IdidnothaveMy house is trying to kill itselfon my Bingo card today.
When the porch light explodes, glass rains down onto the dead flowers on either side.The ground trembles.Yes, Kansas has earthquakes, but this is localized, violent, and it’s centered on the house.The old Victorian shudders.Windowpanes rattle like chattering teeth.The old porch swing jerks sideways, its chains shrieking.
The front door slams open with a force that shakes the frame.It bangs against the interior wall, hangs open for a second, revealing the dark maw of the hallway, thenwham.Open.Shut.Again and again, like a monstrous, gasping mouth.Each impact vibrates through the soles of my boots and cracks my molars together.Bang.Bang.Bang.
“Daddy!”My voice sounds too thin, ripped away by the next ferocious slam.“Stop fucking around!”
No answer.Just the relentless, rhythmic violence of the door.Dust puffs from the doorframe with each impact.Inside the dark rectangle of the open doorway, shadows swirl thicker than usual, coalescing and straining.
Something is wrong.This isn’t my shadow daddy’s usual spectral sulking.This is manifested agony.
I take a step back towards the porch steps, instinct warring with a sickening pull.The door hangs open again.In that slice of hallway darkness, the shadows thicken and pulse.The vague silhouette of a hand forms.Daddy’s hand, reaching out.Reaching for me.It crosses the threshold.
Blue-white lightning spiders over his shadowy flesh.He jerks, a silent scream contorting the half-formed planes of his face.The reaching hand spasms.Dark fluid, like congealed ink, wells from his fingertips, sizzling where it hits the porch wood.His whole shadowy form flickers violently, threatening to unravel.
I’m running toward him before my mind can catch up.“Daddy, what are you doing?Stop!”
His face takes shape then, peering from his shadow form, lit from within like glowing embers, but also charred black.He collapses forward, one knee hitting the threshold.More of that dark blood weeps from where his eyes should be, steaming on the hot wood.
His form trembles, barely holding cohesion.His head lifts.The bleeding shadow pits where his eyes are fix on me.Utter desolation, a plea, a warning ignites in their depths.
The house groans, a deep, structural sound of protest.The door bucks against his shadow arm, trying to slam shut on him.
“Idiot,” I breathe, rushing toward him.
He’s killing himself trying to reach me.Trying to stop me?Or just fuck me one more time before work?But no, this is more than that.This is pain made real, and me being late for work is unimportant noise against the sight of him bleeding shadows onto my porch and disintegrating at my doorstep.
Two quick strides back up the steps, over the shattered porch light glass, and I cross the threshold.
The door slams shut behind me with the finality of a tomb sealing.The two locks on it click in quick succession.
Darkness, thick and velvety, wraps around me and holds me tightly like armor.Other than his face and the vague outline of huge shoulders, he’s mostly shadows again.The bleeding has stopped, but the stains remain on the wooden floor, slick, dark puddles that seem to absorb the weak light filtering through the dusty window on the door.
“Hey…” I reach up to graze his cheek, his shadowy face shockingly cool and terrifyingly handsome.
Even in his fiery, charred form, he has unfairly plump lips and ridiculous cheekbones that cut my willpower by half.
“What was that?Are you all right?”I ask.
He lifts his head.His eyes aren’t pits of shadow now.They burn with actual embers, glowing with banked, infernal heat in the gloom.They lock onto me, filled with fury, possession, and rage.The air crackles with the sheer, suffocating weight of his presence.
“Mine,” he rasps.
The single word drips with fear and with a pain that twists my soul.
His shadows lash out.Cold, impossible bands snap around my wrists, wrenching my arms high over my head.My back hits the slammed door hard enough to rattle the hinges and send a shower of dust down from the frame.The impact punches the air from my lungs.
He heaves a low growl that starts deep in his chest and vibrates through mine.Then his mouth crashes down on mine, as real and hard and corporeal as the house around me.
His teeth scrape my bottom lip.The sharp, bright tang of my own blood blooms on my tongue.He licks it away, a rough, possessive sweep that feels less like affection and more like a predator tasting its next kill.
I moan as my knees nearly give out.His shadows hold me up by my wrists, and one twines in my hair, wrenching my head back and exposing my throat.More shadows slide under my shirt, shove under my bra, and give my nipples a cold, punishing twist, reminding me who owns the flesh beneath my cheap cotton clothes.
I cry out, the sound swallowed by his devouring mouth.He tears at my clothes, leaving only my bra and panties, and cool air instantly hits my skin.His gaze rakes down, an appraisal etched in literal fire.A guttural snarl rips from him, vibrating against my chest.Possessive fury sharpens to a razor’s edge.
“Mine.“ The word is a graveled rasp against my throat.
His teeth find the frantic pulse there, and the promise of violence thrums at the contact.
