The Sin-Eater

The Sin-Eater

She watched the room brighten as the moon rose in the night sky, its soft tendrils reaching through the barred windows and casting shadows in the room. Fear coursed through her as she stared into the dark corners. She could feel its presence before she could see it. Movement caught her eye. There! The inkiness resolved itself into a familiar thin, almost skeletal, shape. Unbidden, she heard a low mewling sound begin in her throat, part disgust, part fright, part resignation. She had tried to fight it before but it seemed to drain her will, feeding on her emotions like a vampire feeds on blood. The cold thin hands reached out, slowly sliding up her legs. Unable to move, she closed her eyes. She could feel it push the edge of her smock up her thighs as its sharp nails opened her flesh, the feel of warm blood oozing from the furrows that followed its advances. She heard the coarse material of her gown ripping as the iciness moved over her breasts until it reached her neck. She felt, once again, the sharp stab of pain as it reached into her mind, touching her, manipulating her, turning disgust into a mockery of desire. Her body began to respond as it spread her legs and entered her, laughing, and as she silently screamed, she felt a rush of madness as she began to climax, her body jerking uncontrollably in a parody of passion. Then, it withdrew and was gone. She felt the obscene ichor of its dark invasion roll down her thigh in a final assault on her senses.

Miranda sat up and twisted to the side of the bed, vomiting. Wiping her mouth, she weakly swung her legs over the edge and sat upright in the fading darkness, breathing hard. Oh God, not again... she thought. She glanced around the austere room, partly to reassure herself where she was, partly to see if she was alone. The steel framed bed, the single non-descript chair, and the stainless steel sink and toilet confirmed she was still at the Coalinga Hospital for the Insane.

The dreams had started around eight months before and had progressed in frequency and intensity. She had sought help but when she lost her power of speech – hysterical mutism they had called it – she had freaked out, trashing the mental health office. Bastards never believed me, never took me serious for a moment! Delusional. Sociopathic. She had been deemed to “represent a danger to herself or others due to mental illness.”

She shakily made her way to the toilet and, pulling up her smock, sat down. The cold seat came as a shock, confirming that she was awake. Maybe I am insane. She silently grimaced, glancing down at her thighs where thin red lines could be seen fading. Taking a sheet of toilet paper, she daubed at the fluid that still clung to her pubic hair. Yeah, maybe I am … but it sure as hell seems to me that the whole damn world is crazy so I feel pretty normal!

There was a knock and then the door swung open. “Miranda?” a voice called. A man peered around the room and, seeing her, quickly turned. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to …” He paused, looking for words. “… embarrass you.”

Miranda saw a tall man, broad-shouldered, with coal black hair. He seemed familiar but she couldn’t place him. It was irritating and surprised her as well. I don't remember any men assigned to this wing. Hell, they’ve had me on so many drugs, I’m not sure I’d recognize anyone.

He waited until he heard the toilet flush before turning around. “I’m Gabe. I’ll be working with you today.” He glanced at the floor, noting the mess and then stared at her intently. “Not a good night, huh?”

Miranda shook her head no. She saw the look of sympathy in his eyes. She smiled and shrugged her shoulders as if to say nothing was new about that.

Gabe laid a fresh gown on her bed. “After breakfast, why don’t we go outside and talk. You’d probably like to be out of this room for a while anyway.” He flashed her a knowing smile. “I’ll be just outside when you’re ready.”

Miranda pulled on the door and was surprised to find it unlocked. It opened and she was assaulted by the noise and smells of institutional bedlam.

Gabe reached out to steady her. “Take my arm until you get used to moving around. It can get pretty crazy in here,” he laughed.

No one seemed to pay attention to them as they walked down the corridor and exited the building. Miranda hesitated a moment, squinting in the sunlight. Gabe led her across the grounds to a bench nestled under a tree. “This looks like a good spot.”

They settled in and Miranda took several deep breaths, flushing the stale air of the building out of her lungs.

“So, tell me about the dreams,” he began.

No foreplay, just down to business, she grimaced. Wait. How does he know about the dreams? She turned to him, staring. When he didn’t say any more, she pantomimed that she couldn’t speak, indicating she’d need a pad and a pencil to answer.

“Oh, that’s right,” he said, a note of humor in his voice. He reached into his pocket and Miranda caught a glint of something gold and shiny. He moved toward her and she instinctively pulled back. “I promise, I won’t hurt you. I want to try something.”

