Ink Portals

Sleepwalker

5

Abby woke up in the early hours of the morning and checked her bedside clock, it was quarter to five. Arthur was still in her bed with one hand cupped over her breast. She got up, gently substituting her place under his arm with a pillow.

She slipped on a t-shirt and a pair of pajama-shorts then headed downstairs to the kitchen, wanting to fetch a glass of orange juice. The house was dead-quiet. She went down the hallway, her socks glided along silently in-between steps over the polished wooden floorboards, like two little sail boats on a perfectly flat lake.

She turned the corner into the kitchen - then slapped her hand over her mouth to stifle a scream. Pierre was dangling from the roof like a snared insect caught in a web of tentacles. One of the appendages was wrapped around his neck, slowly squeezing at his throat, making blue veins rise from the pale skin of his neck. Pierre's black eyes locked onto Abby's as he turned his head towards her in an eerie gaze. It was like those intimidating, impossibly-black eyes were somehow asking her for help, like a hostage pleading with a passer-by to take notice of his distress. Abby held her breath and slowly backed out of the kitchen.

Suddenly there were muted footsteps behind her, coming from bare feet. She spun around to see Jack shuffling down the hallway in his boxer shorts. His hair was disheveled from his pillow and he looked groggy, but he appeared to be taking his hangover better than Pierre. Abby waved her arms wildly and pointed at the ceiling without making a sound.

"What's the matter?" Jack whispered rushing up to her, his silk boxers made soft swooshing noises as he moved.

"Look," she whispered, pointing into the kitchen.

"Get behind me," Jack said, taking Abby by her shoulders and moving her away from the doorway.

"What's wrong with him?" she whispered.

"He's probably sleepwalking. Stay here, I'm gonna wake him up."

Jack snuck into the kitchen, keeping an eye on Pierre as he edged along the wall. He took an apple from the fruit bowl on the kitchen counter. Pierre was watching him, but it was like it wasn't Pierre doing the watching. It was his passenger looking through the eyes of its host.

Jack saw that the sliding door that went out onto the patio was still open, so he tossed the apple out through the open door, making it bounce loudly on the wooden floor. The pearl-black eyes gleamed then the tentacles flashed an angry red and Pierre pounced down from the roof, crawling across the floor like a slimy spider chasing down the offending apple. The fruit rolled over the patio tiles and landed in the pool with a plonk.

Jack and Abby watched as Pierre got pulled across the floor like a rag doll; the limbs seemed to be acting with a mind of their own. They plunged into the pool, dragging Pierre under the swirling water in pursuit of the apple.

Abby peeked out from behind Jack's shoulder as they edged towards the pool.

"I told you to stay in the house," Jack said.

Abby didn't reply, she was watching chunks of crushed apple floating up to the surface of the water.

"Why is it doing that?" she said.

"He doesn't respect that thing," Jack said, watching the bubbles in the water start to dissipate. "If you wield a spirit like that you have to meditate regularly to keep it in check. It's like leaving a dog inside your apartment all day without stimulation or exercise - by the time you get home from work the cushions on the couch are all fucked up and there's dog shit everywhere. You gotta let it stretch its legs every now and then. Pierre obviously doesn't do that."