Santa's Secret Transfic Anthology Vol. 2 / Everyday Sweets #16

Found You

by JAK

Some doors were never meant to be opened. There are forces beyond mortal comprehension, waiting to be unleashed by the right person. Are you the right person? Would you open the door?

— JAK

 

1473:

There are times I can scarcely believe my good fortune. Not every aspiring artist finds a muse so utterly captivating, and dare I say against all objective reason, perfect. Aubrey Alwin lay on my bed, bearing nothing save the many natural gifts god provided her. Every line, a song, every crease and curve, a miracle.

“Poor Milly, it must be terribly difficult painting with your jaw on the floor and your brush stock still.” Knowing my focus has waned, Aubrey sits up with an impish grin. “If you just wanted to stare at me nude, all you had to do was ask.”

Heat rises in my cheeks as I crack a smile of my own. “And just like that, all those years learning to paint, wasted!” I drop my brush and pallet. Generally one should show some reverence to the tools of their trade, but when opportunity knocks it’s best not to be encumbered by such frivolous ideals. My love beckons me toward her with a coy curl of her finger. With one simple motion, my will is no longer my own. I cross the unbearable distance between us and embrace her, relinquishing myself to her whims once again.

***

The dark sky outside belies the time we’ve slept in each other's arms. Her warmth envelops me as the steady sound of her breathing nearly pulls me back to slumber. It’s an artist's truest shame that the flawless moments of life simply can’t be recreated.

I’ve known Aubrey since the two of us were little menaces tearing through the halls of her family home and ruining any sense of peace or serenity her stuffy mansion was supposed to provide. My mother worked for her family, and her parents always treated mom and I with a respect and kindness most noble houses felt wasn’t due to the lower class. Aubrey in particular was always so cheery and generous, always making sure everyone around her was just as happy as she.

How could I not fall for her?

Waves ripple through the pool of raven hair resting on my chest as Aubrey stirs. Having been lost in my thoughts for so long, I’m not sure if she’s just woken or if she’s relishing the moment as I am.

“Milicent,” she calls in a mousy voice, uncharacteristically using my full name. “There’s something I have to tell you. Yesterday… The engagement was finalized. I’m to be wed to the viscount. They’re having me move to his estate next week. I’m–” I can feel her tremble in my arms and pull her tighter into me. “I don’t want to go. I don’t want to be without you.”

Of course this is inevitable. Aubrey is the daughter of a prominent house and is a radiant beauty without peer. It’s only natural that her parents find an advantageous marriage for her to improve the stations of both houses. From the beginning we both knew how this would end, but just as someone on their deathbed grieves what they knew would come all along, I’m heartbroken.

All I want to do is scream. It would solve nothing, but I wish to cry, and yell, and curse this miserable existence that would dare show me true happiness only to rip it away and leave me to drown in its absence… but now’s not the time. Aubrey sobs into my chest as I stroke her hair, whispering sweet lies of how everything will be okay. My words are as hollow as I feel. In less than a week she’ll be gone, and now every second of our final moments will be marred with this weight, this preordained doom. 

Milly.

A soft whisper drifts to my ear on the current of an unnatural breeze. I check the windows and find them all shut tight. What on Earth was that?

There is a way.

Another whisper, on that same impossible wind that has all my hair standing and my skin rippled with fear. My head hurts for a brief moment as I remember something. Something I’m not sure I ever knew of before. A face, marred with black tears… a book… a book!

“What about that book, the one your mother inherited from her aunt?”

For the first time since she broke the news, Aubrey reacts to my words. “You mean Sister Elizabeth’s diary? What’s that got to do with anything?”

There is no hope, I know there isn’t, but people see what they want to and can delude themselves to believe nearly anything. Even if this amounts to nothing, it’s better than descending into melancholy. “Didn’t she write about some kind of prayer that can grant wishes? We can try that! We’ll make it so that we can be together.”

Her hazel eyes roll as she chuckles. “Sister Elizabeth was a mad woman, I doubt we’d be able to make sense of her ramblings let alone find a solution to our problems there.” That reaction is all I want out of this. Our last adventure. A high note to end our symphony. “Wait a moment, how would you even know about that old thing?”

My headache returns for a moment as I reach for a piece of my mind I know I shouldn’t visit. I’ve always known about the book… right?

