Lingering Smoke and Ash

1928

THE LORD’S light shined down upon the church as the congregation emptied into the field. Emilia tightened the ribbon of her clothe hat as the wind blew through short hair. Her dress danced around her knees and she breathed deeply as the wind graced her skin. It was warm, a sensation she’d so long forgotten within her bones. Breathing in deeply, she savored the feeling before she returned to the farm.

“Emilia!” The voice trailed behind her.

Coming up through the crowd, the woman offered her a warm smile. She was dressed rather elaborate for Sunday service, but most of the women in the small town church all seemed to dress in such a manner now a days. The short coils of her hair were held tightly under a wide brimmed hat and her floral dress was such a dramatic design. Jewels dawned her ears and the curve of her neck. The glistening diamond on her finger caught each way of light that was cast upon them. The toddler boy resting on her hip was dressed in his Sunday best as well. His gaze was directed to the swarm of children at the playground; the one Emilia’s own small children were playing in.

“How have you been?” The women’s features and voice were bright, even with the underlining patronizing tone. She offered Emilia a quick hug, and a hand on her upper arm. “We have not seen you in Church the last few weeks. People were worried, myself included, when you and the family stopped showing. Especially… I want to offer my deepest sympathies about Jerome. He is a vile man for what he did.”

Emilia’s gaze narrowed. “I don’t wish to hear his name. I require no sympathy, the only that should be given would be to that poor harlot he’s planted his pathetic seed inside and the spawn he’ll likely be disappointing next.”

It was the well training of a good Christian women that had Mary biting her tongue. From the uncomfortable way in which she adjusted the collar of her blouse, it was clear Mary found the vulgar statement slightly distasteful. Emilia found herself caring very little to the woman’s comfort.

“Well,” she spoke, plastering an insincere smile on her pale face, “how has the farm been? Martha mentioned you needing to take on new farm hands.”

The children were laughing with a great deal of mirth. Emilia watched as her young ones tore through the grass chasing after their friends. Abigail was dragging little Mathew behind her. The young girl’s skirts and braided hair were ripping wildly around her as she went. Her footing halted, the child allowing her toddler brother to rush past her. None of the other children noticed the young girl turning to face the tree line. Her shoulder’s shock ever so slightly.

Emilia knew what the girl was seeing, even as she fought to keep her gaze from the darkness of the forest.

The girl made to step towards the forest, and before Emilia felt the need to race after her daughter, one of the other children dragged her back into their chase. Abigail began to laugh once more, the pull of the darkness slipping from her mind. Emilia allowed a heavy sigh to escape from her lips. She raised her gaze to the overcast sky, not for the first time wondering if the mere clouds were preventing the Lord from protecting her family.

“Abigail believes a demon resides within our home.” She had not told their tale to a soul outside of her home. Even her father, who’d resided within the very home that was being haunted, refused to cast his eye upon what was troubling them. “But I’ve told her that there was no demon. I think the devil himself has made home within my walls.”

“Surely you’ve brought this matter to Pastor Simeons.” The step Mary took away from her was well noted. She adjusted the toddler on her hip, doing well to put even a hair between him and her oldest friend. “If something is remiss in your home-”

The man in question stepped from his church. His gaze traveled to the pair of women and he offered nothing but a nod of his head before he stepped away. Emilia watched the man, her gaze narrowed and burning with irritation.

“Pastor Simeons would hear nothing of it. He believes it nothing but the fragile mind of a long left wanting wife.” Emilia’s chuckle was dark. “There’s no devils here in Virginia he assures. But he has not stepped foot into my home. He has not seen the darkness that plagues our nights. Does not hear the whispers that nip at my daughter’s ears. He does not know the evil that has taken up residence within my family.”

The very ire on Emilia’s words forced Mary to take a step back. The toddler in her arms began to cry. She bounced him, taking her gaze across the congregation. When she spotted her husband’s car turning towards them, Mary made to step away. “I’m afraid I must go. Jacob needs us to tend to his mother. It’s a long drive and we planned on leaving as soon as church ended.”

Mary turned and took a step. Before she got too far, she turned and offered her friend the kindest smile she could.

“I know you don’t want to hear this, but maybe being in that house for this long has not been good for you. I know being alone with your father… some of the other women and I in the church have started a book club. I can have a copy dropped off at your farm tomorrow morning. We meet next Tuesday. Bring the kids, one of the women’s daughter babysits them while we chat. Just…” The horn to their car began to sound. Mary waved at her husband before stepping forward and taking Emilia’s hand. “Just consider getting out of that house more. It’ll be good for you. Good for the kids.”

She said nothing more, before she dashed across the parking lot. After placing her son into his seat, Mary offered one last sad smile before she climbed into the passenger seat. The car drove away, leaving Emilia standing in a cone of silence. Most of the congregation had begun to file out by now. She made note of the women whispering behind their fans and tilting their veiled hats forward to hide the judgment in their eyes. It had been some time since she’d stepped foot outside of the farm, and she was abruptly reminded of why that had been.

