A long time ago, the king of Kishangarh called the commander to find out about the fate of his subjects. He passed an order to make bundles of happiness and sorrows and place them on every junction of the village. Every family should pick up one bundle of their choice.
Soon the bundles of happiness were picked up and no one touched the bundles of sorrows.
The king went on around checking that out. While on trial, he notices that a poor man picked up the bundle of sorrows and walked towards his hut.
The king immediately ordered the commander to bring that poor man to the palace. The king stood respectfully and asked him the reason for carrying the bags of sorrows. The poor replied, “My Lord, there is only one reason to carry the bundle of sorrows. God is remembered only in sorrows. It is only in our sorrows that we feel God close to us.” The king was dumbfounded after listening to the poor man’s reply. What he said was right. We only remember God during bad times. In happiness, we are busy enjoying our life. The king was touched by his thoughts and actions. He ordered the commander that the poor noble soul should be appointed as the priest of the state.
Verses from the old hymn rise harmoniously. First faint. “O Lord, my God…” Then increasingly louder. “When I in awesome wonder…” As shadow people circle Ann in undulating shades of grey. She feels the deepest, purest sense of serenity. Love, indefinable, wraps her in its comforting weave as the music crescendos, and the light grows blinding. She does not, cannot raise her head: out of sincere humility. For Ann recognizes she stands in the presence of God.
On April 28, 2008, Ann Thomas, then 46-years old, flat lined on the operating table at a premier US hospital, after being given an overdose of the narcotic painkiller: Dilaudid. It is in these moments — suspended between life and death — that this account of her being in the presence of God, and conversing with Him, originates.
“I was having a procedure,” Ann explains, “called… now let me say this slowly, and forgive me; I can sound like a doctor after all these years… endo-scopic retro-grade cholan-gio-panc-rea-tography or ERCP… a process to detect blockage in the bile ducts leading to the pancreas.”
Pancreas Divisum, a congenital birth defect of the pancreatic bile duct, is the cause of Ann’s living daily with severe abdominal pain for over 13 years. “It’s less than it was since… the experience,” Ann answers, when asked what level of pain she lives with — on a level of 1 to 10 — with 10 being the worst. “But it still floats somewhere between five and seven.”
“How do you cope with it?” I ask.
“How do I not?” she asks in return, “You just accept it.”
This seems remarkable, in that Ann is vivacious, hardworking, successful, and rarely without a smile. I picture myself wincing and ouching all day long.
A homemaker for 18 years after high school and a rising star in real estate for eight years, Ann is a fast-paced woman. Her shoulder-length blonde hair crowns a fit frame dressed with a discerning sense of style. She is put together as one might say. Not stand-offish, her green eyes invite you in without question. She is accessible, wanting to help you in any way possible. Ann attracts those that meet her effortlessly by offering something that can’t quite be pinpointed: a knowledge, a secret known.
The ERCP procedure, done through an endoscope, was to seek out blockage and place a stent in Ann’s billary tree — if necessary — to drain the pancreas, complicated by severe scaring and hardening, due to chronic pancreatitus. This operation’s goals were simple: 1) relieve the years of unrelenting pain in her upper abdomen and accompanying migraine headaches, while 2) stopping the degenerative process.
Upon flat lining, her mother, Patti (allowed in the operating room against protocol) begins rubbing Ann’s feet frantically, whimpering, “Please God, we need her; don’t take her now.” Patti cries out repeatedly for Ann to wake, unaware that her daughter no longer lies before her, but rather inhabits a place of no pain and no suffering. How glorious this feels to Ann!
Beyond the scurrying of mortals in an operating room; beyond the whizzing, whooshing and whistling of man-made machines; beyond the walls of a world, of galaxies we think we know; is a perfect place suspended between space and time. Ann stands with head bowed. Not unable, but unwilling to look upward. She acclimates herself to what she believes is happening, when God speaks.
“I have called you, Ann.”
“I am not deserving,” she says softly without moving her lips; the thought alone transferring… for she has no physical form as we know it. She is more a mass of energy, beautiful translucence, having shed her human husk to allow the dormant seed of her soul, nurtured from childhood, to now blossom in unfathomable beauty.
“You are now rooted where you belong. You have suffered enough,” God tells her.
