Page 80 of Marked By Feral Monsters
I finish washing my hair using a generic bar of soap, watching the dirt pool at my feet, swishing up at the round basin of the tub. There's a lot of dirt.
I've never dug myself out of a grave before. I've died many ways in the centuries I've been alive. Beheading, hanging, stab wounds. I've been lit on fire time and time again, accused of witchcraft. When burned at the stake, my phoenix form resurrected instantly, and those puritans had a hell of a surprise when my wings rose from the ash.
The simplicity of having my neck snapped, and my body buried before I woke, is humbling. I regenerated a day or so ago, but laid there under the earth, at first, contemplating what had happened, and wondering why, after all these years, the woman I fell for, hard and fast, the one that drew me in like none before her, would have killed me.
I know death, and she didn't have the stench. Now I know it was the wraith. But before I came back, the idea that it was her really stung. It's a strange sort of relief to know the girl you're crushing on didn't kill you.
Finally, I began digging myself out, but it was harder than I thought, especially with feathers for fingers. As my phoenix form receded, giving way to flesh and bone fingers, it became easier. Fortunately, it had only been a few days, and the dirt was still somewhat loose. The rain helped, too. It made the mud heavy, but cakey, and it was easy to push away in clumps.
When the water runs clear, I grab the towel my helpful little Dina left out for me, and dry off. I hesitate for only a moment before getting dressed, not because I don't want to wear a dead man's pants, but because what I have in mind to punish my strange, toxic little duo doesn't involve clothing.
For now, though, I put on the pants and glance in the mirror, noticing my feathers have fully retreated. I can transform any time I like, even partially, but only when I am reborn do I take on my full phoenix form. Right now, I resemble the man she met, the man who took her home, who thought he'd finally found the one.
If she were any other human, I'd have avoided her completely, no matter how pretty she is. I cannot share my true self with anyone.
See: burned at the stake, beheading, hanging.
But this girl? I think I could tell her anything, and she'd give me that owlish expression and shrug, like,what else ya got?
I thought it was odd she took me to her garden to fuck me senseless, but I loved every second. She was a strange mix of quiet and observant, but once she got talking, she wouldn't shut up, like she was bursting at the seams to unleash all her thoughts.
Then, her wraith boyfriend murdered me, and when I resurrected and knocked on her door, after the shock wore off, she didn't freak out. She didn't call me a demon, or call the police, or even scream.
I could've just left, not come to her door, and she'd never have known what I was. But my demon girl called to me; she craved my heat. And I was right.
After the shock wore off, she filled up with lust.
And I know, unequivocally, she is the one for me after all.
I just need to do something about the boyfriend.
I can hear the two having a mostly one-sided conversation. The wraith is pacing. His voice is scratchy, a whisper, like the inside of his throat was once used as an ashtray.
I don't speak to many ghosts; they tend to get clingy. Case in point. He's begging her to let him kill me again, and this time, chop my body into multiple pieces and have her drive to various parts of the country to dispose of me, so I can't return.
Hmm… I've never died that way. Could take a while to resurrect. Sometimes it's instant, even after a death one might expect to be more traumatic. Other times, it takes days. But I've never had my body parts separated like that. Could be interesting.
Of course, Dina doesn't hear any of his insane pleas. She can't hear him speak at all. She feels his cold presence, and with worry in her voice, she's trying to calm him down. She knows he's agitated, spiraling, and on the verge of doing something irrational.
She'd be right. I wonder what she'd do if she could hear what he had planned for me.
I stroll down the hallway, following the beacon of her bedroom lamplight, carried by the mirrors along the halls, then swing open her door.
"Tell me, Dina, I'm curious. When your wraith kills and dismembers me, would you fly all the way to California to throw away a foot? Seems like a lot of effort not to see me again."
"What?" she gasps in outrage, turning to face Eric.
I can see his form—a black void, with an almost purple, shimmering essence—but I can't make out his features. Not yet, anyway.
Even though I can't discern his facial expression, I can tell he's pissed, the way his shimmering essence tightens. I give him a smirk and add, "Do you really think she's going to stay if you keep killing her lovers?"
"One. One lover. It happenedoneother time, and he was just some rando we took home. And he—" she points accusatory at Eric, though she's off by a couple feet, "participated in the sex. I had no idea he was going to get all jealous and kill the guy. Yes, I'm still mad about that!"
She's figured out exactly where he is and flays him with the look of a woman scorned. "You said you were into it! And you fucking murdered the guy while his dick was still inside me!" She lets out an enraged growl, then she softens and turns to me. It pisses Eric off exponentially, but makes butterflies take flight in my abdomen. Oh, this woman.
Her voice turns sweet when she says to me, "You don't count, since you didn't die. And we're both glad you lived. Aren't we, Eric?"
If she could pinch his ear like a scolding mother, she would. He's seething. His shoulders bunch up to his ears, ready to lash out.
