Harrowing by S.E. Amadis

Author:S.E. Amadis [Amadis, S.E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: BluA
Publisher: Seas Of Mintaka Publishing
Published: 2016-07-13T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

I lay in the grass by her stone cold tomb. My fingers clenched convulsively around the slab of white marble. I hugged my knees tight against me. Thunder rumbled ominously, and the same as on that long-ago and far-away morning when I’d visited the medium, the skies opened up and began to pour bucketloads of ice-cold rain over me. I hugged my knees and shivered, glad the rain was hiding my tears.

“Beware of that man.”

For months afterwards I’d wracked my brain, glaring with mistrust at every new male that ventured into my life, wondering if he would turn out to be “that man”. But nothing happened, and after a while I began to forget all about that warning. To laugh it off and shrug about it, frivolously, assuming that it had all been nothing but a flare of dramatic histrionics after all. A bit of pompous showing off to prove that he really was the real McCoy, a true, legit medium.

Although every time I thought about what he’d said about my grandparents, a shudder ran through me anew. There was no way he could have known my grandparents were Holocaust survivors.

The light began to fade. The sky darkened, as if on the verge of the Apocalypse. For a split second I thought the world really was coming to an end. Then I realized it was just the night falling. I giggled nervously, chided myself for such silly thoughts.

I tried to drag myself to my feet. My knees stiffened with the cold and I felt like a rigid, disjointed doll. I pushed myself up with effort, my thoughts straying already to other matters. Calvin and Romeo were probably getting impatient, waiting for me to show up for dinner. I wondered that they hadn’t called me to ask where I was. I dragged my mobile out of my purse, discovered with alarm that the battery was dead. Why was I always such a klutz? This was only about the umpteenth time I’d forgotten to charge it. It was really high time I made my way out of here.

My fingers grazed the tombstone one last time. It had taken me almost ten years to wander on over here. I had no idea when I would ever return. I fumbled in my pocket for the stone I’d picked up on the street and laid it on top of my mother’s gravestone with a loving caress. Immediately the rain began to wash over it, tainting the slate grey a deep black.

I picked up my purse, tried to stumble down the wide avenues dripping with sadness towards the open gates. My jacket fell open, flapping in the wind, and I let the rain soak my shirt. As I neared the gates I caught a glimpse of the washing station, squeaky clean stainless steel sinks equipped with metal jugs. I remembered after the funeral, someone instructing ignorant, unreligious me about the necessity of washing my hands after visiting a cemetery.

I squinted up at the pounding deluge,

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