Unsightly Things Intro

Serpentine tails of gray, orange, black, striped, solid, speckled, and every other shade and pattern moved in the slow dance of curiosity and irritation. Expectant of the old woman's familiars, the man pushed through the throng of investigating felines. Some related to the creatures as her satellites in the world; the eyes and ears that went where she did not. To him, they were a mild concern and a great hindrance. They did cause him some hesitation, as he wondered what they would do if they knew he was here to cause their master harm. Did they sense his intentions? Were they bracing for vengeance? He hated cats.

The air was thick, almost too warm for comfort. The odor was an odd mixture of animalistic musk and the herbs and resins that filled the shelves, bowls, bottles, hung from the ceiling and lay loose on the tables. There was little noise. His shoes did not scuff and his coat did not rustle. That cat's neither meowed nor purred. And the woman, she sat silently, probably already knowing he was there. He didn't fear underestimating her, but that didn't mean his guard was down. She was old and as small as a seven-year-old child, but her strength was not in her physical size. Her extensive age was more formidable rather than less. Time, for an Arcanus like her, meant ages of learning, experimenting, growing in a power that could not be seen by those with veiled vision.

"Stop wasting my time. You know, as well as I, that there is very little of it left. Come in and make yourself comfortable, it is the last showing of hospitality that you can allow me." Her voice was a whisper, and yet echoed through his mind.

His eyes slid around the shadows of the room, the faint light barely pierced the filmy windows and the small lamp in the corner did little to chase back the dark. If anything, it merely enhanced the deep depths of every corner and every blot of emptiness amongst the clutter. The cats parted with each step, clearing enough room for his footfalls. A large armchair crouched in the corner. The deep emerald color that still inked the hem lines had long since faded only to be re-stained in a palette of shades from unknown sources. The cushion sagged and nearly flattened under his weight, but still not a sound creaked out.

"I know you have little care or concern for anything outside my death, but do shut the door when you leave. I wouldn't want the children getting lost in the night."

His gaze flickered to the filthy windows. The sun was still up, darkness was several hours away. His brow furrowed. Whether it was dementia or simple confusion, he knew not to question her. She would read his every meaning and thought behind every word he uttered. He still couldn't see her. The faint lines of cabinetry and counters, random tables and other odd chairs and stools, sharp shadows and clean curves denoted more objects in the dim room, but he did not see the petite woman.

"You'll see me, when it's time. I would offer you some tea, but you would refuse, even if I didn't poison the cup. This is an odd meeting, you know. Usually I don't plan for guest visits ahead of time. I know they will come and I know what they want, but I feel no need to spend my own time on them. This time was different. I have never prepared for something as much as I prepared for today." The words flowed across the room, almost skimming the surfaces around him. "You can speak, you know, it changes nothing at this point."

"You speak of wasting time. Is that not exactly what you're doing? Is it not rude to refuse to greet a guest?"

"If the guest has come to murder you, then I feel no obligation to adhere to niceties. I suppose I am being a hypocrite, but really, whose time am I wasting? I feel I am adding to my own, and yours. Once I am dead, your time here is done. Does your curiosity not urge you to drag this out? Your narcissism ripples under your skin and tells you to learn, be more, and that by simply having this conversation, you feel more. My hesitation is merely an appeal to the appetite of the beast within you."

She wasn't wrong. She intrigued him. Perhaps, centuries earlier, and he would have considered pursuing such a woman. A creature of neither light or dark, a balanced scale that constantly adjusted to the life force around her. He was going to kill not only a legend, but a woman that held one of the few pins to keep life in check. Once she fell, there were more that would need to go. After he killed them all, the scale would tip, the pieces would fall, and chaos would have a chance to prove how beneficial it could be to this world.

"Such ridiculous thoughts." A sound, something akin to a person crumbling tissue paper, crinkled in the air. She was laughing at him. "Ah, the weakness of creatures like you. No humor, no smiles, no understanding of anything you do not know. I wish you had known laughter. I wish you would know love. You are right, I tire of this."

In the time it took for him to blink, she was there. Her long silvery-white hair seemed to snap in an absent wind, breaking free from the braid that nearly touched the floor. The lamp finally found a reflective surface shining back at him from the metallic gray of her eyes. Her brow was arched, a smirk resting on her lips, as she lifted her splayed hands toward him.

"Come, death, dance with me." Music faded in, the trill of flutes and hum of a violin.

He tilted his head, his eyes slitted as he watched her. The music ended in a screech, silence resumed. Her hands fell, chin lifted, eyes glimmered in unshed tears.

"I love you, my children, and I pity you, whatever you are."

Her eyes never left him as he stood and approached her tiny form. She barely reached his chest in height. His face showed no expression as he lifted his left hand. A glittery bead of sorrow escaped from her eye and slid down her cheek as the room was filled with the howls of cats, pain ripping through the dark into the night around the small cabin, deep into the forest. The birds fled in a massive rustle of feathers and leaves, an unknown creature cried into the oncoming darkness, and a ripple of electricity blasted out and up into the sky as night descended.

When he left the cabin, the door hung open behind him. He paused at the top of the steps. The racket from the animals throughout the woods made him want to scream in annoyance. The sun was gone and the moon glared at him like a singular bright, white eye. Sniffing the air, glancing down at the cell phone in his hand, he confirmed what his internal instincts knew. Somehow, the woman's death had taken six hours. It was night already. He looked back at the open entrance, several cats were already crossing the threshold. Unease curled in the pit of his stomach as each one glanced at the heavy oak door and then him before running off into the Bayou.