How easy a suggestion, to just get out of the house. Adjusting the purse under her arm, Emilia turned to the playground. Most of the children had already scampered off with their families. Little Mathew was still toddling about, his paints stained by the dirt he’d been rolling in.

Abigail was a bit further down the hill. She watched as her daughter stood with an eerie stillness, her gaze directed into the tree lines. The little girl barely seemed able to breath. Emilia forced herself to walk towards her children, never breaking her gaze from her daughter.

Even when the shadow began to shift outside of the darkness of the forest, Emilia did not meet her eyes upon it.

.

THE HEAVY screen door crashed behind the family as they returned home. As she’d driven onto the property, that oppressive air had begun to settle upon them. She had tried to ignore the way her daughter sunk deeper within her seat, as if someone was pressing hard upon her shoulders. Entering into the home, she could not brush off her daughter’s behavior now.

The little girl had dashed into the farmhouse, only to skid to a start before she’d made it past the kitchen. She had stood there, staring at something that only she seemed to see in the corner, before grabbing the doll resting on the table and running off to her bedroom. Mathew followed close behind, struggling to match his sister’s quicker step.

“She’s too attached to that thing,” the thick voice shouldn’t have startled her as much as it did. Her father was sitting at the kitchen table, cigar resting on his lips and knife between his fingers as he worked at a piece of wood. His aged eyes were heavy with the frown upon his face. “You need to break the girl of that.”

Emilia kept the sigh within her lungs. She crossed the kitchen in a mere three steps, coming up to the sink of dirty dishes. She asked very little of her father, the man wasn’t able to keep up with the farm as much anymore after all, the least he could do was clean the glass he’d been spitting in. She looked out the side of her eye, grimacing as his cigar ash missed the ashtray as dusted across her table.

“It’s just a doll,” she replied, refusing to continue this argument. “Did Samuel leave the field report with you?”

Her father, Abe, grumbled pointing at the pile of papers at the edge of the table. Emilia removed her attention from the dishes, walking over to the pages. She was silent as she read, finding the numbers to be even more alarming this year.

Last winter had been rough upon their food storage; mice had made home within their root cellar and devoured their potatoes and carrots. Their salted pork had thankfully lasted longer without her husband’s mouth to be fed, but it had still been a tight margin. Even as winter turned to summer and their fields began to produce, the numbers were not what she wanted.

Prices were low. When they’d been producing too much, the low prices had been less of a problem. They sold enough to keep themselves afloat and keep the lamps lite and the water running, while having food on their tables and within their bellies.

The field was producing half of what it did last summer. Prices were still low however. With these numbers, the pay they’d need for their field hands, the amount of food to feed her growing children – Emilia placed the report back upon the table to looked upon her father.

The old man was working away at that piece of wood still. Smoke billowed from his lips, leaving a pungent scent to the air. “I asked you not to smoke in the house.”

Abe stopped the knife movement. He gaze his daughter a quick smirk before puffing heavily on the cigar. The ash fell upon the table. “In case you forgot, this is still my house.”

“The children -”

“Smoke is good for kids. When I was their age, my father was already handing me my own cigarette. Puts hair on a boy’s chest, he always said.”

He continued to prattle on as he always did. Emilia stopped listening, her gaze focused on the movement behind his chair. The hand moving across his shoulder didn’t seem to be noticed by the man. It wasn’t a human hand, but a familiar one none the less.

The hand was black, not like the shade of one’s flesh, but like that of wood dragged from the bottom of their fireplace. The fingers were trailing across her father’s shoulder, making their way up the stained collar of his shirt, and no matter how it moved across his skin, her father didn’t notice. There was no figure behind the hand, just the shadowy appendage moving across ignorant flesh. The hand gripped her father’s throat, its extended fingers were like smoke as it spread over his flesh.

Her father began to cough.

The unhealthy bellow ripped from his lips. He dropped his wedeling project, and the cigar clattered upon the table. Abe continued to cough, his throat being unable to clear no matter how hard he attempted. Of course his throat couldn’t clear, for there was nothing within it that was blocking his air flow. No, it was the familiar shadow hand wrapped around her father’s throat that now turned his face a sickly shade of red.

“Get me… Emilia…” Abe was pounding his fist against the table. Tears were flooding his eyes, but they did little to block the rage and desperation that resided within them. “… Fuck woman…”

She could only sit there and watch as the fingers melted though her father’s flesh. Under his strangled red skin, she could see the hand moving like smoke inside his throat. Emilia found her limbs locked as her father continued to chock in front of her.

As her father struggled, Emilia merely watched. If asked later, she would quickly say that it was the fear of the situation that caused her to freeze. But sitting there now, she knew the reason. As he father chocked, she yearned for him to do so quicker.