“I must have heard your mother speak of it before. That must be it. Regardless, what’s the worst that could happen?”

***

Something is terribly wrong. I knew this was a mistake the moment we opened that accursed diary. Sister Elizabeth was well and truly insane and the scrawled symbols written in ink, blood, and substances I don’t care to identify should have been proof enough that we were in over our heads. “Aubrey!” I scream, pounding on the door to her room where we had carved a wall of runes that repeated ad infinitum in the diary. 

Why did I step out? It was only for a moment! I just left to fetch us some water. 

Barely two steps out the door and I heard Aubrey cheerfully declare that the wall was finished. Our celebration was short lived for not a moment later, Aubrey’s eyes glazed over and she started mumbling to herself. Before I knew what was happening, the door had slammed shut and trapped me on the other side.

I can hear whispering. Low tones in way too many voices to be anything shy of a chorus. Whenever I pull on the door, a black film stretches along the door’s path, holding it firmly in place just outside the frame. Despite looking taught, the tar like substance  flexes with the imprint of hands and faces, all chortling at me. “Let her out!” I roar, throat straining with an effort to be as loud as humanly possible. I plant a foot on the frame of the door and pull with every shred of strength I have until I hear a sickening tear. Innumerable screams pierce my ears as the black film rips, spilling an ungodly amount of blood as it slowly gives way. The dark flesh swings idly, moved by a breeze I cannot feel, as I finally see what we have wrought.

On the other side of the door, where once there was a room, a bulbous creature with pulsing veins connecting more eyes than I could ever count stares at me. It’s hulking form should be too large to fit in the entire house let alone a single room, but it’s as if the concept of space holds no meaning before the gaze of this beast. From each eye opens a dozen more, followed by another few iterations of this multiplication, until all I can see is a wall of infinitesimal irises, each staring in different directions yet somehow focused on me. I can feel a scratching on the back of my head as each eye speaks simultaneously in just as many voices, their words jeering and foul. My legs buckle and I fall to my knees under the scrutiny of everything that has ever lived and will ever live again. 

A stabbing pain in my arm finally draws my attention away from the creature as I see a row of teeth tear out of my own skin before opening into a mouth chattering in a tone so grating and filthy, I feel the bile in my stomach rise. Every few seconds, this process repeats coating my entire appendage with lipless maws each speaking in tandem, each drooling a black ooze that slowly pools around my legs. The shimmering liquid begins crawling up me slowly, like a thousand centipedes ascending a wall. As I try to swat them away my hand plunges deep within the murky liquid, somehow reaching through where my own flesh and bone should be into a soul-chillingly cold pond.

Desperate to escape what’s happening, I look up to find myself staring back at me, my hair is matted and wet and there’s blood pouring from my neck as my twistage visage silently laughs, eyes bulging with hysteria and pain. No matter where I turn, I’m there, at the center of my vision; always laughing, always bleeding, always laughing, always bleeding, always laughing, always bleeding. I scream to drown out the non existent noise but as I do, I finally hear the laughter my counterparts failed to vocalize.

Please, someone, save me. At first, I can swear this is my own thought echoing through my head, but it only gets louder as the voice becomes distinct among the many other chattering and whispering tunes. “Milly, please help me!”

“Aubrey!” I stand up once again, ignoring all else as I stare into the tear once more. The monster that had once replaced the room is gone, replaced by a strange figure, her stark white form contrasting the all devouring blackness around her. Staring back at me is… Aubrey? It is, yet isn’t. Her skin, once flawless and soft, is marred with chips and cracks, bearing the distinct texture of bone that somehow flexes and bends as living tissue does. Her eyes are covered by a black veil of dripping ichor running down her face and onto the floor. She is wearing a simple gown that riples like a plume of smoke around her figure, as her limbs jerk to and fro unnaturally, like a marionette in a stage play. She raises an arm towards me and beckons me as she did earlier. “Please, come with me Milly.” Her voice silences all others as they make way for her request.

My legs twitch as I try to will them forward. She’s still my love, and no less beautiful despite the striking changes, but fear roots me in place. “Aubrey… I–” The wall of dark flesh I’d barely managed to breach before begins reforming as I continue trying to force my body to ignore the primal terror anchoring me down. It’s just a few steps. A few steps and I can be with her once more. The wall continues to heal, as the last inch repairs itself and Aubrey vanishes from my sight I hear one final voice, nothing but a whisper, yet carrying the volume and power of an operatic singer.

