Posted: April 10, 2015 in Short Story


It can’t be me. My hand shakes as the voice booms in from somewhere. Feels like the voice comes from within me. It frightens me. It tells me things I shouldn’t know, don’t want to know, what can I do about it?! However, it still comes. Tells me to fill these blank pages with ink. I am unable to do anything else, but answer.

The moon shines in full and pregnant. It reflects the sunlight down into my dark bedroom. I dragged my heavy wooden desk across the floor to capture it. It’s whatever, energy, blew my lights, exploded my computer, and stopped my watch. I ware the watch for the weight and as a sign of remembrance. I forget how odd my life has become since it entered.

I am nothing special, never was. I don’t recycle, I don’t donate my time or my money, of course I don’t have any money. I work at a pizza shop and rent the smelly apartment right above it. It isn’t bad, a tiny one room and the owners family live next store. I thought this was perfect, simple. They don’t ask too much of me and I never ask for a raise. I have no car, no debt, and no savings. I merely exist, week to week, day to day.

Nothing special, no reason for this thing to have found me. Wondered here from some distant universe just to mess with my head. It messes with my head.

It’s coming. Like some small creature sensing a larger one prowling near by, I can feel it. It moves into my dark room with a pulse of static energy. I hear the floor boards and ceiling creek with its entry, yet it has no feet, no body, no voice; other than the one it uses inside me. I am not very imaginative either, nor unstable. To think I could imagine it. My hand is trembling. I know it’s real. It comes to me at odd times, but only when I am alone.

I remember now, one day I was hiking in the woods, filling my city lungs with clean air. Hoping it will last me until next time I get back to the mountains. I sensed it then. I think that was our introduction. The birds that were signing so feverishly stopped, the crickets steadied their legs and even the wind became still. But they didn’t run. That was my cue. If those birds and bugs took a sudden mass exodus I would be right on there tails or a few yards in front. But no one moved, they only became silent, as not to miss a second of this event.

The sun seemed so bright and blinding that day. It was as if it grew in the sky and glared white to the point in which I could no longer gaze up. Then it was gone. The birds and insects started their songs up and the wind continued to trim the trees and curve about the landscape. I thought nothing more.

Until the day it returned. Yes, Its bodiless odor tickled my nose as the hairs on my body stood up. The scent immediately reminded me of the wood and of that day. Although until now I never made that connection. It has power and is powerful. I believe if it wanted, it could use me like a marionette, but it doesn’t. It has some sort of code of conduct with us, us, listen to me. I speak for the human race now.

The wind has stopped blowing the curtains. The energy it gives off almost has a soft hum. I can feel it moving. I know it has no body, but I can sense where the center of the creature is. I turn in my chair dropping my blue pen. It ricochets off the wooden floor. I look to the window for fear the wind might blow my papers, but nothing now, nothing, but silence.

It’s in front of me; My eyes fail me, but the hairs on my arm do not. My skin is how I see it, my ability to sense is also how I see it, but my eyes, they might as well be shut. Although that might frighten me even more.

It is actually very kind in a way. Other than its presence. It would be like walking in the city if you were a 90 pound girl and a rough warn 6’6, 300 pound man starts walking towards you – if you had any subterfuge you’d be gone before he even knew you were there, but it’s too late. You don’t know the outcome, he just might need change or might be walking on by, the only thing your senses tell you are your survival rate if A or B or C comes to fruition.

I can’t even think of what A might be in my situation. I am not sure the motives of this creature, if it is a creature. I think all of the people that had ever had knowledge of it burned a long time ago. It speaks.

“We are ready.” It states. The voice is not mine. It is deep and sounds strong, finite. It is an odd feeling. Hearing something without the need for your ears. It feels like I am hearing it as if it is sitting across the room and we are chatting up the evening. Sometimes I forget I am physically alone and speak aloud to it. The owners of the shop have taken note.

It doesn’t give me soft, gentle, fluffy information. Instead it fills my head with darkness, of trials and tribulations ahead. Not for me personally, it offers nothing to me. No great future insight or words of wisdom (lottery ticket numbers), but it sees us as a whole. I am my species and it has something to say. So I write. I don’t go out anymore, even though the colorful city lights beckon and past lovers call. I wait nightly for the being to come to fill these pages. I wait no longer.

