Early twenties Selena was on her back, the demon on top of her as it slashed savagely with bony hands. Her shriek rose to a fever pitch as the clothing shredded from her body and blood spattered the walls. Beside the bed, sitting on the little bedside table, the phone continued to ring.
All at once the demon ceased, clawed hands still poised to strike. I wondered if perhaps young Selena were learning to control the creature, but as it began to scoop her up into its arms I realised what was happening. The demon was now embracing her - And feeding on her.
The feeding process was different for every demon, present day Selena had told me, and it came as no surprise that in this case the affair manifested as displays of physical affection between mother and daughter. It made sense, in the worst possible way.
Young Selena squirmed and thrashed in terrified resistance as her “mother” held her tight, Spirit flowing between the two bodies. The helpless girl screamed and screamed.
My immediate instinct was to step forward and offer assistance, but a restraining hand fell on my shoulder. I turned to see Selena, modern day, looking at me with an expression of warning.
“Just watch,” she said softly, “You will see I learned something very important that day.”
The horrible scene continued; early twenties Selena flailed helplessly. Then, with no conscious effort, one of her thrashing feet slammed into the bedside table and knocked the phone from its perch, jarring the receiver off the bedside table.
In response the demon stopped, released her, and sat back; its eyes turning to the dislodged receiver.
Early twenties Selena grabbed the opportunity and scrambled from the bed, sobbing hysterically, and retreated into a corner of the room. The demon made no effort to restrain her.
Now the moment lapsed into the familiar limbo from my previous visit. To my left rain lashed the small window.
“What happened?” I asked present day Selena, feeling obliged to whisper, “Why did it stop?”
“The phone,” she responded, “Can you guess who was on the line?”
My mind chugged and threw up the logical answer, “Your mom.”
“Sí.”
“Why does that matter?”
“She and the demon are in essence one and the same, Mister Clarence. When presented with a mirror a demon is forced to acknowledge its origin. And its origin is always a part of the one which it haunts. Do you understand…?”
I was about to respond with something like; “Not really,” but there was jolt, a shifting of reality and the scene blurred and streaked; drawn off over my head.
The world was replaced with the most gentle, pleasant piano melody I had ever heard. Slow, sombre and brooding, the gentle music surrounded me and grew louder, ushering in a new reality.
Selena was looking up at me, waiting as my senses returned. After a moment she pointed over my shoulder.
Directly behind me in the corner of the quaint restaurant I now occupied, was young Selena and a handsome young man. They were seated with a flickering candle between them. Nearby a formally dressed pianist plucked out the mournful tune.
“You did fine,” the young man was saying, grasping her hands affectionately, “Really, Selena, you’re so hard on yourself. You were probably best in your class…”
I figured he was referring to the oral exam results which had caused such hard feelings during my previous visit. As genuine and caring as his tone was, the frustrated expression on young Selena’s face declared she was not comforted. A muscle in her jaw contracted as her teeth gritted.
“I mean, seriously,” the young man continued, “Most would have been thrilled with your grade. Why aren’t you jumping up and down for joy?” Her gaze turned venomous. “Selena? Are you okay?”
All at once she pulled her hands from his grasp and stood, “Excuse me,” then marched from the restaurant. He watched her go with stunned eyes, the sentiment reflecting my own bafflement at the situation.
The piano music distorted and faded. Once again, the scene was drawn past me in smudges of motion, giving way to a new environment.
I now stood looking down at a white tiled floor. Above, a single white bulb offered gloomy illumination.
“It’s starting now,” present day Selena whispered.
I started to turn, but she pushed one hand against my cheek and shifted my gaze to a mirror across the bathroom. Young Selena was staring at her reflection, holding a cordless phone to an ear.
“You just stood and left,” spoke a voice I recognised as Gloria Stephania.
“Yes, mami,” responded young Selena.
“He was a trophy. How dare you treat him in that way?”
“We were not compatible.”
“Compatible?” Gloria’s voice raised a notch. “Don’t be silly. It took a lot of effort to get you that date, Selena. I’ll never hear the end of it. His mother will use this weapon against me for months.”
