The Nightmare Returns
It’s just the wind. Just her mind playing tricks. It’s been a long and arduous day, full of one too many confrontations and trips down memory lane, and it’s making her paranoid. That is all.
But the scars on her hand ache, the memory of the fire that mottled them burning bright.
The sound rustles the wind again, a throaty rumble that belongs only to the nightmare that haunts her every evening.
Euphemia’s grip tightens on the wood.
If she looks now and it’s there, that black beast of violet flames, then all hope is lost. Her life forfeit. Her soul as damned as they come.
Under no circumstances should she look. Euphemia should close her eyes and run back inside, cry out for help, do something—anything but allow herself to be drawn to the nightmare once again. Lured like a foolish moth to a deadly flame.
There are many things she should do.
And yet…
Temptation is a most vexing demon. Euphemia’s greatest sin.
And if these are to be her final moments, then she will face the beast one final time.
Against her better judgment, Euphemia turns around.
At first, all she finds is a sea of black, the forest like an abyss before her. No moonlight seeping down from above. Nothing to light her way. So Euphemia inches closer, eyes adjusting. Peering into the dark void for a glimpse of something sinister. Something curious.
When her eyes are at their largest, that’s when she hears it.
The slow, muted thudding of a horse’s hooves on grass. Less of a clip-clop, and more of a thud-thud. A measured beating of a heart in the dead of night.
Small clouds of air breathe from the darkness, and a subtle hue of violet emerges.
A black horse appears, sheathed in the pale glow of its dim flames.
Purple flames dance along its back. And though Euphemia’s first thought should be one of terror or anguish, all she can think as she beholds this strange creature is—
“Beautiful.”
She’s not sure if she utters the word or merely thinks it.
But a contented nicker escapes the nightmare as if it’s heard her, and its flames brighten—not aggressively.
Nothing like that night when they rippled from the beast like an inferno sent straight from Hell.
These flames remind her of sunsets. Of mesmerizing, flickering coals beneath a dying bonfire.
A smile ghosts across her face.
This is something magical. Something beyond words.
Like an angel has come down from Heaven to welcome her into God’s forgiving graces.
But just as quickly as the smile spreads, it crumbles into dust.
What sort of devilry is this to grip her with such vexation? This creature—this beast—it is no angel. It is the omen of damnation. A sign of utter ruin. More than that, it is the monster responsible for her father’s death. And here she is admiring it?
Euphemia’s stomach churns as if something black and oily has climbed inside her. She has never been more disgusted by herself. More disappointed.
As if the creature can sense she’s at her weakest, the flames on the beast’s back brighten.
In a flash of furious light, the fire becomes so fierce that Euphemia has to stagger back.
She bumps into the lean-to. Steadies herself while shielding her face from the heat.
And it’s only then, with her arm held high blocking some of the illumination of the nightmare’s fire, that she sees it.
A figure in the darkness.
A man’s silhouette.
Stalking toward her.
Euphemia does not think. She does not breathe.
She runs. Bolting around the corner of the house, with her heart slamming against her chest. But the grass is slick with dew.
Euphemia slips, her body crashing to the earth with a thud.
Her hip smarts on impact and under other circumstances, she would lay there a moment to catch her breath. Whimper through the sharp pain.
Thud-thud.
Thud-thud.
But the beast draws nearer. And who knows how much the figure behind it has advanced.
Injuries be damned, Euphemia scrambles to her feet. She does not look back. Her gaze is fixed ahead on the back door now in sight, the wood aglow in the softest shades of flickering lavender.
She can make it.
Just three more strides.
And then she’ll be safe inside—
But how long will that safety last? How long before the beast is no longer thwarted by walls?
The thought is more like a single stone thrown into the avalanche that is her mind. And under the pressure of survival, it is soon lost among the other boulders of panic and self-preservation. Euphemia throws herself at the door. She yanks the doorknob in every direction.
The door will not budge.
Through the crack, she can see it, the latch bolted on the other side.
Euphemia pounds on the wood.
“Let me inside! Please!” she screams, knowing it’ll disturb the patrons and upset her mother. But surely, her mother will understand. Surely, she wouldn’t want her daughter to die the same way her husband had.
Pounding on the door, at the mercy of her family, Euphemia realizes this could be the end. This could be her final moment.
She has to know. Needs to see how much time she has left, how much hope she can afford to hold onto.
Euphemia dares another look at the nightmare.
Slowly, it ambles toward her, a swampish thing of drooping flames and languid movements.
Behind it, their apple tree goes up in flames, and it’s then that she finally breaks.
Years of memories. Their family’s legacy.
Their means of taking care of themselves. Gone. Ablaze in an instant.
She stops pounding on the door.
Stops crying out for help.
This is yet again all Euphemia’s fault. She did this—she’s always doing this. Ruining everything. Making it more difficult for her mother. For her sisters.
Euphemia can’t even look at the nightmare any longer. Can’t be bothered to search for the mysterious figure.
