Dybbuk

Emma was bleeding too much as she rolled around the bed of the Bronco, and it still needed her to call Victor. It peeked over his shoulder, the little ones were scared in the back seat and there was nothing he could do about it.

It was so hard to separate his thoughts.

Emma needed help. He needed help.

Lina had been right.

Right all along.

There was a world out there that Wilc touched everyday but knew nothing about. He’d been walking around Clarion like a blind man convinced he could see the color nine. He’d been so wrong, now he was going to pay for it and he wouldn’t be the only one.

This thing inside him, the thing that had taken control of his body, it wanted this family.

And it wanted them bad.

The Bronco turned and rumbled down the suburban street. Its brilliant lights a problem for the dark deeds he needed to accomplish. The Bronco pulled into a driveway, and parked.

This thing, it wanted something else too. It wanted the man that died in this house. This thing had never expected the man to fight so hard. He’d been an old man, well past his prime. Which is what this thing liked. Easy targets rich in years and short on life.

It used Wilc to peer out the windshield.

The house.

They were back at the crime scene, where the body and the box had been discovered. It slept in that box, slept until Wilc turned the crank. Shit. Is that when it happened?

He couldn’t remember.

Grace began to cry.

Carrying, he was carrying a body. A small box, the box, tucked up under his arm. Over the brickwork, passed the dead rose bushes and through the back gate he carried the mother. Jadon hefted Grace, following like lost little ducklings. They arrived at the back porch.

“Open the door.” Wilc that wasn’t Wilc ordered.

Jadon struggled, with the baby in his arms, “It’s locked.”

Wilc dropped Emma, took hold of the knob and wrenched the door open with a crack.

Emma moaned, he turned and Jadon ran to her side.

“Mom?” Jadon bent low, wedging Grace between the two of them. “You’re gonna be okay Mom. The Detective said you fell. We’re getting Grandpa and then make it so you don’t hurt anymore. Mom? Momma, can you hear me?”

Wilc stood, listening. Waiting.

Jadon turned, “Right, Detective? You and Grandpa are gonna make it so she doesn’t hurt anymore, right? Right?”

“Run…” Emma mumbled.

“What?” Jadon leaned in.

A chill set in and Wilc’s breath puffed out. Sign, it was a sign of things to come. Things it wanted. Carefully, he unwrapped the music box, holding it at the ready.

“Take Grace,” she said a little louder, “Run, baby…”

“Why?”

“Bad…man.” Emma tried to push herself up, “hurt… me.”

“No,” Jadon seemed confused. “No, he said—”

“Run!” She shouted and pushed Jadon.

The boy cried out and tumbled backwards.

“Run, Baby, run and don’t—” She screamed as Wilc stepped forward and kicked the back of her head, cutting the order short. Jadon gathered up Grace, but hesitated. Waiting for his mother to say something more. She didn’t.

An ill cut smile curled at Wilcs lips.

He stomped forward, a roar erupting from his throat.

Jadon screamed and fled.

“Finally.” It smiled.

One, two, three steps and he cut off the boys exit. Jadon skidded, screaming. Grace wailed.

Wilc reached for the boy, but a chill force pushed him back, shutting the gate. He shook his head and saw there was a man between him and the children. Translucent and pale, this intruder held his ground. His image flickered, solid then thin as a wisp. His eyes marble black, and his veins a deep, deep purple. Wilc knew this man, the thing inside, seethed and rejoiced because it knew him too.

Victor Shaw.

“You cannot have them,” Victor pronounced.

“I don’t want them.” Wilc said in his ruined voice, and revealed the music box.

He rushed Victor, box held out.

“No!” Victor screamed.

The neighborhood lights popped and went out.

Wilc was left alone, doused in black with only the sniffling, cowed children and their half-dead mother. The creature had revealed its hand too soon.

Fine.

Victor would be back. He’d make sure of it.