Evading Consequence

Damage & Denial

Linda always took pride in her strength, independence and fearlessness. She cursed herself that she allowed herself to be reduced to a childlike state, fearing what lurked in the shadows of her own home. She and Lucas had checked their entire apartment upon his return that evening. Once again, there was no sign of intrusion. The paw prints that led to their apartment had also vanished. Though Lucas hadn’t come out and said it, Linda could tell his patience was wearing thin. As she laid in bed that night, silent tears streamed past her temples and settled into her hairline. She felt lonely before the sightings, but felt doubly so now. She was beginning to wonder if there was more to the visions, and the note, than she initially realized. She feared it was attached to a part of her past she had tucked away in years of shame, regret and denial. If so, she figured, it made sense that she alone could see the manifestation of her guilt.

It was just a dog.

That’s what she thought at the time. Actually, there wasn’t much thinking that night, only the impulse to keep driving before anyone could catch the license plate. She would’ve stayed at the scene had it not been for her friends’ desperation to keep their drug paraphernalia a secret. Any potential weight on her conscience seemed minimal compared to the extent of her father’s wrath had she started a criminal record. Seven years later, those friends were all gone and Linda was left to deal with her regrets. She couldn’t shake the memory of the injured dog limping across someone’s front yard or how it staggered against the house before disappearing around the back, presumably to die privately. A strange ornament on the porch also lingered in her memory, a cast iron lantern with frosted glass. The flame within had flickered, then burned bright and steady, almost like an eye that had blinked upon awakening. Linda shook her head, thinking she was using hindsight as a vehicle to transfer her guilt onto an inanimate object. 

The bed sprung in time to her husband’s tossing and turning. Odd, since he wasn’t usually a restless sleeper. His back was now turned. She extended her hand, but stopped short of touching his shoulder upon remembering the old wives tale about waking someone during a nightmare, or was it sleepwalking? Eyes closed, she rolled onto her side, facing away from him. She expelled a breath that immediately returned against her face. It was warm, but smelled of cinder, rancid meat and a touch of mint. The bass in her ears pounded synchronously with the percussion in her chest, as she was stricken with a disturbing realization.

There was a third party in the room, masked by the darkness and the sound of Lucas’ snoring behind her. Even so, Linda could hear the intruder panting just inches from her face. Yet, she kept her eyes clamped shut. As long as they were closed, it could still be a dream, a hallucination. Despite this, curiosity, being the cruel instigator that it is, convinced her to do the opposite. Linda firmly nudged her husband with her foot. The only response was a short pause in his snoring. It was a loud crash in the bedroom closet that finally awoke him. Light filled the room after he fumbled for the lamp. Linda continued to clutch her blanket as her eyes darted around to see the face of the culprit who’d been breathing on her. There was nothing. She sat upright as her husband shuffled over to the closet to investigate.

“Maybe you should get something first?” Defense was the first thing on her mind.

“Like dog food?” he quipped, rolling his eyes as he slid the door open. “I told you, there’s no damn dog in— What the hell is this?”

Linda scrambled out of bed and joined her husband’s side. Peering over his shoulder, she saw that the top hanging rod, and all the clothes it supported, had fallen.

“What the hell happened to my shirts?” He snatched one up. Sections of it had been ripped to ribbons.

The pair continued to assess the damage. Each came across several torn articles of clothing which they tossed into a pile with the efficiency of an assembly line. That is, until her husband froze, training his gaze over her shoulder. Grimacing, he slowly extended a finger. Following the invisible trajectory, Linda gasped at the new artwork located on their bedroom wall, nearly six feet above floor-level. There were two spots, one on either side of the floor-length mirror.