The Devil's Play Thing

The flicker of candlelight danced along the carved edges of blackwood furniture, casting long, spidery shadows across the velvet-draped walls of Havana’s bedroom. The windows were tall and arched, framed by dark red curtains that blended seamlessly into the rest of the room’s Gothic elegance. It was nearly midnight. Havana perched on the edge of her four-poster bed, smoothing dark lipstick across her mouth with practiced care. Her platform boots — thick-soled and worn at the toes — sat waiting on the floor beneath her, beside a small leather satchel Havana took everywhere. Clara stood by the large bay window, her arms crossed tightly against her chest. Rain had misted the glass, turning the lights of London into a blur of gold and grey. She stared, lost in thought-- “You’re really going to meet him? At midnight? In a graveyard?” Clara finally said, her voice low but trembling, as if afraid the room itself might overhear. Havana met her eyes through the mirror. “You say that like I’m sneaking off to a vampire’s lair or something.” “Well,” Clara muttered, “you’re halfway dressed like one, wouldn’t put it past you.” That earned a smirk. “Are you jealous?” “I’m serious, Hav. I don’t like this. I don’t know who he is, or what he wants, and—God—it’s a f*****g graveyard. AT MIDNIGHT.” “It’s just for some quality vitamin D. I’ll be back before you even notice I’m gone. Swear--” Clara sighed and turned back to staring hopelessly out the window. “You just want me to see you dead on the news-” Clara muttered under her breath. “What?” Havana questioned. Clara didn’t answer. Something moving outside the window caught her attention. Heavy wings sliced through the mist as the large shape descended, landing soundlessly on wrought-iron railings just beyond the glass. It turned its head slowly, one beady eye glinting at Clara. It ruffled its feathers, almost smiling at Clara. “Do you see that?” Clara whispered. “There’s a crow. It’s just... staring at me.” Havana didn’t even bother to look. “You’ve been smoking too much. You’re seeing ghost birds now?” “I’ve barely smoked anything!” “Well, maybe that’s your problem.” Havana tossed a half-smoked joint at Clara along with a lighter “Smoke this, love.” Havana stood and disappeared into the hallway. Clara kept her focus, watching the bird. It didn’t move. Its eyes were too human. Then—tap. A sharp, deliberate knock of its beak on glass. Then again. Tap. Tap. Tap. Clara stumbled backwards with a sharp gasp, stumbling over clutter on the floor, knocking her to her feet. Havana stormed back in, A bag of salt and vinegar crisps in hand “What the hell happened?” “The crow,” Clara said, wide-eyed, pointing with a horrified look on her face “It knocked. On the window.” Havana raised an eyebrow, looked at the window — the crow was gone. She shook her head, laughing. “Now you’re really f*****g with me.” “I’m not!” Clara cried. “It knocked, Havana, like it wanted to come in—” “Clara.” Havana’s voice grew firmer. She crossed the room and took her best friend’s face gently in her hands. “I love you. But I don’t have time for this right now. I need to go. It’s a crow. Unless you’ve been upsetting crows recently, I feel like you have nothing to worry about.” Clara grabbed Havana’s arm “Please. Please don’t. I have this awful feeling something bad’s going to happen to you. Just don’t go tonight. Wait till tomorrow.” Havana leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Nothing’s going to happen. Promise.” She dropped a little, transparent bag into Clara’s lap. “Smoke this. It’ll help. Or at least make your imaginary birds more polite.” Clara didn’t laugh. Havana pulled on her boots, slung her bag over one shoulder, and took one last look at the room. “Lock the doors, okay? A nuclear bomb couldn’t take down those doors when they’re locked.” No response. Clara turned to look out the window, but the crow still hadn’t returned, bringing mild relief to Clara. The mansion’s halls echoed faintly with the sound of her steps as she paced down the hallways, the obnoxiously loud creak of the front door opening, then closing behind her. Outside, the rain had thinned to a soft mist, clinging to Havana’s coat and turning the city into a blur of glistening stone and quiet light. In this corner of London, the streets were broad and stately, empty at this hour but steeped in the weight of old money. Havana lit a cigarette with a flick of her lighter, the flame briefly illuminating the sharp edge of her jaw. She pulled her coat tighter around her and put in her earbuds, the music as loud as it could go, drowning out the anxiety the world brought her. Her boots echoed sharply on the slick pavement, each step a steady drumbeat beneath the hush of the night. Ahead, something lurked in the shadows. A crow sat on a crumbling brick wall, motionless, wings tucked tight. Its feathers gleamed like oil under the amber hue, slick and unnatural. Havana was too fixated on her thoughts to notice it. As she passed, its head turned slowly, following her with eyes too still, too knowing. As Havana left its gaze, it flew off into the darkness. Havana’s initial bravado began to crack as she neared the Graveyard, nerves setting in tenfold. The shadows seemed to deepen, the distant city sounds fading into the unsettling quiet of the night. She dismissed her rising sense of unease as the lingering effects of the cannabis she’d smoked earlier. “Snap out of it.” She thought whilst walking towards the gates of the graveyard. *** Havana sat cross-legged on her red and black tartan blanket in the corner of Warsend, a centuries-old gothic graveyard. She shivered as London’s October bitterness sank into her solitary bones. The gravestones, many moss-covered and time-stained from the centuries they’d nobly stood, were now weathered and crumbling. The oak tree residing beside her stood alert like a sentinel. A rich brown giant, snarled and brittle. Its crisp, deep orange leaves drifted downwind, occasionally caressing her face. The ember embracing Havana’s joint glowed a deep hue of red against the almost black surroundings. A thin trail of smoke curled around her tattooed fingers, dissipating into the darkness. Her phone screen illuminated her face as she began scrolling through her vast collection of photos. The formidable conquests the images depicted were nothing more than desperate cries for help to fill gaping, unhealed wounds. Men whose bodies had craved her, thirsty for her soft, graceful touch. Their eyes filled with a child-like enthusiasm, Havana envisioned feeling. Muscular faces etched with desire, accompanied by expressions that were a delicate mix of hunger and satisfaction-- Yet as she flicked through them, Havana felt nothing but harrowing emptiness. “Even with all these bodies succumbing to my every desire, nothingness is all I feel,” she mused, an almost-bitter smile playing on her lips as she swiped swiftly through the images. Her eyes lingered on the pictures for a brief moment before her mind captivated her elsewhere, losing her in a void that had consumed her for as long as she could remember. In the distance, a rusted iron gate set into the crumbling stone wall, half-hidden by encroaching shadows. Two crows were perched atop the wall, their eyes gleaning with sinister intelligence. One of them let out a harsh, thunderous squawk, the sound echoing through the ominous silence. The crow launched itself into the air and glided towards Havana, landing swiftly beside her. “Oh!” “Uh, hi bird. You want a puff on my joint, don’t you?” Havana giggled obnoxiously, blowing smoke in the direction of the crow as it ruffled its feathers. The bird stared at her with unblinking, menacing eyes. It tilted its head to one side as if it was trying to almost speak to her, conveying an unsettling message that only she needed to hear. There was something undeniably eerie about the way the crow seemed to watch her, its beady eyes looking deep into her soul, watching her every move. The crow squawked again, looking Havana directly in the eyes, sending an unnerving shiver down her spine. The sound of approaching footsteps provoked the bird to take flight into the sky and out of Havana's gaze. “Am I glad to see you.” A faint voice from behind her muttered with instant relief.