Zeke
God, I feel so alive.
I close my eyes and let the relentless eye of the sun beat down on me. What does it see when it looks at me? A man? Something more? Something less?
And what does Julia see, I wonder?
I know it’s dangerous to let my thoughts wander down this path, but it’s as though my mind has become untethered with possibilities. My hand curls around a phantom mug, remembering the feeling of the smooth porcelain against my palm and the heat radiating through my hand as Julia had questioned me with increasing interest.
I’d just had coffee with Julia Carter.
She wore no makeup, and her hair was mussed from sleep, but that had somehow only made her more beautiful. Her eyes, as green as moss, shone in the fresh morning light. I had the overwhelming urge to reach out and touch her, to brush my fingertips over the soft curve of her lips, but propriety stopped me in my tracks.
I wouldn’t disrespect Julia like that. She is too good for me to be thinking about her in such a way.
To distract myself from my tumultuous thoughts, I instead consider why she had burst out of the house in a panic.
The answer is one I do not want to fathom.
Sighing, I turn and stare up at the house’s looming façade. The building looks older somehow, like it’s fraying around the edges. The siding is riddled with blooms of mottled mold and sagging in some places. The back porch seems crooked, as though one side of it has sunken slightly into the muddy ground. Tangles of ivy and brambles creep up the walls to peek into the windows, which glare out at the swamp in glassy stillness. I get the sense that the structure is watching me back, a predator surveying its prey.
But deep down, I know that I’m not the one it wants.
As if confirming my concerns, a low melody floats on the wind, stirring sour fear in my soul.
Folks, I’m goin’ down to St. James Infirmary…
I move slowly to face the marsh, my eyes picking through the trunks of cypress trees and gnarled swathes of underbrush to locate the source of the haunting tune.
At first, I don’t see anybody but the workers. They’re levering a gravestone out of the loamy ground, sweating from the effort. None of them seem to hear what I do.
See my baby there, she’s stretched out on a long, white table…
I can feel it in the air that something terrible is about to happen. I want to call out to the work crew in the swamp, but when I open my mouth, my voice gets stuck in my throat.
Panic wells in my chest. Don’t they sense it? Don’t they know that they’re in danger?
So sweet, so cold, so fair…
The heavy tombstone the workers are gathered around slides in the mud, toppling down toward one of the crew. Shouts of alarm punctuate the air, followed by a wet thud, and then silence.
I don’t want to look. I don’t want to see how badly the gravestone has injured the man.
But then a shaky laugh filters through the trees, and I can’t help but glance over.
To my immense relief, the worker is okay. He’s sprawled out on the mossy ground, dangerously close to the hunk of granite lying beside him. He must have rolled out of the way at the last second, I realize.
“Holy shit!” the foreman exclaims, his voice audible on the still air. “You okay?”
The guy nods, though I can’t quite hear his response. His face, however, tells the whole story. Relief, fear, confusion. It’s clear he understands how close a call he just had, if not what caused it. I’ll be surprised if he turns up for work tomorrow, or even if he finishes out the rest of today.
Satisfied that the man is as safe as anybody could be in a place like this, I double down on my efforts of scouring the swamp. I know the thing I’m looking for is here somewhere, lurking just out of sight.
A shadow flashes through the trees. For a moment, it appears to be as formless as smoke, but then the light shifts through the feathery leaves of the cypress branches to illuminate the solid edges of a man.
Several seconds pass, and we simply stare at one another.
It looks different from the last time I saw it, but it’s unmistakable. There’s something about the crooked posture and the tilt of its head that reminds me of a marionette on a string, as though I’m not so much looking at the thing itself but what it wants me to see.
Dread claws down my spine as I stand, transfixed, under its gaze. I’d hoped that the bastard wouldn’t be back this time, that it had gone for good. But ever since the workmen pulled that artifact up from the mud, I’d known that this was inevitable. He was prowling around before. Now, he’s fully energized.
It’s no wonder Julia fled the house this morning, that she was so spooked.
“I won’t let you have her,” I snarl. Even as far away as it is, I know the figure in the swamp can hear me.
In response, a grin spreads over its face. Its lips draw back over its teeth as though the skin is made of wax, moving into a horrible parody of a smile. It raises one hand and waves. And then, as though it had never been there at all, it disappears into the shadows of the mire.
I glare out at the space it occupied. I can’t just stand by and let this thing run free, not with Julia here in the house. But I can’t do this on my own.
I’m going to need some help.
I turn back toward the home. There’s an old woman standing on the porch, though her sudden presence doesn’t startle me. She’s a part of this land, just like the others. But unlike the thing out there in the swamp, she’s not here to do harm.
The frail woman’s eyes land on mine, and she smiles sadly at me. When she speaks, her voice is like the breeze through the cypress leaves and the patter of rain on a summer’s evening.
“He’s back, isn’t he?” she asks.
“Yes, ma’am,” I reply solemnly.
“Are you fixing to take care of him?”
I nod. “Somebody’s got to.”
“Good,” she says. “About damn time.”
As I watch, the woman’s outline starts to fade until her form is indiscernible. I can still feel her there, though.
“Don’t you worry, Miss Penny,” I murmur into the empty morning air. “I’ll take care of him, once and for all.”
About damn time, indeed.