Page 94 of A Bond with the Dark

“Our book bags used to sit in a corner, and one night, a rubber band shot across the room, and they fell over,” Hilda says, looking to Maggie.

“Sayah’s mom and her Aunt Janet shared a room,” Maggie continues, “One night, they heard breathing in the vent and chains on the stairs, so they pulled the covers over their heads. Something burst into the room and started thrashing all the perfumes and things off the dresser top. They realized it wasn't a dream when they woke up in the morning.”

Chills climb my arms and the back of my neck.

Their ghost stories never get old.

Lydia stops cooking for a moment and leaves to grab something from the living room.

“What about you, Dom?” Hilda asks. “What happened to you?”

“Oh, this old house we had when I was a kid had a singing ghost,” he says, reclining back. “She was gentle and liked to turn the lights on and run the faucet, but nothing too major.”

Suddenly we hear a scream. “David?” comes Lydia’s panicked voice from the other room.

Chairs scraping against faux wood echo as Dom and I scamper into the other room, quickly followed by Hilda and Maggie.

My dad is lying on the couch, gray as a sidewalk, dripping sweat, and talking nonsense.

“Daddy?” I exclaim in a tone of wild panic, running and skidding to my knees at his side. “Daddy, what’s wrong?”

“I’m gonna die tonight,” he slurs; his voice is high-pitched, and it’s clear that he’s not himself.

“Lydia, what is it? What’s wrong?” I look at her, my eyes burning frantically into hers.

“I don’t know,” she breathes, kneeling on the floor beside me. “I came out here to get my water, and he was like this. He asked if I thought his eyes were dilated, and then he started telling me goodbye, that I was the love of his life, and he doesn’t know what he would have done without me.” Tears are streaming down her face, and hysteria taints her voice.

“Does it have anything to do with his heart?” I inquire, holding my dad’s clammy hand.

Six years ago, my dad suffered from cardiac arrest and had a defibrillator implanted.

“I don’t know,” she says, stroking his hair, her eyes bulging with fright.

“I love you, Sayah. You’re my one and only,” my dad stutters, and I can tell from his eyes that something is seriously wrong. All I can think about is that I just lost my mom a month ago, and now, I’m going to lose my dad, too.

Dom pulls me up by my arm and into the hallway. “It’s his blood pressure,” he says quickly, the dark mystery of his eyes penetrating. “I can help him, but I have to move fast, and we can veilweave them later to forget.”

I nod urgently as his fangs protrude and his eyes whiten. Following him back into the living room, a grotesque crunch echoes as he bites into his arm, deep enough to draw blood. He squeezes it so the pool of crimson is thick and dripping and shoves his arm onto my dad’s mouth before he can even protest.

Lydia gasps and freezes in horror.

Hilda and Maggie keep unreadable expressions, watching Dom as though he was doing CPR. As strange as that is, I return my focus to Lydia.

Dad’s eyes are fixed on the ceiling, absentmindedly blank as he grasps Dom’s bleeding arm with both hands, suckling at the wound like a baby cow at a bottle. As he drinks, the gray begins to fade, his color returning.

“What’s he doing?” Hilda asks, seemingly incapable of looking away.

I put my arm around her, not knowing what else to do.

“What are you doing?” Lydia screams, scrambling to her feet and retreating from Dom. “You fucking psychopath! We need to call nine-one-one!”

Panic blows her eyes wide, making my heart race.

I hope Dom hurries to veilweave her first so that she stops panicking.

Satisfied that my dad has gotten enough, he jumps over the couch and grabs Lydia by her shoulders like he reads my thoughts.

At first, she puts her arms up in defense, trying to slip out of his grip, but the moment she catches his eyes, her thrashing stops. Whatever his mind tells her, it’s enough to calm her as her eyes go blank, her arms limp at her sides, and she nods.

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