It smelled like lavender and windex.

 

Marina didn’t know what it was, but it had a curtain of spring fragrance that was addictive to the brain, always feeling the need to smell for more. The scent was looming like a thick roll of fog enveloping her body deeper into the cloud, all emanating from the statue at the back of her bedroom. It allowed her to smell herself, her own sweat shrouding in a cocoon of fragility. Marina was more aware of herself than she ever had been before. She also had become acutely in touch with the sights and smells of the dark world. There was the lavender, petals, spring nuts and the faintest hint of musk in the lull of the night.

 

The statue had invaded Marina’s home and made it its own. And each night it had ingrained itself more.

 

All she could do was lay there on her bed. Look up. Right into a black glistening bead smattered on the ceiling. For brief fleeting moments, the paralysis dulled and the veil thinned.

 

In these moments, Marina would look down. Every time she saw the almost the same thing: Her own form, nude and eerily still, and the darkness weaved room around her. No other part of her would move, so all she could ever view was her own form, sweat beading together and coating her body. Her body never trembled; it was crystal clear to see. Her mind wanted to be upset but her stripped form felt no anxiety. It felt comfortable to be alone in this world. Not quite alone on this night, not since the shadow had entered her room. Unseen eyes traced her body in a stencil. There was fear in her heart but excitement in her limbs. In these nights, Marina viewed herself more as a sexual being than a victim of the nightmare, and that thought was the root of that little afraid voice screaming with no sound.

 

Her breasts were cushy and hefty; nipples puffy and stiff in the night. Breathing and breathing out, slowly raising and lowering herself in an uncontrolled beat, her control was distant. Marina couldn’t squirm, even if she wanted to. Her arms laid at her side, fingers gently holding onto the bed sheets. Her toes curled, hand digits pressing into the mattress. Marina had an itch that needed to be scratched, a nagging sensation that was boiling slowly. Frustration at her unresponsive body gave way to mental begging in any way to this foreign feeling of pleasure. In this world, Marina felt a constant pressure centering between her legs.

 

There was a throbbing sense that would not stop no matter how deep into the dream it was. Her slit craved that itch to be scratched, that button to be pressed, slammed, hammered god damn it!

Her body was always covered in sweat, teetering on the edge of pleasure. The glistening light shining off of her was the only light she had…

 

Last month, that changed. One new element had appeared. It was akin to noticing a ghostly face in the background of an old photograph. One week ago, it started to make an appearance. It never moved, but Marina could see it getting closer. Every night was a new step she had not witnessed.

 

It was feminine. A living silhouette. Marina never wanted to scream. All she could do was stare unblinking and take in its scent. Tonight, it was at the foot of her bed. A new light source. A gleam.

 

The statue, the living statue, the breathing statue was glossy, reflecting the unseen moon’s light into Marina’s glassy eyes. She never blinked, Marina never felt the need to. So she stared at it instead of the spot.

 

Material covered its body, unknown, glossy like it had bathed in a slick oil. Tight like it had been vacuum sealed together. The statue was a foreign invader pushing its way forcefully into Marina’s conscious mind. It had a body, or rather she had a body. That femininity was something Marina studied closely, a seed of intrigue watered by the towing line of fear and fascination.

 

The figure’s body was taut and toned, a vision of something immaculate. It was those light gleams that taught her how tightly sealed that material was. Such glossy material was shaping her to be something new, something that Marina couldn’t quite put her finger on but wanted it to put a finger on her. To feel the sensation of the slick material against her cold skin to provide a needed warmth. It would feel like any moment the material would leap off of the statue and wrap around her in an air-tight seal.

 

What would it feel like?

Would it feel good?

Marina hoped it would finally scratch that itch.

 

So she would try to piece together the form and assign a face to the entity. She needed to know what it was; who she was. Her brain felt full. It never could save the face, recognize the form, like she had reached the limitations of her consciousness and had no room for it. Like a nametag declared it as unknown and stopped before reaching the step to make it familiar.

