"Paranoid, paranoid, paranoid

Things feel out of order

Look and look around, I'm not sure of

Pair of paranoia, no

I can feel it in my aura…"

Tyler the Creator—"Noid"

Life in New Orleans dragged to a crawl for Celeste. Pure drudgery.

With Terry gone, colors didn't look as bright in the world. Food lacked taste and texture. Getting out of bed in the morning took prayers and innate willpower. Her mother sent over aromatic herbal bath salts to soak her body in. Grand-mère left Tupperware sealed containers of sausage gumbo, or fried chicken wings on her stoop that Celeste found after work at night. She acted like an addict suffering from withdrawals. Micah said she might be anemic. She thought about making a doctor's appointment

Lighting candles and praying didn't make her feel better. Bargaining with lower-tiered saints didn't either. She spent her lonely nights sitting on her stoop chain smoking and drinking more rum punches than usual. The trilling of insects and the calls of nightbirds kept her company until she became numb and crawled into a cold bed.

Dark dreams rattled the peace of her sleep and Celeste often woke up in a sweat, paranoid that she was being watched by some unknown entity in her bedroom or outside her French doors. Her dreams were of a macabre nature with visions of walking in the French Quarter at night, or traipsing along the riverfront at sunset hearing the flapping of large wings behind her back. Terry never appeared in those nightscapes, although she caught glimpses of a shadow slithering across the ground, trying to catch up with her running footsteps. His voice called out to her, and she'd wake up hoping for daylight so she wouldn't have to lie awake for hours waiting for the sun to burn away the eerie webbing of terror that entrapped her every evening.

The worst night happened when sleep paralysis took over her body, and she swore evil shape-shifting shadows crept along the ceiling trying to steal her breath. Eventually, she could wiggle her toes and fingers and slowly regain control of her limbs. On those nights, she missed Terry's enormous body spooned around her, protecting her from the bogeyman.

To his credit, Terry called and left her messages, not completely dumping their connection cold turkey. However, he always chose times when he knew she'd be at work and unable to speak. He still professed his love for her, but he wasn't coming back soon. She left him a voicemail asking for his address, willing to make the drive up to see him, even if it had to be a quick turnaround trip. He never gave it to her.

Long summer days took over. The southern heat rolled in, and so did the start of hurricane season.

An oppressive heatwave layered itself all over Louisiana, and no matter how many cool showers she took, her body sweated buckets in the sauna-like atmosphere. The weather didn't stop her from walking or riding her bike around her neighborhood. She forced herself to stay active, visiting her grandparents more often, and attending random brunches Joyce pulled together.

Nothing filled the void of Terry, though. Eventually, his calls and text messages thinned down to an occasional heart emoji.

On a rare two days off, back-to-back, Celeste slept in and ate leftover pizza. She pulled her locs back into a high pigtail and prepared for a long meditative walk to the French Market to meet up with Joyce and some new people she didn't know. No more moping about Terry. Life had to go on and there were other fish in the Mississippi River. Blah, blah, blah.

Wiping her face with a cool washcloth, she painted on shimmery orange lipstick and added a few gold hair decorations to her locs. She broke out the lime-green summer dress and clear jelly sandals that always made her feel pretty and summery.

Locking her cottage door and the iron security door, she waved to a neighbor across the street and headed north, her feet automatically walking her toward the B&B Terry stayed at. Walking past the property, she looked at the playful statues on the roofs and stopped.

The gargoyle statue was no longer curled behind the big dragon figure. Celeste paced back and forth, craning her neck to see if the glare of sunlight prevented her from seeing it. No, it was definitely gone. She pulled out her smartphone and swiped the screen until she came to her photo gallery. When she looked at the image on her phone, it reminded her of how unsightly the statue had been compared to all the other goofy figures displayed on the roof. Maybe the owners came to their senses and realized the thing didn't match the whimsical vibe they tried to cultivate.

