Sacrificing Virgins Read Free

something to do with the manifestation. Eric didn’t remember his mythology, but it seemed like he remembered the willow as some kind of spirit-friendly tree?
    He made a mental note to look it up on the Internet, but by the time he’d finished planting the bean and squash seeds and tomato and pepper plants, dusk was falling and his neighbor hung over the fence and invited him out for a beer. Eric cleaned up, went next door and didn’t think again for a long while about the ghost and the willow tree. Life had a way of always moving quickly on…
    Dusk brought the faint reflection of stars to the frost on the ground of Eric’s backyard. It was another cold snap in March, and his breath instantly fogged the cold glass as he stood staring out at the shadowy landscape of frozen grass and bare, twisted tree limbs. The winter had flown by as his day job sent him to bed exhausted and beat-up from the days, night after night. Nevertheless, he was more than ready for spring. In his heart, he felt worn out and constantly tired. He blamed it on the season, and prayed that with the return of spring, he might feel better. But he feared that in reality, he was just growing old. Used up.
    The tea in his mug (brewed from dried peppermint sprigs that grew behind the willow) was lukewarm, and Eric began to turn away from the window to take it to the microwave. But a flash of something caught his eye. He turned his attention back to the yard, and for a third time, he saw her.
    She moved quickly across the frost, and Eric backed away from the glass. He remembered that the glow of headlights and the flash of his backdoor spotlight had driven her away the past two times he’d seen her. Not wanting her to disappear instantly, he reached behind him and clicked off the table lamp near the couch. He was curious to know what she would do…what she wanted.
    And then she stood outside of his sliding glass door, long brown hair rimmed in moonlight, white dress clinging to her like fairy gauze. Her eyes stared at him, as if questioning. She lifted one blue-white calf and then her bare foot was through Eric’s window, and in a heartbeat, the rest of her followed.
    Eric dropped the mug to the carpet.
    â€œWho are you?” he whispered. She didn’t answer, but instead flew towards him, moving across the room in seconds to stand silent within reach of his embrace.
    His heart beat like a hammer and his arms were paralyzed as he stared into the faintly liquid eyes of the ghost. He could vaguely make out the outline of his sliding glass door through the pale glow of her skin. Part of him wanted to reach back and flick the light back on…but he couldn’t move. From his throat, he managed a tortured whisper of “Why…?” But the room remained completely otherwise silent. The ticking of the kitchen clock was painfully audible as the woman slowly raised a hand and put a finger to Eric’s lips. And then she placed the same hand flat on his chest.
    He looked down and saw the shine of his belt through her thin luminescent arm. What did she want, why did she touch him? He could feel the strangest tingle beneath her hand, but no pressure of flesh. Was she sucking the blood from his heart?
    She only paused there a second, and then removed her hand from him and began walking down the hallway. She paused once and looked back over her shoulder, as if waiting for him to follow. Eric found that his panic had relaxed, at least enough so that he could move again, and after a moment’s hesitation, he began to follow. As soon as he did, she turned and continued walking deeper into his house, through the hall and around the corner and into his bedroom. As he rounded the doorway, he saw that she crouched next to his bed. One translucent arm pointed to the dark beneath.
    What did she want? For him to crawl under the bed? Eric stood at the entrance to the room and watched her point repeatedly towards the space beneath his