The Fool

A flash of lightning lit up the room from all angles as if a swarm of metal halide bulbs were surrounding the house, attacking from all directions. Shadows inside the room slithered up the walls in silence, then disappeared in an instant, only to reappear once again, before the flickering shreds of lightning tapered off into the darkness.

A thick mist was developing in the corner of the bedroom, as thunder rattled and shook the house from all corners, leaving yet another flash to be devoured by the darkness. A face appeared in the mist, with each piece joining together like a jigsaw puzzle; features which vaguely resembled those of a woman.

Randall twisted and turned in bed, teeth grinding, muscles tense with beads of perspiration, which collected at the base of his back. A muscle spasm began to send twitches scattering across the entire length of his face.

Then came the thunder, directly overhead, sending a heavy sound that shook the foundation of the house. Even the windows rattled, with the outside shudders slapping and clapping like giant hands.

The light, the flash, and the moments of time held the images of the room in suspended animation. The apparition grew to form a human figure, standing in the corner of the bedroom, still shrouded by mist, yet now edging towards the completion of visual clarity.

Randall grimaced and rolled over in bed. His heartbeat and breathing rate increased as he was wracked with anxiety and fear. Drool was forming along the side of his mouth. He tried to speak, yet only mumbled incoherently.

By now the perspiration had drenched his clothing, his body now a wet sheet of fear overcome with anxiety.

“ Beware,” the voice quietly spoke.

Randall flapped his head from one side, and then to the other in a jerking motion. His mouth was now open, trying to speak, determined to bring forth a sound to match the feeling of terror.

“ No.” He uttered under his breath.

“ The attic...The cards” whispered the voice.

Randall grunted, kicking and pushing the bedsheets off and onto the floor, using his feet in short violent bursts of energy. The sweat now increased, along with the pulse of his heartbeat, as the rain pelted down sideways against the windows.

“ Cast these away,” he heard the voice say, before another boom of thunder, “for they will bring evil into the lives of those who handle them.” The voice spoke softly, fading off once more.

“ No. Please, God, help me.” He mumbled unconsciously, reaching outward with both hands, trying to grab hold of the floating apparition in front of him.

The apparition vanished, leaving him still in bed, yet now under the control of his subconscious, dreadful and horrific.

In a nightmare, he saw himself being cut with long swords; a king, queen, knight, and page, all at once cutting him in short successions, then swiftly hacking off his limbs at random. The scene switched instantaneously, like a different channel on the television set.

He was now sitting at a table in a large banquet hall, being forced to drink poison from cups, which were never empty, no matter how much he consumed. He fell and squirmed frantically on the floor, unable to minimize the pain. Then his body, covered in blood, was drowning in a mountain of gold coins, each imprinted with a pentacle. The more he clutched for air, the tighter the coins consumed the spaces around his body until the air was extinguished, suffocating him to death.

Finally, he found himself locked in a wooden cage, suspended high above a large bonfire. Sharp pointed rods appeared out of nowhere, stabbing his body at different angles, piercing his flesh.

Randall twisted and jerked--flopping back and forth on the bed until he felt the cold hardwood floor strike against his head like a fist. He awoke staring blankly at the baseboard, then squinting upwards at the window. The wind of the storm continued blasting the side of the cottage, the shutters still applauding, and the sheets of rain moving outside like schools of fish. Randall grabbed hold of the bedpost, breathing a sigh of relief.

“What the fuck just happened?” He thought to himself, as he struggled to bring his other arm from underneath his body. Then clasping one hand against the night table, he hoisted himself up and finally came to sit on the edge of the mattress. He was completely soaked and felt as though he had been caught in the rainstorm that was raging outside.

His hands supported his head, which felt as heavy as a bowling ball. An aching feeling of numbness began to take hold, as he stared at his feet, still sitting motionless on the edge of the mattress. The flash of lighting from outside the window revealed only a familiar sight of himself and his surroundings.

“ Only a dream.” He consoled himself in a soft yet reassuring voice.

“ Only a dream.” The wind echoed back in a howl.

Or was it? He thought to himself for a moment and then decided that working for the past month without much sleep had finally triggered a bizarre trip into a subconscious twilight zone.

He fumbled around in the drawer of the nightstand, found a bottle of extra-strength Tylenol, and promptly fed himself a few, before laying his aching head down onto the pillow, falling backward into a spinning cloud of sleep. He could hear the rain pelting against the glass, as the room faded into darkness once again.