Wine and Penitence
I wrote this nightmarish story while listening to this playlist. You may find it interesting to read while playing it in your background.
Save yourselves!
Evacuate!
Evacuate!
In the middle of a rainy night, in my room, a hysterical man screaming at the top of his lungs wakes me up, always wakes me up. I can’t help but get nervous every time I do it. His screams echo in my ears and I don’t know if I’m still awake or not. Is this a mental echo? Or am I listening to it for real?
In the dark, Nala, my 7-year-old Doberman, seems to ignore my nightly nightmares. She is awake like me, but I don’t know if she has been asleep during the night.
On one hand, my pup is like any other dog of her species, sleek body, a black shiny coat, and a powerful physique.
But her nonphysical attributes differ from the rest. She doesn’t bark or growl and I do not know why she doesn’t adopt any proactive stance against stimuli. I know she is always alert, that she is mine, and I also know that she, more than a company, is a witness.
Is late on this bone-chilling night, Nala wakes and checks on me. She doesn’t seem to hear any commotion outside the house, which worries me even more. It means that the commotion is in my head. But I’m awake. Why do I keep listening to the screams?
This situation makes little sense. I have to know who yells in the street every night and why no one in the neighborhood seems to flinch.
I try to reach my night light, but is off, with no power. I have no candles to light my way, so getting up in the dark is the challenge then, I thought. In two movements I am out of bed and towards the door, but when I try to open it, I find a surprise.
The old armchair in my room is blocking the way out.
My brain, still sleepy, explodes with questions.
How could a rusty old Louis XIV-style armchair have moved at least a meter on its own?
Moved to block my way?
Did someone move it?
Why didn’t I realize?
Nala noticed?
This is new and unbearable. First, the yelling for several nights now, a chair moving on its own; this is another level of insanity.
As I can, I push that antique out of my way to open the door; but before leaving, an intense cold scratches my back. It feels like a glacial blanket is behind me; one who wouldn’t want me to leave the room. Confusion suffocates me. I need to breathe and understand what is happening to me.
I run away from my room; stepping over the darkness, the chair, that icy feeling, and the liquor bottles.
Next to me, Nala, aloof as always but by my side right now. I do not know when did she leave the room, but I appreciate that she’s here with me. This dog and my will are the only things I have in this existence, and I don’t plan on losing either of them.
Even when it is the wee hours of the morning, outside the room, the temperature is different. In the rest of my beautiful house, the temperature is more friendly and warm; I guess it’s the pine wood floors. Old, scratched, in some places maladjusted, but very elegant. It gives a flair of familiarity to the house. Something that does not happen in my room, which is more reminiscent of a warehouse than a living space.
Outside, it has stopped raining. Through the windows in the living room, I see the empty street.
Nothing.
No one.
I do not observe any tragedy, no one screams, no one runs in panic, and also no one knows I am going crazy in here.
It was all a veritable nightmare, I concluded, already exhausted and with my sleep ruined for the day. It is better not to go back to bed; I prefer to stay alert with the help of some activity in case something else happens.
A bit of clearance in my den will lighten my head and my thoughts. My goal, get the old chair out of my space to leave it somewhere in the living room. Tonight, I’m going to wait here, outside in the living area.
Sober.
Hoping I don’t hear the screams again but doubting that this will end soon.
Save yourselves!
Evacuate!
Evacuate!
My open eyes in the dark don’t tell me if I’m awake, but my ears convince me that something is happening. I hear the rain outside, the shouting, and now, a new sound, one distant but inside the house.
Distraught, I get out of bed and realize that I’m back in my bedroom. I didn’t stay outside waiting on the couch, and I don’t remember when I came back. My head spins; I’m about to faint next to Nala in the middle of my recently cleared room.
It’s still raining outside and now, at two o’clock in the morning, I hear someone in the house with us. I know it; I can hear the furniture moving. Someone dragging it across that fancy old wooden floor towards where we are. There’s someone in the house with us, I know it.
The noise stops. Someone is right outside; my heart rate goes through the roof waiting for what’s coming next.
Behind my room’s closed door, someone is now banging on the wood; pounding it harder with every blow to the door.
One.
Two.
Three sharp blows make my heart and senses jump.
From her corner, Nala remains as calm as ever, despite the three knocks we hear on the door. She understands that something is happening, but she doesn’t lose her composure. Her scrutinizing look tells me to open the door, to find out what is happening, and stand to whoever is on the other side of the door.
With my heart about to burst, I decide to find out what is happening, but my nerves are a wreck. Not only do I keep hearing the evacuation order, but I also have to face a potential intruder in my house.
With more suspicion than courage, I approach the door. I bring my left ear closer to listen to what is on the other side.
