Where the Devil Says Goodnight (Folk Lore 1)

Emil took a deep breath, stunned at just how right Adam felt in his home. “I never shared like this. About my granddad. I brought you here because I… I’ve had so much death in my family, so much loss, and I didn’t really want to deal with this stuff after Grandpa died. I put all their stuff in the attic. But my grandma was the local Whisperer Woman. It’s like a folk healer who balances Christianity and pagan rites. Most of it is probably superstition, but if we’re to look for clues of how to get rid of a demon, that’s my best bet. Unless… you want to go down the Church rou—”

The violent headshake Adam gave him was all Emil needed. He looked at the ceiling, toward the attic where he’d tucked away all his family secrets. “I just… I know I could have looked through all that stuff on my own, but I don’t wanna be alone with it. It brings me down so much.” At least he was such a downer that Adam’s excitement for him—if there was any—would surely dampen after today.

Emil’s skin sparked when Adam touched his shoulder. “Thank you for doing this. You have no idea how alone I felt this morning. But you’re here, despite everything.”

Despite the burns and the pain of Adam’s rejection, Emil was still ready to be there for him. A martyr. And a lost cause.

He nodded at Adam and led the way up the steep, narrow stairs to the attic.

“Sorry, it’s very dusty up there,” Emil said, pushing up the trapdoor and climbing in first to get rid of any cobwebs. He wasn’t sure whether the lamp up here still worked and was glad when the single lightbulb illuminated the space enough for Emil to easily reach the window and open the wooden blinds, letting in daylight.

The attic stretched above the entirety of the first floor, but was too low for an adult to stand straight, even at its highest points. Full of boxes and chests, it was a relic of a time Emil hadn’t wanted to confront for too long.

Unease crawled under his skin when he sensed the ghost of old-fashioned perfume so he opened the window to get rid of at least some of the dusty aroma, and called Adam, desperate for company.

The blond head popped through the trapdoor moments later. “This place is huge.”

“I live here alone, so I never really needed extra storage space. Haven’t been up here in ages. Hope you don’t have any mould allergies. And we have to be done by evening. That’s when the spiders come out.”

Despite his heavy heart, Emil smiled at the look of dread on Adam’s face.

“My parents took me on vacation to Hungary once. I’ve never seen so many spiders. Mom insisted on keeping the windows closed at all times, and it was so damn hot,” Adam said and burst with laughter. “But I won’t play the hero. Hate them too.”

“I’d be your hero—” Emil said before he could have bitten his tongue. He was almost thirty, but Adam made him feel like an infatuated teen. Of course he had to fall for the most unavailable man around—the story of his life. “My gran’s chest of creepy shit is there,” he rushed over there in the hope that Adam would disregard the first part of the sentence.

“Like what? You mean she dabbled in the occult?” Adam asked, climbing into the attic with the broad skirts of his cassock gathered in one hand. The garment didn’t cling to his ass, but as he kneeled facing away from Emil, it showcased its curve enough to push Emil’s thoughts back into the gutter. Oh, how much he longed to take Adam downstairs and lie with him in his bed. Even if just to make out.

“It’s… something else. She had notebooks about healing. And she did rituals and prayed to your God at the same time. But if she had diaries as well, it could be either useful, or painfully embarrassing.” He crawled all the way to the back, where a wooden chest was tucked away under the slope of the ceiling. He coughed when a cloud of dust blew into his face as he pulled the chest his way.

“Are there any other women like her around?” Adam asked, shifting closer to Emil, co close in fact that the citrusy aroma of his cologne became overwhelming and made Emil sweat.

“No, she was the last one in the area. I’ve heard desperate people sometimes go to this lady over the border, in Ukraine.”

The top of the chest had been hand-carved, and Emil realized it might have been Grandpa’s handiwork. While it didn’t have the artistic merit of some of the items produced by experienced artisans, a lot of heart and effort had been put into the carvings of plants surrounding a frontal view of a horse head with huge spiraling horns.