There's Something Wrong with My Guardian Angel

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Contently Deranged Travelers
Any help is appreciated.

Submitted: November 16, 2018

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Submitted: November 16, 2018

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As far back as I can recall I’ve always had a Guardian Angel.  Nothing new since everyone has one, right?  Her pearly white wings always blanketed me with their warm plumage while I slept and her smile radiated in me a comforting familiarity.  No one else can see her but I’m certain all Guardian Angels are like that.

When I turned eighteen the normalcy in my life began to change.  My parents sat me down and informed me that I would need to remain in my room for an unforeseen period of time.  I didn’t understand why this was necessary but they assured me it would keep me safe.  Being a good son, I agreed to their terms without question.

A small door was installed at the base of the door to my bedroom so my parents could deliver three meals a day to me through it.  It was strange at first, but over time I accepted this as the norm.  Even on my toughest days at least I had my Guardian Angel for company.

My Angel never spoke words to me.  Instead her facial and bodily expressions conveyed any and all messages meant for me to decipher.  Even as a toddler I could comprehend what she meant.  Ours was a connection unlike any I’ve had with anyone.  So long as I was happy she was happy too.

My room contained a twin sized bed, a desk and computer to browse the internet, a bookshelf of various texts, an adjacent bathroom with a shower, and a mirror inside a closet full of clothes.  Being the good boy that I was, I always tidied up my room before sleep.  When I was on my computer my Angel would sit on my bed and unblinkingly watch me with her warm, black eyes.

Shortly before my parents’ insistence that I remain in my room my Angel placed a blanket over the mirror.  She gestured with a finger over her lips that I was not to remove the covering from it.  Like with my parents, I didn’t question her on the matter.  My Angel always knew what was best for me even if I didn’t understand why.

For several years I kept to my room in the company of my Guardian Angel.  Every birthday a small cupcake and candle would slide in with my dinner.  Every holiday my dishes would carry more helpings than usual.  Christmas came with the promise of a small present at about seven in the morning.  Overall, I was content with this simple life my parents gifted me for my protection.

Despite my happiness and humble lifestyle, my Angel started acting strangely since a week or so after my twenty-third birthday.

It began while I looked to Reddit for new laughs and stories and I felt her eyes were not watching me.  I turned around in my chair to see she sat on my bed as she always had.  Much to my dismay, she possessed a blank gaze directed at the floor between her and I.  I asked her if something was wrong but she gave no gesture to reply.  She just continued to silently and absently stare at the ground.

Later that night, as I prepared myself for sleep, she rose from her seat as she typically did.  However, rather than wait for me to lay down so as to hold me in her wings’ embrace, she strolled to my closed closet door.  There she proceeded to slam her head against it repeatedly.

I was immediately startled and begged her to stop, but she wouldn’t listen.  She collided into the door’s hard surface even after golden blood poured from her forehead.  Unable to convince her away from self-mutilation, I tried my best to sleep without her.  I was awake for the majority of the night from the constant thudding, but eventually my body was tired enough to allow some semblance of rest.

The next morning I woke to silence.  I glanced around to find my Guardian Angel sat on the floor at the end of my bed.  I couldn’t see what she was doing from that angle, but a terrible shredding noise ripped into my ears when I noticed her there.

I scrambled off my bed and knelt down in front of her to ask if she was alright.  Dry gold crusted on her forehead’s silver bruises and platinum hair, but that’s not what made me cry out.  One by one, my Angel absentmindedly plucked the feathers from her wings.

I wept in that moment.  I didn’t understand what was happening to her.  She was still beautiful to me despite her recent mutilations but her sudden affliction would’ve easily drove me just as mad had I been a less stable man.  I obsessed beyond control as to what could’ve caused her to adopt such horrid behaviors.

That's when my attention turned to the closet door.

No real thought occurred to me in that moment; only a spontaneous and immense sense of wrong emanating from it.  Her golden blood was still caked on a single spot on the door’s surface.  I didn’t want to open it, but something compelled me to try anyway.  If it had anything to do with my Angel’s strange actions I would do whatever it took.

I stood, walked to the closet door, and reached out to open it.  Before I could even grasp the handle my heart leaped into my throat as my Angel loosed a blood curdling shriek from directly behind me.  I spun to face her.

She stood inches from my face, wailing and clawing at her once flawless face.  Her wings were almost skeletal in how they hung like wires from her back with only stray remaining feathers.  Her previously white garments were somehow stained in blood that was not her own.  I know this because they were not gold like an angel’s, but dark red like a human’s.

I stepped around and away from her.  She didn’t even acknowledge I moved.  Instead of screaming incoherently at me she did so at the door.  She wailed like that until the sun set.  While she did so, I researched online as to how I could help her.  Despite my best efforts and the limitless information of the internet I found nothing even remotely relevant to a diagnosis for her.  She wasn’t human, but surely someone else’s Guardian Angel exhibited similar behaviors, right?

I gave up after she ceased her screams and laid on the floor on her back.  While the wiry remainder of her wings clawed at her legs on their own, I laid down to feign sleep.  I don’t think angels sleep, but I thought perhaps I could check the closet after she was less active in her madness.

Hours passed before she was still.  Carefully I crept out of my bed and to the closet door.  I slowly reached my hand out and clutched the handle.  I jerked my head to look in her direction to be sure.  She didn’t move, so I proceeded.

The door creaked open loudly.  I looked back at her again.  Still no response.  I pushed the clothes on their hangers away to find, against the back wall, the mirror she covered long ago.  That prior feeling of wrongness came from it, all right.  I needed to remove the veil.  I needed to learn the truth of my poor Angel’s pain.

I pulled away the blanket.  I couldn’t quite see the reflection in the darkness, so I reached for the string over my head and pulled it to turn on the light.  My eyes closed in response to the sudden illumination, but soon enough I was able to see the mirror.

A crawling cold squirmed just under the surface of my skin.  The bottom lids of my eyes winced uncontrollably.  My legs quaked until they buckled me to my knees on the floor.  I don’t remember the exact contents that I saw then, but I do remember so much red -- too much red.  Deep, dark, flowing, pungent red.

I restored the covering back to its proper place over the mirror and turned the accursed thing around to face the wall.  When I returned to my Angel she still wasn’t moving.  She also wasn’t breathing, but I don’t think angels need to breathe.  She hasn’t budged since then.

Unveiling the mirror provided no help and the internet contains nothing of use either.  I’ve run out of options without help from others.  This, of course, brings me to now.

There’s something wrong with my Guardian Angel.  She’s suffered from spontaneous fits of self-infliction and isn’t moving anymore.  Has anyone else’s angel acted the same way?  What did you do to solve it?  Is there even a solution at all?  Any help is appreciated.  I don’t know what to do anymore.


© Copyright 2019 M. A. Yacone. All rights reserved.

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