Hexed Book Three: Gerald

Reads: 5591  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 2  | Comments: 63

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: The Imaginarium

Gerald fights through his own fear

Chapter 4 (v.1) - Moments Part Two

Submitted: April 03, 2017

Reads: 117

A A A | A A A

Submitted: April 03, 2017

A A A

A A A

He broke away, his mind reeling as he hit the front porch of the house, fumbling for his house key he quickly glanced over his shoulder the street lamps lighting up the dark asphalt and sidewalks that made their way towards the home. Pushing through each key, his eyes straining in the dark, he searched through the key ring.

 

The dragging sound came as the key clicked forward; she was within distance. Gerald knew he had to get inside before she came into view. “Don't look back.” he whispered to himself, something within him knew, this was his fault, he had drawn it's attention, somewhere, someplace, sometime he knew he did his. “There it is.” He swang the door open, carefully removing his key before shutting it.

 

A breathe of relief touched him for a moment; a feeling of security in the dark living room his Parent's referred to as the 'family room'. This room wasn't an actual room to be used by family, in fact it was a place that his Mother kept immaculate for visitors and guests alike, here she displayed her china cabinet, something of sentimental value passed down to her from her Mother.

 

Jay had began calling himself that early in life, though he was named Gerald he grew tired of the incessant teasing from his school mates who had referred to him as Harold. His Parent's had named him after a Saint, like most devout Roman Catholics of the late sixties or early seventies; and while it should have been a blessing of sorts, it caused him great turmoil and many fist fights in his early Parochial education.

 

His Mother, who was actually his Grandmother; was raised in New Mexico she had endured the Great Depression, the Great World Wars, she knew poverty. Her family had been raised on a small piece of land in Las Vegas New Mexico, which at the time was little more than dirt and filled with American Indian tribes, some of which she herself made claim to as her Father was aptly named Montoya. She was a fine woman, someone Jay had spent a great deal of his life looking up to. She ran her house with compassion, dignity and pride in her family; indeed she ruled with an iron fist that which was her domain. She spoiled Jay, taking to making him his favorite treats, and although it pained her to have Jay refer to himself in the manner he did. She tolerated it, she loved her children; she had been the kind of woman who would become offended if he asked to eat over a friend's house or stay the night, saying things like “My food isn't good enough? Your bed isn't good enough?”

 

But those words where just words, 'Momma' as he referred to her, was just fearful that he would be taking food from a less fortunate family's table. She remembered when the American people died from famine or starvation, it had only been a short few years for her. But he had been a child and he didn't understand her words until much later in life.

 

He quietly made his way to his room, something that was quite unique and new in his household 'his own room' which meant privacy, something he didn't necessarily grow up with; he had grown to a young man sharing a room with his Uncle's who for all intensive purposes treated him very much like their own little brother. Jay never felt dismay in these things, though in the modern world it would send many straight away to a therapist. But for him it was what family was, a normalcy of sorts; but for all her love, all her praying, she couldn't stop these things from coming and he knew that.

 

It didn't matter how many candles she lit around his bed, how many crucifixes she hung throughout the house, there was one thing Jay had learned long before he was told. It was never about the house, or the places he frequented, it was simply about him; something within him was awake to the mysteries others called ghosts, or spirits or the metaphysical. For Gerald it was something he just endured bouts of, something the Sacraments he practiced every Saturday through reconciliation, or the Sacraments he received through Communion couldn't banish.

 

As he aged, those things turned up that dial. Like he was somehow tuning into a different frequency without giving effort to do so.

 

As he shut the door to his room he could hear the phone ring, “Fuck!” he said as he dashed as quietly as he could to the kitchen where his Parent's still kept a rotary dial phone instead of a newer more modern push button.

 

“Hello” he spoke lowly as he picked up the phone,

 

There was nothing on the other end, not static, not breathing, not one of the girls who he had commonly spoke with, just nothing. There was darkness in the silence on the other end, something hollow that reminded him of his immediate threat, “It's not over” he said into the receiver before hanging up. Jay knew it was indeed far from over, he had seen her, by doing so it had caught her attention; whether tonight or another he would pay the price for that.

 

He kicked off his shoes as he moved back into the bedroom, pushing the door shut. The phone bellowed it's scream again through the small ranch style home typical of California “Jesus, he's going to kill me.” Jay's mind moved to his father, who he knew would be beyond upset with him, one for coming home so late, two for waking him and his Momma.

 

Scurrying back to the Kitchen he picked up the phone. “Hello” he sighed, which was answered yet again with nothing. Sweat beaded on his brow as he fixed his eyes on the kitchen window that obscured the porch with colorful curtains his Momma had made herself. He could see her head, just a shadow through the thin cloth, but it was her.

 

Gerald dropped, quietly hanging up the phone and began to crawl to his room, “This is ridiculous, I'm hiding from a child. For all you know she could actually need help, yet here you are on your hands and knees frightened like a pussy cat” he scolded himself silently.


© Copyright 2019 J Woods. All rights reserved.

Chapters

Add Your Comments: