Pure Blood

My eyes shot open as I awoke to the sound of footsteps climbing the creaky hallway stairs to my bedroom. A rush of pounding blood raced through my body. I sat up and furiously yanked my hair to the side, swiping it out of my face just enough to be able to peek through long, tangled strands. My own ragged breathing echoed within the bare walls of my room, muffled by the rapid pumping of blood that rang in my ears. I scanned the room intently. Empty walls stared back at me, illuminated by the full moon outside as it blazed white light through the half-open shutters that covered my window. Bright moonbeams cast sharp lines across my crumpled covers.
Cold from somewhere unseen trickled into the warm, stuffy room, raising goose bumps on my bare arms. In that moment, I regretted my pj choice of a pink tank top and lavender plaid boxers. In any other instance I would have welcomed the draft, reveling in the coolness cutting through the torrid, late-summer heat that was trapped in this box of a bedroom. But this was an unnatural cold; cold from a source that didn’t belong in this world. I wanted more than anything to grab the covers and wrap them around me tightly, but I sat frozen, unable to move.
I stared at the door, waiting for it to be opened by someone or something that did not belong in my home, knowing full well that a door wouldn’t stop what I suspected to be on the other side.
Puffs of condensation escaped my mouth into the frigid air with each hot breath as the cold wound its way into the room. It wrapped itself around me with almost visible, icy tentacles. With it came the ominous, ancient scent of the otherworld; a scent that was only detected just before contact.
The doorknob squeaked as it turned ever so slightly. Something was coming for me.
A low feline growl rumbled from deep within Nicodemus’s throat as he stood on the end of my bed with an arched back. Fiery hairs of his orange fur stood on end, silhouetted against the moonlight. His growl grew, until a loud hiss sizzled out of his mouth into the icy air. Wide-eyed, his gaze was fixed on the closed bedroom door.
The doorknob stopped turning and quickly spiraled back into position at Nicodemus’s warning. My body shuddered at the sound.
A scuffle began on other side of the door, followed by a loud thud that shook the wall. A deafening screech hissed through the air. Then it was silent.
My face and fingers turned numb as blood drained from my limbs to feed my pounding heart. Spotty dizziness filled my vision just before everything went black.
When I awoke again, the spot where I lay had become moist with sweat, as the heat of the September night had completely dissolved the chill of the event. My pulse quickened when I realized that I was hanging half way off the bed. You don’t get a choice where you land when you faint.
I sat up and stared at the door, unblinking for longer than was comfortable and waited for further evidence that what I had experienced was real. A flick of a white-tipped tail caught my attention and I peeled my eyes away from the door, blinking furiously to ease the hot dryness that had filmed over them. Nicodemus was fast asleep, twitching his tail as he dreamed. My pulse and breathing began to slow, only after I saw that he was at ease. He was my gauge. If he was clam, there was nothing to worry about. But still I sat, waiting.
I watched as the early morning sun slowly began to illuminate the dreary room, changing the color of the gray walls from a shadowy charcoal, to pale yellow. My fuzzy pink alarm clock blared, telling me that the day was beginning. I had been sitting in the same position for so long that it took all my effort to wrench my body out of its stiff state and reach over to tap the snooze button. The haunting cold long gone, the hot sun began to heat the room.
My dreams had been getting the better of me lately, surely exacerbated by watching too many Ghost Hunters episodes recently, spurring my over active imagination to come alive. I only watched to ease my own insecurities. If these encounters happened to other people, maybe I wasn’t the only one who was haunted by them.
Sometimes it was hard to determine if these brushes with the other side were real or just my imagination. That didn’t make them any less frightening, though. For I knew all too well, that there had been those few apparitions in the past that had made full contact.
When I was seven, my therapist labeled me as being “spiritually sensitive.” It took me years to figure out what that meant, exactly. I stumbled across clarity late one night after a particularly pungent-smelling gossamer figure spoke directly to me, threatening me with ancient words that I didn’t understand. It desperately tried to get through to me, inching closer and closer until I could smell its decrepit breath. It pulled at my hair, pleading with me to respond; then succumbing to defeat, it vanished, leaving a thin, shiny film on my bedroom floor.
The otherworld and I were connected in some way; a way I had no control over. Whatever the connection was, it haunted me over and over again. I had always wondered why. Why me? Were these ghosts watching me? Were they sent by something bigger to terrorize me?
Maybe my soul was more open. I could sense these beings that roam the Earth; beings that are always there, even when not seen by others. They were drawn to me for some reason. This scared me the most. Being a supernatural magnet . . . being sought after, was my biggest fear. I knew of no reason for it and had no defense against it. I was an easy target.