Aspire Higher

An Eclectic Collection of Short Stories and Musings

By Alyssa Everett

Manifestation

Personal accounts of shadow creature encounters have been published throughout history. Letters, journals, paintings, and other documentations have been discovered and studied. While researchers remain unclear on where these beings originate and the reason for their malevolence, important distinctions in their appearance have been noted. They are shaped like humans, but they are something else entirely. No pupil, iris, or cornea can be found in their eyes, they stare through windows of bright red or yellow. These glowing orbs of color are their only discernable facial features. The darkest and deepest black comprises their shape, which exists only in corners. The corners in your room, the corner of your eye. They remain on the outskirts, watching. Waiting. If you’re lucky, that’s where they stay. But only if you’re lucky.

On one warm August night in Arizona, a mere two weeks before she was due to start at university, Amy found herself in a strange dream. It wasn’t a nightmare, she was simply wandering around an old ranch-style house that seemed foreign yet familiar, like any other dream setting. Something was off, though, and she felt as if she was not alone in the house. While none of her five senses could detect another’s presence, Amy’s gut screamed and her heart pounded. Her hands, which she’d clutched into dense fists at her sides, were cold yet slick with sweat. She uncurled them and brought them in front of her, where she watched as they vibrated erratically through the stagnant air. A cool breeze of lucidity washed over her, and Amy realized she was dreaming. She squeezed her eyelids tight, willing her body to wake itself up. But when she opened her eyes, she regretted leaving the relative safety of that old ranch house.

As Amy awoke, her gaze met that of an obsidian abyss floating over her body. She stared into its iridescent yellow eyes for barely a second before she started screaming. Except that her lips would not part, her vocal cords would not vibrate, her neck would not allow her to turn her head. She was paralyzed, lying on her back as a demon hovered over her. She squeezed her eyelids back together, praying for escape. She kept them clamped shut for as long as she could possibly bear before gingerly cracking her right eyelid. Slowly, slowly… Relief filled her lungs when she observed that she was alone in her room again, and her muscles finally responded to her brain’s instructions. Amy sat up in bed and thought, What the fuck just happened?

The next day, Amy called her best friend Cecilia and invited her over. She desperately needed to recount what happened, and to get advice on how to proceed. As it stood, Amy was too scared to ever attempt slumber again. Amy painted Cecilia’s toenails periwinkle and unloaded her concerns. Surprisingly, Cecilia had previous knowledge about the creature Amy had seen. Her aunt, Isabella, was a self-proclaimed medium and medicine woman. Once, Cecilia had overheard her mother and Isabella discussing a friend that saw something odd while experiencing sleep paralysis. Amy decided to visit Isabella’s mystic shop and seek further answers. However, she couldn’t make it there for another week, and in that time, Amy continued to wake up paralyzed. She saw the shadow creature everywhere, or at least she thought. Blackness would flash at the edge of her vision, or she would catch a pair of yellow eyes in the corner of her room. Each time she thought she saw it, it would disappear in an instant. The creature even began to permeate her dreams. It wasn’t just stalking her, it was invading her mind. Was she going crazy?

Isabella motioned for Amy to sit down, gesturing to the wooden chair across from her. As Amy took her seat, she couldn’t help but notice that the young redhead projected a level of confidence and wisdom usually reserved for those twice her age. Amy felt completely comfortable in her presence, so she returned Isabella’s smile with one of her own.

“Wow. You must forgive my staring,” Isabella pleaded, “I have never seen such a vibrant and luminescent aura. It is like pure golden sunshine.” Amy blushed, even though she wasn’t sure what any of that meant. “But I’ve forgotten my manners. What can I do for you today?”

“Well, something has been haunting me,” Amy admitted, “and I don’t know where else to go, because, well… it’s not human.”

“Tell me more about what you’ve experienced.”

Amy relayed the sightings, first describing her strange dream, “And when I woke up, all I could see was a black shadow levitating above me, watching me with its menacing yellow eyes. Since then I have seen him several other times, flashing into my peripherals or appearing in a corner for a split second. I even see him in my dreams.”

