I’m so empty right now that I doubt it will hurt too much when the Hutchinsons inevitably drift away.
I take my shower first, then get into my tank top and lounge pants after towel drying, then collapse on top of my sheets while Mom takes her shower. I close my eyes, emptying my head and listening to all the sounds around me:
The gentle hum of the apartment’s electric heating; Mom’s soft, mournful sobs, masked by the hiss of the shower; the hungry gurgles of the toothy fungi trying to encroach upon our building outside; and Soxy’s cute little snores that I can’t help but smile at.
Just when I’m about to drift off, I hear my Mom stop in the doorway to my room. I open my eyes and sit up to look at her, waiting for her to say what’s on her mind. She blinks and swallows, then finally speaks:
“Aria… It’s gonna be ok. I promise.”
I smile weakly in response.
She continues, “This is just another stage of grief, remember? It seems like we’ve already been through Denial, Anger, and Bargaining. Now, we’re here. The next step is….” She trails off.
I finish her thought with a rant, “I’m having a hard time accepting anything right now, Mom. I mean… what the fuck am I even good for? It feels like all that TBI did for me was force me to see shit I wish I didn’t have to! I haven’t helped any of the ghosts I’ve met in any way…”
My mother cuts me off , “Not true. You helped that boy Carlos talk to his abuela, remember that?”
I roll my eyes, “Yeah, that was an easy one. And I stiffed him $100 too.”
She interrupts me again, “He TIPPED you $100.”
I snap back, “That point is that I couldn’t stop that goddamn succubus from stealing Joseph’s heart. I was too late, despite all your premonitions!”
Mom’s eyes water, but she doesn’t seem as shocked as I expect her to. Guess she did see this coming after all. She hoarsely whispers, “I knew something was causing his insomnia…” and begins to weep again.
I come back to my senses and rush to hug her, and the dam breaks for me as well. After about a minute of crying into each other’s shoulders, Mom moves me to look her in the eye.
“Listen… we both did everything we could do, without stepping over his boundaries. If I don’t get to blame myself for being a helicopter mom, you don’t get to blame yourself for anything either.” She gently scolds me through tears.
I counter with a croak, “Even for being too late to do anything?”
“You were the only person who COULD have been there. You’re a natural… at all of this.” She wipes her face and steps away from the hug, “You’re the only living person in this family that can see past the veil between the physical and the ethereal. You can’t expect yourself to help EVERY ghost or entity you see.”
I look at the floor in shame, chewing on my lip again
She reminds me, “But I know something you’ve always been good at, long before you ever got this power: You’re a damn good investigator, and you’ve always loved solving mysteries, even since you were a little girl!”
This makes me smile as I reminisce about all the Scooby-Doo cartoons I watched as a kid, and all the true crime documentaries I watched from adolescence onward. Still, I sigh bitterly and hoarsely respond, “Some cases never close though. I just wish Joseph would tell me WHO that she-bitch is and WHY she killed him. I feel like he’s moved onto a higher plane and left me with little to no closure.”
Mom actually smiles, sniffling, “Listen to you… you’re already saying without a doubt that your brother is in a better place. I believe he is too, and we’ll see him when it’s time.”
We hug again, getting all our sniffles out. When we’re done, she adds, “Besides, we’ve got pictures and all sorts of things to remember him by.” She winks at me, “If I know you, your nose is gonna be in that diary of his before you can get any sleep tonight.”
I roll my eyes and snicker softly, “Is that you giving me permission to take a peek?”
She chuckles, “That’s me saying I know you’re gonna do it regardless. Do try and get some sleep though, will ya?”
I laugh, reassuring her, “Eventually. Hope you sleep well too. Love you.”
She kisses my forehead, “Love you too. Night.”
Mom’s premonitions were right on the money once again. Out of all the items that were packed haphazardly in boxes, there’s one that I slipped into my purse: The Valdetta Manuscript. I quickly grab the black, raven embossed leather journal from my bag, flip the little brass lock up, and open it for the first time in a year or so. I quickly skim past all the stuff I’ve seen before, only giving brief cursory glances to reaffirm.
