Chapter Five – Grim
Chapter Five
Grim
I stalked through the rooms, my boots silent on the hardwood floors. Even my scythe, usually scraping against everything in its path, seemed to tread lightly tonight. Must’ve been the overwhelming aroma of grief and old floral air freshener that clung to every surface. That, and the suffocating silence. Apparently, even the ghosts that haunted this place knew better than to make a peep while I was around. Or maybe, they were just as terrified of me as the living were. Couldn’t say I blamed them.
I inspected every window, every door, nook and cranny, making sure the Poppets weren’t trying to get in. A few hours ago, this house had been filled with the echoes of Millie’s voice, the pitter-patter of that kid’s feet on the stairs, and the scent of chicken pot pie. Now, it felt as empty as a graveyard at midnight.
I paused by the fireplace in the living room. On the mantelpiece sat a collection of framed photographs. Millie and some guy who had too much hair gel in his hair, grinning at the camera. Millie holding a giggling baby with a mop of dark curls – Elysia as a wee thing. Then, a portrait of a couple, their faces etched with the kind of love and happiness that made my non-existent heart ache: Millie’s parents. They were gone.
I let my senses drift, stretching out to encompass the house, feeling for any trace of disturbance. The air was thick with remnants of their joy, their laughter, their love. A love so potent it had seeped into the very foundation of the house, weaving a protective shield around the place. It was no wonder the Poppets hadn’t dared to cross the threshold. This house was protected by their love for their daughters.
A tap on one of the windows startled me. It was the kind of sound that set your teeth on edge, like fingernails scraping down a chalkboard. I turned, my hand instinctively gripping my scythe, and crossed the room in three long strides. I yanked the velvet curtain aside, revealing one of those damned Poppets.
It stood on the lawn, a grotesque mockery of a human child, its eyes like glowing embers in the darkness. It didn’t move, didn’t even blink. Just stared at me with those unnerving eyes as if I were the one intruding on its territory
I pressed my skeletal face against the cold glass. “You’d best be on your way,” I growled. It probably couldn’t hear me, not through the thick glass. But the sight of me and my scythe was a language even a creature like that understood.
The Poppet didn’t move. It simply continued to stare at me, its silence more menacing than any threat it could’ve uttered. I turned away, my cloak swirling around me like a restless spirit, and headed back towards the living room, more annoyed than anything. That creature was like a fly buzzing around a corpse – irritating, but ultimately harmless. At least for now.
I was halfway across the room when I heard it.
A scream.
High-pitched, blood-curdling, laced with terror.
Millie.
I didn’t waste time with doors or stairs. They were human constructs, after all, and I hadn’t been human in a long, long time. I teleported. One moment I was standing in the living room, and the next, I was in her bedroom.
It was dark, the only light coming from a sliver of moon peeking through a gap in the heavy curtains. And then I saw her. She was sitting up in bed, her eyes wide with terror, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Her hair, normally so sleek and smooth, was a tangled mess around her shoulders. Her face, usually pale, was now ashen, beads of sweat clinging to her upper lip.
“Millie! What is it? What’s wrong?”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t even seem to see me. Her gaze was fixed on a point just beyond my shoulder, her entire body trembling as if a current of electricity was surging through her veins. Her lips moved, but no sound came out, just a silent scream that tore at something deep inside me.
“Millie,” I whispered, taking a step closer, my boots thudding softly against the hardwood floor. It was strange, really, how a creature like me could feel so protective of this human. But there was something about her, something in the way her eyes held a flicker of defiance even in the face of terror, that stirred something primal within my non-existent gut.
She finally seemed to see me. Her gaze darted to mine, those big blue eyes widening even further, reflecting the moonlight like a pair of sapphires. Then, recognition flickered across her face, chasing away some of the terror.
“Grim?” Her voice was barely a whisper. She tried to sit up straighter, to smooth down her hair, but her hand trembled so violently that she only succeeded in making herself look more vulnerable.
“Easy there,” I said, holding up a hand even though a part of me – a part I hadn’t known existed until this very moment – wanted to scoop her up in my arms, shield her from whatever horror had wormed its way into her dreams. “You’re safe now.”
Safe with me. The Grim Reaper. The irony wasn’t lost on me.
She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. It was a worthy effort, but the fear was still there.
“I need…” she started to say, her voice shaky, then stopped, her gaze darting to the bathroom door.
She tried to stand, to push back the covers and swing those long, lean legs over the side of the bed, but her knees buckled, and she would’ve face-planted on the floor if I hadn’t moved with the unnatural speed of a creature who was definitely not human. I caught her just in time, her small frame colliding with mine.
“Whoa there,” I said. “Seems like the nightmare you just had left you a little unsteady.” I held her at arm’s length for a second, just long enough to make sure she wasn’t about to keel over again.
Her skin was even paler than usual, almost translucent in the moonlight filtering through the window, and those big blue eyes stared up at me with gratitude. And it struck me, not for the first time tonight, just how small she was. Delicate. Like one of those fancy China dolls wealthy families like hers kept in glass cases – the kind you weren’t supposed to touch. I could feel the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her nightdress. The urge to pull her closer, to feel the beat of her heart against my empty chest was overwhelming for a second. I resisted it. Barely.
