Treacherous Games.

Anise paced the floor in her bedroom, unsettled and frustrated. Her blood boiled under her skin, her bones aching. Her breath came in fast, short spurts and her heart raced wildly inside of her chest, her ribcage doing its best to contain the fury. She lurched onto her bed, muffling her screams deep into her pillow. Feeling the need to release more, she shoved her hand under her mattress, revealing a sharp chef knife she’d taken from the kitchen. She plunged it’s blade deep into the soft pillow repeatedly, shredding the material to dust.

Frantic, she raced to the bathroom to splash cold water against her sweaty face. Her clammy hands shook as she turned the faucet. Her pupils were wide, covering the creamy brown of her iris in a cold shade of black. Her mind reeled as she stared down her own reflection. I’ll show her, she thought to herself, her skin crawling. I’ll show her.

Three Weeks Later

The bell rang loudly, yanking Anise from her slumber in the back of the class. She howled out, her desk scraping lightly against the floor as she heaved her head up. The entire room turned to stare at her, followed by laughter. Her face turned a fierce red.

She sat at the desk until the room had cleared. Sheepishly she looked up towards the front of the room, towards Mrs. Harring. She looked back at Anise with a sorrowful grin. 

“Still having nightmares?” Mrs. Harring questioned. 

“Sorry about that,” Anise replied, shoving her books into her messenger bag. “Sleeping at night is impossible. I didn’t mean to sleep through your lecture.”

Mrs. Harring made her way to the back of the room. She sat on the desktop next to Anise, gently placing her hand on Anise’s forearm. “You are doing great. You have been through more hell than anyone I’ve ever known - and not just for your age. You have trauma, Anise. That takes time to heal.”

Anise smiled gently at Mrs. Harring, her skin electric under the warmth of her hand. She longed to pull away, avoid the touch but she knew that Mrs. Harring only meant well. She gripped her fingerprints into the desk harder. 

“Thanks, Mrs. Harring,” Anise replied. She yanked her bag up over her shoulder and turned to leave. At the door she turned back. “I’ll try not to sleep through your next class.” 

With that, Anise was outside in the fresh air, the hot sun beating down on her as she stood in the grass of the east wing of campus. She tried to regulate her breath. Her heart was racing, the sound rushing through her ears like the ocean. She quickly looked around, panic setting in that those around her could hear it too, like waves crashing wildly against rock. 

She closed her eyes tightly, the warmth of the sun seeping into her bones. The world around her fell silent, her heart slowed and breathing returned. You’re okay, a voice inside her head whispered. For now.

Anise’s eyes flashed open, a cold chill ran down her spine. She spun around, searching wildly for the cold breath that had brushed against her cheek, the back of her neck. She turned to head home but stopped short, her body frozen against the pull of strong, icy hands on her shoulders; Long, thin fingers dug into her collarbone, angry and vengeful. A cold breath lingered against the back of her ear. Her skin pricked as a deep growl surrounded her. She shut her eyes, her fists balled tightly, her knuckles white as could be. The pressure on her shoulders became more intense. She screamed in pain, feeling as though she was going to be ripped in half. 

Just like that, it was over. Anise was standing in the middle of campus, sunlight beating down on her, alone, screaming. Other students were staring at her, gape mouthed and whispering. Humiliation rained down on her like a flash flood. She ran home in tears. Mrs. Harring had watched from the window in her lecture hall, hiding in the shadows. She had seen Anise’s body shift, change, ache. She pulled out a weathered, tattered notebook, scribbling with intensity before her next class.

Once Anise had safely made it inside her front door she collapsed to the floor, a puddle forming around her feet as she sobbed. She sat on the cold tile until the sun began to set. Finally she dragged herself up and into the kitchen. She grabbed a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food from the freezer and snuggled up in a blanket on the couch. She turned on an old black and white movie and fell asleep 

As Anise drifted off, memories made their way in, bright and vivid, as if she were really there all over again. Her body jerked around, her eyes darting around behind her eyelids. She was standing in the middle of the road, Chase on one side of her, Spencer on the other. It was Halloween. Chase and Spencer were dressed up as Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. The trees around her blurred, the edges of her dream were fog-filled and cloudy. The town was decorated but there was a much darker feeling surrounding her. The decorations were much creepier than normal, gory and aggressive.

