SHORT STORY: SOMETHING ANCIENT

FROM THE AUTHOR: This is a true story, one of my own haunting experience. Practicing my creative writing skills. I have been writing for almost as long as I have been alive, and since I first learned to write a proper paragraph in elementary school. This I create today, comes from my reality but an alternate reality for some. Thank you for reading!

“Come, put on your nightgown. You should never be naked when you sleep.” Mammy whispered while she dressed me and tucked me under my favorite blanket. I never slept without my favorite blanket or pillow. Without my shield and dagger, which those items represented to me as such, I could not fight of the visitors.

“God don’t like nudity,” My mother whispered again, “It should be shame that is felt when you gaze upon your own body, stay covered.” She gently tucked me under the blanket and patted my tummy. “Let us say the lord’s prayer and then Psalm 23.” We both recited the lord’s prayer, chanting it in unison, my voice a pitch higher than her own. While we chanted to the Christian God, I was also saying another prayer in my mind to that same God. Please God, don’t make me be touched and talked to by anything while the night rose. Please keep me safe from harm. I squeezed my eyes tight until tears welled up in the corners of my little child’s eyes, but mammy had not seen the tears. I hid all my horrors, all by myself without anyone to help me, but God.

“Alright, when two or more are gathered, God hears our prayer.” Mammy believed that whole heartedly. I tried to believe it too, my childlike understanding still wished for good and fairytale like adventures, but the night rose to some things that were more…sinister. My mother got up from my bedside, approached my room door. Opened and closed the door behind her and I focused as much as I could on her footsteps leaving me behind, walkine down the hall to her own bedroom. I sighed, very loudly. Not because I was relieved or secure, but because I had to fight again.

Sleep came to creep up on me before I can brace myself for anything else. My mind was set on the task that will surely come, but my body was tired from all the games and playing I did all day. The night was different. Why must I be afraid of the night. What I have learned of night has made me afaid of it. Terrified, really. The window brought light in my room, a steady illumination. It should have been comforting, unfortunately, it was not. As sleep took me and I dreamt away, A lowly black mass began to collect itself near the wall beside my bed. Slowly accumulating, and as it did so the sound that came from this mass was of flesh tearing. Pushing itself forward from whereever it emerged, It began to form a head of the carcus of a bull and it wore the dark sludge that was it’s body as though it was a dress. The darkness of its sludge was darker than the darkest corner in the room, where light could not reach. This entity bore no human attributes, nothing about the thing was of this earth or reality. Mammy would call it a Jumbie. In caribbean culture a Jumbie is a monster or mischieveous spirit. It did not come from a dead person like ghosts. It is believed that jumbies can harm you.

While the Jumbie came to visit for a while, I slept undisturbed. After this horn adorned mass completed its materialization in this plane, it watched me as I slept. Though it had no eyes in that bull skull, it concentrated with intensity, on my small body under my shield, my blanket. To my horror, it was still there when I finally opened my eyes at the dead of night to look upon it. I was startled by this being, but have come accustomed to strange entities visiting me during the night. At first, I could not take my eyes off of it…this bull skull, which with its dark mass below it, seemed like it was floating on its own. In my life, at that time, I have never seen anything that I could describe was like it. I was so shaken with bewilderment, I threw my blanket over my head hoping that it would deter this thing from coming towards me. Perhaps it would leave, because my blanket shield would keep it at bay and it would vanish back to wherever it came. Out aloud, I chanted my secret prayer, over and over again. God would come protect me, that was the idea. How much more protection would I need to be free from this curse!

It still haunts me today. I am still here to tell the story.

Nightmare: Viscious And Woke

Most of my life, I have been plagued with nightmares. Sometimes daily. This “nightmare” I just woke from an hour ago, but I still feel as though it is not done with me. The fear is so real that even now as I write these bothersome things to the internet, just to rid my mind. So come bare the load for me. I need to take it out of my consciousness and provide someone, at this point anyone that may care, the dark and dreaded corner of my subsciousness that haunts me in wake and sleep.

