“ ʸᵒᵘ ˢᵉᵉ ⁱᵗ ᵗᵒᵒ? ᶠᵒʳ ᵐᵉ…ⁱᵗ’ˢ ᵃˡʷᵃʸˢ ˡⁱᵏᵉ ᵗʰⁱˢ”

ᴼᵘᵗᶠⁱᵗ: @sickokittens

ₛₕₒₑₛ: ᵐᵃᶜʰᵉᵗᵉ.ᵍⁱʳˡ ⁽ᴰᵉᵖᵒᵖ⁾

ₘₐₖₑᵤₚ: ₘₑ

Edgar Allan Hoe…

Outfit: @sickokittens

Touched (Short Story)

A supernatural Southern Gothic tale. (6 minute read)

CW: Ableism, Murder, and Domestic Violence

Everything is black, an endless pit of nothingness. In the void, where no constraints exist, I gleefully experience many sensations. The sound of ambiance lingers around me. The air feels…fuzzy on my skin. The cool grassy earth beneath me sinks. Gravity weighs down on my shoulders, rendering me still. I wince. There is a sharpness that pokes at my flesh. Annoyed, I clench my hands and pull!

Go away.

Go away.

Go away.

GO AWAY!

“Ophelia, baby!”

I hear a voice from outside, and the comforting blanket of nothingness passes away. Finally, I open my eyes; it is my mother. Her eyebrows furrow with concern. Her velvety, well-manicured hands clasp mine. I see a clothing tag in it.

Stupid itchy tags.

“Baby, Sister Inez was askin’ how

speech therapy was goin’?”

It was dark now, and we were still alone in the church's parking lot. Choir practice only lasts two hours. However, in my mother’s usual fashion, her chatting forced us to stay late. My eyes glaze over Sister Inez, and I notice her scowl. Her burgundy lipstick lips tighten.

“It’s going okay.”

I look down at my shiny black shoes that Mother bought, notice the cute bows, and excitedly squiggle my toes inside.

“Ophelia has only been in it a few

weeks; the therapist says it can take a

while for her to catch up to regular

kids.”  

Sister Inez’s judgmental eyes gawk at me, sharp enough to pierce a gaping hole.

“That daughter of yours reminds me of

someone; she was also a little…

different.”

For a woman who proclaims to be so holy and sanctimonious, Sister Inez has barely mustered an ounce of empathy and kindness towards me and my mother since we arrived several months ago.

         “We’ll pray and hope she turns out

better.”

Mother and I had to travel across four states to escape my father’s abuse; the place where we are supposed to be safe has yet to make us feel welcomed.

“I’m afraid we can’t pray away what

Ophelia got goin’ on.”

“What a shame.”

My mother’s soft palms began to feel clammy and tense; I must escape this conversation.

“Water.”

I make a beeline for the church.

“Ophelia, don't take too long, dear.”

Cold water splashes into my mouth. A creaky air conditioner buzzes above, and the sound is deafening. I look around, continuing to quench my thirst. New Hope A.M.E. has seen better days; vinyl walls peel away, revealing the 200-year-old frame. Beneath the wooden floors is a mismatched array of new and old bark, with small cracks cascading across the floor, each getting larger and larger….

“What is that?”

It’s a shadow. My eyes lift, revealing a dark figure of a woman. I blink, and she vanishes. A chill shivers throughout me. My body stiffens; a deep scream traps itself in my throat. Slowly, my eyes search the room. Passing the wooden doors, there's a loud creak; instinctually, I follow the sound.

Moonlight beamed through the colorful stained windows, accentuating the dusty pews. As I inch down the aisle, the old floor bends under my weight with each step.

Demons?

My eyes examine the small, quaint church back and forth. The pulpit sits steeply above the congregation. “Minister Hezekiah Thomas” is embellished in gold on an oversized dark cherry chair. It stands tall like a throne directly in the middle of the pulpit.

A foggy memory clouds my mind.   

Evil…

Minister Thomas’s boisterous sermon lingers in my head.

“Demons often disguise themselves as human and come to earth to harm us good Christian folk.”, so he says.

But why didn’t that woman hurt me?

Could she be something else?

Gravity rushes past me, I'm suddenly falling. Bracing my hands, I strike the hard floor, wincing in pain. I had just fallen on the edge of a staircase. The red carpet is beaten and worn. Flustering, I push myself up. There's a shrill, almost childlike cry from above, then I see her…

Her eyes glowing…

                   Her face was veiled in black.

                                 She stands still…

                                                 Watching me…                                          

“Who are you?”

Before I could utter the last syllables, she vanished. Footsteps run above me. I dash past the staircase, loudly creaking as I stomp my way up.

At the top, there’s a small corridor. A small bulb dimly lights the hallway. To the right, a door is wide open. Hanging from it is a sign that reads “Minister’s Office.” I catch my breath. A cold breeze brushes past my body. Trembling, I tread inside.

The smell of mothballs burns into my nostrils. Minister Thomas’s office is quaint but heavily decorated. White curtains cover a large window that overlooks the church’s parking. A worn bible is on his desk, and a family portrait is next to it.

I pick it up; it's Minister Thomas; he wears large silver-wired glasses that match his salt and paper hair. Next to him is First Lady Thomas and his four teenage sons; they all smile except for her. I place the framed picture down and notice an open drawer below.

I persist through piles of paperwork until I notice the back of a photo. I turn it around and see a couple, but I could hardly make out their faces.