“It’s Okay, I will find you.”

With that promise… or warning, the door slams shut. Instantly, I become aware of my racing pulse and rush to check every inch of myself. The mouths that had overtaken my arm are nowhere to be seen, and any dark ooze has vanished completely. It takes an hour of steeling my nerves before I finally try to open the door again. Surprisingly, there is no resistance as the wooden door slowly opens with the familiar groan I’d become accustomed to over my many visits. The room is as it should be. No symbols on the wall or otherworldly horrors twisting reality around themselves. Just a bed, a dresser, a mirror… and no Aubrey.

***

2017:

“... and here we have some of the final work of a nameless artist of the mid-fifteenth century. Though not much is known about her identity, there is vast speculation on what could drive someone to create work as bold and horrifying as her later paintings. Despite being taken in by a family of nobility, this artist murdered their daughter, the fiance of Viscount La Roche, in a fit of jealousy. Though Lady Alwin’s body was never found, the painter was incarcerated and later executed for her crime. Her final works, which she painted while awaiting execution, mostly share a common theme of terror and anguish. This is no doubt a result of her mind succumbing to crushing guilt. Her final piece, displayed here, is called “Beckoning.” The ethereal figure presented in such a mystifying light has often been thought to represent her coming to terms with her fate at the headsman’s block. Moving on…”

At long last, the third tour of the day drifts away from me. That damn pompous tour guide would probably have the same grandiose inflection if he were presenting his junk to a crowded room. The thought alone makes me shudder. I get that people are all into “true crime” stuff nowadays but sensationalizing some murder from the fourteen hundreds is a bit heavy handed if you ask me. Especially when the whole story is just a bunch of speculation and hearsay. 

With peace and quiet settling back into place, I continue sketching some of the aberrations presented in the late painter’s work. A few weeks ago, I received a large commission to create a plethora of “hair-raising images” for a gothic horror card game an acquaintance of mine is working on– an incredibly unique venture on his part, I know. But hey, as long as I finish my work, I get paid. That’s all that matters to me.

Normally I’d cast a wider net in looking for inspiration for a large project, but something about this woman’s paintings… They haunt me. This is by no means an original sentiment, obviously. The fact that her work has lived on far past her name is proof enough of her exceptional skill, but it goes deeper than just technique and composition. I feel like I’ve seen these monsters somewhere in the back of my mind, trapped in a memory I can’t quite reach. Take the piece I’ve been listlessly sketching for that past half hour or so, “Last Meal.” Rows of sharp drooling teeth devour an arm from the inside, yet if I stare too long I swear I can feel something moving deep under my skin.

I’m well aware that I sound zanier than an Animaniac and I’ve come to grips with the fact that I’m probably extraordinarily sleep deprived and stressed with this daunting job hanging over my head, but each painting in this room grates on some primal fear I didn’t know I have. Especially our Jane Doe’s final painting. On my way in, I caught a glimpse of it from the corner of my eye. I’ve consciously avoided looking in that direction since. Logically, I know it’s just a canvas and paint, that there’s no way for it to harm me. Yet, I feel as if I’m being watched by it, even now. After taking a few deep breaths, I decide to confront my irrational fear directly and turn on my heel to fully take in the sight.

“Beckoning.” In stark contrast to her other works, which are all predominantly black with white lines and accents forming faces and abominations of terror, this canvas is mostly blank save for some striking black lines. A simple portrait of a pale woman in a white dress, with thin black veins running through her arms, stands maybe seven inches tall in the dead center of a four foot canvas. She’s listlessly pointing at the viewer with a single clawed finger while her body is turned about forty five degrees from our perspective. The face, whether it had been painted on or not, has been smudged out into nothing but a grey cloud with erant strands of black hair billowing behind it in the wind. A small trail of black droplets leads down from her outstretched digit, all the way to the bottom of the canvas, an odd choice that could be seen as a simple error if not for the precision of her previous works and a faded red spot at the end of the line. The only use of color in any work she created in prison.