There are demons and entities whose names I’ve never read about in any other text books, along with their attributes, as well as instructions on how to summon them and what for. Before my awakening, I used to dismiss these entries as a creative writing exercise, and I even encouraged him to write more. Now, I’m not so sure they aren’t real, nor am I ever interested in meeting some of them. This especially goes for Kazul, the “Lord of Chaos”, as he is written. There’s almost an entire chapter about him, including a sigil I’ve never seen before, and sketched pictures that look like a demonic berserker from a tabletop role-playing game book:
A muscle-bound humanoid body; a skull with more horns than necessary, eye sockets alight with flames; spikes starting from the top of his head and jutting out down his spine, all the way to his tail; and a massive set of webbed, dragon-like wings. Joseph was a pretty decent visual artist when he put his mind to it, and I’m so glad I’ve never seen this crazy looking mother fucker in person before.
I also see some of his streams of consciousness, and somewhat nihilistic musings, that now disturb me more in retrospect. He had quite a bleak view of himself and the world, and the deeper he fell into depression, the less he seemed to care about this reality. He seems to have created his own brand of gnosticism, referring to Kazul’s eternal enemy as a delusional cosmic entity, simply called “The Blind King”. He sometimes referred to another entity he called “Dreamer in the Void” in the second person, as if this Dreamer could somehow read the book through his eyes.
I do try not to linger on the juicier bits, such as his crush on Serena Lazarus, the voluptuous girl-next-door in one of his classes. I still feel guilty for spilling the beans to Relena, who then blurted it out to Serena herself months after Joseph had already been dating Melissa. I wish that Joseph had had enough confidence to ask her out; she seems so down to earth, and conversations I had with her were intellectually stimulating. I got the impression that she was a low-key nerd too, so I’m sure she and Joseph would have really hit it off.
I finally get to a point where I see things I haven’t before, and I can tell that his friendship with the pragmatic Ian had influenced his musings on the occult. He started delving into neuroscience and psychology a bit more, which fascinates me to read. I can tell when self doubt crept in at times, but he at least tried to rationalize his thoughts. However, I occasionally see him talking to the Dreamer in the Void instead of just talking to himself. He seemed confused as to why he was ever born, yet convinced that he was here for some great purpose that he has yet to fulfill. I think we all have had those thoughts at least a few times in our lives, but most of us try not to ruminate over it like this.
Continuing on, I find that he had finally started logging his shadow work, addressing some of his mental problems directly, which is always the first step. He also seems to have copied and put his own spin on some basic protection spells and hexes that he learned from some of the books we sell at the Apothecary, but of course personalizing them to make them more effective. On a slightly disturbing note, there are also accounts of him delving into things like energy vampirism and manipulation, with included instructions. At first, he did things like this to elevate himself over those whom he siphoned energy from, in a perverted attempt to build confidence, and give himself the illusion of control.
With more practice, however, he started preparing to create something called a “Tulpa”, which he had been researching for some time. With the way he explained it, it sounds like an imaginary friend for adults. His reason for wanting to create one is that his previous relationships were short lived and unfulfilling for him. I’ll admit that he and I both were hard pressed to find stimulating friendships and relationships in our adolescence, but I didn’t think he would internalize all the rejections and failures this deeply.
A sickening gut feeling creeps in about this Tulpa concept, so I read on. He described this imaginary girlfriend in an alarmingly familiar way, both in text and with a sketch:
Long, straight, sandy brown hair; pale skin, “almost as radiant as her emerald green eyes”; and an hourglass figure, standing at 5’4”.
Of course, he named this Tulpa after the very woman whose image he created her in: Serena. While he never outright states it, I immediately deduce from his previous entries that he must have siphoned energy directly from the real life Serena Lazarus to create this spiritual simulacrum. In his sketch of her, he even included the cute little gap between her two front teeth that I noticed when I first met her. Ironically, he fashioned her personality in such a way that is so similar to the real version that I came to know, that this entire venture just seemed unnecessary. Joseph was often prone to self sabotage and over complicate things.