Quickly, I pull the curtains back and re-examine the photo.

The woman’s smile is bright, her coily hair is pulled tightly into a French roll, and her eyes shimmer with colorful eye shadow. Next to her is a visibly younger Minister Thomas.

                    “Could this be her?”

I look out the window; Mother and Sister Inez are gone. The office doors slam behind me! A familiar chill touches my skin; a strong force holds me still. I look down and see no arms. My heart palpates. Slowly, I turn my head, quivering in fear.

Large, black, and socketless eyes stare back; a decaying black veil covers her face. What should be her mouth widens, and an ear-splitting cry erupts.

The scream wrestling within me explodes. There's a loud banging on the door. I shut my eyes.

                          “Ophelia!”

I cry out in terror, stricken with fright.

  “Please don't hurt me, demon!”

I am held tighter.                   

            “Ophelia, open your eyes, baby!”

It’s my mother's voice. I open my eyes to see her warm almond ones staring back. Relief washes over me, and I collapse into her arms.

“This girl has no business being in

Minister Emmanuel's office. It is

strictly off-limits!”

My mother's soft, plush skin calms me.

—————————————————————

           “What scared you back there,

honey?”

I squeeze Mr. Charlie, my stuffed bear. The old Honda Civic bumps over the dirt road leading away from the church.

“Was Minister Thomas married to

another woman?”

My mother has a stunned look on her face.

          “Why do you ask that, baby?”

I shrug my shoulders.

                      “Just curious.”

She sighs.

     “He was a long time ago, according to

Sister Inez. Her name was Violet. She

was quiet, kind of like you.”

       “Do you know what happened to

her?”

My mother stares at me through the rear-view window; she grips the steering wheel harder.

“Well, Sister Inez says Minister Thomas always seemed angry at her. Said she couldn't bear any children for him. After a while, she stopped showing up at church. Then, one day, Minister Thomas announced to the congregation that the poor girl cracked her skull on a gardening hoe and died. There was no funeral; she just disappeared, everyone moved on, and he got a new, pretty wife, First Lady Thomas.”

I look down at the photo studying Violet’s face.

           “What you got in your hand,

baby?”

I stuff the photo into the pocket of my velvet dress and lean back into my seat. I watch the maze of trees pass us by.

      “You saw her poor ghost, too,

didn't you?”

I stare at my mother through her rear-view mirror; slowly, I nod my head.

   "I don't believe a garden hoe killed her,

Mama."

My mother rolls down the window and lights a cigarette.

                   "Me neither, baby."

I sink back into my seat and close my eyes, waiting for a pool of darkness to embrace me and retreating into nothingness. Instead, a pair of large socket-less eyes gaze back at me.

Demons ain’t the only ones harming us.

                                                                                                                                                            THE END.

My first short story! Currently finishing my new short story “Baptism by Fire” and will be posting this Sunday!

Edgar Allan Hoe…

Outfit: @sickokittens

A Tale Between Two Devils (Excerpt)

A southern gothic horror

She hears a creak; the old wooden floors bend and wane. Under the door, a shadow emerges. It swings open.

His figure is tall and large, encapsulating the doorway. His gnarled, black fingers crawl the walls, searching for the lamp, which flickers on.

Reverand Ezekial, my father. Mother shyly hides behind, in his shadow.

He shines a light onto the bed, revealing my cold glare.  I gnash and snarl, the cold metal cuff slashing my bloodied wrist.

I growl; unadulterated and animalistic madness envelopes me. I thrust my body towards him, nails curved, seething with joy at the idea of slicing his face. My body contorts with rage. Mockingly, my Father and my mother desperately shield themselves with crucifixes.

I mustered up my slobber, now a scarcity, spatting at them. Anger flashes across my father's face; he lunges at me! I’m inches from his clutch, bracing for our customary fight. He stops dead in his tracks, irritated, his eyes turn back; it’s a white man. He grips my father, restraining his arms, keeping his face relaxed and calm. Immediately, I cower away, trembling at the sight of this white stranger, huddling in the corner of the bed.

The white man releases his grip and treads towards me, inspecting my cuffs. I stiffen in fear as he kneels beside me. His pale palm grazes my forehead.

                              “Who are you?” I shiver.

He lifts a glass of ice-cold water to my chapped lips.

                    “Dr. Schultz, I'm a child psychologist. I’m here to help you.”  His voice is gentle and velvety.

My eyes narrow, gulping the water down.

The fresh nectar soothes my arid mouth. I empty the glass in only a few seconds, continuing to watch him suspiciously.

He is not here to save you, the voice whispers gently inside of me.

               “Don’t get too close to her, Doctor.” My mother blurts, revealing her bandaged hand.

I stare daggers at her, and a crucifix falls, barely missing her head. She gasps.

                   “I think it is time for both of you to leave the room.”

 Dr. Schultz stands and dismisses my parents. I glare at them as they scurry away, slamming the door shut. Dr. Schultz let out a great sigh and then returned his attention to me.

“I have traveled from New York to investigate the first case of a colored girl allegedly possessed by the devil.” He stares at me, marveling at me as if I were an unknown creature. I sit nervously, avoiding his gaze.

What devil have I come across?

Currently finishing this draft 🥰

Cursed with bitterness,

Confined to this asylum.

Blood drips from my wrists.

Lusting for your crimson kiss,

Aching for eternal bliss.