Love & Exorcisms | 18+ | COMPLETE |

- Chapter 13 -

Halloween was upon us in no time, and the impending festival had the streets filled with tourists. Like ravens to a corpse, all the folks of New Orleans who had something to sell were out in force, waving their over-priced goods beneath the gullible noses of those from out of town. Mary doubled our prices, and the Doll House was still full. Young men and women descended upon Storyville in droves, for the clubs opened early so the drink flowed from morning until night. Brawls broke out, windows were broken, there was yelling, screaming, and debauchery galore.

It was glorious.

Yet when I awakened at midday on October 31st, I did not feel the excitement I expected.

I had not dreamed of Lily Dale again, yet my nights had not been restful. In fact, I had begun to forego sleep as long as I could, staying awake until my vision blurred and my eyes crossed. A strange sensation would overtake me whenever I was on the verge of sleep: my body would go numb, starting from the tips of my fingers and toes, then slowly creeping up my limbs. It was almost as if I was being peeled out of my own body, losing all feeling and control until...

Until what, I did not know. I was afraid to find out.

My stomach was twisting unhappily, so I declined breakfast and instead joined Vivian in sweeping the front entry in preparation for the day's influx of customers. I found myself continually glancing over my shoulder: sometimes to the long hallway behind me, sometimes up the stairway. I could not shake the feeling of being watched. I had been paranoid since seeing Damian on the street that day, but strangely it was not Damian I was afraid of seeing.

The longer I looked at the hallway beyond, the more I began to believe I could indeed see someone at the end of it. I would glance quickly, so as not to be caught staring so blankly, but the hall was filled with shadows and it seemed that every time I peeked back, one of them had moved closer. My hands clenched around the broom, palms rubbed painfully by the rough wood.

Samara.

The voice was not only in my head. It danced around my ears and sent a breath down my back. I swallowed hard and went back to my sweeping.

Sa-ma-raaaaaa.

I clenched my teeth. I did not want to look. Vivian was right there on the front porch, sweeping dust onto the street and entirely unaware. There was a soft sound behind me, a slow scrape and click. It could have so easily been one of the other girls scurrying about. It could have so easily been claws slowly dragging across the wooden floorboards.

You're mine now, Samara. All mine.

Why was this voice so different? It was dark, masculine, rough: unlike the softer voice of the Grey One. In the cacophony of voices that followed me, it was impossible to say if I had heard it before.

"Who are you?" I whispered.

"Hmm?" Vivian looked up from her sweeping, bleary-eyed from daydreaming. "Did you say something, Sammy?"

I smiled with uncertainty and shook my head.

I did not want to look back. But I felt something on my hair like a breath, like the slow caress of fingers. Trembling, every muscle rigid, I turned my head just enough to see the very corner of the hall.

There was nothing. Nothing was there.

I quickly put away my broom and told Vivian I would be in my room getting dressed. Part of me wanted her to stop me, to ask if I was alright, to accompany me for some godforsaken reason. But she just smiled sweetly and nodded. I listened for the sounds of her sweeping as I ascended the stairs, up three floors before coming to my own room. The walls seemed to narrow. As the other women rushed past me, laughing, smiling, and conversing happily, their faces seemed to stretch and distort. A mere blink of my eyes made it vanish, but my heart was pounding. Something was not right.