Penumbra - Chapter 3

She was my height, and though her insubstantial form lent little detail, the outline of her hair was clear enough, the general shape of her body familiar enough, and the slouching posture reminiscent enough to leave little doubt I was looking at my mom. Her drifting white form walked though the kitchen towards the living room as though I wasn’t there. As she walked by, a familiar tune wafted through the still air -the waltz-y opening notes to “I Love Lucy”. The smell of Virginia Slims hung over the kitchen like an aura, but these senses yielded to silence and stagnation as the vapor-spirit passed further into the house, disappearing into the black hallway toward her bedroom. I let out a small gasp as the breath I had been holding finally broke the silence. I stayed and took several deep breaths, calming myself. I started off after the figure, feeling my way along the hall into the darkness. My eyes had begun to adjust as I continued into her room.

Standing in the small bedroom were two figures. My mother slouched to the left of the second figure. Taller and standing straighter, with a smooth head and wide shoulders, this decidedly male figure could only be my stepfather. I felt a sting of irritation at his presence. Whatever’s going on here, I guess it was too much to hope he wasn’t a part of it. Both of them stood facing the doorway I was in. They lacked the yellow, sun-filled portals the original invader had shown for eyes. Instead, theirs were simply holes in the shifting forms of their heads, showing the inky blackness of the darkened room. They regarded me with sterile placidity. The temperature in the room seemed to have dropped. The air remained still as death. The silence was slowly eroded by a low hum, originating from nowhere, or from everywhere, like a lost tune on the fleeing coattails of a dream. But the hum was growing, and soon my skin began to crawl. The figure of my mother brought her hands to her face and covered it, slouching deeper still. My stepfathers apparition simply stared stoically ahead.

Drawn in by misplaced concern, or curiosity, or maybe just stirred to action by the ever-increasing hum that was distorting the air now, I advanced and reached out for my mother’s form, grasping for her wrist.

A snap rang out through the house, and light flooded my eyes as the sound of a distant scream came closer and closer before burying itself in my head like a dying star.

I was gone again, roiling in malice. Blood-red sparks leapt out from the end of a lighter and flames rose up in my chest, fire erupting from my eyes, nose and mouth. No sooner was I conflagrated; I was thrashing in a darkened sea. Waves tossed my body like a piece of jetsam, and I tumbled out of sight, behind some darkened doorway which swiftly flew open. I stared down at a boy, huddled at the head of his bed. My eyes were coals, smoldering and terrible, and smoke issued from my mouth like a monsoon, filling the room as I stepped closer to the cowering child. My mouth opened with a fresh billowing gale of choking reek, which enveloped the boy on his bed until he cowered no more. He looked up at me with an expression of curiosity and interest, and reached up toward my face, indifferent to my horrors and treachery. And as the boy clawed towards me in the height of my malignant terror, I swept out of the room without a word, my kindling rage replaced by cold detachment, the door slamming behind me, plunging the room and its boy into ever-night once again.

I was dejected hate and cold cruelty. Ice gripped my heart and battled with my lungs. As I sank deeper into numb stillness, the waters of my prison came crashing down again and I tumbled though the turbulent whirlpool. With an explosion of stinging hail, I burst back into the house like a mountain gale, I had surely come from the top of the mountain, but equally sure I was from the deepest reaches of hades. Collapsing to my knees, I held a hand to my nose and felt hot, fresh blood running across my knuckles, so I pressed in and leaned my head back, feeling the heat trickle down my throat.

The bedroom was covered in a rime frost, oddly bright, the light from behind me bathing the room in reflective luminance. The crystals of ice sparkled on the wooden bedposts, the TV mounted on the wall, and the oak dresser in the corner. The white of winter dulled slowly in the mounting reality of the desert heat, and a pale vapor twisted over the center of the bedroom. Two sperate knots of rapidly swirling mist bent and warped, becoming smoother and slower until they settled over the floor in two new forms.

The first was a canine of some kind, but not one I had ever seen before. It stood a foot and a half off the ground, and had matted, short and shaggy fur. It had a tail tucked close to its body and an odd, stunted torso with shorter back legs than front. It bolted from the room, making a strange yipping sound, its smoky form leaving a trail of white fog that dissipated slowly.

The second was perched on the bedpost, easily distinguishable as a common dove. It tilted its featureless head toward me before flying from the room towards the back door, likewise leaving a faint trail of white. The stillness of the air had gone, and besides the unnaturally frosty room, it was clear things had returned to normal in the house. The TV in the living room behind me flashed through a rerun of The Mary Tyler Moore Show. The Swamp cooler hummed pleasantly. Walking into the living room, I found no sign of anyone in the house. Still alone, I slunk into the kitchen, shaking my head, and lost my footing. The world spun and my head grew heavy, falling to my knees. Fresh blood pooled between my knees from my nose as I breathed heavily and tried to stabilize myself. My body felt wracked, every muscle was sore, and my head pounded incessantly. Shaking with weakness, I slid onto my side, the cool linoleum pleasant against my cheek. With effort, I lifted my head so I could see the clock on the oven. Shaking rattled my body as my shoulders cried out in agony, and my eyes winced shut as the tears began to come.

The oven clock spelled out the word “WARN”.