They both sat down at the table,
which was crammed into the kitchen-dining-room at an odd angle, along with most
of our other furniture.
“So what happened Sara?”
“I was attacked by thirteen evil
I said in a flat tone, knowing that I
sounded like someone that should be bound in a strait-jacket and locked in a
Dad looked amused, and mom started
laughing hysterically, all concern for my injury forgotten.
“Very funny Sara. Now please, tell us
what really happened so that we can see how badly you were hurt.”
Mom said, still laughing.
“No, seriously, there are thirteen
angels up there, fourteen, if you count the dead one lying in the haystack!”
I told them, knowing that I was
sounding more insane every word I spoke.
“Sara, we know that you love your
reading and writing, and all that horror-fantasy stuff, but you need to know
the difference between fiction and reality. Now please just explain what
happened. We can’t help you if you won’t co-operate.”
Dad reasoned gently.
“I’m telling the truth! I swear!”
I was close to tears again. I knew
they wouldn’t believe me, but couldn’t they just hear me out?
“Look, come with me and I’ll show
I said desperately. I didn’t want to
end up sitting in the school counsellor’s office, being given a talk on knowing
the difference between reality and fantasy. This wasn’t fantasy. This was the
most extreme form of psychological horror, brought to life.
Mom and dad sighed, exchanging
long-suffering looks, and agreed to come and look at the angels.