Watched (ONC 2021)

Image by Chantal Garnier from Unsplash

***

Despite my better judgement, I drove to the park. There were no children playing on the log structures or scaling the rock wall. No couples cuddled on the benches, nor parents fighting screaming toddlers into their car seats. Just the dark shadows of trees swaying in the wind. I parked in the middle of the lot and turned off the engine.

I could sense my mother's jasmine perfume and the gentle swish of the long sweater vests she used to wear before her voice reached my ears.

You're mature enough now to learn what truly happened the night my soul was taken from my body, taken from you. After what you've survived with the statue, it's important you understand these spirits' powers. Are you ready, Winnie?

Was I? I'd fought against voices and odd sensations my entire life, exercising, eating healthier, training with yoga and meditation to have control over my mind and body. To feel normal. If I gave in now, would I suffer my mother's fate?

My fate is not what you remember. Don't let that steer your thinking. You'll never be free if you're running from your past and blocking out what transpired.

How many forced smiles and assurances had Mike given me when the topic of my family came up? How could I, if it were still possible with the accusations possibly directed at me, become a father when I considered shunning my mother or what my mind was manifesting as her? Maybe I had memories.

I exhaled a shaky breath that pinballed in my chest before escaping.

Show me.

The world faded into a room with air thick like molasses and scented with potpourri dish mixed with a hint of metal. Smoke rose from an incense stick that burned in a golden stand. The windows had cardboard pressed up against them and a bloody animal part rested on a coffee table. On a fringed rug, my mother sat cross-legged, her hair flowing down her back. Her fingers swirled in the red liquid near the meat.

"Mom!" my young self yelled out.

"Winnie, please keep your voice down," she whispered. "You're just in time, shut the door."

"No, you need to stop." My nine-year-old feet stomped around the room. I blew out a candle in the golden candelabra and pulled the cardboard from the windows.

Her vest swished and soon her soft hands encased mine, leaving red lines. "It's the last time, I promise. I must keep you safe."

"Why won't you listen to dad? You'll hurt someone following those voices."

"Your father doesn't understand. But I know you do." She took my face in her sticky fingers. They smelled like metal. "You see them too."

I shook out of her grasp and ran toward the door, but it slammed shut. The remaining candles blew out, and the room's temperature dropped to a winter's chill.

"Mom," my voice trembled.

A shadow grew on the wall until it reached the ceiling. Two brighter green patches of the wall stared at me like eyes.

It's not real. It's your imagination.

Warm arms wrapped around me, and my mom pressed a cool sticky finger to my forehead and traced three lines. She sang words in French that I didn't understand. The shadow's eyes narrowed, and the figure spread, overtaking the ceiling.

"Winnie, you need to hide in the corner, and whatever happens, don't move."

"Why, Mom?"

"I have to expel this spirit, only then will you be safe."