Isabella’s face expressed the gravity of her words. “You have drawn the attention of a shadow creature,” she explained. “They are masses of negative energy, beings from a dimension that overlays ours. They usually do not cross over, but they can be lured by bright auras. It is very important that you do not exhibit any distress. He is feeding on your fear.” Isabella shot up and hurried around the shop, selecting various metaphysical objects from the shelves. She perched back down in front of Amy and placed the objects on the table one by one. “Smokey quartz will dispel negativity, fear, and nightmares. Quartz will amplify both your positive energy and the energy of the smokey quartz, to widen the protective barrier around you. Smudge your room with this sage before you go to bed, make sure to go clockwise. Do not leave a single inch untreated. Since you are a friend of Cecilia’s there is no charge, but I can do no more for you and I have to ask that you not return. Shadow creatures are not only parasitic but transmissible, and I cannot have you bringing it here. Now, out!” Isabella shoed her out of the shop, smudging the doorway behind her.

That night, Amy did as Isabella instructed. She took all precautions, and even slipped the crystals under her pillow to keep them close. Despite these insurances, she drifted off only to find herself in another strange dream. She was inside an unusually familiar house again, with the same feeling that she was not alone. Suddenly, a large black dog with yellow eyes emerged from a hallway and prowled towards Amy. It looked like a Labrador Retriever, only twice the size. Immediately she recognized the animal for what it was – the shadow creature in disguise. Amy understood its intent was to scare her and feed on her terror. As though it could read her thoughts, the dog reacted to her recognition. It rose up on its hind legs, now eye to eye with Amy, and began snapping its jaw at her face.

Amy’s heart ricocheted violently off the walls of her chest, threatening to burst its way out. Her fingernails dug into the skin of her palms, only a few thin layers away from striking red hot blood.

“I am not afraid of you,” her shaky voice box squeaked out, barely audible over the sharp teeth barking and snarling only inches away.

“I am not afraid of you,” she said again, louder this time. Amy pointed her chin up. Was she taller now?

“I am not afraid of you!” Amy declared with such conviction that the creature backed down, a whimper escaping him as he lowered onto his haunches in defeat.

Amy opened her eyes to the soft blue ceiling of her room, confident that she would never see that shadow monster again.

Fight and Flight

Theodora lowered herself into the ornate wooden chair and glanced around the room. An array of crystals and gemstones was arranged purposefully in the center of the large, round table before her. Sage-soaked air filled her lungs as she took a deep breath in. She was neither entirely nervous nor completely comfortable, but rather some indescribably complex combination of the two. While her usual habit was to confidently offer the first word in any encounter, this time she allowed someone else to open the conversation.

“You’re skeptical,” observed the woman seated across from Theodora. Willow came highly recommended by an old friend from her childhood. According to the rumor mill, her readings and predictions have never missed the mark.

Theodora smirked, “Aren’t all your customers?” It wasn’t that she thought the psychic was a con artist, Theodora knew the powers of intuition to be very real. She only doubted that Willow could tell her anything she had not already perceived.

“Some more than others. What is your name, dear?”

“Theodora.”

“Ah, Theodora. This means ‘Gift of God.’ It is a beautiful name for a beautiful woman.” Lavish jewelry draped from Willow’s neck and wrists, her fingers glittered with antique rings. Two delicate strokes of black eyeliner framed her ice blue eyes. “Tell me what has brought you here today?”

“Well, I’m usually able to interpret signs for myself. But lately some very strange things have been happening to me, and I do not understand what it means.” Theodora proceeded to describe the troubling events in great detail. First, she told Willow about the recurring dream she’d had every night that week. It would start with Theodora walking down a sidewalk as the setting sun stains the scene with a golden glow. Suddenly, she hears the faint sound of crying in the distance. She follows the sound being carried to her by the soft wind until she arrives in front of a little field lined by oleander shrubs. She spots a little white bassinet standing all alone in the center of the field and begins running towards it. When she makes it to the bassinet, she reaches inside to find it empty. Well, almost empty. There is always one little stone lying in the center of the little white mattress. She picks up the stone, and wakes up. “The strangest part,” Theodora revealed, “is that I have been finding little stones everywhere. In my waking life.”

“Well, something is certainly reaching out to you. Whether it be friend or foe, I am not yet sure. The cards can give us answers,” Willow offers, “for a fee.” Theodora pursed her lips as she took three one-dollar bills from her dark green pocketbook and placed them down on the table. After picking up the money and tucking it between her breasts, Willow stood up from the table and disappeared into the back room. Theodora watched the bead curtains occupying the threshold swing back and forth gently until Willow reappeared through them holding her tarot deck. She lit several candles around the room before settling into her chair to start the reading.