A sharp chill bolts up my back and settles in my neck, festering as a gentle pressure. My eyes dart to every line in turn as they seem to shift back and forth, her dress pluming off her like fog, and her chest rising and falling as she draws breath. From the cloud obscuring her face, I see two eyes open. They’re jarring, like seeing real, blood-shot eyes on the face of a cartoon character; out of place because they make you aware of the gap between fiction and reality. Only, these look wrong because they seem deeper than a human’s. Their presence alone superimposing a whole new standard for what is real that threatens to subvert my perception of every living thing on–

“Sir? I’m so sorry, but the museum is closing.” I take in a sharp breath in shock, completely caught off guard by the woman who managed to sneak up on me. I can feel my sweat-damp clothes clinging to me as a few more droplets fall from my brow onto the sketchbook in my hands. Wait, closing? It isn’t even lunchtime yet. Turning my gaze to the large windows across the hall, I’m gobsmacked to see no trace of sunlight. What happened? “Are– Are you all right, sir? Do you need to sit down for a moment?”

Alright, come on Miles, compose yourself. I close my eyes for a moment and hear the thunderous crash of my heartbeat slowly fade back into the background before smiling at the woman who more than likely thinks I’m deranged. “I’m alright, thank you. Sorry for keeping you. I’ll be on my way.” Everything’s okay, all of that nonsense is just in my head. Nothing is wrong with me… except the familiar stabbing pain of my carpal tunnel acting up. I swear I haven’t drawn that much tod–

No.

There in my sketchbook is the woman, arm outstretched and calling. I didn’t do this. I couldn’t have. “Oh, wow, that’s actually really good.” The woman says, looking down at the near perfect recreation I’m holding. “The hand’s a bit different, but other than that I’d say you nailed it.” Now that she mentions it, the pose of the hand is off somehow. “I’m pleased you still have the urge to sketch me.” My head snaps back up as the woman’s voice distorts into a sultry tone that only vaguely sounds like the voice she used only moments before.

“What was that?” Such an out of place statement… yet, it almost makes me smile.

Looking at me like I’ve got a second head, the woman who is clearly losing her patience and carefully crafted customer service smile repeats. “We really need you to leave. Now.”

***

My dreams are plagued by visions of shifting shadows and undulating tentacles emerging from a bottomless abyss. Endless loops of appendages multiplying, fraying, twisting in ways they shouldn’t before decaying in rapid succession. An infinite kaleidoscope of living tissue and pulsing veins twisting into obscene shapes and patterns. 

I haven’t had a good night's sleep in days and it shows on my face. One could easily think I’m experimenting with goth makeup despite never touching the stuff. The look itself isn’t something I’m necessarily against, I just wish it were a choice and not a compulsory consequence of my new non-existent sleep schedule.

Dragging my feet along my morning routine, I listlessly greet Vince, my best friend and roommate. “The hell crawled up your ass and died, Miles?” Oh, right, he’s also a gigantic tool, forgot to mention that.

“Fuck off, man. I’m just struggling to finish these dumb cards.” Ambling to the countertop, I dump as much coffee into my mug as physically possible and down the whole thing in one gulp. If sleep isn’t going to benefit me, I might as well avoid it altogether.

Vince sits up but doesn’t face me. “You catching a cold there, dude? Your voice is all… I don’t know, Mickey Mousey?” Responding with a few choice words a family friendly company would never allow their mascot to use, I trudge back to my room, now self-conscious about my voice. Great. Hated when it got deep in high school, hate it now that it’s cracking back up. I just can’t win.

Before I can shut my door, a loud series of knocks interrupts me. “You know the rules, Miles. If you’re already standing, you get the door.” Dumbass house rules. Mustering the last of my mortal strength, I make the herculean journey to the front door– only, that door is completely silent. The knocking persists behind me and I turn around. “Hurry up and answer it!” Vince calls to me without turning away from the television.

I walk over to our coat closet and freeze as the knocks continue from inside, louder than before.

“Hurry up and answer it!”

Pressing my back against the door to keep it the hell shut, I look back at a very unbothered Vince. “Hey, it’s not the front door. It’s the damn closet. What the hell is in here?”

“Hurry up and answer it!”

The knocking becomes stronger and I can feel the door shaking behind me, rattling all my senses. “Can you maybe explain what the fuck is going on!?”

“Hurry up and answer it!”

Annoyed, frustrated, and filled with a pants-shitting terror I’m becoming far too familiar with these days, I rush over to the couch and shake Vince’s shoulder. “Listen here, jackass, how are you so unconcerend about–” As I shake Vinces shoulder, his head lols to the side revealing a completely smooth and blank face, save for one set of sharp, sneering teeth that open to say,

 “Hurry up and answer it!”

