My Gothic Encounter

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
When a person dies, where do memories go? Memories are encapsulated in the mind and it cannot expire with the host at death. Mind is an energy and energy cannot be destroyed, however it can be transmuted into another form. Why do we see specter images that defies logic and science. Can the power of the mind manifests what the physical body had experienced prior to a a violent and unexpected death?

Submitted: June 25, 2012

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Submitted: June 25, 2012

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My Gothic Encounter

Afternoon showers fell relentlessly on that fated day, drumming its staccato beat on rooftops, preceded by thunderclaps rolling in full aplomb The vast skies lit up as lightning strikes its might, and the land below shake and trembled with fright.Swiftly as it come the rain cease its heavy onslaught realizing the entire landscape was fully drenched and soaking wet. By four o’clock the cottony clouds slowly parted to reveal back the glory of sunshine.

Prisms of sunlight suddenly shoot down from the sky illuminating the entire land once more. Dewdrops suspended on leaves of plants glistens when the slivers of sunlight planted kisses on it.

The entire county is refreshed deleting the cobwebs of dust deposited on streets. People slowly emerge from the safety of their homes, checking up their gutters and eaves which are choke with debris. Some yards are blanketed with an avalanched of leaves, and the locals are busy sweeping their yards. Birds chirping serves as the background music while it gather its last catch for the day. An occasional hawk spreads its mighty wings in the sky above us scouting the land for possible preys.

I live in a rural area, where streets are unpaved, the houses mostly made of hardwood that boast extravagant wrapped around porches and balconies decorated with a profusion of colorful flowering plants displayed on flowerpots made of clay. Picket wooden fences painted in pristine white adorned the perimeters planted with borders made of green shrubs. The shoreline is wide and beautiful proud of its black sands and pebbles. The sea is the color of sapphire blue, the frothy waves lapping on seashores and small fishing boats swaying to the lullabies of the gentle breeze. A few locals made a living ofcatching fish and whatever the sea spits out of its bowels. We have both primary and secondary schools, churches, and a cemetery. Cellular phones and internet are still innovations and inventions into the future. Life is beautiful, simpler and less complicated.

Tonight is special for I will go out on a date. The plan is to escape from the clutches of my parents for a few hours without them ever knowing. I always love to listen to the sound of live bands performing to my favorite music. My other predilections are food and books. It is where I will escape out tonight, to see a live band performing in an open bar and restaurant together with the company of my friend Rolf.

My inner introspection is halted in mid air when the clock chimed at eight o’clock. My train of thought went back in the confines of my bedroom. The nocturnal insects began their nightly ritual. with a cacophony sounds of the cicadas’ choreographed concert assaulted my auditory nerves, furthermore enhanced by the repetitive chants of the frogs from a nearby pond singing endlessly to the tune of kokak.

I turned around and walk towards my bed where I am going to get ready for the night. I hastily changed into tight fitting black shirt, denim jeans, sneakers, wear my hair in a ponytail and finish my get up with a gray cap adorning the top of my head. My younger sibling whom I appointed as my silent reluctant partner in my past escapades as well as the repository of my crimes is sitting on my bed while playing with our pet dog. I bribed her with a promise of a big hamburger in return for her complete silence. She retorted back saying, “You better make good with that reward or I will send your butt to the cleaners.”

‘I swear I will honor my promise with you my dear Sis”, I answered. I grab my sling bag and hastily climbed out of the window, but our pet dog whimpered. I gesticulated it to stop whimpering, the dog snorted back and give me a disgusted look of disapproval as he watched me successfully descended from my foxhole towards freedom and adventure.

In seconds I reached the perimeter of our yard lined with trees, the pungent aroma of ripened tropical fruits wafted the grounds. I ducked my head over tree branches colliding with flying bats swooping down from every direction busy with their feast for the night.

The moment I reached the street, there are only two lighted lamp post that cast an errie glow, standing like lone sentinels equidistant and far apart from each other. I carefully navigated my feet over puddles of muddied water reflecting the moonlight alternately walking, and skipping trying to avoiding potholes. I see couples, sweethearts and kids on lighted porches and balconies as I passed by and heard the incessant barked of a dog somewhere nearby.

It is one of those glorious summers I will never forget. The details are forever etched and recorded in the annals of my memory banks. The air is crisp and cold as I passed a few bystanders huddled together in the dark smoking pot. I finally arrived at the pre arranged rendezvous, a depot along the national highway as previously agreed with my mentor and friend Rolf.

Rolf perfectly personifies the look of a day old corpse, is patiently sitting in his Jurassic car with a name emblazoned in front of its hood with the word Toyota, a lighted cigarette in his hand while holding the steering wheel. He opened the car door in the passenger seat, I slide my butt in, throw my sling bag on the back set, said my ritual hello and off we go, the sound of screeching tires shrieking all the way to the city.

Rolf is a twenty five year old smart and sensible bachelor out on a night prowl. Ten years older than me extra pale and is thin as a reed, tall as a beanpole, sporting a hawk nose perched on his gaunt face and topped with a crown of riotous curly black hair. He is a landscape designer who caters a well to do clientele and comes from an illustrious family in our city. He loves the night life and prefers to watch and listen to live bands than frequenting joints and nightspots where the hosts do strip dances or stripsho. I on the one hand emerge from a family of mutineers based on the written testimony engraved on the walls of the office of our county seat. A man long dead led the revolution against foreign legions during World War1 and I happen to share the same surname with the leader of that successful revolt. That is how I come up with the theory of my pedigree.

I love to watch and listen to live bands, the joyride and food. Rolf and I become good friends and bonded together like two peas in a pod, because I am the perfect epitome of Pandora’s box with no key or password to crack. Ergo I am his secret confidante and shrink. What he lacks in the looks department, he compensates with his positive outlook in life, a good manner and a kindred heart.

