Risen-- a short story for the spooky season! (Patreon)

Risen

Caitlin Donovan

I woke up in strange room, bloody runes smeared on the floor around me. My body stank of rotting meat. But when I lifted my arm to take a closer look, the smell faded as if it had never been there.

I stroked my skin, alarmed by how smooth and soft it was. This was…unnatural.

There was a woman sitting next to me. She was beautiful, silver eyes peeking out from a tangle of dark curls, full cheeks and slightly parted lips. She was familiar…but I couldn’t quite place who she was.

“Asha.” Her voice was breathy and choked. “You came back to me.” I noticed there was blood on her hands too, smearing all over mine. The dull red shone wetly in the moonlight streaming thought the room’s sole window. The sight made my chest heave and my stomach roil.

“Asha?” I echoed. Someone’s name…was it mine?

“It’s okay if you take some time to remember,” she sniffled. “You’ve been through so much.” She noticed she was getting blood on me, and quickly let go. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I’ll get you cleaned up. It was just a little light necromancy. Do you… remember dying?”

I shook my head. I noticed that her eyes had fallen to my chest. I looked down and saw a scar, like an exploding star, on my left breast. It looked like a bullet wound.

“Who--?”

“Don’t worry, I killed him. I should have done it ages ago. He won’t hurt you again, Asha.”

Her eyes took on a vicious gleam, one that went beautifully with her blood drenched robe. I felt something stir inside me. “Good,” I said, without knowing why.

Some of the blood on her was her own. She had a cut on her shoulder, deep and savage. I reached for it, careful not to cause pain. “What’s…?”

“Oh, this.” She sighed. “It’s a risk you take when you do necromancy. Fortunately, I was prepared. I’d take on anything to get you back.”

There was that wolfish grin again. One of her teeth was a little bit crooked, adding some charm to the whole effect. I liked it, but no matter how hard I strained…

“I’m sorry…who are you?”

She flinched. Then she gathered herself. “I’m not surprised you have a hard time remembering with all the…the trauma. I’ve heard it can be hard, for the recently resurrected. My name is Stasia. I was—am your lover.”

“Oh. Wow, I lucked out,” I said without thinking.

She laughed and pulled to me feet. “Let’s get you some clothes.”

She supported me as I took my first, trembling steps out of the dark room, and into the hall of what seemed to be a simple house. “I’m sure you’ll remember with time,” she whispered lovingly. Her breath tickled my ear pleasantly.

“I’m sure I will,” I said.

She smiled beatifically.

***

The next morning when I woke up, she was waiting in the breakfast nook with a hopeful expression.

“Do you remember me yet?” She asked again, and the look on her face was so achingly hopeful I couldn’t bring myself to shatter her.

“A little bit. I think I’m slowly recovering,” I lied.

She threw herself at me and I sank into her warm embrace.

That night, she threw a big party and invited all our friends. I didn’t recognize a single face. When they said my name, it stung, scraped against my skin until I thought I’d be stripped raw. I tried to get used to it, let the name fit, but it just wouldn’t.

“I thought you were dead! I knew Stasia was powerful, but I can’t believe she actually saved you, sweetie!” one woman claiming to be my “best friend” sobbed. She clutched my hand, and I wanted to jerk away from her sweaty touch and simpering words, but I kept my smile fixed.

Gathered around the table, they all spoke to me as if they knew me, told inside jokes and expected me to laugh. They kept acting like I had been extremely funny, so I tried desperately to come up with something witty, something that would make Stasia smile.

“Why are ghosts terrible liars? Because you can see right through them!”

Everyone stared at me silently. There were a few forced chuckles , and everyone moved on. I noticed Stasia frowning at her soup and told myself I’d learn how to be funny if it killed me…again.

I ate as much as I could that night, but the food was so thick and soggy in my mouth, I could barely swallow. And no matter how much I ate, there was this hunger like a black hole in my gut. Well, that made sense, right? According to Stasia, I’d been dead for a week. I had a lot of eating to catch up on.

***

I said I wanted to look over old writing and pictures, so Stasia gathered them for me. I didn’t like the me in the photos, though. The smile in those photos seemed cloying, and my eyes were always looking at something else, distracted from whatever was in front of me.

I liked the letters I’d written better. I couldn’t see how I was funny, I just came off as overly cheerful. But I wrote these fancy things about Stasia that were quite nice.

Your wit shines like moonlight skimming the sea…Your passion envelopes me like the velvet night…

Such words turned to tin in my mouth and fell like thuds when spoken aloud. I traced my looping handwriting with my finger and tried to think of it as something I could have produced. When I moved my hands, they were dull and heavy. My fingers were far too stubby. I often knocked things over, but Stasia patiently helped me clean up.

I didn’t like what I saw when I looked in the mirror. My skin hung on me wrong. My teeth were too straight, my eyes were too wide, my arms stuck out at awkward angles. Despite how heavy I felt, I was too skinny, too frail looking, and like I might crumble if I moved wrong.

