Jamie and her friends ran down the hallway filled with students seconds before. I remember she screamed at me to follow her into an entrance of bright light out of the building. I didn’t follow. Ran the opposite direction to be away from her, coward myself into the darkness behind me and it was the last I saw of her.
My hand searches the grainy stone wall for carve marks in this dim basement. Brighten by moonlight rays slipping between the ventilation fan blade. The only light I dare look. My fingers count those matchstick marks and carve one more after the last with a sharp hunting knife. Years passed since I lost my only friend. Should have told her and I blame myself. Today I seek solace in this darkness with the heavy burden on my shoulder.
Hiding from THEM taking her from me.
The basement door opens itself. The bright light fills the dark basement inches from where I stand in its shadow. I squat down and crawl back between a large pile of wooden crates till darkness behind pushes back. My eyes fix itself at a rat chewing pieces of dreadful moldy bread under the beam of lights. It could smell my body sweating with fear. Time for THEM to feed. My eyelid closes itself. I look away with my head thug between the thigh. I hug myself. Breath slow to calm my heartbeat. Hand grip tight to the sharp hunting knife. In this small dark enclosure, I could hear the rat chatter end with a loud squeak of pain. Its last breath was squeezed from the lungs.
Darkness chooses to be my friend in need. Cloak me from THEM. Allow my shameless crying in the night and fall asleep in peace where this basement is my home.
Save from THEM.
Grief can’t be shared. Everyone carries it alone. His own burden in his own way. – Anne Morrow Lindbergh
“It would be nice to know how you did it to me, but I assume you can’t!!!”, frustrate over my dumb demon son’s occult practice, “Now, I have to pick up pieces of myself scatter all over this floor.” My left hand start to crawl itself towards my head laying at the far end in the reading room to find my remains. “You are going nowhere when I fix myself up!!!”, my eyes fume of red burning flame, stake him then and there. I float before him in a single body after the misfortune incident, reminding him “Even the devil himself hide from me.”, I grin at him, “You’re lucky to be my only offspring, else I would banish you here and now from this dark existence. The only dreadful life you ever known.” My middle finger with long and sharp nail slid his cheek for blood to taste, “Fear be my pleasure.” My back fingers run over his pale cold face to hold his chin between the thumb and index finger, “You know I love you.” Tears flow from his eye’s corner onto the ice cold stone floor where we stand close together. “Yes, father of darkness.”, he plead.
I feel the pain of a knife pierce through my heart each time the shovel thrust into the soil. Every scene written on these pages is annotate with vivid explaination to bring life back from my death. My dirty forehand wipe drips of sourish sweat from my mouth. I throw the shovel into the moist ground. The shovel blade bury itself halfway with its handle stuck upright, stand there under the full moon tonight like a tombstone for a burial ground. Death is art in the eyes of the beholder. I repeat those last words he screamed at me, “Nothing personal. It’s business.”, and stroll back to the car. In my thought, “You’re hiring a new publisher agent?”, I grin, “It’ll be Stranger in The Night.”, the perfect plot for my one and only fan, “You.” My hire killer gave me his sweet and caring smile. I kiss him back.
“At the reading of the will the attorney did say the property needed a bit of work, but he didn’t say the place was haunted.”, he sound dismay of this horrifying crime scene on his property. “I could have sell this place for a fortune.”, and walk away angrily. In my years coordinating with the town’s crime division, I could even barely look at this lifeless mutilated naked teenager. Drenching of blood on these wooden floor with two strong broken chain lock to the wrist. These bedroom walls are cover with odd symbolic hand drawings. She perfectly sequester herself for dark ritual. A small community living in this town believe she is practicing witchery and glad she die in her own hands. I notice there are pieces of odd rotten animal skins with blood in her finger nails upon closer inspection. Looks like someone didn’t kill her – it’s something.
My mind fizzle with letters into words; forming sentences after sentences throughout the stormy night. Stomping aimlessly in my mind with words forming vivid imagery scene. The mind is a wonderful playhouse. God’s greatest gift for his most beloved creation here on earth. I do believe life is suppose to be written on pages. Thoughts staying alive. A voyeur experience to some who love reading the pain and pleasure of others in the shadow. Encouraging them with standing ovation, applauding aloud to encourage indecent exposure. We are convince there is reality in fiction. Why not? Are we not here to play a role in life to be somebody; the world is a stage. The show begin when the curtain rise. As far as the eye can see are empty seats waiting to be fill. A blank script in my hand awaiting to have a dialogue with me. Mask my role.
All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages. – William Shakespeare
I have a horror of not rising above mediocrity. – Robert Baldwin
Squatting on top at the edge of a double deck bed, staring down upon myself laying still on the rustic wood flooring. I can’t feel anything; like a lifeless dead corpse. There’s a funny deep hollow sound ringing in my ear. As if the wind is circling inside a long and narrow tunnel. I am numb with silence. In a state of total confusion. The small hand of a round white wall clock is pointing at four. I think it’s too early in the morning. In front of me stand a wooden cupboard with one mirror door. A faint shadow of someone is reflecting back at me; with a pair of silky black wings unfolding gracefully from the figure’s back. They flap itself to loosen their stiffness. The room’s door bust wide open without notice. A stout old lady in old english dress came rushing in, skipping across my still body lying on the floor.
She head towards the window to swiftly open a dusty thick curtain with both hands. My eyes squint to shield itself from the strong glaring lights shining into a room fill with thick smog of dust. She turn around to face me. In a sudden float like motion; her disgusting and scary amateurish painted clown like face appear just inches from mine. I fell backward and float on thin air. Everything around me disappear. Both her claw like hands pin me down to the darkness surrounding me, while her long and wet tongue lick its way to my right ear. Leaving behind a trail of thick, slimy and sticky substance on my cheek. She speak to me in a husky hissing tone, “It’s not your time yet. My dearest. The day is not dead.”; follow with a melodious laugh.
Dammit; not again. It’s MONDAY …