The boys were fighting, as per usual however everything moved in slow motion. She turned, confused and disoriented. Her shadow, cast from the full moon above seemed to be a full two seconds behind her. Turning back the boys had run ahead, down the street towards the abandoned church. She reached out to them, calling their names but no sound came from her throat. She charged forward but the street seemed to elongate the further she went, like hallways in scary movies. Her legs screamed in agony, feeling as though she’d run for miles trying to catch the boys, to keep them safe from the shadows lurking in the dark. She silently screamed, reaching forward once more as a dark shadow swallowed the boys whole. 

Anise’s screams yanked her from her nightmare on the couch. She sat upright, soaked in sweat, tears pouring from her eyes. She turned to look at the clock on the stove. A bright blue read 3:15AM. Of course, she thought to herself. The witching hour. She dragged herself to the shower and stood under the water until it ran cold. Once dressed she made herself a cup of coffee, grabbed another blanket from the closet and curled up in a chair on her porch. The full moon lit up the night sky as if it were daytime. As the sun peeked over the horizon, Anise pulled on her shoes and went for a run. 

Mrs. Harring lived a few streets away from the apartment building that Anise lived at. She too, had been woken up at 3:15AM. A scream in her dreams had pulled her from her sleep. A cold chill ran down her spine, leaving her unable to go back to bed. Her home was small and cozy with an exquisite bay window in her front room overlooking the neighborhood street. As Anise ran by, Mrs. Harring scribbled more in her tattered notebook. 

Originally Anise hadn’t told anyone about what had happened back in her hometown. Mrs. Harring had been her counselor her freshman year. Mrs. Harring had sensed that something was gnawing at her, deep inside. She had been incredibly patient with Anise, letting her tell her story of that awful night in her own time. She was appreciative of having someone to tell that hadn’t been there. So many people that lived in town felt like they knew what she’d gone through, how it felt, how she felt, but they didn’t. No one had any idea. Mrs. Harring didn’t pretend to, which left Anise with a sense of ease. She didn’t feel she needed to hide around Mrs. Harring.

Mrs. Harring, on the other hand, was fascinated by Anise’s story of that night. She’d heard the rumors, the stories, the brief news broadcasts with their dull, boring newspeak but when she heard that Anise had applied to the college that she worked at, Mrs. Harring took a great deal of interest in ensuring her spot as Anise’s counselor. She wanted to know more. She wanted to whole story, in all of its gruesome, vivid detail.

She knew that Anise would be resistant at first, that she would need time to really trust her before letting her in. So, Mrs. Harring listened and waited. She took vigilant notes. She watched every move that Anise made. She longed to live inside her skin, to know what her day to day was like, what it felt like to have lived through such a terrifying experience. After Anise had finished her first semester of her freshman year, she sat down to spill it all to Mrs. Harring. 

Anise had been babysitting around her neighborhood for years. As her junior year of highschool ended a new family moved to town, The Dirks. They had two young boys, Chase, age 9 and Spencer, age 7. They were adorable and feisty with freckles and white blonde hair. They moved in three houses down from Anise. Within two weeks of moving in Mrs. Dirks had arranged a meeting with Anise to see about babysitting as she’d come so highly recommended. After meeting the boys, Anise immediately said yes. They were sweet and fun to be around. They had more energy than she could handle and she loved every single moment of it. Anise quickly became part of the family. 

Halloween had rolled around and the boys were so excited. They loved the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Both had insisted on being Donatello. Anise had tried to convince one of them to be Michealangeo but they were dead set on being the same. They had convinced Anise to dress like a witch. She had taken them to the costume shop and they picked out a long green wig, a fake nose with a wart and a pointy black hat. She grabbed a pair of green and black striped tights to match her hair. 