Miranda cautiously relaxed and Gabe placed something around her neck. His face was close and she could see his lips moving. “Are you praying?” she blurted. She felt the blood drain from her face. “Holy Mother! I’m speaking! Wh-what did you do? How did you …” She glanced down to see a small gold cross.

Gabe chuckled, a rich, warm sound. “Sometimes, all it takes is a little reassurance, a little faith.”

“I don’t have any faith. Not anymore.”

Gabe reached over and laid his hands on hers. “But, you did once. Think of it as residual faith. That, combined with my own, is enough.”

“So, you’re some kind of religious nut? A faith healer?” she said, retrieving her hands. It was then that she noticed the scarring. It covered his hands and appeared to extend up his arms, disappearing under the sleeves. “You’re not one those fanatics that hurt themselves for penance, are you?” she said, recoiling and moving further away from him.

Gabe’s chuckle turned into laughter. “No, nothing like that. These are battle scars. It comes with the territory.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were a veteran.”

Gabe stared at her a moment before speaking. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Now it was her turn to laugh. “Now who has little faith?”

“Tell me Miranda, have you ever heard of a sin-eater?”

The question stopped Miranda’s next question. She had heard the name. Digging into her memories, she recalled something about people who would consume a ritual meal in order to magically take on the sins of a person or household. Pure superstitious nonsense!

“You’d be surprised at how many superstitions have a grain of truth in them.”

Did I say that out loud? Miranda felt her cheeks go warm. “I didn’t mean …”

Gabe continued, “There are many levels of sin eating, from the priest who hears a confession and gives absolution to Jesus taking on the sins of the world and yes, even further back than that.”

Miranda didn’t know what to say. How did we get on this topic, she wondered.

“Well, we’re just talking,” Gabe said. He glanced at his watch. “I have to get going. Let me get you back to your room.”

Sitting on her bed, Miranda wondered about the strange conversation but only had questions and no answers. She mentally made a list of what she wanted to ask when she saw Gabe again. The lights began to dim, indicating it was bed time. She reached to take the cross off. Running her fingers over the chain, she discovered there was no clasp. “I guess he’s a magician as well as a religious nut,” she murmured. Add that to the list of questions, she told herself as she crawled under the covers. Maybe it will magically keep the dream away, she thought as she drifted off.

She watched the room brighten as the moon rose in the night sky, its soft tendrils reaching through the barred windows and casting shadows in the room. Fear coursed through her as she stared into the dark corners. She could feel its presence before she could see it. Movement caught her eye. There! The inkiness resolved itself into a familiar thin, almost skeletal, shape. It began to move toward her but stopped, its head twisting in an inhuman fashion as if it was looking for something. Miranda’s hand went instinctively to the cross. It felt hot in her hand. “Oh God, please, not again!”

A second movement caught her eye. A man-shape resolved itself, grabbing the beast. It seemed to cradle the monster in a bear-like hug. Miranda could hear the sounds of bones breaking and the … savior was the word that came to mind … began to glow from a thousand incisions that crisscrossed his body. Suddenly, the wounds seem to emit a brilliant light. The shards of brightness seemed to cut the demon and she could see it's mouth open in a silent scream. The man, for lack of a better word, reached into the beast and pulled its heart out, raising it in victory. He turned to her and, as she watched, seemed to devour the pulsing mass as the creature collapsed. She saw the man's mouth move. "Peace be with you."

“Gabe?” she called but there was no response. Suddenly the room went pitch black and Miranda floated in the darkness, holding her breath and praying.

Miranda bolted up in bed. The room was bright, sunshine pouring in through the windows. She checked herself but there was nothing to indicate that anything had happened during the night. The room seemed perfectly normal. She wiped tears off her cheeks. Is it really over?

A knock made her jump. A nurse pushed open the door. “Good morning, Miranda. How did you sleep?” she asked perfunctorily.

“Fine. In fact, better than fine,” Miranda answered.

The nurse stopped and stared. “You … you spoke.” She glanced at the chart she held. “This is wonderful.”

“Will Gabe be coming by later on?” Miranda asked although she already knew the answer.

“Gabe? I don’t think we have anyone named Gabe on staff here.”

Miranda smiled. Gripping the small cross, she murmured, “Oh ye of little faith.”

An entry for the June round of "Supernatural Writing Contest - Closed" 
Prompt: None (Supernatural).
Maximum Word Length: 3000
Word Count: 1805