 

Drop. A bead of inky black landed on her head.

It wasn’t a sudden awakening—there was always a time of pure darkness, an empty memory like a null value—then the memory would write to her brain again. Marina would be laying in bed, all curled up. There was a distinctive drool stain on her pillow. Marina used to flip it or replace the case, but at some point the girl had simply stopped caring and let the stain grow.

 

As always, there was a new attempt made to remember the dream. The nature of dreams never allowed her to catch them. For every step toward it, the memory loses a second of thought. That moment in darkness held far too much sway over her head.

 

With the dream she could vaguely recall a glimpse of black or a moment of need.

With the darkness she could only speculate the endless infinity of nothingness.

So all Marina could do was get up and start her day.

 

The first motion in the routine was to get her hair aligned. Nightmares always messed up her hair, denying her the flat sheets she so desired. Staring daggers at the mirror, Marina tweezed the strands of black out of her face and got a good look at the damage.

 

Yeah, she looked awful, abysmal even. Woman had slept for eight hours, but the bags spoke for three. Her nose was always scrunched in the morning too! Nothing smelled bad, nothing smelled at all in the morning. A vacuum of nothing. So why—Ring, ring!

 

An alarm clock blitzed itself into Marina’s disheveled headspace just as she was approaching the train of thought’s caboose. The alarm clock was a back-up just in case Marina got too good of a night’s sleep, as if. All she could be is mad at the damn thing for never actually waking her up, offering retreat from the nightmare. So she used it as a signal that she needed to pick up the pace. With a heavy sigh she slipped off the tee shirt and tossed it into her laundry basket.

 

Stepping back into her bedroom, all Marina could do once more was stare at that dot on the ceiling. Mold. Black mold, no, it was different. It was mold-like and just happened to be black. Something stuck in her cieling ruining her stupid day every damn time. Blackish, moldy, stupid, black mold.

She looked at that dot in scorn as she dressed, a spiteful lock with eyes that weren’t there.

 

One week!

One week was all she had of enjoying her mold free apartment, and then! Then!

That spot. That moldy spot.

That day she woke up, left for work, and came back to a nagging itch in the back of her brain. An itch that would grow in size and severity day by day by day.

To just have something stuck out, a jutting piece of the world that the brain wanted to shove back into place by any means necessary, but that day was not coming any time soon.

 

Marina remembered it like a precious childhood memory, despite the fact that it was only truly a few months ago. It was a spry day in the offices, the last day Marina liked her cozy little apartment. She had come into work and was bombarded with the smell of fresh coffee beans and roses. It wasn’t a perfect day, but playing these memories over and over again in her head made it seem so close to one.

 

Sitting at her rounded desk was Willow. Willow was a dear, a doll, a doting dreamy drop of daisies. She was also a friend from college, a psych major. A psych major with no job opportunities that opened up. A psych major who got a desk job because Marina had been there for a few years.

 

Willow was lucky she was a walking pillow.

 

The shortie with skin of caramel and a substantially large sweater collection waved her in, greeting her with a cup of fresh coffee. The weird combination of shots and dabs and creams she got in it always helped Marina shake off morning fuzz.

 

“Rina! How’s the uh… the… apartment?” Yeah, Willow was always like this. She moved at their own pace. The reason she never made it as any kind of therapist was because she charged by the hour.

 

“I just finished unpacking, it all came together pleasantly. How’s your search going? Any catches yet?” Marina asked, the answer was—

 

“Nah…” Because her budget was not the largest. “You know… I could move in with you if you need a roomie, it’s always a little scary living in a new place…”

So concerned, so thoughtful, so not what Marina needed on her couch, but she appreciated the offer.

 

“You’re welcome to stay until you have a home to call your own, but I don’t mind the independence.”

 

Willow smiled and nodded in response, cupping her own drink with two hands and taking a long sip. Once her lips broke away from the top, the woman let out a long drawn-out sigh. “If you’re sure…”

She was so sure. And then the mold. The stupid mold.