His relationship with this imaginary version of Serena seemed to quickly blossom, and he seemed genuinely happy for a while. He had developed a routine of going to classes during the day, and coming home to dorm 14-A to spend the evenings with his faithful Tulpa. This quickly fizzled out, however, as I’m sure he didn’t have infinite energy to devote to the illusion. On the plus side, apparently he did develop more confidence in his social life, undoubtedly from the energy manipulation he had practiced.
Melissa is finally mentioned a few months later, and Joseph had all but completely forgotten about the Serena clone that he had created. Unfortunately, “Serena” had not forgotten about him, remaining faithfully in 14-A waiting for him to return. On Joseph’s last night in that apartment before moving in with Melissa, the poor Tulpa finally confronted him, only to have her heart completely shattered. It’s difficult for me not to pity this construct, but the next few entries basically confirm my suspicions about her.
Practically every entry after this becomes a dream journal for a recurring nightmare, wherein he finds himself in the hallway of the “A” building, absentmindedly entering room 14. Every time he enters, he can hear the pitiful sobs of a young woman, sometimes even after he wakes up. I am trying not to hyperventilate as I make the connection between this jilted imaginary clone of Serena and that haggard, skeletal succubus that killed my older brother in his sleep. I want to vomit by the time I reach Joseph’s final entry, dated November 16, 2012:
“I fear that the mournful cries that torment me on a nightly basis signify my imminent death, like the wails of a banshee. I have exhausted every avenue to end these incessant nightmares, and I have lost more than sleep in the process. By now, I suspect I know my tormentor, and tonight I shall confront her, regardless what happens.
Dreamer in the Void, I beseech you; should I not survive this night, guide my sister, Aria, so that she may finish what I have started.”
“What the fuck…?” I whisper to myself, eyes wide with shock and wet with hot tears. Not only have I been volunteered to finish some unspecified work for him and this mysterious penpal, but I finally know the awful truth; Joseph’s spectral killer was his own creation. I was right all along when I had guessed that Joseph’s unchecked psychotic depression was a major contributing factor in his untimely death, but reading this in his own words just seems to reopen a freshly scabbed wound. To rub salt into that wound, this creature of his own making has since killed at least one other person, that being Steven Yorickson. Who knows how this has affected the original Serena Lazarus, whose life energy could still be powering this facsimile, no longer dependent on Joseph.
Unfortunately, while I have at least solved the mystery surrounding my brother’s death, I’m still left with more questions than answers. Where is the Tulpa now? Where is Joseph’s spirit now? Who is the “Dreamer in the Void”, and what have I been drafted to help them with? Why is the world suddenly glitching like a corrupted video game?
Wait… why IS the world suddenly glitching like a corrupted video game?!
My adrenaline spikes, and the air feels full of static electricity that makes my hair stand on end. I hear a buzzing sound, but I can’t find the source. Reality itself distorts for a few seconds; objects in my lamp lit bedroom leaving artifacts and afterimages, and random pixels appearing in my vision. The buzzing sound becomes garbled and high pitched, which makes my heart race even faster. I can’t help but wonder if I’m dying or simply having some sort of psychotic break. I know for a fact I haven’t taken any hallucinogens, and I doubt Joseph would have dusted his book pages with anything of the sort.
As my lamp goes out, the glitches finally stop, and I’m left in my dark room, lit only by an eerie violet glow from my window. All the ambient sounds I had become accustomed to have ceased completely, leaving the room deathly quiet, save for the zombie-like noises those disgusting mushroom tendrils make with their toothy mouths. I assume that the power has gone out, but I can’t help but be curious about the unnaturally purple light outside, so the first thing I do is go to the window. Ignoring those ghastly fungi on the wall across the alley, I look up to the sky, which is now filled with a veritable nebula compared to what one would normally be able to see from earth. To further distort reality, this purple cluster of stars seems to be swirling, but I can’t see toward where.
Another thing I can’t see is the metaphysical barrier that Mom and I have erected around the building using selenite crystals above each doorframe. This would explain why I can now see more of those eldritch cordyceps rapidly growing onto the wall of our own building. I panic and run to Sox Anne’s room to see if she can see all of this, but to my horror, she is nowhere to be seen. I start frantically checking closets and under my bed, to no avail.
