Listen before it’s too late.
You have to tell some you know- and love.
Helen
heard the voice one sunny, summer afternoon as she lay in her hammock on the
south side of her verandah. She was reading a trashy romance novel.
Light.
Bright and superficial. Perfect for a warm summer afternoon.
She had
just started to read the top of page 128 when she heard it.
Helen. Pssst. Helen. Stop reading that book
and listen to what I have to say.
A great urgency in the voice.
Helen
stopped. She thought a bee had been buzzing around her head. She made swooshing
motions with her right hand.
She
started back on page 128- again.
Helen. Please. Listen to this. It’s so very
important.
Who the
hell has a radio on? It’s at a very low volume but it’s still annoying. She
swung both legs sown onto the verandah floor. There was nobody.
Across
the street, Alfie Dunbar was riding his bike up and down the sidewalk. Mrs.
Beggs was kneeling on the grass- next to her rose garden, pruning some early
bloomers. A delivery truck from Frampton’s- new furniture no doubt, being
delivered to the Smith-Paul’s who had just moved in down the street about a
month ago.
Hmmm…
Nothing.
All is
normal on Maple Street. Helen wondered what the heck was making that noise.
Irritating,
secretive noise.
Words
actually.
Full
sentences- maybe.
Damn!
Helen
swung her short legs back into the hammock and concentrated on the book- at
least she attempting to finish page 128. Reaching for the tall glass of
lemonade on the railing next to the hammock, she took a long thirst-quenching
sip.
Then
she sipped more slowly.
Nothing
like a glass of lemonade on a sunny day out on a comfortable, cozy verandah.
A robin
was tweeting to a mate in the hibiscus bush next to the steps leading up to
Helen’s haven of peace.
Helen. Please listen.
It’s me.
I need to tell you something.
I need to say it now before it is too late.
Helen, please concentrate. Listen to my
message.
It’s me. Michael.
I’m not just any voice.
You’ve heard me before.
I have talked to you plenty.
Helen, you just have to focus and listen.
I can’t give you the message until I have
your full co-operation.
Just listen!
Please.
She
tuned the page.
As she
did, Michael came into her mind. Michael was her brother.
Michael
had passed seven years ago.
She
felt a chill.
So, you do know I am here!
You can feel me- can’t you Helen.
Now listen to me.
Listen well Helen.
Oh My
God!
Helen placed
the book on her chest.
She had
just realized it was seven years ago that very day that Michael left her world.
Only on that day she was not swinging in her Hammock, she was keeping vigil at
Northward Central Hospital.
She
shuddered as her mind took her back.
Michael-
lying there, hooked to tubes and monitors. His breathing was slow and laboured.
Pssst! Helen.
Please listen to me.
Listen for my voice.
You know something is here. You feel the
energy.
You feel the touch.
What a
day.
Helen
felt sad by joyous too. She knew that Michael’s suffering ended that day seven
years ago. What do they say? It’s a blessing.
I
guess.
If one
feels that way.
Helen
didn’t.
She was
a woman without faith in some superior power pontificating about life.
Helen
was a free spirit and Michael had been too.
Over
the past seven years there were times when Helen could hear Michael’s voice so
distinctly. She could almost reach out and touch him. She wasn’t afraid. She
felt warm. She didn’t feel alone. She knew that Michael was fine in the next
phase, somewhere over there.
Over
that hill.
Something
was still nagging at her.
Someone
was whispering in her ear.
‘at a girl!
Now you’re coming round.
Helen. It’s me.
Listen for me. Feel the energy.
It’s all around you.
Oh!
Helen
understood.
Finally.
Michael.
It’s you.
You’re
here. Here with me right now. Sorry Michael. It’s this book.
I was
taken in by a trashy book.
I know
you’re here. Here now with me.
Helen.
Listen. I have to tell you something.
Listen carefully.
Michael,
I know you are saying something to me. Soft words.
Whispers.
A
breath.
Words I
hear on the fluttering of wings.
You are
asking me to pay attention.
Softly.
Oh…listen.
Yes. I
am. I am listening Michael.
I know Dear Sister. I know you feel my
presence.
Thank you.
My energy is all around you now.
You are safe.
You are
showing me being wrapped in arms.
Big,
strong arms.
I feel…I
am…What are you saying?
You’re
telling me I am safe.
Safe
from what?
Michael-
from what?
Terrible. Helen Something terrible.
Michael’s
words were coming to her easier now.
Faster.
Helen you must do what I say. You must be
well. You must be safe.
Call ten.
Tell them to be safe.
Something is coming.
Something bad.
But only ten.
No More. No less.
Circle the house with salt.
An unending circle.
An unbroken circle, where you’ll be safe
inside.