The only thing that seemed right was being with Stasia.

I could watch her for hours. The way she sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by pages and pages of spells, a look of fierce concentration on her face that made me want to set the world on fire. The way she would occasionally mutter a word of encouragement to the strange twisted, bulbous plant she watered. And though she never laughed at any of the jokes I tried out on her, she would occasionally laugh at things I did, like when I tried to make dinner by combining everything I found in the kitchen, or when I clapped with glee at the strange lights she summoned and chased after them on my clumsy, clunky legs. It was a gentler laugh than her delicious cackle, but just as rich a sound, like the crackling of autumn leaves.

When she said my name, it still fit wrong, but I liked the way she spoke, the way her tongue would skim the curve of her lips. She made my arms and legs a little less heavy, made me think less about how my hair scratched my neck, about how I hated sitting in these chairs.

But when I looked at her, the hunger also got worse.

It had been three days and I could barely force my food down now. I would pretend to eat a few bites, then spit it out in the sink. I would wash and wash my mouth until every scrap clinging like glue to my tongue was gone.

Kissing Stasia was the only thing that made it better. It was heavenly. I could never get enough of it, the wetness, the warmth, our tongues twisting together, her soft lips—I wanted more, more, more.

After a week together, it finally happened. During a kiss, I bit down and drew blood. She moaned in pleasure, but I reeled back. The blood trickled down my throat, and my entire body was aflame. Through the haze, I saw the healing wound on her shoulder.

And I remembered.

I remembered slumbering in my dim, black world full of insubstantial shadows that only spoke in faded, stale echoes. I remembered feeling the pull of her spell. Another mortal daring to try and play God. It was my lot to punish them for their trespass and sate my own desires in turn. I followed the spell to its source, hungry for my prey. Necromancers were so very delicious, and I always enjoyed my time frolicking on earth before I was called back again.

I remembered my claws raking down, the red spilling all over her robe. And I remembered how she’d swayed but kept on her feet, how she’d looked at me with wild eyes and a feral grin. My heart had beat faster in my chest. Usually, they crumpled and begged me for mercy. But not her. This one was fun. I liked how her eyes gleamed, and I loved the power in her voice.

Oh, I remembered her voice. I remembered realizing she was chanting the banishment spell. I’d been distracted by that dark melody, and now I paid the price. I had felt my body burning away. I needed a vessel, any vessel. I saw the corpse. With all my strength, I had gathered the last embers of my soul, and I’d sunk into that rotting thing.

Now, I rolled over in our bed, my stomach roiling. I was cold all over. I had to tell her.

“I’m not Asha,” I whispered.

“I know,” she said.

I twisted my grotesque, stubby fingers together. “Because I talk wrong. And I don’t eat.”

“There’s that,” she said. “And then there’s how you seem to love me back. She never did.”

“She--?” I sat up in the bed. I couldn’t fathom not loving Stasia, even if I’d only known her a week. “But those letters she wrote you…”

“She was good at words. But she never stayed long. She would always leave me for him in the end, no matter how he treated her. And then he took her away from me for good.” She wiped her eyes. “It’s been nice, having someone actually want me. Even if it’s only as a meal.”

“It’s not,” I said desperately. “I crave you, yes, your muscles and meat and bone but…I don’t want you to die. I-I can restrain myself.”

She sat up in bed too, studying me carefully. “You’ll starve, won’t you, demon? And one day, you’ll snap and devour me head to toe.”

“No!”

She tilted her head. She put her finger to her mouth and took a smear of blood from her lip. She held it close to my face. The smell was intoxicating. My stomach was collapsing in on itself, I would die if I didn’t have her blood. I howled…and I did the only thing I could.

I bit down on Asha’s hand, that stubby little thing that had tormented me all week. And I tasted her blood. It didn’t taste as good as Stasia’s, it was stale and a bit cold, but it slid down my throat slickly and sweetly. Ever so slowly, the hole in my stomach filled.

“Stop it!” Stasia snarled. She jerked my hand out of my mouth. I panted, dizzy and elated. For the first time, I felt a little bit like myself. A little lighter, a little stronger, a little more whole.

“That’s a beautiful body you have, carefully preserved by yours truly, and you should value it!” she snapped, smacking me lightly on the shoulder. She staunched the wound with her nightgown. “Hmm… You really do love me enough not to feed on me, don’t you? You’re a sweet demon. And it has been…wonderful, having you around.”

“It’s been wonderful for me too.”

She was silent for a few minutes, watching the red soak into her nightgown.

“So, it doesn’t have to me you feed on?” she asked finally. “Anyone will do?”

I nodded.

“Well, then. I think we can make this work.” Her face erupted into that devious grin I adored. A shiver of pleasure went down my spine. “Let’s pick out your first meal, my love.”