Witching hour part 1

“Ye tho I walk through the valley of the shadow of….” I paused, my breathing heavy and my fingers locked together. I was beginning to find it increasingly difficult to finish the simple prayer. I kept my eyes shut, afraid to open it without finishing my prayers. Mother had said once that if I opened my eyes without finishing the prayers, I would be inviting the devil. I believed her. I still did. “In the name of the father, and the son and…” I tried to start my prayers all over again and still couldn’t get past the first lines. My breathing increased and I felt the sharp pain of my heart hammering against my chest. I freed my fingers and slowly opened my eyes. The wooden floor creaked as I stood up from it. My knees hurt slightly and my head ached, as it did every night. I looked around the tiny room, it was dark save for the tiny rays of moonlight hitting the metal bowl on the floor. The room was also quiet except for the consistent dripping of water on the wooden floor and it’s splashing on the bowl. I moved up towards the bowl and bent to adjust the position, the ceiling had been leaking after the rain yesterday. The small window creaked as a draft of air rushed past it. I walked a few steps to the window and pushed it open. The window was not so big, in fact it was exactly the size of my head. I closed my eyes and sniffed the cold air; it would rain again, and soon. I stood back from the window and tried to remember why I was still awake at midnight. Oh yes, the voices in my head. The voices that were always talking to me. No, it wasn’t my thoughts, I can easily tell my thoughts apart. The voices were always whispering quietly, telling me what to do. At midnight, these voices got louder, and sometimes more aggressive. They’d even taken over my body once, when I had been dreadfully ill. I heard mother say I had been sleep-walking and that maybe it was the medication. But then, there had been other instances. One time, when I had been going home from school, I’d decided to take a dark corner street. The street had been empty as I knew it would, but I took it anyways. I was walking quietly, aware of the honking and rushing fading behind me and then the voices came up again. “What will you do?” They asked. I ignored the voice. I always did. “What will you do?!” It raged and I got distracted and stepped on a puddle of brown water, soaking my black sandals. I groaned and yelled “what!” The voices calmed down, “The man coming behind you, he wants to harm you, what will you do?” I felt my heart skip a beat and then I clutched my school bag, the leather creaking subtly. I didn’t turn back just yet, I listened. I suddenly became aware of the thudding of boots behind me. That was when I turned. “Hey, little girl.” The man said. I groaned and then grimaced at the sight of him. He wore a faded, grease stained brown shirt and an equally faded jean shorts. I could smell him from where I stood. He kept walking towards me, exposing his yellow teeth in an awkward grin and looking around him. The street was dark, so he had no worries. “A nice body you have there.” He muttered, and oddly I stood still, transfixed. “What will you do?” The voiced beckoned. I let go of the straps of my bag and squeezed my hands into fists. I was angry. I noticed that the voices grew louder the moment I got angry, and when they were loud they usually took control. “You should kill him.” A tiny, distinct voice said. I gasped and shook my head, trying to rid myself of those voices. The man was close now and he had a greasy hand on my shoulder. “Want to play a game?” He said, I looked away and felt my stomach churn. Except the game is let’s-see-who-smells-the-most, if it’s that then you win. I got hold of my thoughts and remembered what mother always said about strange men; run, scream and never look back. That was what I did, although without the screaming part. So, you see, those voices were not my thoughts. I moved around the dark room and sat on the iron bed which creaked under my weight. Thunder rumbled and then it suddenly began to rain. I looked up at the window, seeing just a slight part of the moon from my angle. The rain beat down on the glass pane of my window with little rattling noises. I thought of home and I felt empty. And then I felt enraged. They’d locked me here. They had no faith in me at all. They called me mysterious, strange, witch. I looked around the small dark room and heard that, distinct mocking voice again. “Witch!” It cried. “I am not a witch!” I cried, slamming my fists on the bed. The floor shook slightly and the bed creaked loud. My eyes opened wide as I saw the room light up; blue streaks of light dancing around me. I’d done it again. Maybe I was a witch after all. Like I said, I’d done it again. Meaning this was not the first time I’d summoned those light things. A few months ago, before my parents brought me to this cursed place, just a few weeks after discovering those voices in my head, I discovered something else. Mother always said I was a stubborn child by nature and that stubborn children needed to be handled roughly. She always had a bible passage to back each of her theories, “spare the rod and spoil the child” was her favorite. This was the reason why I hated father less than I hated mother. Father didn’t beat me, but I hated that he was under the control of mother. He had been against them bringing me here but had done nothing. A pitiful weakling, he was. On this occasion, mother had me kneel in front of her, a long cane in her hand and a bible in the other. Her voice was blurred out in my ears, drowned out by the voices speaking in my head. I couldn’t hear myself think. Literally. I watched mother’s mouth move steadily and seriously, not making out a word. She closed the bible and said something to me, I nodded and said yes. I had no idea what it was but I’ve learnt to always say yes to mother. I had the scars from that lesson. Mother stood on her feet, gripping the cane tightly and gesturing with all her fingers. I guess that meant I was to receive ten lashes with that cane. She began lashing out at me. The first stroke landed with a loud twip. I winced as I felt the cane burn into my skin and then suddenly, just as it’d come, it died down. The voices grew louder in my head. “Kill her, stop her, fight back, don’t cry!!” So many voices, so much that I didn’t know when mother dropped the last stroke. She stood back, breathing heavily and watching in surprise as something weird happened. My face began darker and my eyes went white. The voices, they were driving me crazy. I shook my head rapidly, unaware of mother and focusing only on the voices. “Enough!!” I yelled and the voices fell silent. I blinked rapidly and listened to my own voice; the voice I’d just yelled in. It hadn’t sounded like me, instead I felt like I’d channeled all the voices and yell with them all at once. I also heard a loud crash as I noticed mother fly back from where she stood and crash into our plate cupboard. Father rushed in immediately. “What happened?!” He yelled, but I just stood there and watched, feeling my breathing calm slowly. The words and the sound were all blurred out as I tried to comprehend what had just happened. That was really the first time I had actually ‘manifested’. The first of many to come.