“I’m sorry, mami.” She diverted her eyes from the reflection. Then, as the conversation continued, her body began to shake with frustration.
“Did you even give him a chance?” Gloria continued, “What a nice young man. Kind, handsome, caring and a registered doctor, I might add.”
Then the mirror was shattering as young Selena threw the phone, sending glass and fragments of plastic tinkling across the tiled floor.
For what seemed an age there was silence. She stood motionless, hands balled into fists and head bowed.
Finally with a shuddering breath she turned to leave, walking in my direction. I made an effort to step aside but alas, after only two steps she stopped and yelped in pain.
A glance down revealed that she had trodden with bare foot on a fragment of mirror, opening an inch long gash on the sole of her foot. The wound looked painful and I grimaced in empathy.
A hop took her over to the bathtub where she gingerly lowered herself down to sit on the rim. The injured foot was raised and inspected.
My expectation was that she would extract the piece of glass. But as I watched the young woman simply stared, observing the slow accumulation of blood. Where there had once been an expression of barely contained rage was now a dreamy look of serenity.
The blood gathered and created the first lingering drop, a process that was now the centre of the girl’s focus. As the drop fell and splattered onto the white tiles the self- induced spell broke. She blinked, looked around, and let out a satisfied sigh.
I gaped. The story was coming together and I had an idea of where it was going. All at once, I was not sure I wanted to see the rest…
A swirl of mixing images and I was in a dimly lit bedroom. Not Selena’s. A fact made clear by my knowledge that she would never live in a place so proudly low income. There was a scurrying and I glanced down in time to see a rat scamper behind a cabinet.
The next sound that caught my attention was a rustling of fabric combined with a tell-tale lusty smacking.
To my right, at the foot of an unmade bed, two people were in an embrace, lips locked in frantic kissing. One was young Selena, the other a mid-thirties man who I would not trust to watch my car.
Young Selena suddenly pulled away and broke the embrace, leaving the man looking perplexed.
“Carlos, I must tell you something,” she said, her expression one of growing expectation.
“What?”
“I slept with Arturo.”
“You what…?” His eyes bulged. “You slept with my brother?”
“Sí. Here. In this room.”
A pause. Rage grew in Carlos, practically sending jets of steam from his ears.
Selena watched him. “I liked it,” she added.
“What?! You bitch!”
The slap nearly put her flat on her back, sending her staggering three full steps.
I stared in horror as she relished the moment, Carlos’ shoulders heaving in rage. But his rage soon subsided and was replaced with astonishment. He too recognised the expression now on her face. It was one of pleasure, bordering on
orgasmic.
She smiled, the struck cheek breaking out into a blotched red pattern that imitated a hand print.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Carlos muttered.
She did not respond. Instead, an aura of satisfaction about her, she turned and exited the room.
I felt a presence at my shoulder. “I did not sleep with Arturo….”
Suddenly I was bathed in a pleasant symphony of chirping birds and rustle of wind through leaves. The scene changed again.
I turned on the spot, looking up at majestic, beautiful trees that stretched into a nearly solid vegetation canopy. Sunlight, bright and pure, penetrated in winking flares.
“We’re here now,” a sombre voice said.
I lowered my gaze and met the eyes of present day Selena.
“This is where it happens,” she continued. “This is where I confront my demon.”
“Are you ready, Selena?” A new voice came from behind me, gruff and low.
I turned and beheld a tall, mid-fifties man, face partially obscured by an enormous bush of grey beard. His frame, loosely covered in a sort of flowing monk’s robe, was slight and less than intimidating. His blue eyes, however, were so intense and blindingly alert that I had no doubt of his magical potential.
Before him stood young Selena, looking up with a face distorted by anxiety. She too wore a robe; stained and marked with evidence of extensive outdoor travel.
“I’m ready,” she said to the old man, doing an admirable job of hiding the trembles of fear.
“Do not let it control you. Know that you are its master. Control it, and then confront it, as you confront yourself.” He paused, gazing at her with paternally affectionate eyes, “Be the mirror, Selena.”
“I will, Sebastian.”
“Then begin. I’ll be right here, my daughter.”