She carried on her merry little way and entered the Quarter, wishing she'd thought to bring an umbrella for the direct sunlight burning her skin. Passing by one of the many historic hotels, she glanced up to see a sight on a wall that knocked her breath short.

A stone-gray gargoyle fixture clung to the side of a sweltering red brick wall holding out the head of a gorgon…Medusa. The face of the creature looked exactly like the one on the B&B . Celeste walked past that part of the Quarter too many times and knew for a fact no gargoyle statue had ever been there before. She snapped a picture of it and hurried along to her brunch meet up.

She forgot about the gargoyle until two hours later when her entourage of seven window-shopped, and she glimpsed a different, more ferocious-looking gargoyle statue peering down from the roof of a boutique shoe store. Its six-foot wide flint-gray wings cast a shadow across the sidewalk. The outstretched clawed hand looked ready to snatch pedestrians off the street. Celeste shivered and nausea overtook her stomach. Acid churned in the back of her throat and she almost vomited her lunch special onto her sandals.

"Duchess, what's wrong?" Joyce asked.

She pointed at the statue.

"That was never there before."

Joyce stared at it. Celeste pulled out her phone and showed her the other gargoyle.

"This one I found on the side of a hotel. Another just like it was a few blocks from my house. It seems weird to me. I feel like I've been seeing a lot of weird shit lately."

Celeste rubbed her stomach and burped. A sour taste coated her tongue.

"I don't feel so good."

"Do you need to sit down?"

"Yeah."

The group pitched themselves up at a dueling pianos bar to get Celeste off her feet. Everyone ordered frozen mango margarita drinks except for her. She went to the public restroom and hung her head over the toilet. The sickness passed, and she used the sink to rinse away the sweat on her face.

Feeling better, she returned to her group and settled in for chit-chat and getting to know a man that Joyce brought for her to meet. The sun went down and the heat dropped by two measly degrees. She snacked on creamy artichoke dip and pita chips, listening to all the lively conversations around her until she noticed a man staring at her from the main bar. His dark skin gleamed with good genetics, and his dashing eyes zoned in on her quickly. She thought he was flirting, but his direct gaze came off predatory.

Glancing around, she pretended to take an interest in the active street life as the Quarter came alive for another night of debauchery. On the corner, a striking Black woman with a bald head and gothic make-up watched her. Her black painted lips peeled back into a slick smile and Celeste's intuition kicked in, warning her that something wasn't right about the woman. Her entire focus was on Celeste, just like the man at the…

Shit!

Celeste blinked, and the man at the bar moved toward her with a disjointed stroll. His movement reminded her of glitches in video games she played as a teen, when the operating system hadn't quite worked out the kinks. Unnatural. From the corner of her eye, she caught the slow track of a dark-brown beauty who smiled in a way that chilled Celeste in her gut. It was the smile of something trying its best to look…human. The parts of Celeste's skin that Terry once bit flared with a sharp stabbing of pain, the bruised nerve-endings waking up all the way. Her body wasn't right all over.

"I have to go, it's late," Celeste yelped.

She leapt to her feet and hugged Joyce.

"Wait, we can give you a ride to your place after we finish the rest of these appetizers," Joyce said.

"No…it's okay. I have to go to work in the morning."

"I thought you had the day off from both jobs."

Celeste shook her head and threw a ten-dollar bill on the table to help with tips. She brushed past the disappointed blind date and tried to hide herself within the crush of bodies milling around the party atmosphere. Her heart almost stopped when the strange man and woman from the bar followed her.

She ran like she was doing the fifty-yard dash in tenth grade, her legs stretching out to move her ass far.

Home.

She needed to get home, lock her doors, and hide.

Her emotions caught in her throat. Something was wrong with the world she lived in. Ever since Terry came into her life, she'd overlooked strange occurrences because she was caught up in the exhilaration of new romance and new dick. She'd ignored all the weirdness, because she didn't want to connect it to Terry. Now she even wondered about the missing white guys, Carl and Jacob. Terry did physically assault them and afterward, they went missing. The coincidence of them all interacting together nagged at her subconscious.

