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Watercolor Streaks of Nightmares

Chapters Seven and Eight of My Gothic Vampire Romance

By Gabriela V. RiveraPublished 2 years ago 10 min read
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Chapter Seven

Rosia, Raven, and William were all huddled in the kitchen when she burst in, causing all of their pale forms to jump. A phone nearly tumbled from William’s hand.

No one moved for a moment, as if they believed her to be a ghost. Elvira slid the door shut and switched the lock, causing a slight wind to whip wet hair into her face.

Rosia was the first to snap out of her shock, and she rocketed into Elvira’s arms.

“Where were you?” Raven demanded, fury twisting her face. William turned away, mumbling into the speaker. “Yeah, we got her. Thank you,” before hanging up.

Elvira didn’t know what to say as she clung to Rosia’s shaking form, just grateful to be there; to be alive and hugging her best friend. But Raven wasn’t backing down and she stormed towards her, William following close on her heels with a wary expression.

Tearing Rosia from her arms, Raven asked, “Where the hell were you? Are you okay?”

Only then, in Raven’s steel grasp, did Elvira realize it was her who was shaking. She didn’t know how to answer. Her mind was in scrambles, the panic like two ice-cold hands wrapped around her throat. Somehow, though, she managed a nod.

Then they were all around her, three pairs of arms squeezing her tight as Rosia cried. Raven cursed to cover her own hitched breathing, and William placed a soft kiss to the top of Elvira’s head. “We’re glad you’re okay,” he whispered.

I am okay, she thought, teeth clattering. I’m okay.

I’m okay-I’m okay-I’m-

I’m not okay.

***

Once Elvira had gathered herself enough to speak, she’d told them the first thing she could think of. They had perched on the sofas in her living room, the light above them warming the stark shadows.

“There were wolves,” she said, desperately clawing at anything other than the truth. A truth that didn’t even feel like the truth. “A lot of them. I had to run into the trees and hide out until they were gone.”

All of her friends had looked confused. Raven was doubtful even. But Rosia’s features had quickly smoothed out, believing her at once, and the others followed suit.

“And you weren’t hurt?” Raven asked, still sounding perplexed.

“I’m just tired. I think it was all of the adrenaline and — I’m just tired.”

“ Okay, we’ll go to sleep.” Rosia assured.

“I’ll set up the beds,” William said, flexing his arms in an attempt at levity. Raven was the only one who laughed though, shoving him slightly.

Elvira pushed up and swayed, suddenly unsure if the panic had disappeared completely. When the girls shot her a twin set of worried looks, she waved them off “I just need to use the restroom,” she lied and hurried off down the darkened corridor of the second floor.

She passed the guest bedroom that had been her room back when her mother lived here, and ducked into the hall bathroom, locking the door behind her.

The girl staring back at her in the mirror shouldn’t have been a surprise, but she was.

Elvira’s skin had been pale her whole life, but now it looked like the demon’s had when the lightning struck, casting its light onto his face. A bit monstrous. Her red lips were stark and her black eyes darker than usual.

Her hair was in wet tangles and dripping a rhythmic tap tap on the tile. As her eyes followed the water’s trail down her dress, she remembered her battle with the beast. The silver blood was gone, along with any scratches she’d received from being dragged along the stone.

Heart pounding, she pushed the hair back from her shoulder. The pain from the Shade’s bite had disappeared as soon as she’d shoved the branch into its heart, and so she wasn’t expecting to see anything. But there it was.

It should have been gushing red with blood, but instead the wound looked completely healed and all that was left was a crescent moon of marks. However, each mark from its teeth held an odd silver cast, as if the wound had been sealed with the Shade’s own blood.

You have been Marked, so now, neither are you safe. The demon’s words came back to her then.

Somehow, the beast’s bite held a sort of magic, or a curse. But what that meant for her, she didn’t know.

She swallowed hard and shoved out of the bathroom. Not yet, not yet, she pleaded desperately to the panic threatening to overcome her again, like a rising tide.

She found everyone in the master suite — now her suite — preparing for bed, and let her hair fall once more over her shoulder, hiding the cursed mark.

The four of them had been having sleepovers ever since they were in middle school, and while they’d grown more infrequent over the years, especially once their parents learned of Raven and William’s involvement, the routine was still fresh in all of their minds.

Two thick, king-size comforters sat across from the other along the floor in front of Elvira’s bed, piled with pillows and throws. The sleeping arrangement was different now than it had been before; with William sliding in next to Raven on top of one comforter instead of having his own, and Rosia patting the empty space beside her on the other.

A real smile warmed Elvira’s face then as she flicked off the light and slid in beside Rosia. The girl used to be a furnace and horribly uncomfortable to sleep with; but now that her touch was almost as cold as the demon’s, Elvira felt no relief.

Ever since Rosia’s diagnosis of pulmonary fibrosis that caused scarring in the girl’s lungs, Elvira would always wake to check the girl’s pulse and then not fall back to sleep for hours as anxiety clenched her chest and convinced her that Rosia’s time was up anytime she stayed over.

Still, she held Rosia’s form in her arms and closed her eyes.

“Goodnight,” William sing-songed, Raven giggling beside him.

“You better not wake the birthday girl tonight.” Rosia warned.