Within her being, the chorus of Ann’s favorite childhood hymn, “How Great Thou Art,“ rises from within her. Ann’s soul intermingles with the insurmountable energy of the angelical shadows that surround her, sometimes moving through her: loved ones like her grandparents, aunts and uncles. “Now sings my soul, my savior God to Thee / How great Thou art / How great Thou art.” The music is barely audible; the music is deafening.
“Think of pancreatitis as a ruthless eating disorder,” Ann says. “It’s when your pancreas gets inflamed,” she explains further. Positioned in the upper part of the abdomen, behind the stomach, it plays a vital role in digestion: producing necessary digestive secretions and hormones. These include enzymes and bicarbonate, which travel through a tiny tube called the pancreatic duct to the small intestine. There, they break down proteins and fats in foods allowing nutrients to be absorbed. Digestive hormones, primarily insulin and glucagon, release into the bloodstream, controlling the body’s blood sugar: a major source of energy.
There are many ways a pancreas becomes inflamed. Once inflammation occurs, the condition progresses to swelling of the gland and the surrounding blood vessels, bleeding, infection and permanent damage. This is when digestive secretions become trapped and begin digesting the actual pancreas itself. Scarring occurs, such that it cannot return to its original state, worsening over time.
“No blockage was found in my pancreatic duct,” says Ann. “But it was so inflamed that the doctors agreed that I needed a stent to open the duct wall wider, allowing the proper drainage. It is while putting in the stent that I flat lined.”
She goes on to explain that the average dosage of Dilaudid is one-half a milligram every two hours, though her level of pain required one- to two-milligrams every two hours (anywhere from twice to four times the average dosage). “That day, April 24, 2008, I was given four milligrams at 7:20 a.m. when the day nurse came on shift, four more two hours later, and then an additional four more two hours later, still.”
An egregious oversight, Ann explains how she was taken into surgery that afternoon regardless of the fatal amount of Dilaudid in her bloodstream. Upon making an incision on the bottom left of her back, respiratory depression set in and her peripheral vision caught sight of the oxygen monitor plummeting to a dangerously low 39. Then everything went black. Then everything went white.
“As a real-estate agent, I’ve been opening doors to new homes for people for eight years. Now, a door pushed open for me. I somehow realized I was being given a gift, the greatest gift of all; but I worried for my children.”
“You are not pleased, Ann,” God says, in a voice masculine, yet feminine; commanding, yet comforting; comprehensible, yet coded. The revelation of these contradictions is the beginning of the answers, celestial knowledge infusing her being as promised in the scriptures.
“I am, so very pleased. But I worry for my children.”
“You have fulfilled your duty; they do not need you any longer, Ann.”
Ann is not sad at this comment or even startled by its bluntness; the comment’s pure truth is relayed with such an undercurrent of kindness, it is simply heard. She thinks quickly of her daughter, Sarah (then 26-years old) and son, Mark (29); Sarah’s impending marriage… John’s recent graduation from the Police Academy and his new career. She can’t imagine not guiding them. And then, there is her mother and father. But all of them are adults, she could hear herself think. God’s wisdom is so simple; God’s wisdom is so profound. Ann notes the dichotomy and in this realm: understands.
The action in the operating room is feverish. Mere seconds pass, but time as we know it is irrelevant as Ann feels she has been with her Maker for some time now. Pondering her quandary, she senses her human foolishness. Leave a perfect state of perfection for the flawed world of the living? How absurd, she thinks. But a mother has binds that are difficult to sever with her children. She reflects on a line from the hymn, which she realizes is being generated from deep inside her: “When I in awesome wonder / considered all / the worlds Thy hands have made.” Why did it strike her as a child and even more so as a young adult and beyond?
Ann remembers studying it in books and on the Internet. “How Great Thou Art” dates back to 1885 and is based on a poem by Swedish minister Carl Boberg. It celebrates the many worlds of God’s creation. Ann’s profound appreciation of God’s supreme miraculous power surges through her. “Then sings my soul,” bursts forth from deep within her core, light in every shade melds to create an incomprehensible visual palette. Then her voice suddenly soars with the others. She sings unlike ever before. Perfectly intonated, resonating notes traveling light years and beyond. Without any sense of ego or pride, she recognizes it to be one of the most beautiful voices she has ever heard.
