She always had cold feet. It made me a bit uneasy at first, I just didn’t expect it. But when I slipped beneath the covers and she sensed me beside her, her curling, icy toes would find my warmth. I was used to being the cold one so there was something nice about being needed each night.
Of course, that only made things more difficult.
And no hate in the comments please, I know the rules and I stuck to them. But after so many years being alone in those pages, I wanted to savour my experience.
I watched her, wondering if she could sense me there or would catch a glimpse of me accidentally in her peripheral. Her husband was completely oblivious, a night owl who rarely ever made it to bed. Fortunately for me, she never noticed his absence because I was always there in his place. It did not matter which of us was still breathing.
During the day, Priyanka was a different person. Dashing around from room to room, eyes locked on one screen, then the next. Always a disgusting looking green juice in her hand that she never seemed to finish. Her steps were short and frequent as she padded down the hall; cold skin on hard wood. It was no wonder they appeared to me later frozen and heat-seaking. When she left, they were slipped quickly into sandals at the door, then slipped out again upon her return. No matter the weather outside.
I’ve seen other posts on here about jumping out at your haunts from behind trees or moving things to freak them out but I wanted to play it more subtle. I only wanted to be noticed at night. In bed, when she shares my warmth and those feet nestle into the arches of my own, toes wriggling around searching for the right place to settle.
For those first few nights, it felt exactly right. The closest I would ever get again to an embrace and I cherished those moments she would toss among the sheets, sometimes for hours, but her feet remained on mine. Then, as her body relaxed and she drifted away, they parted, only to spring back when she woke.
This was our routine. Until it became my nightmare.
The novelty faded but I was determined to find that comfort again. Where they had once been a soft contrast to my own fading warmth, they then became clammy and unwelcome. I was stuck in the loop I knew so well but each time I climbed beneath the sheets, they found me in the dark. Their damp, slippery chill crept towards me, the sharp touch of them invading my space and pressing into my own in search of heat.
But it wasn’t the same. I urged her husband to return to bed, to push me out and force me somewhere else. I even tried a few old fashioned haunt techniques to startle him from his living room slumber. This only resulted in a night where she could not sleep at all. Nothing but creeping, crawling, frozen flesh surrounding my own, slipping across in a bony mass of cold, cold appendages. I thought she would notice me, turn over and face me in the dark, shriek and leave, vowing never to return. But she did not.
I know what many of you will say. Kill her already, it’s what you were summoned to do.
However, the suffocating dread of those nightly occurrences had consumed me and I began to fear that killing her would make them worse. Colder in death, perhaps they would take on a life of their own. I imagined them slithering towards me from across the room, slipping beneath the sheets in search of me, free from the restraints of the rest of her body. I choked in horror at the thought and so I could not take the risk.
It was an inescapable cycle, tormented by entities of my own doing.
During the day, I hid from them in panic they might unwittingly find me. My foreboding grew as the sun descended and I knew what was to come.
I tensed every remaining muscle in my skeletal body. A feeble attempt to resist its urge to follow the pattern. You all know as much as me, that doesn’t work. But I was desperate.
My feet jerked at her icy touch, a wave of nausea I did not know I was capable of tore through me.
It was self defense in the end. An instinct all of us in this community have. Perhaps some more than others.
I had never expected it to be so difficult. This was not my first haunt as much as the trolls down below I’m sure will try and insinuate. I’d had enough and finally broke through the suffocating terror I’d gotten trapped in.
Instead, she suffocated at my hand. Not as quickly as I intended and admittedly, relief crept over me afterwards. There was no flame-licking joy as I’ve seen others experience, or even a grinning satisfaction.
I hope this helps one of you who is struggling to kill your haunt too. Let us normalise anxiety among summonings. We are not breaking rules, just simply struggling to navigate the deed in our own way. I will return to my pages soon and await the next reader with a level of apprehension because of this experience.
However, we must remember that no two haunts are the same and next time, I hope for warmer feet.
Th3_Blight3d_1
Words, editing & design by N.S.Land
N.S.Land 