Cold Shower, Then

SENSITIVE MATERIAL WARNING: occult themes/ritual, violence/horror, crude sexual language

The blade of my shovel scraped against the earth with a wet sort of satisfying crunch. Soil flung over my shoulder in moist clumps that smelled of must and damp and rot. There was something rhythmic and constant about digging that’d always appealed to me. Shove, crunch, pull, toss, repeat. There was no question of what I was accomplishing. No supervisor, leaning over my shoulder to make sure I dotted my i’s and crossed my t’s. I would dig and eventually, a hole would yawn before me. Simple.

I paused only for a moment to run a filthy sleeve over my brow, leaving smears of mud across my face like some sort of macabre war paint. It seemed appropriate. After all, what was I, but the last stop between the dead and decay? The realtor of final resting places.

Selene never understood my work. The importance of it.

“For Christ’s sake, Carl,” she’d huffed last night. Dirty water streamed in muddy rivets from my feet, pooling at the base of assorted, dried pumpkins Selene had painstakingly arranged for the night’s festivities. She rushed over, snatching the pumpkins up and placing them gingerly on the entry table, next to the human skull and old-timey candles. Her eyes narrowed on me. “Go wash up. The girls are over and I don’t want you bringing this negative energy into our ceremony.”

“How could I?” I grumbled, kicking off my muddy boots with a small grunt. “You’ve never let me into your private group meetings.”

“They’re not meetings, and that’s not the point, Carl,” Selene hissed, her red-painted lip curling in disgust as her gaze roamed over me. “Ugh. Why do you have to go to the cemetery at night anyway? It’s so creepy.”

“That’s creepy?” My gaze shot pointedly towards the skull. It was a family heirloom. Selene’s great, great grandmother, apparently. It was creepy as fuck. When she’d moved in, I’d wanted to throw it out, but Selene wouldn’t hear it. As a compromise, she promised to only bring it out on the nights her arcane little club came together.

“There’s nothing creepy about the dead, so long as you treat them with respect,” I’d retorted brusquely, grabbing a kitchen towel and scrubbing it across my face until the white fabric turned black with filth. “Rain’s been bad. Had to build up the soil around her grave to keep it from shifting.” A muscle clenched in my jaw. “I’ve told them time and again, the cemetery needs proper grading around some of them plots. Lots of graves already been washed out.”

Selene made a pinched sort of expression that wrinkled her otherwise beautiful face. “I know you care about your sister, Carl. Just… clean up, please. And don’t come up to the attic. You’ll disrupt the ceremony.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I grumbled, pulling my soaked jacket and shirt over my head and tossing them in a soggy pile near the entry. “I know the drill. What do you and those sycophants of yours do up there anyway?”

Selene eyed me as I availed myself of clothing, her red lips drawn into a tight line.

“Don’t call them that,” she snapped, giving me a haughty look. “You wouldn’t understand.”

I bristled on instinct and Selene’s ruby lips curved into a placating smile.

“I’m sorry, baby,” she purred, making a slinky motion towards me that had every nerve in my body jumping to the surface, like frog legs in a hot pot. She paused, her gaze flicking to the mud caking my bare skin. She settled on a barely discernable pat on the least mud-streaked patch of my forearm, but even that small touch had my idiot skin prickling with misplaced anticipation. She cleared her throat. “It’s just—you know how important this time of year is to me. We can’t be disturbed tonight, okay?”

“Fine. But you know how I like to sing in the shower. No promises,” I grinned.

Selene’s lips puckered like she’d just tasted something sour. I imagined them puckering for a different reason and swallowed hard. Her delicate fingers gripped the veil dangling down the back of her head and flipped it to the front. I watched as she bustled up the steps, every inch covered in assorted black fabrics.

I thought about grabbing her with my filthy hands. She’d protest at first, but I’d yank that stupid veil back and work hungry trails down her slender neck with my mouth until she’d moan and beg for more.

“Stay out of the attic,” Selene hissed from the top of the stairs, then vanished into the dark of the hallway.

I shifted my trousers uncomfortably as I made my way up the steps. When it came to Selene’s “ceremonies,” I always played second fiddle. I turned into the master bedroom and sighed.

Cold shower, then.

Normally, I’d steer clear of Selene’s ceremonies, with or without her ordering me to. The attic was directly above our bedroom, so it was impossible to miss the chanting and occasional bumps, but curiosity was never one of my stronger traits. I had no taste for the occult. Besides, the better reward was what happened after, when Selene and her groupies were done doing whatever the hell it was that they did up there. I had my fantasies of course, but none of them enticed me to creep up those attic steps. Not when all I had to do was wait for Selene to come to our bed, full of wild energy and heat and—

I flipped the shower faucet all the way right, flinching as the icy water pattered against my skin. I ground my teeth together, then stepped out to grab a towel. Better to wait. Patience had its own reward.

The thing was, as I lay on the bed in nothing but a towel and my run-away imagination, mine was wearing thin. I’d scrubbed every speck of mud from my body, paying extra attention to my fingernails. I’d even taken the time for a trim. And still, she wasn’t coming.