 

Marina scowled at the spot as she smoothed out her blazer. She may have been tired but that was no excuse to dress unprofessionally. Even if she really, really wanted to just wear a blouse and a skirt. No, no, pants and a blazer were the least she could do… it was a shame that she forgot to tuck her blouse in. Really would have tied the look together.

 

This stupid mold was taking the motivation out of her, every step was a dead end. Cleaners in her area would charge her an arm and a leg to remove it. Out of the area, even more. It wasn’t toxic, it wasn’t spreading, just paint over it, just spend more time and money to paint over it. And then it would appear the next day. So, Marina got the luxury of doing it all again, the cycle that just wouldn’t leave her alone.

 

It was a warning she gave Willow when she signed the lease for the unit upstairs. The Mold wasn’t going anywhere. Willow didn’t mind, she wouldn’t mind a tornado ripping up the neighborhood. At least she would be a fun neighbor to have, some nights up at her place away from her lousy bed under the lousy mold.

 

Coming into work with a piss poor cup of crusty train station coffee, she put on her game face and picked up her shoulders. No mold at work! Just Willow and her tablet.

 

“Rina!” Two syllables, a little scent of juniper today! Unconsciously Marina offered a small wiggle of her hips as she smiled at Willow. Today Willow had on a big blue sweater with delicately knitted clouds, a small part of Marina wanted to know what was under that sweater. Curves, abs, maybe a tattoo? Marina’s mind drifted as she took a cup Willow offered.

 

“Thank you… I need this, last night was another rough one.”

“Ghost?”

“Ghost…”

 

Marina and Willow affectionately boiled down the situation to ghosts. There was no connection, only a correlation. All around three things: the bad sleep; the weird smells around the building; and the reappearing mold. The conclusion they drew together was that it was the work of a ghost playing tricks on Marina. Despite that, with how the housing market was going to shit; ghosts weren’t a dealbreaker.

 

Willow gently tipped down the named plaque on her desk and got up from her swivel chair to follow Marina to her desk. It was small, cramped in a cubicle, but it was home.

“So how is Mr .Ghost?” Willow asked, taking a length of Marina’s hair and started braiding. “Oh… has he possessed your shower?”

 

“No… Mr. Ghost hasn’t touched the bathroom, I just—frankly I just forgot.” Marina nervously added.

 

Willow laughed, more of a light giggle. As the computer booted up, Marina leaned back and let Willow make her hair look passable for the day.

 

Marina continued with a clearer tone, “I didn’t even have time to have a proper breakfast, I was hoping to take one of the muffins from the common room but I think three cups of coffee is enough, especially with how much sugar you put in these.” Not that Marina complained, she was letting that bittersweet taste wash over her tongue and run down her throat. Warm and smooth as it always was, with just a nice dot of hazel fragrance.

 

“You need at least… uh… I’m going to say, three tablespoons of sugar a day?” That one got Marina to laugh, the scent of juniper and hazel dancing on her nose and Willow being soft on the ears made her morning just a bit better. Willow made a lot of her days better… at least as a friend. In another world, sure, she could be a partner. But in this one, good friends and soon to be neighbors were enough.

 

Willow finished the braid as Marina offered a thought. “What’s the scent of the day? It’s pretty strong.” Marina looked over her shoulder to see Willow looking forward, sleepily staring at a few reference photos on the wall of Marina’s not-office. In enough time for Marina to question who needed sleep more, Willow snapped to and smiled.

 

“I think it’s… something like… poppy drop of june. Weird because I don’t think it has poppy or droopy in it…”

 

“That’s nice but, are you interested in the drawings, Will?” A soft nod as Marina spun her head back around. Picking up her pen she tapped the screen to open up the file she had been working on. With a little point, she aimed at a picture of a collar.

“It's a reference for that new client, some mom and pop shop… Bluebell?” Willow made a happy little noise, perking up. It was like a kitten bopping into something it enjoyed.

