SHORT STORY: It Could Just Be The Wind

 

Never wrote a short story before. Please tell me if the story spooked you, made you wonder too, or had no effect. Writers want the reader to have some kind of emotional feeling. DID I ACCOMPLISH THIS? Feedback of any kind appreciated. DO I HAVE A FUTURE IN WRITING?

IT COULD JUST BE THE WIND

 

Finishing my, as the book directd, prayer, “Lord, please forgive me of all my sins known and unknown. I repent of any wrong I have done to others, known and unknown. Cleanse me of all my sins and allow me to see your divine angels, In Jesus’ name I pray. Amen,” I feel a chilling puff of cold air on my right forearm. Goosebumps stand erect acknowledging what my eyes didn’t see. If all the other occurrences could be summed up as, “It could just be the wind playing tricks on you,” I would take it with no more questions asked. But this can’t be explained away so cavalierly.

I wonder for a moment, if the prayer to see angels I just performed really works. I was a little hesitant to say the prayer because the beautifully illustrated jacket of the book warned if there is any darkness or unforgiveness in you, you may see demons instead of angelic angels. Immediately after saying the prayer, I, with wide eyes, search for what will appear from my prayer in my sun filled livingroom. Nothing. It has always been my dream to see the angels and nothing.

Hearing the youthful sounds of children playing basketball in my yard, I smile and decide to take in some afternoon sun on the black iron garden bench and watch them play. As the kids laugh and try daring basketball moves, I become overcome with the nagging feeling there is a slithering snake at my feet. Unable to ignore the increasing sense that a snake is near, I fold my feet under me Indian style on the bench, which did not ease the feeling. Finally, I cautiously bolt to the security of the indoors. Once inside, I laugh at my foolishness.

Kids fed and tucked into bed without much complaint, I settle to watch my favorite show, ER, with lights off. Just me and George Clooney for an hour. Suddenly in the darkened room illuminated by the flickers of the television, my peripheral vision sees a black formless shadow dart from the side of the black kitchen refrigerator and disappear at the end of my side vision. Snapping my head in the direction of what I am sure I saw, I simultaneously think, “Did I just see that,” and “Who’s there?”

Just as quickly as the feeling of impendinng doom came, it disappeared as I laugh at myself, being startled by nightly tricks of the eye. Focusing back on the t.v., I settle in to enjoy my remaining time with George.and his gorgeous hair. I jump, startled once again, but this time by the extremely loud booming hum of the refrigerator, which sounds more like a hungry chainsaw in search of its food. It has never been this loud before. Frowning, as if pained from the audio assault, I must pee and pee badly. I gather myself to scurry past the cold loud kitchen to the powder blue bathroom down the hall. Relieving myself and exhaling my uncalled-for fear, I dismiss the previous frightful occurrances.

Why have I been on edge all day looking for something that doesn't exist? I’m never jittery like this, literally shaking like the last brown dry leaf holding on to a tree branch in the blustery fall wind. I twist and flutter, shaking but never giving in to the power of the destructive winds like that leaf. Of course, I’ve seen shadow figures before, but never several times like tonight. I need to calm down, breath, and relax. With that, I wipe and flush the toilet. The sound of the flushing sounds like bombs of war going off. The percussion sound blows me back, causing me to stumble. I feel a rush a wind again. Searching the tiny bathrrom, looking for an open winndow, which remains closed and locked, I can't find a sourch of the bone chiilling wind. shivering I run to the dark living room, hopping onto the couch, cowering under a blanket as the toilet roars from the bathroom like an angry lion. Praying for the toilet to fill and quiet, I wait, all the while I feel as if someone or something is watching me.

Trembling like a wet fearful dog hoping to be rescued by its master, I look out from the red wool blanket, searching the kitchen for the black formless shadow. After a few minutes, which seemed like an hour, the black shadow darted from the side of the refrigerator down the hall towards the bathroom and my baby’s room. Heart pounding like a startled rabbit, I question once again whether I have seen what I had saw. No! No, I didn’t. I don’t believe in ghos….

Suddenly it dawns on me; my prayer. My breathing quickens to pants reliving today’s earlier request to see etheral angelic angels. What if I unleashed demons instead of angels? No! My heart is clean! The prayer didn’t work! Its not possible to request to see angels. Good angels. The book warned me! Why didn’t I listen! No! No! No! I don’t believe such stuff, and yet I do in the secret creases of my heart.

The night dragged like a man lame from war as I waited for the snail-like approaching daylight. I removed the batteries from the clock hours ago, each tick of the second hand sounded like a grenade going off. Boom! Boom! Boom, striking terror with each explosive sound. Now I sit in a fetal position in the corner of the green velvety couch. I’m freezing, bone shaking cold, but too scared to move from the couch to put on warmer clothes. I had on sexy sheer lingerie for my quality time with George. The airconditioner is pumping out North Pole air. My brain is ping-ponging from one explanation to the other for the shadows and noise. Nothing is comforting or reassuring. As each moment passes, I feel my grip on reality slipping away. If only this was a dream, then I could make sense of it all. Even though I have vivid dreams, dreams I can manipulate while sleeping to start, stop, or change at my command, I can tell the difference between dreams and reality. Now I don't know what reality is at all.

