"That went well," she said softly, smiling to herself. "It was nice to laugh. It's been a while."
Steve gave a hum of agreement. "They are always the best company. That wine was strong though ." He chuckled.
"You're getting old," she said in between her laughter.
They both shared a smile and silence came crashing in. Steve cleared his throat, the shift in his tone was like he was holding something back.
"Father Thomas called earlier."
Jeanette paused with a damp fork still in her hand. "Oh?" she muttered and continued.
"They demand an investigation to clarify the claims of possession at orphanage." He paused. "Tomorrow. Afternoon."
"What? That fast?" She turned to face him now, brows furrowed.
He swallowed, lowering his voice. "Yes. We've not encountered much possessions in over a decade. And hearing the possible first comes from our town. You and I know what the witch did to the town—"
Jeanette blinked. Her hands quickly flew to Steve's mouth hushing him. She looked around to make sure their son wasn't in view or close before she removed her hands.
Steve just sighed, he understood his wife's skepticism. Simon, their son, was a very curious boy and would press on until he knew what they were talking about. They're a christian family, they can't let their son know they were ever involved with a witch some years ago.
"So," he continued in a hushed tone. He did his best at whispering, but his solid, deep voice still sounded like a speaker.
"You should understand why 'we' need to act fast—"
"Unbelievable," she muttered under her breath, cutting his statement.
"She said nothing, no entity, demonic or divine could get into this town. How now? She said she severed this town from all realms as they say. Hid us from both God and the Devil?" she questioned.
"I know." His voice was low. "As far as we know, we made a deal with fire and now the smoke's leaking. We just—"
"But that was the whole point... of this town... of you and I!" Her voice laced with panic and fear. "Nothing was supposed to come here."
She took short breaths, pacing around the sink trying to calm herself down, but it wasn't helping.
"I'm scared, Steve." she mumbled.
"Relax, Jean. Relax. I would be lying if I said I wasn't scared too. But we can't dwell on that right now." He said.
Jeanette looked down at the soapy water, her voice barely above a whisper, "Something's changing, Steve."
Steve didn't argue or respond.
"What about Simon?" She asked, her jaw tightened.
"I'm bringing him."
Her head immediately whipped up. "Steve—no. No. He's not ready for that yet. You saw him after the truck. Steve he didn't feel the pain!! How do we explain that? You're bringing him closer to what we should be taking him far away from."
"He's turning 20 next week, Jean. We can't keep pretending he's a child."
"He's my child!"
"And he's not just yours," Steve said, his voice sharp for once. "We both agreed to this a long time ago. We need to tell him. Prepare him," he sighed, shutting his eyes. "I can't start going over the past right now."
Jeanette's eyes glossed for a second, but she blinked it away immediately. Steve, in their 23 years of marriage had never raised his voice on her until now.
She wanted to fall on the floor and wail her throats out. She couldn't put a finger on what made her feel this way; her husband raising his voice on her for the first time or her son about to be exposed to a huge risk?
"What if it triggers him?" She asked with a sniff.
"Then we'll deal with it. There's nothing the Marlowes can't handle." His said with a firm voice. "He deserves to see this with his own eyes. To face it. That's the only way he'll be strong enough for what's coming. The only way 'you' can protect him, not cowering forever like a dog with its tails between its legs. And besides, there's so little that can come from an investigation, you know that."
She didn't respond. She just turned back to the sink with stiff shoulders.
Upstairs in Simon's room.
Simon lay sprawled on his bed, one arm draped over his face and the other clutched the pillow.
Jessica.
The hallway moment... God, that moment. Her face so close. Her voice a whisper. That look in her eyes when she said she was going to give him a birthday gift, and the gift was a part of her.
His thumb brushed over the bottom of his lips, remembering the way her breath brushed over his lips.
She was... just his friend. Always had been since childhood. His eyes met the glow-in-the-dark stickers Jessica and Ezra installed in his room when he was 14.
