She pulled her bags out of the trunk of the taxi, silently wishing she could just leave them there and hop back into the car. She dreaded being back here, this pit of hell where she'd grown up. This house of living nightmares where shadows moved of their own accord and the hall light always stayed on. This shithole of a house – a house, not a home – where her deepest fears lay hidden some where under her childhood bed.
Sabrina shivered, hauling the last of her bags onto the pavement. A gust of winter air rushed past her, raising goosebumps on her skin. Wearing a skirt was not the wisest choice she had made for this trip. She pulled her jacket tighter, her teeth chattering quietly. She turned and walked to the front of the cab, digging in her purse for her wallet. She paid and tipped the cabbie who smiled back and winked at her. He eyed her with interest before driving off, something she had seen dozens of times but never got used to.
She understood the action. She was a pretty girl visiting from New York, with shoulder-length chestnut hair, creamy skin, a heart-shaped face and soft grey eyes. It was no surprise that men found her attractive, she just wished they could be more cordial when they approached.
Sighing, she picked up her suitcases, hauling her overnight bag onto her shoulder. She took cautious steps over the long, snow-cover driveway, slowly making her way to the front door. Another blast of chill air whipped past her. She seethed inside. New York winters were bitter where Seattle winters were damp. She'd rather be back in her condo enjoying a good book by her furnace while sitting next to her bedroom window. Instead, she'd been called back here by her mother to spend the first Christmas with her family in three years.
Fuck it all.
Finally, after many near wipeouts, she hauled her bags up onto the steps of the front entrance of the house. Her family had been wealthy enough to buy a house just outside of Seattle, but not rich enough to buy anything bigger than a three-story home. A majestic building built in the 1920s made of brick, sweat and a few lost fingers according to her grandfather. The old glass windows drooped and sagged, giving the house the impression of always being tired.
She smiled, sweet childhood memories of backyard barbecues and races flooding her mind. Shaking her head slightly, she rummaged through her bag until she grabbed her ring of keys, flicking through each of them until she found the old rusted skeleton key the unlocked the front door. She stepped up, unlocked the deadbolt, and pulled her bags inside.
Warm sunlight spilled in from the French doors leading out into the vast snow-blanketed yard, illuminating the beauty within. Granite counters in the kitchen, a massive tile staircase, warm carpet on the upper floors. A spacious living room with dark leather furniture, enormous fireplace and a grand piano tucked into to far corner. Dark wood floors, work with age and foot traffic, squeaked under her feet. All in all, just like home.
Kicking the door closed, Sabrina dragged her suitcases into the foyer, dropping them off by the cold fireplace. Thankfully, her grandfather had remembered to set the heater timer, so the house remained cozy even when to weather turned sour. Her family wouldn't be here for another three hours, so she might as well rest for a while. She leaned back, stretching her arms above her head and cracking her vertebrae back in to place. Eight hours on and off planes can fuck up your spine like nothing else.
She slipped her coat off and draped it over one of the leather-clad chairs. Turning, she began to climb the stairs, her sneakers making almost no noise of the hard tile. She climbed the steps quickly, taking them two at a time. She stopped at the top step, breathing in the warm smell of wood, fresh breezes and cinnamon that always hung in the air. A smile cracked on her lips. Cold and distant as it was, this place always felt like warmer and more inviting than New York.
Her smile faded when she peered down the hall. There, the door at the very end of the hallway marked her childhood room. The birthplace place of the nightmares that had plagued her since her youth. She turned to face to door, taking in the familiar color scheme of crimson red with yellow stripes. Colors that her mother abhorred. A shiver raced down her spine, a silent warning from her body. She shouldn't go anywhere near that unholy place.
Taking a deep breath, she took tentative steps toward her old room. Curiosity overruled reason. She wanted - no,
had
– to see if anything had changed. To see if her nightmare still lived.
As she came closer to her room, memories flashed through her mind of her darkest thoughts and fears...
***
The nightmares began when she was ten, often occurring mere moments after her mother would put her to bed and kissed her goodnight. While still wide-awake, out of the corner of her eye she would watch as the shadows of her room stretched and elongated, drawing up and up until they twisted into the form of a man. Well over six feet tall with a body pitch-black in color, his crimson eyes would pierce through the dark, glinting at her with malicious intent. When he smiled, two rows of razor-sharp teeth, each filed to a point, would wink at her in the moonlight.
Melanthius, she called him, the Greek name for 'dark flower'. A fitting name for her resident shadow demon because, to her youthful mind, there was beauty in his darkness. Though 'depraved shape-shifting mind-fucker' would have been more appropriate.
It started out innocently at first. As a child, he would sit on her bed and beguile her with ghost stories until she squealed with laughter at his scares. They would play cards or dice games quietly, careful not to wake her parents. When the hall light did come on, he disappeared into the shadowed safety under her bed, only coming out to play when the light was gone.
It was when she was a teenager that things grew more sinister. At fifteen, the harmless games stopped, turning into sexual advances. She would be woken up by his cool fingers tracing the curve of her waist through her shirts, or his warm breath caressing her neck. With her hormones raging, she never fought his advances until he dared to move too close to her thighs. Then she would smack his hand away and settle into her bed. Afterwards, he would sit on the edge of her bed grinning at her, watching as she slept.
One the night of her eighteenth birthday, Melanthius had waited until she had fallen asleep to make his move. Sliding black tendrils around her waist and ankles to hold her steady, he forced her legs wide and slipped his shadowy fingers between her thighs. The pain startled her awake, causing her to thrash uselessly against her restraints. Her virginity now gone, she stared down at her former 'friend'. He stared back with a devilish grin.
"Hush now, Sabrina." His voice, always more of a hiss than an actual sound, slid across her skin. "You're mine."
Five months later, after numerous arguments and pleas from her mother to stay, she packed her bags and left the house. She moved to New York, trying to put as much distance between herself and Melanthius as possible. She applied for a job as a waitress in a small café, and her life since then was calm and normal, though she kept the habit of jumping every time a shadow moved.
***
She stopped just inches from her door, hand outstretched and body quivering. Swallowing loudly, she turned the knob and pushed the door open. Her room, frighteningly, was the exact same as she'd left it. Rock concert posters dotted navy walls. Her oak bed still sat in the corner, just under the window, the blankets folded and ready for her. The blinds had been pulled, however, making the room seem darker than it should. Her desk still had piles of books and stacks of papers littering its dark surface.
So inviting, yet so sinister.
Her curiosity satisfied, she turned to head back down to the kitchen. She could scrounge through the cabinets for a snack before her family arrived for dinner. The eight hours of sitting in planes had left her starving, and no amount of complimentary peanuts would ease her hunger.
A sound stopped her in her tracks. A deep, heavy sigh, like someone coming out of a long sleep, emanated from the darkness under her bed. Her eyes widened, her heart racing. That sounds made real the one thing she'd been dreading: her nightmare still lived, lying dormant in the shadows for the last three years.
Her lower lip quivered, tears welling in her eyes. "No."
