Incubus

The house that I lived in was old. Constructed in the late nineteenth century, it was one of the last neogothic houses built in the area. I had inherited the property from my late aunt, who had restored the building from a dilapidated state at great personal expense. It was unclear to all relations why she had labored so furiously to preserve what ought to have been a condemned building, but an oxymoronic sense of stubbornness coupled with flights of fancy made her victim to such endeavors.

I was not one to be too critical. In the end, I received a sturdy house, updated with modern comforts and classic style. The exterior retained much of the baroque detail it had initially possessed. Save for some minor architectural features, especially the vaulted ceilings on the main floor, the interior could pass as contemporary to its neighbors, built nearly a century later. It was a tall structure, but only had two floors, and had especially narrow hallways and a steep staircase, as would be expected of an older home.

Though great care had been taken to restore the building, the basement was filled with all kinds of rubbish that had to be disposed of. A few odd effects were salvaged, including a locked trunk and an antique full-body mirror. The trunk seemed to be empty, and with no key to be found it took its place as a side table for the living room. Distortions in the mirrors mercury backing gave remarkably flattering reflections, and I decided that it would make a lovely fixture in the master bedroom. Papers with nonsense and books in terrible disrepair were glanced over before being tossed, as well as a disgusting number of dead rats. Fortunately, I had my cat, Cassandra, for pest control.

Cassandra was a black-and-white Domestic Shorthair, with bright green eyes and a predatory bent that brought many dead vermin to my doorstep. She was especially protective for a cat, staying close to me when guests were around and even taking swipes at people she didn’t recognize. I couldn’t have asked for a more dedicated guardian. We both adapted to life in the old house quite quickly, and it was a relief that Cassandra had failed to find any rats staying with us in those first few weeks. She began stalking the house, and I had to leave the bedroom door open at night so she could come and go at her leisure.

The transition had been comfortable, but my nightmares had persisted all the while. I had been plagued by bad dreams for as long as I could remember, and sleep never came to me easily. Countless fitful nights drained me of energy and shift work at the hospital made it all the more difficult to bear. I had to take pills to force me into dreamless, or at least unwaking, unconsciousness. Long working hours and difficulty sleeping would have likely done me in were it not for my short commute.

As fall began to give way to winter, my nocturnal torments persisted, but some new happenings took place. My visions featured myself aboard a small boat in the midst of a black lake, certain in my dreams of my purpose, but remembering little in waking hours. These dreams became more regular, but no new developments occurred, until the night of November thirtieth.

***

The only disturbance on the inky water were the ripples from the rowboat. A hooded lamp hung over the bow like a condemned man from a gibbet. Stone brick edifices lay in ruinous repose all around my path, as the invisible current gently pulled me towards the yellow firelight of my destination. Shadows skated across the crumbling walls of what may have once been a fairy tale castle, and silent flames lapped the black sky from the courtyard. Hooded figures stared at me as my vessel ran aground the grey shore. My breathing became more labored and pressure came down on my chest.

I awoke to the rigid figure of Cassandra on top of me. Her tail flicked back and forth while she stared, agitated, at the corner of the room. Adjusting upright, I peered into the shadows. There was no outline to suggest that there was anything to see. Flicking the switch on the lamp, warm light revealed only the usual details of the bedroom: a wooden chair piled with clutter, an open closet, stuffed with drab, practical clothing and the full-body mirror I had salvaged. Cassandra seemed to relax, turning her bright green eyes to meet mine. Recognizing that her perch was unappreciated, she padded off of my chest and onto a spot beside me.

My feet swung out into the frigid air beyond my comforter and flipped the covers off of me. I crossed over the carpet covering the old, creaky floorboards, doing my best not to rub too much sleep from my eyes. Fumbling with the light in the adjoining bathroom, I took a sleeping pill from the jar on the sink. I swallowed it dry. Water from the tap may have helped it go down easier, but I wouldn’t chance that the cold shock over my palate might wake me any more than I already was.

Heavy footfalls reverberated through the house as I lumbered back to bed. I slipped my feet under the warm cotton sheets and covered myself again with the heavy blanket. Cassandra stared, no look of regret for waking me. Though it may be unreasonable to attribute human qualities to an animal, it never failed to annoy me that cats are wholly devoid of guilt. Before my exhaustion completely overtook me, I spied Cassandra’s gaze shift back towards the corner that had troubled her.