But tonight? Tonight felt different in away he couldn't put into words.
He struggled to get the thoughts of having Jessica against a wall off his head.
Simon hopped off his bed to get into the bathroom. A gust of breeze rushed in from his ajar window—it came with strong chills. He reached for the window in few steps.
Star-filled dark sky with the moon nowhere to be found caught his silver eyes. He took it in a breath, then shut the window immediately.
He noticed some ravens cawing and perching on some of the streetlight across the street. For what's what, ravens don't come out at night. But Mehh.
He got into the bathroom and out again. Stepping into the room, the lights were turned off. He didn't remember turning them off before the bathroom. And not just that, the strong smell of soot and bitter after-burn scent like rot filled the room like it was slowly seeping in. But nothing was burning or decaying.
Click. He switched the light back on.
He heard two muffled voices downstairs. His parents were talking. No, that wasn't talking, they were arguing.
Click. It switched back off just before he took a step.
His brows furrowed.
Click, again.
He switched it back on—waiting for it to turn back off. He turned around to make sure he was alone.
Yes, no one was in the room. But no, he felt it strongly like he wasn't alone.
The doorknob clicked as he twisted it.
Then—
The air changed.
He paused, his hand still on the knob.
Suddenly, it seemed as though that bitter smell was coming from the living room downstairs. But there'll be no way such smell was coming from the living room with his parents in the kitchen and they did nothing to stop it.
He stepped out of his room barefoot, each step was slow against the cold ground.
Halfway downstairs, he froze. The living room was cloaked in darkness. Just as it was in his room earlier today. The lights outside barely pierced through the thick darkness just enough to silhouette, someone standing by the living room's window.
Simon blinked hard. The figure didn't disappear. It was tall and unmoving. It was nothing like his parents.
A shiver crept up his spine. Something in him turned animal. Without thinking his feet bolted upstairs, not remembering the stairs as he sprinted back to his room.
He slammed his door, locked it and leaned against it, chest heaving.
He didn't know what exactly he saw or why it made his stomach drop, but he was in his room and nothing could come in here.
He reached for the doorknob to double-check the lock. But the second his hand met the knob, he froze.
The air behind him had shifted. The temperature in the room dropped drastically. The strong smell of soot and rot filled his nostrils. The cold made his skin crawl.
Simon turned slowly and that was when his heart plummeted into his gut.
It was here.
That thing he saw downstairs was now standing in his room. Facing the window with its back to him.
The tattered cloak it wore rolled with no wind. And its frame stood unnaturally still. Its reflection against the window glass warped in Simon's vision.
Simon couldn't scream. It was caught in his throat and so was his breath—frozen like his body.
He tried to find words, but it came out like a whisper. "W—who are you?"
It didn't flinch nor turn. Just still.
Its head still remained locked towards the window. Its hollow stares still pinned on the ravens that cawed outside. Ignoring Simon as if Simon wasn't worth responding to. As if it hadn't bypassed the law of time and space to stand in his room.
Then slowly, the figure began to turn. Its body creaked like dry bones against another. Until its face was in full view.
And that was when Simon's legs nearly gave up.
Its face or what could be called one was made of hollow bones and shadows. Gaunt, skeletal, with four jagged horns that twisted back like a twisted crown.
And yes, its body was a bag of bones. No skin. No lips. Just teeth. Too many serrated teeth that stretched wide from cheek to cheek.
And its eyes, hollow sockets burning with dark amber glow, landed on him.
It saw him now, and it let out a deafening shriek—laced with disgust. Like it hated he was alive.
Simon pressed himself harder against the door, as he crouched down covering his ears.
"W—what do you want?" Simon screamed.
And suddenly the shrieking stopped. It took three steps forward, its dark aura exuding with every step.
It raised a hand, thin and bone-like. Its fingers gnarled and sharpened like splinters, pointed straight at Simon.