I was accustomed to waiting. Everything on Selene’s terms. Always. I’d gotten used to it. Even accepted it. But then, she’d never kept me waiting this long.

The attic steps creaked under my weight as I neared the trap door and inched it open just enough to peek inside. Warm candlelight crept down the steps, casting long flickering shadows in the dark of the hall. The attic of my family home was like any other hundred-year-old house. Wood floors, exposed beams.

Boxes of dusty, unwanted memories piled in the corners.

I hadn’t been up here in years. It was Catrina’s room. Her own oasis. I’d been jealous at the time. The attic would have been perfect for my action figures and PlayStation. A mancave. Like Batman. But my parents gave it to my little sister. I’d resented her for that.

 I was away when it happened. My senior year, I’d decided to spend Fall break with my girlfriend at the time. Jenny something. Cat had begged me to come home. Sometimes I dream about that phone call. In the dream, I always make a joke to cheer her up and tell her I’ve changed my mind. That I’d come back and take her trick-or-treating.

Then I wake up.

They told me it was painless. A freak accident. Gas leak. She died in her bed. My parents too. After the accident, I boxed it all up. Catrina’s things. Anything that reminded me of her. It took me years before I moved in. Not long after that, I met Selene.

Sometimes I think about selling it. Being rid of the painful memories once and for all, but Selene would freak. She always says old houses like this are ley lines. I think she just likes the attic. Where else would she host her creepy little meetings?

The first thing I noticed was the round black table in the center of the room. There were three women, their hands flat on the table’s slick, almost reflective surface. Selene’s veil fluttered in little puffs every time her red lips parted to mutter incoherent utterings, echoed in chilling mumbles by the others. I almost shut the trap door, resigning myself to a solo night, but something on the table caught my eye and I hesitated. A porcelain doll was propped in a seated position in the middle of the table, surrounded by seven lit candles whose flames flicked eerie shadows across faces and veil.

The familiarity of the doll hit me like someone had just slammed a shovel into my skull. An ache settled into my bones. Pink dress, with white lace trim. Even the silly little hairbows. I knew every inch of that doll. I’d stolen it from Catrina’s room enough times when she’d done some trivial thing to piss me off.

Goosebumps lifted the tiny hairs on my arms as the chanting women reached a crescendo of discordant voices. Selene lifted a fist dramatically above her head, then brought the jagged crystal she was clutching down on the doll, cracking its delicate skull.

I stood, rooted to the rickety attic steps, as tiny porcelain pieces of Cat’s favorite doll flecked the pitch-black table.

A scream tore through the room when the doll cracked. An earsplitting, life-altering scream that vibrated my bones, and I knew it. Knew it like I knew my own reflection.

The three women moaned and rolled their heads in slow, sensuous movements as if they were relishing every pained shriek. An otherworldly glow spilled in wispy tendrils from the cracks in the doll. I watched, horrified, as Selene parted those luscious red lips and swallowed.

Cat’s scream came again, piercing through the core of me as easily as a knife tears through flesh. Behind her veil, Selene cackled with laughter as she brought the crystal down again and again.

They didn’t see as I slipped into the room, melting into the dancing shadows of the candlelight. Didn’t notice when I grabbed my father’s old, number three golf club and slipped silently towards the table. They were too busy reveling in their own secrets to pay any heed to mine.

The rain felt cool against my skin as I brought my shovel down, cutting through the soil and striking something hard. The motion jarred my shoulders, but I rolled them back and shifted the shovel to the side, wiggling and pushing until the large rock worked its way free. It fell to the packed earth by my feet with a soft thud. I propped my shovel beside the bent number three golf club, then I stooped to pick it up, grunting with its weight.

I had to aim high when I threw it. Stepping back, I surveyed my work. The height of the walls. The length. I’d dug deeper than usual, but I had to admit, it was some of my best work. A sense of pride bulged inside me at the meticulous lines I’d carved into hard earth. Even with all the recent rain, I’d managed a perfect rectangle. My body would feel the strain in the morning, but it was worth it. Wouldn’t be right to have rushed it.

The dead deserve respect. A perfect resting plot.

With a satisfied grunt, I tossed my shovel up, then took quick, practiced steps up the footholds I’d left. The grass was slick from the constant drizzle as I gripped the edge and heaved myself up.

My hands were filthy, so I wiped them down the length of my trousers before cupping a hand around the doll’s broken body to gingerly shift it back upright against a nearby tombstone. The tiny cheeks were severely cracked, but I made sure its remaining eye was facing my work.

Cat wouldn’t want to miss this.

Bodies hit the muddy soil below with wet thunks. Selene was last to go in. I made sure she landed face up, then crouched beside the fresh grave. Her veil had slipped up slightly, exposing her pale chin. Her ruby lips were slack behind the inert black lace. Pity. I stared for a long while, imagining those red plump lips puckered around me one last time, then stood up with a low groan.

Cold shower, then.