Close encounters of the horrific Kind—Part I

Spring 2025

Crossfield town, Alberta, Canada

A warm, amber glow bathed the small bedroom belonging to the two Vazquez cousins —Isabel and Evelyne—casting a shadow above the delicate chaos of the room.The sweet scent of jasmine perfume and hair spray lingered in the air, mingling with the faint traces of dust that stirred up from the vanity table.

An old record player spun lazily in the corner, from which a mexican waltz tune—Las Chiapanecas—drifted through the room ,a selection which Isabel had made.

Evelyne had protested at first, insisting they needed something livelier, but Isabel who was the older cousin by six months had simply responded,"It suits the mood."

Now, Evelyne sat cross-legged on the bed, her green ballerina gown flowing over her legs like a pool of silk, the fabric shimmering in the dim light. A small tiara rested on her fiery red curls, slightly tilted from her movements as she read aloud from the seminar notes spread across her lap.

"It is in the pursuit of knowledge that we—no, wait—" she cleared her throat and tried again, her voice suddenly dramatic, "It is in the pursuit of knowledge that we find purpose, that we—"she paused again, then groaned, flopping backward dramatically. "Ugh. This sounds awful."

"It sounds fine," Isabel murmured, her attention fixed on the mirror as she pinned the last few strands of her dark hair into place. She worked meticulously, ensuring the deep brown butterfly clasp sat just right above her ear, securing the intricate updo.

"You're not even listening." Evelyne sat up, narrowing her eyes at Isabel's reflection.

"I'm listening," Isabel assured her, smoothing out the sleeves of her black ballerina gown.

"Then tell me how I sound," Evelyne challenged.

"Like you're trying to turn a simple speech into a Broadway performance."

"Exactly! It needs something more—some pizzazz!" She threw a cushion at Isabel, who caught it without even looking, placing it neatly back on the bed.

"It's a seminar, Eve. Not a one-woman show."

"Maybe it should be," Evelyne muttered, crossing her arms.

A sudden sound—footsteps, followed by the distinct creak of the door swinging open—startled them both.

"Auntie!" Evelyne gasped, sitting up straight. "You could have knocked! What if we were indecent?"

Dorcas, a tall middle aged woman standing gracefully in the doorway in a soft ivory blouse and pearl earrings, arched an eyebrow, her expression mildly amused. "Then I'd be the one traumatized, wouldn't I?"

Evelyne scowled childishly, while Isabel but back a small smile.

"Are you two ready?" Dorcas asked, stepping further into the room. Her eyes swept over them with a practiced ease, looking to find even the smallest imperfection.

"Almost," Isabel said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

Dorcas walked over, standing behind Isabel in the mirror. She reached out, carefully adjusting the butterfly clasp, and securing it in play with precise fingers. Isabel let her, neither resisting nor commenting. There was something reassuring about her mother's touch, even if she rarely asked for help.

"Perfect," Dorcas murmured, smoothing a hand over her daughter's shoulder before straightening.

A low rumbling sound drifted in from outside—the familiar purr of an engine rolling into the driveway. Evelyne immediately perked up, leaping to her feet and moving toward the window.

"The chauffeur's here," she announced, peering through the curtain.

Dorcas glanced at her watch, her tone efficient but not unkind. "Six minutes, girls. Don't keep me waiting"

She gave Isabel's hair one last pat before stepping out of the room, her footsteps fading down the hall.

Evelyne lingered at the window for a moment longer before turning back, her gaze landing on Isabel, who was still adjusting the drape of her gown in the mirror. A mischievous glint sparked in Evelyne's eyes as she walked over, standing beside her cousin so their reflections aligned.

The contrast was striking.

Isabel, poised and elegant, her vintage black gown hugging her form before cascading gracefully at the hem. The deep shade made her dark eyes stand out even more, and the gloves that stretched up her arms only added to her regal presence. Her hair, meticulously pulled up, revealed the curve of her neck, the butterfly clasp resting delicately above her ear.

Evelyne, in contrast, was vibrant and bold—the soft glow of the lamp catching the rich auburn hues of her curls, which cascaded down her shoulders in loose waves. Her tiara, perched slightly askew, made her look like a rebellious princess, untamed but effortlessly regal. The emerald green of her ballerina gown shimmered against her warm, sun-kissed skin, the golden undertones giving her a radiant glow. Where Isabel's beauty was cool and refined, Evelyne's was like fire—wild, expressive, and impossible to ignore.

Evelyne tilted her head, examining their reflections. Then, she sighed, placing a hand on her hip. "You know, out of the two of us, you're definitely the prettiest."

Isabel snorted softly, rolling her eyes as she gave Evelyne a small nudge with her shoulder. "You just say that so I won't call you vain."

Evelyne grinned. "Exactly. And because it's true."

Isabel didn't argue, just shook her head with a small smile, reaching for her clutch on the vanity.

"Alright," Evelyne sighed dramatically, flipping her curls back as she adjusted her tiara. "Let's go make the world jealous."

She looped her arm through Isabel's, and they stepped out of the room together, their dresses swishing as the door clicked shut behind them.

