He makes winds his messengers,
flames of fire his servants.
Psalm 104:4[1]
James pulls into the drive way and turns off the car. He pauses with his hand on the door handle. He is unwilling to go back just yet. And what a situation to go back to. It’ll just be nag, nag, nag. It always is. His body seemed to freeze. It was almost like he couldn’t move. The muscles in his arm and hand were tense and unwilling. Though, it is not as if his mind was much help either. It too was in a sort of paralyzed state. Finally, he simply sighed and opened the door. With the initial task completed, he found it easier to continue the undesirable action of leaving the safety of his car and the comfort he had experienced all day for the strife and conflict of home. Huh. I don’t know what’s so homelike about it. It was funny, really, how work seemed like home and home like work. You weren’t supposed to dread the weekend. Whatever had gone wrong to make it flip-flopped in the first place?
Before his thoughts could proceed further, James entered the house and was immediately (and blissfully) distracted by the stillness he found there. If there was any way he would describe his homestead it was not “still.” There was always something going on, something moving, something to distract. His parents both worked out of the home, ever since officially “retiring” a few years before. However it always seemed to James that very little was accomplished by either of them nowadays. Time was always spent helping a neighbor move a piano, trimming the hedges, staining the deck, shoveling snow off the side walk, running errands, doing anything that classified as urgent and no one would pay you for. I’m the only one around here who’s got a real job. And apparently it’s not good enough. James was bitter and he knew it. His fellowship group had taught him that much. But a great deal of good it did him. He didn’t know what to do about it. Anyway, wasn’t it all his parent’s fault? How could he not be bitter until the cause for bitterness was removed? He grunted in self-approval of this conclusion and began to wander the house for signs of any member of his family or any of their sundry animals. James didn’t only have his parents on his case, but both his younger sister and older brother as well. His sister was constantly pressuring him to help her out financially and in order to do this (according to her) he either needed a better job or to marry wealthy. As if I needed any more prodding in that direction. Because James was single and of marriageable age it had become his job to “make it” for the entire family – aunts and uncles included. His older brother did not live with them, which gave James due cause for rejoicing every Sunday in church. But still his legacy remained and if James ever did not look penitent enough his brother was brought up in conversation so as to humble him even more and remind him of the duty he had yet to fulfill. Is it any wonder I don’t like this place? Still, although in a great many ways he absolutely despised it, it was still his home and seeing it so incredibly empty and still was more than James would ever wish on it. Any stiller and it would be a tomb.
James roamed the rooms taking note of what he found in each one. In the front hallway all the shoes and coats and random items being borrowed or loaned or “momentarily” set down were scattered as usual. The dining area and kitchen were in their normal state of disarray as well. Though, the range was in pieces, which was not normal. However, James attributed this to one of his mother’s cleaning sprees coupled with the over-exuberant and frequent assistance of his father. In the parlor the only odd feature was the presence of all the candles in the entire house on the great oak table almost as if a séance or cultic ritual were about to take place. Since James’ family were very traditional Baptist Christians, he found this hypothesis unlikely. What was the reason for the candles then? As he picked one or two up to inspect them further, James also noticed the matches. Strewn amongst the candles were broken matches, all unlit. How could someone succeed in breaking every single match he set his hand to? James was flummoxed.
He turned to leave the room and continue searching the house when something in the corner, beside his favorite reading chair caught his eye. It appeared to be a mark of some sort on the wall and it was plainly out of place, though it was hard to say why. James slowly approached it, his eyes riveted to the spot, his mind working and working to understand just what was so captivating and different about it. It was obvious, he was sure, and crucially important. He skirted the table, automatically stepping over lighters and strange looking sticks as if he were a mother entering her child’s room after a great Lego excursion. The mark drew him. But as he came nearer he saw it less as a mark and more as a protuberance. Yes, it was definitely not flat, it had depth. Not only that, but James could now see that it was not even attached to the wall at all. It was, in fact, a good several inches away from the wall. And it was resting on top of a candle. James had reached the armchair. He rested his hand on it to steady himself and in the process glanced down. What he saw horrified him: white on white. Not the usual shade of white, the brilliant color that reflects all colors, no. This was the absence of color that knew no color. James realized with horror what it was that was so special about the blob on the candle – it was yellow. It was the only color in a world suddenly devoid of color. The only reason he hadn’t realized it before was that all he saw was devoid of color, only when he had the ability to compare could he see the utter loss he had come to.