“Let us look to the past, present, and future to interpret these signs,” Willow began. She took Theodora’s hands in hers and instructed her to close her eyes and picture the stones she had found, to imagine herself walking through her dream. Meanwhile, Willow called out to the elements of water, fire, earth, and air asking them to guide her to the knowledge she sought through the cards. Once they had focused their energies, Willow drew a card and gently set it on the table between them. “The Fool. This represents a new beginning in your past, a seed which was planted. Whatever is happening to you now was set in motion long before today.” She drew a second card and placed it to the right of the first. “For your present, you have been sent the Two of Wands. A decision awaits. You must choose between traveling the safe path and taking a risk.”

Willow placed her hand on top of her deck to remove the final card, the one meant to represent the future consequences of her customer’s current path. Theodora’s heart began to pound and a lump formed in her throat. She leapt up from her chair and ran out the front door, agitating the bells and chimes that hung from the door handle. She didn’t stop running until she arrived at the entrance to her flat. Back at the mystic shop, Willow sighed as she returned the Death card to her deck.

When Theodora came crashing through the door, still catching her breath, Linda was waiting for her. “Where have you been?”

“Give me a break Lin, I’ve had a long day,” Theodora replied as she headed towards the kitchen for a glass of water. She opened the cupboard and selected a glass, noticing the water spots but deciding she could live with their presence on the cup. In order to reach the sink Theodora had to push past Linda, who was still angrily awaiting an answer to her question. This aggressive pursuit only made Theodora less willing to give her the requested explanation. She refused to speak until she had filled her glass with water and drank it to the bottom. “Fine, I stopped by the mystic shop on Sullivan Street on my way home after closing the store.”

“The mystic shop? You’ve never mentioned that place before, why would you go there?” Linda tucked a stray strand of mahogany hair behind her ear before crossing her arms. It was clear from her tone that she was not asking out of curiosity, but that an accusation hung in the space between her words.

“You don’t believe me?” It wasn’t always this way between them, but Theodora gave Linda good reason to suspiciously scrutinize her story. It had only been five months since Theodora went to a lunchtime business meeting with a wholesale candle distributor and didn’t return home until the following morning. Linda forgave her for the one-time affair, but her trust had not yet fully recovered. They stared at each other quietly for a long, charged moment. It was the short period of calm before the storm.

Linda’s voice was the first to pierce the bubble of silence that had enveloped them. The women grew increasingly louder as they went back and forth spitting fire with their tongues. Linda accused Theodora of being unfaithful, and Theodora shot back with complaints of control and unhealthy jealousy. They went in circles, neither listening well enough to the other to hear what they really needed. Their verbal jabs were no longer restricted in topic, any and all insecurities or mistakes were fair game. After an hour of yelling, Theodora’s throat felt harsh and her face was hot with tears. She wanted to hurt Linda the same way her accusations had hurt her. She marched to the fireplace and snatched the little figurine Linda had built in Theodora’s image for their last anniversary. She made eye contact with her girlfriend as she lifted this token of love above her head and smashed it into the floor with her full strength.

The altercation had suddenly reached a new level. All their previous fights paled in comparison to this one. Linda looked at the small ceramic shards scattered across the floor. Her vision began to blur. She could no longer see the shards, the floor, Theodora. All she could see was red. She reached over and picked up a volume of Alfred de Musset that was resting on the coffee table. Theodora had given it to her for her thirtieth birthday.

“Happy Birthday, Lin. You are my one and only. Love, Theo.” As Linda finished reading the inscription with a mocking tone, she began ripping out the pages of the book. Each page that got torn out and thrown was accompanied by an insult aimed at Theodora. After this had gone on for several minutes, both the book’s hardcover and the ladies’ relationship barely remained intact. Theodora wanted to retaliate after watching her cherished gift be mutilated before her.

As her eyes searched the room for something else to destroy, Theodora noticed Dr. Montague’s invitation to participate in his upcoming scientific study sticking out of the hutch on her desk. She thought about her dreams, the stones, Willow’s cards, and that little invitation. In that moment she realized the decision she needed to make, so she turned and headed to her armoire.

Linda shouted after her, “Where are you going?”

“To pack a bag.”