This is something different. Something unearthly. I am between insanity and reality, not knowing which is which. If I am seeing dark demons from my prayer, is it real? If I’m seeing demons, is it from the prayer or am I just going crazy? I don’t know what is real right now, which makes me question my sanity even more. Did a mental breakdown happen to coincide with a prayer to see angels? Whatever is happening to me is terrorizing. Rocking myself, wanting to hum a soothing song but can't form any words in my head, eyes cast down, I pray for daylight.

As the dark night sky of mystery yields itself to shades of gray tinged with the oranges of a rising sun, I’m proud I’ve held on. I called hubby an hour ago who is out of town working. I didn’t know what to say except I need you to come home and take me to the doctor. Now I question what exactly I will tell my husband and doctors about what happened to me all night. Looking into the not-so-dark-now kitchen, I see no shadows and immediately question if I ever had.

Hearing the sputtering engine cut off from the truck hubby drives, I quickly decide, as I smile with relief, last night didn’t happen. I just had a bad bad day. I was just over sensitive to noise and now its over. No black shadows or bombs going off. It could be the presence of daylight, hubby’s calming presence, or my imagination, but none of the feelings from the night linger in the coming daylight.

I explain to hubby I was having a bad day and just felt off. I will go to the doctor if the feeling returns but all is okay now. We spend the day together having family fun. We put the children to sleep an hour after their usual bedtime. They got to stay up an extra hour because dad had come home early. Me and boo shut down the house for the day and snuggle, talk, and laugh in the middle bedroom. We hear at the same time the sound of little feet almost running from the kid’s bedroom heading our way. Laughing we know it is our nightly bed-jumper, our youngest. We listen as the tiny feet approach, waiting to hear the excuse of a four-year-old trying to worm her way into our bed. No child appeared.

With a questioning look, his usual furrowed brow and without words, hubby looks at me for a long minute. Climbing over me, his knees promising to do damage unless I sheild myself, he goes to the open bedroomm door and looks down the hall into the livingroom where the footsteps were heard. Confused, and with mouth open he stares at me for some kind of answer. All I can offer him is an ‘I know. I heard it too’. I pat for him to come sit on the bed next to me. I explain the prior night’s event, leaving out the part where I prayed to see angels. That never happened right? I'll never tell I prayed to see angels and was scared shitless instead.

I tell hubby I need to go to the doctor and tell him what I told him. We both agreed the doctors will think I’m crazy. Hubby offers to tell the doctors he experienced some weird shit too in the house and we both heard the unexplained footsteps. I can’t imagine what doctors will think if two parents came to them with such a story. We would probably lose custody of our children. No. Only I will confess to the craziness.

It does enter my mind to pray for the visions to disappear. But that will only work if the prayer to see angels worked in the first place. With hubby experiencing hearing the human-less footsteps, something occurred after the prayer. What, I can't tell you. On the other hand, I have a long family history of mental illness, schizophrenia to be exact. I’m sure I saw what I saw and heard what I heard. But so was my mother when she thought she was the Unabomber police were looking for because she once worked at the post office. The things she must have heard and saw with that delusion.

“I want you to place one of these pills under your tongue each time you have a panic attack,” the nice doctor said handing me a prescription for Xanax. My hubby watched as my shaky hand took the prescription from the doctor, nodding my head. Smiling, I felt as if I had the answer, anxiety attack. Sounded right to me even though hubby wants to hang a horseshoe over the door to ward off evil and says he will never stay in the house alone again.

I’m mentally ill. How relieving. It’s not schizophrenia though. I'm lucky. Sure, hubby is a little shaken. Okay, scared, but we have been okay for days even though I have to pop several pills at night when the noises and shadows come. I sleep with a fan running to drown out the footsteps at night. I believe it is called white noise. Many well people sleep with a television or fan on at night to help with sleep. My days are normal. No boogieman nor signs of schizophrenia. Just peace in the mind. Nights are another story.

Nights have become battles of thought. Are those who can see and talk to angels mentally ill or are those with mental illness able to communicate with beings on another level. Should I embrace being able to see what I see, good or bad, or continue to monitor my mental health for further decline. I brace myself each night at the mercy of a thing which I can not determine what it is. Menacing is the best word for it right now. Should I surrender to this unknown? What is my reality? Do I see what I think I see? What is a certain reality is the fact I have gone from one pill to six and this reality persists, and the torture is not knowing what my reality is. “Hello shadow, how are you tonight?”