With that, the door bursts open and the woman from “Beckoning” storms through, as she reaches her clawed hand for me.

***

Awake at last. Another nightmare. It’s been a few weeks since I first visited the museum and this whole song and dance has become truly maddening. I can’t tell what’s real and what’s not anymore. Without getting out of bed, I grab my sketchbook and flip through the pages once again. Yeah, turns out while I went fugue at the museum I filled every page of my book with drawings of the same woman. When you flip through them, it looks like she’s curling her finger, begging me to join her.

She’s calling me.

I don’t know why, but she is… and you know what? I’m so tired. I’m honestly considering just giving in and being done with this.

I’ve changed a lot too, physically. Normally I’d consider looking this different to be a big deal, but seeing what my life has become, it’s somehow become a back-burner concern. My hair has grown considerably and my voice has shifted to sounding more and more feminine by the day. If the way my clothes fit is any indication, my build has gotten sleighter, and when I look in the mirror, I see a woman staring back. 

I’m becoming as she wants me. There’s a clear end goal here that I’m not seeing yet. I can feel it. When I catch glimpses of myself, something doesn’t seem quite right… but it’s not my previous form I pine after, it’s some intangible ideal; an invisible mold I haven’t quite filled out yet. This should frighten me, disturb me, fill me with a general unease at least. Yet seeing what I’m becoming, I can’t bring myself to feel anything but joy. I don’t want to be strung along by her any more than I already am, awash in a sea of change with no choice in the direction I drift… but if it makes me happy, need I be concerned?

Maybe she knew me all along. Knew that this is what I’ve longed for my whole life. Growing up, I always resented that my parents named their “son” Milicent. Rejected who I was because of the malice and cruelty of others. Could she be trying to help? The thought alone is almost laughable… but would I object if it were true?

My phone rings on my dresser. The caller ID is absent from the screen. No “unidentified caller” or “blocked number,” just a black screen with a single green button to answer with. Fuck it. If I throw my phone across the room or smash it to bits, it’ll just appear next to me again good as new. When she wants to torment me, she gets her way. Why put off the inevitable?

Silently bracing myself for visceral and disturbing noises that’ll further twist the knife in whatever ember of sanity I have left, I answer the phone. “What!? What do you want from me!? Just leave me the fuck alone already!” Oh, guess I do have a bit of fight left in me, even if it is just a performance put on for my own pride’s sake. Neat.

The line stays silent for a few seconds as I anticipate any number of fresh horrors to come… then I hear the most unexpected sound from the other end of the call. A gorgeous, husky voice, so soft I’m not sure if it's just static I’m misinterpreting, chirps a quick: “I’m sorry.”

This is another trick, It has to be. Whatever is out there is just trying to get me to lower my guard before overwhelming me with agony again. I don’t trust this for a second. I can’t trust this!

…

So why does this voice seem so familiar? Amidst the multitude of atrocities I’ve endured, there have been no shortage of disgusting, virulent tones… but she’s never sounded so vulnerable before. “You’re… sorry?” The pent up rage and frustration in me wanes as confusion takes hold demanding some kind of explanation. “What do you mean?”

Over the course of this past month, I’ve run my mind ragged trying to figure out why this was happening to me: Did I piss off someone with legitimate mystical connections? Accidentally step on a grave? Cook a steak well done? What offense had I possibly committed that would warrant the punishment I’ve received?

The other line is silent for even longer this time. I patiently wait for the response, half expecting the line to cut out at any moment or for the twisted showcase of mind-bending terror to begin in earnest. Instead, I hear soft cries mixed with sniffling. “I– it’s all my fault. All my fault that you’ve been through so much. I just wanted– no, I needed to talk to you. I was alone. I was cold. When I felt you again, I couldn’t help myself.”

My back straightens as some life returns to my senses. If this truly is the harbinger of my suffering I’m speaking with, I may finally get some answers at the very least. “Again? Are you saying you’ve… felt me before?”

“Of course, Milly! I always know when you’re back in some form or another.” There is no hesitation in her answer this time but it does little to illuminate the situation. “And even better, you’re more you this time around then you have been since we met!” Yeah, Aubrey’s not about to win any awards for delivering clear statements.