An Ode to Alfred

When I affectionately stroke my feline friend, he is a soft, light cloud. When he drapes himself over my chest as I slumber, he is a twenty pound sandbag. His purr is the lawnmower I never mind hearing at 6:00AM on a Sunday. His dinnertime yowl is the nails on a chalkboard that I would do anything to escape. The minty fragrance of catnip will lure him from anywhere in the house. The metallic cling of the nail trimmers will make him disappear.

Living with a Wolf

Disappointing. I come home from a monotonous and fruitless overnight stakeout to find my beautiful Mediterranean style home an utter mess. Oh well, what did I expect? Mark is overly fastidious about his own hygiene and clothes, but never concerns himself with tidying up shared spaces. He washes his shoes thoroughly every few weeks, using a toothbrush to clean every nook and cranny, and yet he’ll leave his dishes in the sink for days. I sigh as I open the door to the dishwasher.

Once I finish cleaning the kitchen, I head towards the bathroom to brush my teeth. As I walk in, I notice it’s looking a bit dingy. The sink has toothpaste globs stuck to the side of the bowl, there are spots all over the mirror, and it looks like Mark didn’t clean up after shaving his face again. My disgust with my surroundings births a cleaning bug in me, and I reach under the sink to grab cleaning supplies. I pull my phone out of my pocket. If I’m going to be awake for a while longer, I may as well chat with my best friend, Alex. I click the appropriate series of icons to dial her number and switch to speaker phone, then I place my cell on the counter. As I don a pair of latex gloves, I try to make a mental note that I’ll need to buy more next time I go shopping. I feel like I just bought this box, but already there is only one pair left. The phone only rings twice before she answers.

Alex’s voice blares out of the cell phone’s speaker, “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Tammy. You have time to talk?”

“Always,” she replies before delving into story-telling mode. She apparently had a very hilarious exchange with a cashier at the pharmacy today. At the summation of her tale, she asks me how I’m doing. I reply with a cliff notes version of the unsuccessful stakeout and express my dismay that, despite all that, I am still cleaning the house instead of sleeping. She starts to reply, but I don’t hear what she’s saying. Everything around me starts to get fuzzy, as if I’m going through a tunnel, and only one object is in focus. Squatting next to the bathtub, I raise my hand up towards the light to confirm what is pinched between my thumb and index finger – a long, red hair.

“I knew it, he’s cheating on me!” I exclaim, interrupting Alex. I tell her what I just discovered. Being a platinum blonde with a pixie cut, I know with absolute certainty this red strand of hair is not mine.

Alex attempts to reassure me, “Are you sure it isn’t from a friend of yours? Didn’t Bea stay overnight last week?”

I recall having to tuck Bea into bed on the living room couch after she had one too many glasses of red wine during our book club meeting. We always start by having a scholarly discussion about the month’s novel, but we are notorious for our ability to quickly transition towards drinking and laughter. It is possible the hair in question was from that night, but something still doesn’t feel right.

“You might be right. Anyways, I’ve got to run. I’ll call you tomorrow.” Alex responds with her goodbyes, and I hang up the phone. I can’t shake this bad feeling. After all, it’s not just the hair. Mark has been acting strange for a while now. Staying at work late, showering more frequently, and his favorite blue button-down shirt has been missing. He told me the dry cleaners ruined it, but now I think he left it at some tramp’s house. Tears start to well up in my eyes, but I shake it off. This is all subjective, there could be other explanations for these things. Besides, I am exhausted. I’ll be able to process better after a good night’s sleep.

A few days after finding the hair, nothing else suspicious has occurred, but I’m still having trouble going about my day as usual. I attempt to keep intrusive thoughts of infidelity at bay, but they seem to find their way to the forefront no matter what I do. At 4:24pm, my cell phone receives a text. It’s Mark, he is going to be working late tonight. This is exactly the opening I have been looking for. I quickly slip on my shoes, grab my purse, and within minutes I’m out the door. I click the unlock button on my fob key as I walk towards my trusty Honda. Once I turn the ignition, I realize I forgot to bring binoculars. I run back inside and find my way to the den. I recently asked Mark if he would store my binoculars in one of his desk drawers for me, so I begin opening each one. Most of the drawers are filled with office supplies, but the contents of one drawer surprise me. Resting on top of a stack of documents was a large, bulky knife housed in an intricate and beautiful leather shield. It looks old, and expensive. I wonder if he found it on one of our antiquing adventures and I never noticed. I move on to the next drawer, which is where I find my binoculars. I run back out to the car, carefully reverse out of the driveway, and head towards Mark’s office.