“What was the nightmare about?” I asked, my voice rougher than usual.
“It felt so real,” she whispered, her gaze darting around the room. “I was being chased by those things.”
Those things. Of course. The Poppets. “And they caught you?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“Yes,” she breathed. She hugged herself, her arms wrapped tightly around her midsection, as if trying to hold herself together. “One of them caught me. It bit me with its straw teeth.”
I cursed under my breath. So much for the protective barrier around the house. It seemed Ma-Vasha’s pets had found a way in, after all. Into her mind, at least. I’d dealt with my fair share of nightmares in my time, but these were different. These were woven from the stuff of ancient magic, fueled by the raw power of a creature that could swallow souls whole.
“Where did it bite you?” I asked, my gaze sweeping over her.
She lifted her left arm, her fingers tracing a path along her forearm as if following the ghost of a touch. “Here,” she whispered. “And here.”
I stepped closer and peered down at her arm. Two puncture marks marred her smooth, pale skin – tiny pinpricks ringed with angry red.
“The dreams are real, Millie,” I said, keeping my voice low and steady. Those damned Poppets! They couldn’t breach the perimeter of love and light that surrounded the house, not yet, but they could slip through the cracks of her mind, could worm their way into her dreams and leave their mark.
Her eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
“They can get inside your dreams.” I lowered myself onto the edge of the bed – her bed – careful not to crowd her. It was a strange sensation, being this close to a living, breathing human, feeling the warmth radiating from her skin, the subtle scent of lavender and something else… something uniquely her. It was both intoxicating and terrifying. “They can touch you. Hurt you. Has this happened before?”
She shuddered, nodding. “Yes.” She tugged at the hem of her nightdress. “A couple of times. I thought I was just imagining things.” Her fingers tightened on the thin fabric, bunching it up around her thighs. “See?”
It was like a goddamn ambush! That simple movement, the flash of pale skin in the moonlight. Every fiber of my being went on high alert. The room seemed to shrink, the air thickening, crackling with something that smelled a hell of a lot like lust. It had been a century – a goddamn century! – since I’d felt anything remotely like this.
I quickly averted my gaze, focusing on a crack in the wall, a cobweb in the corner of the ceiling, anything to keep from staring at her like a starving man at a banquet. But it was too late. I’d seen them. The bite marks on her thighs, just above the edge of that ridiculous nightdress.
Those marks, those tiny wounds, shouldn’t have affected me the way they did. I was a creature of death, for crying out loud! I’d seen it all, smelled it all, felt death’s icy grip a thousand times over. Yet, here I was, staring at a couple of pinpricks on this woman’s thighs like they were mortal wounds. And the feeling that slammed into me, right where my heart used to be, was anything but dead. It was a jolt of possessiveness that made my bones ache, a need to shield her from those things, to wrap my fingers around their necks and…
I shifted on the bed, my cloak rustling. I needed to focus. But the scent of her – all lavender and something uniquely Millie – was doing things to my hollow body. She was like a siren, luring me closer to… what? Oblivion? Redemption? I wasn’t sure which one scared me more.
“They won’t hurt you again,” I said, trying to keep it together.
I reached out, my hand hovering over her leg for a second before I gently touched the marks on her thigh. Her skin was warm beneath my touch. I could feel the life pulsating inside her. It was a heady sensation, intoxicating and terrifying.
Millie shuddered at my touch, but not in a bad way. I pulled my hand back as if burned.
“I’ll keep you safe,” I said. It was the truth. I would keep her safe. Even if it killed me. Which, considering my current state of being, was highly unlikely. But still.
“How? They come when I sleep. I can’t stop them.”
“I’ll be here every night. We’ll find a way.”
Millie gave me a gentle smile, then stood up and announced she needed the bathroom. I steered her gently towards it, my hand a light pressure on her back. Even that simple touch sent a jolt of longing through me. I shook my head, trying to dislodge the feeling. I was a Grim Reaper. What did I know about longing? About desire? Those were luxuries for the living, for creatures with beating hearts and functioning… well, everything.
The bathroom door shut with a soft click. I took up position just outside, my back to the wall. I could hear her in there, the soft rustle of her nightgown, the splash of water as she washed her face. Each sound, each tiny movement, pulled at something deep inside me, something I hadn’t realized was still there. Was this… concern? Protectiveness? It felt uncomfortably close to… affection. And fear. I was terrified for her, for what those creatures might do to her if they managed to break through the thin veil of her dreams again.
I’d promised to keep her safe. But how could I protect her from something I couldn’t fight? The Poppets were like cockroaches, skittering in the shadows, slipping through cracks that even I couldn’t reach. They were extensions of Ma-Vasha’s will, animated by her power, and she… Well, she was older than time itself. As ancient as Death.
Millie’s mind was the one place I couldn’t follow. Couldn’t guard. Maybe she needed someone else. Someone who could fight those things on their own turf – in the ethereal realm where dreams and nightmares collided. Someone less corporeal. Less me.
But the thought of leaving her, of another entity – spectral or otherwise – guarding her door, filled me with a cold dread that had nothing to do with my usual state of being. I’d sworn to keep her safe, and I would. Even if it meant confronting my own limitations, my own inability to be what she truly needed – a protector in every sense of the word. No. I wouldn’t fail her. I couldn’t.