The Dirks had been invited to a neighbor’s party so Anise took the boys trick-or-treating. As they were winding down the wind turned cold. It bit at Anise’s neck sharply. All time seemed to slow down for Anise. The boys seemed to be moving in slow motion as she turned to see the streets now abandoned, the trees ever looming overhead. In front of them the street lights had gone out. It was pitch black. The boys shrieked and started running towards the dark, yelling and screaming with excitement. Anise felt as though there were weights in her legs; she couldn’t keep up. She tried to call out, to stop them but they shuffled into the darkness without ever turning around.

As the dark overtook the boys, the edges of Anise’s vision blurred, her footing got caught and she tumbled to the street. When she woke, it was morning, the warm fall sun beating down on her cold body. Anise took stock, nothing was broken but her head hurt like hell. She glanced around to get her bearings when it hit her - the boys. She had no idea what had happened to them, where they were. Did they make it home? Did someone see them and take them? Why was she still here in the middle of the road? 

She stumbled to her feet and ran to The Dirk’s. The house was quiet, empty and dark. She banged on the door, yelling for the boys. She was met with silence. As a tear slid down her cheek, her hands trembling she tried the doorknob. Locked. She ran to the back of the house and tried the knob. The door creaked open and she slid inside. “Hello?” she called out, the ticking clock on the wall the only sound to meet her. “Hello,” she cried out once more. “Anybody home? Chase? Spencer? Mrs. Dirks?”

Slowly Anise made her way to the stairs where she was met with a cold gust of wind. She shuddered as a chill ran down the length of her spine. She felt uneasy, her stomach in knots. She walked up the stairs slowly, still calling out. At the top of the stairs she was met with a heavy, sickening smell. As she opened the door to the master bedroom, she saw it. The entire Dirk’s family, gutted on the bed. There was blood smeared across each of the walls, a different symbol that Anise couldn’t make out. Their bodies were arranged just so, carefully and deliberately. As the shock wore off, Anise howled and bolted down the stairs, the cold rush of air pulling at her as she yanked open the front door, screaming for help on the front lawn.

The neighborhood rallied over the awful trauma, banding together a neighborhood watch. Anise quit babysitting. She couldn’t sleep. Something crawled under her skin when she closed her eyes; a cold wind bit at her neck. She barely made it out of highschool before running far away for college. 

The nightmares began early, within a week of making it out of her hometown - something Anise hadn’t put much thought into when they started. The first time she had a breakdown was in Mrs. Harring’s history class. She had been asleep, the symbols and darkness swirling around her head. As the darkness drew in around her, the smell of blood and decaying flesh overwhelming her senses she leapt from her desk screaming “Fuck” at the top of her lungs. She fell to the floor with a crash. The entire class just stared at her. Mrs. Harring had done a wonderful job regaining the class’ attention. After class, she had asked Anise to stay behind.

Anise was mortified. Mrs. Harring explained that she was her counselor and had been given a brief history of the trauma that Anise had endured. She assured her kindly that she would do all she could to help ease the transition into college and be a sounding board for any issues that may come up, like the episode she’d just experienced. 

As Mrs. Harring placed her hand on Anise’s forearm she jerked it away quickly, almost as if she’d cut her with a knife. Anise apologized. She explained to Mrs. Harring that the trauma of seeing someone’s body inside out had left her skin electric to the human touch, as if a thousand needles were injecting into her at once. Mrs. Harring’s pupils flared with excitement. She craved the electric feeling that Anise had. She longed to feel alive, under her skin, inside her bones. She took care to keep her face steady and serene, a trusted landing spot for Anise.

Now, as Anise was nearing the end of her junior year of college, the nightmares had become more vivid, more real, more aggressive. Mrs. Harring was not unaware of this shift. She’d watched Anise from day one and she’d seen a spike in her odd behavior. She’d taken so many notes she was onto a third notebook, tattered and worn from overuse. Mrs. Harring had also taken to noting the cycles of the moon . She found that as the moon became full, the intensity in which Anise struggled became more tangible. The day in the courtyard, with the icy fingers digging deep into Anise’s flesh, the moon rose high and bright in the sky, filling the town with moonlight, nearly full. Mrs. Harring took note and made her way to Anise’s apartment that night as she had many nights before.