"What the fuck is going on?" she screeched when two twin gargoyle statues overlooked the roof of a picturesque townhouse filled with three-stories of revelers drinking and shouting down at passersby. Gargoyles were not a thing in New Orleans. It wasn't even Halloween season yet.

Celeste glanced over her shoulder to track any other weirdos following her. It looked like she lost them in the packed narrow streets. She double-backed and headed up to Rampart to bypass the Quarter completely. Flagging a taxi, she jumped in and gave directions to her house. She ducked down in the backseat and pretended to check her phone.

"Night, Miss," the older Haitian driver said.

"Mèsi," she said.

"Ou ayisyen?"

"Non, Black Creole from here," she said.

"Mwen wè…but we are kouzen, oui?"

"Oui," Celeste said.

"Are you okay?"

He looked at her closely from the rearview mirror.

"Um…I'm fine. Goodnight."

She paid in cash from some money Terry left behind and darted to her front door. Jamming the key in both door locks, she twisted them open and ran inside. She turned off the living room track lights that were on a timer and fled to her bedroom.

Sweating and panting from the exertion, Celeste sat on her bed in the dark and waited for her heart to stop pounding. After an hour of sitting, she went to the restroom, and showered for bed. Her smartphone lit up with a text from Allen, the guy Joyce fixed her up with. He left his number and told her to call him whenever she wanted to hang out.

She checked the inside lock and security bolt on her front door and back. The bitter taste of liquid rose in her throat again and she rushed to the kitchen sink and vomited up pita chips and the artichoke dip that looked like beige slurry. She rinsed her mouth and wiped her lips just as a loud pounding on the front door started.

The hell?

She peeked around the corner of her kitchen. Dark figures moved outside the colored, frosted glass panels of the top half of the front door, even though her porch light was off. The corner streetlight flickered on.

Her stomach tightened, and she held her breath, afraid that whoever was outside could hear her breathing. She stood completely still and waited. The pounding started again.

"Hello?" a female voice said. "I'm a cousin of Terry's. He wanted me to bring you something."

The lie rang hollow, but Celeste's heart softened at the sound of her lover's name. She pushed her back against a living room wall hidden by a bookcase, determined to ignore the person until they went away.

"Celeste? My name is Dominique. I'm here on vacation and Terry asked me to drop off a gift. I'm saving him thirty dollars by bringing it myself instead of him mailing it."

Dominique's voice sounded sweet and very country.

"He's coming down to see you in a few days and he wanted to give you this. I think it's a fancy dress. He said you looked real pretty at Durand's the last time you were in a dress."

Celeste lingered near the bookcase, but she stepped further into the living room. Only Terry and her friends knew about Durand's.

"You know what? I'll just leave it on the porch. Sorry I came here so late. I dropped by earlier, but you weren't home, and I didn't want anyone to steal it if I left it behind."

Celeste crept another few inches toward the front door. She lifted her cell phone out of her purse and kept the police number on her screen. The cell phone still listed it under Freddie's name as "Freddie/Work". Dominique banged on the security door again.

"Just leave it on the porch, please," Celeste called out, annoyed by the intrusion, her finger hovering above the police contact.

"No problem," Dominique said.

She heard movement and footsteps walking away. Waiting for an hour quietly, she finally cracked open the front door and kept the security door locked.

No package.

She looked down at the bottom step and still didn't see any box or bundle. Glancing at Freddie's police number, she debated about calling him.

"Hello, Celeste."

She dropped her phone on the floor, cracking the screen. The strange man from the piano bar stood at the top of her stoop, his dark, foreboding eyes mesmerizing her to the point of her falling into a dazed stupor. Behind him, one step down, was the Black goth and the dark brown beauty with the uncanny valley smile. Two other Black women in dark clothing waited on the sidewalk, watching her with sinister eyes.