***

The silence of my trek across the water was suffocating. The boat passed between the familiar ruins of the nameless, forgotten city. The light of the lamp heralded my crossing to the reception in the distance. I peered over the gunwales, and saw monstrous coils slither into the depths. All the same, I was compelled to reach those ashen banks. Moreover, the thought of the things beneath the surface filled me with new urgency.

The hull slid onto the cinereal earth and I disembarked. The hooded figures did not approach me, but instead turned into the courtyard of the castle. One of them beckoned to me, revealing a black, sinewy arm, slick with putrescent filth. I followed compliantly, the morphean haze of dreaming removing any rational apprehensions. Stepping over piles of rubble and ducking the collapsing structure, my feet carried me through the soundless landscape until I stood at the entranceway.

There was a great fire blazing in the courtyard, surrounded by a multitude of cowled silhouettes. Facing away from the entrance, towards the fire, knelt a creature, draped in a grey cloak. It bore a similar sickening complexion to the others. It stamped one of its weighty feet and stood, more than seven feet tall. The monster turned to face me.

A sharp pain shot through my hand and I screamed. Looking down, I saw that Cassandra had sunk her fangs deep into the heel of my hand. Warm blood trickled down my wrist. I threw my arm with force and she released me, sailing into the wall. Cassandra slammed into the floor and scarpered out of the doorway, into the darkness of the house.

I used my uninjured hand to apply pressure and tearfully tripped into the bathroom. I put my bleeding palm over the sink and used my able fingers to turn on the light. On inspection, it was clear that the bite was vicious, and I withdrew the first aid kit from the medicine cabinet. I flushed the wound with water from the tap, and then poured peroxide over. There was a great deal of furious cursing as I wound gauze around my palm, fastening it with medical tape. I took another sleeping pill and some acetaminophen for the pain. Agony and desperation for rest had overridden any regard that I may have had for my liberal dosage.

With my wounds dressed, I went back to the bedroom. Eyeing the open door to the hallway, I slammed it shut. My good hand gingerly hoisted me into bed before drawing the covers up to my chin. The drugs were already starting to take effect, and I was quickly feeling the weight of sleep come over me.

***

The boat landed, and I disembarked. I followed the hooded figures to the gateway of the courtyard. The great beast in the grey cloak knelt before the fire, and the shrouded chorus stood on the far side. Its hooved foot stamped, and it stood, its immense, dark outline stark against the yellow light of the fire. Then, it turned to face me.

It had nothing that could be called a face. It was without sockets for eyes, nor did it have a muzzle or nose that could break the perfect ovoid shape of its skull. Its unclean flesh dripped with mucoid slime, and its lack of other features drew all attention to its lipless maw of teeth – sharp, rotten and misaligned. It wore a lapis pendant, curved in serpentine fashion that hung from its neck. The grey cloak it wore had a fine, gold trim of ornate detail, with sharp angles and hard lines. Runic characters adorned the spaces in between, wholly ancient and alien. The monster outstretched its arm and opened its putrid claw, revealing a key in its blasphemous grasp.

With awful determination, I crossed the threshold and made my way towards the creature. I was compelled to take the key, for what purpose I did not know, but I was certain of some promise for a thing that I wanted dearly – whatever I wanted. I stood before the monster. It did not move, did not breathe, did not make any indication that it was a real, living creature. I reached out my bandaged hand, and took the key from its grasp.

The key didn’t have the same cyclopean quality as my surroundings. It looked modern, though heavily weathered. Its weight in my hand was so vivid. My hypnotic haze broke. I felt lucid, grounded. I inhaled and my lungs filled with cool night air.

The silence was broken by the sound of toppling bricks. Inhuman screaming erupted around me. One of the cowled things had been snatched up in the teeth of a giant, eyeless serpent. Others began to panic and move to flee, but were quickly taken up into the waiting jaws of other serpents that surrounded us. The grinning, oozing monster continued to face me, and pushed out with its one of its hands. I felt a force like a terrible gale throw me far from that place, backwards through a fog of ethereal vapors.

My body slammed against the mattress. For a moment, I lay paralyzed, breathless. I scrambled for the switch on the lamp, and stared out across my bedroom. Nothing was out of place, save for a large crack through the mirror. Trembling, I looked down at my injured hand. It was clenched in a fist, throbbing in pain. I turned my palm upwards, and released my grasp. Pressed into the bloody bandage was a worn, brass key.