As the clock struck 3:00 AM, Mrs. Harring sat vigilantly in her car just outside of Anise’s apartment building, her eyes peeled at the doorway. She had slept until nearly midnight, setting an alarm on her phone to ensure she was up in case anything were to happen. At precisely 3:01, Anise left the apartment, closing the door behind her quietly. She walked with ferocity, with purpose yet her feet were bare and she was in her pyjamas, a tiny tank top and short cotton shorts. Mrs. Harring made a note and slipped out of her car silently.

She followed Anise from across the street, ducking behind bushes and taking care to not get too close to any homes to avoid setting off any motion sensor lights. Anise stopped short in front of a small home with large windows and a beautiful flower bed full of lavender and roses. Mrs. Harring jotted down the address and ducked deeper behind a short boxwood. Anise appeared to be frozen, entranced by this house. She stood staring at an upper bedroom window. The curtains, slightly illuminated by the now setting moon donned small cartoon rocketships. This room belonged to a child. Again, Mrs. Harring took note and continued watching. Anise did not move one muscle. By 4:00 AM, Anise was on the move, back towards her apartment. With no sound at all she slipped back inside, leaving Mrs. Harring alone in the early hours of the morning. With a small grin, Mrs. Harring started her car and headed towards home. Anise, standing in the window watching her car pull away through the sheer curtains, had gone unnoticed.

The following day, Anise appeared to be well rested, energetic, even verging on enthusiastic in Mrs. Harring’s class. She did not rest her head once to take solace in sleep. Mrs. Harring kept a close eye on her, Anise doing the same. Their attention caught more than once, sending a slight chill down Mrs. Harring’s back. She brushed it off as nothing, just excitement from the events of the evening before. 

At the end of the lecture, Anise stayed still in her seat, her eyes trailing Mrs. Harring as she cleared the white board for her next class. Quiet, like a cat hunting it’s prey, she slunk to the front of the room, coming up directly behind her in one swift motion. Mrs. Harring froze at Anise’s breath on her neck. 

“Why were you at my house last night?” Anise whispered softly, so close to Mrs. Harring’s ear she could hear the saliva on her tongue moving.

Mrs. Harring stood in fear, unable to comprehend speech. 

Anise wove her fingers between Mrs. Harring’s and licked the back of her neck. Tears welled in Mrs. Harring’s eyes. Though she couldn’t see it, she could feel Anise’s eyes boring through her skull, her pupils wide and wild. With that, Anise left the room, leaving Mrs. Harring a jumbled mess of fear. 

Anise soared through the rest of her day, unphased by the events of the night before, well rested and at ease with the confrontation she’d had with Mrs. Harring. Standing in the quad before heading home she had stopped in the same place she’d been frozen just the day before yet this time she stood with a new energy, an electric buzz tingling all around her. Mrs. Harring stood watch behind her dark curtained window, notebook in hand, nerves frazzled. Anise turned and locked her gaze on Mrs. Harring’s eyes. Slowly her lips curled over her teeth, her eyes narrowing, her face contorted into an awful, menacing smile. Mrs. Harring’s blood ran cold. She slipped away from the window, dropping the notebook to the floor. 

Mrs. Harring had always had a fascination for the occult and all things dark. She had spent years studying all that she could, wrapping herself in the culture and the supernatural side of life. When she had heard the story of what had happened to Anise on the news, she was immediately drawn to her. The police had rendered the act as an occult driven crime but no one had ever been arrested and the case remained cold. Anise had never been a person of interest as she had woken up in the street and there was no evidence to link her to the crime; no blood, no witnesses, nothing. Mrs. Harring had a different thought. This felt dark and sinister. Whether the police knew it or not, Anise was a key part of that night. Mrs. Harring had wanted an in, a chance to see what the dark side of life held but this, this was deeper than what she had expected. The insides of her begged her to stay in that night, let sleeping dogs lie but she yanked at the urge to stay and drove to Anise’s once again, this time the moon full and bright as ever, shielded by clouds and threatening rain. 

