Page 14 of Dark Rapture
“Uh, that’s not subtle,” I whisper, my eyes wide.
“Maybe he likes poisonous plants, too.”
Taking my tea and my book, I wander over to my cozy reading chair and crawl into it, grabbing my fleece blanket and getting comfortable. I glance at the clock on the far wall, taking note of the time. It’s five in the afternoon, and since I work tomorrow I’ll give myself a couple hours of research time before I need to sleep.
Opening the modern looking book, I take a sip of my tea before setting it aside and beginning to read. I’m not hopeful something so pretty and contemporary will have the information I need, but I need to try.
Witches usually worship under patron Gods and Goddesses to guide them during their journey, so maybe that is why I left myself so open and vulnerable to supernatural attack. I thought wards, protection spells and my own ancestors would be enough to keep me safe from evil forces. Apparently those things are not enough where Princes of Hell are concerned.
I sigh, dropping the heavy book into my lap. “I was just trying to protect myself. I just want him to disappear and leave me alone.”
I was never one to speak my thoughts out loud, but since I started my practice a little over a year ago I have become acutely aware of the fact that our guides and ancestors often linger around us, watching and willing to help. Sometimes all it takes to find answers is to speak the questions out loud where our guiding spirits can hear us.
I thought everything I was pursuing would be enough to send my uncle away, but now I am questioning everything. I came into my craft with no experience and very little information, hoping to wing it and learn as I go. That may have been where I went wrong.
Just two months ago, my abusive uncle showed up at my work to buy a book. He walked around the store, and I was frozen in fear. I couldn’t move from behind the counter, my body paralyzed by his presence.
When he finally made his way to the counter and dropped a book on the surface, he decided it was the perfect opportunity to tell me he missed me. To tell me that he dreamed of me almost every night.
I had what I can only assume was a post traumatic stress response and fled the scene. I literally ran from the store, all the way home, leaving it completely unattended.
I nearly lost my job. I would have, I’m sure, if not for the fact that my boss Mr. Kline is a good friend of Dad’s.
It was after that experience that I decided I couldn’t wait any longer. For my sanity and for my survival, I had to try and get rid of him myself.
Sitting here now, my book in my lap, feelings of guilt and sadness suddenly flood me.
Where is God? If there are demons, there must be angels, right? That must mean God is real, too. Does he hate me? Did he abandon me as a toddler and leave me vulnerable for evil to find, ravage me, and then pick my bones clean?
These thoughts hit me like a freight train. I’m breaking my own heart as I sit here, questioning everything. Does God truly hate me? Did I do something so horrible, that he abandoned me to be molested and abused by my mother’s brother?
If demons are real, and angels are real, then God is real… that means, the Devil is real too.
A shiver passes through me. With a demon proving its existence to me, that proves the existence of the other religious aspects, too.
So, where is God?
Lifting my book back up, I continue reading.
Before I know it, day turns to night, and I’ve been reading for so long that my home has now fallen under the dark shroud of night. Tendrils of shadow fill the corners of every room, and overwhelm the hallway that leads from my main living area to my bedroom.
My eyelids start to feel heavy, as my mind becomes drowsy; filled with far more information than is likely healthy to consume in a single evening. Before I can form another lucid thought, I drift off into a light slumber.
Chapter Five
Selene.
My name is a whisper in the dark, a deep rumbling like a storm brewing in the distance. It barely pulls me from sleep, rousing me just enough to hear it spoken to me. Like a lover’s voice, so soft that I ignore it as though it is just a soft breeze through a cracked window.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
My eyes shoot open then, wide against the pitch black of night. I groan and shift in my chair, uncertain how long I’ve been out. I squint towards the clock on the far wall, but the shadows are so heavy that I can’t see what time it is. I’m guessing the hour is very late, because it’s still cold, dark and quiet outside.
Pushing the blanket off my lap, I watch groggily as my book clatters on the floor. I sigh, and reach down to pick it up, setting it on the table and reaching for my phone. I activate the screen to check the time.
3:33 am. I narrow my gaze down at the numbers on the screen.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