“While I was in the presence of God, they worked diligently to revive me. Records were quickly accessed, and the unusually lethal dose of Dilaudid was identified,” Ann says. “What seemed like hours passing was still seconds.” Medicines countering the Dilaudid and its respiratory depression were dispensed, as pulmonary respiratory maneuvers were performed. “They were doing everything they could within their human capability,” Ann says.
“My mother stood back away from me now, against the moss-green wall of the OR, praying for my return. How often we pray for things counter to God’s will,” Ann adds.
“It seemed God’s will was for me to stay, to stop suffering, to live a serenely eternal life with Him. But I felt my business on earth, with my children, with my parents was unfinished. God tells me: ‘You can go back,’ ” Ann says. “ ‘But on two conditions.
“You will remember only a measure of the divine knowledge you have acquired. And, Ann, if you choose to return, you will continue to live in constant pain.”
Then the lack of physical suffering fills Ann’s recollection. She feels perfectly balanced in this place. It would change if she returns. Suspended between the world of human wants — and this place — of divine perfection, she is confused. And she has milliseconds to decide.
A recent Gallop Poll shows 5% of the U.S. population of 260 million has similar out-of-body experiences, many of which present the opposite, harrowing account of going to hell. Could this be a glimpse into the future state of our souls?
The concept of a human double has a lengthy and colourful legacy. According to Plato, what we experience in this life is only a dim reflection of what our spirits can see if released from the physical. Imprisoned in the body, the spirit is restricted; separated from the physical, it is able to converse freely with the spirits of the deceased and in many cases, one’s Higher Power itself. Theoretical posturing on this topic, from then to today, varies little.
“I was brought-up a Christian and remain a Christian,” Ann says. So, finding myself in this state of being was at first a shock but not unbelievable to me. It’s my faith. The desire for eternal life with God is my goal.”
With head still bowed, the aura of people known and unknown comforted her, while the light’s intense warmth kept her in its rapture. Ann’s being called out, “Oh, loving God, I wish to return to my family.”
“We will await your return, Ann. Prepare to bare your physical pain with the grace you have previously shown Me,” God says.
A sudden backward pull finds Ann moving from the light, the warmth, the supreme ecstasy of God’s direct presence. Is she making a grave mistake?
The heart monitor begins to beep.
“Immediately, I have great regret. The pain is so great, and the difficulty of getting through it in that moment is so overwhelming, I wish I had stayed in that perfect place, where no pain and no sorrow exists,” Ann says. “The music is gone. Only beeping, buzzing, and the rustling of hurried hands and feet can be heard,” she continues. “To experience perfection… absolute perfection… and then to return to such imperfection is wrenching.”
Ann pauses, looking momentarily in the distance, pushing back her hair and a tear, she does not think I notice.
We agree to meet on another day. “Keith,” she says, showing a more reflective manner than I have ever seen with Ann. “He is an awesome wonder.” Squeezing her hand and smiling, I turn to leave, my eyes catching a tattered old hymnal on the corner of her desk, open to the song, “How Great Thou Art,” and bookmarked with a daily list of things to do.
I come by Ann’s office at 8:30 a.m. on Tuesday of the following week. She looks wonderful. There’s a spring in her step. A sweet, endearing smile on her face. How? How do you do it? I ask myself.
We walk to her office when I notice the bulletin board around the corner of the front desk. It posts a list of the top-10 selling real-estate agents for the month of August (out of 62 in the office). Ann Thomas is listed first. “Congratulations on your August performance,” I say. “Thank you,” says Ann with the smile of a conqueror.
Sitting down, I add, “I don’t know how you do it.”
She looks at me, unsure of my meaning.
“Successful at work, living… loving life, but always in constant pain,” I try to explain. Ann looks me square in the eyes. I sense she has something serious she wants to say.
“Coffee?” she asks. I laugh, because she laughs. I’ve been trumped.
“Sure.”
While she is gone, I look around. Her desk is messy. Probably one of those she-still-knows-where-everything-is things. Order in the chaos.
Returning around the corner, coffee in hand, Ann says, “I hope I didn’t give the wrong impression last week. Today, I do not regret returning. It was just in those moments directly upon being revived.”
“I understand… I think,” I say.
“I am grateful for the opportunity to still be with my children, mom and dad, family and friends. To be with you, Keith.”
She radiates a palpable warmth seldom felt. “But the… pain,” I stammer.
“The suffering is lessened by the joy I carry in knowing where I will go someday. I carry it for Him as he carried it for me.”
