Cleaning

Washing of layer after layer, removing the dirt
Gathered over the years, brown muck staining
The white walls with their random patterns and pictures
Mark after mark, lines and stains, drawn by clumsy
Hands which knew no better how to decorate the surface.

Scrubbing and washing, hot water and soap, taking
Away the signs of life that has been lived within
This room which is part of a home filled with love.

Arms getting sore, the hard work strains the muscles
Which have not been trained for this sort of job, but
None the less it must be done, to clean the surface
To prepare it and make it new again, so real decoration
Can be put up, showing what magnificent a home this is.

White clean walls brighten the room, promises new
Beginnings and opportunities, a new way to create
An unique inviting room with warmth, peace and love.

A memory of Chicago - part 3

Justice, the concept seemed out of our hands. What could we do as dead. As ghosts? But I had to believe, I needed that hope that somehow we could make wrong right again.

Anna voiced my doubts, "Do you really think that's possible? What can we do? We're stuck here." "I do not know. But together we must be able to come up with something. " I tried to sound convincing. "Like what? We can't even move the flames of the candle. How in God's name would we be able to get justice." Anna had a valid point and I had no answer. Some of my hope faded and I guess my expression was clear to those around.

"Certainly there must be a way," Carina said, "just look at all those ghost stories we have heard as children, the rattling chains, the slamming doors. Stories like that just don't happen on their own, there must be a reason for it." I paused, and so did Anna. I could see how this information sent her mind spinning. Silvia went to one of the candles. She crouched next to it and moved her hand through the flame. Nothing happened. She tried again.

"But how do they do it?" Anna paused gazing at the candles and Silvia. "Do we just touch things and they move? Or does it take more, something else?" I glanced at Silvia and Anna, uncertain of what to do.

"It doesn't seem to work." Silvia's voice was curious, "It must be possible, one way or another, somehow." Silvia tried again, but the flame remained unmoving. "Surely there's a way," she said, while trying again and again. "Perhaps if I focus enough on it." She sat there, gazing intently at the flame and kept moving her hand through it. The rest of us drifted closer, watching what she was trying.

"If the stories are true, that is." Anna straightened her back, "Do you really think you can do it?" Silvia glanced at Anna, "Sure I can, if only I try hard enough. Anything is possible." Silvia returned to her task, determined to succeed. Anna huffed, her unspoken skepticism clearly showed.

"But what difference is it gonna make if ya can make a flame move? That won't bring us justice ya know. Justice would be to kill him, to make him suffer like he did us." Helena again tried to take charge of the situation.

"How are you going to kill him if you can't touch him, Helena?", Anna said, "I don't think hurting him will bring any justice. Forgiveness is what God teaches us. We must forgive him to leave here, to go to Heaven. Why else are we not already with God? Why are we here in this room?"

That question made us all pause. "What are you saying, aren't we going to Heaven? Is this our punishment?" Sheila sounded very scared.

"Perhaps, perhaps it's because," Maria's quiet voice came as a surprise. She hesitated and I sent her a small encouraging smile. "Perhaps it's because we're meant to do something." She dropped her gaze and quickly mumbled, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything."

A memory of Chicago - part 2

The room was silent. The bodies lay unmoving on the floor, not even their ghosts moved. Shock penetrated the very air I no longer breathed. One by one I noticed how the other girls realized their own death. Agony tearing over their faces, voiceless screams filling the void where life had once run.

Their reaction was not so different from my own, and yet, they seemed unable to think, to step out of their fear. They did not see each other or me, only their bodies before them. One paced the room restlessly, unable to keep still for more than a brief moment. Others knelt by their bodies, touching it with disbelief. Over and over reliving the moment of horror and betrayal when their life was taken from them. The fair-haired girl just stood there, staring at the wall. Completely numb, reflecting my own feelings. Another of the girls tried to kick the candles standing on the floor, but each time she tried nothing happened. Only the flame flickered so very briefly that I suspected it was a figment of my imagination.

I turned my back to the room, needing to get away from it, to forget what had happened. I stared out of the window as time passed. The night deepened only to grow lighter again. Shapes became recognizable figures in the fog, the nightman walked down the street when the world had become a light grey. One after the other he extinguished the lights, whistling his usual happy tune. Slowly the street woke to life, water poured out of a window opposite me, the early workers trudging towards the harbour, the man delivering at the doorsteps and tussled women quickly grabbing the bottles before hurrying inside.

For a blissful moment I forgot all about the scene behind me. I marvelled in the sounds and views the street below me provided. As if seeing it for the first time. I wondered why I had never noticed all the details before. Completely taken by the life before me, I felt a sudden pang of regret. I was dead. I would never again taste the fresh bread from the bakery, never taste mamas tomato sauce and pasta, never hear my little brother laugh with joy, never pet the cat who visited me in the early evenings.