All around us the chattering forest wildlife continued to sing, oblivious to the coming confrontation.
Young Selena took a few steps into a small clearing of trees; a sort of natural structure. Surrounded on all sides by encroaching foliage, the environment had an aura of significance.
I glanced over my shoulder at present day Selena. She watched the events with unflinching calm.
Meanwhile, young Selena had taken a kneeling position at one end of the clearing, Sebastian standing nearby. She stared straight ahead and concentrated, the wildlife went suddenly quiet. Even the rustle of wind through leaves faded and became distant. It felt as if the world were contracting, drawing in like the air had weight.
At the far end of the clearing I spotted the shape of a person among the leafy branches….
“Stay focused,” Sebastian called out, his voice tinged with caution. Young Selena nodded without looking round.
The demon stepped from between the trees and came gliding into the clearing, its fur coat snagging and catching on twigs at it brushed past a branch. Young Selena remained calm as she watched it approach.
“Be still,” she declared. The demon halted in its step, eyes locked on her.
Woman and demon stared at each other. From above, a dead leaf fluttered down on the breeze and came to rest on the grass. There was silence. A silence so deep and suffocating it virtually held a presence.
“Mami,” Young Selena said. The demon flinched. “I’m not a little girl anymore. Do you hear me? I’m not your niña anymore. I’m a grown woman, and I need you to leave me alone.” The words, although spoken in a commanding voice, trembled with undercurrents of terror. “You cannot tell me what to do anymore. You cannot control my life. I want you to leave me alone. I am not perfect, and I never will be.”
I stared, heart hammering.
“Stay firm,” Sebastian said, “Stay strong, Selena! Tell her! Make her understand!”
An expression of cold incomprehension remained on the demon’s face; a face that was both that of Gloria Stephania and that of a creature too inhuman to be real. It emitted a crooning shriek, something near the purring of a large cat. It was a sound that could almost be interpreted as affectionate.
“I’ll never be perfect, mami,” young Selena repeated, “I’ll never be what you want me to be. Please, stop. Just stop, and leave me alone. I love you, mami, but I need you to leave me alone.”
The demon crooned again, its head cocking to one side. It seemed inconceivable that such a horrific creature could be capable of emotion, but I was certain I saw a glimmer of understanding in the cold eyes.
It took a shuffling step forward. Then another. Young Selena watched, tears now creeping from the corners of her eyes.
“I love you, mami. I love you.”
Another step forward, bringing it within just a few feet of the kneeling girl. In a graceful moment it crouched and the two were face to face.
“Perfection,” the demon said, “Perfection.”
“No, mami,” she whispered, shaking her head, “I will never be perfection. Just me.”
“Perfection.”
“No.”
The demon paused, crooning again. It gingerly lifted a hand and extended it. Young Selena hesitated, then drawing on what must have been extraordinary courage, reached out and took the hand.
I glanced quickly at Sebastian, wondering if this was the standard fashion in which a person confronted a demon. The old man watched with intense focus.
“Let me be who I want to be, mami,” young Selena said to the creature, their hands still clasped in an affectionate gesture. “Will you let me go? Please?”
The demon seemed to consider this.
“Perfection!” The word was louder; sharp and painfully shrill. “Perfection! Perfection!”
“No.”
“Perfection! Perfection! Perfection!” Louder.
“No mami.”
“Perfection! Perfection! Perfection! Perfection!”
She was flinching under the assault. “No, mami! No!”
Nearby Sebastian tensed.
“Perfection! Perfection! Perfection!” The words were rising ever higher in pitch, becoming unbearable.
“No! No! Leave me alone!” She tried to pull her hand from the demon’s grasp; it held tight.
“Selena!” Sebastian yelled, “Control it! Stay fast!”
But his words were in vain.
All at once young Selena panicked. Her face contorted with horror and she flailed frantically, attempting to withdraw her hand as if she suddenly realised it was caught in a box of scorpions.
“Perfection! Perfection! Perfection!” The words distorted and became a hideous shriek.
The creature attacked, lunging forward in an unnaturally quick motion and slamming the girl onto her back. I had no doubt that the embracing and Spirit stealing ritual from earlier would repeat.
