Snowfall

The funeral went well, all things considered, I thought as I meandered through the park alone. A week since Christmas, and already the snow was beginning to irritate. Too damn much of the stuff, but then again, that’s Michigan weather for you.

I turned and walked over to the banks of the river, leaving the forested trail behind me and watching the roaring rapids churn, frigid with the weather. Funny how it could move through the ice, never freezing and unable to freeze over with its motion. Tumbling stones, tumbling rocks, tumbling anything that fell into its flow until even the most ragged edges smoothed. Tumbling, churning, polishing over and over again.

We’d held the funeral at Fountain Street Church. It’s… where she’d have wanted to be, in the sacred, peaceful halls under the watchful gaze of the Savior. She’d looked so peaceful in her casket, as if she’d merely been sleeping and nothing more. Sleeping, and waiting for me. Waiting, as she always would, in some other world.

It’d been hard, dealing with the grief. It still is, to be honest. Still hard, visiting her grave and sitting, talking as if she could talk back, remembering her laugh. We buried her in a cemetery plot near the river. She always loved the river, the roaring rapids. That’s why we’d moved to the apartments near the riverside. So we could always look out, every morning, and see the river flowing past us below. She told me once, she told me that it reminded her to always push forward, to always keep moving ahead, never back. Cheesy, but that’s what she said.

I miss that about her. God, I miss her. At least Dr. Rosewater, my therapist, is back in office after the holidays. Finally, someone I can talk to and relate to, someone other than Andrew from next door. Not that he wasn’t a nice kid, but he was hardly a professional and he had more to worry about than my problems. Like his upcoming MCAT in the spring, how else would he get into med school without passing that? The kid needed to save his emotional and mental energy, not play case study with me.

I keep up often with him now, sending him baked goods every so often when I get the time. He probably would appreciate them more than I would; I can’t eat them all myself…

I stoop, picking up a small pebble, and cast it into the river’s rapids. It spins in midair, arcing, and finally lands in the freezing waters with a soft plip. The branches on the trees behind me creaked softly, gently in the wind. I hadn’t seen any of the demons for a week now, not hide nor hair of any of them. The memory of them continues to horrify me, but no longer do they follow me, tormenting me with things I can’t bear. No longer am I hunted. No longer am I haunted by them.

Well, perhaps not quite, I remind myself as the pill bottle rattles softly in my jacket pocket. The little blue, oval pills did come in handy from time to time, even if I have been doing better lately. There’s something about this park, I think, that makes my mind return to darker places. Familiar places it shudders at going, but still goes boldly into. Maybe my mind’s learning to cope with my anxiety, or maybe I just want it to be so, but I swear when I walk here, the Ravens turn to look at me every so often, as if scrutinizing me, as if they remember me.

And if I’m very quiet, and in just the right mindset when I look into the distant trees, I swear I’ll see a tall figure, black-clad, walking through them, or hear the distant sound of a little girl’s laughter…

Catharsis

“…cael…? Mr. Zarkoff? Are you awake?”

My eyes groggily slid open, gritty and stinging. The plaster apartment ceiling above me greeted me as I stared at it. My head was killing me, it was daytime, and I was lying on my back on something soft, with a thick comforter over me. But I wasn’t in my bed at home.

Where am I?

I groaned in discomfort and glanced wearily over at a scrawny young man, scruffy-looking, with soulful, dark eyes and sandy-toned hair. His youthful face was furrowed with worry, and he couldn’t have been older than 25. Vaguely, recognition began to tug at the fringes of my mind. I know him. He lives in the apartment next door, doesn’t he…?

Andrew. Andrew Slaktoski, that’s his name… Pre-Psych student at Grand Valley State... right? This is his apartment, has to be…

“Are you okay, Mr. Zarkoff?” He asked in his soft voice, watching as I began to wearily awaken. “Don’t overexert yourself…”

“M’fine,” I mumbled, slowly coming to. “What were you doing up so late…? Why am I in your house…?”

“I was getting some last-minute semester stuff together and I heard screaming from next door, like you were being attacked. Then I heard yelling and glass shattering, so I locked my door. Thought there was a burglar in the complex… It all went quiet after a bit, so I decided to see if you were okay. I knocked, but nobody answered. So I peeked through the peephole, and saw this tall guy in your house, didn’t catch his face, though. He pushed you and I watched you stumble and fall, and then you just… You vanished, Mr. Zarkoff. You were just gone. It spooked me to the point I went downstairs to tell security there was an intruder in the complex and he was attacking you, thank God he didn’t notice me.”

My heart instantly began to pound at the thought of the Man, how real he was… how real they all were… That I’d just vanished in front of this young man’s eyes, somehow ending up outside… My gut screamed in alarm, but I said nothing, continuing to listen.

“So, I went into the lobby downstairs, but then I looked outside and saw you lying in a snow bank across the street, in your pajamas. I don’t know how you got out there, but you looked… you looked terrified. Terrified beyond belief, like you’d seen a ghost or a demon or something. You were coughing really hard, and then you collapsed. I thought that guy hurt you or something, so I ran outside and started pulling you inside, brought you up here. Had Doctor Smith from the floor above come in, she checked you out, said you were fine. I dunno what would have happened if I hadn’t found you…”

My eyes slammed shut as my head swam with the fearful memories and I desperately focused on breathing. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Don’t think about it, Michael. Don’t worry him. Don’t worry him. Don’t…

“Please,” I mumbled, voice shaking. “Andrew… did I have anything on me at the time, any medication bottles?”

“You didn't, no. But we got someone to open your apartment door last night, and I do have a bottle of medicine over on the table, but I didn’t look at it. Is it blood pressure medicine or something?”

“N-no… no, it’s… should be an orange bottle of little blue pills, label says Xanax…”

A slow look of recognition came over the scholar, and he nodded in understanding.

“I… didn’t realize you had – ”

“Just… don’t,” I interrupted, hands shaking. “Please, Andrew, I need one of those pills, I didn’t take any last night and I’m starting to panic…”

Urgency settled over the young man, and he was nearly a blur as he whipped into the kitchen and the faucet turned on. Vaguely, I heard the pill bottle rattling in the other room through my heavy breathing…

Inhale, Michael. Exhale. He saved your life. The Man saved your life. Andrew saved your life. The demons aren’t here. They’re not here. Inhale. Exhale…

A glass of water and the pill bottle found themselves in front of me, and I snatched both from Andrew. With shaky hands, I measured out the dose and slammed the pills into my mouth, drinking them and the water down in copious gulps.

