Her Breath

It’s dark. Cold, almost damp, moss grows through the stones like an idea in the brain. There is a bed under a small window, see the slats through the mattress. If it were day, you would see a forest, where she is waiting. The rain flecks in though the glassless window and dots the dusty floorboards

I’m sitting on the wall opposite, leaning, my legs in front, my toes looking like stalagmites. A glint at the window shifts my eye; the crystals there are stirred by the wind and rain. Little rainbows inside them whisper to me and make me want to move them, but I’m too smart. So I sit. The rain falls by my feet, the drops fall and make drawings upon the floor that change and seem to move, closer, closer.

Below me, that noise again, like a breath that lingers in a throat of a stitched mouthed corpse. I’m aware I’m still blocking the door. The candle by my hand flickers and my shadow remains absent. Thankfully. Hands fall aside. Dust. Floor is brittle bone. The rattle grows louder, almost crawling though the keyhole. My heart thumps inside my ears. This must stop! My candle is tired. One hand rises to my neck and pulls the twine from inside my robe and my fingers taste the metal key. I stand, count a minute, by the door, the rattle holds her breath. I unlock the door.

My feet feel the change of flooring, thicker dust; my toes are numb and black. I do not walk, just shift from one foot to the other. Forwards, down. Down in a much bigger room. Portraits of her with no eyes are all around. Every time I turn she does too! I feel fingers on my shoulders, but turn to see a fleeting shadow. It moves across the wall and rests a moment on her faces.

There’s breath to my left. Rattle. I startle to one side. A cold mouth presses against my cheek, I close my eyes.
I open them in front of a mirror, she’s stood behind me, and her hands clasp my neck.

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