Despite these grim thoughts, James was again drawn back to the color. He could see now that it was actually connected to the candle, though it was difficult to say precisely how since the bottom of this thing was much thinner than the top and it was rather oblong and came to a point on the bottom. One would think it would fall over, but nay, it was precisely balanced. If anything, it looked like it was trying to escape from the candle. This troubled James for he almost thought that if it could escape it would come straight for him, pulling him into it and consuming him wholly. James took a step back, and then noticed that it wasn’t a pure or solid yellow. It was variegated and had the most delicious shades of orange all around and through it. Made all the more delicious by the void in everything surrounding it.
James was pulled from his contemplation by a resounding crash. His head snapped up and his body began to turn and move out of the room before his mind could even make up about where it had come from. He walked hurriedly in the direction of the garden. He did not want to run – not in this nightmarish world.
Part 2
“Come out of her, my people, so that you do not take part in her sins,
and so that you do not share in her plagues;”
Revelation 18:4b
James paid no attention to the rest of the house as he hurried to the source of the clamor. He reached the door to the backyard and paused with his hand on the door handle. What would he find on the other side? A sudden fear surged through his body finding an outlet in the pressure of his fingers downward on the handle. His body moved outward with the energy gained by the uncertainty of the situation. He stepped quickly outside and let the door shut with a bang behind him. As he looked around he was mildly surprised at the normalcy of everything he laid eyes on. Nothing seemed out of place. There was the white table with the four plastic chairs strewn around it. There was the young ash tree his father had planted quite recently. There was the assortment of balls and toys left by the neighbor kids.
As his eyes continued to scan to the right James noticed that the grill was lying in pieces as if it had recently been pushed over. He approached it warily, wondering who or what had caused it to fall. The lid was detached from the grill proper and the coals were spilt all over the ground. Something beneath the wreckage seemed quite un-grill-like, though it was difficult to tell with only the grey scale at his disposal. It looked like an animal of some sort. James picked up a broom that was lying nearby. He wasn’t going to confront anything empty-handed. He paused three feet from the wreckage and began poking with the broom handle. From this close he could see that it was much larger than an animal. He lifted the lid off the prone form and was able to discern the figure of a woman. Her hair was in a tangled mess and was currently covering most of her body, which, James realized, was why he had supposed her to be an animal at first. There was no sign of movement, so James knelt down and pressed his fingers against her wrist. As soon as he did so her eyes popped open and looked at him with, not alarm, but a sort of triumph.
“Oh! I’m sorry. I was just. Are you all right?” Spluttered James, completely taken aback by her demeanor considering the circumstances.
She said nothing, but gave a smile of smug contentment. She sat up and her hair fell about her, still the tangled mess it was when she had been prone. She was now holding James’ hand in her own. James felt a thrill unlike any he had felt before. It was not only sexual stimulation. He felt as if fulfillment was at last within his reach. It seemed like power emanated from this being and that simply by being with her, he too could partake of it. The woman began to lead James away and as she did so he thought he noticed something move within her hair but he didn’t take much notice of it, he was too intoxicated with the promise of control.
The mysterious woman led him away from the house and away from the solid, yellow flame, which had been haunting James’ vision since he first laid eyes on it. He was quite relieved to put as much distance between himself and the house as possible. When they reached the edge of the yard a dense fog moved in and nothing ahead or to the side was discernible but when James looked over his shoulder he could still see the house, the only distinct thing in the mist. What’s more, he almost imagined he could see into the house, through the walls and rooms to the candle with the unmoving flame. Even now it seeks to haunt me, thought James, annoyed, well, it won’t work.
With that he turned to his companion and in an act of defiance made to grasp her other hand. It wouldn’t have worked to walk that way, but he wanted to “show” the candle who was boss of himself and choosing to embrace the woman more fully seemed to be a way of doing that. As his hand sought hers it passed through her hair and he felt a sting, sharp and bitter. He withdrew with a cry of pain and was barely able to look at the wound before the woman gave him another haughty look, as if to assert her own superiority, and grasped his wounded hand with both of hers, squeezing it harder and harder. James wasn’t sure which was worse, the stinging from the pain or the realization that he wouldn’t be able to retract his hand from her vice-like grip until she chose to allow him to. The flame had been demanding, but at least it had allowed him to maintain control of himself. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of pressure, the woman released his hand and resumed her hold on his other, continuing on her winding way through the fog. James bit his lip to keep from crying out again. When he looked down he had been horrified to see that his hand was no longer a hand, but a mangled lump of hardened flesh. It more resembled a primitive sort of prosthesis than a healthy part of human anatomy.