“I’ll be… okay in a bit… I just… need to calm down…”

My hands found their way to my head, clinging, and I curled up against the back of the couch. Don’t think about it. Don’t bother Andrew with your problems. Don’t be a nuisance…

I felt Andrew settle on the couch next to me, felt his hand settle gently on my shoulder. I barely noticed.

“Mr. Zarkoff, It’ll be alright. You’ll be alright. Breathe…”

“That’s. Not. Helping.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“T-talk to me,” I stammered, staring at the floor and trembling. “Please. Get my mind off last night. Off Andrea.”

I felt the young man’s demeanor soften from cotton to silk.

“We’ve… heard about that,” Andrew said, clearly picking his words carefully. “Quite a few of the neighbors have. I’m so sorry to hear about her condition, Mr. Zarkoff. Are you going to be alright?”

My hands shook, and my face turned to a grim smile.

“… Mr. Zarkoff?”

“No,” I whispered, tears already welling in my red eyes. “No, no I’m not, and I haven’t for two weeks. I got a call last night, before I panicked. She’s going to… She’s…”

The floodgates opened, unable to contain my fear and sorrow anymore. Unable to hold the pain I felt. In front of someone I barely spoke with, let alone knew, they opened, and all the horror and anguish I felt rushed out of me like a bursting dam. My body shook with sobs, every nerve in my body felt exposed.

“She’s going to be gone, Andrew,” I whimpered, after what seemed like an eternity of sorrow. “She’s really going to be gone… And I couldn’t have helped her. I couldn’t save her. Not this time.”

“I… I’ve never been in this situation myself, Mr. Zarkoff, so I don’t know if I can relate that much,” the student admitted, clasping his hands between his knees. “But you have my sympathy. If there’s anything I can do to, I dunno, help you through this… I know I’m just a student, but grief and anxiety counseling is what I wanna specialize in, so if there’s anything I can do, I’d love the opportunity to listen and learn…”

“You’ve done enough already,” I murmured, sniffling and brushing the tears from my eyes. The little pill was slowly beginning to work its chemical spell on my neurons, quelling the unrest in my mind. “You’ve done more than enough… thank you for listening...”

“Any time you need someone,” he responded. “I think we all need a little help sometimes. Especially in a situation like this. By the way, I think your phone’s ringing. Your phone’s black, right? With a tech-themed screen saver?”

“Yeah, that’s my phone,” I responded, glancing into the other room. “I forgot I put it on vibrate.”

“Want me to get it?”

“No, I will, but thank you.”

I stood slowly, walking over to the table. I was emotionally exhausted – exhausted from last night’s nightmare, exhausted from crying, exhausted from fear and from not sleeping well for two weeks straight. All I wanted was for one thing to go right in my life. To feel better. To have just one bit of good news in my life for once…

The phone slowly found its way into my hand, and my fingers brushed against the screen as I answered it.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Zarkoff, good morning.” The oncologist’s voice somehow sounded less weary than before. Not exactly cheerful, but at least more open. “There’s some good news. Your wife’s feeling a little better after the surgery. She’s very tired, but awake and was hoping to see you. I’m… not sure how much longer she’ll have left, but… it’s like she’s staying alive for you. Just to see you. She’s one hell of a trooper.”

It was almost as if a heavy, but gentle weight squeezed my heart, both relieved and sorrowful at the same time. That’s my Andrea. That’s the woman I fell in love with, strong, determined to live even if it was impossible at this point. Hell-bent on making sure I was alright first before she left me.

“Thank you, Doctor, I’ll… I’ll be over as soon as I can. I’m driving over right now.”

The phone fell silent as I hung up, and I looked to Andrew again, still sitting where he was on the couch.

“You wouldn’t happen to know if my apartment’s still unlocked, would you?”

The rest of the morning after that was a blur, from the walk over to my apartment to getting dressed to the drive to the hospital. I easily could’ve walked, yeah, but if I had… if I had, it might have been too late by then. Besides, it was snowing heavily, and below freezing outside. Nobody could ever say Michigan didn’t have white Christmases.

The hospital was suspiciously quiet as I entered and proceeded to check in, wandering slowly into Andrea’s room. The window drapes were pulled aside, showing the snowflakes drifting softly over the grey sky and the Grand River beyond. Three ravens perched on a power line just outside, looking between themselves and the building. And inside the room, a small leak dripped somewhere, paralleling the gently beeping heart monitor. The heart monitor hooked to a frail, sickly shell of a woman, the woman I loved, the woman once so vibrant. Andrea.

“Michael…” She murmured weakly as I entered, a shadow of a smile crossing her features as she did so. Hope. There was hope in those dark eyes as she tiredly watched me enter… Me. She’d needed me. She’d been waiting for me so patiently, I could tell, waiting to see me just one more time. One more time…

“Andrea, hi, honey,” I murmured, walking in and casting my coat onto the visitor’s chair.

That’s when I heard another voice murmuring, very lowly, softly… familiar. I looked up towards the corner at the masked figure, his priestly robes swirling around his feet and his hands clasped in prayer as he murmured…

The demon in the church. The Priest…

“You,” I whispered in horrified recognition, my heart nearly skipping a beat at seeing the demon so close to the woman I loved…

The Priest glanced only briefly towards me, barely looking up as he continued his inaudible prayer. And Andrea didn’t even notice. And still the ceiling kept dripping from the snow melt, still I heard it… Where was it coming from?

“Michael…” She murmured as I approached her bedside. “Do you… hear that? The dripping…”

I looked up at the ceiling and around the room, finally finding the source of the leak. A tiny water spot, dripping in the bathroom and into the sink from above. Odd, shouldn’t they have fixed that?

Unless it’s not water, a little nervous voice in my mind stirred, setting my nerves jangling slightly. Unless it’s a demon, like all the rest.

Nonsense. Absolute nonsense. How can water be a demon?

“Yes, Andrea, I do hear it,” I finally responded. “It’s coming from the bathroom, love. Probably just from snow melting on the roof.”

