"THERE ARE FEW THINGS LEFT UNEXPLAINED NOT ONLY IN TERMS OF GEOPHYSICAL, BUT BEYOND THE THINGS THAT WE'RE MOST LIKELY UNAWARE OF, PERHAPS IT'S BECAUSE OF THE LEISURE TIME THAT WE DON'T HAVE IN TERMS OF DEALING IT, OR EITHER IT'S BECAUSE WE'RE ONLY AFEARED TO WAKE UP FROM THE SWEETEST DREAM THAT TELLS US TO STAY,"
- SIR ALFRED
THERE'S ALWAYS DISAPPOINTMENT IN EVERY decision that I make. And the only option that I have is to keep the disappointments inside, knowing there's no good in making conflicts without facing the proper consequences.
Even though I was halfway insulted by whoever hid my belongings behind the portrait, I tried to ignore the panic and uneasiness that rose in my throat when I read the Book of Revelation, knowing that there was a quarter percentage that I was only mistaken. Perhaps I'm creating an assumption, but half of me urges my curiosity to grow larger.
I locked myself inside my room, putting the Bible on top of the wooden table as I placed my right hand on the pages. I read the lines again with the softest and lowest tone to avoid being caught because the person who hid it might have despised the idea of Religion. And the most thing that I feared was accusing either the maids or Mrs. Heathers.
"Mary Jane, if you love your momma, please stop praying."
What would've been the answer— I tried to flicker the book page by page. But the words inscribed are far from my scope and limitation of knowledge. The wonders inside my chest turn to deep sanity of thinking when the rain turns wilder and aggressive. I flinch when the sound of thunder startled the corners of my room. Turn boisterous and fearfully strong.
If red could answer all of my questions. How could it imply, according to its rule—I turned around when someone knocked on my door, hiding the Bible and rosaries before lying on my bed. I tried to calm my chest and shut my eyes tight closed, when the door creaked open, and the soft sounds of footsteps were heard, Followed by the hushed whispers of voices.
"She's asleep..."
"She's beautiful..."
"She's perfect too...."
"Did she know about...?"
"He likes this woman..."
"Don't come near her. She has the necklace."
My eyes opened, and I turned around, fear etched on my chest. The sudden breeze of cold air blinded me for a split second. When I opened the door, no one was standing; only the dull glow of chandeliers in the hallway radiating from the half-opened door, creaking and stopping abruptly.
I screamed, and my eyes welled up with tears. It took seconds for Mrs. Heathers and her father to come inside, followed by several numbers of maids, "what's happened?" Father asked, coming in front of me before holding both of my arms. I cried painfully, but Mrs. Heathers' face was fixed in a deep frown, looking under my bed before taking the bibles and rosaries that I hid, taking it before walking out of my room at her quick pace. Followed by the anxious maids.
"What will she do with it?"
"Hush, just lay on the bed and rest," he said soothingly. I stared at his blue eyes and nodded. I lay slowly on the bed, tamed fear beneath my sanity.
"Please don't leave me, Daddy," I said hoarsely, just like I had said sixteen years ago. I was only four years old, pleading for my father to stay.
It was cold and dark in mid-winter, and the skies were covered by smoke near the newest factory in our town. It was the setting of old London around 1910, the day when I was expecting to have a ballet performance in one of the most famous theatres near our state. I was too scared by then, locking myself inside my room when the muffled sounds of fighting and yelling were heard on the other side of the wall.
YOU ARE READING
The Seventh Deadly Sin
Paranormal"Are you afraid of demons?" "I spurn them," "Then, why are you here? In a school where devils raise their children." Mary Jane Heathers grew up in a Christian Foster Care, she was raised with prayers and sacraments. She almost dreamed of becoming...
