This Dark Paradise- a collection of dark tales

The Things We Become

I once had a dream of extraordinary proportions. I was laying on a rooftop watching the moonlight splinter into fragments and rain moon dust upon me. Crystallized shards wove through my hair as it cascaded down the edge of the roof, brighter than gold. Constellations swarmed in my eyes and Orion bowed down before me. I reached for Heaven, Saturn's rings slipped into my wrist. I breathed in and swallowed the whole world.

The delicate clip-clop of my hooves follows me wherever I go, like a woman's fine stiletto-clad feet, though I am never able to slip out of mine so dainty as they. I once read a fairy tale of a girl born of cinders. Upon her tiny feet rested slippers of glass. In her story, she found her happy ending. There would be no prince brave enough to hunger for the likes of me.

I stand on two legs, unlike the other creatures that dare come out only at night. Part human, part animal. My home has been a humble one, a little log cabin in the darker part of Nero Woods, in an area not even the most courageous or most drunk of souls dare go. I hunt but it is never for food for I haven't eaten a morsel in my life. I am fed by the energy around me, sated by a force mortals cannot see. What I hunt is fragments of life; a possession, like a beaded bracelet given by a beloved friend, or a ratty book you had since you were a tot, children's drawings, a memory you hold dear.

By candlelight, I sink into one of the books I have found. My slender fingers flip the pages as I drink it all in. The pale light flickers over my ivory skin and white dress. It glides over my long carmine hair and tail and dances like an inferno over the soft sheen. It has been years since I found an ornate cracked mirror and hung it upon the wall. I often wondered how people could bear to look at themselves when what looked back was repulsive. I will never be able to get the darkness of my eyes out of my mind, not a speck of white anywhere, the way my lashes curl around as long and thin as spider's legs. Every time I pass the mirror I look down at the hooves of my feet reminding myself that I am just as repulsive as them.

When midnight comes I find myself in their yard, my eyes cast to where their bedrooms lay. They dream of me some nights and that is how they invite me in.

"Let the right one in", their grandmothers and grandfathers would warn, but little children never listen to the wise words of a wrinkled face. "And never, never let the Night Mare in."

When little children dream of horrors that little children should not, I am there to make sure they dream them right. I move to stand at the side of their beds and when they begin to tremble I sit upon the edge. My hand moves to their chest willing their heart to hammer, willing their breath to quicken. In my arms, I embrace them to keep the scary dreams close. Then they and I go on a magnificent ride right into the deepest sanctions of hell. Clip-clop, clip-clop. The Devil hears me knock and he knows I have brought a little one over - yet, just for a splinter of time.

Demons and monsters dance in their macabre ways, their skeletal arms sway back and forth like a pendulum. In the flames the little visitors see misfortune. In the ashes, they see the truth (and I think that scares them more than any demon ever will). The Devil's laughter follows as we, the little ones and I, wade knee-deep through a river as carmine as my mane and tail and watch the Ferryman bring congregations of dead over. Hands clasp. Pilgrims in prayer fallen fate to a God that dared look the other way. Dare they look over a fragile-boned shoulder as faceless entities reach and scrape jagged nails across delicate shoulders. "It's just a dream," the little ones echo in a trembling tone. I touch their flaxen hair. Their cornflower blue eyes brim with tears. "It's just a dream." But I know better.

When morning comes I have already left. Bed sheets cling onto a small body like an ill-fitting cocoon, yet no butterfly will emerge. Teary-eyed and breathless. The children replay their dreams to parents that hold them tight, with all their might, and say, "Hush, baby, it was nothing more than a nightmare."

I must cover the mirror. A veil. A shroud. Something to keep my reflection away. I take to the open space, leave the sanctuary of my domain. The moon hangs heavy in the sky full of moon dust. Twilight has long since left. The witching hour sings a symphony in my brain. In a while, morning will come crawling to me on all fours like some whore, but now the velvet hollow of darkness invites me in and I venture into the streets.

The clip-clop of my feet echo and I am calmed by the monotonous rhythm. I enjoy the silence but soon it is broken.

The clamor of many feet hitting the pavement at running speed jerk me out of my sense of peace. I stop in my tracks. I forget to breathe. But I remind myself what day it is, Halloween, the only day it's alright for me to be seen. I will my heart to stop it's thumping, the tremor to flee from my fingertips. "It's only Halloween. It's only Halloween," I mutter.

Out of a delicate mist, they emerge. My, how they have grown! Three boys and two girls dressed in mourning hues. Their flaxen hair halos around their face. Their cornflower blue eyes are smudged darkly. Around one of the children's shoulders rests a long, black cape, a thin satin ribbon is tied around his neck. They come my way, Halloween candy spilling out of their over-filled bags.

I hear their laughter, feel them trickle under my breath. They stop when they see me, let out small sounds of admiration and fear. They ask if my hair color is real, how I pinned my tail on, where I bought my hooves. I just smile and open my arms to them. Each child takes a step back, a look of longing and bewilderment written upon their face. Dust swirls, I pretend it is moon dust with crystallized shards floating around us. I wonder, what are these things, these things we become when there's nothing left but darkness?

One of the girls gasps. She holds up her hands and shakes her head. Does she remember me? I remember you, I mouth as the moonlight flickers. I feel the crack as the moon shatters. I feel the shards rain down on us. I walk to them. Curve my finger in the cape's bow and watch it slip onto the ground. We will be shrouded in dark velvet, them and I, beautiful, hideous creatures. They do not run away. I breathe in and swallow them all.