Wait.

“Aubrey?” I ask, unsure of why that name means so much to me, and fits this person to a T.

The person on the line squeaks with joy and I can hear a brief round of applause from her. “Milly, you remember me? That’s never happened before!” I don’t understand. “I knew this time would be different. I just knew it!”

“Knew what!? Please, just tell me what’s happening here because I’m totally lost.” My voice raises but I try to keep my cool. Actually speaking with someone, regardless of how strange the conversation, is actually making me feel human again after weeks of living as a husk.

Aubrey takes a moment to consider what to say next. In the background, I can hear whispers seemingly advising her. “I– I know asking you to trust me at this point is a fool’s errand… but would you be willing to indulge me with one favor so I can show you everything you need to know? Just go to sleep, and you’ll understand who I am… and who you are.”

My teeth grit reflexively. “I’m sure you already know that I haven’t had the best track record with dreams lately.”

“Yes, and I apologize for that. Tunneling between worlds is a disgustingly difficult and messy process. When one of us emerges, a whole flock likes to stow away, and since I focused on you… so did they.” Aubrey sighs heavily. “I wish I could promise that nothing else will go wrong, but I can’t. The other creatures are crafty and have a tendency to show up when not wanted. I will do my best to keep them from you though. This, I swear.”

This is how I know I’ve finally snapped. I’ve been convinced to play along with an otherworldly being that’s responsible for ruining my life. “Fine.” A fit of gleeful giggles tickles my ear and I can’t help but grin. Yup, I’ve absolutely lost my marbles.

***

Sleep takes me quickly as I find myself in an unfamiliar room. I’m wearing some ridiculously anachronistic outfit that belongs in some remake of a Jane Austen film and not anywhere near me. While I tug at the tight material that can’t possibly be my correct size, a woman skips in from the garden outside. “Milly! You must join me for a walk. The weather is gorgeous and the poppies have bloomed.” The spirited beauty links her arm with mine and continues skipping around me, forcing me to waddle along to not lose my balance. The dramatic change in pace from my usual dreams as of late forces me to descend into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. A show of joy immediately mirrored by the bottomless fountain of energy who takes my revelry as consent to start dragging me outside.

As we walk out the door, I find myself in another room rather than in the garden. A jarring transition that has me walking towards the same woman from earlier, sitting alone on a bed. “Aubrey, why did you want to see me?” My body says of its own volition as I realize I’m little more than a passenger along for the ride here.

“Milly. You don’t hate me, right?”

I can feel my heart sink watching this woman shrink as she asks my opinion of her. “Of course not! What could possibly have given you that idea?” I rebuke her question with fervor, drawing another step closer to her.

Hugging her knees to her chest she snaps at me. “Because you’ve been avoiding me like a plague. I enter a room, you leave it! I look in your direction, you turn around! I have to ask your mother to speak with you, just so you’d meet with me! How can you tell me that I haven’t fallen out of your favor? We used to be inseparable. What happened… What did I do?”

Milicent’s– My throat clenches. “I– I can’t tell you why I’ve been acting strangely… because I’m afraid you’ll hate me. Just, give me some time to sort myself out and everything can be how it’s always been. Trust me, this is for the best.”

“Trust me Milly! Whatever is wrong, I can help. Nothing you say will make me hate you, just please… don’t leave me alone.” What kind of monster am I? Aubrey’s mother spends most of her time abroad and before I arrived in the manor, she spent so many nights alone. She confided in me that solitude is her greatest fear, yet I’m weak enough to force it upon her for my own childish reasons. I’ll just tell her everything is fine and deal with my own problems in silence as I should have from the start.

I close my eyes, hoping that not seeing her will make what I have to say easier. “Aubrey, I–” Two slender arms wrap around my waist and pull me into a tight embrace. My breath catches as I feel her face snuggle into my shoulder, bringing us as physically close together as possible. “I love you.” The three words I’d been terrified to admit clumsily tumble out in shock. “I’ve loved you for years, but lately, it’s become unbearable. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry–”

My attempts to make things right are cut short by Aubrey’s mouth halting my own. The world melts around us as any fear or insecurity I’ve ever felt evaporates, leaving nothing but the warmth and softness of her lips on mine. I hear a moan that can very well be either of us, and as we part, my entire being cries for an encore. “I love you too, Milly. So please… let us never be apart again.”