At first it was a struggle to sleep, since my mind was busy with failure and heartache. I wanted to sleep my worries away, sometimes my dreams can be a more than pleasant reasoning away for the “wake” reality that I step into, sometimes endless. Instead, I chanted a meditation spell and envisioned painting a sun with acrylic paint colors of orange, red, white and yellow. Strangely, I must have finally drifted…because I found myself abruptly waken to darkness. Delivered to the darkness of the room, I groggily sat up in bed and made motions to get out of the bed. The darkness was still there, but it was a dark, dark blue darkness staring back at me. It had no eyes, but it stared right through me as a sat at the edge of my bed. I sat frozen, paralyzed in fear when I realized I wasn’t actually in my room. It was another room, one from my childhood, but the bed I slept in was still the twin sized bed I sleep in every night. And that is when I realized…I’m dreaming…or nightmaring? The dark, dark blue darkness with no eyes, hands or feet, was at the bedroom door, perpendicular to where I now stood in the opposite end of the room. I was terrified. I was so mortified that I held my own throat with both hands, because I couldn’t scream as the dark, dark blue darkness came hurtling at me. Instinctively, I still gripped my throat. “What’s the matter voice, have I lost you.” I heard. It wasn’t from the thing that rushed me, it was from around me. Someone wanted to shut me up. No time for thoughts, because this time, the dark, dark blue was up in my face inspecting me with no eyes and this time I could see it for what it was up close. A monster.

Then, I woke up again. Startled by the nightmare I just had, I jolted awake. My god, that was terrifying and I thought I couldn’t, wouldn’t get out. So, I shook it off, but before I got to sit up in the bed of my dark room, in the dim light of my computer screen was a white egg the size of the Walmart variety egg in the dairy section. The egg was right where my tummy was as I laid on the left side of my body. I only lifted my head from my pillow to look at it in the dimly lit room. I looked around and I was still in my room where I slept. Curious, I propped myself up, still lying on my side to look at this thing that I was sure was not there when I fell asleep. I wouldn’t have an egg in the bed with me. It could break…I reached for the egg to feel it, gingerly. The egg was very white, even in the dark glow of the computer in the room. This is when the realization came that I was in a dream again. Waking from one nightmare into another illusion of my mind. While I held the egg, unconsciously I used the force of my fingers to crush the egg in that one hand and my hand was cut by all the pieces of the eggs shell…though the egg was hard boiled!

Another jolt, sitting up in the bed this time, with my heart racing and my eyes moving to all corners of the room. Still the dark glow of the computer screen. The computer screen had a picture of my sisters and myself, all staring back at me. Stories in their eyes. I caught my breath, comforting myself, which was self taught. I wondered about the dream, what was that about? I got up to go use the bathroom. Looking in the mirror only for a second before I plopped down on the toilet to pee. The relief of the streaming of these life fluids soothed me further. Once complete, wiping myself to then turn to the sink to wash my hands. No soap. Damn. I looked up to see myself in the mirror. To my surprise, there was nothing. No image at all. Just water running from the sink, hot and steaming the bottom portion of the mirror. At first I was so stunned I just stood there… I could feel my eyes widening but couldn’t see them for proof that they were probably bulging in disbelief! My consciousness began to fabricate reasoning at this point, as I panicked. No image in the mirror, oh shit! Outside of my head, at this point, I began palming the mirror, then scraping the mirror with my nails and fingers. Trying to tear through the irrationality that I was not there…I was not there at all. Then, in my panic and horror I started to beat upon the mirror. Pounding on it, but it had not broken, just bending like mirror and plexiglass hybrid. Then, something emerged. Something crawled from the corner of the mirror before me. It was something…something I have never seen in my life, but it was the cross of a slug larvae and spider so massive as though it was almost half my body. Black purple skin and the larvae parts had something withering under its skin. I screamed and sat down on the floor by the sink, out of the view of the mirror. I was shaking and frightened hoping it had not seen that I saw it was coming…oh god. For moments it seemed, I just sat and waited, sat and waited for an eternity. At this point, nothing rushed me or attacked. I got on my knees in front of the sink and peered up at the mirror. The creature was halfway through the mirror…it seemed to be coming from another dimension, a frightening scene as it slowly pushed its way through to my side of the world. It’s spider’s appendages, the pedipalps, were eagerly reaching for me and I fell back on my bottom, then quickly leapt to my feet. My body was up against the bathroom door and as soon as I had an opportunity, I grabed for the door knob, flung the door open and ran, but not before I felt a deep, sharp and painful slice across my back!

