Death's Obsession

I thought she was right, because the man never visited when I stayed with Evan, either at his place or mine. I used to wake up in the morning or in the dead of the night with Evan by my side, and my body would be free from the marks the Faceless Man would leave. There would be no letters left on my pillow or on my bedside table. No flower atop my chest or my dresser. I’d be free from the nightmares of the Faceless Man, if only for a night. Although, I’m not sure if he is a nightmare or the sweetest of dreams.

Evan was my shield against the Faceless Man.

Until my stalker stopped caring about Evan’s presence.

Evan’s snore is the only sound to be heard in the small space of my room. It’s too early for the dog upstairs to start barking or for the kids downstairs to start watching their shows before school. All the neighbors say that, at night, I’m the only sound in the complex, wailing or whimpering when the night terrors hit. Evan says I don’t always have nightmares; sometimes I just talk in my sleep, but I don’t always remember what the dreams are about. The only dreams I do remember are of the accident, and that’s when the screaming starts.

That’s why Evan prefers that we live separately, because he needs to ‘stay sharp’ for his job. He says he can’t do that if I wake him from his sleep with my ‘ramblings.’

When I lay next to Evan once a week, I try not to sleep, worried I’ll wake him. I try so hard to stay awake, I swear I do. But Dr. Mallory’s medication always puts me to sleep, even for just a few hours.

Inching the blankets down my bare legs, I creep across the room, not daring to look down at my body until the wooden panels beneath my feet turn to cold tile and the dull luminescent light of the bathroom glares down on me. Slowly, my eyes drop from my disheveled dark brown hair, down to the symbol painted on my chest and the black hand prints around my ample thighs, not hidden under my singlet and shorts. I can’t see the twenty-centimeter scar along my stomach, or any of the other scars covering my body from the accident, but I know they're there.

I bite my tongue to stifle a sob and tear my gaze away from the mirror. Unfurling my fingers from around the note, I see the letter under the dull light and foolishly hope no words will look back at me. But as always, the cursive words taunt me: You look beautiful when you sleep.

I’m not sure which is more foolish: The fact that I’m hoping I’ll find the words missing, or the fact that I hope the letters never stop.

Squeezing my eyes shut. I reach for a washcloth, not waiting for the water to warm before soaking the black fabric. I drop the letter on the vanity and distract myself with my own reflection. I can’t help but touch the marks he left behind on my thighs. The mark left behind is far larger than my own hands, which is just more proof that I’m not crazy. I’ve stopped trying to convince people I’m not insane, but it’s vindicating to have physical proof.

Used to cleaning the charcoal marks from my skin, I’m back in my room before much time passes and sliding open the drawer holding almost everything the Faceless Man has ever given me. The letter lands on top of one of the shoe boxes filled with the hundreds of notes he’s left me. It’s next to the pile of black bird feathers and the skulls of various animals.

I can’t bring myself to throw any of them away, as some kind of tangible proof that I have not lost all of my sanity. Well, at least I tell myself that’s the real reason why.

I’ve given up collecting the flowers he leaves me as they rot in a ma

With a shaky breath, I push the drawer full of the Faceless Man’s gifts back into the darkness and slip between the cold sheets to lie next to a man who doesn’t know those letters are the only reason I’m alive.

I wish I had died that day.

My mind darkens into nothing but white noise as the clock ticks by. Minute after minute. Hour after hour. It all passes in a blink while I’m safe in the comfort of my own mind. Until eventually, the clock beeps.

I died that day, but my body lived on. I can stare into space for hours, watching shadows stretch across a room and shrink back into the corner, without a thought in my mind or an emotion stirring in my chest. Sometimes I don’t know if it’s better to feel nothing at all or everything.

Time keeps ticking until I find another brown parchment in my hand. They make me feel like I have a heart, whether they make it flutter or thunder, I feel alive.

I wonder what you taste like, my dark storm.

Your whimpers are like a symphony of angels. What will your screams sound like?

Lilith, my night monster, my perfect other, soon, you will be all mine.

“Turn that thing off,” Evan groans.

I blink, finally registering that the alarm has been blaring for over a minute already. Hitting the ‘end’ button, I mutter, “Sorry.”

“It’s like you’re trying to give me a headache.”

I swallow, and wait for the bed to dip and hear the shower start before pulling myself from the pillow to stare at the teddy bear sitting on top of my drawers. Its beady black eyes are trained on me as I pull out my phone and rewind through the na

As always, the screen flickers, hours of recording disappearing along with any trace of what might have happened: whether the Faceless Man came into my room or if I really did walk the halls and leave myself notes, blissfully ignorant to reality.

The shower stops and the telltale sign of the curtains being drawn pulls me from my phone. I don’t know why I bother checking anymore. I never find anything.

As soon as I step into the bathroom, I grit my teeth and glare at the puddle of water saturating my socks. “Can you please use the bath mat,” I call out to Evan, knowing he can hear me past the ticking of the gas stove turning on.

An exacerbated sigh comes from the kitchen. “Jesus, Lili. It’s too early in the morning for you to start an argument. It was obviously an accident.”

I bite my tongue and swallow whatever retort would have never made it past my lips, and step into the shower only to wince when nothing but cold streams out. After four years, I know better than to say something back, even though he never used to be like this.

I close my eyes and let the cold bite my skin. At least it makes me feel something, even for just a little while. Evan stuck by me after the accident and stayed when I made claims about seeing the Faceless Man.

He didn’t need to stay around or stand by me, but he did. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep holding my breath around him. I just know that I can’t bring myself to say the words that would tear us apart.

“Soon, my love.” The baritone whisper chills me more than the water. I snap my eyes open and suck in a sharp breath from the dark shape just beyond the curtain.

He’s here. The Faceless Man is here.

Gripping the plastic material, I yank it back expecting to see Evan or the Faceless Man. Instead, I’m greeted by my empty bathroom and the puddles of water on the tile floor.

Tugging the threadbare towel off the rail, I dry myself and slip into my work clothes as quickly as I can. I pause. My black jeans feel tighter than normal. It probably shrunk in the washing machine. It has been happening a lot lately, my clothes fitting differently.

The onslaught of thoughts about the Faceless Man pushes the mundane issue out of my head. I can’t seriously be thinking about my clothes when my stalker might have been standing on the other side of the curtain while I showered.