I still remember the shrieking sound of his voice in my head. I had never wanted to rid myself of a sound as I did that night.
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There was something peculiar yet welcoming about the man as he knocked on our door. The sound echoing until it reached the end of the long dark corridor where the lightning cast shadows against the old paintings on the wall. He had arrived late in the afternoon, just as the sun went down and the moon was becoming visible behind the furious lightning storm. He was soaking wet and cold – the rain had just began to flood the bridge across the river like it does every winter – and asked to stay the night at our house as he was on his way to visit his family.
The thunder was terribly loud against the silence of the old house. Yet nothing could compare to the VOICE. Normally I’d be happy to have company in my head. I had gotten used to its low husky voice telling me what to do and had missed it quite a lot when it went quiet. I used to feel very lonely when it left. Once I had wanted a sibling, a sister, but I knew it was impossible. Mother could never go through what she had to go through with me again. Even if Father didn’t do anything to the new baby – having to revive one child was enough for one mother. But it's not really her fault; it's my father's fault! He killed me! He did this to me!
I had wanted to obey it but the cold shivers running up and down my back told me that I could fight it. That I didn't have to do something so morbid! So horrendously wrong! Yet I wasn't sure if I believed it. Night became day, and the voice became more and more persistent. If I sat at my desk, it would scream at me to grab the scissors – fast and easy – just aim at the heart. If I looked at my bed, it whispered that I should wait till night and use my pillow – nobody would even know what happened – it wouldn’t even leave a mark. It told me not to speak to the man or to even look at him – that I would become too attached. Still, I watched him in his room through my bedroom window as he unpacked his bags and set a delicate silver picture frame with an image of his children on the bedside table.
For the rest of the afternoon, I could just see his head from my window as he wrote at the desk in his room. You could tell he was writing something nice, probably to his family, as he smiled the whole time. This made me sad and angry. The voice was angry as well. Telling me not to watch him. Feeding me as much hate as possible until my head felt as if I had just been beaten with a hammer! But I still could not hate the man; I could only hate it. The voice! When night came again, the rain had become so heavy that each drop was like a white spark falling from the sky and was so loud it blocked out the sound of the dripping of water from a few places in the ceiling. The moon was no longer visible, yet the amount of light that came from the lightning strikes was enough to light up the entire valley on the other side of the river.
The moment the man had fallen asleep, the voice urged me to move through the lifeless corridor towards the man’s room. I opened his door all the way, although I was scared that the man might wake up. He moved a lot in his sleep and kept mentioning two names. I imagined they were the names of the people in the picture on the bedside table. I sat on the other side of his bed facing the grey mouldy wall paper and imagined what it would look like if it was me and my family in the image. As soon as the thought came into my mind, I dismissed it, though. I could imagine a picture with my mother. But my Father? Never. He would rather die! Or kill me. But that was impossible now because Father knows the voice, the devil would just seek revenge against him. I suddenly needed to get out of that room! I run outside, quietly shutting the door again and for once, I was so frustrated with my own life that I let myself be guided by the voice’s instructions.
It was dark and humid in the barn. I sat down directly in front of a few bottles of acids. I stared at them for a while – and I thought about poisoning the man. As if reading my mind, it said yes. Plead with me to do it! Told me that my life would be instantly better if I did it! It was too painful though… I imagined a man standing right where I was, holding a new born baby in one hand. Dusty bottle in the other hand – pouring the metallic silver liquid into the innocent child. Me.
Then I realized what I actually wanted more than anything. What I needed. I had to finish what my father started! I had to rid myself of the voice! I grabbed one of the dusty bottles and opened the lid. The smell was overwhelming yet it was the most confident I had felt since the man had arrived. Everything was clear. I was focused. The voice, not knowing what was happening – or perhaps knowing exactly what was happening – stopped talking at me. The new silence was welcoming. Yet as I was carrying my shaking hands towards my mouth, I just couldn’t do it. The bottle slipped from my sweaty hands and hit the floor making an incredibly loud cracking sound. I was paralyzed in that spot for a second – watching as the liquid ran across the floor in abstract shapes. Then it began to speak again – just soft whispers. Ordering me to listen to it.
I was tired and confused. Unsure as to what life wanted from me. I needed some guidance, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear where it – the voice – was guiding me. I turned and looked at the rest of the barn; shadows stopped me from making out shapes on the wall – except from one object. One object that yelled at me to grab it – almost as loud as the voice did. I grabbed the heavy axe and slowly walked back towards the house, dragging it behind meand leaving a path on the long wet grass. Once I got to the house I was soaked in sweat yet I started feel a terrible guilt that was creeping all over me. Without even thinking I dropped the axe and sat on one of the steps, and put my hands over my ears as if that was the remedy for the yelling in my mind. I didn’t want to obey it; I didn't want to listen to the aggressive orders it through at me! What would Mother think of me? She would be shocked! Like always, she would only blame herself. Why did she do this to me? – why! – could this life be better than death? – No – death was better than the constant pounding in my ears; the terrible sound I will never be able to rid myself of! But then why didn’t I do it – kill myself? It could have done it so easily…
I didn’t want to think. To listen to anything other than the sound of the rain on the roof of the house. I didn’t want to feel anything – anything other than the cold wind against my wet clothes. I hit my head on the brick wall – wanting the sound to stop. But not even the aching in my head and the warm blood now dripping down my cheeks could stop it. It was getting more and more aggravated every step I took towards his room. I remember everything very clearly, how I just walked into his room making as little sound as possible. The curtains were opened yet I could just make out the silhouette of his body against the dark room. The floor creaked as I approached him, forcing tears down my face. What if the man woke up now? – And saw me with an axe in his room! Mother would be furious with herself… With the devil that brought me back to life... With my father who killed me!
And then I was so angry I no longer cared. With energy I didn’t even know I possessed I swung the axe at his head! Blood stained the sheets and the floor but I instantly felt relieved as the voice in my head finally went quiet. I made sure that the man was well and truly dead then I threw the axe on the floor next to his bed, and gave the man a kiss on the cheek. I could taste blood in my mouth as I whispered good night to the man, but I knew it was my own so it didn’t bother me. I was finally free! And I would never miss it again! I quickly walked out of the room, leaving the door open, and walked out of the house. The grass was cold and wet. But it felt great against my body as I lay down and looked up to the vivid red full moon right above me.
