Inner Demons

In this short story competition called "Leave the Lights On", we had to create a story taking place between sunset and sunrise in 3000 words or less. I love a creepy story especially in the shadows of night and I was honored to place as runner up. Fun fact: this was my first ever competition. Enjoy!

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“I just want to play with you. Don’t be scared, let me in,” the little girl’s haunting voice calls from the window.

A chill settles over me with the last rays of sunset flickering into darkness. This has to stop. An insistent scratch screeches against the window, setting my teeth on edge with its drawn out sound.

“Lenore, we used to be such good friends! You wanted me; you asked for me. Remember?”

My heavy, bloodshot eyes stare back from the mirror, flickering slightly with the mirage forming in my reflection. It’s the same every night. The image of myself twists and contorts into a distorted younger version of myself and mimics my motions with an unnaturally large smile stretching across her face.

“I wanted to face my inner demons to get better, not become worse,” I say, her lips moving in tandem with mine.

“Oh, but think of all the fun we’ve had together. I’ve always been here, deep in your heart, where you ignored me until you couldn’t,” she croons.

Flashes of seedy taverns, dark alleyways, and pleading voices flicker through my mind, caressing the hidden rage that lays within. Reaching my fist back, I slam it into the mirror, sending silver shards scattering around me in its wake. My feet stumble backwards, hitting my heels against the wall as I slide to the floor in breathless sobs. I don’t want this. I don’t want to be this weak.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Let me in, Lenore. You can’t stay in there forever,” her voice lilts into song.

My head rocks backwards into the wall while I search every pathway of research I’ve sought over the years. Libraries. Therapists. Churches. Witches. All of them give the same grave warning—kill her before she kills you. Tonight has to be the night.

I sprint through the house, hurriedly closing every curtain to block out the ghostly face. She’s not a child, you do not have to feel bad, I remind myself. Grasping the phone in my hand, I smash the buttons to reach Salem—she’s the only one with the stomach to help me with this.

“Hello?”

“You have to come. Tonight. This ends tonight,” I murmur, afraid of the ghostly girl hearing me. The rapid rising and falling of my chest betrays any trickle of false confidence.

“I’ll be there in one hour. I need to make a stop,” Salem confirms.

Click.

My hands rip open the kitchen cabinets I use as an apothecary, hunting with fervor for the items Salem will need. Salt. Rosemary. Copal. Boneset. Listing the ingredients over and over in my head. A nagging tug in my mind insists I’ve forgotten something.

Ring, Ring.

The shrill chime cuts through my thoughts. Rushing to the phone, I snatch it from the wall, hoping Salem isn’t calling to tell me she’s changed her mind.

“That wasn’t very nice. I thought we were friends. I just want to play. We have so much fun together.”

A shriek rips through my throat as I slam the phone back to the wall. My heartbeat thunders and drowns any temporary sense of relief Salem’s acceptance gave me. The forgotten item’s tug prickles along the back of my neck, beckoning me to follow its lead. Taking a deep breath, I center myself to listen to its guidance.

My feet stumble up the spiral staircase, unsteady with my fear, and bring me to my nightstand. How could I forget this? Opening the top drawer, I grasp the obsidian dagger, careful to only touch its handle. My payment was in blood, so of course my release would be too.

Grabbing the clock from my nightstand, I settle into the corner of my windowless closet, gripping the dagger in front of me while I wait.

One hour. Fear laces through me with every tick of the clock marking Salem’s absence.

Two hours. My heart is in my throat, wondering if I have the courage to do this.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

I fly out of my closet, down the spiral staircase, and wrench open the front door, yanking Salem in and locking the door behind her.

“Where the—”

Wrapping me in a hug, she cuts me off, “I know, I know. I’m sorry. There was an issue but never mind that. Let’s do this. We only have until sunrise or we miss our chance until tomorrow night.”

She spreads the contents of her bag on the counter—a poppet, a grimoire, rusty nails, blessed water, and anointing oil. Furious taps turn into bangs behind the curtained window, making me flinch with each intrusion. Gathering the ingredients, Salem stuffs the poppet and anoints it with oil, preparing it as a vessel. She lights candles in a circle and sits cross-legged in the middle, bowing her head in focus.

