short stories

Watcher

     To say I knew my mother would be dishonest. To say we were close would be dishonesty, and to say I miss her would be dishonest. 

     My mother was the kind of woman that lived a very private life. Private thoughts, private feelings, private worries. She would lock herself away for hours or days on end, and I could always hear mumbling to herself all hours of the night. The one thing my mother never kept private were her stories. Stories of a great battle between angels and demons, a battle that would take place between them and allow the winner’s king to rise and rule the planet. Maybe she was crazy… maybe I was crazier for believing them. No, she may have been more crazy than me. During one of her self isolations, she locked herself in the bathroom, screaming for hours about a supposed angel visiting her late at night and telling her a king of demon origin lived in her house, in her family, and she believed it was attached to me since I was such a problematic child. Of course, my father never did anything about it. He believed my mother was just rationalizing my bad behavior. She blamed me for my brother’s illness and death, and I suppose she was right.

     My brother was alway troubled. Jason talked to himself, said he could see people that no one else could and they kept trying to warn him about something in broken words and in another language he didn't recognize. He soon convinced himself it was a group of six fallen angels warning him about Armageddon in Aramaic. “They know the final outcome” he would say. “They know He’s here, in the house. He likes you. He wants you.” Shortly after deciphering their messages, he said they got louder. So loud, in fact, he couldn't hear anything but their voices. When he told me, I was going through a rough time of my own. I told him to go away and leave me alone, more like I yelled at him, actually. He needed help but I was too focused on myself to help him. Dad found him in the tub later that night, two hours too late.

     Mom always said the people he was seeing were brought in by me, because he didn't start seeing them till after I was born. It only got worse after that. She’d chain me to the floor in the basement, leaving me in the dark for days or trying to perform various kinds of exorcisms on me. No matter what new tactic she tried, I always passed out and woke up exactly the same. Over and over again, day after day, but I swear I always saw a man hiding in the shadows, just watching my consciousness slip away. Day after day, night after night, week after week, he was there. Eventually his presents extended beyond the dark basement. The grocery store, the gym, everywhere I went, I always saw that shadow of a man in the corner of my eye. 

     My mother died two days ago, my brother died two years ago, I turned 19 two months ago. After mom’s funeral, I started hearing footsteps. Two at a time every two hours. I saw on the news today that a group of people got into a fight that caused more destruction than humanly possible. Another in Cincinnati, and in New York, and in Philadelphia. The shadow man is directly behind me now, so close I can feel him almost touching me. I’m writing this in case my mother and brother were right. In case I really am connected to this thing that keeps following me. In case my brother’s angels were real and right. I’m scared…