/yesod

Tag: voice

  • hereditary

    Sitting at the dinner table, my daughter suddenly turns and looks over her shoulder.

    “What’s wrong?”

    She turns back around. “That was weird,” she says. “I heard someone say ‘Yeah’ behind me.”

    We go on with our dinner and I make a mental note to talk with my wife.

    We’re starting to see more activity around the house. There’s a little bell in my head ringing, signaling that our daughter might become the focus for it.

    I also can’t help wondering if, somehow, this is inevitable for her. If this thing I’ve carried for so long might turn out to be hereditary.

  • a voice on the wind

    Coming home late tonight, long after midnight…

    As I was walking up the driveway, a few stray flurries of snow in the air around me…

    I stopped.

    A voice, far off . . . one word, harsh and cold and drawn out breathless like the frigid night air.

    My name.

    Not my real name. The name I grew up with, what I was born with. The name no one calls me anymore.

    I wait, listening.

    Nothing.

    Fair enough, I think to myself as I head inside. You can get back to me when you’re ready.

  • fragments

    …a long bodied cat, muscular and lean, stalks through the room — insane eyes, gaping mouth drooling as it swivels its head from side to side . . . its long gray fur matted and ragged, trailing after it in the air…

    …I turn and see the electrical plug floating in the air before my face, the cord dangling. With a start, I snatch it from the grasp of the unseen hand and shudder.

    I lay it down on the bedspread and turn to the nightstand. When I turn back the plug is floating there again. I dart my hand out and grab where the wrist would be, feeling something unseen struggle against me.

    I let it go, fascinated and supremely creeped out. Objects on a nearby shelf rattle as something passes around the room. The lamp overhead swings and I can see, in my mind’s eye, something there circling overhead — a faceted, multicolor crystalline rat. Waves of malign hate pour off of it.

    I command it to appear, my voice full of authority and strength.

    Unable to disobey, the creature shimmers into view — altering its form, taking a friendly cartoon shape as though made out of balloons.

    I grasp it in one hand and command it again, demanding it shed its false form and reveal itself for what it truly is.

    It struggles against my hand and the slow pull of my voice, drawing it out, forcing it into a form I recognize…

    … I wander through the modular home, amazed that I’d forgotten we bought it just in case the new house didn’t work out. And in the back bedroom something terrible and sad lies under a sheet on the top bunk…