| Him |
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| The day that I first saw Him had gone by uneventful and gloomy, but strangeness hung in the air. A strangeness that I could not interpret then, and cannot now. A strangeness that would come to me more and more in the days and months that were to pass. I had worked at the police department for some time as an investigator. I was often haunted by the faces of the murderers, kidnappers and pedophiles, whom I dealt with, but it was nothing I couldn�t handle. There was one face though, that I couldn't forget - that of my ex-husband. Throughout our marriage, he had abused me, but I was too afraid to turn him in or say anything. Fortunately, my brother had lived only a half-hour away. He and I spent a lot of time together and developed a close relationship. After two years, I turned my husband in and my brother had to move to St. Louis. I had lived alone on York Street for about three years, when, one night outside my own house, I began an investigation on my own. While lying in bed, I had heard strange whisperings outside my window. Looking out, I had seen four robed figures in the yard beside mine behind the empty, deserted house, invisible to any passing traffic, though the street was not normally busy at that hour. I watched, but nothing seemed to happen. They only sat and whispered. I wondered if it was my imagination, if I was hallucinating, for my nights of near-insomnia had been growing into large numbers, as I had not slept much since my marriage. I figured had all night to watch, so I decided to. Nevertheless, it was that night, that my weary body found rest. I woke the next morning, feeling refreshed by the rest, yet swearing at myself for falling asleep. I watched for several following nights. I saw them again, but they almost seemed shielded by something I couldn�t see. It was almost as if when I looked, my eyes diverted from them against my will. I only saw no movement and heard quiet voices, which I couldn�t make out. They stopped coming after a few weeks. There were no more robed figures, no voices, nothing. Even upon searching the deserted house, had I found nothing? I finally gave up hope that something had happened, and ended my investigations. It was not too long after that that I found that my brother was deathly ill. I was devastated. They said he had no hope of recovery. I immediately quit my job and moved from my home in New York to take care of him and be with him until his death. There, in St. Louis, I went from job to job, working anywhere I could. Stable work was hard to come by in that area at the time. I stayed with my brother as much as I could, trying to support both of us at the same time. It was a year before he died and I was left alone. My money had run out, and I still couldn�t find a stable job. I tried desperately to get a job at the local police department, as I had tried several times, but they did not have any openings. After that year, my health had declined and I could no longer fit the position if an opening became available. I had had to cancel the heating and air and the phone, and was about to cancel the electricity. It was that dark winter night that the eerie strangeness crept over me. Something felt wrong. It was indeed a strange feeling that cannot be described. I sat in the living room, in the little wooden chair, covered with a blanket and staring out at the city. Lightning would flash every few seconds. The power was sure to fail soon. A flashlight sat beside me, ready if the need came. I flicked on the radio to hear the weather, but all the stations were inaudible. It was not very long after that that everything went dark. I continued to stare out the window, which appeared as a black pit, for some time, until I finally stood. My eyes had become adjusted to the darkness by then and I was very familiar with the house. I tuned around to face the hall, and just as I did, lightning lit the sky into the room and I saw the figure of a man at the end of the hallway. He appeared to be nothing more than a black shadow. Fear sunk into my heart. I fumbled for the flashlight and flicked it on. There was nothing. As the days and nights took their turns, the strange eerie feeling never left me. Everything had seemed normal, I couldn�t figure out what could be wrong. I had searched the house thoroughly, looking for any sign of a break in or anything of the sort, but I found nothing. The days passed so slowly. It seemed as if every time I looked out the window it was raining. It seemed like so long since I had seen the sun. The bright sun in which my brother and I had played in as children. Sadly, those days were over. If only I could go back to them, be with my brother again. Just like before, I sat in the living room facing the window, though I had become more cautious since that night. At another flash, I looked down the hallway. There He was. He was halfway down the hall this time. He muttered something, but too low to be heard or deciphered from the storm raging outside the walls. I saw Him two more times after that. He seemed to come back every few weeks. I tried to match His face with someone, but I couldn�t. I pictured all of the men whose crimes I had dealt with, any man I had ever known. I came up with nothing. There was no answer I could find. One night, after I had begun to wait for Him, He came. His visit left me without doubt that He was something real. I sat at the window, but faced the hall rather than the window. Watching. Waiting. And He came, just as I knew He would. At the rumble of thunder and flash of light, He stood right before me. I trembled with fear as He wrapped His hands around my neck and squeezed as tight as He could muster. I had no time to make a sound. No time to yell for help. No time to defend myself. He was crushing my windpipe, I couldn�t breathe at all. I was raised from my chair by my throat and tossed across the room, where I hit my head against the wall and lost consciousness. It was morning when I awoke. Around my neck were bruises in the shape of fingers. Dark, black and gray bruises. When I swallowed, it felt like millions of tiny daggers were slitting down my throat. Tears nearly welled in my eyes each time. For the next few days, I sat waiting with reddened eyes, under which laid dark bags. I had not slept in weeks, since the first appearance. Neither had I eaten. I had scarcely drunk anything; I was slowly becoming skin and bones. I sat in the little chair, watching and waiting, as sweat poured over my entire body, despite the chill that never left the room. It was six months until I saw Him again. My sleep had begun to return to me and my health was beginning to improve. It was St. Hallow�s Eve. The full moon had hung brilliantly in the sky, but black clouds had covered St. Louis and rains, thunderings and lightnings had begun to fall on the city. I was walking down the hall when, halfway down, I heard mutterings, whisperings. I stopped quickly and held the air from flowing through my lungs. I slid against the wall opposite my doorway. Peering inside, I found four robed figures, just like the ones I had seen on York Street. Between them, I could see a pentagram drawn onto my floor. Each of the figures sat at different points of the star. I knew there must have been one more, at the main point of the star, but I couldn�t see. I slid back out of view and listened as hard as I could. Between the storm and the odd nature of their voices, this is what I heard: Hail to our Master Our Saviour Our God We lift up our praise Our bodies Our souls Give us the strength The wisdom The power To offer this sacrifice This offering of praise The verse was repeated several times, in an odd chanting manner. The voices sounded terribly diabolical. I felt a darkness. A dark spirit all around me, enveloping me in it's evil. I tried to shake the feeling off and see what was going on. Sliding back into view, I saw as they bowed down on their faces towards what I thought to be the main point of the star. I looked further, and saw Him, at the last point. The four bowed to Him. A radiant red light glowed from around Him. I thought I had stayed out of sight, but His glowing red eyes caught mine. Some force invisible to me, yanked me from the hallway and into the center of the inverted star, facing Him. I was held there, I couldn't move, couldn't speak. No sound escaped my mouth; I was frozen with fear and dread, which had quickly replaced the eerie strangeness. I felt as if my windpipe was being crushed again. The air was so thick that I couldn�t breathe. An even brighter red light burst from Him and filled the room. I felt something inside me burst, and then everything went black. They said they found me in an alley off a back street and said that I had been strangled and stabbed about a week before they found me. I remembered nothing at the time. I only know that something strange happened in that little house in St. Louis, which is now burnt to ashes. I remember the feeling, the eerie strangeness, but I no longer feel it. Short, choppy images flash into my mind sometimes, and they seem so familiar, yet they are too vague to gather any details. As the months pass, I remember more and more. What happened that night? Is it only a strange forgotten dream? |