The sharp whistle behind her ear caused Emilia to nearly fall from her chair. She scrambled to her feet, moving towards the stove to take the kettle off the flame. Without thought, she grabbed the handle. As her skin wrapped around the burning metal, the heat buried itself deep within her flesh.

The burn wasn’t harsh, but as she looked at the slight red puckering to her skin, she found that lingering warmth to be alluring. It had been so cold in this home.

“Take the damn kettle off.” Her father’s wheezing voice followed the clambering of a chair. He was no longer chocking, but with hos rough he was rubbing at his neck, that pain still seemed to reside. His age speckled face was slowly loosing the red shade. He ripped open the cupboard, digging towards the back to grab an unlabeled bottle.

She narrowed her eyes at the moonshine as she wrapped a towel around the kettle. “Is that the Murray's brew? Did their last batch not kill someone?”

Her father waved her off, still coughing slightly as he downed the drink. He poured himself another, lumbering back to the table where his discarded cigar had stopped burning. Grabbing it, irritation on his gaze, he shoved Emilia from the stove to lite his smoke.

He stood with a near foot over her. At one point in his life, Abe had been a rather impressive display of a man – one built through long hours of farm work and an oppressive paternal hand, with a short temper and an authoritative hand himself. Age had hindered his aggression and strength, at least in the minds of those outside of the farmhouse. Emilia knew far too well that despite his aging appearance, her father still held that quick temper and heavy hand.

As he stood, blowing his smoke in Emilia’s face, she looked at the lingering marks across his neck. There was very little to be seen of the shadowy hand that had wrapped itself under the man’s flesh, but under the liver spotted skin, she could see the impression of fingers. Her father hadn’t seemed to pay the incident much mind, he never paid these matters much of his thoughts.

“I’m not going to be lectured on my drinks.” Her father blew a large puff into her face. As she coughed it from her lungs, he took a hefty swig of his moonshine. “Damn shame that I gotta resort to drinking the Murray’s swill, but I ain’t gonna sit through no kid of mine questioning my choices. I’ll drink what I damn well please.”

From the scent on his breath, it was clear he’d been drinking his fill. The Murray’s weren’t charging as much for their batches as some of the other moonshiners in town, but it still was pennies that she could not afford for him to wasting. Knowing this was an argument she wasn’t going to win, Emilia turned the burner to the stove off and left the kitchen.

There was a skittering in the attic that she chose to ignore. Passing through the small home, she continued to close her ears to the sounds of something moving through the rafters and walls. The squirrels were rather active this season, it was a lie she continued to tell herself. In a way, she could understand why her father continued to ignore the strangeness that had overtaken their home.

“- tell my mommy.” Her daughter’s voice trailed from the cracked door of the bedroom. “I don’t like when you do that.”

Emilia remained at the edge of the door, listening intently to her daughter’s conversation. She could hear Matthew muttering to himself the way toddlers did, but it was pretty clear Abigail wasn’t speaking to him.

“No,” Abigail’s voice was hushed. “You gotta go. Mommy doesn’t like you.”

Pushing the door open, Emilia stepped into the small room. Matthew was sitting on the floor, stacking his Lincoln Logs in a poorly made home. He seemed blissfully unaware of his sister standing in the corner. Abigail’s back was to the room, her focus directed towards the open window. The stained curtains blew in the incoming breeze, seemingly reaching towards her daughter.

“Who are you talking to?”

Abigail turned to face her mother. There was a thickening of fear across the little girl’s face. She glanced over her shoulder, to the window that no longer had the wind blowing through it, before looking back. There was hesitation written in her features, not unlike when the girl was caught with her fingers in the sugar jar.

“No one.”

The curtains gave another fluttered before resting against the wall once more. Matthew continued to babble on the floor, failing to stack the blocks as high as he desired.

There was an oppressive feeling within the room – one that had seeped within this space only recently. Whatever had taken up residence within their home had seemed to begin reaching for her children, something Emilia found did not bring her the trepidation that it should for a mother. She kept her gaze trailing across the room, searching for that growing darkness. The space was empty, aside from the two children and the residual presence in the air.

“I need to go check in with the farm hands,” she spoke. “Make sure you stay in your room. Keep your brother in here as well.”

Abigail nodded. Her gaze roamed once more to the window with the far too still curtains. “Okay mommy.”

Before she stepped away, Emilia closed and locked the window. She placed a kiss upon her children’s heads, looking her daughter deep within her eyes. “Stay out of your grandfather’s way.”

.

NIGHT FELL over the little farmhouse. Emilia had long since tucked her children into their beds. Her father was still out, sitting on the front porch with the customary cigar and liquor in hand. He would be out there late as always, essentially drinking himself into a slumber. Come morning, he’d be ill-tempered from the headache, looking to any excuse to pick a fight with either her or the children.