“Well it better stop,” she responded weakly, the smile widening a bit into a smirk on her thin, dry lips, “Or I’ll… drown before the… cancer gets me…”

I laughed weakly, shoving my alarm and horror at the demons in the room aside, and took her thin hand in mine. There’s my Andrea again, sassy as always, joking even about her own death. I only wish I could be that resolved about it.

“Andrea,” I murmured, ignoring the demons and clinging to her hand as if for dear life, “Listen, I’m sorry… God, I’m so sorry, I wish… I wish I could’ve…”

“Michael hon,” she replied, voice croaking. “Michael, don’t you dare... This isn’t your fault… you always did blame yourself… for everything… You always do that…”

My face fell as my eyes dropped in shame to the floor. She was right, and I knew it. I did. I really did. I’d been doing nothing but for two weeks…

Footsteps sounded on the tile floor, and the air began to thicken. Began to cloud. Became ill…

The Surgeon…

I looked back up to her.

“I feel like an idiot,” I responded. “I feel like I’ve been worrying over my own shit, like I ignored you…”

“You didn’t though,” she replied. “You visited every day.... You only worried because… you wanted me to be alright… I know you, Michael… I love you. And you’re not a selfish man…”

A small smile flickered at the edge of my lips, vaguely. Somewhere in the background, the dripping slowed and stopped.

“I’ll be alright, dear… I promise,” she continued, letting her thin hand fall from mine. “Michael, do me a favor… I’m thirsty… there’s cups in the bathroom, could I… get some water, please…?”

“Of course, Andrea,” I responded, already halfway to the bathroom. “You’ll wait here, right?”

The thin, weak smile came back as she watched me pass the plastic barrier separating her bed from the rest of the room.

“Of course I… will, Michael,” she replied. “I’ll always wait… for you…”

I smiled at her a final time, then slid into the tiny bathroom, picking up a Styrofoam cup from the nearby sink. She’ll be okay for a minute. If anything, I doubt the demons only I can see will do anything to her. How can something specifically tailored to me attack another person? It wouldn’t make sense. No, she’ll be fine. She won’t be suffering anymore once all this is over for us. She’ll be somewhere better. And really… that’s the best I can hope for now, isn’t it?

The water rushed into the cup, cool and clear, and I turned the sink off as I walked back into the main area again. But something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. For one, the air had become heavier somehow, darker.

And for another, the heart monitor was flat lining, a steady tone ringing horribly through the otherwise silent room.

Oh God. Oh God, no. Not now. Not now, I wasn’t ready for it to happen now!

“Andrea?”

The cup fell from my hand as I ran back over to the curtain-obscured bed, heart sick with dread at the awful truth of what I was hearing. I whipped the plastic curtain aside, the heart monitor blaring in my ears as I stared numbly at the limp form in the bed. The Surgeon, his scrubs cleaner somehow now, stood over the body, stethoscope pressed against its chest, searching for a sign of life, any sign of life, anything at all. But there was nothing. Nobody there except for him. There was no Priest in the corner, praying. There were no ravens outside the window, looking from the building to themselves and back.

And there was no more Andrea.

My whole body went numb and time stopped. No tears slid down my face, no words escaped my mouth, not even a whisper. Gone. She’s… she’s really…

The Surgeon looked up at me, pulling his stethoscope and himself away from the human shell lying hooked to tubes and wiring.

“She’s gone,” he said, finally, voice holding just a vague sense of softness under all that oil and iron. “Go home, Michael. There’s nothing else I can do for her. Or for you. I’m sorry.”

The Surgeon brushed past me in slow motion. Another two sets of footsteps ran into the room, the footsteps of the oncologist and a nurse. As if in a blur, I watched as they tried, desperately, to restart her heart, to save her. But nothing. Nothing happened. She didn’t wake up.

She was never going to wake up.

I barely remember the oncologist’s apology, I barely even recall his face, blurred as it was through my tears. I don’t even remember how I came to be back in the park sitting on the bench, that’s how askew everything felt, how blurred and muddled and wrong it all was. How numb. Time didn’t make sense, reality wasn’t real. My memories didn’t even make sense, it was as if someone had started replaying them, over and over again…

The mental tape rewound, and the tears began again, racking my body with sobs. Not this soon. Please… Not this soon. Why did it have to be this soon? Why? Why?

“Michael…?”

My pulse lept like a jackrabbit at the child’s familiar voice, vaguely sad, vaguely hollow…

“No,” I replied, voice shaking as I looked up, staring at the tall, faceless demon and his child companion. “No! Go away! Both of you go away! Leave me alone!”

The Man’s arms crossed in annoyance as he stared at me, watching the tears stream down my face.

“That was very rude of you, Michael,” Mori pouted, crossing her own arms. “That’s the thanks he gets for saving you from the Whisperer? He thinks that’s very ungrateful of you.”

“I don’t even care anymore,” I replied, half-laughing in a sick, fearful amusement. “I don’t care! I can’t take this anymore, you won’t even tell me what you want, I…”

My laughter slowly turned back into sobbing, and I collapsed from the bench to my knees, unable to control myself anymore. The nightmare… this wasn’t going to end, was it? This was never going to end, not for me. The other demons might be gone for now, but this one… this one was always going to haunt me, always going to follow me, watching me… I was never going to be free of him. Never. And it would surely drive me to insanity.

“Please,” I croaked through my tears, staring at the slushy ground between my gloved fingers. “Please… it hurts, everything hurts and I don’t understand… I don’t know what you want me to say or do. Why won’t you leave me be? What do you want me to do?”

I shook, breath heaving in heavy sobs. Neither the girl nor the Man said a word for what seemed like forever.

Then, gently, a skeletal hand’s razor-thin fingers brushed against my face, frigid to the touch, the skin like parchment paper over wire. The dexterous tips slid from my cheek to my chin, tilting my head up to stare at the Man, his eyeless gaze softer somehow than before.

“Nothing happens without reason, Michael,” Mori responded as my eyes searched the Man’s blankness for emotions I knew I wouldn’t find there. “He knows you’re afraid and he says he can’t leave you alone. Because he is your fear, and you need him. He says he’s been with you since you were very, very small. He says he knew you before he even knew me. He must be very old then, I guess…”

My mind raced with sudden comprehension, anxiety writhing like tendrils in my gut.

“You sent them,” I murmured. “You sent them all… the demons…”

The Man’s head shook no, very slowly.

“No, Michael,” Mori responded, approaching and taking one of my hands in her own tiny hands, “You brought them to yourself. All he ever did was watch it happen.”

