Darknesses by Lachelle Seville

Author:Lachelle Seville [Seville, Lachelle]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Clutch
Published: 2022-05-19T00:00:00+00:00

August 3, 2019

He must, indeed, have been that Voivode Dracula who won his name against the Turk, over the great river on the very frontier of Turkey-land. If it be so, then was he no common man; for in that time, and for centuries after, he was spoken of as the cleverest and the most cunning, as well as the bravest of the sons of the ‘land beyond the forest.’

seventeen

I wake up warm and alone. Daylight through the stained-glass window washes the white of the blanket in red. I pour myself a goblet of water and gulp, then slip out of bed, unlatch a pane of red glass and peer out. Clouds blanket the sky. The murky river glistens to the left. To the right is a swath of dark green hills.

Ashes fill the fireplace. I don’t remember when the night ended and sleep began. I kept going back for seconds and thirds, and now my whole body feels like I ran a marathon without stretching. My fingers touch fabric when I pat my head. Someone put a satin bonnet on my head.

Someone also left clothes folded at the foot of the bed—a long-sleeved Thrasher tee and a pair of joggers that are a little loose on me. Down the curved steps, I dip into the bathroom to pee and splash water on my face, searching for signs of activity and finding none.

I creep to the archway across from the bathroom and peer in. The room is rounded like a church apse. A mosaicked rose garden wraps around the vaulted ceiling, interrupted by different iterations of an orange cat.

Bird Bones.

Bird Bones spitting feathers on the ground; Bird Bones chasing a mouse; Bird Bones with a mouthful of rose petals; Bird Bones taking a nap in the thorny shade of a rosebush. Right beneath the mosaic is a cat tower as tall as me, the base clawed to threads.

The real Bird Bones is curled up at the top, one paw covering her face.

Her head is ice cold when my fingers graze the soft fur between her ears.

She uncurls with a chirping meow and stretches her legs. Her sleepy eyes land on me.

The golden eyes I remember are pure crimson, with black slits for irises.

She yawns and stretches again, first with her back arched, then with her stomach low. As she does this, the red drains from her eyes.

She leaps down and stretches yet again, then trots out of the room. I hurry after her down the long hallway into a sleek kitchen divided in two, with a stainless steel refrigerator on each side, separate sinks and stoves, two rectangular islands, and two stone countertops loaded with appliances. One side has a metal trash can beside the counter with a biohazard sign on it.

Cypress’ silhouette falls across the second counter along with a motley palette of colors from the stained-glass window depicting a platter of fruits and vegetables.

“I hear ya, I hear ya,” he’s saying to Bird Bones meowing relentlessly at his feet.

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