The Mandala Girl (COMPLETED)

Chapter 5

I was a mere two miles from home when the heavens unleashed their watery wrath upon the earth. Fat raindrops endlessly pelt my car, making it impossible to see out the front windshield. I switch my wipers to a faster setting, but the old blades struggle to keep up.

My iPhone beeps every few minutes, warning me it's almost out of battery life. I use my hand to blindly feel around for it in the center console while exercising care to not take my eyes off the blackened road. Shadows seem to leap out in front of my car, but I know it's my mind playing tricks on me. It doesn't help that my headlights do little to illuminate my surroundings.

After a few seconds of searching, my fingers brush against the phone's silicone case. I turn on the screen only to have my expectations confirmed: four percent battery life. And to make matters worse, I don't get a mobile signal out on this pastoral road. Here's to hoping that I don't get a flat tire.

I replay the day's events over again in my mind for what seems like the hundredth time. How did I lose track of time while at the festival? Was I standing in the field, motionless, completely hypnotized and unaware of my surroundings? Surely that wasn't the case. Someone would have noticed and snapped me back to reality, right? And those voices. Those haunting voices! It's almost as if I can still hear them echo in my mind, touching my eardrums with their ghostly fingers. But wait . . . that isn't my mind playing tricks on me. It really is them. They have returned!

The voices get louder and louder to the point of me wanting to bang my head against the steering wheel in hopes of silencing them. They're raspy, yet child-like, and they keep chanting that same word: Mandala! But something is different this time. There's a separate echo, another word that follows the previous one: Girl. Mandala. Girl. Mandala girl!

I hear a repetitive knock. More like a rattle. At first, it sounds as if it's coming from the engine compartment of my car. It wouldn't be the first time this clunker gave me problems. But after I listen more closely, I realize it's coming from inside the wooden chest. The rattling sound increases as if the paintbrush is attempting to break free from its wooden prison.

The voices continue to utter their hushed words, repeating them faster and faster with each one, causing my to brain feel like it will explode. As distressing as the voices are, there's also something alluring about them. It's like they're beckoning to me. I can't resist their call.

A green light leaks out from inside the chest, the rattling as active as ever. The light grows in intensity, bathing the inside of the car in a green glow. For whatever reason, there's a strong urge for me to open the chest. My curiosity is at an all-time high. I have no idea what kind of waywardness will happen, but I've suddenly lost the ability to care. I want to open it. No. I need to open it!

I lay a hand on the chest's lid and thrust it upward. There lays the paintbrush, rattling against the interior walls of the chest like it's preparing to launch itself skyward. The green light pours into my eyes forcing me to squint. It's magnificent. I feel so . . . tranquil.

The sound of my tires sliding across the rumble strips of the road yanks me from my trance. I swerve back onto the road, but it's too much. The asphalt is wet. I skid. My heart leaps to my throat. The tires lock up. A screech. A flip. I feel weightless. The black world around me swirls and swirls. I'm jerked around in my seat. A boom. My head slams against the side window. Intense pain. Pressure swells thereafter. My eyes flutter closed.

Mandala Girl . . . Mandala Girl . . . Mandala Girl . . .

* * *

I wake to the crack of thunder; my eyes snapping open in shock. My chest trembles as the deep rumble booms across the night sky. It takes my hazy vision a moment to clear up, but I soon realize I'm in my bedroom safely tucked beneath the thick sheets of my bed. How did I get here? Did that mysterious chest have something to do with it?