She tossed under the sheets, sweat clinging to her face. Sleep had not come well to her over the last few weeks. Unlike her father, she did not give into those temptations as to help relive that lack of slumber. As she struggled to fall into a restful slumber, the bed around her began to shift.

Emilia’s eyes were still closed as the blankets over her body were dragged off. Her half-slumbered mind did not fully requester the body that now hovered over her. She gave a weak groan as a heavy hand began to roam over her clothed body.

Her dress was slowly rolled up her hips. As the fabric of her undergarments were yanked down, Emilia began to awake. At first, her thoughts went to her long missing husband, that he had crawled his way back into her bed after his little tramp around with a much younger woman had gone sour. The yearning between her tights had her spreading herself, despite the rage that resided within her mind.

As a startling pain gripped her lower half, Emilia fully awoke. The intrusion inside her was like fire, ripping through the dryness that coated her inner walls. The pain increased as whatever was forced inside of her began to pull out and rut against her even more uncaring.

She tried to sit up, struggling against the hefty figure lumbering over her. A desperate plea and strangled scream ripped from her throat before a hand grasped her neck and smothered the sounds.

She was far too familiar with the feeling of that hand around her throat.

Far too familiar with the appendage desecrating her.

Far too familiar with the way her mother’s name was grunted against her ear.

Emilia struggled against the tightness in her lungs. As spots of black dotted her vision, she spotted the shifting figure by her open window. Despite the darkness of the room, the second intruder was a void of sheer blackness. It merely stood by the window, watching as Emilia was pressed deeper into the bed.

She reached out for it, begging that the presence overtaking their home interfered with this act. Yet it continued to stand there as if it were nothing but a shadow in the darkness.

The pain coursing through her remained as the man dragged himself from inside her. The scent of moonshine was heavy on his breath as he leaned over the edge and vomited upon her floor. He staggered away, demanding that she clean up that mess as he stumbled out of the room.

Emilia remained laying on the bed, exposed in so many ways. The darkness continued to press upon her, attempting to smoother the cries that built within her throat. She lite the bedside candle, raising it as if the light could wash away the events of that night.

Even with the flickering light dancing through the room, the shadowy figure remained as a form of pure darkness.

.

“I DIDN’T see anyone out there, but I don’t understand how this much destruction could take place with no one seeing.”

Emilia stood within the blackened remains of the field, the fire had ripped through them with a great deal of force. They hadn’t managed to plant much since the season started, and what they had was beyond what could be saved. She knelt within the wreckage, running her hand through the burnt stocks.

No one had spotted the fire, smelled the smoke or noticed anything had been wrong. The farm hands did not live on the property, but Samuel lived just a few minutes walk down the hill at his own farm and brother. The man ran his hand through his unkempt hair, looking over the destruction.

At first glance, it appeared like fire had been the culprit, but as she ran her fingers through the ash, it was clear that this wasn’t the run of the mill flame. There was no lingering smell of smoke within the ash. And as she watched the stalks disintegrate within her grasp, the plants became nothing but a stain against the ground.

Her thoughts went to the shadows that marked the walls of her home.

“Is there anything spared?” She knew it was a futile question, but she asked it anyway.

Samuel looked rather perturbed to answer. There was ash clinging to the hem of his denim overalls and stains at the rolled sleeves of his shirt. The dark bags hanging under his green eyes were like bruises against his sun kissed skin. “No. Had a few men walk the fields to check before I got you, but there’s nothing.”

There was something within his tone that caught Emilia’s attention. She looked him over, trying to find why the man she’d know for so much of her life was so clearly hiding something from her. He was refusing to look at her, instead seeming to watch something unseen in the burnt out fields.

She stood, ignoring the pain within her legs as she did so, leveling him the straightest stare that she could. “Samuel, please. Tell me what else.”

The man looked at her briefly, before sighing and catching her gaze fully. “The men won’t come back.”

“What?”

“A superstitious lot, all of them. No one saw the fire happen, but they’ve seen things happening prior. Load of bullshit, all of it, but it seemed to have given them the spook.”

Samuel scoffed, but there was no humor to his words. “Patrick and William both swore, on different occasions mind you, that they saw a figure walking through the walls of the barn, nothing more than a black shadow but it walked like a person. Heard voices within the growing corn and felt something tight within their throat. I told them it was all that moonshine they were sneaking drinks of while they worked, The batches the Murray’s make is like gasoline and wouldn’t be surprised should it drive men mad. But the men swear on the Lord himself that they’ve seen and heard these things and even more. They won’t come back to the property.”

Emilia’s heart clenched at that statement. They were already struggling to pay the handful of workers they had left, and she knew the late payments were making them restless. She’d promised that she was good for the money, she’d taken care of them despite how it made her family struggle prior, and she would not strip them of the wages due.

