The drive left Maryanne's mind reeling, the note's ominous
words echoing like pressure in her chest. Outside, the storm was relentless.
Rain battered the windshield, each drop a small, persistent fist. The wiper
blades smeared the world into watery streaks, and inside the car time felt
suspended—like drowning in slow motion.
Each streetlight flickered with a faint blue hue, as if
underwater. Maryanne checked the rearview mirror. For a blink, Roman's
fortune-telling parlor glowed behind her, a shadowy figure waiting in the rain.
Then it was gone.
Her hand reached for her belly but instead felt something
else—cold water rising around her legs, though the floor was dry. She
shuddered.
Turning onto her street, a low rumble vibrated through the
car's frame. Not thunder—something older, deeper.
Her phone buzzed—no call, no message… just static filling
the screen. For an instant, she saw a grotesque sinew tree of rotting flesh.
Her pulse hammered. She blinked, and the phone was dark again.
She pulled into the lot of their new apartment, its facade
too fresh. Paint unmarred, floors gleaming—yet a faint hum through the walls,
as if the building itself were testing her resolve.
Upstairs, Guy unpacked boxes, oblivious. Maryanne hesitated
at the door before stepping inside.
Minnie greeted her with cookies and tea that smelled faintly
of stagnant water and copper. Her smile was predatory, her eyes flashing with
drowned sorrow.
"For the baby," she cooed. "Blessed by an
ancient curse."
"I read your note," Maryanne said flatly. "It
wasn't funny."
On the counter sat a Church of Holiness and Truth pamphlet.
Pastor Vow stared from the photo. His eyes lit with divine warning beware
false baptisms.
"Sorry about my husband," Minnie said with a
shrug. "He's a real numbskull."
Maryanne slipped the pamphlet into her pocket.
"Well, I'd better get going. Roman needs me,"
Minnie said. "Bye, Maryanne."
"Bye, Minnie."
That night, nightmares gripped her. The room was filled with
a sulfurous resonance, throbbing like a distant threat. Guy's soft snoring from
beside her offered a temporary refuge, a reminder of the ordinary amidst a
battle of fear. Fractured hands clawed at her swollen belly, leaving
crystalline growths, and her love for her unborn child intensified the
terror.
She jolted awake at 1:00 a.m., gasping. Guy dismissed her
fears with a sleepy grunt.
Through the walls, Roman's whisper bled into her dreams: the
promised one. His voice was velvet with charisma, but the satanic undertone
pierced her heart.
Restless, she wandered into the kitchen. The faucet dripped,
each drop echoing like a countdown. She froze. The sense of being watched
pressed against her. The drips quickened, matching a racing heartbeat.
"Guy?" she called softly. No answer—he was
asleep.
It was 2:00 a.m. now.
Maryanne whispered to herself, "I'd better meditate,
try to fall back asleep."
She put on slow jams, the music low and steady, until
exhaustion claimed her.