The seance hadn’t gone well. The dog had ended up in the ceiling. Well, maybe. Hindquarters were all that were showed. Sagging. Man’s best friend once again led into the abyss. Somewhere in the desert beyond a coyote-wolf snickers and howls.
Herman had exploded into sparks of pure night, scalding the floorboards, and nothing had been heard from him since. Out in space a scream might be pieced together from cooled shards of black glass. But was there a reason to bother?
The table is unscathed, even if Jennifer and Edward’s heads thrust up from its surface without much evidence of bodies in the darkness beneath. Their heads aren’t made of flesh anymore. Whatever had come out of their mouths and into the rooms had been made of some stronger, stiffer substance. Only their eyes move now. It was an old table. Once, it could have been called Edwardian free of irony.
The smell is of the burnt inside membrane of a chestnut. It licked around the table and over to the window, which has been split by a spirit that had fractured the glass with such force that out against the desert sky, you can still see the pieces turning over and over in their unholy trajectory. Some day soon they will coalesce into a glittering necklace and embed against the throat of a passerby. People will remark on the victim’s unluckiness. But is that the truth?
“I am your damager,” says the voice from the darkness under the table. “I am your damager.” The darkness is getting darker still. Whatever they meant to raise is rising still.
“I am your damager,” comes the voice. It keeps repeating itself. The room begins to collapse into the darkness under the table.
I wish I wasn’t the only one left in the room to hear.
End dream #1.