Clock struck 3. Seemed sinfully dark outside. The losers went on looking for their next victim, like vultures in search for carcass. In this case, I was the vulture. Lost in the rush of adrenaline, we engaged throughout the night, till at one point my body couldn't take it any longer and my brains said, Enough is enough. "Hey, dude look. That was sweet. But I gotta run. Catch ya sometime later". And I switched the streamyx modem off and clicked "shut down" on my laptop, without the need to know his response. Clock showed 4.15. Switching the lights off, I climbed into my bed, tucked beneath my sheets, and hung on to my bolster.
Darkness grew over me. Shimmering lights seem to appear from the corner of that very cavern. Echos can be heard wavering. Cold wind stroked my hair back and forth, rustling it through the idleness of the night. The only truthful sound that could be heard was the sound of my endless breathing. The echos seem to grow louder, but now it doesn't seem much of an echo. More of a whisper. It sounds so familiar, so close, so sad, yet terrifyingly worried. Eventually, sounding more of a cry....a voice! Yes! It is a voice of someone I know! She is crying, or isn't she?
The sobbing was directly coming from the entrance of the room. A figure, so familiar, at a sight I could recognise who it was. The lights were turned on. Angel was standing at the doorway, clinging on to the part of the wall where it was made from wood-weeping! My heart almost stopped. I got of the bed, and dashed out to grab hold of her. "There...there. It's alright. I'm here", I assured her. I looked at the clock, sadly hammered to the wall, it showed 5 minutes to 6. Jesus Christ! I slept for lesser than 2 hours? Snapping back to reality, I adhered her cautiously back to her bed and the first thing that came to my mind after doing so was,
"Now, where the heck did that holy oil go to?"
"Now, where the heck did that holy oil go to?"
I diverted back to the alter, borrowed the holy oil from the man with the long curly hair and face covered with beard, who was in the framed photograph next to another which had a lovely looking lady in it with her head covered with a scarf. Dipping my hand in, I placed some on her forehead and her neck, with the sign of the cross. She was still weeping when I placed it on her head, only that now it is a little slow and less vigorous.
"I heard it again.....everytime I keep the door open, it comes back, haunting me. I couldn't control myself. It was pushing me...." she said between sobs. I cut her short, reassuring that everything is fine now. Closing the balcony door behind me, I returned to her and directed her back to my room. After a few minutes of persuasion, she agreed to get some minutes of rest on my bed. Leaving the room lighted up, with a big sigh I headed downstairs and performed the usual routine of lighting up the hall, continued with the dining room and lastly the kitchen, allowing Elmo out for his daily dosage of the "wee morning cool breeze".
"What are you doing?", she questioned from the pavement of the 20 year old wooden stairs. "Nah, nothing. Just the usual stuff", trying my very best to sound like it was another ordinary morning with nothing unusual taking place prior. Putting the whole incident at the back of my head, I got back to my daily activities trying to live life normal. It was just before I wanted to head to the kitchen for a bite, she called me up to the balcony.
"Here, listen. Can you hear that? That jingling sound. It's coming from the tree, the neighbours'. That was the exact noise I hear every single time before the attack takes place. It will push me towards the bed so hard and with much intensity, I instantaneously forget my prayers. Can you believe it even makes me forget the Our Father?"
So since you forget it, why don't you just renounce from Christianity? Our Father is like THE prayer every Christian should keep in heart till the very last of their breath. Snapping back to reality, "That is the sound of the insect, for pete's sake!", I exclaimed
"No...no...listen again..."
(to be continued)