“I notice you carry your hymnal with a list of things to do each day,” I say.
“OK, the book is something dear to me that I keep at my side; the other is a to-do list. Quit trying to make everything symbolic,” she laughs.
“I have to ask,” I say.
“The answer is no.”
“But I haven’t asked the question.”
“The questions,” she rebuts. “You have two.”
“No, it is not a dream,” she says taking my hand.
I sit dumbfounded.
“And no. I could never sue someone: who opens the door, who allows my soul to sing — in the presence of God.”
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Bhabesh, is in his easy chair, sitting in his room, flipping the pages of a book. He seems disturbed. What has caused him this disturbance?
After much effort, he shuts the book violently, and keeps it away from himself. What was he searching?
Bhabesh was a young man of 25 with lady-killer looks. He was tall, dark and handsome. He preferred to keep a fuller beard, which suited him well. He had a broad jaw-line, and wore spectacles of broad super-black frame. He was an avid book-reader.
An author by passion, Bhabesh, having finished his masters in the field of English literature, was pursuing his research, in his area of interest; comparative world literatures written in English. He was closest to his brother, Aditya. Since childhood, Bhabesh had seen a lot in his family. He felt neglected, due to constant marital disputes between his parents.
Whatever, he achieved in his life, was due to his persistent efforts, which never ran away from him, in any other direction, than that he willed. But still, Bhabesh was a disturbed child. To a lot of his known, he seemed, a specially abled person. Actually, to be brutally honest, we all are special. We all carry, within ourselves, a powerhouse of tremendous potentials. But, fortunately or unfortunately, some get hold of this find, some keep believing in the things that the world, makes us see in its light.
Aditya, this book, isn’t letting me inside. Isn’t it strange?
What is strange, dear brother?
Is it not obvious, that there is no supernatural in this book!
You are talking supernatural, this certainly is strange!
There is nothing as such.
Bhabesh gets furious over this disbelieving attitude of Aditya, and starts in a rudeness.
Whatever is going, in this world, right at this moment, isn’t it supernatural? Isn’t it Gothic? Isn’t it spooky; the power of this devil, the ghosts of Covid-19?
After a few deep breadths, Aditya, resumes.
Whatever you are talking about is going over my head.
Would you kindly calm down, brother?
And, stop speaking such, nonsense.
These bouncers won’t work with me. I’m smarter than you think you are and I am. You can’t get over me.
Above me, there is no one, below me, there is no one. If there is Brahma, then I shall believingly say to you, ‘Aham Brahmasmi’…
‘What are you talking about, Aditya?’ interrupted Bhabesh in a rush.
‘What are you, talking about, brother? There is no existence of ghosts!’ exclaimed Aditya.
As soon as he said this, the lights of the room went out.
And, much to the dismay, when the lights returned into the room, after five seconds, the scene was tragic.
Bhabesh lay, gaping above, and Aditya was nowhere to be found, alive or dead. The only easy chair in the room, other than that of Bhabesh, placed in front of him, was absolutely vacant. There was no-one. At least, not anyone living.
The crystal lay in his hand –a Lumerian Seed Crystal. It was supposed to impart its possessor with the ancient wisdom of the peaceful Lumerian civilization. Well, that was what he was told by the old lady in the store; its air heavy with incense and strange books lining the walls. As he fondled the crystal there was a murmur in the back of his mind, an echo of an echo. And like an echo it persisted.
He placed the crystal down and the noise ceased. He knew it was strange, upon picking up the crystal again, the echo returned – clearer this time. This seemed so unreasonable, and his mind told him to put the crystal down, but there was another voice in his head which said, “No”. He was overwhelmed with a desire to own the crystal; the way the light shone through it and the lateral makings up one side intrigued him. He left the store with the crystal in his pocket and a sense of satisfaction in his heart.
The other voice continued to speak, day by day it gnawed at him. It was often at odds with the decisions he would normally make; sometimes he would do as his nature dictated and other times he was swayed by the other voice.The desires of the voice being physically manifested through him. His inner monologue, his conscience if you will, was battling with the other voice. Like the dripping on a stone, slowly he was being worn down. The voice was growing more insistent and welding a greater power of him.
His conscience said that he should get rid of the crystal but the voice had embedded itself in his mind and when these thoughts rose to the surface all he could hear was the unceasing cry of “No, no, no, no, no, no!” Unable to rid himself of the voice he chose to focus on understanding the Lumerians.
