The wind appeared intent on chasing the leaves as it moaned once, and then swept them past my bare ankles, painfully leaving scratches as a souvenir as they were blown violently past and into the air. The pile of leaves seemed to hover for a second before gently cascading upon the smooth, bald head of the gardener, whose temperamental and pug-like face wore an expression of annoyance and rage at having raked the pile a few dozen times, only to have his efforts washed down upon him by the dastardly, disobedient wind. Bellowing, he flung the rake in a rather undignified manner across the dry, brick, road, and launched himself into a pantomime of rude hand gestures, stopping mid-way through his vulgar display when he noticed me in my hoodie, my unwanted staring face and shifted his glare to his rake, now gripped firmly in my right hand.
His expression contorted in what appeared like an effort-packed smirk; ‘Jimmy-the-rake-man!’ The innocent devils of children would squeal as they wandered past him and recognized his familiar pug-face, oblivious to the unmistakable hurt on his face which would instantly be replaced with the threatening sneer he shot at me now.
Still holding his rake in my hand, I set it gently upon the pavement as to prove I meant no harm and ran for it as he raised his fist mid-air, his shouts dying behind me. The wind guided my footsteps, hurtling past me as I sprinted down the bleak road. It was clear that Jimmy and myself quite obviously knew that I simply did not belong in this community; being the unwanted newcomer on the block, I merely refused to mingle with even the welcoming neighbors as if I were oil and the fluid friendly people in the community were water. It was after all, the very community that had killed my parents – or so I chose to believe, seeing as they had mysteriously died here; none of us had quite gotten over the fact although it had been years back, and my nana would turn deathly pale every time I confronted her on the subject.
I stood now before the graveyard and the vacated church, the very church in which my parents and dozen others had breathed their last frightened breath before their life was robbed of them, the very graveyard which often held sobbing mourners and were their decomposing bodies lay. The local villagers avoided the church at all costs, fear evident upon their faces every time they so much as crossed it... but a single step towards the church fueled me with an overwhelming desire, so sudden it was as if I was breathing in a drought of icy air, before fire replaced it, burning my lungs and I bolted to the deserted, lone building.
It seemed as if lies and threats put in constant practice by the local villagers to keep their innocent children away from the church, appeared as a highly effective method. A method no one seemed to dare break. The doors of the church had clearly not been opened for years together. Nevertheless, the rash fire coursing through my body and spreading through my veins begged satisfaction, and I leaned my back against the door, focusing all the strength in my knees and pushed hard. The enormous doors creaked and swung open, and I neatly dodged one as it attempted to knock the breath out of me; and stepped inside.
The beauty of the church, which I had least expected was beyond compare, and my jaw unhinged and dropped (not much unlike the still swinging doors behind me). The stained glass windows were different shades of red, blacks and yellows, and the vast church before me smelled sweet and musty, and odour so preserved and ancient that I immediately began sniffing as if to drown myself in the smell.
I didn’t know what possessed or compelled me to walk down the aisle and genuflect abruptly before the bed of the altar, letting my eyelids shut as I did so, with as much reverence as I could summon of myself; a prayer to the deceased. I was unaware that above me the odd red glistening cross had turned a dull frightening black, or that the swinging doors had silenced themselves and stood dull and heavy, so that deathly silence prevailed. My eyes opened wide and alert, as the fire in my body seemed to combust and I was billowing, airy and light as the doors resumed their unexpected wining, and the church was suddenly alive with paranormal activity.
The distant sounds of a choir, sad and mournful and easily mistakable for angels were overpowered by the strong, distinctive voice of a priest. My soul and my body seemed to rise into the air, higher and higher, as their voices grew louder and louder, until the church around me turned into a horrifying black; my ears were invaded with screaming and gunshots, and the world around me spun and I was falling into a fathomless pit with no end, my consciousness fading duly away...
I awoke to the bewildered and shaken pug-face of the gardener, Jimmy-the-rake-man peering anxiously over my disfigured form. “The bells... church were alive! People... singing!” He choked out, appalled at my charred, blackened state; the world was a haze around me, although as I raised my hand to my face, it appeared badly burnt. Jimmy looked shaken as ever, and I managed to pull my lips into a gracing smile, a futile gesture of peace, before I succumbed to the lingering souls about me.
And the choir of angels filled my mind once again...
No comments:
Post a Comment