The door to Iris’s room opened, and while she couldn’t turn her head to see who entered, she didn’t have to wait long to find out.
The witch hovered over her in bed and grabbed her jaw, forcing Iris’s eyes to lock with her own. Anger flashed across her face, her upper lip curved in snarl, which was accentuated by the red of her lipstick. She was still naked, and the witch’s long locks descended from her face like strands of moss, which brushed Iris’s nose and cheek.
“I don’t know what little game you’re trying to play, but you can consider our deal dissolved,” the witch said, hissing through her teeth. “Your daughter will be the first soul tortured in Satan’s new world order. And I will ensure that you have a front row seat to her pain.” She tightened her grip. “You will hear every scream, you will feel every ache, and the only relief from the flames of hell will be the splatters of her blood against flesh.”
With one flick of her wrist, she tossed Iris’s chin aside, the sudden motion twisting Iris’s neck, which elicited a groan of pain.
The witch glided to the end of the bed, and with Iris’s head propped up by the pillow, the pair again locked eyes.
“Perhaps you just need a reminder of what I can do,” the witch said, then raised her hands and snapped her fingers. Kegan entered the room, his eyes rolled back into his sockets, exposing only white. He stopped once he reached the witch’s side.
Iris wiggled her mouth, her voice trying to break through the wall holding her back, and it started to crack. She mumbled, her lips writhing with incredible effort. The witch laughed, tossing her head back with a reckless gaiety that only increased Iris’s fury.
“Time finally caught up with you, Iris?” the witch asked, digging her claws into Kegan’s shoulder, who remained motionless in his zombie-like state. “All those years rattling around this house, your bones and innards aching, all of those lives you took?” She removed her hand from Kegan and crawled onto the bed, her movements slow and seductive. “Have they finally caught up with you? Have they worn down that hardened resolve?”
Iris continued to move her lips, still unable to produce any sound other than primitive noises, and held the object that Sarah had retrieved from her dresser beneath the sheets.
“With the dark lord coming, my powers have grown.” The witch was right on top of Iris, her hands planted on the outsides of each arm, her body naked and exposed. “I know you must envy me.” She smiled seductively. “My youth. My body.” She lowered her breasts and gently touched them against Iris’s flattened chest. “Has desire completely left you?” She pushed her groin against Iris’s and smiled, eyes rolling back into her eyes as she gave a seductive grind. “Oh, you must miss it.” She sat up, shaking her head to and fro, sending her hair waving in locks back and forth, and laughed. “You’re nothing but a dried-up hag, Iris. One breath away from joining your daughter.” The playfulness ran from her face. “But I’ll make sure you hold onto that one breath. I’ll force you to live for the next few hours, because I want you to see it. I want you to feel your failure.”
The door slammed on her exit and the fire extinguished in the hearth, ending the light and the warmth in the room.
Exhausted, Iris rested her head back down on her pillow, though she felt better.
As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Iris noticed that Kegan was still in the room, standing at the foot of the bed, that zombie-like stare still plastered on his face.
“Kegan,” Iris said, a strength returning to her voice. “I know you’re in there, somewhere. You have to fight it, do you hear me? Whatever control she’s cast over you, you have to fight it.”
Kegan remained quiet and still, and Iris lay her head back onto the pillows, shifting her body from side to side. Joints cracked and bones ached from the limited motion, though the movement triggered a rush of endorphins, which elicited a groan of relief.
Iris turned her attention back to Kegan, who has moved from the foot of the bed and to her side in the blink of an eye. The sudden motion startled her and she retreated from Kegan’s side of the bed.
It was the face where she noticed the most change. Despite his efforts, he’d always had a kind face, which lessened his physical appearance. But with those attributes gone, all that was left was size and muscle. And Kegan had both to spare.
“Kegan,” Iris said, still whispering. “Kegan, you have to fight it.”
He grunted, the noise primal and guttural, but it was the only response that he gave.
Iris covered her mouth, her lips trembling as the tears returned. She sobbed silently to herself, staring up at her grandson. The same man who she had pushed so hard, the young boy whose mother was taken away and his father sent to an early grave from the drink. He was so little when Mary died, he was still breastfeeding. She knew how much of an impact that Mary would have had on his life. She could have shown him what it took to be strong, and kind.
Iris never had that skillset. She was strong, but she was too calculated, too efficient. It was her husband who showed their children how to be sociable.
But Iris had been so hard on him, and she knew why. It was because he reminded her so much of Mary. It was the eyes. They both had