Awaken again…this time no jolt, just clear pain. Pain in my heart like the beating of my heart was a ticking bomb. Awaken to pain. Pain in the chest. Before I could open my eyes, I felt my chest. I could not feel my breasts. They were numb…that scared me awake. My eyes fluttered open in deep protest of my body. My mind left me tired even from sleep. What could ease my mind from the horrors? The horrors in sleep and in this reality? This time it was realtime, where you and me are on opposite ends of this computer screen. Me writing, you reading. Hoping you can understand why I needed to share this with you.

Disclaimer: This nightmare crawled out my ear and onto this post by my own doing. All photography and original art for this post was created or captured by Hetheru Mer Djehuty.

This is an original and was written and copyrighted by Juana M. Gumbs. All rights are reserved by her.

Brief Narrative: IT ROTS IN THERE…

It was said that Malisa’s grandmother, Irene, was a witch and that she dealt with majic that was treacherous and unnatural. Irene would gather in secret sessions with other men and women with similar dealings in her small hut, behind her home. It was rumored that she would summon bad luck and creatures to swallow souls of anyone she deemed a threat to her or her family. The majic of many was born in those secret sessions. Majic from all of Africa. Not that majic in Africa is dark or evil, no. Not all majic was bad, but Irene only wanted it as dark and as black as the space between stars. During these sessions, the majic they conjured would emit an odor of burnt wood, decay, putrefaction and they would say, “it rots in there…”

The remembrance long past, but it lasts and lasts.

The church itself was made of stone, that was laid, between them was cement. I recall the smell of Frankincense and Myrrh and Ms. Ana’s dewy floral perfume as she rocked in her seat before the service began. As a twelve-year-old, I felt helpless and uneasy being that this was my very first funeral. For comfort, I invited Malisa, my best friend, to lay her head on my shoulder. Ms. Ana, Malisa’s mother, slid her eyes close, humming the tune that the congregation sung at the time. “How great though art…” they sung, their voices rising and falling throughout the hymn. The funeral began without mourners want or permission. The catholic priest, Father Mitchell, came down the aisle first dressed in his robes. Malisa’s mother stood up, but her knees buckled, and her forehead beaded with sweat. Mr. Ben, Malisa’s father, along with his brothers emerged from the back of the church to accompany the dark blue coffin that entombed their beloved mother. All five men surrounded the casket, walking solemnly alongside it with their hands at their sides.

I was moved to emotion when I saw how this event affected my best friend. Malisa was usually the brave one between us, my protector at school when anyone would trouble me. She would defend me better than I could myself. So, I vowed to be there for her and attend the funeral to support her. She was my very best friend. I was brave for her now. Unfortunately, she had not had a relationship with her grandmother.

It was said that Ms. Ana was not favored by Irene. Malisa’s grandmother was very vocal about her distaste when Ms. Ana and Mr. Ben first made known that they were in a relationship. She worked hard to sway the union in other directions. When that did not work, she used unconventional customs in order to divide the two lovers. When Malisa’s oldest sibling, Castiano, was born he was tormented in his crib nightly, up until the age of five. His parents took him to doctors to find out what was making him cry with violent fits from the day he was born. Even the doctors did not know why. They said he was having night terrors. Then her second to eldest sibling, Arthur was born, but he was blind and deaf. The third child was born, Leslie who was a bright and beautiful addition to the family. As she became older, they noticed that her hair began to fall out on her head, brows and even eyelashes. Ms. Ana was convinced that her children was all cursed by Irene. She was so convinced, after she gave birth to Malisa, she had not shown Irene the child or allowed anyone to touch or take photos of the child. This saved her though, because she had no ailments or defects.

As the years passed, Mr. Ben was still close to his mother and she was also able to manipulate his emotions and actions. Ana and Ben’s relationship suffered from infidelities and abuse. Irene would spin stories and give a driven purpose to Ben to put Ana in her place. She even whispered lies into her sons ears and passed off deceptions to cause conflict between the couple. The children also suffered from these quarrels and disagreements.

