Hemlock Veils

She stroked his wet fur and he lowered his face. Just barely, his moist nose nuzzled hers: his sign of affection, she’d realized last week. “I wish you never had to be alone.”

I deserve the life I live, Elizabeth. What I don’t deserve is you treating me so…human.

“But you are, aren’t you?”

Before she even realized it was gone, his face jerked away from her hand. She thought for an instant that maybe her question had upset him, but he sniffed the air and took a protective stance over her. She didn’t feel that unsettling doom in her chest—the doom she had felt before when the mysterious evil lurked somewhere close. They had sensed it while together twice during the past few weeks, and the second time it had been so close the sensation left her chest heavy and her airways tight; but he’d hoisted her onto his back and run far away. With her body hugged to his spine, her fingers grasping his fur tightly and her face buried in his neck, he ran until neither of them felt it anymore and it was safe to return her home. The next two nights, he wouldn’t take her far from her porch, staying in the forest around both their homes, but eventually, after enough persuasion on her part, they’d gotten back into the routine of nighttime walks. He hadn’t explained what the evil was, though she had her own guesses; but thankfully it hadn’t returned since last week.

And now was no different. This, whatever he sensed, wasn’t the same evil. Another bear? A deer perhaps?

A click, heavy and metal sounding—one only a loading shotgun could make. Eustace spied them from somewhere close, with his gun he’d once referred to as Betsy, and her sights were probably on the beast. The beast twisted, blocking Elizabeth as though Eustace would try shooting her. His mass became backlit with Eustace’s spotlight.

She darted in front of the beast, raising her hands. “Don’t shoot! It’s me, don’t shoot.”

The blinding light lowered, hanging around his neck. It emphasized the shock on his face. “Eustace, please…” She stepped toward him, hands still raised. “Drop the gun.”

“What…?” He seemed to be confused, for the double barrel darted back and forth between her and the beast, who remained behind her.

Elizabeth, the beast reproached internally, and she ignored it.

“Eustace…”

“Step away from it, Beth,” Eustace said through his teeth.

“No. I’m with him. And you will not shoot him again.” She retreated, blocking the beast. “Eustace, please…” Her words broke as emotion rose in her throat. “I’m begging you. Please don’t shoot him.”

“It’s a monster!” he shouted, his voice too loud for the forest’s stillness. His gun trembled.

“He’s my friend.”

His eyes locked with hers, and all fell silent. All except the rain, that didn’t stop for anyone. “Please,” she said again, more softly.

With a rigid sigh, he dropped the gun. “This is…Shit, Beth, people aren’t going to think too highly on this.”

She released a breath and lowered her hands, then looked back at the beast. He sat on his haunches, no longer crouched, and his eyes that always said so much filled with something intense. “Go,” she said to him.

I’ll find you, he said, and then was gone.

She looked back to Eustace, whose his eyes nearly bulged from his face. “You…”

“Eustace, I know this is strange, but—”

“What if it hurts you?”

“He won’t. Not ever. You have to trust me.”

“Some might wonder if you’re just as evil as that thing, romping around with it at night.” His eyes accused. And her throat closed.

“Eustace,” she said, stepping closer. “This doesn’t change anything. Neither he nor I is evil. He has a good heart.”

“It’s always been evil, Beth. I’ve seen what it can do. And it sickens me that you—” He cut himself off, ru

With hands clasped in desperation, she attempted to keep her voice even. “You said from the first night you knew me, you trusted me. That I had good judgment. Please trust me now, Eustace. I know what I’m doing and I’m not putting my life—and especially anyone else’s—in danger.” She paused, staring into his eyes. His softened. “Do you trust me?”

He looked down. In a small voice, he answered, “I…suppose I still do. But…”

“Then you need to believe me when I say I’m okay, and he would never do anything to really hurt anyone. Please…leave him alone.”

He shook his head, hardening his resolve. “Only tonight, Beth. This is the only time I’ll let it go. So you better be damn careful, because next time I will shoot. Take that as a warning.” He turned then said behind him, “And don’t worry; I still respect you enough to keep this between us. I don’t want to think what might become of you if people knew.”

It took a minute or two for total darkness to dominate the place he once stood. Behind her, the beast’s presence grew strong and comforting. I can’t see you anymore.

She scrunched her eyes to rid the words she’d already been anticipating from her mind. With teeth clamped to keep her emotions in check, she turned. “Don’t.”

You’re not safe with me.

“I’m safe only with you!”

He didn’t say anything; instead he lowered his head and began walking back the way they’d come, waiting for her to follow. She didn’t at first and he looked back at her, his tail whipping. It’s late, Elizabeth, and the morning comes early.

Her chest felt slightly lighter at his usual words, and she thought maybe this incident wouldn’t change things after all. But when he returned her to her porch twenty minutes later, the look in his eyes spoke a goodbye. I’m sorry, Elizabeth.

“No—”

I won’t let you be hated like me.

“I can handle it.”

It’s too dangerous if they know. We aren’t supposed to be friends. It’s not supposed to be that way. It never was.

“But…you’re all I have.” Her eyes burned and emotion knotted her throat.

I’m…still here. I’ll never be anywhere else.

“I’m not going to lose you because of them.”

You’re not. You’re losing me because of me. And before she could beg him to stay, in the same way she’d begged Eustace to spare his life, he left, the jerking branches of a hemlock the only evidence of his escape.

***

A dark satisfaction settled over Elizabeth’s house—a false sense of rightness in what had just happened. It tried but failed to settle upon her body as well. She sensed that it felt comfortable here with her, within her lightless walls. It told her this was meant to be, that she was never meant to be in the beast’s life. Standing motionless, she looked around her living room, unable to pinpoint any of the usual shadows. The room looked darker than it should have been.

In a hurry, she flipped on the switch, her lamp taking longer to flicker to life since it fought with the nighttime. But the room illuminated well after a moment, and she breathed a sigh of relief when that eerie satisfaction seemed to move farther away, irked by the change.

What entity was satisfied with the beast’s abandonment? Was it the same who’d stirred the wind upon her arrival, warning her not to stay? What could possibly want him to live in misery?

Having just a hint of an idea, she opened her big book of fairy tales, searching for the demon she wanted to blame. And her understanding began piecing together as she read, making that false sense of rightness—that dark satisfaction—dissipate.

Diableron: it was the official name the French had given the demonic beings in 1351, when the first legend of its kind was born. Thereafter, legends of Diablerons began springing up in every continent, the most recent story documented in 1891. Some thought the name stemmed from the terms diablotin and laideron—small devil and ugly girl—but however it was derived, the Diableron was a being beyond definition: a demon, a black destroyer. They were beings whose origin couldn’t be explained, there to instill fear in faithful hearts, to cause mischief, or to haunt men whose souls were damned. It had been her least favorite creature of folklore as a child, and her father would skip the section, since she hadn’t even been able to look at the illustration. She studied it now, for the first time: its slender body that looked more like a silhouette, with a long, spear-like tail that left an oily trail of blackness behind. It appeared more like a mist than a being itself, hovering over the ground. Despite the melting face of a demon, it could change its form into anything or anyone—whatever would be most haunting to its target.