Opposite Cults
By Deandre Sanchez
Date: September 10, 2016
Ch. 33

The storm had abated. The clouds dispersing. She was wet from the torrents of rain that had fallen when she slept. The winds still howled however and the leaves still rustled, the branches still swayed.
Emily, Emily came the shouts, the voices getting louder as they neared. She could see it was a group of ten, all of them middle aged and doughty for their age. Her parents were among them.
She stood there in the middle of the clearing waiting for them to approach her. She made no movement whatsoever.
Her mother was the first to break away from the group. She ran and hugged her tight.
“Are you all right, Em? Are you all right?” she asked. Her voice was tense and happy at the same time. Tears were welling up in her mother’s eyes.
Her father had come up behind and his face held no emotion. Emily couldn’t decipher whether he was angry with her or happy that they had found her at last. He just laid hands on his wife and said, “She is fine. Do not worry.” His voice seemed to have comforted her mother.
“She is okay.” Her father called out to the men behind who seemed to be heaving their sighs of relief.
Her mother took her by her hand and said, “Come. Let us go home. You need a good night’s sleep. We can talk in the morning.”

She turned right the silver knob on the door and it gave way to a huge hall. The walls had a beige color and were already displaying cracks especially on the higher side at the junctures between the wall and the ceiling. The hall was filled with furniture of the exotic kind. They had collected these at several auctions. They had been their pride.
Her husband climbed down another ladder and came towards her smiling. He caressed her black wavy hair and brought his hands down her V-shaped chin. She blushed and her ears went almost red.
He knew she liked it when he did that. He would do it again and again if it meant that they would come closer. He smiled as she ran uttering something under breath into the kitchen.
As she disappeared into the small corridor, he walked towards the open door. He stood there for a while admiring the sunny yet cool weather outside.
Sunlight fell directly onto his dusky face. Even as he stood there, he could not believe he was in love. In fact, that day thirty years ago, he had decided he would never love again. He had lost his wife to a terrible disease and he had not forgiven God for that reason. But he had changed since. That day at the church, he still remembered.

The morning boasted of an azure sky. The sun was climbing up slowly as the hour passed and within the next hour, he knew he had to reach the church. Father Rodriguez would be giving a sermon and he wanted to be there. He wanted to ask the Father why God had taken away his wife. He wanted to ask why this injustice was meted out to him. He had committed no sin. Neither had his wife. After all, they were godly people. Why should the sinners rejoice while we suffer? This question ravaged his thoughts many a times.
He missed her. How much? One could never tell. They both had been together since childhood. They used to play together. As he walked, he remembered how much fun they used to have. Afar, he saw a small grove of trees and that place held pleasant memories. They used to sneak around those trees, run with their bare feet and when she would get pricked by sharp twigs or stones, he used to press his fingers near the wound to stop the blood from flowing, however little.
He passed the small playground. The swing was empty. Usually there were children, but today, the ground was silent. The town had just had a funeral and the town in the memories of his wife had given a day off.
As he passed the swing, it seemed to move as if pushed from behind. It made a creaky noise. He pushed open the gate pushing away the constant reminder that his mind gave him: reach the church by the hour. His feet took him through the grassy ground and past many slides and seesaws, duck trains and wheel carts. He soon reached the swing which was swaying up and down. He could explain no reason for it. There was not even a slightest breeze.
It was like his wife’s spirit was trying to reach him, trying to speak to him, trying to comfort him for his loss. Perhaps she wanted to say good-bye. He would never know. Not unless he found a way to contact the dead and that he would not do.
“Roger” a voice whispered.
He looked in the direction of the voice but there was no one.
The swing began to sway faster and the creaky noise grew louder. He was beginning to feel creepy. Taking one look again at the swing, he made to turn back and at the same time, the voice called him out again.
White smoke curled at the base of the swing clouding his eyes. He raised his hands to cover his face against the mist.
“Roger, I am here” a voice said.
Such a sweet and musical voice! It is a charm on its own. He thought.
The voice rattled him again, this time sending him a little backward. The white smoke seemed to get thicker and the swing could no longer be seen although its creaking noise seemed to get louder.
He stumbled and fell down on the ground with a thud.
The white smoke cleared slowly and a figure clothed in white started forward from whence it stood. It walked towards him slowly and the movements seemed too graceful for a human. He could not see the figure clearly as the white smoke was still dissipating.
As the smoke thinned, he looked with shock at the revealing figure. He could not believe his eyes. Fear and surprise took him.

Font size
Font color
Line spacing
Background color