Now, we are witness to Irene’s funeral. There were many mourners, some bawling, distressed and saddened. Ms. Ana eyes were wide and frantic as they opened the casket so that mourners can view the deceased. Viewers lined up, perhaps to see if the death was credible being that many believed her a mighty and powerful woman in her possession of majic, black majic. Other family members and mourners crossed themselves as they got in front of Irene and then quickly moved on, back to their seats while whispering to other mourners. Finally, Ms. Ana looked at us beside her, held Malisa’s face and kissed her forehead which was still wet from holy water. Then she whispered to us, “we will go to view the body, it cannot hurt you now. Don’t be afraid. She cannot hurt you now.” I was afraid…I have never met Irene before, especially when she was alive.

On the way down the aisle, we walked holding hands to comfort each other. Malisa was not crying but she was deeply saddened. Ms. Ana was steady with her footsteps towards Ms. Irene’s casket, where her body laid. She looked like she was sleeping, I thought. Her loosely curled silver-gray hair was shiny and styled with ringlets around her caramel colored face. To me, she seemed like she was alive, but just sleeping in her royal purple dress with frills. Her hands were clasped in front of her, with her fingers mingled together. Irene’s lips were the color of a blushing pink and her eyelashes curled. We all sighed…not sure why, but Ana said, “I’m relieved. Rest in peace.” Then she made the sign of the cross and she quickly left to go back to our pew. Malisa and I running to catch up behind her. As soon as the funeral was over, the burial site was ready and waiting to accept her. The undertaker ensuring that the casket was lowered to its destination.

All family and friends followed to the home of Ana and Ben to mourn the deceased. Her children thanked guests for attending and bringing food and comfort. All the little children and teens our age gathered and played scrabble and card games. Some of the teens Malisa knew as her cousins. She never met her cousins before. Because her mother believed that Irene was a witch that cursed her and her family, her children was not allowed to meet and play with her cousins. Until today. Ana said to us in the car on the way home, that any majic that Irene placed on others would cease after she was buried. Hearing that, Malisa and I just looked at each other.

The remembrance long past, but it lasts and lasts.

Later that evening, Ms. Ana drove me home. Malisa stayed behind because she was not feeling well. I was curious and asked Ms. Ana, “Why were you afraid at the funeral?” She smiled, then she was serious immediately after. “You do not understand. Irene…Ms. Irene, never liked me. She did some terrifying things to me and my family for years. I was afraid of her. Now, well, she has passed on and we are blessed to have probably, better luck.” I replied, “Oh, okay.” Looking back, I didn’t understand at that time, what she meant. But what happened next terrified me to my core. When I looked at Ms. Ana as she drove, behind her head was the head of a familiar smoky figure, wearing a semblance of a royal purple dress with frills. The figure had an icy smile that was clear as the day bright. Chills ran through my body, I looked away immediately shaken. Ms. Ana had not noticed a thing. She continued driving. I dared to look again, behind Ms. Ana’s head where I saw the specter. It was still there this time; the figure became more solid the longer I looked until I could see the bulging eyes with irises pitch black and the facial features as though Irene was coming more alive before me. The curls and ringlets about her head, the blushing pink lipstick against gnarled lips, with browned teeth revealed. I closed my eyes and squeezed them so tight tears rose up and gathered at the corners of them. “What is wrong, Laura?” Asked Ms. Ana. I never opened my eyes to look.

I screamed.

A Brief Narrative – The Library

Couldn’t it get much colder than it already was? The air splashed upon her face in amazing gusts, one after the other as she walked on the sidewalk towards the campus library. She held herself even tighter, closer within her jacket’s limits, in hopes of lessening the shudder that crept from her lower back up towards the stem of her neck. Tears welled up in her eyes, cold weather always caused pain, and besides, her tears would freeze-dry on her lids and tingle painfully, she knows. She struggled across the campus in search of its library. She knew where it was, but rather forget its location for fear of it. The single motivation that stood is to arrive in time for a group meeting. It was essential for her to be present mainly because she had not met with the group the past two times they met before. At the moment, her hands became numb and she worked hard to heat them against her cream turtleneck sweater she wore under her brown woolen jacket. The warmth became immense as she hustled along the steps that led to the twin doors of the library.