The hallway was quiet, save for the faint hum of distant conversation filtering in from the lower floor. A chandelier hung above, spilling dim light over the wooden railing as they descended the staircase, their heeled shoes tapping rhythmically against the polished steps.

"I swear, if I mess up that speech tonight, it'll be because you didn't give me the proper encouragement," Evelyne chattered, her voice brimming with excitement.

"I did," Isabel said, humoring her.

"No, you sat there like a statue. Unhelpful, by the way—hey, maybe that's what I should do! Just stand there and look elegant. Maybe they won't even notice what I'm saying."

"That might actually work better than whatever plan you had."

"Ha. Ha." Evelyne tossed Isabel a dry look, but it melted into a grin.

They turned the corner into the living room, Isabel just opening her mouth to say something else when—

They froze.

The warmth of the house seemed to vanish in an instant, swallowed by an icy dread that clawed at their skin.

Dorcas stood near the front door, her posture eerily rigid. But it was the sight at her feet that made the air in Isabel's lungs seize.

The chauffeur lay motionless on the floor, his body sprawled unnaturally, his hands limp at his sides. A deep, dark stain spread across his back, the blood soaking through his crisp white uniform—too much blood. It had pooled beneath him, dark and glistening. 

And standing just beyond the threshold, framed by the entrance, was a hooded figure.

Isabel and Evelyne stiffened.

The figure was tall, draped in heavy black robes from head to toe . The entrance light cast long shadows over its stillness, the hood dipped low, hiding its face. In one gloved hand, it held a dagger — it's tip still dripping with fresh blood. The weapon gleamed in the dim light, its blade long and curved, shaped like a crescent moon.

The silence was suffocating.

Then—slowly, as if sensing them—the hooded figure lifted its head. 

~

Isabel's breath stilled.

The shadows peeled back just enough for them to see beneath the hood, from where a woman's face peaked through with deep brown skin. But her mouth—her lips—

They weren't there.

Where her mouth should have been, thick black stitches crisscrossed in the shape of a cross, binding her lips shut with a grotesque precision. And yet, somehow, impossibly—

She smiled. Or at least, tried to.

A strained, unnatural stretch of the skin.

The horror of it gripped Isabel's throat, rendering her breathless. Beside her, Evelyne's body went rigid, her fingers twitching against Isabel's arm.

Evelyne's voice came out in a choked whisper. "Auntie... what's going on?"

Dorcas turned her head slightly, as if just now registering their presence . Her expression remained strangely composed—too composed.

"Girls," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "Go back upstairs."

Neither of them moved.

Evelyne inhaled sharply. Isabel felt her pulse hammering against her ribs as her hand found Evelyne's, gripping it tightly.

"We can't leave mom like this," Isabel whispered.

The hooded woman tilted her head slightly, amused, before speaking.

"Dorcas," she said, her voice smooth and sharp—impossibly echoing against the walls of the living room, despite her sewn lips." I presume the girl in black is your daughter."

Isabel's entire body stiffened.

It was like watching a scarecrow speak.

Dorcas said nothing. Her face remained unreadable, though her dark eyes burned with something Isabel couldn't decipher.

"She looks just like you," the woman continued, taking a slow step forward. "Cecilia would be pleased with her elegance."

"Who's Cecilia?" Isabel asked bluntly.

The hooded woman turned her mouthless face toward Dorcas, who met her stare with something different this time. Something heavier.

"You never told them?" the woman asked, her voice laced with something almost like pity.

Dorcas exhaled slowly through her nose. Then, she turned back to Isabel and Evelyne, her voice softer.

"Go upstairs."

Still, they hesitated.

"Please," Dorcas added.

There was something final in the way she said it, something that twisted deep in Isabel's stomach.

"Auntie," Evelyne tried, but before she could say more, the older woman sighed.

"I'm sorry."

Dorcas raised a hand.

And the air shifted.

Isabel barely had time to gasp before the living room ripped apart before her eyes. It wasn't like a door slamming shut or curtains being drawn—it was as if reality itself folded inwards, stretching and distorting like liquid glass.

The walls twisted, the ceiling stretched, the furniture blurred into streaks of color. The floor seemed to drop out from beneath them , as though gravity itself had turned traitor.

Evelyne screamed, reaching blindly for Isabel, but her voice sounded distant, as if swallowed by the warping space.

Isabel grabbed her wrist somehow, fingers clamping down hard as they spun— together—faster and faster.

They weren't just spinning. They were falling.

Her stomach flipped violently as if she'd been dropped from the tallest building in a city, yet there was no wind, no weight, just a dizzying rush of movement. Evelyne's nails dug into Isabel's skin, but she barely felt it over the sheer impossibility of what was happening.

Dorcas, the hooded woman, the living room—everything—vanished into a vortex of twisting light and shadow.

Then, as suddenly as it started—

THUD.

They crashed down hard.

~

The sensation was disorienting, like being yanked out of a dream too fast. The floor beneath them was suddenly solid, cold, real. Isabel's knees buckled, and she slammed onto the carpet, barely catching herself on her hands. Evelyne collapsed beside her with a strangled gasp, her tiara clattering to the ground.