“Then what do I do?” I whispered, turning to her. “What do I do to make them go away? What do I do without… without…?”

“He thinks you know that answer already,” Mori said, letting my hand fall from hers. “So answer him. What are you going to do, Michael?”

“I…” I looked at the ground, the slush mushing between my fingers and the water seeping into my gloves. “I… don’t know,” I responded, looking back up at the Man. “I don’t know… but I think I need to make it to tomorrow before I worry about that.”

The Man’s head inclined in interest, and his hands folded behind his back, apparently considering my words. The little girl grinned toothily and genuinely, looking for once like a real child instead of a facsimile of one.

“He says you should go home now,” she said, playfully shuffling her feet in the slush. “Because he thinks you understand now.”

“I don’t though,” I admitted, standing. “What is there to even understand about the last two weeks, about… About any of this?”

The little girl laughed, and it was almost as if the Man were too as his slender frame shook slightly, chuckling soundlessly.

“You understand it, then!” The child responded, laughing and running off into the barren trees beyond. “You understand it enough!”

The Man’s gaze turned back to me once more, staring at me, through me, chilling me with its familiarity and precision…

I shuddered, and drew to my feet, backing away before finally breaking into a run back home. The girl was wrong. I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand the demons, I didn’t understand why Andrea had to die, and I was never, no matter how hard I tried, going to understand the Man. Not fully.

About halfway down the trail, I stopped, feeling the scrutinizing, anxiety-inducing gaze lift from me like a weight. I turned, expecting the Man to have disappeared, anticipating that I’d be alone.

I was not disappointed. He was gone, as I had thought he would be. Gone for now, vanished without so much as even a set of footprints in the snow to mark where he had stood.

No, out of all the demons, I was never going to understand the Man in particular, no matter how hard I tried to comprehend him.

But I think I might be catching on.

The Culmination

The empty, dark living room is silent as I open the front door and step inside, shaking from more than just the cold. I can hear every quiet little creak of the building as the freezing wind whips past it outside, feel every pang of the subtle little chill from the heater not being on, and sense every article of winter clothing that hits the floor with a soft swish as it drops to the floor from my person…

It happened again today. Another anxiety attack while I was out, just before the storm hit. Another lapse of control, another thing to layer onto all the other things I couldn’t bear anymore. I shuddered at the demon from the church, at the feeling of being watched all the way home.

Enough, stop Michael, stop thinking about them, please… you’re running out of pills, you can’t just keep relying on them to stop it… calm down. Please calm down. Calm down!

But I can’t. I can’t just calm down, not when my mind keeps swimming with a thousand thoughts about the Priest, the Man, the Surgeon, the words of the Old Woman and her Birds… all the monsters that keep following me. My mind aches with thoughts of them, of Andrea’s slow death, of how pointless it all is…

I yank my heavy winter boots off my feet, collapsing onto the couch and burying my face in my hands. My breath comes out in shuddering heaves as I struggle to control myself, and the tears start up again, dripping out between my fingers like water from a leaking faucet. Damn it, I thought I had those under control!

The faucet in the kitchen sink is dripping, but I barely hear it over my own thoughts.

They’re all laughing at me, the things haunting me. I know it. They’re probably watching right now from where I can’t even see them and dreaming up new ways to torture me, new ways to push my buttons and pick at old wounds, new ways to get under my skin… Not to mention the shit that just keeps piling, one after another, onto me concerning poor Andrea… Oh God, I can’t imagine how she’s suffering, unaware even of the pain she’s in, unable to even cry out for help…

Oh God, no. No, Michael, stop; don’t even start thinking about that. Please. Dear God, please…

And then my cell phone rings.

I lift my face from my shaking fingers, glaring at the innocent gadget as if it’s about to bite me. No. You better not. Don’t you even be from the hospital. I swear to God, if you’re from that damn oncologist, you can take your message and fuck right off, because I can’t take any more tonight. Not tonight. Dear Christ, please, not tonight…

My hand, betraying me, quietly reaches for the phone, lifting it to my ear and answering as I shove the anxiety back.

“… Hello?” I’m alarmed at how emotionless my voice sounds for how much I’m burning inside.

“Hello, Mr. Zarkoff?” The oncologist’s voice is filled with weariness. “Are you alright? I don’t want to interrupt if you’re busy…”

“I’m fine,” I lie, cold-voiced. “Is Andrea alright?”

“Well…”

Well. He trailed off. Never a good sign, this isn’t a good sign, he’s going to say something horrible, I know it…

“Well?”

“Well. Andrea’s woken up and is alert right now, and she was looking as if she’d make a full recovery from the surgery, but…”

I remained silent, anticipating the worst.

“Unfortunately, the surgery took too much of a toll on her, Mr. Zarkoff. We’ve done our best, but Andrea…”

I become queasy as my mind races with my pulse.

“Oh God… Doctor, is… Is she…?”

“No, she’s still alive,” the oncologist responds, “But... I’m very sorry, Michael, but at this rate she has maybe two more days left to live. We’ve done all we can for her. I’m so sorry.”

My whole body goes numb, and I almost have to struggle not to laugh at the realization. Two weeks. She and the doctors fought long and hard for two weeks. She lived two weeks despite all that.

And now her life’s going to end in two days.

“… Mr. Zarkoff?”

I hang up, the phone falling aimlessly onto the couch. I’m going to lose her. In two days. When I could have done something two weeks ago. I could have stopped this. I could have prevented it all.

And the worst part about it is that I don’t feel a damn thing.

I don’t feel a damn thing, not as I go about wiping the tears from my face, not as I go about dressing in pajamas for bed later, not as I go into the bathroom to clean up for the night.

Not even as I look up into the mirror at the man reflected there, his face tired and worn from stress and his eyes red from tears. On some level, I know it’s my reflection, but he looks… he looks so defeated, so broken, so jaded…

I watch as the reflection’s face curls into a mask of pain, tears flowing down his face.

I look down at the wet spots forming on the bathroom sink’s countertop. It’s too much. Too much pain to bear. Too much on top of the pain of watching her die, of just how little I can even do besides watch her die…

I could have been there for her more. I could have done something sooner. I could have done anything besides just sit here and cry like a weak little boy. Why?