“We will end it tonight.” It warns. I am not sure what terrified me more, being responsible for these words trying to get them published or reentering the world. Like some sort of dragonfly larva I hatch back out into the same landscape but with a different view.

“The race of man, that shall suffer greatly, may survive if these words are heeded.”

I reach quickly for the pen and move to turn my chair, but to my surprise it turns on its own. It tucks me close to the desk and then moves the papers close to me at an angle, just the way I like it. I wet the pages.

This voice never has a tone of disapproval nor speak ill of us. It doesn’t tell us how to correct the wrongs we have done. It is more concerned with our survival. I wish I knew why, why waist…

“Those that live past tomorrow’s changes and the renewal’s growing pains shall behold a world full of life, food, and shelter for balanced generations to come.”

I sense a calmness in it as we finish. I had never sensed an emotion before, just its presence. It is filled with relief. I write these final words. My pen lies down next to the 3 inch thick manuscript beside it. My chair moves without my help. It pulls me away from the desk and spins me. I am facing the creature now. I feel the form move into my space, the tiniest of pressure upon my cheek, and it speaks.

“We thank you.” I feel an armless embrace and am filled with love. I feel weightless, almost giddy. It feels like, home, safe. It begins to move away and like a child being put down by their mother I reach up.

“Don’t.” I plead, almost beg. The tornado of pain writhes within. Bring the love back, it is a drug I can not exist without. I need it, I have to have it. Please!

It continues out. My love lost turns to anger. I am now hurt by this contract’s agreement. I have fulfilled my duty and written these words, and now I am thrown to the side. To live here in a world so distorted by opinions and frozen by truth told lies. I feel it move out the window. Silencing the pigeons as it floats away. I reach out the window with my arm as if to grasp the graspless. My watch begins to tick.

I cry aloud, “No!” letting go off all the pain these past few months have given me.

I wasn’t saying, no don’t leave me, or no come back, or no we’re not done, but to the entire book, no.

No! It was as if I was on autopilot when I was writing these words, and maybe after all I was. My emotions weren’t active, in fact they weren’t even on. Just now looking out at that beautiful moon and my city home I understood what was told to me. What is about to occur in split seconds to us all and not to far in the distant future. I will be alive to see this Renewal. I might not survive it. I rush the desk and grab the book. Its flimsy off white paper and my blue inked scratches. I hold it with contempt and slowly stretch my ticking watched arm out the window with book in hand.

I release my thumb, but the wind is still. I drop the book, but it does not fall. I sense something looking at me and I look up. I saw something I am still not sure what it could have been. It shook me. I trembled again, unable to look away and unable to stand. I fall on the floor grasping the sill to keep my eyes on it and I know it sees me. In fact that is the only reason it is peering into the snow-globe I exist in.

This is impossible to say. These images seem too archaic to me, but for the sensations that make it real. Peering into this world, as if to say “I see you” is a large eye. It broke through the clouds and has an eyelid and eyelashes. I think the color of the eye was blue green-ish, but the color moved like a reflected oil spill on water. The eye saw me and made me feel like an ant in an ant farm. Of course odd thoughts such as where is the rest of the body and what is really going on here? Crept and burned into my mind unpleasantly. The eye never blinked, but was locked on my movements as I reached out of the window and took hold of the manuscript and held it tight to my chest. It blinked. My room creaked and I could feel the presence reenter so I brashly turned away to see, nothing. I could sense it was back. I looked back to where the eye had appeared to see nothing. But knowing it was there and how tiny it made me feel, makes me wonder more, the things we don’t know and don’t understand will always far out way what we do.

I turned back to the present and sat on my bed, feeling like a shamed child caught in the unforgivable act of parental betrayal, I wept. I toppled over myself filled with shame, fear, and pain. Not pain for me, but the pain we are all about to go through. The loss my family will suffer, we all will suffer. The words turned into images in my mind as I wailed the moon into the sun. The presence never left me. I could sense it sitting next to me on my hard bed, rubbing my back, as my mother had a long time ago.


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