After twenty minutes of zooming our way towards the city like the devil is chasing us, we finally reach the hang out bar and restaurant. The place is not over crowded, boosting a live band that offer classic contemporary music. Sumptuous menus, drinks and aperitifs taste good. We chose a table and took our seats, and then Rolf ordered the menu for the night The live band started their lovely rendition of ABBA’s hit list, Styx and the Beegees. We were both ecstatic watching the band, listening to their lovely music and the joyful crowd. After three hours my friend Rolf is partly intoxicated, and the rest of the patrons sparing me. I am a minor and imbibing alcohol is an explicit violation of the law of the land. I eat all the food laid out in front of me like voracious half starve kitten. By the time Rolf said, "We better get going I need to see a friend about a client", I am full, and my tummy is gorged. I was having a difficult time walking back to his car, I carry with me the bribe for my sister, lest she shall tell the counsels who judges my fate. He drove back retracing the route we took.

Rolf is a good driver, I can fairly well say. The ride back is accomplished in amiable silence, each immersed in each pthers thoughtsd, actually I can think much because I m so full I am catching my breath. We keep the windows open, the cold breeze whipping on our faces as we passed deserted strasse, closed establishments, and houses completely enveloped in utter darkness. Halfway towards our journey the dark clouds totally parted to make way for the full moon hanging starkly bright against the darkness of the night. It looked like a round big globule, a silver disc hanging on an invisible thread providing us additional light where there were no lamp posts available in sight.

Then the urge to relieved ourselves signalled us to find a comfort room . Remember, this was a by gone era where gasoline stations closed around nine pm every night and convenient stores does not exist yet. Since there were no other cars passing that night, houses are either dark or so far from us, we both agreed to relieve ourselves right beside the highway. The witness to our deed is the primary school with vast sprawling grounds. School grounds are totally enveloped in the dark and what we can only make out are the silhouettes of roofs and shapes of buildings standing so forlorn and abandoned. On the opposite side of the highway is an old public cemetery, scattered with vines in any directions. The whole area is littered with several huge acacia trees flanking its front entrance, sides and back. The tombstone were old piled on top of each other, local vines and bushes are taking up permanent residence in the immediate premises, wooden and marble crosses both adorned on top of tombstones. It looks macabre and eerie and there was not a single light in sight except for our headlights beamed on the road in front of us and the moonlight. Then we hear an owl hooted from somewhere in the direction of the acacia trees.

Rolf disembarked from the car and has taken a leak ahead of me. When he returns back on the driver sit, he lighted another cigarette. I climbed out of the car and I notice there is no other vehicle on sight on those few critical minutes. We were completely alone except for the moon. I unzipped the fly of my jeans, and surveyed my immediate surroundings. You can never be too confident and careless, an occasional python has a habit of crossing highways for their own nightly rendezvous too. After finding the area free of serpents and crawling creatures, I positioned myself and started peeing, meanwhile my line of vision fell on the periphery of something a little bit further illuminated by the front headlights of our car. I notice there is someone, definitely a male person standing on the opposite side of road right in front of the cemetery. How can someone be so crazy to take a night stroll inside the cemetery grounds when it is eerie and dark. I ask Rolf to confirm what I saw. He replied with a yawn, “Yes, looks like a man to me wearing coveralls and some combat shoes.” I look harder and notice something is not right or lacking with what my eyes perceives. The man is tall and is standing about 7 yards away from us, and he grasping something on his other hand. I asked Rolf again, “Rolf try to look beyond his shoulders on the neck, it seems the man has no head or what?” This time I have the full attention of Rolf, the object of our attention is about to take his first step in order to cross the road in front of us. Rolf looked harder on the man as I did. “ Holy fuck, it looks like he lost his head or chose to hide it.” I cut him off and said, “Look like he does not have a head really, and what is that thing he is holding in his hand?”.

He replied, “Oh God he is holding his head, look at all those hairs pulled up between his fingers”. I did not finish urinating, I jerked my panty upward, heard the stitched broke, I neglect zipping up my jeans even. I grabbed the car handle, slide in closed the door shut, both Rolf and I are frantic now, he seemed to have completely sobered up, meanwhile the man is crossing the road towards us now. Big sweat suddenly formed above my brows, cold shivers run down my spine and the root hairs of my nape began to stand on end. Rolf gunned down the engine, tires screeching out as I shrieked with all my might with these words, “Let us get the hell out of here.” The moment we passed the man I closed my eyes, then after five seconds I look back, the headless stopped midway looked towards us, lost interest and continue walking onwards until he reached the opposite side of the road and disappear from our sight. He must have heard the sound of the car engine I told Rolf. “But how can a headless man know where to look in order to cross the road Rolf.” He shot back a retort. “How the hell should I know, he is holding his head, so it must be the head telling him where to go.” “But it is decapitated, for goodness sake”. Must be a ghost elucidated Rolf. Then Rolf asked if I notice something about his gear, I said ja you told me coveralls. Rolf replied back. It looks like an old coveralls similar to uniforms of Japanese sentries or must be a guerilla during WW2. I replied back, “You are more ancient than me, so you must be familiar with the clothes”. Rolf has seen the humor of my statement and surprises me by laughing out loud and said, “I am only twenty five Alex, a long way to go before calling me ancient!”

By the way my name is Alex short for Alessandra. What Rolf and I encounter on that fateful night is a man whose head is decapitated yet he seems to know where he is going while grasping his own head with his hand. How are you going to reconcile two differentiating facts to arrive at a coherent logical explanation?

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