“Why?” I murmur, looking back up at the man in the mirror. “Why are you so pathetic, why are you so weak? Why didn’t you help her? Why are you such a goddamned coward, Michael?!”

The image in the mirror snarls back at me as I scream at it, eyes filled with pain and rage. He stares at me, daring me to say another word, quietly seething just the same as I seethe…

My hand clenches into a fist against the slick glass of the mirror, and my gaze drops. I can’t. I can’t stare into those angry eyes again. I can’t stare into my own hate like that. I can’t. I can’t…

“Of course you can’t, Michael.”

I look up, confused at the voice that sounded so much like my own, and yet… yet I never spoke, I never said a word…

I almost cringe at the creature in the mirror in front of me. It looks like me, but… no, it’s not me, it can’t be me. I don’t have ragged, long hair, I don’t have predatory fangs and sharp, black talons for nails. The more I look at the image, the more I realize it’s nothing human. No human’s skin is marred with deep, black cracks like this creature’s is; no human breathes out thick black smoke with every breath like this thing. And no human has such demonic eyes, glowing like embers in the sunken sockets, malice in the darkness of its slit-shaped pupils…

“What’s wrong, Michael?” It coos in my own voice, snarling. “You scared again, you coward? Scared of yourself? Scared you’re losing it? Maybe you are, you lunatic. Maybe you’re finally going crazy, about damn time!”

I back against the far wall, staring at the demon mocking my own form, saying nothing. I’m not crazy. I’m not going crazy! I’m not!

“Oh yes you are, you loon,” the reflection accuses, pressing its hands against the glass from the inside. “You’re finally losing it because of that whore Andrea, right? Because you couldn’t do a damn thing to help her, because you were just so busy being a pitiful little wreck in the corner like you always are. All those creatures you keep seeing, they’re real, and you’re so weak that you couldn’t fight them off if you tried, could you? Could you, Michael?”

“Shut up,” I mumble, glowering at the image in the mirror and wiping at the tears on my face. “Don’t you dare talk shit about Andrea, and don’t you dare talk shit about me…”

“Ooh, I’m so scared, Michael!” The creature in the mirror grins, mocking me. “What’re you gonna do, throw Xanax at me until I go away like all the others? Oh, not the pills, oh no, my one weakness!”

The creature began to laugh deeply, cackling, and I felt my hands begin to shake with rage.

“Aww, is the little boy mad now? Is he finally fed up with all the bullshit he keeps feeding himself, or is he just pissed because I hurt his sensitive little snowflake feelings? Maybe if you weren’t so damn self-centered you could do something besides stand there and make an ass of yourself while your slut of a wife suffers.”

“Shut the fuck up!” I shriek, face burning in anger, “I’m done! I’m done with all this shit right the fuck now and you’re not helping!”

“Words and more stupid words,” the creature taunted, looking very bored. “Still waiting for your candy-ass to do something, Mikey… Oh wait, you won’t, will you? Because you counted on the bitch to do everything for you. The hell are your balls at?”

Before I could shout a response, another voice cut me off, feminine and familiar.

“He won’t do anything,” the voice said, “Because he’s burning.”

I look back towards the mirror again, staring at the image of another person, a familiar person… But there was something wrong with her – she was on fire, burning, positively glowing from the heat in herself.

“Dr. Hearth…?”

“You’re burning because you just keep on feeding the flames, don’t you, Michael?” Her face was a dispassionate mask. “How many damn times do we have to tell you not to add fuel to the fire before you stop doing it?”

“Hey, nobody asked you, Burning Bitch,” the corrupted duplicate snarled at the therapist, turning towards her. 

“Oh, shut your yap, you dumb Brute, you couldn’t tell a fire from a mushroom cloud!”

“Fuck off and let me do my job, sweetiepie, the adults are talking,” the creature responded, dismissing the woman as her flames increased in intensity. “Besides, doesn’t matter whether he jumps in the fire, or sets fire to himself – he’s too damn weak to put it out anyway. And he always will be, won’t you, Michael?”

My eyes snapped back towards the sneering, corrupted version of myself in the mirror, and the dam burst.

“I thought I told you to shut the fuck up!”

My fist came down on the nearby glass shelf full of candles, sending both it and the contents scattering all over the place. All I could see was red. All I heard was the sound of glass shattering, plastic shower drapes rending, the wooden door of the cabinet splintering as I tore it off its hinges…

“You think you got the better of me this time, you stupid motherfucker? You think you can tell me what I can and can’t do? This shit is not my goddamn fault and I am so fucking sick of all of you! I’m tired of being told I can’t do jack shit; I’m sick to goddamn death of the cryptic bullshit you assholes keep spouting at me! What the fuck do you expect me to fucking do when even the goddamn doctors can’t fucking save her?!”

I cocked my fist back, watching in a sort of animalistic pleasure as the woman vanished and the corrupted creature therein gave me a look of confused shock. It was almost as if he didn’t know what to do anymore, almost as if he were completely lost.

And then the mirror shattered under my fist, breaking with every blow in a spider-web of cracks. Again, I punched it, and again, and again until it was more crack than smooth surface, until the corrupted being was no longer visible, until it melted back into my own reflection, seething ten-thousand fold in the mirror’s ruined surface as I slowly began to calm back down.

Better? A voice asked in the back of my mind as I stared in horror at the destruction I just caused.

Oh God. I… Had I really been this angry at myself this whole time? So angry I destroyed my bathroom? So angry that even stupid, meaningless insults could push me over the edge?

So angry I could have hurt someone?

Jesus Christ, I need help…

Shaking, I stumble out of the bathroom, ignoring the little bleeding cuts on my knuckles as they dripped onto the floor. Dear God, I could have hurt someone. I can’t even control my anger, how in the hell can I control anything else?

But that’s the thing, I thought, numbly curling against the wall near the Christmas tree. I can’t control anything. Not because I’m weak, or pathetic or not strong enough. Because I didn’t act when I should have. What if I had? What if I had helped her before, or visited her more often once she got sick, what if I had taken control of the little things I could have before it got this far…?

The building creaked and groaned, the wind whispering in a raspy death’s rattle against the glass of the windows. Except… no, it wasn’t the wind, it was closer than that, in the building, in my apartment, in the walls…

Something began to scrape at the inside of the walls nearest to me, and I froze up in panic.