Elvira winced and huffed out a laugh, remembering what she’d woken to the couple trying to do the last time. They only laughed in response.

Soon there was only the pattering on the windows and the sounds of her friends’ soft breathing to keep Elvira’s panic at bay, and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force sleep to come.

While she’d been lying about the wolves, the matter with her being left exhausted from the adrenaline turned out to be true as Elvira quickly fell into a deep sleep.

Photo by Mike Yukhtenko on Unsplash

Chapter Eight

Elvira’s mind was clearer when she woke the next morning to Raven and Rosia sticking chocolate pancakes under her nose. And after a night of dreamless sleep, she’d shot up with a smile. They’d devoured the breakfast Rosia had made since she was the only one who knew how to cook food and make it taste good. Then, after, Elvira allowed them to shove their gifts at her; a stunning black dress from Raven; a canvas with a black and white painting of Black Widow — her favorite superhero — from William, and a pair of ruby red studs set in true silver casing from Rosia.

She smiled and laughed when necessary, and acted properly disheartened to watch them file out of her house. It was only when Rosia paused by the door to slide something into Elvira’s hand, that a part of her wished to beg the girl to stay. But she resisted.

“I asked my sister to send this in from Peru,” she said, a gentle smile on her face.

Elvira turned the rectangular card over and her eyes immediately welled with tears. A postcard featuring the infamous Machu Picchu in a vintage painting.

Destination number twelve :) was written on the back in Rosia’s unmistakable, curving script.

“Thank you,” Elvira had said before pulling the girl into a tight hug.

Rosia’s older sister traveled for a living and it had become tradition over the years for Rosia to ask her to send a postcard. It had begun as a way to plan all the places they’d visit together once they’d graduated, until Rosia had gotten sick. But that hadn’t stopped her from continuing the tradition, still somehow believing Elvira would want to go anywhere without her.

Still, she placed it among the twelve others in a shoe box she had stored beneath her bed once she was alone.

***

The days that passed, when looked back upon, were like a watercolor smear of horrific black and red dreams in Elvira’s mind. Her first night after the attack may have been dreamless, but every night after was filled with nightmares that plagued even her waking moments.

Most were incoherent: screams ringing in her ears, burning pain in her shoulder, hands dragging her down, down, down into a spiral of darkness until she shot awake, struggling to breathe. Waves of blood — both red and silver — and eyes like dying roses, teeth sharper than razors.

Some dreams were of monsters, horrible monsters, with clawed out faces and black pits for eyes converging on her, and she’d drown; in pain, in screams, in bodies. Or a man in black, walking away from her down a shadowed path, and she was chasing after him endlessly, but never catching up. Only when her fingers would brush the hem of his odd trench coat would she wake.

There was one dream that she was used to having, that had plagued her for years; a hanging man, swaying on the end of a rope. Body a strange gray and face blank, despite the fact that she would never forget it no matter how much time passed.

But the others were some of the most vivid dreams she’d ever had. On and on they went, an endless river of terror.

The Shade who’d bitten her, pinning her down to the bed. But instead of teeth snapping, it was clawing at her chest like it had clawed at its own when Elvira killed it. She’d scream and flail, desperate for someone to save her all though she was all alone. The pain was all too real and inescapable. But then, Elvira was rising off of the bed and the Shade was gone. Instead, when she turned her head, she saw the demon standing beside her, arm raised as if it were him lifting her. She’d wake then.

Elvira would be standing in the middle of the hill in her backyard, facing the graveyard, where a mass of shadows rushed for her. She didn’t know what the shadows were, but was filled with a horrible panic all the same and turned to scramble up the hill. For home, for safety. But the ground between her and the backdoor only continued to expand, and she never made it. She’d wake then.

The sound of a clock ticking, sending a terror like some approaching doom rocketing through her. She’d wake then.

A familiar door was before her, framed in shadow, her chubby kid hand outstretched for the handle.

The door is shut for a reason, some conscious part of her would warn.

“What’s in there?” A voice that wasn’t her own, that shouldn’t have been inside of her mind, would ask.

She’d step back, and only ever respond, It’s shut for a reason. She’d wake then.

***

With the weeks that passed Elvira never escaped the nightmares, waking up in a sweaty, panicked mess, and staying awake for the sunrise. They didn’t escape her; even as she crossed the neatly trimmed lawn of her university, constantly submerged in fog with gothic architecture. Even as she served food at the local club or dusted books at the bookstore.

And soon enough, the dreams bled into reality. She’d turn a corner and swear she saw the demon grinning at her, most of him swathed in shadow, before turning on the light to find there was no one there. She’d also hear scratching sounds along the walls.

Elvira was nearly about to break under the constant stress of it all when Rosia showed up on her doorstep one night. A part of her nearly crumpled with relief at the sight of her friend, when she finally took in the girl’s tear-streaked face and the duffle in her arms.

Rosia sniffed, trying and failing to smile as she said, her voice wobbly. “I don’t have much longer, Evie.”

Photo by Ahmend Adly on Unsplash

***

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Young Adult
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About the Creator

Gabriela V. Rivera

I label myself a writer, but really I'm a dreamer, wanderer, vampire, and witch. A cool summer breeze rustling the leaves, or a glimmer of moonlight dancing on the dark waters of my imagination.

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