Page 26 of Nightshades

Dragging myself away from my obsession, I stand in her kitchen, not liking how bare it is. The smell of coffee invades my senses, and it tickles the inside of my nose. I’ve never been the biggest fan of coffee. If Lula does, then I’ll make sure she always has her caffeine.

I follow the scent of coffee, wanting to know what kind she likes. I want to know everything about her. What she loves, what she hates, what she craves, anything, everything. Ineedto know.

Opening the cabinet, I pull out a giant fucking bucket of Colombian medium roast. My roots begin to slither downmy arm, giving me another idea to infiltrate everything she consumes. Popping the lid off, I break a root from my arm and crush it in my hand, to the point it’s just dust, and sprinkle it on top.

Whistling to myself, I snap the lid on, give it another shake, and slide it back into the cabinet as if it never left.

Blurring out of the room, I sit on the couch, the entire piece of furniture threatening to break from how much I weigh. I place all the pieces of paper out on the table to dry, reading each case as if it were my own.

Four cases she’s wasting her sweet time on when her time needs to be spent on me. One I’ve already taken care of.

Standing, the sofa snaps in half, and I roll my eyes at how dramatic her furniture is being about my weight.

“Have sweet dreams,” I whisper in the dark to her, as I fade into her home.

Lula-lala-la-la-laaa.

I gasp myself awake when a loud banging on the door manages to find its way into my dreams.

Ithinkit was a dream. I’m not so sure anymore. The dream felt so real, but it couldn’t have been. What I saw could not be living in the world amongst us. My mind is so jumbled from what happened that I can’t remember what was real or what was a dream.

I only remember opening my eyes to see a giant monster hovering over me. His entire body was green with black veins and odd vines with weird flowers and berries on his body. Remembering his eyes causes me to shiver. They were pools of darkness, the color of the deepest part of the ocean that sunlight can’t reach. Horns decorated his head in a way I had never seen before.

Depictions of the Devil come to mind with two horns growing out of his forehead, but this monster was very different. One large horn grew out of his forehead, followed by others behind it in a straight line, varying in size. The horns went from largest to smallest, reminding me of a mohawk.

Each ear was pierced, large bones filling the holes. His nose, eyebrow, and nipples were pierced as well, all with pieces of bone. I think it might be my imagination, but I thought I also saw a fish fin on his back.

I can’t be sure, but whatever he did to me, I remember the terror I felt.

And I want more.

He’s been the only one who has been able to give me what I’ve always craved. I become lost in thought, forgetting the men banging on my door, when I rub my legs together, and a slight ache twinges inside me. I remember in my dream that I was being fucked. I must have fingered myself to bring relief. That’s the only answer.

That’s the only realistic answer because the real one is too far-fetched. Dreams can’t come to life.

Deepest desires can’t be born from the imagination. If they could, my thrills would have been sated a very long time ago.

The loud pounding on the front door pulls me from my thoughts. I swing my legs over the bed and rub my eyes. A tightness stretches across my chest when I raise my arms. Looking down, I gasp when I see the dried black substance on my chest.

My bed is broken too. The mattress is on the floor, and the boards have snapped in half.

What the hell happened here?

“Detective Sanchez! It’s Sheriff Holland. If you’re here, please come to the door, or I will break it down.”

“Fuck,” I whisper to myself and stand, snagging my robe from the door. “One minute, Sheriff! I’m just waking up and need to get dressed!” I don’t know if he can hear me from here, but I do my best to hurry.

I just bought this house, and on the salary they have given me, I don’t want to replace a door.

“What the hell is going on, Lula?” I say to myself, snagging the soft robe from the hook on the back of my bedroom door. “How did I get home? I remember driving and then…” I rack my brain as I slide on my robe and tie the belt as tight as possible, so I’m covered. The last thing I need are questions that I have no answers to.

“Detective! You have ten seconds to open the door before I break it down.”

“No! Don’t. I’m coming!” I rush to the bathroom, flip on the light to check to see if I’m presentable, when a message on the mirror freezes me in my steps.

Sweet dreams.

“Nine, eight,” Sheriff counts down.