 

“Fairy flowers… they’re pretty.” Cute.

 

“They’re a specialty shop, I wish I knew the specialty but the client only ever described it as selling an array of life goods. I’ll be be getting it submitted today, otherwise Monsy will be on my ass.”

 

“Monsy’s not too bad… oh wait, oh… she might be angry if I’m away from my desk too much… so…”

 

“—Go back to your desk Willow, I’ll talk to you on break.”

 

“‘Kay!” Willow trotted out of the little cubicle, the sweatered up bimbo happily taking a leave as easily as she made an entrance. And she took all the energy with her. Without a positive beacon of bubbly, the pen felt heavy in her hand.

She snapped circles into an array, divided the lines to look vaguely like a flower, and wanted to just die. The coffee tasted just bitter-bitter again. It smelled crusty.

Crusty and heavy… just like her eyelids. Little flutters of her eyelids as she attempted to align the little doodles she thought she was making progress on. At some point she drew a big blotch, a big blotch of black.

The black grew, Marina tipped forward, and darkness caressed her body.

Marina mewled, all she could do was dream.

 

A slick hand that felt like film cupped Marina’s face, holding her close to a body behind her chair. Her hair fluffed up against a body that smelled of peach and plum. Rubber and rum. Whispers in her brain told her to sink deeper into her chair, to not be afraid of the body behind her, to listen to it and let the statue stray closer.

 

She was deep in the dream. The lady of black had invaded her sanctuary away from home. This time was different, Marina was dressed and her body could move, despite her brain remaining paralyzed on its own. No firm choice could exist in her mind, only the guidance of the whispers leading her form.

 

The image of a magician lifting a volunteer in the air, passing a hoop over her body to hide the invisible strings holding her aloft. A string was lifting her hand, higher, higher… up to the jacket’s nape and leading the fingers to grip the fabric. Her other hand mimicked the motion, synchronous movements to pull down her blazer… a layer drooping down her shoulders.

 

To be stripped of the first layer, the symbol of professionalism she was certain to don each morning now being taken away by her own hands. The glazed and lidded eyes felt like they were falling down with the cloth.

As her hands went to unbutton her blouse, Marina gasped. That hand that once held her head was gone, her thoughts running like water out of the little mental leak it had created. Her hands still were guided by the strings but her brain was no longer recognizing the world around her for what it was. Input was one to one, what came in, came in unguarded. Her senses were being prodded directly, causing her to shiver to try and rid the excess of sensations. Overstimulation was building her up to fall deeper into the statue’s roots.

 

To fall deeper into the fingers that had snaked their way behind the waistband of Marina’s pants. The glossy fingers weaseled deeper in, hitting skin contact to trail a stray finger around Marina’s desperate lips. The strings made Marina unhinge another button, but it was purely Marina who whined as her itch was so much closer to fading away.

 

Her hands felt so nice on Marina’s needy lips. They felt like a doctor’s glove but this didn’t feel like an examination. Marina felt like she was being taken care of by someone close, someone warm and cozy to take away the chills and wrap her in a blanket of pure black pleasure. As the last button of her blouse fell, her hands fell with it. Marina pushed her chest out, the need to appease someone or something sent into her mind and translated immediately around her body.

Two fingers peeled Marina’s lips open, Marina opened her legs outwards for the hand. It was the polite thing to do, grant the statue the ability to start playing with Marina’s molten need.

 

Her eyes went wide, staring at a black spot that had been growing on her tablet. Expanding, growing like a mold. A bead of drool trickled down her chin, falling off as she huffed in, an attempt to control her body in any way. Not to escape, but to edge closer to that hanging succulent fruit in front of her.

 

A hand was stroking her head again, the thought leak plugged up. Marina finally understood what was behind it. It was taking care of her. It smelled like cleaning fluid, a slick cleaning fluid used to give the scent of one’s windows, but it was addicting as it mixed with the smell of hyacinth and musk. Her own scent had joined the orchestra, upon this realization Marina let out a whine.

