It happened again. This time, at the mall. And holy shit, Simone is going to kill me…
Simone. My wife. A woman whose career as a so-called entrepreneur is at odds with her inability to take risks in her personal life. To be fair, she got shot down a few years ago after she pitched a bread-flavored ice-cream to a bunch of executives at a regional confectionery company. They had laughed at her in that smug, unapologetic way corporate assholes do. Simone was humiliated, of course. And ever since then she’s been somewhat…what’s the word?
Guarded.
Anyway. A few hours earlier she had jabbed her manicured fingernail into my chest and growled a severe warning into my face. And by warning, I mean a threat, which went something like this -
“If you take our daughter to the mall this evening, I will straight-up murder you while we’re having sex.”
In other words, when I’m least expecting it.
Of course I ignored the warning / threat. And why not? Isn’t the instinct of most human beings to challenge and be defiant when faced with an ultimatum? Besides, I was not about to obey my wife when she was dressed in her fuck-me shoes and suck-me lipstick, both of which were designed to entice yet another executive she was scheduled to meet tonight at a romantic-looking restaurant we had been to a number of times.
So off to the neighborhood mall we went, Georgia and I.
Georgia. My daughter. A toddler with a disturbing lack of interest in whatever is trending with toddlers nowadays - pigtails, ice-cream, jungle gyms - I don’t fucking know. I suppose that’s why I had brought her to the mall, in an effort to uncover what, if anything, excites her.
I aborted my mission only an hour later, having seen not so much as a flicker of joy on my daughter’s face, not even when I detoured past the billion varieties of candy in the window display of some.store whose name I can no longer remember.
Oh well. Fuck it. At least I tried. Give the parent of the year award to Ned Flanders for all I care.
Georgia and I were en route to the mall exit when it happened…
We, along with every other shopper, encountered some resistance…not much, subtle at first, but it gained strength quickly, like we were wading through a wall of molasses…or a dense, invisible web of jungle vines…until finally, we all came to a gradual stop, everybody rooted to the spot, as if our legs were encased in a block of concrete.
Our collective voices were non-existent, as was every other aspect of our movement. If a random stranger had walked in on us at that moment, he or she would have observed a colony of human statues, the only motion being our eyes, alive with panic, bouncing around like that frantic little ball trapped inside the vintage arcade game.
Bizarrely, it was not a unique or even frightening experience, at least not for Georgia and I, and a number of other shoppers, I’m sure. The truth is this phenomenon has occurred frequently since its debut a few months ago.
Georgia and I had experienced it for the first time a week ago, while at the park adjacent to our house. It had been a what-the-fuck moment then, but now, at the mall, it felt unpleasantly routine, like staring helplessly at that glaring light while a dentist hovers overs you, ready to extract a tooth.
As expected, a blanket of gloom fell over us seconds before we heard a shift in the tomb-like silence behind us…
I couldn’t turn my head. My neck was rigid like rock, anchored to my body, which was also weighted down, like a sandbag. Even so, I knew what was behind me…as I had seen it in front of me a week ago, that day at the park…
Now, I caught a murky glimpse of it in a darkened storefront window…A child-shaped figure, having emerged from nowhere, cloaked in a swirling shadow. It weaved through the pattern of shoppers with steps that were as slow as they were menacing. I could sense it somewhere behind me, scrutinizing each shopper, like a sharp-eyed bride, taking her time while she studies a rack of wedding gowns, searching for the perfect one to wear on her big day.
Meticulous and discerning, that’s what this entity was…
And that’s when I flinched - my eyes snapping shut, startled - as the shadowed figure sliced into somebody - I assume with a knife, or some exotic weapon forged in its ghostly universe - lethal and efficient, so that all it took was a single piercing to the throat before one of the shoppers folded to the ground in a crackling of shopping bags and a crumbling of lifeless limbs.
It was fucked up. Killed in cold blood. In front of dozens of people, none of whom could react - at least, not with their voices. Their eyes, on the other hand, seemed to run away from this demented crime scene, searching for safety…a way out…instead -
Schlick!
Another shopper dropped behind me…closer this time. The newly deceased seemed to have a heavier physique, judging by the louder thump with which his body hit the tiled floor.
The slow, deliberate steps of the child-like entity started once more…
Fuck. Here it comes…
I risked a glance at Georgia. Her sneakerd feet were likewise fused to the floor, deprived of mobility. Her eyes were intense, staring straight ahead, as if she had rehearsed this position countless times, and now it was show time.
Don’t screw this up. Everybody’s watching.
That’s what her face said. I had no idea what her actual thoughts were. All I knew was that no child on earth should have to experience something like this, not even those little shits who bully other kids…or steal their bikes…or -
My feet twitched.
Abruptly. Involuntarily. I closed my eyes again, this time in relief. A wave of euphoric gratitude that the entity was gone. The killings were over.
For the time being, at least.
Other shoppers started to fidget as their motor skills were gradually restored - arms flexing, necks swiveling, legs shaken out - all in a bid to get the blood flowing again. On cue, a brigade of mall-employed security personnel converged on the bodies.