Mark works as an accountant for a law firm, Jacobsen and Associates. His shift is supposed to end at 5:00pm. I arrive at 4:52pm and park half a block down on the opposite side of the street. To my dismay, I see Mark exiting the building at 5:08pm. I feel a lump in my throat as I pull out two cars behind him. He drives a few miles before arriving at a restaurant near Griffith Park. I park my car an adequate distance away and pull out my binoculars. Mark is waiting outside, he is clearly meeting someone. Moments later, a short brunette that arrives on foot walks towards him. My heart breaks into a million pieces as I watch them greet each other with a kiss before walking into the restaurant. I feel like such a fool. Of course he’s cheating on me, all the signs were there. I am almost too emotional to properly operate a motor vehicle, but the thought of lingering here any longer is too much to bear. I turn the car on and head home.

Pacing back and forth, I try to decide how to handle this. Do I start screaming and accusing the moment he steps through the door? We have 14 years of marriage under our belts, do I want to throw that all away? I need more time to consider the best way to bring this up in the hopes we can get past it. Mark comes home at 8:56pm, and I act as if nothing has changed. I offer him some soup I made earlier. He happily accepts. We spend some time reading beside each other before heading off to bed.

Two Weeks Later

Instead of being in the field today, I am stuck at the LAPD office working on mountains of paperwork. This is not my favorite part of the job, but it comes with the territory. Sergeant Grey starts walking towards me with a file in hand. I’ve been here long enough to know this means my workload is about to increase.

“Detective Jones, I’d like you to take the lead on this case. I think we have a serial killer on our hands. We found three female bodies in a shipping container last night. All three were stabbed to death. The bodies were bathed and redressed, there were signs of post mortem sexual assault. Same M.O. as two others found in the last three months. Detective Wilson was first on the scene, she has already gathered evidence but no witnesses have come forward.” Sergeant Grey passes me the case file, and takes a seat in front of my desk. He finishes by adding, “I can’t seem to find any relationship between the victims.”

When I first open the file, I can’t believe my eyes. One of the three victims found in the shipping container was the brunette woman I saw meeting Mark. Apparently, her name is Andrea Cole. I wonder if Mark knows she is dead. Among the documents detailing the evidence collected at the scene, there are coroner’s reports for each victim, which are arranged alphabetically. First is Cole, Andrea. I quickly scan the contents of her report. Then I look over the details of Gray, Penelope. When I get to the next report, I almost faint. The entire world stops moving, my body is frozen. Lawson, Gloria – 5’8”, 143lbs, 30 years old, has hazel eyes, and auburn hair. The file falls from my hands.

“Sir… I think I may have a suspect.”

A Perfect Morning

Amber descended the stairs so quickly that by the time I raised my head, she was standing right in front of me. Her eyebrows were pinched together with worry, giving her a temporary unibrow.

“I just did the absolute dumbest thing, you’re going to hate me.” Her eyes were as big as planets. I could never hate you, I thought to myself. “I was closing your bedroom door behind me, and I don’t know what I was thinking, but, I accidentally locked it.”

Oh. That was worse than I was expecting. The key to that door had been lost for years, I’d have a better chance trying to find an ice cube in the desert. But I couldn’t let her know I was worried too, Amber will carry on like the world is ending at even the slightest inconvenience. If I didn’t prove to her I had things under control soon, she would surely start hyperventilating.

“It’s no problem, Amber. Let’s just take Jax on a quick walk to use the bathroom and then we’ll come back and get it open.” Some fresh air would help us both when we returned to the problem. Besides, the dog was dancing by the door.

The sunny stroll proved to be quite therapeutic. In fact, it turned the whole morning around. I could see Amber’s shoulders relax with each step. Before long, she broke into a smile.

We decided to accept the fact that we would have to dismantle the doorknob. In preparation, we drove to Lowe’s to purchase a new doorknob – one with keys – to replace it. We stopped for coffee and breakfast sandwiches while we were out. She kissed me and it tasted like caramel macchiato.

When it was all said and done, we were back in my room with a shiny new Georgian-style doorknob, and I was more in love with her than I’d ever been.