She didn’t understand why but she understood that it made her feel intense. Her breaths heaved, her body quivered.

 

Another drop fell on her forehead.

“Marina!” A stern voice got Marina to sit up straight. The blotch of black was gone, but sleeping on her drawing tablet did not make progress; much to an artist’s chagrin.

 

The girl launched herself up, spinning with the apt of a drag racer to see her boss, affectionately referred to as Monsy—a stupid little nickname the whole office couldn’t seem to shake—standing at the entrance of her little cubicle. Marina could barely make out the older woman’s features but she had the feeling at the back of her mind that she was not happy. Just a feeling.

 

“Come on girl, up you go, do us a favor and invest in a mattress hon.” Albeit with a snappy tone, Monsy helped her to her feet. Marina went to ask a question but still struggled to shake the groggy slurk.

All she could manage was a simple thought, a request for information. “Time?”

 

“How bad is this ‘ghost’ you and Willow are always talking about? Get an exorcist before I have to take you off a shift. Come on, work’s over.”

Marina had to peel herself off of her seat on the subway, a deep sigh as she passed the threshold of her building. It was one of those two unit houses, Marina’s house taking the bottom slot. No stairs! Perfect for a girl who craved her bedsheets to take her to mediocre rest.

 

“Rina!” A shiver, Marina cradling herself as she heard the honeysweet voice of Willow. Her compact car was parked nearby, back open to reveal the bevy of boxes within. Marina’s smile came back, the girl convincing herself that she could conserve a mighty bit of energy to help Willow with her move-in. She just had the feeling that she would need help or move-in day would be move-in week.

 

“I didn’t know today was the day, you should’ve told me, Will.” Marina remarked, walking up and grabbing a box that smelled of taffy and rubber. That familiar tingle on the breadth of her nose coalesced with the day’s selection of Juniper and some strange smell Marina felt like she was glowing with.

 

“I tried, but you were sleeping away. Hope you don’t mind but I let you be, you were kinda cute snoring…” Raising a hand to her mouth and offering a small giggle to Marina, the ravenette smiled.

 

“Monsy’s gonna tsk tsk around me, but I think she understood the grind of everything.” Traveling up the stairs one step at a time, the box felt light. “So what’s in here?” A little shake, nothing too hard. Willow hummed for a moment, Marina could hear the long webbed gears coming to life. Silly gal. A wiggle in her hips as she reached the top step.

 

“Oh! It’s, uh… I think that’s my makeup, and a little bit of cleany stuff, yeah…” It made sense, Willow had always put some level of effort into her appearance, something Marina did not care for, especially in recent times Marina put in the minimum required effort for professionalism and these days she couldn’t even reach that minimum level.

 

Setting the box down, Marina offered a nod. Without quite noticing, one of her hands reached up and started to rub her eye, a fact Willow clung onto with a small gasp. As if someone had dared utter a curse in her presence. “Bed!”

“Wha—”

“Bed!” Willow grabbed her into a hug, a contact-to-contact hug that got Marina to feel something of a pulse go down her body. She could feel Willow’s curves, some of them anyways. Hidden under the layers of soft wool. They were there, there was even some muscle, perhaps her thighs were quite strong. God, she really was tired; enough that she wouldn’t mind taking a long nap in the pillows pressed into her body.

 

Marina tried to protest, but it was met with smothering whines of refusal. Move-in could be another day, Marina needed to sleep. With fleeting feelings of a long gone hug, Marina was shoo-shooed directly into her apartment.

The mood dropped, and Marina sighed. Willow was kind, too kind. She didn’t understand that her presence kept her away from the creeping lull of a fruitless sleep. She still had to try. To make the effort. No dinner required, the hunger wasn’t strong enough to override the fatigue.

 

Marina laid in bed, looked up, and lost herself to the mold spot placed right above her pillow…