I pound on my Mom’s door, stammering, “Mom! The power’s out, Soxy’s gone, and I think I’m having some kind of episode!”
No response. This isn’t like her; she’s not a heavy sleeper at all.
“MOM! Please wake up! I’m scared!” My inner child cries aloud through me.
The only sound I hear is more gurgling from the other side of the door…
I instinctively throw my mother’s bedroom door open, only to see those disgusting tentacles on her bed, quickly forming a trail towards me as they multiply. I shriek and start running down the stairs, quickly realizing that I’m no longer in my apartment, but some hellish mockery of it.
All around me, I can hear those ghoulish snarls, and as I run through the restaurant below our apartment, I can see every piece of furniture quickly become compost to this fungal colony. Before I can get to the front door, I feel one of the slimy hyphae grab my leg, sinking it’s needle-like teeth into my calf. I instantly feel my energy being siphoned from me as I struggle against the entanglement. Fortunately, my adrenaline spikes, and as I scream, a burst of crimson radiance from my pendant clears the room long enough for me to exit the building.
The town outside is just as desolate as my apartment was. What is usually a peaceful but bustling riverfront strip is now a ghost town in an eldritch wasteland, only populated by a rapidly growing colony of demonic mushroom tentacles as far as the eye can see. I collapse to my knees in the middle of the street, knowing that no matter how many times I incinerate them, they will keep coming back, and I don’t know how much energy I have left to keep fighting. The worst part of this is knowing that I’m otherwise alone here, and I have yet to wake from this nightmare, so I just start to cry as the tendrils close in.
Above the hungry growls and gnashing of teeth, I suddenly hear what sounds like deep, guttural throat singing, reverberating throughout this fungus infested ghost town. All other noises seem to cease as this mesmerizing song begins to get louder, and I finally look up. The first thing I see in the sky is a solitary eyeball with a yellow iris, pulling the violet nebula toward it like a black hole. This thing has to be astronomically huge, for it to not only bend space around it like that, but to appear so clearly from earth, if I’m even still on Earth. All the fungi are also looking up in vile reverie, but they are all making hissing noises that seem rather spiteful, or even fearful.
I feel compelled to stand as I hold eye contact with this throat singing eyeball in the sky. As soon as I rise to my feet, I’m immediately lifted off the ground. I should have guessed that a celestial body this massive, and seemingly this close to earth, would have such a strong gravitational pull. I close my eyes to the vertigo as the speed I’m being pulled towards this object rapidly increases, and I tumble and flail like a rag doll as I’m hurled through space. I brace myself for the sudden stop that is to be expected from gravity this intense, and hope that I’ll die of shock before impact.
When I feel myself stop moving, however, I instead feel completely weightless. All I can hear now is a deep humming sound, which reverberates throughout whatever space I find myself in now. As I open my eyes, I surmise that I must have been pulled into the supermassive black hole that is effectively the pupil of that celestial eyeball.
This new pocket dimension I’m floating in is almost completely dark, save for the occasional flickering lights I see at various distances. The ones that are closer to me seem to flicker like television screens, but shaped like twenty-sided polyhedrons. I can also see humanoid silhouettes of various shapes and sizes inside them, almost like they’re in some giant amniotic tanks.
I hear the low thrumming of electricity, and I see it traveling along a network of alien, organic looking cables attached to each of these tanks, which look altogether like viruses under a microscope. All my hairs stand on end as I feel like I’m standing near a power plant, and I feel a strong pull in a particular direction, so I turn around to see the source of the electromagnetism.
One of the giant, virus-shaped chambers is so close to me that I could have bumped into it, had I moved even a few inches in the direction I had been pulled. Curiously, the outer membrane is completely dark, even though I still feel energy coursing though the cable above it. I cautiously channel energy through my star ruby pendant, willing it to give off a gentle but brilliant crimson glow, in hopes it will at least illuminate this dark vessel in front of me. I’m initially grateful that this works, until I see what, or more importantly, WHO is inside.