“Oh God! Sebastian! Help me!”
But he needed no cue; already the old man was rushing forward with an agility that suggested a person many years younger. His clenched fist, crackling with energy, swept up in a picture-perfect uppercut. A release of energy expanded from the point of impact and jolted trees in every direction, bringing down a shower of fluttering leaves.
I gasped at the result.
The demon took somersaulting flight, achieving three full 360º flips before colliding with a tree. Splinters flew, more leaves cascaded down and a branch came crashing to the ground.
“Get up, Selena!” Sebastian roared. “Get up and regain your focus! You cannot fail!”
But the girl had been reduced to a whimpering wretch. She stared up at him with an uncomprehending gape, entire body trembling in terror.
“Get up!” he roared.
From the foliage canopy came a blood curdling squawk. The demon, now clinging to the trunk of a tree twenty meters off the ground, glared down, its head turned at an impossible angle.
Sebastian stepped protectively in front of young Selena and raised a hand, pointing an index finger at his target. He let loose a sizzling bolt that went screaming up into the trees.
But the demon was fast; i
mpossibly so. It released from its perch and went shooting off to the side, skipping from branch to branch with such astonishing agility that it boggled the mind.
The bolt missed and smashed through the tree, shattering wood and sending showers of splinter confetti.
The old man turned on the spot, trying to keep track of the zipping creature’s movements through the branches. It was circling him, flitting effortlessly from tree to tree with hops near too fast to follow with the eye.
Sebastian released another bolt. And another. And another. Each missing the target and crashing through branches like invisible cannon balls.
Then the attack came. The demon changed direction, kicked off a tree trunk with both feet and went flying into the air. Its body contorted, executing a dazzling aerial twist. Finally it came down directly overhead its attacker.
The old man buckled under the weight and went to the floor with a grunt.
There was a blur of motion and a struggle, but it was a one sided battle. Clawed hands swept down and cloth shredded. Again and again. Sebastian screamed, much louder than I thought he would.
I shifted my gaze over to young Selena; still on her back and whimpering in horror.
“Get up,” I growled, “Get up! Get up! Help him!”
“Selena!” Sebastian shrieked, “Run! Get up and run!”
Slashing attack after slashing attack raked flesh and tore muscle. Flecks of blood stained the air.
“Get up! Get up!”
At last she scrambled to her feet, body trembling, face streaked with tears. “Sebastian! Hold on!”
One hand disappeared under the robe and she drew out a small knife, the blade perhaps two inches long. A useless weapon.
My expectation was that she would throw herself on the monster and unleash a fury of stabbing attacks. But this did not happen.
Instead, my mind putting together the puzzle pieces as it occurred, she knelt, drew up the robe’s hem and exposed a leg. With slow deliberation she dragged the blade up the outer side of her thigh. A cut formed. Pure white and infinitely precise.
With eyes fixed on the cut the fear drained from her body and was replaced by calm. She exhaled as the white line turned to pink. Then red.
The attack ceased as quickly as it had started and the demon raised its head. The creature was calm. In emotion, a mirror image of young Selena.
Blood gathered and traced a pattern down her leg.
All at once the demon was gone. A shower of glittering particles rained down and settled on Sebastian’s mangled body.
“Sebastian?” Her voice was controlled. “Sebastian?”
She stepped over and crouched.
I knew he was dead. Soon she did too.
The moment lingered. Young Selena knelt beside her bloody mentor and caressed his cheek.
Around us a tension was released from the environment. The birds began to sing again.
“Oh no,” I said.
The trees began to melt. Colours mixed with colours and fell away.
Reality returned with a shuddering jolt. I was in the hall again.
Selena, present day, was looking at me, cheeks wet with tears. The pain present in her face was so raw, so deep and primal that after a moment I realised I too was crying.
“It wasn’t your fault,” I said.
She stood in silence. Then with one hand drew up her skirt. Her thighs were crisscrossed with what must have been dozens, perhaps hundreds of scars, some fresh and pink, others faded and years old. The most recent, from my previous visit, was yet displaying a scab of blood.
“I’m so sorry, Selena.”
Then we were embracing.