The Grim Angel
December 23rd
That was the day my mother died. My mother would tell me things: things like how she had seen the after life and found that it was a wonderful place. Being a child, it scared me to hear my mother talk like that, but then again, she knew she had been dying for a long time. Was she trying to cheer me up? Maybe console me before she went on her way?
I remember days when she would talk to herself. I would peek into her room and see her conversing. With her being the only person in the room, it worried me. But I couldn't help but feel there was another presence in the room besides her. A dark force. A malignant power.
I was scared.
December 24th
My little sister and I held hands while they lowered our mother into the ground. It was such a pretty day out for such a sad circumstance. People cried and cried. My sister only looked around, confused as to why so many people were there watching our mother be buried. I remember her eyebrows furrowing in confusion and her tugging on my sleeve. She spoke to me and said, "Mother can't play with us if she's down there in that hole, right? Are we playing hide and seek? Is she counting to ten?" I remember ignoring her, I didn't know what to say to that.
Then something felt weird.
Something strange was going on.
I saw my mother standing beside me. She knelt down and gave me such a warm smile. I couldn't help but start crying.
I remember her touching my shoulder with such a reassuring grip.
I remember her cold lips touching my ears, her cool breath whispering to me.
I remember her vanishing from my side, like she was never there.
Tears continued to pour out of my eyes, but if people saw my face at that time, they would know there were no emotions on my face. I was deadpanned. The tears that came out of my eyes- I had no way to explain what I was feeling. So many emotions at once. But maybe the tears were because of what was spoken to me.
I'll see you soon, she said.
December 25th
I had a dream.
Mother was in it.
She was telling me all of the wonderful things that was happening in her after life. I wish I remembered what she was telling me back then. Her words seemed so important.
There was no Christmas celebration that year. Father was too upset, as was everyone else in the household. Mother was usually putting up decorations around the house, smiling and laughing, she was able to get everyone into the holiday cheer.
We missed her.
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March 2nd
We had finally obtained a rhythm after the passing of my mother.
Everyone was relatively happy. My mother was missed greatly but we couldn't dwell on our pain, we still had lives to live.
That night, I had another dream about my mother.
But she wasn't there.
Or at least, I didn't feel her there.
She was there talking to me, it was the face of the person I had loved so much, but her voice...
The voice could not have belonged to my mother, it couldn't be her who was speaking to me now.
The person spoke to me.
"You are not my mother," I remembered saying.
"I am not your mother," it had replied.
Black smoke rose from every opening in her body. Ears, eyes, mouth, and nose, the smoke had shot out from everywhere gathering into a menacing form.
What a sad figure that stood before me. The smoke had formed what I had thought to be a traditional monk garb. The robe fluttered around gently. Smoke came from underneath it, but it didn't move far from the figure.
We stared at each other.
I saw its red eyes.
Its red eyes that only seemed to stare at me, or into.
It said no words to me, its robe brushing up against my skin. Slowly, I was being pulled into its robe. A pale skeletal hand reached out towards me. I didn't realize I was so close to it. Its hand brushed up against my face, past my cheek, right down to my chin, slowly lifting it up.
I screamed at what I didn't see.
I remembered screaming myself awake.
People hovered over me, pampering, asking the same questions over and over.
I couldn't speak.
I couldn't think. What was happening to me? I didn't understand why.
I was twelve when this happened.
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December 27th
It was my birthday that day. I was thirteen.
It had been one year since my mother had died.
Almost one year since the dreams had stopped.
But I remembered.
I could never forget what was told to me that day. That day the creature had appeared to me in my dream. I could never forget what it had said to me.
In five years, on this day, I would die.
And there was nothing I could do about it.
