What a wicked idea, although the same wickedness was what made it enticing. She blushed, ashamed of herself. How silly she was to be thinking these things. The next morning, she must read the Bible and repent.
She said her prayers and slept.
Her dreams were usually bursting with color. She dreamed of the city, of its sights, of wearing pretty dresses and attending lavish parties.
Her dream that night was different.
She felt that someone sat at the head of her bed and extended a hand, gently caressing her face. She was not afraid. The presence was soothing, the caresses as soft as silk.
That shapeless someone lay beside her and drew her close, running a hand down her neck.
A mouth pressed against her lips. One kiss, and then another, and another, but all of them butterfly soft. The dream lover who sought her company was knit from darkness and fog. The room around her was blackness and shadows and patches of gray. She could not see him.
Vaguely she remembered the story of Cupid and Psyche. Vaguely too she recalled Valentín’s kiss. Yet the memory of the field of barley and the skies above their heads seemed distant, as if that were the true dream.
A voice murmured in her ear, deep and steady. It spoke in a language she did not know, or perhaps in the drowsiness of sleep the words became jumbled. She sensed the meaning, though, for it was love that was spoken to her, and she responded with the same whisper of words, echoing the voice.
She sighed and languidly reached up, grasping the face of the phantom that sought her embrace, and wrapped her arms around a body that was solid and strong. Fog he might be, but his breath tickled her skin. He pulled her arms above her head with the same languor she’d displayed, and she smiled.
Her hair was spread upon the pillow, her body taut as she arched her back and her fingertips brushed the carved headboard. He lay upon her, yet he was weightless, insubstantial, and not, for she could sense the power of his muscles, his hands tight around her wrists.
He kissed her beneath her ear, kissed the hollow of her neck, rested his lips upon her breast, and she twisted and shuddered, wanting to drag him closer to her.
The lips against her flesh were suddenly two needles that pierced her skin, digging deep into her chest. The stinging pain spread down her belly. She cried out loudly and attempted to fling the phantomaway, but the needles sank in, pinning her down, and the body above her was now like a block of iron.
She could not breathe and opened her eyes wide. The room had turned into a splash of vermilion, the color suffocating her.
How cold she felt. Her limbs were frozen stiff and the breath of the phantom who had invaded her room was like a gust of icy wind. She pressed a hand against flesh, felt the quick beating of a heart before it melted away and she was holding on to nothingness. This, she thought, was the tale not of Cupid and Psyche, but of Persephone dragged into the depths of the underworld. This was a chthonic sacrifice.
An eon passed and the presence shifted and slid away, receding slowly, nails raking her torso and her legs before lifting from her body.
She breathed in and turned her head. In the darkness Alba caught a glimpse of two hungry, large eyes, fixed on her. The eyes had no face; they belonged to a shadow that had the outline of a body, yet she could discern none of its features. No nose, no mouth, no teeth.
Only the eyes, enormous and terrible, unblinking, were clearly visible. She opened her mouth, raised a feeble hand, trying to shield herself from the gaze of the apparition, and when she looked again the shadow slipped down upon the floor, like a river of tar, and slid under the bed.
She tossed her head from side to side, the bedsheets tangling around her limbs like a shroud. Then the bedsheet slipped from her fingers and the bed below crumbled into dust. She was flung into an abyss.
Alba woke up with a start and stared at the ceiling. It was morning and light filtered under the curtains. She tossed the sheets aside and stood up. She was forced to sit down immediately. Her limbs felt like wet paper and the dream still made her heart race.
She touched the sheets, alarmed, suddenly afraid something might slink from under them and seep onto the ground. She kicked the sheets away with one quick motion and held her breath.
She wanted to peek under the bed, but the thought of doing so made her heart beat even faster.
“Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen,” she said, speaking hastily and making the sign of the cross.
After a minute she knelt by the bed with her hands resting on the mattress, as if she were about to say her prayers. Then she looked under it. But there was nothing there to see.
Alba let out a shaky sigh. What a strange dream she’d had. Although she had to admit that in the beginning it had been rather pleasant. But then it had turned horrid, and she pressed both of her hands against her medallion, feeling the cool metal under her fingertips.
She stood up and opened the curtains. The motion of her arms made her wince; a stabbing pain extended through her body. She looked down and saw the nightgown had a maroon splotch upon the chest. It had not been there when she went to bed.
Quickly she pulled the gown off her body and stood naked in front of the mirror. Above her heart there was a cut, as if she’d nicked herself with a knife. The skin around the cut was bruised and purplish. Alba leaned forward, her fingers brushing the cut and pressing down on it.
In horror she stepped away from the mirror. Her mind was in chaos. She wanted to yell for her mother but knew it would be futile. She would be disbelieved. If she told her uncle, he’d say she’d listened to too many silly folktales. Perhaps they’d think she was going mad and was harming herself.
Alba managed to dress herself and pin her hair up, then descended the stairs quickly and found the maids in the kitchen.
“Will you let my mother know I’ve gone to visit the Molina girls?” she asked them, and did not wait for a response.
