Frightening Fridays: The Sacrifice (loosely based on a true story**)…

The Tarot card. This was my friend Ronit’s medium of choice to display her psychic ability. I’ve always had an interest in the occult/new wave religions. Always looking up books on the topic at the library or going to the local occult shop & new age book store.

Then I met Ronit. She was a client of mine through an arts transaction we made when I was a speaker at the Second Sunday Salon (a Local Arts Venue). I was very curious when she showed me her ancient deck of ornate cards. I had my fortunes read in the past, one person was vague and the other who drew my aura told me things about my late Mother that there is no way they could’ve known. Ronit was the same when she read for me.

One day she asked if I would be interested in trying the cards. She handed me the deck and as I shuffled I looked up and saw what I would call the angel of death hovering over her head. I refused and handed the cards back to her. She asked me what was wrong and I just said I wasn’t that interested.

One day Ronit told me about this place north of us called Columcile Megalith Park. It is a meditation retreat rooted in Gaelic history. We decide to take a trip there. It’s a beautiful park with a lot of stone formations. We find a cave like structure and go inside. There is a rock structure that almost looks like a sacrificial alter.

Ronit asks me to take a photo of her lying on the alter. I tell her it’s probably not a good idea. This is is probably a sacred area and we should just let it be, but she insists and takes out a pocket knife. Here she says, handing me the knife, hold it like you are sacrificing me and snap my photo. I reluctantly comply. As I snap the photo, the room gets cold, the wind has picked up outside and the skies have gotten dark. I tell Ronit that I knew it wasn’t a good idea to stage that photo. As we head to my car a very large branch from the tree we are standing under falls a few feet in front of us. Had we been any closer it could have been far more tragic.

I chuckle to myself and turn to Ronit and say “That was a close one huh.” Ronit turns to look at me and her eyes are blank and hallow. The Specter has returned. I stand there petrified. He cradles her body and they both disintegrate into thin air.

I haven’t ever gone back to that park, I tell Dr. Martin. Dr. Martin just asks me to take my med’s and retire to my room here at Martins Psychiatric Clinic.

** Everything that happened is true except for the very end, no one died **

Frightening Fridays: Webs…

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Damn this itch. I heard no one else I know who has Covid-19 to be dealing with this itch inside their head. Paranoia shoots through me like I am dealing with a new hybrid of the disease.

I just woke up one day with the worst head cold of my life. Both of my ears were stuffed up but my right ear, despite the ear drops I’ve been putting in, has a bizarre itch. When they swabbed my nose for the test, the nurse seemed slightly concerned by the silky consistency of my mucus.

Then one day I got the call that I tested positive but they also said they were doing further testing and would call me back within two weeks.

In the meanwhile, I have been sick as a dog. Laid up in bed with a fever of 102 that comes and goes. I feel incredibly weak at times but also have urges to crochet like a madwoman. I’m not doing anything particular but my work oddly resembles that of a spider’s web. I don’t think much of it, it’s something my hands feel compelled to do to pass the time.

I haven’t had much of an appetite which I am sure has everything to do with the illness. I sit and watch our two cats play with a fly that managed to get into our home. I feel jealous of their enjoyment, until our Tabby, Buster brings me his prey.

I tell him he’s a good kitty and I grab a napkin to pick up the dead fly to throw away, but the dead scent of this insect is appealing to me, I don’t why. I’m enlightened and disgusted at the same time.

I crawl back into bed. That damn itch I felt in my ear has traveled to my nose, to the back of my throat and into my chest. It is an unbearable feeling that I cannot seem to get rid of.

I take a few melatonin’s to help me sleep.

She never wakes up.

Her Cell Phone rings and goes to voicemail. “Miss Lebare this is Nurse Lopez, we got results from our further testing, we need you to come into our office immediately please call us back at 484-653-0098.

There is loud meowing in the house. Sadness & fear echoes in those meows. Inside Melanie Lebare’s room lies her corpse and crawling out of every orifice are millions & millions of tiny spiders.