The BookMature

a Fathers worst nightmare

The Book
By William.J.Allison

         I remember it like it was just last night, the horror still fills my mind. Even as I lie dreaming the sounds, the smell, the atmosphere…it returns to haunt me, like some accursed wraith.

        It was three years ago, a stormy, windy night, so windy that the rain blew underneath the shingles of our mansion and came down upon our heads in the third floor bedroom. My wife, daughter and I decided to sleep in the second story spare rooms for the night.  Pheona, my daughter was given the one with the bed while my wife and I hunkered onto an old futon in the room across the corridor. Pheona, she was such a beautiful girl, long brown hair, tall, large eyes, small mouth accompanied by other girlish facial features.  It was late, I remember that clearly too and the noise the wind made, it was enough to make the long settled dust inside the house stir, like in all those ghost stories. Pheona couldn't sleep in the noise, and so she decided to read a book. When she showed it to me to ask if it was not one of my personal collection I read the title. "Ivy Vines: a tale of untimely demise" it read. I remembered that book, but not in the same way as I do now. I told her it was not one of mine, but that I remembered it and that it was poorly written and would be the death of her. Of course I meant this in humour…I could not have foreseen the event to occur later that night.
        Hours later, at five in the morning, I went to check on her, to see if she had finally gone to sleep. The wind had not died down, so much water had come in that my wife and I had stopped trying to save the carpets on the top floor. Instead we were building a wall of folded towels to prevent the water trickling down the stairs onto the floor below. My wife left to get more towels and I was left thinking. As I thought I felt an odd sense of foreboding, as though death's skeletal hands had just passed through me, leaving their stony chill within my heart. I turned and descended the stairs, the boards creaked with every step, I felt heat return to my body, and a cold sweat form upon by brow. I reached the bottom and turned down the corridor  and continued walking, I could not have walked slower, with such large strides had I  not been to terrified. I turned to the room my daughter was bunking in. I touched the handle. It was icy cold. A cold, colder than cold came over me, starting at my head and shooting like a lightning bolt to my feet. A chill draft files from under the door, like deaths breath, calling me to see his handy work. I turn the handle. It is cold and sticks with age. I push the door open a crack. A frigid draft escapes from the room beyond, this draft pierces my soul with dread. I fling the door open the rest of the way.

My daughter wakes with a start from her mild sleep. We stare at each other. There is nothing to say. I blow her a kiss, relieved. I remember thinking "fool, worked yourself up."  I remember how my nose began to twitch from the dust shot up from the speed with which I had opened the door. I sneeze and turn to leave. I hear my daughter sneeze as well. I bless her and say good night without turning back to her. She cries. I spin around. Blood is pouring from a clean slice in her jugular. I run to her and grab her. With some primordial instinct I plunge my thumb and index finger into her wound and clamp the artery with all my might. I cry for my wife to dial 911. I hear her clamour around on the level below. I gaze into my daughters panicked eyes. She stares into mine. The warm, red liquid flows down my arm. She tries to speak. But words wane into winces. The wind beats a branch against the window. Thump thump. I hold my daughter tight. My fingers still clamping the opened artery. I can feel her heart beating to the rhythm of the branch. Thump thump thump. Blood runs down my arm. blood runs onto he sheets of her bed.  Thump thump…thump. The blood pools. then runs onto the oaken floor. I can here it pattering.

Thump…thump…thump… the wind is louder. the heartbeat is softer. the branch is more vigorous. It crashes threw the window. Glass showers me and her  Pheonas' arms sink off of mine.

Thump…thump. Her hearts slows.

 I told her tightly. I hear my wife come crashing into the room. She stops. I do not see her. She screams. The wireless phones out of service message can be heard. I use all my strength in one final hug around Pheona, abandoning my clasp on her wound. She sinks unconscious onto my bloody lap. As I stare blankly into he space where her face had been, I notice the book, open, one single page covered in blood along the edge...

not a life experiance by author

The End

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