“They won’t work the fields?” She already knew that answer, but as she spoke it, she prayed that maybe some grace was given as they would not be left with no hands to tend to her collapsing farm.

“I barely was able to get the men I did this morning to walk the fields. And that was only after I offered them a dollar each to do so. They said they saw something.”

“Saw what?”

“They would not say. But you don’t have any men willing to come back to work.”

Emilia chewed on the words given. They’d struggled to hire the men they had for this season, finding others to work when her fields were burnt, her pocketbook was well known to be thin, and the talk of a spectator upon her property was soon to be the talk of the bars, well it would be near impossible. She looked over the remains, at least grateful for the food that remained in their cupboards. They would have no means to recover this season’s crops.

“I think you might need to consider the banks offer.” Samuel’s words seemed pained for him to speak.

“Be sure to tell my father that. He will never sell.” The pain within her neck returned at her mention of the man. The stench of the destroyed crop had plunged the lingering fragrance of her father’s alcohol soaked breath, but it hit her all at once again; the smell of his breath, the heat of his breath on her skin, the feeling of his hands holding her down. She could not allow herself to be overcome with the memory, not while their livelihood lay in ruin at her feet.

There was a look of concern within Samuel’s gaze. She remembered mentioning to her long standing friend the first time her father had drunkenly mistaken her bed for her mothers. As his gaze darted to and away from the bruising at her jaw, he seem to be debating on rather to burden her further with his questions on the man in question.

“Leave your father to the farm. You can come to my home. I know this is your home, but there is nothing here for you. Nothing here for your children.” He reached out a hand, taking hers and giving it a squeeze. “Just consider it. Why hang onto this place, only to struggle and die here, when you can start over?”

She gave his hand a squeeze, wishing nothing more than to take the offer and flee with her children. Samuel had always been good to her. “You would take in a women who could not keep her husband at her side? Take in two children that were fathered by another man?”

“I would take in my dear friend and her children.”

In another life, she would already be at that farm. She would wake within Samuel’s bed each morning, and the only person who would ever touch her body would be him. He would have created the seeds of her children and raised them with the love a child deserved. She would have been a wife, loved and cherished as a women was meant to and not who she was now – a women abandoned on a farm smothering in the growing darkness she could not understand, nor save her children from.

She wanted nothing more to take him up on the offer. Her hand slipped from his, not because she choose to relinquish the contact, but because a cold hand had wrapped around her fingers and pulled her away. That familiar cold embrace continued to grasp her hand, and that sensation began to flow through the veins in her arm. She’d so long gotten used to the feeling of cold that as what little warmth she’d collected left her, she barely noticed the shiver her body gave.

That unseen shadow took her chin, turning her face slowly to the awaiting home. It looked so cold and unwelcoming, yet a tether inside her kept her within those long dead walls. “This is my home. I cannot leave.”

.

THE ANIMALS within the barn were making a ruckus. They squealed and howled as Emilia walked past the open doors. She paid them no mind, choosing instead to head to her home. Resting on the porch, was the book Mary had offered to be dropped off. She looked it over, reading the name of the author she’d found herself enjoying prior.

As she reached for it, that cold grasp upon her hand caused her to fall short. With her hand hovering over the cover of the book, Emilia allowed the sigh to escape from her lips. She straightened her back, grimacing at the pain that still coursed through her lower limb, and stepped into the home.

Abe was once more sitting at the kitchen table. Despite how much he’d drunk the night prior, he had another glass in his hand. The bottle beside him was near empty. He looked tired, haggard and hungover even, but as he looked at his daughter entering into the home, he didn’t seem to look like he remembered his actions the night prior. He never remembered, that was a sick fact that Emilia had long since accepted.

“The breakfast was cold.”

“Had you woken with the rest of us,” she replied with snark heavy upon her breath, “you would have gotten warm food. Did you collect the eggs?”

Her father leaned forward, directing a finger towards her. “Watch the tone, little miss. You aren’t too old for me to deal with that mouth of yours.”

“Did you collect the eggs?”

He leaned back in his chair. There were remnants of biscuits in his graying beard and the stain of ash at the edge of his mouth. The scent of alcohol upon his breath was pungent even where she stood across the small kitchen. He picked up the glass, finishing it off before pouring the last of the bottle. “I sent the girl out to do it. She’d old enough to start pulling her weight around here. You’ll need to pick up another bottle of this from the Murray’s.”

Emilia didn’t bother continuing to listen to him. After checking that her toddler son was still down for his nap, she exited quickly out of the house. The animals were no longer making a fuss when she stepped into the barn.

It was eerie the way they were all so silent. The goats were huddled in the corner of their pen, a mass of quaking white fur. The piglets they’d yet to sell were clambering around their mother, who was using her large form to shield them. The chicken coop in the back was devoid of said chickens.

Standing on the other side of the chicken wire, was Abigail.