To my surprise, the wood is freezing and I can perceive a faint breeze running under the door. Amazement turned into fear when I hear a slight female breathing inches away from my face. I can hear how someone breathes with difficulty, in a sped-up way, as if not getting enough air.
I assess my situation and conclude that Nala and I can deal with another woman; we will take on whoever is out there.
A blast of cold air hits me in the face when I open the door. In front of me, the Louis XV chair was waiting for me, the one I left out in the living room. Someone took that carved wood chair from the other side of the house and pushed it to my room. As expected, there is nobody out here, and again, this chair is blocking my way.
I question my sobriety. I can’t believe any of this; my plan to face this nightmare has evaporated and with it my sanity.
No one is before me. There is no racket outside anymore. There is only the cold and wet opacity of a rainy morning.
I am completely bewildered. Standing between my room and the chair, pondering in the middle of the dark. Not knowing what to do and with no one to talk to.
I tilt my head to look at the chair and then a tear of despair falls down my cheek when I see a glow in the dark. Something has caught my attention, a medium-size object on the seat of the furniture. Something that shouldn’t be there either. A glass bottle.
I get the message; I can’t win, I can only escape. My defeat must be complete.
Should I drown myself in wine to flee? Only to kneel before this delirium?. Should I succumb to the infinite anguish that I live in?
Like the old Louis XV chair, I don’t know how this uncorked bottle got here either; but that doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve decided. I’m going to suffocate my sanity. With a slam, I close the door of this gloomy room to take refuge with Nala and my bottle. I took three steps towards the bed and I hear it again. Whoever is outside bangs again on the door, now with more insistence and firmness.
My only resource is to yell and curse at her while I take a long drink of a full-bodied red wine. I can’t stay sober in the middle of this torment.
Again and again, she keeps knocking on the door; every time she knocks I take a good sip of alcohol. I know I’m not improving the situation, but I don’t care anymore. Only Nala, with her deep look, makes me doubt my actions, but what does a dog know about hallucinations?
The bottle and my mind are empty now, but I have received the gift of courage. Thanks to it, I marvel at the idea of teasing her. What would happen if I mess around with this situation?, what if every time there is a knock on the door I run to open it but immediately close it?. How will she react?
The answer is, with fury. My experiment has unleashed the wrath of my tormentor; she no longer knocks on the door, she wants to smash it down. Time to stop my stupidity and analyze this nonsense.
Fact: Someone brought here this chair and this bottle (now empty).
Theory: Is it possible that I had upset the house for having moved its furniture?
Fact: I am not alone in this house
Theory: Is it possible that someone is playing with me and with rules that no one has told me? Is this my house?
Alone in this room with Nala, I contemplate if this is all related?
The screaming.
The chair.
The knocks on the door.
I decide to end this unusual experiment immediately by putting that antique back in my room. Stacked against the wall in a corner.
After this, exhaustion resets my brain. I fall face down, passing out on the bed.
An icy cloak invades the room and wakes me up. I’ve been unconscious for a couple of hours in bed; it’s not dawn yet, it’s still dark. I’m still drunk and my numbed senses are not very useful at the moment. I figure it’s the cold of the morning that overwhelms me, but when I turn around; before me, an inconceivable scene.
Revealed in front of me are the pieces of this mind puzzle, and I finally understand everything.
I am not alone in this artic room with my dog. There is someone else. I hear that difficult and sick breathing again.
Nala, who all this time has only dedicated herself to behold, is the one who now calls my attention. For the first time, I see her agitated, not with anxiety, but with emotion; she sighs and there is a hint of happiness in her. She gets up from her mattress and looks at me. We both exchange glances for a couple of seconds. She then walks to the front of my bed; where, to my surprise, the damn old chair is back again in its regular place.
Now, next to that past century furniture, sitting and observing me from the front, is Nala. I remember it all.
When I thought I had lost everything and only my will and my dog remained; I was wrong. Nala was never mine.
Nala was my older sister’s pet, and that chair was her desk chair. The only thing left of her after the tragedy I caused and one I don’t want to relieve.
At least I am no longer in the darkness.
I am not living in this house for rent; I am in this house in penitence. Until I redeem my past mistakes, I can never get rid of the cold, the screaming, and this infinite drunkenness.
While I’m still in this purgatory, rationalizing what I did and how I can make amends, on the other side of my bed is a court. Not of human law, but divine justice. One in which a dog and her owner pass judgment on me.
Sitting on that chair, invisible to my eyes but not to my ears, is my sister; always in pain and agony. Choking on the little air she breathes.
Save yourselves!
Evacuate!
Evacuate!
Hey there, before you go.
Hi, the King of Pragmatism wants to thank you for your time reading my story.
This was my first attempt at writing a suspense story. I hope it was good enough for you. I know I still have to learn a lot, so, if you have any suggestions about this story, let me know them. I'm eager to read what you have to say.
Thanks a lot.