For a moment, they didn't move.

The world was still spinning around them, like their minds hadn't caught up with their bodies. Isabel's vision blurred—shapes swam together, walls wobbled, the air itself felt wrong.

"What... the hell... was that?" Evelyne rasped, her breath coming in short, panicked bursts.

Isabel tried to steady her breathing, tried to focus, but her pulse pounded in her ears, deafening. Her limbs felt weightless, like she wasn't fully inside her own body.

It took a few seconds for the dizziness to pass—just enough for her brain to register where they were.

Dorcas's room.

But how?

Just moments ago, they were in the living room, staring at a corpse, staring at a monster, and now—

"She sent us away," Isabel murmured, the words sticking in her throat.

Evelyne let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh, shaking her head. "No—no, that wasn't just 'sending us away.' That was—that was magic—"

Her voice cracked, the hysteria creeping in, but Isabel's fingers tightened around hers.

"Evelyne," she said, forcing her voice to be steady, "I know."

They didn't have time to lose themselves to the panic clawing at their chests. Neither did they have the mental strength to reflect on the absurdity of it all.

The moment she said it, Evelyne sucked in a sharp breath, nodding fast, her eyes still wide but focused now.

Then—

A thud at the door.

Both of them flinched, snapping their heads toward it.

A soundless force slammed into the wood from the other side, rattling it violently in its hinges.

Evelyne shot up from the floor and rushed to the door, grabbing the knob and twisting it frantically. It didn't budge.

"No, no, no—" she yanked harder, shaking it. "Auntie! Let us out!"

Isabel pushed up to her feet, her own hands flying to the handle, but it was deadlocked. It didn't just refuse to turn—it felt like it was welded shut.

Then, there was a sudden glow, and both girls stumbled back as a cross-shaped rune burned into the surface of the door, pulsing with a deep, golden light.

"What the—" Evelyne gasped, scrambling further away, eyes flicking to Isabel who bore her own gaze on the door.

CRASH!

A loud, violent shatter erupted from downstairs, like glass exploding.

Evelyne jumped, pressing a hand to her mouth as a second crash followed—a heavy thud, like furniture being hurled across the room.

It was quickly followed by a scream.

A sharp, guttural cry of pain.

Dorcas.

Isabel and Evelyne whipped toward each other.

Terror surged like ice through Isabel's veins, but she forced her feet to move, lunging toward the door again. She pounded on it hard.

"MOM!"

No response.

Another crash, louder this time. The walls shook.

"We have to help her!" Evelyne's voice was shrill now, full of raw desperation. She turned, grabbing the nearest thing—a silver candelabra from the nightstand—and slammed it against the door.

The rune flared brighter for a split second. Then—

Evelyne was thrown backward with a resounding wham .

Isabel darted toward her, grabbing her arms. "Evelyne! Are you okay?!"

"It—" Evelyne's chest rose and fell in frantic bursts. "It threw me—"

Isabel barely heard her. Her breath had gone still in her chest. She thought she understood it then .

That symbol...

It wasn't the door that had thrown Evelyne back.

It was whatever had been cast over it.

Dorcas had meant for them to stay here. To keep them locked in from the strange woman.

There was another sudden, thick thud from below.

Then, silence followed.

Isabel's breath hitched, her ears straining against the quiet. The entire house felt like it was holding still, as if it, too, were afraid to make a sound. The chaos, the crashes, the screams—all of it had stopped.

And that terrified her more than the noise.

She swallowed hard, her pulse hammering in her throat. Slowly, she turned to Evelyne, who was still on the floor, gripping Isabel's hand so tightly her knuckles had gone white.

Her cousin's wide, brown eyes flicked up to meet hers, full of confusion, terror, and something else—something unspoken that neither of them wanted to acknowledge.

Isabel's voice was barely above a whisper when she asked, "Is mom a witch?"

Evelyne's lips parted, but no words came out at first.

She hesitated.

And that hesitation was enough.

Because Evelyne—Evelyne—who always had something to say, always had an answer, always knew something—was at a loss.

Isabel watched the way her cousin's throat bobbed as she swallowed, how her fingers flexed against the rug like she was trying to ground herself in their shared reality.

Finally, Evelyne exhaled. "I don't know."

She shook her head, as if trying to clear it, then spoke again, quieter this time.

"But... I don't think it matters anymore."

And wasn't that the truth?

What they had just experienced—what they had seen—was beyond anything that could be explained away.

Magic was real.

They had felt it.

They had been touched by it.

And now, there was no undoing that knowledge.

Another moment of silence.

Isabel felt it stretching between them like an invisible thread, a fragile connection tying them to before—before the body on the floor, before the woman with the sewn mouth, before their world had tilted into something unrecognizable.

But there was no going back.

They weren't little girls playing pretend.

They weren't safe.

They weren't in control.

A slow, deep creak echoed from outside the door.

Both girls went still.

Isabel barely dared to breathe. Evelyne tensed beside her, her fingers twitching as if she wanted to reach for something—anything—to use as a weapon.

Neither of them moved.

Neither of them spoke.

They simply waited.

And the silence stretched on.