“You could have fixed it,” the dry, deathly voice hissed. “You could have fixed it all. Made it better. Told her it would be better…”

“I could’ve,” I murmured to myself, “So why didn’t I?”

“Because you are selfish.”

You’re selfish, Michael, my thoughts responded, thoughts almost not my own, in a voice that wasn’t quite my own. What if you weren’t? What if you cared about her more? What if you had better control of yourself?

No. No no no. Shut up, you all shut up right now, it’s not my fault, it wasn’t my fault, I didn’t do this to her!

It’s not what you didn’t do, the alien thoughts continued, It’s what you did do, and you know it. You let the demons in. You let them all in. You let them push you into the corner, you let them squeeze out every drop of courage, you let your own fear devour you. And it’s still devouring you, it’s eating you alive, inside out. It’s going to kill you, Michael. One of these days it’s going to kill you, slowly, choking you alive…

Oh God. Oh God I don’t want to die, I don’t want to, I can’t think I can’t breathe I can’t do anything someone help me!

What if nobody comes to help you? What if you’re all alone? What if they find you dead in your apartment all alone, years later after everything has crumbled to dust?

The tears slide down my face as my breathing comes out in gasps. Oh God. Oh God I can see it, I can see it clinging to my walls in little grey veins, spreading like mold, rotting the walls, growing and spreading and destroying everything slowly, and… oh Christ….

Oh Christ, it’s inside of my body, too. I can feel it! It’s there, spreading its little mycelia through my flesh, through my veins, polluting my blood, devouring my mind. Oh God. I feel it, I feel my flesh rotting, I feel myself dying, I’m dying, I’m dying!

I shriek, and I feel the fuzzy spores clogging my throat, muffling the sound. I clutch my scalp and feel the skin peel off in flakes…

You always needed her, didn’t you, Michael? The voice continues, and now I recognize it, now I realize whose it is, now I hear her…

“Andrea?!” I cry out, panicked eyes searching the ruined walls of my home for her, seeing nothing. “Andrea, please, help me! Please, I…”

And no one responds. She’s not there. Of course she’s not there. She’s gone, she’s been gone since the cancer first invaded her body…

And the voice in my head laughs, and the whispering in the wall laughs, and they both just laugh and laugh as I curl up, sobbing, whimpering, begging for death to come. I’m losing her. I’m losing myself. She’s lost, and I’m lost, and the world will never be anything but wrong ever again. Because I let it happen. I caused this. I let her slip from my fingers and let myself crumble, I let the demons win. The world is all wrong now, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about any of it…

Another voice joins my sobbing, a small voice, filled with anguish. A child’s crying, I realize as I look warily up at the front door. And now… now, a knocking on the door, constant and insistent…

Horror reels in my gut and my head swims as I stare at the door, dreading the idea of it swinging open. The knocking had become a frantic pounding, desperate to get in. Had I locked it? I’m sure I have. Dear God I hope I did, please tell me I locked it, please…

There’s someone there. There’s someone there and he’s going to hurt you. Don’t open the door. Don’t open it. Don’t open it!

My breathing hitches, my hands tremble. The voice… the child’s crying, the knocking… it had been just enough to bring me back to reality, just enough to focus my mind, just enough to help me start to calm myself even as the fear continued to rise in a fever pitch…

I shove the fearful voice to the back of my mind and stand shakily, edging nervously towards the door.

Michael no. Michael please, Michael don’t!

My hand, the skin on it clear and completely healthy, reaches for the deadbolt, unlocking the door as I peer warily out of the peephole.

The Man is outside, the Man and the little girl, the Man without a face. He’s slamming both fists against the door as he stares back at me through the small opening. The little girl is staring up at me through the peephole with a look of extreme concern and fear on her face.

I stumble back from the door, falling onto my back as I start to scramble away from the door. Please, not you two. Not now, not again, I can’t deal with you right now too!

And still the pounding on the door increases in urgency.

“Michael, please!” cries Mori’s voice over the din, “Let him in, please!”

“No!” I scream back, staring at the door as if it were a rabid wolf. “No!”

“Michael…” Her voice cracked in a sorrow I didn’t know was possible for a child. “I don’t understand… Why do you hate him so much?”

“Because you won’t leave me alone!”

“But that’s what it wants, it wants you alone! Please, Michael, just calm down and think…”

No, they’ll devour you, why trust a demon?!

“Because,” I murmur shakily, standing back up and touching the door, “They’re my demons.”

The door’s smooth, round handle turns in my hand, and the front door swings open, revealing…

Nothing. Nothing at all.

My skin crawls. Where are they, if they’re not outside…?

A tug on my pajama pants gives me the answer as I turn around. There in the corner stands the Man, observing with that nerve-wracking, eyeless gaze as always. And near to me stands Mori, her black dress tear-stained and her wide blue eyes welling with tears as she sniffled. It was heartbreaking to see, despite the fear both her and the man caused me, and my face fell into a mask of concern. Furthermore, it disturbed me. Every other time I’d seen the man and the girl, the little girl never had any sort of emotion on her face whatsoever, not even so much as a frown. So why now was she crying?

“What?” I murmured, watching the mold on the walls slowly begin to vanish. “What’s wrong, why are you crying?”

“Because he doesn’t understand, Mr. Michael,” she sniffled, wiping at her face. “He doesn’t understand why…”

“… Why what?” I asked nervously, anticipating something awful from the Man.

“He doesn’t understand why you’re so angry at yourself…”

My fear slowly gave way to nervous confusion as my eyes flicked from her to the Man and back again.

“But I’m… I’m not angry at myself, I’m –”

Mori’s little face screwed up in pain, and her upset poured uncontrollably down her face.

“That’s not what he told me!” the child screeched angrily, blue eyes blazing with as much scrutiny as the man’s stare. “You can’t stop Andrea from dying; it’s not even your fault! So why are you hurting yourself because of it? What good did that ever do?”

I stared blankly at her, then warily shifted my gaze to the Man that was not a man, the creature that had been following me since Andrea’s diagnosis. He stared unshakably back at me, through and into my eyes. Something was almost… concerned in the blank canvas stretched over where his face should be, the gaze of a father disappointed in his child. He didn’t want an answer, not this time. He wanted… he wanted something else…

“I…”

A terrible screech from the other room cut me off, inhuman and hollow, quickly followed by the sound of something sprinting towards me full-force. Instantly, both the Man and girl’s heads snapped up towards the noise, alarmed.

