MicroHorror

“You’re not going to have our child believing in that crap, are you?” asked Becky, who was in bed with her hands over her distended stomach.

Jarvice was finished polishing the silver crucifix. He placed it on the bedside table and placed the rag in the drawer below. Each door of the house was also covered with a crucifix, but they were made of aspen, like the original cross.

“Believing in all the crap might save his life some day,” Jarvice responded. “You ever think of that?”

Becky sighed. “Of course I have, but I’ve also thought that believing in such things is what makes them real.”

He scoffed. “It doesn’t make them real or unreal. It just makes you see them better.”

Jarvice reached over and shut off the light. He thought he saw a silhouette in the window, but it went away fast enough that he was willing to admit to himself that it was probably an illusion.

There was light on his eyelids. Jarvice opened his eyes and saw a woman at the end of his bed, standing in a slight glow. Her hair was a rich dark and so were her eyes. Her skin was youthful and flawless. She was without a doubt the most majestic creature he’d ever seen.

“You’re my reward, aren’t you? I mean, you’re what I get for believing?”

She nodded and waved for him to come. Then she moved away from the bed and out the door.

“Of course,” he whispered, mostly to himself. “Not here with the nonbeliever.”

He moved into the hall, where she was waiting. She let him get close and planted a kiss on his lips. Her lips were soft and tasted like a fine wine. She moved away and waved for him to come. He followed her to the back door, which she went through. He opened the door and found her standing under the maple tree. She held out her arms, and he moved into her embrace. She let his tongue penetrate her lips and taste the inside of her mouth. It was incredibly sweet and hot, far more than what a mortal woman could offer.

She gently pushed him to arm’s length, which was fine with him; he wanted to look at her more.

She shook her head and then spoke. “My son told me what you said. You were right; belief doesn’t make anything more or less real. It merely affects perception. Your wife will never know what really happened.”

“You mean that I’ve kissed and embraced you?” Jarvice asked.

“No,” the woman replied with a smile. “I mean what my son did to her. You see, my dear, I’m merely a spiritual projection from a dead body. But my son is an aswang manananggal.”

Jarvice felt a burning anxiety rising in his stomach. “A what?”

The woman was still smiling. “He’s a kind of shape shifter. During the day, he’s a respected member of the community. During the night, he’s a floating head that searches for his food. I think that with your strong belief and perception, you might have killed him had I not led you away.” Her smile grew wicked, as if she were taunting him. “I think your wife might have been awoken by my light if she’d been able to sense it. She didn’t feel what he did. She’ll only experience the aftermath.”

Jarvice gripped her tight on her arms. “What did he do to her?” he hissed.

The woman suddenly became very old, her skin becoming gelatinous under his grip. “My son feeds on the unborn,” she said.

The old woman disappeared. He heard his wife scream.