The line went quickly as they chatted. Their turn to order came and Diana thrust her card at the barista, nudging Vivienne’s out of the way. “Both, please.”
“Diana, you don’t have to.” Vivienne nudged her own card at the barista.
The girl glanced at Diana, then shook her head at Vivienne, no doubt deciding that Diana was the scarier one.
“I know. But you’ve spent so much time listening to me complain about my nightmares that the least I can do is get you a coffee.”
“Thanks. And it’s not a problem. I think they’re interesting, though I’m sorry they cause so much trouble.”
Black coffee in Diana’s hand, a frothy latte in Vivienne’s, they headed toward the door.
“All right, Vi, I’ve got to run. FedEx is delivering an old treatise to my house today. They usually show up around three and I don’t want them to leave it out on the stoop, what with this weather.” She nodded up at the gray clouds. “I’ll see you later.”
***
Later that evening, Diana jiggled the key in the lock of the front door of her townhouse. Rain pounded on her head, and the groceries she’d run out for after receiving her package made opening the door a pain in the butt. Damn. She needed to get the stupid lock fixed, but there just never seemed to be time between writing and classes.
Snick. Finally. The door swung open and she stepped out of rain that wasn’t nearly as charming as it was when she was snuggled up cozily at her desk.
Letting the door swing shut, she kicked off her shoes and hauled her grocery bags down the hall to the kitchen. Fresh veggies, tofu, and red wine—it wasn’t exciting, but they were the healthiest things she could find at the small shop down the street. That had to count for something when it felt like any control she had over her life was disappearing with every terrifying new dream or hallucination. Not to mention her manuscript deadline and her upcoming—please, God—promotion.
A sudden clap of thunder rocked the house, making her jump. She fumbled to find the kitchen light, but her hand stilled when she heard the front door creak open.
Damned wind. She must have forgotten to lock the door. She never used to forget things.
Footsteps thudded down the hall and her stomach dropped to the floor. Who is that?
The footsteps thudded slowly but inexorably closer. She heard the intruder turn into the small library at the front of the house, but he’d be in the kitchen next. No time to call the police.
She clamped a hand over her mouth and her eyes darted around the kitchen in search of a weapon. Dim light from the porch lamp streamed through the window, its faint yellow glow illuminating the neatly modern space.
Damn, nothing on the counter, not even a stray knife. Why did she have to be so organized?
The back door. Maybe it was unlocked.
She tripped in her haste to reach the door to the porch, a crash of thunder seeming to propel her forward. The handle was slick beneath her sweaty palms. The door wouldn’t budge. Swollen from the rain, damn it.
Turning around, she pressed herself against the panes, her skin cold and the hair on the back of her neck standing upright. There had to be a weapon in here. A knife, a meat hammer—anything was better than nothing.
She spied her enormous skillet sitting by the sink and snatched it, wincing as the heavy cast iron dragged her arms down. God, this thing is heavy.
She cursed herself for not taking self-defense classes. With research and teaching, it was another thing she had no time for. And now, she really wished she’d made time. Thank God for skillet corn bread, she thought, as her fear bubbled into panicked hysteria.
An enormous figure stepped into the kitchen and she bit her lip to stifle a gasp. Over six feet tall, its freakishly slender form was draped in a long coat that looked to be made of raw leather. Long black hair streamed from its head. When she finally caught sight of the face, a scream was strangled in her throat. It couldn’t be human. The dim light glinted off dark, burnished crimson skin and eerily feminine features. Beady eyes, a nose that was almost beaklike, and thin lips all gave the appearance of a bird.
She was not a she, she was an it.
Monsters aren’t real. They aren’t real!
But this was no Halloween costume. It was far too realistic.
Diana cringed back against the wall. No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening to her. She shook her head, but it didn’t disappear. Her heart thudded in her chest, beating in a painfully frantic rhythm against her ribs while her breath was strangled in her lungs.
“You’re Diana,” it said, as if expecting her to confirm.
She heard a squeak of fear and realized it had come from her own throat.
It nodded, clearly taking her squeak as confirmation. “We’ve been waiting for you.”