It was midnight and the lights remained on inside Anise’s apartment. Mrs. Harring took note, reading through her weathered notes and found this to be odd. Anise had a tendency to be asleep no later than 10:30 PM on any given night. Something stirred inside of Mrs. Harring, a slight warning to leave. She brushed it aside and slunk down in the seat, watching as Anise’s shadow paced the floor of her living room. 

Mrs. Harring woke hot and sweaty, her head aching. As she opened her eyes she was met with a roaring fire in a stone fireplace. She was too close, the flames essentially licking at her legs. A sharp pain came from the base of her skull. She felt warmth trickling down her neck. As she tried to focus she became increasingly aware that she was in someone’s home, someone whom she didn’t know and she was tied to a chair. Her hands were bound behind her back tightly, her ankles strapped to the chair. Her head was bleeding, the smell of blood flooding her nose. As she tried to move her throat caught on a rope. As she shifted, the rope yanked at her hands. She pulled her feet forward slightly and her neck yanked back hard. She was bound from top to bottom, bleeding from a large gash in the back of her head and far too close to a fire. Her head raced at how she had gotten here.

A shadow appeared on the wall in front of her, looming and angry. A long butcher knife quivered in the shadow’s right hand, a small dripping from the end of the blade. Mrs. Harring shut her eyes, pulled her body in tightly as fear consumed her. Swiftly the chair fell backwards, sending Mrs. Harring tumbling to the floor. She tried to call out but the rope caught, stopping her cry for help. She looked up to find Anise standing over her, covered in blood. She had it smeared from cheek to cheek, spread across her lips and up both arms to the shoulder. 

“You should have stayed home,” Anise whispered, crouching down next to Mrs. Harring’s face. She looked at her with wonder, her pupils dancing wildly, large and demonic. She ran the blade softly down the length of Mrs. Harring’s cheek leaving a small line of blood in its wake. Ansie dipped down and traced her tongue along the length of the smeared blood. Mrs. Harring let out a small wail. Anise smiled, her eyes flashing as the flames from the fire danced wildly against the bright black of her pupils. 

The following morning, Anise woke in the middle of a field, alone, barefoot and wearing nothing but a torn tank top and her short cotton shorts. She struggled to get her bearings. She was met by a police officer as she stumbled towards the road. A jogger had seen her body in the field and called the police. Clearly shaken the police took her into the station to get her some coffee and an idea of what had happened the night before. Anise told them that she had gone to a bar around 11 to meet up with a boy from school. They had played pool and had a few beers. That was all she could remember. Hot tears streamed down her face as she shook under the blanket they’d given her. A woman police officer brought her some clothes, grey sweatpants and a dark blue t-shirt. They took her to the hospital to have her checked out.

As Anise sat in the small curtained off room she heard the nurses talking. Something about a horrific murder, blood stained walls, a woman burned to death in a fireplace. 

“I heard that there were these giant symbols smeared in blood on each of the walls. It was a whole family. The mom and dad were on the bed head to head and the little boy - how awful! I mean, who does that to a child?”

“What about the woman? The one that was stuffed into the fireplace? Who was she? I mean, how did she even get there?”

“From what Detective Marzine said, her jaw was gaped open when they found her, like she’d been burned alive head first.”

“I might be sick.”

The conversation trailed off as the nurses headed down the hallway. As the doctor pulled back the curtain, tears streamed down her face, sullen and scared. He patted her arm softly, his voice soft and soothing, reassuring her that they’d make sure she was safe. After he’d taken her vitals and scheduled a rape kit, he left her alone once more. A small, wry grin crept over her face. All better now, she whispered to herself, settling into the bed.