Research told tales of a hugely intellectual and highly spiritual civilization of humans, ruled by spiritual elders, of a civilization sunken into the sea and of knowledge imparted into crystals. Many of the theories were debunked; some people believed that this civilization was the cradle of human knowledge, but nothing conclusive could be found – it was a mystery.
One sinister article he located from a German biologist Lekceak, spoke of “Retalcs”, the voice cried “Yessss.”Retalcs was bred by the Lumerians to be an obedient servant, a human/foosa hybrid being, possessing huge strength and capable of self-reproduction; amonstrous abomination. “Yesss!”
Reading on, Retalcs was responsible for the downfall of the Lumerian civilization. Terrorising the people and tearing them limb from limb, before sinking Lumeria beneath the waves. “YESSSS!” came the voice again.
“This crystal,” the voice said, “is the embodiment of my spirit, and with your body I will return to my true form.” Retalcs was now in control. The man’s voice, now a whisper and his body at Retalcs command…
It was around 10 O’ clock in the night. Anne was returning home from work. Unlike the other days, shegot bit late to leave the office because of heavy load of work this time. The wind was strong but nice breeze blew across. The ambience was perfect for a party. As soon as she stepped out from her work place, rain started to troubleher. Thelightningflashes lit up the night sky followed by bolts of thunder. It was raining cats and dogs.
After a busy schedule that day, Anne was feeling exhausted. Her only hope was to lie down in her bed as soon as she returned home. Her usual route which she took to reach home was sadly blocked this time because the road was under construction. So she had to go through some other path to get back home. This new route was a very deserted path. She had to pass a graveyardwhich was bit scary experience for anyone.
A little while ago, she heard a rustle of leaves while walking. As it was the first time, she stonewalled the sound and continued moving on her way. Anne took it with a grain of salt. When moving few miles, she heard the same sound againalong with heavy footsteps growing closer. She paused for a little while and turned back but nothing could be seen. As she moved forward, she felt that she was being followed by someone.Suddenly, her mouth felt dry and goose bumps sprang up all over her body.“What shall I do now?“What is this mysterious sound? Am I gonna die? Is today the last day of my life”?All these fearful thoughts came to her mind as she moved further.She could not stop thinking of it. She walked faster to get away from the noise of the footsteps. Her heart beat also increased .Unfortunately; this scary sound did not go away but disturbed her continuously.Without further delay, shehad to stop again to see what it was .She felt that footsteps also stopped. She turned behind to look around but nothing was visible. She took a long breath and when she started to move this time, Anne sensed a freezing hand patting on her back. Once she looked back, it was terrifying to see that a lady clad in a white cloth,carrying a baby was looking at Anne with her bloody eyes wide opened.It was an eerie figure like a monster.
“Can you please hold my baby for a second?
With that scary sight, she woke up at once in the midnight. Anne switched on the table lamp and glanced at the watch. She was drenched in sweat.
“Oh my God! Was it real”? Anne talked to herself.
She got out of bed and peeked outside the window curtain .Rain was pouring down. Finally, she remembered that she had not prayed. Uttering prayers, she calmed her mind and went back to sleep.
We found ourselves at the small, white house that stood alone on the block. The porch light was off, and three painted pumpkins sat on the porch along with a bicycle with a broken chain. With the lack of streetlights nearby, it seemed appropriately haunting for the Halloween theme.
The celebration was not yet in full swing when we arrived. Buzz Lightyear, the hostess, stood at the centre of the room clad in skintight shorts, a crop top and a set of inflatable wings that inevitably hit someone every time she turned. We were invited into the kitchen, where there was an impressive selection of potato chips on the dining table, and a rack of clothes in the corner next to the oven.
While we stood by the chip table, trapped by the bodies packed in around us, we were introduced to a zombie, a dinosaur, Lady Gaga, and two pirates. The second pirate informed us of her dilemma—she had lost her sword on the way to the party.
“I made it for her. So if you see a sword made of cardboard and a trash bag on your walk home, that’s hers,” the dinosaur added. We promised to keep an eye out.
Sometime later, we saw Barak Obama and Mitt Romney stroll in, laughing together—a shocking sight just a few days before the presidential election. “Will you guys debate?” The request came from the zombie.
