Our Share of Night

by Mariana Enriquez

she was gone in a way that he found impossible to understand or accept.

He had said to her once when she was alive, as a joke, imitating a character in a novel, Please don’t leave me alone, haunt me. He’d said it in English, “haunt me,” because there were no words in Spanish for that verb, not embrujar, not aparecer, it was haunt.

Wuthering Heights

She is the priestess of a god who ignores her, just as all clerics of any denomination are ignored by their gods, and always have been.

I believe in the Darkness. How could I not, when it’s my body? When it’s my body that it enters? But to believe is not always to obey. The things the Darkness tells them cannot be interpreted on this plane. The Darkness is demented, it’s a savage god, a mad god.