Chapter Text
Three days before the recital
Mari sipped her water while wearily looking over sheet music. Again and again, she practiced in the cool of the night. And again and again she fails.
She didn’t understand why she couldn’t get it. She couldn’t understand why her brother couldn’t get it either. So, as was her habit, she locked herself in her piano room. Her family already knew about her sleep troubles, so she figured this was the best use of her time.
She set her water down on the floor and sat on the bench, ready to try again.
A couple notes in, she slammed the keys, only to regret the discordant noise this late. She sighed. She was tired, but couldn’t sleep. She was obsessed but couldn’t play. A walking contradiction.
Walking to the living room and sliding open the door to the backyard, she was hit by a refreshing autumn breeze. She let the grass tickle her feet as she walked toward the big tree.
She sat down in front of it, feeling the hard oak on her night gown. Strong and dependable, this big tree was everything she wanted to be.
She took a breath. The recital has been getting to her. She could feel black hairs turning gray every waking moment. When she’s not practicing, she’s studying. When she’s not practicing or studying, she’s at school.
She hated skipping out on her friends, hated staying up past 2 AM. But that’s the price she pays for the people she cares about. They’ll understand. When she and Sunny are on that stage, their parents will be proud, and their friends will be wowed.
Just got to cross the finish line…
The thought made her smile, and she took another deep breath.
As she does, she hears the sound of a twig cracking.
She jumps, almost turning her whole neck backwards. Nothing in the inky darkness.
Another noise, this time a squeak. She turns her head to see an old plush toy flattened into the mud. She starts creeping back to the house, each cricket chirp and gust of wind making her move quicker.
Till she feels something on her shoulders. She tries to scream, but something smothers her. She tries to fight, but as soon as something rends her neck, she becomes sleepy. Then darkness.
.
.
.
Mari wakes. The sun’s up before her, a rare occurrence. She sees her father above with a stern yet worried look.
“Mari, you know you can’t be outside that late! I was worried sick! You’re lucky I have to go to work and saw that slider open.”
Mari jumped up and bowed. “ Apologies, father. I couldn’t sleep last night…But I suppose I did afterall.”
Her father’s face softens, and he ruffles her hair. “You must’ve been exhausted, you’ve been working really hard. If only your brother had that kind of work ethic…,” he said.
Mari nodded.
“In any case, be more careful next time. You're lucky you only left with a mosquito bite. Get ready for school and wake up your little brother.” He gave her a quick kiss on the forehead and left through the slider door. Mari stood alone in the backyard, with only her cloudy memory of the night before keeping her company.
Mari felt an itch on her neck. When she went to scratch, she felt two inflamed bumps, painful to the touch.
“…must have been some big mosquitoes.”
Day of the recital.
Mari couldn’t see anything.
Mari could barely feel, let alone move.
But she could hear inklings. Hushed whispers as she felt herself whisked away.
Though she couldn’t feel as well, she’d never forget the warmth of her bed. It felt so comfortable, and Mari knew that if she slipped into the aether, she would never return. For she was very, very tired.
But despite her tiredness, even though she couldn’t open an eye, she couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t feel the touch of something, but only the warmth of it. How the warmth pushed her, prodded her body, warm air telling her to awaken from her corpse-like slumber.
But Mari was awake. More awake than anyone around her ever knew.
Mari felt the warmth go away, but the presence never left. In her lethargic state of paralysis, she heard more hushed whispers, like students sharing forbidden secrets, or lovers sharing forbidden words. In her stupor, Mari realized the closeness of laughter and crying, a mere inflection of happiness and sorrow.
She could make out a few words. “Follow….me,” said the voice, shaky and unsure. “I…am…only way out.” Soon, she felt the warmth above her. A burning sensation resonates from her legs, while another wraps around her neck. Her body is whisked away again, twisted and twirled like a contortionist. She hears something slide on a metal track.
An intense heat overwhelms her. First, her upper torso, then her lower half. It’s only when she can feel the familiar touch of grass, that same patch three days prior, that she realizes she’s outside. The unbearable heat was the sun in a cold autumn.
There she lay, hearing the fiddling of string and choked crying. What she would give to open her eyes and see what’s going on. To hear the secrets that she’s not privy to. She always loved giving surprises, but taking them was another task in itself.
Eventually, she stood with muscles that weren’t hers, though she couldn’t feel beneath her feet.
One of the few things she did feel was something tight around her neck, recently adorned like the necklace of a chosen princess. But this didn’t feel like jewelry; it was tough, strong. Like to herd cattle.
The last thing she felt…was weightlessness.
It was…nice. Everything was quiet. There was less blistering heat than before, and warm wind moved her, as though wind could drift her to sleep.
The moment she heard footsteps, her necklace started to tighten. It wrung her windpipe of everything inside. Every drop of oxygen was a tiny grain of sand in an hourglass throat, counting down the seconds to her demise.
Yet, she couldn’t writhe or wriggle. She couldn’t plead. She couldn’t moan. Even if her vocal cords allowed her, her lips couldn’t move an inch; her limbs had gone rogue, preferring to stand to her side.
She was too tired. But tiredness hadn’t stopped her before.
With her iron will, she slowly pulled back the curtain over her eyes.
And between tangled blackness, she sees…and understands all.
She wishes she didn’t understand.
She tries to shut her eyes, but it’s the only thing that can express her pain.
Though no air could come through seconds prior, she felt her heart in her throat and the rising of bile when she looked at them.
She shouldn’t have looked…
She wishes she didn’t…
And only her fading consciousness grants her that wish.
??? Weeks since the Recital
In darkness, how does one know they’re awake?
Is it the touch of the eyelids? The yawn that follows and precedes the slumber? The sounds of digging and labored breathing from above?
Mari settled for all of the above.
Her mind is a mess of questions she wants answers to, and answers she doesn’t understand. To distract herself, she tries to scratch the annoying itch on her neck.
A hard surface blocks her attempt. She tries the other arm, but she’s constricted. Trapped. Her blood courses through her as she presses on the surface above.
She strikes to her side, but is stopped short. Her feet try to kick, but her knees stop short. Her lungs go frantic while her body attempts an all-out assault.
The box gives way to her iron will. But dirt and soil take their place, more forceful than what was before. Mari clawed, trying to uncover her face. But the onslaught was beginning to crawl into her throat and overwhelm her.
Then, she saw the light.
Not the burning light of the sun, but the cool embrace of the moon. In front of the light, a man loomed, looking no older than 30. Covered in a ragged trench coat and adorning a trilby hat. In his hands, a dirty shovel.
In his red eyes was a bottomless hunger, as if famine immersed his very being. His gaunt features and twig-like limbs only added to the effect. His bat-like nose sniffed, and he began to snicker.
In his smile, two fangs dripping with spit protruded from his maw.
“Well, well, well,” it said. “Welcome to the family.”