I move forward to embrace her but once again the scene shifts, and I’m standing behind Aubrey as she frets over a portrait of herself. “Milly… I thought you said you’d make me beautiful if I modeled for you. This… it’s just me, it looks like nothing but my reflection.”

“Of course, love, how else could I do you justice?” I quip, matter of factly.

Aubrey lightly shoves me, without a doubt for not taking her gripe seriously. “Come on, Milly. I’m covered in freckles, my hair is thin and wiry, my face looks gaunt… It's a perfect depiction of a horribly imperfect sight.”

“I staunchly disagree.” I once again declare as I approach the dried canvas pointing right for the most noticeable instance of freckles. “A gorgeous sea of stars, and no less heavenly for their presence on earth. Sublime patterns with constellations no legend or myth could ever deserve.” My attention shifts to the crown of her head. “Raven locks. Deep as the night and equally mystifying. Smooth and soft beyond compare.” I move my arm once again but her own hand catches it before I can point to her fabulous cheekbones.

“Stop it! I see what you’re trying to do but all you’ve accomplished is embarrassing me.” Aubrey’s face is red as an apple. Damn, if only I could have captured this face on the canvas… perhaps next time. “I get it, you love me and therefore see through my flaws. Very touching, but please stop.”

Pulling Aubrey in close, I run my hand through her hair the way she’d never admit she loves. “Yes, I love you, and yes, I’m incredibly biased. I also may have, may have gone a bit far for a moment there, blame the prevalence of poetry and romances in your library. But make no mistake, you are absolutely stunning, inside and out. People often have the hardest time seeing their finer points the way others can. So from now on, I’ll be your mirror. A panel of glass simply won’t suffice. If you ever feel like you're not the most incredible person to grace the surface of this world, I’ll drop everything and anything to remind you how magnificent you are.”

“You… you can be so stubborn… and foolish.” Despite her harsh words, I see the faint light of a smile dawning at the horizon of her lips.

“And I’ll take that as a compliment well deserved.”

Everything freezes in place, and I find myself separated from the woman I was living as moments ago. Every fiber of my being wants nothing more than to continue this pleasant stroll through the lives of these two lovebirds, but a familiar face leaning against a wall on the other side of the room lets me know that playtime is, in fact, over. “Enjoying yourself, Milly?” The woman in white asks, grinning from ear to ear. “These were some of my favorites… these memories, among others, are all that kept me sane all these years. They are my sanctuary and treasure.”

The present Aubrey, the woman I’ve been so awed by and terrified of since meeting, seems so human. Guess it's a bit rude to put it that way seeing as how she was human once upon a time, but right now, it’s hard to imagine the atrocities she’s capable of at a moment's notice. Taking full advantage of her calm demeanor, I walk over and lean against the wall next to her, arms folded across my chest. “They’re lovely, not that I have to tell you that… and I suppose you showed them to me because the two lovers are us?”

Raising her pointer claw to her chin, Aubrey thinks for a second. “It is certainly me in these memories… but it’s not quite you, not all of you anyway.” Aaaaand here we go with more shit that doesn’t make sense. Is this what Alice felt like after falling down the rabbit hole? “I guess this is what would be known as a past life, if reincarnation worked the way humans assume it does. When you’ve seen beyond this world and glimpsed the unthinkable beyond, you find out that there’s a creature– I guess to make this make sense we should call it, The Dealer. It’s a truly massive being made of trillions of arms all connected to one unblinking eye. When any person dies, their soul returns to The Dealer. In this instance, I guess souls would be like decks of cards. The dealer shuffles every person back into a great big pile of souls. The cards are mixed together, blended, and dealt out into new decks from old cards.”

“So… how close am I to Milicent Prime then? Ninety percent? Eighty?”

“About sixteen, if you’ll indulge me rounding up.”

Sixteen? She turned my life upside down for sixteen? “You’re… you’re kidding me, right? That’s not just a failing grade, that’s "repeat this grade until you turn thirty" bad. How the hell is it worth all this trouble– worth causing all this pain, for that!?”

“Milly, I’ve reached out to everyone with a fraction of a single percent. I loved Milicent with all my heart. Even a shred of her is better than the nothingness I’ve accepted all this time.” Two clear streams of tears part the thick trail of ichor running down her face as she smiles weakly. “If it’s the right piece of her, even one billionth of a percent is enough.” Her peaceful expression fades just as quickly as it arrived. “But… nobody has chosen to stay with me yet.”