You must tell them to do the same.
You must tell them. If they understand it’s that
they were meant to.
They will be expecting your call. They are
all waiting.
You need not explain much.
Be safe.
Circle of salt.
Wait until it passes.
Call.
Salt. Circle.
Safe
after. I hear you Michael Dear Brother.
Which
ten?
You will know. You’ll see and know.
Just do it now. I’ll be here with you.
Out
there. Just a short distance from town, there are ugly clouds. A torrent of
energy ready to strike anyone and anything- down.
Insidious.
Unforgiving.
Destructive,
Hungry…
Hungry-
for people like Helen.
Matter.
A sense. A sense with a purpose- deep and dark.
It had
a plan.
Many
would be unprepared.
Many
would be safe.
Michael
wanted Helen- and ten, to be safe.
Alfie
Dunbar was still riding his bike up and down the street. Mrs. Beggs was nowhere
to be seen but her kneeling pad and garden buggy sat next to the rose bushes
she had been trimming. Helen raced into the house and stood in front of the phone
in her kitchen office. Next to the phone was her directory of numbers both
friends and colleagues.
How can
I decide which ten?
Let it be Helen. Let it be.
Michael said no more.
She opened
the book. There was a number highlighted with pure, clean light.
She
turned a page.
Then another.
She
turned three more pages.
Then, two
more.
She
turned pages until she saw ten.
Hurry now Helen.
There is just barely time.
Yes. Hurry.
I must hurray Michael.
Outside
of town the clouds were darkening. It was warm. Very warm. More than humid.
Much
more than hot. There was no air.
Stifling.
Laughter
from its midst.
Horrific
laughter from what was now a single cloud.
A
shape.
A form.
A
presence.
Helen
dialed her Father.
Listen,
just do this. She told him about the salt and the circle.
He
seemed to understand.
She
hung up and called another.
Then another.
All
ten.
No
more.
She ran
to the pantry and grabbed a bag of salt. She ran outside and encircled the
house.
Good.
That’s Good. Helen that is good.
You will be safe as will be the other ten.
Now be calm and wait.
Wait for it.
For it is coming.
…and it
did. The cloud swept over town. It smote young and old. It took neighbours and
friends- outside of the ten.
It passed
ominously, darkly over Helen’s neighbourhood and house.
Helen
watched its darkness.
She heard
its belching. Heard the noise.
Like
thousands of bees. Like pigs in a slaughterhouse.
Not human.
Not of
this world.
From
darkest depths.
Dark,
putrid, smelly depths.
Helen
stood on her verandah and watched
She
heard Michael’s calming spirit.
You are safe Helen.
I am here.
You did all you could.
Some people didn’t understand.
They were told.
They had to be told.
They can’t think or believe outside what they
have been told.
It’s not right Helen- I know that- but it’s
what it is Dear Sister.
It’s cleansing.
That part is difficult for you to understand
but you will…
One day.
Then, there
was great quiet.
The sky
cleared. The terror and darkness had slid away out of town.
A voice
called Helen’s name.
It was
Mrs. Beggs. Her rose trimmers peeking
out over the top of her apron.
There
were salt crystals clinging to the top of her gardening shoes.
Helen
had spoken to her in only what seemed a short moment before.
It was
much longer than that.
Both women
knew that.
Helen
walked across her verandah to greet her.
The
women looked deep into each other’s eyes.
Helen
could see Mrs.Begg’s soul. At least she thought it was her soul.
She
didn’t know exactly.
Mrs.
Beggs was smiling.
Mrs.Beggs
appeared grateful. She said just that to Helen.
No
more. No less.
She
smiled again.
In the
distance Alfie’s bicycle lay on its side on the hot pavement at the end of the
walk leading to the front door of his parent’s house.
Mrs.
Beggs shook her head ever so slightly and Helen knew that Alfie had not been on
Mrs. Begg’s list of “no more than ten”.
Helen. Helen. You may tell Mrs. Beggs that
things are as they should be.
She is safe.
She should be happy.
She was one of your “no more than ten”.
There is no big answer.
No reason.
No rhyme.
What’s done is complete.
Be glad.
I must leave now Dear Sister.
Adieu.
Mrs.
Beggs sensed a presence near. She asked Helen if it was for her.
Helen
nodded.
A tear
rolled down Helen’s cheek.
Mrs.Beggs
placed a welcome, loving arm around Helen’s shoulder.
She
told Helen she believed it was for the best.
Both
women stood quiet and still.
The sun
shone through the huge Maple in Helen’s front yard forming a kaleidoscope of
shapes on the lawn beneath.
A robin
chirped from its tallest branch.
The air
was refreshed.
It was
new.
Everything
was…