“Maybe after a few more,” Obama raised his plastic cup.
After an hour—and several more drinks out of the cauldron sitting on the kitchen counter—he and Romney were getting ready to face off. They were to have an arm-wrestling match facilitated by a unicorn and a moustachioed woman. The practice round was first; Obama was up against the zombie while Romney faced Lady Gaga. Both presidential candidates won their respective practice matches with little difficulty, and then it was time for the real contest.
“Arm wrestling debate!” Lady Gaga announced, and everyone tried to gather as close as possible to the coffee table in the living room. The second the unicorn said “Go,” the cheering started: “Let’s go, Barack!”; “U.S.A.! U.S.A.!”; “Hey! Elbows on the table!”; “You got this! Don’t let him beat you!”
It was a lengthy arm-wrestling match, but eventually, Romney’s hand landed on the table with a thud. Obama stood, with his arms raised in victory as the zombie, the dinosaur and various other creatures cheered.
By the time the match ended, it was late in the night, and with the satisfaction of having witnessed such a great contest, people began to head home. When we stepped outside, the house was still shrouded in darkness, and not a sound could be heard on the sidewalk out front. To a passer-by, it would have appeared as though nothing special was happening within.
Her name was Sweety but what was about to happen was not at all close to being pleasant.
It was raining heavily but she had her tuitions to prepare for boards. So She took the umbrella and kissed her mom like she does everyday. Who knew it was going to be her last kiss, and that day, would become a memory haunting her for life. She set off taking the usual route. But this time she reached a strange destination, one not planned by fate, one that brought everything to a horrific end.
She was walking hastily down the road and all of a sudden she was ganged by 4 people. She was overpowered to smell some intoxicant and when she came to, she found herself in a strange place. Groggily, she wondered, horrified. Then came the 4 people who had abducted her. They started to rape her one after another. Clock rolled, hours passed, days crawled. The girl so full of life could never have imagined something as horrendous as this could ever happen to her, even in her scariest nightmares. Only this was the reality and the worst.
It was 99th day of the girl being missing, even the girl’s parents had given up their hope of seeing her ever again. And that is when came the ransom call followed by a video. She was all drenched in blood, her face was full of scars. Her soul was dead a long ago. Her body was just taking in oxygen and screaming out in agony. That horrific scene was unimaginable for everyone.
The heart of the parents as well the police was shattered by it. Little did they know that it is where they made their biggest mistake. The police got their lead, they burned the midnight oil. The kidnappers, or the psychotic animals started uploading the videos of their inhumane deeds. One day when they went about their now daily chores, the girl finally fought back. She managed somehow to beat 3 them to death and fled. But what she saw at home was even worst. She remembered the face of the 4th man she tried drown her screams but couldn’t. At last, the final culprit, her father, was caught.
It doesn’t matter who the psychotic animal is. is it family, friend or aquaintance. It will be always your fight. Be your own voice, be your own hero. There is no bigger fighter than you.
“Mum! I’m not a kid anymore! I don’t need you to remind me every time!”
“But you’re always forgetful. Besides, your sister refused to sleep without you.”
“Ugh, fine. Why can’t Adra sleep by herself?”
“Maybe she’s still afraid of those monsters hiding under the bed? It’s Halloween after all, Zev. Speaking of that, why didn’t the two of you go ‘trick-or-treating’ just now? Your father and I said it’s alright for you two to go.”
“Erm, we were…. Kind of busy so we don’t have time. Well, it’s ten o’clock, good night!”
Zev quickly rushes to the bedroom upstairs and saw his sister still lay down on her bed awake still. He sighed and jumped onto his bed, staring at the ceiling, “Should we put our nightlight on for tonight?”
His sister, Adra snuggled into her blanket, “Maybe, Zev? It depends on you, you’re in charge….”
Zev sighed as he sat the edge of his bed and swinging his legs, “Come on, Adra. Just because I’m popular, doesn’t mean you’re an outcast.”
“Do you really have to call yourself popular?”
“Well, I could call myself ‘everyone’s favorite’ if that’s what you want me to say,” said Zev. “Adra, don’t let this thing get to you. It’s not even real.”
“Goodnight Zev….” Muttered Adra as she pulls the cover over her head.
Zev frowned as he left the nightlight on, lied down and pulls the cover over him as well, he stares at the ceiling as the clock still ticking and his tiredness took over him.