The man smiled, revealing platinum grills. The dark brown of his eyes faded into silver orbs that enchanted her with their strange ethereal glow.

"We don't mean to frighten you," he hissed, his nostrils flaring and sniffing at her from behind the iron security door.

The women also inhaled deeply and licked their lips, staring at her throat.

"What the fuck do you want?" she said.

"This bitch talkin' spicy, Deacon," the Goth said.

The man tutted at Celeste, shaking his head.

"No, no, no…that's not how you speak to The Deacon, my sweet sustenance. We're here to ask you about Terry."

"What about him?"

"Where is he?"

"I don't know."

The man pounded the frame of the iron door. Celeste jumped and stepped back.

"Don't fucking lie to me, Duchess!" he shouted.

He turned his head away as if to gain control of his emotions. His lips curled into a deceptive smile.

"How do you know me? Who sent you here?" she asked.

"Let us in, Celeste," the Goth said.

"Yesss…invite us inside and we can…talk. Open the door," The Deacon said.

His silver, unblinking eyes held her in place, and the colors around his towering frame drained away. When he spoke again, his voice echoed inside her head, reminding her of the way Terry invaded her thoughts…read her mind. The canine teeth of the platinum grills elongated, becoming wolfish and frightening. Fangs.

"Let us come inside…"

The four menacing women dropped the façade of humanness, their fangs exposed and dripping with saliva. Celeste's security door had wide enough gaps to reach an arm inside, but The Deacon didn't grab her through the openings.

It occurred to her that the door was a barrier they couldn't cross without her permission. As long as she didn't verbally consent to letting them in, she was safe on the inside. But if she stepped out...they would feast.

"I smell him all over you…inside of you…open this door so we can speak of my brother without eyes upon us."

Celeste raised her left hand and flicked on her porch light. The bulb didn't emit UV rays, but it improved her visibility and momentarily distracted them... long enough for a shadow to streak across her face.

Celeste gasped and touched her cheek. It felt like Terry's hand had stroked her skin with the warmth from his palm.

"Fucking bastard!" The Deacon shrieked.

He glanced back at the others.

"His sentinel is here...watching over her," The Deacon said.

He slammed both of his palms on the two middle bars of the security door.

"He will come back here for you, and when he does, we'll be waiting. Tell him he can't hide from us forever."

The Goth woman sniffed the air and bared her fangs at The Deacon.

"The Old Ones are near. We have to go!" the Goth yelled.

The Deacon glared at Celeste and her eyes watered. She blinked once and the strangers at her door vanished like they were never there. Her body swayed and the sound of loud flapping wings above her cottage rang in her ears. Something landed with a thud on top of her roof and walked across it with heavy footsteps. She slammed the front door shut and locked it again, cocking her ear toward the ceiling, listening for whatever new monstrosity awaited her.

Luckily, it didn't stay long. She stood staring at her ceiling with bated breath and a thundering heart rate. The hairs on the back of her neck tingled with familiar urgency. She turned around and looked at her French doors.

Terry's shadow darkened the curtains.

She walked with slow, trance-like steps toward the French doors and stared at the outline of his body behind the thin drapes.

"Are you there?" she asked.

Her voice sounded so weak and helpless.

The shadow didn't answer, and Terry's voice didn't go into her mind. That shit had been real. The first time it happened at the dive bar, she thought she had been drunk, horny, and imagining him talking inside her head. The dawning realization of what he truly was terrified her. Behind those drapes was proof of an abomination to humankind.

And she let it into her home.

Slept with it.

Let it feed from her, thinking it was some fetish kink. Just some deep hickeys and love bites that got his rocks off.

Fucking hell.

She whimpered and held her hands in a prayer position against her lips.

"Are you here with me… Terry?"

She reached for the doorknobs and unlocked them, flinging both doors wide open.

A sleek black cat sprinted across her small courtyard and leapt onto the neighbor's fence, blending into the darkness and out of sight.