It felt vaguely routine, this clean-up or corpses. After all, we had lived with this phenomenon for a number of weeks already, a phenomenon that none of the world’s most nerdy scientists could explain. Even seasoned paranormal investigators were at a loss. Sure, they had used their EMF detectors and Rem Pods and all the other ghost gadgets you see on those spooky Travel Channel shows. Even so, the evidence they had captured, what little there was, had been inconclusive. One spiritual scholar had suggested that the entity was half spirit, half human - whatever the fuck that meant. A couple YouTubers had also chimed in, claiming that the entity hailed from the same alternate dimension as BigFoot.
As for me, I didn’t give a shit about the origin of that child shadow killer. All I cared about was the beating that Simone was going to inflict on me when I got home. Truth is, I deserved it. I had betrayed her trust. It was vindictive. And reckless. I had taken Georgia to the mall to spite her mother. A defiant act that had nearly cost my daughter her life.
So there I was. In our driveway. Resigned to my fate. Georgia was still staring out the window. as blank-faced as ever. I felt like telling her to snap the fuck out of it, until an alarming thought crashed in my mind: What if she was traumatized? Like - psychologically fucked up beyond repair? What if we had to spend thousands on useless child therapy, only to end up spoon-feeding her baby food while her empty eyes gazed out at a world only she could see? And holy shit, what if we had to -
She coughed.
Next to me.
A delicate puff of cute air.
Thank God.
She was still herself. My Georgia. My brave, deserves-a-better-father-than-me Georgia.
I released my seat belt with a click and stupidly asked, “Are you okay?”
She eyed me, somewhat sharply, as if my question was illogical. Like - Hey, I know you just witnessed a couple friendly shoppers murdered by a fucking ghost, but are you doing okay otherwise?
To her credit, Georgia gave a slight nod. The type of nod which indicates somebody is not okay, but doesn’t want to inconvenience the person who asked. Honestly, I had no idea what to say, or how to reassure her, so I just propelled myself from the car and assumed - or hoped - that she would follow.
And she did, trailing after me as I trudged up the driveway…
The house was dark. Of course it was. After all, Simone left the house in gloom whenever she wanted to bite my neck off in anger, like Count fucking Dracula lurking somewhere in the depths of his castle.
Georgia flew up the stairs in a burst of little steps. I stared after her and found myself smiling. Considering that she had no apparent interests, I couldn’t imagine what she was in such a hurry to get to.
No. That’s not it.
The truth was she wasn’t in a hurry to get to anything. She was in a hurry to get away from something - namely, the verbal war Simone and I were about to have with each other.
I let my eyes scan the dark corners of the house, aware for the first time that it’s possible Simone wasn’t even home yet. That maybe she had hit it off with the executive at the romantic-looking restaurant. That perhaps he had loved more than just her business pitch. I wonder if by now they had exchanged more than just -
Bump.
I reacted -
And no sooner had I turned toward that abrupt sound when I instinctively back pedaled, the better to avoid Simone as she erupted from the kitchen and stormed towards me…
She hissed, “You fucker!”
Murderous. That’s what she was…
Until she pulled up short.
As if somebody had yanked an invisible rope attached to her back. She stumbled slightly. Her steps were no longer storming across the carpet, they were straining…as if shackled by an imaginary ball and chain. Hatred flew from her eyes, replaced with a vulnerable fear…and a growing desperation.
I lunged forward - knowing that I had only seconds to save her life - closing the distance between us, almost colliding with her as she jerked to a rigid stop. On instinct I heaved on her upper arms, which felt like concrete pillars. Her eyes were wide open with panic.
Buried alive.
Fetch the shovel. Excavate the earth. And those are the eyes you’ll find, staring up at you from the ground.
Only, right now, Simone’s eyes were directed at the open window…as the child-like entity contorted its way into the living room…
For some stupid, inexplicable reason I clapped my hands over my ears, so as not to “hear” the blade pierce my wife’s throat. Droplets of stringy blood splattered against the carpet as her knees buckled and she flopped onto the sofa. Dead.
And just like that, the entity was gone. Vaporized. Like a fucked up magic trick. Now you see her, now you don’t. Thanks for coming out tonight, folks.
I tried to process the death of my wife in front of me, my chaotic mess of thoughts interrupted by -
“Dad?”
Oh God - Georgia. Behind me. A frown on her face I will never forget. A frown that said - Surely I am not seeing what the world is showing me.
I stumble-ran to my daughter and rattled her little body, like a rag doll. I didn’t even notice when she winced in pain, so intent was I on ensuring that the entity hadn’t taken hold of her and -
Clunk.
An object dropped from Georgia’s hand, onto the floor.
I had to blink a number of times until I realized it was a seashell. In the dim light, it resembled a slumbering, white snail.
When my confused eyes returned to Georgia, she simply shrugged, and said, “I collect them.”
I smiled numbly, through my tears. Turns out my daughter had an interest after all. A pleasant discovery, spoiled by the fact that she would never in her life scan the beach for seashells with her mother.
That realization poked a violent hole in my soul, but I encouraged Georgia to keep looking into my eyes, as I said, “Tell me about those sea shells…which are your favorite?”
The distraction worked. Georgia bit her lip, thinking about my question, before she replied, “Actually, this one is my favorite…”
She bent to retrieve the sea shell from the floor, but I knew she wouldn’t reach it…her arms were already seizing up…her hands trudging through the air like quicksand.
A familiar gloom fell over the living room…
I stood in front of my daughter…
Protective.
And ready…