“Oh, there’s a choice involved? Since when?” Aubrey flinches, knowing full well she deserved that one. “If nobody has chosen to stay with you, maybe it’d save you a lot of trouble and heartache to just give up.”

The eldritch woman before me, who I’m just now realizing towers over me in height, reaches down and runs her hand through my hair, her claws gently scratching my scalp. “You poor thing, you’ve never been in love.” My face flushes as she runs her palm down my cheek before cupping my chin as tilting my head up. Even though her hand isn’t warm, there’s something innately comforting about her actions. I stare into the blackness where her eyes should be, the shadows within warping and slithering, until the faintest trace of what lies beyond makes its presence known. Two eyes, bloodshot and tired… pleading. “While you’re here, why don’t you continue living through these pleasant memories. I know you’re not my Milly. I know that you have no intention of staying with me. But everyone deserves to know what genuine affection feels like. When you’ve had your fill, you’ll wake up peacefully and well-rested. I will knock on your door one last time and then you’ll never hear from me again. You can just continue on as if this was a long nightmare. Answer it or don’t, the choice is yours.”

It can’t possibly be that simple, can it? Is freedom at last within my grasp? All I have to do is wake up and ignore the door. I can have my life back!

… I suppose staying for just a moment longer couldn’t hurt.

***

The sun’s rays force my eyes to flutter open as the noonday heat bids me to kick off my blanket. Years worth of memories all condensed into a single night's sleep. If I hadn’t experienced everything that went down this past month I’d never believe it was possible. Sitting up, I indulge myself with a deep stretch as I wait for the promised knock.

Unlike the violent banging of the door from before, Aubrey’s final call comes in as softly as I’ve discovered her to be. Two courteous taps on the wooden door, so quiet I could have easily missed it if I weren’t paying attention.

After all this, it truly is my decision, and an easy one at that. Crossing the room with purpose, I swing open my door with gusto.

What Aubrey and Milly had was beyond anything I could have ever imagined. Their bond was stranger and more foreign to me than even the most terrifying of the creatures I’d become acquainted with during this ordeal. It was perfection.

I know that I’m not her Milly, and I’m not trying to become a replica of that person. I am Milicent, yes, but a whole new flavor, and I won’t ever give that up. She knows that sixteen percent isn’t much, that I may fail whatever expectations she has of me, but she’s willing to take the chance.

So am I.

For years I got to know the Aubrey of yesterday. A cookey, charming, kind woman with a heart as strong as her resolve. She may assume that she’s the same woman now as she was then, but she isn’t. She’s changed too, maybe not by cosmic fusion, but by time and pressure. In the brief moments she would meet with me between memories, I got to know the new Aubrey alongside the old. She’s tougher now, colder at times. She radiates purpose, but has still maintained her compassion. She isn’t as impulsive as she was, but she’s capable of measured and decisive action when necessary. But her smile, the one her old self showed to Milly, the one she’s showing to me on the other side of the door. That never changed. All in all, I’d say she’s still about sixteen percent the same woman she used to be, give or take. So if her sixteen and my sixteen match up, I guess we have a whole eighty four to explore, and learn, and love.

Her coy smile never breaking, Aubrey raises her calcified arm, dress billowing as fog in the wind, as she beckons me closer with a curl of her finger.

How could I not fall for her.

***

And

That was that.

Until we sensed you.

Yes, you. Reading this now.

You have quite a bit of Milly in you.

Together, we can be even more complete.

You don’t believe us? That’s understandable, natural even.

Go ahead and continue on as always. We’re patient. We have time.

Don’t fret, this is for the best. We all belong together. United as one in the seam of existence.

So if you happen to notice your home settling a bit more than usual.

Or footsteps echoing in a seemingly empty room.

Or  voices following over your shoulder.

It’s just us getting closer.

Answer the door.

Don’t worry,

Love.

We will find you.

 

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed the story, please stop by my scribble page and check out some of my other stuff. I'm not saying that you're guaranteed a timeless, interdimensional, eldritch wife if you do... but I'm not *not* saying that either.

— JAK

 

Santa's Secret Transfic Anthology Vol. 2 / Everyday Sweets #16

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