The New Neighbor

god what they had seen and could not leave her behind in such decadence knowing that she was feeding on her own infants.

Lilith still refused, but she sneeringly promised that if the angels were to write their names near a newborn, she would spare the child.

As a result of that promise, parents took precautions for centuries to protect their babies from Lilith. Until a girl was twenty days old and a boy eight years, parents would draw a circle in charcoal on the wall above the child's bed containing the words 'Adam and Eve, barring Lilith' and on the door they would write 'Sanvi, Sansanvi, Semangelaf.'

'But what of Lilith's legions of daughters, the succubi?' Pascali wrote. 'Infants were of no interest to them. Instead, they engaged in another of their mother's favorite activities: seduction. Stealing into bedrooms by night and placing all other members of the household into a deep sleep, the succubus seduced men – sometimes women and even children – in their sleep, sucking from them not blood but their energy, vitality, and any goodness they might process; the ability to give, to feel compassion, or even to love those closest to them.

“The succubus, in human form, was irresistibly beautiful and had the ability to prey on each victim's most secret weaknesses. She returned night after night, using her beauty and charms to convince her victim that there was nothing wrong with their lurid relationship, all the while stripping the unsuspecting man or woman of all humanity and reducing him or her to little more than a wild animal, until she reached her ultimate goal: to consign the victim's soul to eternal damnation.

'Working in league with Satan's minions, the immortal succubi are said, in legend, to roam the earth to this day. If that were true, then it is indeed safe – but sad – to say that in today's society of low moral standards and self-centered lifestyles, a succubus in human form could quite likely lead a normal life, carrying out her evil deeds nightly without ever raising suspicion.'

Robby slapped the pages onto the bed and sighed. It all sounded like some kind of pornographic fairytale. In fact, it was probably too ridiculous to work as a fairytale.

But it fit. It fit so well, it made Robby's blood run cold.

He had the rest of the pages, but they were just more of the same, all of which confirmed that Lorelle had left out an important part of the story, a part that she apparently felt was too revealing – although Robby knew that, had she told him the whole thing, it wouldn't have crossed his mind in a million years that she was a demon.

Robby sat up on his bed and stared at his shoes for a long time, knowing it was going to be a long wait till nine o'clock. The house was silent and Robby craved the sound of another voice. He needed to talk to someone, particularly about the crazy thoughts he was having. He knew Dylan had stayed home from school and hoped he was not too sick to talk. Robby had to get out of the house and didn't want to be alone.

With his coat on, he started down the hall. A door opened behind him.

'Robby?' Jen whispered.

His back stiffened.

'Robby? Where you going?'

He walked faster and rounded the corner.

The living room curtains were closed and the room was dark. His mom sat before the television looking thin and weary, the glow of the television turning her face a soft electric blue.

Outside, Robby hurried down the street, never looking at Lorelle's house, hoping she wouldn't see him and call him over.

Mr. and Mrs. Garry's cars were both in the driveway. It wasn't unusual for Mr. Garry to be home – he was a carpenter and his work schedule was sporadic – but Mrs. Garry was a telephone operator, worked five days a week and seldom took a day off. As he neared the house, Robby heard Ozzy Osborne playing so loud that the bass was rattling the front window. That was even more odd than Mrs. Garry staying home from work. Dylan's parents insisted that he listen to his rock music on headphones so they couldn't hear it.

Robby knocked hard, but knew they would never hear him above the music, so he opened the door a crack and called, 'Hello?'

Somewhere beneath the thunder of the music, Robby could hear the television playing.

'Hello? Dylan? Mrs. Garry?'

No response. He went inside and closed the door, wincing at the music's volume. Rounding the corner of the entry way, he saw Mr. Garry's slippered feet from behind, propped up on the ottoman in front of his plush, overstuffed chair.

'Mr. Garry?' Robby said. 'Is Dylan around?'

The feet didn't move.

He got a whiff of what smelled like shit and wondered if he'd stepped in something on his way over.

Stepping forward, he tried again: 'Um, Mr. Garry? I was just wondering if -'

Robby stopped when he noticed that someone had spilled something on the carpet and splashed the television screen. Judge Judy was on and dark fluid speckled Judy Sheindlin’s face.

“Mi-Mi-Mister…Garry?' Robby's voice was lost beneath the music.

Keeping a distance from the chair, he walked around it, saw Mr. Garry's bare calves, saw his bathrobe lying open in front, his right hand lying palm up on the armrest. What looked like chocolate pudding clung to the front of the terrycloth robe, except… it wasn't exactly the color of chocolate.

Mr. Garry's mouth was open.

So were his eyes.

So was his forehead.

In fact, most of the top of his skull was gone and the pudding-like substance had dribbled over the edge of the opening, into his eyes and down his cheeks like thick dirty tears and onto his robe.

Robby staggered backward, hit the end table by the sofa and fell on his ass, gagging. He rolled over and tried to scramble to his feet, but his stomach convulsed and bile burned his throat.

'Dylan!' he gurgled, wiping his mouth and gasping as he climbed the sofa to his feet. 'Duh-duh- Dylaaaan!'

He ran down the hall toward Dylan's room, the source of the music that was pounding through the walls. He tripped over a shoe and fell face-down to the floor. Except he didn't land on the floor. He landed on something soft and wet.

Mixed with the odor of feces that he'd smelled in the living room was the rosy smell of Mrs. Garry's perfume.

Robby propped himself up on his arms and realized that the shoe he'd glimpsed before tripping over it had not been empty. Mrs. Garry was wearing it and she lay beneath him, face up, arms spread at her sides. Her left eye was closed as if she were asleep, but the right half of her face was no more than bits of shattered bone and bloody shreds of flesh. Robby babbled as he tried to get off of her, slipping twice before -

– her left eye opened, blinked, and she hissed a wet parody of his name: 'Aaww-eeee? Aaww- eeee?'

With a childlike whimper, Robby crawled clumsily down the hall, trying to stand, until he saw the hammer on the floor. He'd seen it before. It belonged to Mr. Garry. The clawed end looked as if it had been caked in mud, but he knew it was not mud that filled the gap in the forked claw. He stared at it, motionless for a moment, then carefully stood, staying close to the wall as he passed the hammer.

'Dylan?' he called, only a few steps from Dylan's closed bedroom. His voice was hoarse and broken. 'Dylan? Please? Are you there?'

Dylan did not reply, but as Robby went farther down the hall he heard something… a voice… it sounded like Dylan's voice… high and shrill… singing along with the loud music.

He looked back at Mrs. Garry. Her fingers twitched like the legs of a dying spider, tensed, then became limp. Robby took the remaining steps to Dylan's room and put his hand on the doorknob. He clenched his eyes shut before opening the door.

The music hit him like a wall and he opened his eyes to see -

– nothing more than the mess that was Dylan's bedroom.

'Dylan?' he called, knowing there would be no response.