The young girl lay upon the ground, the basket rolled a few inches from her outstretched hand. Her young face was turned towards her mother, and an expression of pain danced behind her closed eyes. She was shivering, whimpering softly to herself as the black shadow moved over her form.

It moved like heavy smoke, as a hand like appendage toyed at the buttons of her daughter’s dark green dress. The hem was dragged up to the girl’s knee. The shadow was covering her daughter’s body fully, a hand placed over her mouth.

“Get away from her!” Emilia scrambled forward as her daughter’s whimpers grew. The shadow paid her no mind as it dragged the dress hem higher. She pushed through the smoke, and a shocking pain coated her flesh as it encased around her. She fought through, wrapping her arms tightly around her trembling daughter. There was nothing but darkness around them. Darkness, cold and the smothering oppressive force that had taken up residence within their home.

The coldness surrounding her began to fade slowly. Emilia continued to hold her daughter as the light inched its way into the barn. She was still cold, she’d been cold for so long now, but the ice within her veins began to melt as the shadow faded away.

“Mommy,” Abigail began to shift in her arms. The young girl’s eyelids were fluttering rapidly. She clung to her mother even tighter as a groan graced her lips.

“Are you okay?” Emilia pulled her daughter away so she could look at her face. Tear tracks cut down her cheeks. There was a scattering of dirt and specks of chicken shit on her face. A light bruise sat under her left eye. There were marks like fingers fading from around her mouth. The girl looked confused.

“What happened?” She tried to rise, but found her legs unsteady.

Emilia smoothed the end of her daughter’s dress back to her knees. She looked into a face so like her own, and struggled to find the answer. She could not find the words for the scene she’d walked into. She picked a piece of straw from her daughter’s braid and offered the most comforting smile she could.

“You fell and hit your head.”

Abigail’s head darted back and forth like she was looking for something. “There was someone in here with me. I heard them before… I guess before I fell.”

“Who?”

Fear graced Abigail’s gaze once more. She looked out the barn door, out to where the main house sat, before she cast her gaze down. “I was the boogeyman.”

“The boogeyman?”

“I told him he needed to leave! That you would be mad about him being here. But…” her voice dropped, as if trying to make sure only her mother heard her words, “but he keeps coming into my room at night.”

Panic gripped Emilia’s heart. The darkness beset upon their family hovered just out of her eyesight. “What does he do?”

“He stands there. He watches me sleep, some times Matty, but mostly me. He stinks. He smells like gas and he stands there.” Abigail grasped at the edge of her dress, trying to pull it down further. Her shoulder’s grew tight, and Emilia knew there was more her daughter could not say as tears overtook her small form.

Emilia dragged her into an embrace once more. Warm tears were coating her chest, but that warmth did not surpass the chill that resided within her flesh. She held Abigail tight, and tighter… and tighter… and tighter.

She held her child as the cries echoed across the walls and continued to hold her even after those cries grew into silence.

.

ABE HAD already fallen asleep upon the couch when she reentered the home. His snores were a deep racket against the dark stained walls. Emilia walked past the man, entering into the bedroom her son resided in.

The toddler was awake, crying softly to himself. When he saw his mother enter the room, he clambered to his feet, shaky in his movements the way all toddlers were. He reached for his mother. She did not take him.

Emilia looked into Matthew’s face, searching once more for features that she’d been searching for.

She remembered when Abigail had been born. Even nothing more than a dirty wrinkled mess, the girl had looked so much like her father. She had the same eye color and slight curl to the edges he did. As she grew, her stringy chestnut hair had been a near match to Jerome’s. They had the same laugh, the same dislike of too sweet foods, the same curl to her smile. She was every part her father’s daughter.

Matthew looked like her. Looked far too much like her. He had her blue eyes and the slightest of curl to his dark brown hair. Her curved nose, her thin downward pointed lips.

Her mother always said she inherited those things from her father.

Now that he’d finally fulfilled his threats and left, Emilia wondered if Jerome had figured out her greatest fear. If that was why he’d stuck his cock into a younger woman and ran off with a son he knew to be his own.

The toddler continued to reach for her, crying heavily now. She always prided herself that despite what they suffered, she was a good mother first and foremost. Her children were her world. But those cries only chipped away at the ice that struggled like sludge in her veins. Each ear ripping cry caused the black at the edges of her vision to pulse darker.

He was trying to say something, but even at the age of nearly three, the boy had failed to produce much of any coherent speech. The struggling of words within his throat set the headache growing inside of Emilia’s skull.

That shadow hovered behind her shoulder. It trailed smoky fingers down the length of her arms, and gripped her fingers with its own. She felt the embrace as it pressed against her back and placed what would be a chin upon her shoulder. The dark figure breathed upon her neck, and the smoke trailed across her skin. That breath was cold.