“Interloper! He is mine! He is my prey!”

I barely had time to turn around before the emaciated being from my nightmare careened into the room, talons shredding the carpet as it barreled towards me. Except, it wasn’t a nightmare. This was real.

Oh God, that thing is… they’re all real?

“Michael, run!” Mori screams, jolting out of my thoughts as the creature prepared itself to pounce. My mind races, my pulse increases…

No.

No, not this time.

“Not this time,” I murmur, steeling myself for impact.

The creature, all fury and hatred, launched at me full-force, the hit knocking me back and to the ground. Sharp claws sliced into the skin of my arms as I struggled with the howling monster on top of me. Don’t let it hit something lethal, Michael; don’t let it win…

“Why fight me? You should be fighting yourself, you deserve it, I am only giving you what you deserve!”

“No you aren’t!” I screamed, struggling to get my foot in a position to kick the creature off, “I don’t deserve punishment for something I couldn’t have stopped, and I certainly don’t deserve it from you!”

My foot connected with the being’s gut, sending it flying into the wall with a yelp of confused fury. It scrambled to its feet again as I stood up, and I swear for a second that I saw a faintly familiar look in its hollow, black eyes, a look not unlike fear as it looked between me and the Man and the girl. A look that very quickly was drowned out by rage as it ran at me once more, screaming.

Suddenly, as if a switch on reality had flipped, the Man appeared between the running creature and myself, absurdly long arms splayed out to block the attack as he turned his head and looked to me. For a split, horrific second, I could have sworn I saw more arms extending from his back, ten, twenty or more of them all as rangy and spidery-handed as each other, an inhuman amount of branching, freakish arms…

The Man whirled on his heel then, and pushed me out of the way with a single freezing, thin hand just as the screeching, clawed monster launched itself at me.

And I fell, everything a blur.

I coughed and pulled myself onto my knees again, everything a blur of white. Wherever I landed, it was cold, freezing cold, horribly cold…

I blink and pull my shivering hands out of the snow bank, staring between it and the outside of the building. The park. I’m outside, in the park. How…?

I have little time to wonder exactly how or why, all I know is that I can’t stop coughing, I feel sick, it hurts, everything hurts…

The blizzard howls around me, chilling me to the core. The coughing fit turns to hacking, the hacking to spitting out something liquid and iron-tasting onto the cold, ice-covered ground. I stare at the red spackles on the snow, half-laughing as I bring my arms close to my shivering body.

And then I fell into darkness.

Ave

“Welcome, child. What troubles you?” The priest asks in a creaky voice as I enter the Fountain Street Church, his back turned to me as he attended to his studies. His soft voice echoed, unheard by anyone except for me, off the stained glass windows and lofty ceiling.

I blinked in confusion at his question as I proceeded towards the pulpit. He’d barely seen me come in, he’d barely heard my footsteps on the carpeted floor, I hadn’t even so much as said a word and he already knew. How could he know why I was here if I’d said nothing?

Maybe he’s between sermons and he’s dealt with others who had troubles, says a little thread of thought in my mind.

He stiffened as I approached, as if not anticipating that I was going to draw closer.

“Well, child?”

No turning back now, Michael. It doesn’t matter if you haven’t set foot in a church in years. It doesn’t matter if you’re becoming nervous in front of a man of the cloth. Tell him. That’s why you came here, right? Because you have no idea where else to turn. Why not back to God?

“Father,” I said, pulling the hood of my thick winter jacket down and tugging at my knit brown winter hat, “My wife is dying. She’s dying and all I can do is sit here and be useless.”

I almost felt the priest’s concern as he considered my words, though he said nothing. Concern, and... judgment?

My eyes fell to the floor. No, it was my mind. All in my mind, which was playing tricks on me. My mind, guilt-tripping me for drinking when I should have been at home last night.

“I’m afraid I’m a selfish man, Father,” I continued, my hands wringing the snow and sweat from my knit hat. “I… She suffers so much, she’s got terminal cancer, she’s in a coma… she’s suffering and all I can think about is how much it hurts me. How little I can deal with it. Not her…”

“Go on,” the priest murmured, sensing I had more to say.

My eyes looked up to the baroque image of the crucified savior above the pulpit, looking down at me with sad, compassionate eyes. The only one in the room that didn’t seem to be judging me… I couldn’t. I couldn’t admit my foolish binge-drinking under that gaze…

It’s only a statue, Michael, stop. It’s only a statue, the real thing understands. Of course he does. He understands you fucked up, he wouldn’t have died for you if he didn’t…

My eyes returned to the priest, still milling about the pulpit organizing his things.

“Father…” I responded, swallowing my nervousness at the thought. “Father, what if Andrea isn’t alright when she finally passes on?”

The priest once again stiffened and stopped, no longer setting the little communion wafers in their packages aside, or setting aside the little chalice, or even closing the hymnal. His hands folded behind his back, and he thought for a very long time, silent and almost brooding, head tilted towards the floor as he thought.

Finally, after what seemed like an hour, he spoke.

“I think, child...” he responded, his voice now as resonant as God’s own, “That you are having a crisis of faith. This is not an uncommon thing when mankind is faced with Death, not an uncommon thing when mankind sees what they cannot comprehend. It breeds… fear. Fear begets anger, anger begets sorrow, and sorrow begets fear again. You cannot be faulted for being afraid…”

The response hit me like an arrow in the center of a target.

“Yes… yes, that’s it exactly, and it troubles me,” I admitted, settling into one of the nearby pews. “I’m a good Christian man, Father, even if I’m not practicing… but… I… I just don’t understand. I don’t understand why the Lord would let Andrea suffer like this, why He would let her die like this. Why be so cruel? What peace could she possibly gain from such pain?”

“So then, you doubt it is her time, is that it?”

I said nothing for several minutes, considering the whorls in the wooden pew, and then quietly murmured, “Yes.”

“You… greatly misunderstand both death and the afterlife, child,” the priest responded, after yet more thinking. “You see, the concept of death is this horrific thing to mankind somehow, and to be frank even I myself am not sure why. Life itself is so frightening, so full of danger, that it’s a wonder you don’t all scatter the moment something even remotely dangerous rears its head…”

I listened, intrigued, once more the child sitting in Sunday school. I found it odd that he continued to keep his back to me, but who was I to question the word of someone closer to the spiritual than myself? It would be disrespectful, and I was here for guidance, not to make enemies.

