Page 18 of Anathema

Nothing.

Had I imagined it? Had my mind somehow conjured that sound?

Once settled in bed again, I turned toward the window, willing myself to erase the visual of Uncle Riftyn cornering Aleysia’s body against the wall, his pants pooled at his ankles, their naked limbs tangled around each other. The jarring shock of it still had my heart pounding in my chest.

I’d never been with a boy that way before, not fully penetrated, at least, though I did have a crush on one of the boys from my parish. Slightly older. The son of a miner, strong and handsome. The day before he left to fight for the Vonkovyan Army, he’d walked me home from the village square, where I’d gone to feed Mrs. Chalmsley some stale bread and dried fruits. Along a wooded stretch of road, he’d asked if I’d ever been touched by a boy before. When I’d told him I hadn’t, he said he’d never touched a girl, either. He asked if I’d allow him one small touch before he left for war, and I’d said yes. Right there on a deserted road, I lifted my skirt and let him touch me in that forbidden place. Had anyone caught us, we’d have been beaten for it, or worse.

Still, I savored the feel of his strong hands on my most delicate flesh. No rumors between us. No scorn or crooked faces judging us. Just a curious boy and girl.

I distinctly remembered his eyes, heavy with lust as he slid his fingers inside of me.

Eyes that had dulled, vacant and lifeless, when he’d returned from Lyveria, laid out on the concrete slab in Uncle Felix’s examination room, with his throat cut open. While a feeling of sorrow had filled my chest, I couldn’t help the envy he’d stirred. What freedom he must’ve felt when he’d closed his eyes and drifted out of that mangled body.

I never once spoke of our encounter–not even to Aleysia, who would’ve taken that secret to the grave.

As much as I loathed the nature of her relationship with our uncle, I’d do the same for her.

At the click of the door, I dared not look to see what I was certain was Aleysia making her way back to her bed.

Ungraceful footsteps clunked across the room, and I frowned at her blatant disregard. Cla-clunk. Cla-clunk. Cla-clunk.

Frustrated with her, I turned over in bed. “Do you have to be so–”

A cold, wet hand pressed to my mouth, and a scream ripped from my throat as I stared up at the horrid creature standing over my bed, whose pale, gaunt face carried a shadow of terror. The man from The Banishing, earlier. He released my mouth, leaving behind a sticky wetness that clung to my lips, prodding me to wipe it away, but my muscles wouldn’t move. Not even my lungs, which held my last drawn breath. He lifted a shiny, skinless finger to his lips, quieting me. Half of his face had been torn away to raw flesh and bits of bone. Hysterics gripped my chest, allowing only small panting breaths, as I lay staring up at him, studying his ghastly features.

The door clicked again.

Behind the man, I watched Aleysia pad toward her bed, not sparing him a single glance. On passing, she smiled at me. “Oh. I thought you were asleep.” Trembling, I turned only slightly, to see the man still standing there, while my sister approached him from behind.

Not an ounce of hesitation in her step. As if she couldn’t see him, at all, she practically waltzed right up alongside him. The sight of the two standing side by side left me paralyzed in disbelief. What was this madness?

Do you not see him? I wanted to say, but I couldn’t summon a single word.

“Are you all right? You look … pale.” Aleysia reached down to draw her thumb over my mouth and frowned down at her finger. Wiping whatever it was away on her skirt, she rounded the bed, walking right through the man, who wavered in a cloud of black smoke.

An illusion. It had to be an awful, terrifying illusion.

An intense burn at my arm flared again, and without thinking, I lifted it, unwittingly drawing Aleysia’s attention there.

“Dear god, Maeve, what happened?” She held my arm in her hands, the same hands I’d seen pinned to the wall by Uncle Riftyn only moments before. As she did so, the figure of The Banishing Man faded out of view, offering a small bit of relief to the turmoil churning in my gut.

I finally spoke. “I cut it.”

“On what?”

I didn’t answer at first, my head still searching for reason, answers for what had just happened.

“Maeve? How did you cut your arm?”

I couldn’t tell her how it had happened. While Aleysia certainly didn’t buy into the religious nonsense and superstition, she still feared that forest as much as anyone else. “I don’t …” I lifted the back of my free hand to my lips that were still sticky and wet.

“You don’t what?”

“Please leave me alone about it!” I wrenched my arm from her grasp, immediately regretting my tone, but, for god’s sake, if she requested a physician on my behalf, there was a good chance I’d lose my arm on precaution alone.

“You do look pale. Is it possible that it might be infected?”

“I don’t know. I washed it. I just …” Lifting my head, I scanned the room, making sure the man from before was gone. Truly gone. “I’m just tired.”

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