I see a shriveled corpse of a young man, whom I immediately recognize as Joseph, covered in those goddamned carnivorous cordyceps, starting from a hole in his chest. In horror, I start to hyperventilate as I watch those things completely consume him in front of me, almost as if they were waiting for an audience to finish their meal. As he becomes nothing more than a cluster of toothy fungi, it feels like I’m losing my older brother and best friend all over again, but this time feels final.
My chest burns, and my eyes sting with hot tears, as I shriek until my voice is ragged:
“JOSEEEEEPH!”
The mushroom demons seem to get a kick out of my grief, as they answer with distorted, cacophonous guffaws at my expense.
I watch in despair as the icosahedral vessel my brother once occupied suddenly shrivels and detaches from its cable, which immediately starts to retract toward an imperceptible point of convergence.
I scream again, “I WON’T LET YOU TAKE HIM AWAY FROM ME!”
With all my might, I propel myself forward through this zero gravity space to grab onto that bundle of fibers, desperately clinging to hope that perhaps his soul might still be traveling through it. As soon as I make contact with the cable, a surge of energy causes every muscle in my body to seize, and I quickly lose consciousness.
I awake to an excruciating pain in my chest, gasping for air, and choking on my own blood. My eyes open to see the self-mutilated, skeletal simulacrum of Serena straddling my hips, ravenously wringing blood from my detached heart into her mouth. I start to go into shock as she looks down at me with a bloody grin, but then I hear my own voice gasp in horror from behind me. I look back to see myself holding my phone up with the flashlight on, my left hand covering my mouth, and tears welling up in my widened eyes. For the first time, I hear Joseph’s voice fill my head:
“I’m sorry, Aria…”
My perspective shifts at a nauseatingly quick pace, and I’m now looking down at my brother again for the first time since the night he died. I’m being forced to relive a memory that I have repressed for days, as I watch his body break down into a mass of deathly pale, spindly mycelia. Tulpa Serena sees this and leaps off of Joseph, scooting backwards toward the bedroom wall in confusion, as these mushrooms consume him like a pack of piranhas. After they finish, they let out another hideous cacophony of laughter, before dissolving into the carpet. The last thing I hear is Serena’s succubus clone howling in disbelief.
When I regain consciousness, I hear a chorus of chants surrounding me, which is accompanied by resumed guttural throat singing, matching whatever they are saying. I find myself back in what I presume is the void inside the celestial eye, still unable to move any other muscle than my eyelids. I am now entangled in these weird nerve fibers, energy still surging through every muscle to keep me in place as I dangle in the abyss. Strangely enough, my star ruby is still glowing bright enough to illuminate an indeterminable radius, and I now can see the point of origin for all those organic cables.
In front of me is an unfathomably massive humanoid skull with ram-like horns spiraling from its temples, and an extra eye socket sitting above and between the two one would normally have. It’s mouth, lined by two jagged rows of sharp teeth, is revealed to be the source of the deep throat singing that leads the chorus of chants from the innumerable vessels in this space. At first, I think this must be Kazul, as there seems to be a resemblance in the facial structure, but I specifically remember Joseph’s sketch only having two eyes, among other differences like the shape and number of horns.
The chanting and singing grow louder and faster with repetition, yet I still can’t figure out what is being said. It sounds like some alien, long forgotten language, but with a surge of energy coursing through the cables that bind me, I start flawlessly matching every syllable. I am filled with cosmic horror as I stare transfixed at this throat singing demon skull, dangling helplessly and chanting along with the choir.
In the distance, I somehow hear the muffled sound of my mother’s panicked voice, calling my name and reassuring me that she will call for help. I rationalize that I must be having some sort of epileptic seizure in her reality, and this lucidity causes me to regain some of my autonomy, so I start trying to will myself back into my physical body again.
The mysterious throat singing entity must be keenly aware of this, as it snaps its face upward to make direct eye contact with me, singing with more ferocity than before. All three of its empty eye sockets suddenly flicker to life with sickly yellow orbs of light that are almost blinding to me in this darkness. As the three eye lights burn into my soul, I can suddenly comprehend every single word that is being chanted and sung in this ancient, alien tongue:
Tremble, Blind King,
For the Dreamer stirs