“And furthermore,” the priest continued, once more tidying his work area, “You seem convinced that the afterlife itself is something you earn, but this is not the case… Heaven and Hell, these are labels mankind applies, but these places… they have no true name. Only the names we call them. All die, and therefore all arrive somewhere at death. The afterlife is not someplace one relaxes after death, as so many deem fit to consider it…”

I blinked again, this time confused. Something… something about what the priest was saying, something about the way he said it… jarred me. It didn’t seem correct, it seemed… too knowledgeable. As if it were something not even a priest should know, as if it were information reserved solely for God. But on I listened, not wanting to be disrespectful, not wanting to cause a stir, not wanting to give reason for the statue of the crucified savior above me to cast his sad eyes onto me…

But Michael, whispered the little doubtful voice in my head, If this is the truth, surely it has to be the truth… right? Maybe your beliefs are wrong. Maybe you had it incorrect this whole time. Maybe it’s just you…

Maybe it is just me. In fact, it probably is.

And so I listened on.

“You see, Michael, there does not truthfully exist a line between Heaven and Hell, as you conceive it,” the priest resumed. “Rather, it is all one place, all one concept blurred together. It is where everyone is sent, sinner or saint, upon death. It is where demons hide, and angels, and many things you would not consider feasible or extant… and yet, there is no true theistic ruler. It is a truly incomprehensible, lovely, horrid place, really, most awesome to behold…”

I squirmed in my seat, uncomfortably considering what this meant for Andrea. If this was true, if this was the case and the afterlife was nothing more than a wasteland… Andrea was still going to suffer. She’d still suffer, even after all this, for eternity…

“Do you suppose, child,” the priest responded, again after a pause for thought, “That any sort of god can exist in a kingdom with no ruler?”

No, I realized, slowly, as my eyes widened in horror. No, He can’t…

My stomach inverted, and I could have sworn the Christ statue above flicked its eyes towards me in desperation, pleading for me to defend him. All sense of respect for the priest suddenly drained, and all sense of trust was broken.

“Enough!” I responded sharply, standing, gathering my hat, and proceeding towards the aisle to leave. “Enough… What kind of priest are you, saying stuff like that? How dare you, a man of God, say He doesn’t exist?”

The priest paused momentarily, considering my words again, but did not speak.

I was halfway down the aisle when he finally did.

“Michael.”

This time, I stiffened, and my heart climbed into my throat. I’d never given him my name. I’d never said a word about it, never mentioned anyone other than Andrea, I…

I’d found another demon, hadn’t I?

I’d have laughed at the irony of finding a demon in a church if it wasn’t so horrific.

“Michael, turn around. Before you do something stupid and rash again.”

As if possessed by a greater force than myself, I turned back towards the priest, swallowing my nervousness. The priest was now standing at the end of the aisle, in front of the pulpit, facing me. And he was wearing a mask.

Not just any mask, either. His face was covered by a white mask of some sort, one of those cheap plastic things you found at the dollar store at the last second for Halloween.

What the fuck? I thought, eyebrows knitting in confusion and nervousness. Why a mask? What was he hiding underneath it?

“Come closer, if you would, please,” the priest stated calmly, as if nothing at all were wrong.

And then an awful thought hit me. What if, since this was another demon… what if he didn’t have anything behind the mask? What if the mask was his face? What if…

My breath hitched as I walked back down the aisle towards the priest, eyes set on the ground once more. “Father…” I murmured nervously, fidgeting. “You’re… you’re not a priest, are you?”

“No, Michael, I am not,” the priest responded patiently as I came to a stop in front of him. “I am far more than that.”

“Are you a demon?”

“No, I am neither angel nor demon, although I suppose some may call me either.”

 “Then what are you?” I asked in a frightened whisper, failing to comprehend anything of what this creature had just told me.

“That is not important, Michael,” the priest responded, his gaze fixed on me, watching my every move. “What is important is your inability to let go. Your inability to do anything other than let your own anger consume you. Your inability to do anything other than fear. And most importantly, your complete and utter lack of the ability to deal with death. You are just as frightened as all the others, Michael, no different, no stronger or more courageous in the face of it. A shame. I had perhaps thought you would more readily embrace it, seeing as Andrea is so close to it now.”

The priest leaned down, one hellfire-hot hand on my shoulder, and for the first time I looked up into his eyes and saw… nothing. The priest’s eyes were not eyes, more like wet, obsidian orbs set in sockets that vaguely resembled human eyes…

I shuddered.

“I cannot blame you for the last thing, Michael,” the priest continued. “No human can comprehend the true nature of death, not when humans must first die to understand death… a shame you can’t join me in that knowledge. There is, you know, still time…”

The priest extended both arms, as if offering to take me in.

“No… I… can’t do that,” I responded, lowering my gaze back to the floor and proceeding back towards the door again. “I can’t accept that, Father. I just can’t. It’s a catch-22 and -”

“And the universe is built on such fallacious logic,” the priest continued, lowering his arms once more in what seemed to be vague disappointment as he watched me leave. “But if you insist, Michael, very well. Continue to believe your shallow view of death. I refuse to try to change your mind; I have already both piped for you and sung a dirge for you, and yet you have neither danced nor mourned. It is of little consequence to me. But remember, Michael, you are only human, and humans often learn throughout their entire lives. Knowing this… what shall you do when Andrea is gone?”

I paused mid-stride in front of the door, not bothering to turn back towards the priest.

“I don’t know,” I said, my fist clenched against the church’s door. “But I know for damn sure I don’t need your help to do it.”

“As you wish. But I do believe we might once more cross paths –”

The mighty wooden door slammed shut behind me as I walked down the stairs into the snowy street, cutting the priest off. Seven ravens, startled in the nearby tree, cawed raucously as they scattered in every direction, aimless.

Aimless…

That’s just what you are, Michael, aren’t you? Aimless. Losing everything. You don’t even have faith to fall back on now, do you? So what are you, Michael? Where do you go? What the hell are you going to do now?

I stood, silent, considering, as the snowflakes caught in my knit hat, the knit hat Andrea had made for me. Silent as I felt my gut jangle in anxiety I couldn’t contain anymore.

Silent as I walked home again, feeling tears slide into the snowdrifts beneath my feet.