Page 90 of Play Nice

In that split second of light.

A thing of pure nightmare. The face of hell. Of every hideous thing in the world, not just in aesthetics, but in spirit. Roadkill. Swarming bugs. Prey being caught in the jaws of a predator. Open wounds. Charred bones. Parts no longer connected to the body they once belonged to. War. Wreckage. Death. Every image you’ve ever seen that lingers behind your eyelids, that discomfort you cannot shake. The things that get inside and reassemble you. Make you uglier at your core.

Drive you crazy.

Don’t look.

Those big milky eyes staring back at me. Red slits for pupils. Gaping, drooling mouth open, crowded with sharp teeth glinting in the brief, bright flare…

I shut my eyes.

The thunder came.

Darkness. Not sleep.

When I finally opened my eyes, it was morning. My alarm clock squawking.

“Some storm last night,” I said to the girls over toast.

They hadn’t heard it.

When we left the house, the ground was dry—as if it hadn’t rained. As if there’d been no storm at all.

—

It’s raining now. It’s been raining on and off for I don’t know how long. I’ve lost track.

Lightning. Thunder.

I ordered a pizza that I have no appetite for. It goes cold on the coffee table in front of me.

I read. Turn the pages. Turn, turn, turn, turn, turn.

Mariella arrived Saturday morning, sweeping into the house dressed in a satin blouse with matching trousers, as if she were attending a glamorous luncheon, not a suburban paranormal investigation.

She didn’t come alone.

There was Ruth, a woman about my age with blue hair and a tattoo of a butterfly on her chest. She was a self-described clairvoyant specializing in nonhuman contact.

Then there was Jed, who looked like a California surfer but was a paranormal technician—an expert in EMF (electromagnetic fields) and EVP (electronic voice phenomena). He carried with him a backpack full of funny-looking equipment. He wore a Tommy Bahama shirt barely buttoned, had an August tan in June, and shaggy blond hair.

And finally, Roy. The demonologist. Mariella’s nephew. He was handsome, subdued. He seemed more focused than the rest of them. They were on an adventure; he was on a job.

I welcomed Mariella and her team with coffee and donuts.

They were all nice. Enthusiastic. Empathetic.

“Yep! Something’s here for sure,” Ruth said as soon as she walked in. “You’re not wrong about that!”

They all laughed. Except Roy.

We sat down for coffee, and I told them everything that had happened, including the incident two nights prior when I saw the being in my room.

“I might have been dreaming,” I said, dismissing myself out of habit.

“I don’t think so,” Roy said immediately. He seemed embarrassed, like he hadn’t realized he’d spoken the words out loud. He blushed and shook his head.

All I felt was relief. It was different from the validation from Father Bernard because these people seemed to be on my side. Allies. More than just believers, they wanted to help me. They didn’t appear to be in any rush to leave. There was no judgment. No fear.