For all she cares, neither of them exist.
Leaning back, she just looks up to the night sky and prays to the God who seems to never listen. “Keep them safe. Please. They don’t deserve—they don’t deserve to be punished for my weaknesses.”
Euphemia closes her eyes and accepts her grim fate.
Maybe she’ll see her father again, if God is kind enough.
Only, it is not God who saves her.
The door suddenly swings opens. Euphemia tumbles inside, breathless and sobbing.
She plops on the ground, dazed and confused.
It’s a strange sensation, coming back from a death that she believed certain, and so it takes her a moment to remember where she is.
What’s important. Where the danger remains lurking outside.
Ismene stands over her, her head cocked, and the door wide open behind her.
Euphemia lunges to her feet. She slams the door shut, slamming her back against it for good measure.
“What’s the matter with you?” Ismene asks, peering behind her as if she can see through solid wood. Since she can’t, her imagination runs wild, her expression lifting with excitement. “Is it a wolf?”
Panting, Euphemia merely says, “No.”
“I want to see it. I’ve never seen a wolf before.”
Her younger sister starts clawing at her to move and Euphemia is too frazzled to be gentle. She grabs Ismene roughly by the shoulders, kneels down, and stares into her eyes. “You are not to go out there ever again. Do you understand me?”
Ismene pouts. “Why not?”
“It’s not safe.”
“Why is it not safe?”
Euphemia groans at Ismene’s constant need for questions answered.
But as she thinks of an answer that might satiated the young girl, Euphemia hesitates.
The innerworkings of her always-deciphering mind begin to churn.
The only reason it’s unsafe is because of her.
She is the one the creature wants. The one it’s stalking.
That night in the meadow, it hadn’t appeared to her father.
It had shown itself to her. Lured her in.
And it was only once he intervened that he was punished for it.
They are only in danger because of Euphemia.
Next time it shows itself, Ismene could be with her. Or little Atia. Cybele. Her mother.
What if one of them tried intervening next?
What if they got in the way?
Tears sting Euphemia’s eyes. She would never be able to forgive herself—already she can barely go from dawn to dusk without guilt ravaging her.
For a moment, she thinks of telling her mother. Of asking for help. Advice about what she should do. But she already knows how that conversation will go.
“The best thing you can do, Euphemia, is pray. Pray that God will forgive whatever wickedness you have invited into your heart. And then pray again that He forgives you before He takes something dear from this family again.”
Only, she has been praying. Day and night and every moment in between.
And if something were to happen to anyone else in her family, her mother would blame her for it all over again, and she would be right to.
This is Euphemia’s curse.
Her burden to bear.
And she can no longer subject her family to the danger of simply existing near her.
Euphemia twists around and marches down the short hall for the chest she knows she’s not meant to open.
“Euphemia?”
Ignoring Ismene’s innocent voice, Euphemia opens the chest and rummages for the coins she knows are inside. Coins meant for Cybele’s dowry someday. And for weathering tough stretches of time when fewer patrons visit the Saint’s Hearth.
She won’t take it all, she decides. Just enough to get by for a few days. A week, at most. Just long enough to travel to a neighboring town, hopefully luring the creature away from them.
Sliding a handful of coins into her pocket, Euphemia closes the lid and stands. Whirling around, she finds Ismene blocking her path.
“W-what are you doing?” Her little hand rubs her sleepy eyes. But they’re not so sleepy that they don’t notice the extra weight in Euphemia’s pocket. “That’s not yours. Mother says we’re not to touch it unless—”
“Hush, please.” Euphemia takes a knee and rubs her sister’s arms. “I know what Mother says. But I have to do this. It’s what’s best for the family.”
Ismene’s face scrunches as if she wants to understand. But how could she? She knows nothing of the nightmare, nor their father’s passing. Knows nothing of Euphemia’s curse. And Euphemia would like to keep it that way.
She plants a soft kiss on Ismene’s forehead. “Please. Say nothing.”
Euphemia stands and gently moves Ismene aside.
The girl does not fight her. But she cries out, “Where are you going?” And then a little more fragile and concerned. “Will I ever see you again?”
Euphemia freezes. The familiar ache of grief floods through her.
Over her shoulder she mutters so quietly she’s not sure her sister will even hear her, “For your own sake, I hope you don’t.”
And then, Euphemia ducks back into the taproom. Only a few moments have passed, but somehow it already feels different in here. Quieter. More grim. Or perhaps that’s just Euphemia.
She sticks to the wall as she strides for the door, hoping to stay concealed in the shadows. But her mother spots her anyway.
“Oi! I thought I told you to head to bed. And what was with all that ruckus anyhow?”
Euphemia keeps her head down and says the one thing she knows will squelch her mother’s concern. “I thought I might go to church. Repent for…earlier.”
With no further protest or interference, Euphemia opens the door, leaves the Saint’s Hearth, and abandons her former life behind.