Finally I returned to the situation before me. The life outside the window was me denied, it would never be mine again. Staring at the carnage in front of me, I felt a strong anger. Anger at the man who had taken my life. Anger at the betrayal. It fired me like a hungry flame, willing me into action. I had to do something. This ritual we had all been involved in was certainly no act of God. With burning passion I knew I had to find justice. I had to make sure this man, this devil, never again would take the life of another.

I stepped into the room, carefully avoiding the bodies lying on the floor. I would not look at them. Looking at the blood and death would just send me back into the numb scream again. I could not allow for that to happen. Slowly I made my way to the fair-haired girl and stood before her her. She did not react, it was like she couldn't see me. I waved my hands at her face and only a flicker in her eyes was returned. "Sheila, do you hear me?" Another flicker and I had hope I could get through to her. "Sheila, listen to me, you got to break out of that, we got to do something." Confusion coloured her expression and slowly her focus shifted. I smiled at her, though faintly. There was not much to smile about. "Yes?" Hesitation slured her words. Perhaps it was better for her to just forget about the pain. I shook my head, no, we had to work together to deal with this. I could not do it on my own. We had all be wronged.

"Sheila," speaking her name seemed to have the most effect, and I repeated it until she finally focused on me. "What happened? Why am I here?" I watched her eyes. Uncertain of what to say or do, I gave her time. "Why am I not feeling anything? Where am I?" She took her eyes of me and turned to the room. A scream escaped her lips and she covered her face with her hands. "No!" The pain in her voice was tangible. "I can't be dead, it can't be true. It was just a bad dream, a dream. He wouldn't do this, he couldn't."

The others in the room slowly turned their attention to us and drifted closer. Sheila saw them come and stepped backward. She held up her hands as if to protect herself. "No, he couldn't have, why would he, I loved him." So that was why she had joined us. Love. A romantic dream. I felt for her. His betrayal of her was greater than of me. A sudden flash of insight, and I knew that he had played us all. Appealing to our dreams, to what we desired. He had known Sheila's love and promised her it would be returned. Just like he had promised me a change, a chance to escape my poor life.

This made me wonder what promises he had given the others. It was easy to guess Helena, her desire for power and control had always been poorly hidden. It was also she who spoke now. "It's obvious, isn't it Sheila." He betrayed us, he murdered us." Sheila closed her eyes, trying to deny the facts before her, but Helena continued, "He is a fraud. A mean bastard. Ya're a fool to listen to him, an idiot." Sheila shrank even more and tried to hide behind me. "No, he loved me, he told me he loved me." Helena snorted, "Yeah right, and I'm the queen of Sheba. Look lass, he fooled us all and killed us all. Stop ya whining, ya can't change what happened anyway."

"No, but we can do something about it." I stepped forward, my anger once again fuelling me into action I would not have dared in the past. "We can do something about it, we can get justice."

You

As a ray of light, you shine
Through broken clouds after the storm
One among many, and always
The brightest of the day.
Over troubled waters the beam
Dances, as if filled with the joy
Of life discovered anew, when
The ray of light touched the tops
Of waves rolling over the ocean.

As the voice of a bird, you rise
Above the chorus of flocks gathered
In the trees surrounding me, standing
Tall in the forest, in which I have wandered
Lost for years of my life, and here I hear
The most beautiful song, coming from
Up high, the inspiration you gave me
When I was lost in my wanderings.

As the scent of a rose, you waft
Upon the breezes, caressing the flowers
Of the garden, in which I was lost
In my dreams of a future, that I
Could never reach, out of fear that
One day, I might actually achieve
What I dreamt of, when the scent
Brought hope to my heart, to find my way
Out of the maze, my longing dreams
Had woven, the fragrance guided me
Towards the centre of the garden, where it
Held me enthralled, forever in belief.

You are the light, the song, the scent
Of my life, the ones that stands out
More than any other, the ones I
Hold most dear in my heart, to whom
My love eternally will belong.

A memory of Chicago - part 1

We stood in a circle, all watching the man before us. He spoke in hushed tones, mystical words that I did not understand. Phrases of ancient origin. Raptly we absorbed his words, swaying lightly to the melody of his voice. It was hypnotic, catching us all in a spell. The pentagram in the centre of the circle was drawn with white chalk, lines crossing the coarse boards of the floor. Five black candles stood in each corner, casting flickering shadows on the bare walls behind us.

From the outside I heard a horse carriage pass by over the cobblestones. A sound so typical for this part of the city where nobody could afford one of the rare automobiles. The sound disappeared into the thick fog that covered the night, lending another eerie aspect to the ritual before us. I cast a glimpse out of the window and saw the street deserted beneath us. The only thing alive was the flickering gas lamps barely able to penetrate the gloom. It was like the night had just gotten darker.