“When Halloween draws near, children should be careful of the shadow lurking in the room. No one knows what shadows made out of.”
When the two siblings slept soundly and the clock strikes twelve, two shadows emerged from the corner of the room and towering over the beds with glowing yellows eyes, razor-sharp teeth and long claws. They let out a low growl, before the shadow on Zev’s side ‘spoke’.
“Oh, would you look at this boy! All grown-up in just a blink of the eye! I remember like it was yesterday he was running around with a baseball bat in his hand and smashing things in the house.”
“Oh please, dearest brother.” The shadow beside Adra’s bed sneered. “That boy is nothing compared to my precious princess here. Her eyes just brought me into shame of not being ladylike enough. She will be a fine lady I can predict that!”
“What’s this?” The other shadow claimed to be the ‘brother’, exclaimed. “You, the witch of 13th Friday, just challenged me? Your genius and perfectionist brother, Zev O’ Lantern, the watcher of Halloween?”
“If your boot fits, darling brother.” The shadow witch fights back.
“Wrong use of human expression. But! I accept your challenge, dearest sister!”
The shadow brother clapped his hands, and both of the shadows were soon taking form of ordinary human beings. The shadow brother has a black top hat towering tall over his head with an orange silk ribbon with black checkers on it. His messy black hair sticking out in odd angles and his glowing yellow eyes stays the same. He has a long black overcoat with orange buttons, pockets and also the inner part colored orange, black bowtie around his neck and white gloves plus a cane in his left hand, wearing long black pants and shoes.
The shadow sister has long black flowing hair with a hint of white streaks and still yellow cat-like eyes. A long dark purple dress with yellow buttons adorns her figure and unbuttoned black overcoat with its inner part colored purple. A checkered black & purple ribbon on her head, yellow-chained choker around her neck, long black gloves and a broom in her right hand, knee-length black and yellow boots.
“I must say, is it really must to look after these children? I’m sorry but this question gravely disturbs me so…”
“Dearest brother, since when the last time we had children to not ever care about ‘us’ actually?” said the witch as she gently strokesAdra’s head. “Of course, I’m no better. No one cares about bad-luck and brushed it off as a silly myth. And this cause reflects this girl’s problem. She will never be adored by other people because no one exposed her much to how the world works. If only a certain sibling would do that…”
“True and I proclaimed guilty at that.”
“And here I am, looking after a child who has no attention from others, like me. 13th Friday is just some ordinary day to people now and well, what’s the use of causing trouble to others now?”
“Darling sister, your sentence saddened me, and it makes me wonder why we even fought just now… ” The brother starts to feel remorse. “Halloween is also taken in the same way. I exist still yes but look at how much Halloween has changed now! Those costumes that adults wore are absolutely dreadful and what now, they have party and it’s not even kid-friendly?! People have taken my day to a whole new and disturbing level!”
“So the others are to be blamed?”
“If you put it that way, darling sister. And I’m afraid Zevie here doesn’t like to see the world it is now, just like me. So both of us have the same problem.”
The witch smiled as she toyed with her brother’s hat, “You’re awfully calm in taking it in.”
The brother slapped her hand away and straightened his coat, “I am a gentleman, thank you very much and my composure is the key to being one.”
“Sure it is, Zev O’ Liar.”
“It is.”
“It is not”
“It is”
“It is not. Admit it!”
“I’m telling mother about this!” The brother screeched. The witch gasped as she points accusingly at him.
“Don’t you dare bring mother into this conversation! If you tell her, then I will tell her about that one time you exploded the pumpkin you gave it to me as a prank!”
“Not if I tell her about this first!” said the brother as he quickly disappeared into the shadows.
“Stop acting like a child, foolish brother!”
“You started it first!”
The witch groaned as she quickly disappeared as well and the two of them continues to argue until their shadows were no longer to be seen. The nightlight starts to flicker and suddenly, Zev sat up straight and looked around his surroundings.
“Strange dream I had….” He muttered. “‘A weird fight between Adra and I’ kind of dream. And we took it so casually as well.”
He shrugged as he fell back onto his pillow and snores the night away.
Echo of laughter soon filled the town and the two familiar shadows were watching over them from aerial view and realize that someone is watching, someone the peeks into their conversation just now and reading their thoughts, “Oh you think we’re just shadows now, do you?”
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