Salem flips open her grimoire. “If anything happens to me, you need to say these words to trap her. Okay? Say them exactly.”

I swallow around the building knot in my throat and nod.

“Invite her in,” she commands.

My hand rattles against the lock, turning it and opening the door.

“Come in, Ophelia.”

With a gust of warm air, she appears on my front step. Her dark hair mats to the sides of her hollow face and her bloodshot eyes glare over her brows.

Her voice dips lower than the once child-like tinkling into something sinister, “You hate me, but I show you the parts of yourself you refuse to free. Let’s play, Lenore.”

Steadying my voice, I attempt to flash a smile, “Yes, let’s. Come in.”

Keeping a few paces behind her, I watch in horror as she dissipates into curling black smoke bit by bit until I am left alone in the hallway. I frantically whip my head around the room, searching for the entity but only hearing faint laughter. My stomach twists with every hurried step to the kitchen and Salem’s low chanting.

“What a delightful game,” the familiar voice bleeds from Salem’s lips.

My blood freezes with the fear oozing through my veins. Salem’s face raises in a slow, horrifying pace, and the unnatural smile and black eyes I’ve come to recognize in the mirror stretch across my friend.

My eyes flit from the obsidian dagger on the counter and back to her. Willing to take my chances, I lunge towards it, stretching my hand in a desperate plea. Salem’s palm slams my forearm to the counter and she smiles at my foolishness.

“Run.”

Turning on my heel, I dart towards the stairs and am confused but relieved when she stays leaned against the kitchen counter.

“One. Two. Three,” she counts.

I fling open the doors to my study and pull a book, opening the secret passageway. Slowly closing the door behind me, I wince with its click. My hands run along the rough stone to guide my path into the darkness.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” she calls, the sound muffled by my hiding place.

The urge to run through the passageway and into the night battles with my need to end this for good. I can’t discern how much time has passed trying to gather my courage. Peering through the vents, I hold my too noisy breath as I watch Salem’s feet shuffle. My heart drops when they stop. Flattening myself to the wall beside the vent, my eyes close in silent prayer.

With a deep exhale, she sings, “Lenore,” the smile apparent in her voice.

Abandoning my shoes, I creep along the passageway stairs, winding to the kitchen. The single jutted stone bites into my searching hands. Swallowing a yelp, I press into it. I crawl into the false cabinet and crack the door, leaving space for only one eye to check for Salem. Well, not Salem—Ophelia. My shoulders sag with my relieved breath.

Sliding Salem’s grimoire from the counter, I reach for the dagger. Oh no. I search through the kitchen, hoping I knocked it to the floor while dread winds into my stomach with every surface missing the shiny black weapon. Footsteps creak through the ceiling before pausing.

“No!” Salem screams.

Crash.

The sound startles me so deeply, my soul tries to jump from my skin. Gripping the grimoire in one hand and the salt in the other, I pour a thick layer around the circle of candles. Turning my attention to Salem’s scrawling, I squint at the pages, trying to discern the unusual words.

Shuffling steps brush the floor behind me, but before I can turn searing pain rips through me and twists my stomach into roiling nausea. Salem’s black eyes narrow as her now clawed hand digs into my arm, coaxing my blood under her fingernails. Crimson trickles into her eyes from the deep cut on her forehead. Ripping my arm from her grasp, I leap into the protective circle. Her back hunches with her lowered head, tracking me like a predator while she creeps around the salt.

“I love occupying a human,” she hums. “It lets me do things that my demonic form won’t. Like this.” Her unnatural smile grows larger as she places one foot, then the other, into the salt circle.

My scream catches in my throat, hung up on every bit of my plan plummeting into hell. She pulls the dagger from Salem’s back pocket and slowly waves it in front of my eyes.

“Missing something?” she asks with a haughty laugh.

Without a second thought, I grab the poppet and run from the kitchen into the den, still gripping the grimoire in my hands. Blinking the tears from my eyes, I recite the foreign words on the page. A blow to my back sends me tumbling forward to the floor and the poppet flying out of my hand.

Rough hands turn me to my back. She pins me between her knees, sitting Salem’s weight on my stomach.

Giving a dramatic sigh, she chides, “You’re not playing by the rules and I don’t like playmates that can’t follow directions. Give in to me.”

Salem’s green eyes flicker through the black of Ophelia’s, making my heart jump with hope.

