Remembering

The stars were glowing. Not in that depressing, shiny way, but in a more benign sort of way. Everything always looked more mellow and calm from this side of the hole in the wall. I turned around and looked back inside. Mama and papa sat at the table, drinking what they called 'wine.' An adult drink apparently; something i couldn't have till i was older. As hard as i tried, i could not forget the events of that evening. I had only barely escaped. I could still feel those sharp hands clasp my wrist. I could still hear the hound like breath that followed me. The fear began welling up again, as though he was coming to get me at that very moment. My lungs started shivering and tiny droplets of sweat began forming at the nape of my neck. I would not be able to sleep tonight.

I walked into my room and found Luke already asleep on his bed. The white tubelight was switched off but the yellow headlamp like lights of his bed side table lamp were still on, turned to face the floor. Bathed in the glow of this light was the book Luke had been reading before he sauntered off into dreamland. I picked it up off the flow and made to put it on his table. But instead i held on to it, switched off the lamp and walked over to my bed.

It happened in those few seconds of darkness. I felt a pair of red, blood red eyes boring into the back of my skull and penetrating through my brain like a laser. I felt the burly man behind me again and knew he was there, standing at the door, skull for a face, with long brown hair intact. The cold sweat congealed around my shoulder blades into thick ice. I threw the book at the door and jumped forward, groping in the dark for the switch to turn on my bedside lamp and extinguish the darkness.

Then came the scream. Loud and blood-curdling, yet child-like and innocent. Luke, he had Luke.  I couldn't take it any longer. Making a superhuman effort, i reached for the switch and flicked it, just as the door opened to add another o to this hullabaloo.

It was Papa. His entry was greeted by a flood of light from the lamp near my bed. He walked briskly to Luke's bed and put on his light as well. Luke was crying. "What's wrong, son?" he asked. Pushing back the tears, my little brother looked up and said, "Something hit me Dad." I blocked out the rest of the conversation and focused on Luke's bed where the book he was reading lay, the tell tale creases of the pages showing ever so prominently in the yellow light of the lamps.

The End

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