Final Preparations

Days blur together as the shadows grow longer and darker. The sofa still feels too large, even with the pillows. I pull the blanket tighter around me as I straighten up, watching the TV intently.

No more rom-coms. Instead, I watch all the supernatural horror movies I can find, pen and notebook in hand. A surprising number of them are based on real traditions, some producers making theoretical leaps bolder than the scholars I’ve read dared to do. They found patterns that speak to the human mind as a whole, regardless of culture. Universal. True.

At least once you peel off the ridiculous special effects…

I grab a cup from the table and take a sip of coffee. It’s cold. Stale and bitter. Tastes old. I made some just this morning… I think. I reach for a different cup. Also cold. They’re all cold. I gulp one down anyway. I need the caffeine.

I don’t sleep well. Thanks to the Chancellor, there's no need to wake up early, so I tried to outsmart the nightmares by staying up past midnight. It should have worked, but it didn’t. The dreams come even when I’m awake now. And I always snap out of them exactly two minutes before midnight. Just before the new day begins.

Some nights I barely sleep at all. Most nights, actually.

On the screen, a group of teenagers is painting a large pentagram on the ground. Place candles at every angle. Would this work better than the circle of salt? It definitely looks more powerful, and I need power. The veil between the land of the living and the land of the dead is strong. I should…

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"Sweetie, are you in there?"

Mom! Was she supposed to come by today? I can’t remember. Why can’t I remember? I pause the movie, staring into the hallway.

KnockKnockKnock.

“Sweetie, please open. The university called me. We’re all worried about you.”

They called my mom? Bastards. I don’t have time for this. I’m so close. I can feel it through my whole being. She should know better than to disturb me when I’m working.

“Are you sick? I brought some homemade food. And those biscuits you like. Some fresh strawberries too.”

I freeze solid. Strawberries. All red and juicy. Your favorites.

Red blood on white tiles. Red blood on pale skin.

I should bring some as an offering next time I do the ritual. I didn’t bring any food last time. That was clearly a mistake. More things mean more power.

“...said you’re not feeling well. That you’re on medical leave, but that you haven’t provided the documents yet. And you’re not answering any calls or messages.”

Messages? It’s only been a few days. They’re so impatient. I haven’t even noticed any notifications on my phone.

“Can you hear me?” More knocks and then the handle moves. Rattles. But the door is securely locked. It’s a good thing I never gave her a key. “I can book you another appointment with the therapist. She wouldn’t confirm it, but I suspect you only went once…”

Damn right, I only went once. But Mom’s not giving up. “Or we can try someone else. I’ll send you another list…”

I say nothing. A small part of me, a soft voice in my head, wants to let her in. Feel her arms around me. The softness of her hair. We had a nice time last time.

But now I have so much to do and she won’t understand. Nobody can.

“...bumped into Mrs Ward the other day. She asked about you, if there’s anything they can do…? Anything else of Nina’s you’d like as a keepsake?”

She spoke with Nina’s parents? No. They’re no good; she should stay away from them. But she keeps chatting through the door, raising her voice a little. “Aki, sweetheart. I know you don’t want to hear this, but we know how special she was to you. And you to her.”

No! Nobody knows! Nobody can know. That’s what you wanted.

“Whatever you think you’re doing, sweetie, no matter how strong you usually are… This isn’t coping. You need to talk to someone.” Why does she suddenly sound as if she’s about to cry?

A pang of guilt explodes in my chest, but I can’t give in. You come first. She’ll understand. After.

The knocking starts again. Louder. Angrier. “Aki. I’m not stupid. I know you’re in there. I heard the TV, and then the sound was turned off.”

Damn it. No wonder she’s so insistent. And I know how stubborn she can be…

“Come on, just open the door. Or I swear I’ll be back tomorrow with your landlord. I’ll call the police if I must.”

I know that tone of voice. She’s not joking. I should give her something, or she'll have someone break down the door.

“Sweetie, please. It’s been weeks since anyone heard from you. Just let me know you’re alright. Please.”

Still wrapped in the blanket, I pad out into the hallway. Should I find my phone and text her? No… I need to let her know that I’m fine. Just busy.

“Mom… It’s okay. I’m okay.” My voice is hoarse, weaker than it should be, but she doesn't seem to notice. Her relief is oozing through the door.

“Aki-dear. It’s so good to hear your voice again. I was so worried. Come, let me take you to lunch, and we’ll talk a bit.”

“Not today. I’m sorry, but I have things to do. And I’m sorry I didn’t reply to your messages, but…” I pause, scrambling for a reason. “My phone is broken. Yeah… Broken. But I’ll get a new one this weekend. And call you.”

Silence. She can probably see through my lie, but now she knows I’m alive and well. And I will call her. After.

“Okay, sweetie. I’ll trust you for now. But,” her tone shifts again. The Mom voice is back, and I’m suddenly five years old again. “Today is Thursday, so if I don’t hear from you by Saturday… then I’ll be back with the key. You hear me?”

“I’ll call you. I promise. And then we can go for that lunch. Okay?”

“And don’t forget about the food. I’ll leave it here.”

“I won’t. Thank you!”

Standing as still as possible, I strain my ears so I can hear her footsteps leaving. I wait even longer before I sneak the door open, quickly drag the bag inside, then close and lock the door again.

Instead of continuing to watch the movie, I just pick up my notebook as I pass the sofa. I’m running out of time. Mom’s involvement means I need to act faster. She doesn’t understand. But she will. Fortunately, I’m almost done with the preparations.

Turning your room into a study was a good idea. Feeling your presence is making me work harder. Your scent is everywhere. I can almost hear you move in the room behind me, feel your hands resting supportively on my shoulders. Your lips pressing softly to the top of my head.

Was it Mom who suggested it first? She does have some good ideas.

My bag is sitting on your bed, along with the things I’ll need. Incense, several candles. Spray-paint. That book. The creature in it has power, I can feel it now, and I intend to use it. The flowers I’ll buy on the way. All red this time. Perhaps a single purple iris…?

That only leaves one thing… I go into the kitchen and find my sharpest knife. No tiny needles this time. More blood means more power.

Even with everything ready, I keep making notes. Sketches. Filling line after line, page after page with words. Documentation. My eyelids grow heavier until it’s impossible to keep them open. I know what’s coming. 

As inevitable as sunset. As impossible to resist as a tide of darkness.

I dream of you. In the bathtub. This time, the pink water thickens, darkens into blood. Pouring down the walls, covering us both. The flowery metallic scent fills my nose, and I taste it on my tongue. It fills my mouth, my nostrils, my eyes. Everything turns red. I can’t see you. I can’t breathe…

My screams wake me up. It’s two minutes to midnight.

Two minutes until the day I’ll see you again.