The Library, a 151 year old relic of a three-story high edifice, with a built-in creepy ass basement bathroom was not the “buzzing with life” scene on the campus. People only shuffled in and out when certain assignments were given and professors would make up reasons to send students there so that the library would be utilized. Throughout the years, stories have circulated about the library, mostly, not good ones. Being that she was a college freshman, seniors would pass stories on during orientation week. There was mention that there were wooden floors that creaked too much, deafening silences in the study only room on the top floor, and even the feeling that you are being watched, intensely. Many would not frequent beyond the second floor or even use the elevator, which was an addition to the building three decades after it was built. She did not know if the stories were true or a figment of the imagination from a few students hopped up on stimulants…

“Glad you can finally make a meeting,” the leader of the assignment group, Garret said sarcastically. He smirked at the other members, then met her gaze with slit eyes, while she made no attempt to acknowledge his greeting. It was rather ironic that he wore a plaid shirt with yellow, blue and green strips, which bore somewhat of an annoying nature for the eyes. The other members eyes shifted back and forth and everywhere else except meeting the attention of their leader. Nothing else was said and the discussion continued abruptly about topics, preparations and the presentation of nuclear weaponry, how they are used and so forth. Out of no whaere the leader, Garret looked in her direction.

” What’s your name again?” he asked her.

She responded, “Shay”.

She focused her attention on him now, “yes, shay…would you present our research to the class?” She wanted to be honest and frank, “no,” but instead, since Shay was totally lost and needed direction. “Yes,” she answered after much hesitation. “Well, actually, can you excuse me for a few minutes?” He sighed, “Okay”.

Shay quickly got up from her seat, but stumbled on her chair in her haste, and fell over her seat. Someone in the group snickered, but Shay continued to scramble up and away to the stairs at the far corner of the room that lead to the downstairs bathroom. Downstairs to the basement she went. Down, down, down and down the hallway, sobbing from embarrassment. Down to the bathroom at the very end of the hallway, dead end. Once inside, she notices that much of the items in the bathroom is outdated. Outdated toilet, faucets and mirrors, perhaps installed in the last century. Everything was outdated, except the bright red door that was on the other end, opposite the entrance…This door was closed at the time, and the cubicles where the egg-shell colored toilets sat silently, all were slightly ajar. She looked in the first cubicle and locked it immediately once she got in. The red door was freshly painted…she noted to herself. The handle of the door was the color of iron, dark gray and cold. Shay quickly used the toilet and listened as the sound of her urinating echoed in the empty bathroom. When she was finished she got up and out of the cubicle, walking towards the bathroom mirrors and sinks to wash her hands and return to the torturous group discussions.

The basement bathroom was eerily still the whole time she occupied its space. She checked her face, turned on the faucet to splash some water on her skin and eyes to liven herself up before she reentered the first floor of the library. The water ran cold for quite a while before it warmed up, but she was patient with its progress. Glancing at the mirror, she noticed something move around the ceiling of the bathroom and above the toilet cubicles. It seemed more like something dark, but shadow-like scurried across the roof, upside down. Whatever it was seemed like it crouched similar to a spider, except it was the size of a small human child. Shay shook off the sight as her eyes must have picked up a shift in lighting that caused the effect. She then continued to adjust her clothing while she was looking in the mirror and heard shuffling beside her, near the red door. The shuffling sound became louder when she acknowledged its presence, coming in her direction, is sounded sharp on the tiled floor, which was also egg-colored tiles. She looked around frantically to see what could make these sounds but nothing physically was to be seen by her eyes. The scratching or shuffling sound came closer, closer to her and she raised her arms to her chest in anticipation of a blow from something invisible. But instead she heard the door knob on the red door turn and release and it was slightly open revealing darkness from within. From the angle she stood, she saw lots of dust, with just an equal amount of darkness. She stood there with her arms down by her sides…unable to lift them up at all. There was a pull towards the door and it beckoned to her. Her body she found could not run or move against this control and as she was forced to walk in a march towards the bright red door she could now see darker shadows make their way back and forth in the darkness. Tears quickly rose in her eyes and overflowed down her cheeks because this was the only function that she could control at her own will. Then closer and closer she went until there was nothing, not even Shay to be seen when the red door closed behind her.