Emilia closed her eyes, trying to close her ears to the crying. That chill continued to coast through her body, and settled into the well of her stomach. She’d missed last month and with missing this month as well, she worried of what grew inside of her. It was too early to feel the presence within her womb, but the fear of another little boy coming into this world, one who looked far too much like the mother he sprang from, set dread deep in her heart.

A splattering of warmth touched the skin of her hands. It had a heat to it, that her flesh quickly devoured. The liquid thickened quickly, and dripped with an echo across the floor.

The toddler stopped crying. There was a slight slumping sound, before silence all but overtook the small bedroom.

Emilia opened her eyes, finding any emotion clear from her as she looked upon the scene. Matthew was still standing against the railing of the crib, but he was slumped over with his little head hanging limply. A thick rust colored liquid trailed along the handrail of the crib and drip, drip, dripped onto the floor.

She did not remember picking up her father’s razor. Nor did she remember slashing it forward. As she looked at the blade she held, that shifting shadowy hand continued to hold hers. Dark blood coated the edges of her fingers. That presence continued to lean upon her, whispering smoke into her ear.

Emilia stepped from the room, closing the door behind her as if she could hide what she’d done. Who she’d be hiding it from, she did not know, but there was a lingering voice that assured her that she needed to hide it away. Hide it away like everything else was to be hidden away.

Abe was awake when she reentered the living room. He was slumped forward, rubbing a wrinkled hand across his closed eyes. Heavy groans were escaping his lips. The moonshine always hit strong, and the stuff the Murray’s crafted always hit her father hard when he finished the bottle.

He lowered his hands, bleating his gaze upon her. He did not notice the straight razor she held – if he did, he made no real mind of it, fearing nothing from the daughter he’d trained well into her place. He made to stand, finding his footing shaky before dropping onto the couch once more.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Abe groaned out. “Get me a glass of water, will ya.”

Emilia did not move from her spot. She watched her father, the pitiful excuse of a man that he was. The shadow at her shoulder continued to breath deeply, setting the chill further down her spine. It urged her forward, urged her to strike down the darkness that had taken up residence inside her home.

When he wasn’t given the water he asked for, Abe leveled her with a glare. She had backed down under that glare so many times before, but as she moved to fulfill he request, that shadow held he in place. It gripped her wrist tighter.

“What is wrong with you girl?” Abe rose to his feet. He was sweaty and stank of booze and vomit. There was a trail of puke along his chin and down the front of his shirt. His pants were unzipped and dampness coated his groin. His sock clad feet struck against the door. He stalked towards her, shoving roughly at her shoulder as he went to the kitchen.

Standing there watching, Emilia continued to grip the razor blade tightly as he father went back to the cabinet. He grabbed the empty bottle of booze, tilting it as if something might materialize in his glass. Seeing nothing, he looked down the neck of the bottle.

Glass shattered as her father threw the bottle into the sink. “I thought I told you to pick me up another bottle!”

It was just turned noon, and her father was already piss drunk. He stalked towards her, and as his hand reached forward, Emilia’s own moved in a flash. The shine of dirty silver flashed through the air, before blood once more splattered across her face.

It was warm, and as the blood coated her lips, she tasted iron. Part of her had always wondered if her father had drank enough for his blood to turn to alcohol, but it appeared not.

Abe’s hand went to the gash upon his throat. His words were nothing but muddled gasps as he tried and failed to staunch the bleeding. His other hand reached for his daughter, but the strength was leaving him quickly. She merely side stepped him, stepping deeper into the embrace of the darkness, as he father skittered forward. He crashed upon the ground, clawing at the floorboards as the blood soaked deep into the wood.

He’d been the monster to haunt her dreams for so long, and it felt disappointing that he died so quickly. Died so easily. Did as pathetic as he did.

That cold hand trailed up her arm. She felt the smoke breathed across her skin, like a lover peppering kisses upon her flesh. She should have felt something as she stepped over her father’s corpse, but there was nothing.

Emilia pushed the front door open, crossing the yard like it was just another day. The blood coating her hands, her face and the hem of her dress were no different than the normal dirt that came from farm labor. The afternoon sun was safely tucked away behind heavy clouds. It looked like a storm was set to behalf the town.

Stepping into the barn, the animals were still quiet. It was only by the quacking of their forms, could it be told that they were still alive. Emilia continued through the barn, walking to where the chickens were stashed away in their coop. She pulled the chicken wire fence aside, stepping into the pen.

Her daughter lay in the hay. Her thin form was still, face stained with tears and a trickle of blood under her nose. She looked so peaceful. As Emilia sat in the hay, she took her daughter’s head into her lap. The little girl, despite being so so still, had the slightest of breathes remaining to her lungs.

Her eyes fluttered open. She looked at her mother with fear embedded in those orbs. Abigail tried to pull away, but all of the energy, and most of the life had already been choked out of her.