The thin shift I wore scratched my soft skin. Made of coarse hemp, it barely served to keep out the damp and cold of the room. I dared a quick glance at the others standing in the circle. All young women as myself, barely come into adulthood. Completely absorbed by the man before us, the saviour we called him. All eyes were fixed upon him. I seemed to be the only one not completely caught up in the ritual and his voice. Would what we attempted fail due to my lack of concentration?

I forced myself to focus. Shutting out the voice of a stray dog barking somewhere down the street. When the chant began, my voice joined the chorus and as the words got stronger I felt myself get caught up in the ritual. Odd sensations swept through my body and I felt my head become lighter, as if I was separating myself from my flesh. Only his voice mattered, only his voice was heard. There was nothing else. Thrills made me shiver, an anticipation stronger than anything I had previously known. Unknown sensations which I didn't have words for.

"Close your eyes and listen only to my voice," his voice seemed like a ray of bright light, "listen to my voice and feel how you become lighter and lighter." I swayed and lost even more contact with my physical self. "My voice is your guide, it is your light, your beacon. Heed it and become one with the energy building right here in the centre. Feel it, feel how the light is extending to embrace you all. Feel how the bright light is coming to take you."

With my eyes closed, I only listened to his voice; absorbed, taken, seduced. He kept on chanting in low tones, the words impossible to catch. It felt like I floated above myself, only connected by a slight overlap. What a magnificent experience, so unique and special. All I sensed before my closed eyes was the light he had described. Like a bright flame before us, filling the entire pentagram, outshining the light from the candles. Blinding, strong.

His voice seemed to shift around, and yet, I knew he was standing in the circle. It wove around us like the morning fog at the shore. Fingers extended, touching the naked branches and single leaves left after the last storm. For each verse he chanted, the light seemed to become brighter, more intense, as did his words. He sounded excited, anticipating what would come. I wasn't sure of what precisely this ritual was about. But I trusted him, as we all did. He had a talent to make people trust him and follow him. He was our saviour, our liberator, the one who could bring us further than we had ever dreamt about.

Suddenly I felt his hand over my mouth. He stood behind me. I tensed, returning to my body with a snap. "Trust me," were the only words he whispered to my ear. Instantly I relaxed, my heartbeat slowed and I savoured his touch. I doubt any of us had not longed for that touch, that embrace at some point during these last months while we prepared for this ritual. I felt my knees grow weak and new thrills raked my body. A feeling I couldn't put a name to. I just know I savoured his touch, desired more of it. "That is much better, my little angel," he placed a light kiss upon my neck as his breath warmed my skin.

Something cold press against my throat, and then a sharp pain soared through me. I tried to scream, but my voice would not work. I felt heat rise in my head before growing lighter and lighter. The last I remembered was his hand gently catching me as I lost my balance. He lowered me to the floor. The world grew dark.

Vision returned. I was standing. Without comprehension I looked around me, trying to understand where I was and what was going on. The candles had burned low, they were the first to draw my attention. I stared at the flames for a while, my gaze darting between them. Then I remembered. The pain. I raised my hand to my throat, but felt nothing. Confused I looked around, for the first time shifting my attention outside the pentagram. That was when I saw it.

The man, our saviour cradled one of the girls in his arms, her white shift was stained dark. I realized then it was blood. Her throat had a gabing wound and the blood poured from it. He lowered her to the ground and stood up. A very satisfied smile made his face look horrific. He was panting and trembling, filled with an unfamiliar energy. He licked his lips and sucked the knife held clean for blood.

I screamed, loudly, wanting to run away from the scene. But I could not move. My feet would not obey me. He didn't react to my voice. He walked around the circle kneeling briefly by each body lying on the floor. A kiss placed upon their foreheads as he sliced open the shifts, revealing the naked bodies underneath. Young bodies which had never known the touch of a man before. He gazed upon what was revealed to him and then cut off a bloody strip. Slowly he made his way around the circle and with horror I saw him kneel next to me. I stepped back, fearful he would kill me. But he gave the body at my feet the same treatment as the others, the kiss, the revelation, the souvenir and moved on.

With sudden realization I knew it was my own body lying before me. I was dead. Again horror tried to voice itself, but only silence answered. Now I noticed the others standing with a confused look on their faces. Unseeing, uncomprehending, not understanding.

He left the room and the bodies behind. One long wishful glance at the scene before he closed the door behind him. I heard him walk down the stairs and onto the street below. Now I could move and rushed to the window seeing him disappearing into the fog. A dog growled from an alley. Numbly I stood there. Having a difficult time comprehending what had happened. How I had gotten involved in this. Trying to understand this deep betrayal of not only myself, but of the six other girls in the room.