Chapter Six

Esther's priest friend texted her the next day, letting her know he had arrived. After AnnMarie had left for work, she texted him directions to the place. He still had trouble finding the place, however, even after Esther had told him about the one tree that stuck out a little farther than the others.

Esther finally heard the knock as she sat on the couch, and she went into the kitchen to let him in.

"May I come in?" He asked from the front porch.

Esther eyed him without amusement.

"You're not the one who has to ask." She said.

"Still. It's polite." He said.

Esther held the door open, and he crossed himself before walking inside.

"It's not my house anyway, so I really can't formally invite you in if we're being technical about it."

"True, I guess." He said. "Did you notice the porch?"

Esther glanced out of the window.

"What about it?" It looked pretty regular in her opinion.

"The ceiling is painted blue, haint blue, specifically. It was traditionally thought to ward off evil spirits." He said.

"Oh—"

He kept going.

"Yes. It was believed spirits couldn't cross water, so the blue paint was used to trick the spirits into thinking it was a body of water, therefore keeping them from entering."

"Oh—"

"Also, the broken glass bottles on the window seals." He continued, not really giving her a chance to respond. "Same thing."

Esther frowned. "There's broken glass bottles on the window seals?"

Peter laughed. "you didn't notice?"

"Not being attentive of my surroundings is sort of a chronic problem of mine."

"Interesting." He pulled a pen from his jacket pocket and quickly scribbled on it.

She looked him over, and much to her relief, he looked much the same as when she had last seen him ten years ago. Clear dark brown skin, neat hair trimmed short, and the most disarmingly friendly smile she'd ever come across.

Getting close to humans was hard, as Esther always found herself feeling distressed at the subtle signs of aging that she started to pick up on after a decade or so.

Peter continued into the house and started to look here and there. Eventually he stopped at a picture on the bookshelf.

"So this is the girl?" He asked, holding the photo up and pointing to AnnMarie.

Esther narrowed her gaze on him, wary of where he may be headed with his words. "Yes."

He nodded, and placed the photo back. "Is she your usual type?"

It always circled back to this with him, and Esther hated it.

"I don't have a 'type'!" She snapped. "It's nothing like you think. I'm not nearly as much of a creep as you make me out to be!"

"You always get so defensive." Peter sighed, sitting down on the couch. "I'm not implying there's anything wrong with you."

"Everything is wrong with me! I'm walking corpse!" She shouted. "I don't need you listing off other things on top of that!"

Peter's face fell, though he didn't look angry (he never did).

"Forgive me. I'll drop it. I know it's a sensitive subject for you."

Esther felt embarrassed at her outburst but didn't apologize, though she knew it was wrong of her not to. Instead she stood quietly in the corner as he continued his inspection of the home. Every so often he'd let out a soft 'ah' or 'oh' without much other commentary.

"What's your diagnosis?" Esther asked as he finally headed back over to her.

"I would say, with almost complete certainty, that it's a curse." He said.

"A curse?" Esther asked.

"Yes." He said with a nod. "You see, curses leave an individual open to other forms of supernatural torment. It seems like she's taken every precaution she can to keep the effects to a minimum."

"A curse..." Esther said. "What sort of curse?"

Peter shrugged and gave her an apologetic look.

"Only she would know that, I'm afraid."

Esther thought back to the photograph of the three girls who had died. She also considered AnnMarie's strange desperation for the two of them to be friends, even to the extent that she seemed to ignore the stranger aspects of Esther's behavior.

"Can curses... kill people?" Esther asked.

She wasn't knowledgeable on curses, or magic in general. Most everything she did know she had learned from offhanded comments by Peter.

"I've heard they can." Peter said. "But I've never encountered one in person that was that strong. That would be something extraordinarily unfortunate."

Extraordinarily unfortunate. Esther thought softly to herself. For some reason, that particular combination of words tasted sour on her tongue.

"But it wouldn't be in heard of?"

"No, just extremely unlikely." He said. "Besides, even if that was the case I doubt that you'd be in any danger."

"Of course." Esther said. "You can't kill someone who's already dead."

Esther did sit and talk with him for quite a while longer. It was nice to have someone to talk to who was a better listener than Adam. It was nice to have someone to talk to in general.

After taking a lot more notes and promising to try and reach out to someone much more knowledgeably on curses he left.

Alone in the house, she tried to find something to occupy her mind. Even during the day the house seemed to bill filled with an oppressive and upsetting feeling, and if she sat around and did nothing, it was only all the noticeable.

Esther pulled the demonology  book from the bookshelf, and moved with it to the couch. If AnnMarie suspected, or even knew what she was, Esther wanted to know what she assumed. She scanned the glossary, and flipped the section titled: Revenants.

"Identifying revenants: these characteristics include; longer or sharper teeth, coldness of the body, a strange smell, eyes that reflect light, listlessness or lanquidity of the movements or speech, odd sleeping patterns that often favor nocturnal activity, and aversion of food or drink.

Revenants may also have an unsettling air about them. Though they maybe act relatively normal, those around them will be affected by a sense of unnerve that is impossible to pinpoint.

Several documented cases of revenants also point towards a propensity toward obsessive or repetitive behavior. While folklorist previously attributed Arithmomania to revenants, most contemporary occult experts tend to agree that these obsessions aren't so singular, and are as varied as they are in life."

Esther sighed, and put the book back on the shelf. For some reason she found she couldn't stomach any more.

She considered the idea that Peter might be right. She may very well have spent the last two hundred years seeking out women to grow close to as part of some kind of uncontrollable compulsion.

The idea made her sick. She didn't want to think that she was a slave to her impulses, that she wasn't doing things out of her own free will. It made her unhappy to think that her relationships held little more meaning than feeble attempts to fill an emotional void that had been left in her years ago.

"No." She said aloud to herself. "It's not like that. AnnMarie is nothing like Luce."

But still, she didn't really believe herself.