Before James could analyze the state of his flesh any further a change of scenery suddenly demanded his attention. The mists had separated and he could see that they were walking through a forest path. At first it seemed to be raining because as they progressed James noticed the feel of water on his face and arms. However, he didn’t feel any pattering on his head and though he strained his ears, he couldn’t hear the fall of the rain on the trees above. It wasn’t until they came to a stop outside a clearing when James could see that the raindrops were suspended in air and they had been walking into the water. In his curiosity, James pulled his hand out of the woman’s and reached up to touch one of the stationary drops. As soon as he did so the woman shrieked. James looked up in shock, worried about the wrath he was about to suffer. But the woman wasn’t looking at him. She was scanning the clearing ahead of them. From ahead came an answering shriek, which made James think of vultures and carrion birds. Soon his suspicion was confirmed and from the misty woods ahead flew huge birds with beaks and claws made for tearing the flesh of animals and humans alike. Their faces were mangled and unlike those of other carrion birds James had seen.
The woman began chanting in a strange, harsh dialect. She raised her arms in front of her as if to welcome the newcomers, “Sarcoramphus, necrophagus, luetai, luetai, luetai.” James did not like the sound of that. He was not much given to ritual himself and his upbringing had fostered within him a deep suspicion of the occult. But still, he watched on. What was there for him to go back to the house for? He glanced behind him and was shocked to see the house still, peeking out behind the trees and shadows. It was like it was following him or something.
More noises from the clearing took his attention away from the persistent house. Several hunched over creatures had appeared since he noticed the arrival of the vultures. These he soon recognized as men. They approached the place where he was standing and knelt before the woman. She produced from out of the deep recesses of her hair a goblet, which had a dull gleam, and seemed as close to gold as grey could come. It had what surely were splendid jewels in a world with color but which, in the circumstances, looked like flashing steel. The writhing masses of her hair wriggled towards the chalice and spewed a steaming liquid, filling it to the brim. The venomous creatures retreated into the hair before James could get a good look at what had bit his hand, which had now lost all sense of touch.
The woman brought the cup to each man in turn, murmuring something as she did so. After taking his drink, the first man stood up and, walking past James, began a circuit of the clearing. As he passed James noticed a small bag swinging from his belt. It was the only distinguishing feature. As the rest began their circuits, James saw that all the men had such a bag. When all thirteen had gone through, the woman turned to James. He felt himself kneel under her steely gaze, though at this point he had decided he wanted nothing to do with this ritual or this woman. He was about ready to go back to the crazy house and take his chances with the flame. But just when he wanted to leave, he could not. The drink was being offered and now he could hear what she had been murmuring all along. “Ouai, ouai, e polis e megali, Bablyon e polis e isxura.” James had no idea what this meant, but the sorrowful tone, determined look, and venomous liquid was enough to make him resist for all he was worth. Still, the woman raised the cup and made as if to force it on him. James pressed his lips together and turned his face to the side.
As he did so, he caught a glimpse of the house and saw the flame, clear as could be, though still and unmoving. He concentrated his whole being on that flame, willing it to flicker, willing it to be alive once more for now he realized the meaning of the solid flame and the suspended rain. Time froze for all but himself and this strange woman, wherever she had come from. Perhaps she was the cause.
As James made these connections the men began to cease their circling of the clearing as a whole and closed in on James and the woman until they were pressing right up against him. Still, James concentrated on the house. Right as arms came down to turn his head toward the cup, a light flashed from the house and orange light zoomed towards them exploding into a fire on the very spot where the woman stood. She shrieked in pain as the fire consumed her flesh and one by one the men caught fire in the order they had drunk the potion.
James had not ceased to look at the house this whole time and felt himself being caught up in the flame as well. His right hand burned fiercely and he thought he would die. The numbing was gone and was replaced with a searing as the fire ate at his dead flesh, burning layer after layer until it reached a small, inner core, all that remained of the original hand. Then, something amazing happened. The outer dead flesh had fallen away and the small remaining core fashioned into a little white hand, like that of a child. James turned to look at it and as he examined it he realized that he was once again in the house and in the room with the flame.
The candles are gone as are the matches. The clock is ticking loudly on the wall. Color has returned to the world. The front door opens and James hears the sound of his parents conversing. He takes one last look at his hand and goes to greet them.
For all who do evil hate the light and do not come to the light,
so that their deeds may not be exposed.
John 3:20
Dans nos obscurités, allume le feu qui ne s’eteint jamais.
The End
No comments:
Post a Comment