“Calm sweetheart,” Emilia stroked her daughter’s bruised cheek. The blood under her nose had dried, but the blood shooting through her eyes were staining them red. “I have you.”

Abigail was crying as the shadow hovered at her mother’s shoulder. She closed her eyes, trying to wake from the nightmare that had overtaken her.

“You don’t need to be afraid,” Emilia continued to speak calmly. “The boogeyman is gone. I’ve made sure of that.”

It was a mercy that Abigail kept her gaze locked tight, less she would have seen her mother take the blade across her throat. The young girl was already lingering at the edge of death, and it didn’t take long for the last of her life to seep from the gash cut across her bruised throat.

Emilia held her daughter as the girl’s warm blood drenched her lap. For the first time in so long, that warmth seemed to touch under her flesh. It was a nice sensation, before the feeling of anything was ripped from her.

Her throat was choked by the smoke. It reached deep inside of her, filling her belly with its dark touch. Emilia cradled her daughter’s form as pain erupted across her throat. A warm thick liquid trailed down her breast and dripped onto the still child’s face.

Emilia looked into the shifting face of the thing that had begun to haunt their home. It knelt before her, embracing her face in its incorporeal touch as the woman began to slump forward.

The blood slowed and the cold embraced her body fully.

.

SAMUEL HAD considered marching over and asking Emilia to reconsider his offer the moment she’d walked back into that house. He knew far too well that you could not force a person to leave a situation they refused to admit was vile, knew how hard it was for one to leave the only world they had ever really known.

So he waited, praying each night that there would be a knock on his door and he’d open it to find the woman their with her children. But each night passed and each morning began with not a word from his neighbor.

A week had passed since their conversation. Jonathon Murray had stopped by, telling him that Abe had not stopped by to pick up his moonshine order for that week. He’d gone to the house, finding it quiet and well locked up. Despite their car being in the drive, it appeared no one was home.

The burnt out field had seemed to flourish under the storm that had ripped through their side of town. It had been strange, but the heaviest of rain had appeared to focus itself on Emilia’s home. When it had cleared, the black stretch of land that had been their crops had been washed away. Among the mud, small signs of life began to sprout from the destruction.

“Mary says she was meant to join them earlier in the week for book club,” Jacob spoke offhandedly as he and two others walked the drive of the property. “Emilia didn’t show, and I told her that she probably had her hands full and didn’t get the chance to read the book, but the woman worries you know.”

Samuel felt a chill pass through him as he stepped onto the main of the property. The front porch creaked under their boots. The hanging porch swing gave a slight squeak as it swayed lazily on its chains. There was a water logged book sitting just a few feet away from the door. He wrapped his knuckles against the screen door, waiting for a response that never came.

“We tried knocking,” one of the men spoke up, “no one came. Barns all locked up as well like we said.”

Worry coursed through Samuel. He stepped off the porch, rooting through the little flower garden. Emilia had told him years ago of the spare key they kept there, and he was thankful that they had not relocated it. He plucked it from under a statue of an angle.

There were strange footprints that he finally noticed. They were sunk deep into the mud, and despite the wetness of the ground, those prints were dried. He brushed it aside, going back to the front porch.

He felt like an intruder as he slide the key into the lock, but the fear that something had finally caused Abe to snap pushed that hesitation away. He opened the door, stepping into the small kitchen. The stench buried deep inside his nose upon entering. He began to gag and would have fled had the men behind him not pushed their way inside.

Flies were buzzing through the air. That was the only sound to be heard. As Samuel stepped from the kitchen and into the living room, he found the source of the smell.

“Holy God!” One of the men was sent running.

A figure easily recognizable as Abe was sprawled across the hardwood floor. His face was turned towards them, vacant eyes looking at the men who’d stepped into his home. A large rust colored puddle surrounded his body. Vomit was dried at the edge of his mouth.

Samuel rushed pass the body, ignoring the calls of the other men. He pushed open every door, searching for the rest of the family in the scarcely decorated house. The sight of the infant’s dried form resting in his bed was what sent Samuel rushing from the home.

He vomited the moment he stepped into the sun. Even as the vile rushed through his lips, the sickness deep within him refused to leave. He emptied the contents of his stomach and continued to hack as only stomach acid rose passed his lips. The other men were talking, directing someone to collect the police. Samuel could pay them no mind.

His gaze went to the barn – the one that the other men had said was locked. The door was open. As if someone had taken his hand and was leading him like a child, Samuel walked to the barn. The animals had grown still in the death that had taken them. There was no clear sign of death upon them, but death had taken them none the less.

He saw the two figured at the back of the barn. They were propped upon against a pile of hay. At first glance, it looked as if mother and daughter were merely embracing in a quiet slumber. There was a strong stench of smoke and blood in the air. The barn was cold and despite the afternoon sun casting throughout the barn, shadows sat heavy around the corpses.