“Fight her,” I spit out through crushed breaths.

“It’s a shame it has come to this,” she says, running a finger across the dagger’s edge.

Raising the blade with both hands, she pauses to cock her head with a smile and swiftly brings the blade towards my chest. Thankful for the thick leather grimoire still in my hands, I brace the open book against the assault. The blade catches in the spine, peeking its tip through the pages. Quickly reading the incantation, the book jostles with her effort to release the weapon.

“Stop doing that!” she screams.

“Keep. Going.” Salem’s voice cuts through the trance.

The book flies from my hands with the dagger still lodged in its spine. Blinding pain snakes across my cheekbone with her fist smashing into my face. Throwing my hips upwards and to the side, she tumbles into the marble hearth, hitting her head with a sickening thud. Fear overrides my guilt for Salem’s injuries tomorrow.

My hands claw against the dark hardwood floor, twisting my body and dragging myself towards my only hope for life. The sounds of my hands screech into the den, punctuated by infernal growls regaining their composure. Flipping the book over, I continue reciting the spell. Claws dig into my calves, streaking hot flares through my body, but I have to push through it—I can’t let her beat me. My body slides against the wood, her hands pulling me backwards and making their way up my legs.

Yanking the dagger from the spine, I flip over to face the creature inhabiting my friend. Green flickers through Ophelia’s dark irises, each flash of color widening in a plea for help. Finishing the last line of the incantation, I hesitate, unsure of what comes next. This was always supposed to be Salem’s part.

“Stupid girl,” she sneers. “Don’t pick up weapons you’re ill-prepared to use.”

Placing her hands around mine on the hilt, her sharp fingernails dig into my skin, forcing the blade to turn towards me. I push back and grit my teeth against her strength. The blade inches closer and closer to my heart, shaking with the warring pressures.

Green grabs my attention, flickering in and out as Salem’s eyes furiously flash towards her shoulder. Angling my pressure on the dagger, the blade flips towards my chin, dangerously close to my skin. With another push from Ophelia, the obsidian edge slices into my face, pebbling blood along its path. I bite back my scream, unwilling to give her the satisfaction she’s become so accustomed to from my torment.

Her black eyes dance with joy, her nostrils flaring with the iron scent she craves. Licking her lips, she leans closer, letting her sulfur aroma fill the small space between us. It’s now or never. Reaching deep into myself, I gather every ounce of shame from the acts she’s coerced me into and turn them into pure, unadulterated rage. 

A furious scream rips through my throat with all of my strength poured into my hands, shoving the dagger into the soft spot between Salem’s shoulder and collarbone. An ear-piercing shriek floods the room and shatters the windows. Salem goes limp over my body as black smoke leaks from the wound with a hiss.

Gently rolling her to her back, I gather the grimoire and poppet and recite the incantation over and over. With every word, the smoke convulses and twists. Ophelia’s presence fights against my attempts, trying to break the vessel demanding its guest. I chant through four recitations, never breaking my focus, until the last wisp is drawn into the poppet. A ragged gasp chokes out from Salem.

Her eyes flutter open, blessedly green, and she groans as she pushes herself to her good arm. Looking down at the dagger in her shoulder, she collapses back to the floor with heavy breaths and points to the poppet.

“Drown it in the blessed water, add a drop of your blood,” she orders through pained winces.

I do as I am told. Opening the lid to Salem’s large jar, I wipe the blood from my chin into the water and add the poppet. A hefty pang ricochets through my wrist with the intensity I twist the lid closed. She’s never getting out again.

Collapsing to the floor next to Salem, our chests heave in tandem. Everything is

still—peaceful—in the wake of the chaos. Warm, golden light peeks through the shattered windows, casting iridescent rainbows along the wall.

“Just in the nick of time,” she groans.

“I’m sorry my demon became yours.”

“No,” she laughs. “She was definitely yours. I heard her thoughts.”

“What did they say?” I whisper, nervous and embarrassed of the answer.

Salem turns to me with soft eyes. “That you felt weak—useless—and you’d never be strong enough to face yourself. Guess she was wrong.”

Tears well in the corner of my eyes. “Yeah, I guess she was.”

“Hey Lenore?” Her face pinching in pain. “Take me to the hospital.”