FicWad

When the Wind Blows

I sat. Beneath the orchard eves. I waited. Long time I waited. But still I did not see them. I knew, I knew in my heart that they were there. I could feel their eyes on me. Like pinpricks of needles on my skin. Almost drawing blood, but never quite. They told me that there was nothing there; they told me it was my mind. But each night I went out and watched for them, as they glared back at me. I knew that one day they’d come.
You see, one day I did see one. It ran across the path whilst I was walking through the trees. I saw its fiery red eyes, burning in its head, with all angers. It was small, smaller than the stories make out, covered in crimson skin that sagged along its arms and stomach, like a cloth hung over a washing line. It saw me, and it snarled at me. Its teeth gnashing together. Each one was pointed and as deadly looking as a knife. Then after a few seconds of us both frozen; one in terror, the other in anger, it scampered off.
As it left, its curled and gruesome hands (with its dark bloodless nails digging into its palms) twisted oddly towards me in a kind of sweep. As it did so, and as it disappeared, I felt a great weight settle on me. Ever since I have felt the presence of the things watching me, waiting for me. It worries me and frightens me. I know that the stories are true. The stories, worry me greatly.
They talk of the demons and imps, with grim recognition. They are tricksters that will lure you into hell. The angels are no better, they wait and they watch. Thy look for anything that will stain your soul, for only the purest can go to the Other Side. I know, in my heart, that one of those black-hearted fiends has cursed me. With what, I know not. But something.
I have seen angles too. This curse has given me the sight to notice them though others do not. They are tall and they are terrible. Their faces so beautiful but so wild. They are angry; they do not wish to carry people to the Other Side, like a boatman on a river. But they are bound to do so. So they only take the purest of souls, like them. When I see them I do not speak. I was almost taken away the first time I did. They thought I was going mad. I take care not to recognize them.
Ever since I started ignoring them, they believe [I think] that I am ignorant of their presence. They drift ever nearer and I hear their voices on the wind.

‘When it comes, yes when the time comes’
‘When it comes there will be fire’
‘Yes, yes. Fire with the wind’
‘Burning apples in the trees. Then we shall be there’
‘Burning apples in the tree’
‘She does not watch. Stupid of her’
‘Yes, yes. Silly girl’

That why I watch. Their conversations continue in this flighty manner, for hours on end. Each voice proud and willful. Like silk sliding over thorns. I have gleaned from their conversations that it shall happen beneath the apple tree in the orchard. That is why I stay their every night. For when the wind comes, they will come. I do not know what they wish to do, only that they will come.
I trudged every night through the mud to the hill. And so I will trudge. The mud is ankle deep and it sucks at your feet like quicksand. You have to be quick and light or else you become stuck. That night, the fateful sickle moon hung high in the sky. I walked as best I could through the deep mud, up to the orchard. Whispers, like always rang in my ear. ‘Time’ they said, ‘Time’. I had no idea what time was, and I had no wish to know. I just wanted them to leave. They were slowly killing me. Destroying what sanity I had left. Sickening me, and making me waste away like a diseased being. I could not eat, I could not sleep. I found it hard to talk to others.
I sat beneath the Apple tree and the night was the same as always. Sleepless, windless with the whispers whispering, and the watchers watching and waiting. I sat on the stone cold, hard, wet grass, and I waited. After a little while the whispers started to hum as if they were singing. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard. Like a lullaby, but softer. Like a haze of mist and rainbows. The noise was lulling me into a dazed dream. Then it stopped, as it almost reached a crescendo. I snapped out of my dream. A low moan started over the far hills, it grew louder and loader with a quiet rushing. The trees around me trembled as if frightened. Their leaves throwing down droplets like rain. The moan silenced to a whisper, and then began to increase again. A leaf fell onto my lap. I stood.
The wind whipped my hair up around my face, as I stared into the bushes in front of me. The wind had come, and with it uncertainty. I was too scared to move, too scared to run. The wind had come. ‘Wind’, the voices whispered. ‘Time.’ The wind had come, at last. I closed my eyes; briefly whispering prayers to a Master I didn’t believe in. I opened my eyes.
All around me were specs of bright flaming red. They were in the trees and in the bushes. On the ground sneaking steadily closer. I looked up, in the faint moonlight I could see the outlines of many shapes in the sky, whispering. I could hear the faint wisp of wings brushing the quiet night air. The wind had come.
The wind brushed the dead leaves out of the apple tree and they fell about me. Dripping wet. The eyes grew steadily closer. The whispers quieted and they all seemed to be waiting for something. A bright light flickered far away. Closer and closer it grew, until I saw that it as a flaming brand. Then the imp was standing before me, and it threw the brand on the ground by my feet. Thankfully to the rain and the wet ground, the torch spluttered and faded. I watched it until it died.
As I looked up, I saw them inching closer and I saw what they held. Pointed pieces of wood, the sharp ends covered in something dark. I had no doubt that these were deadlier than the devils teeth, and twice as sharp. The angels high above started to shout and to sing. Words of anger rained down upon me, and the sticks were flung toward me. Covering my face with my hands I tried to run.
I ran and I ran, but I was going no where. When I looked around I was still at the base of the apple tree. The fire had started again, the apple tree was burning. A single apple fell, flaming to the ground, and rolled toward my feet. I stopped and stared at it.
‘Why’ I screamed ‘Why me!’
‘You see’ they answered, their voices dreamy. ‘You see and you believe.’
‘Yes you see’ they said. ‘You can not be allowed to see.’
‘Scratch out her eyes’ they snarled.
‘Take away her mind’ they whispered.
‘Take everything, and leave nothing’
‘Nothing, nothing’

They laughed at me, and mocked me as I crouched upon the ground. My arms covered my face, protecting my eyes, whilst little sharp sticks pocked into my sides, and the beat of angels wings thrummed overhead. Blood soaked into my shirt and ran like tears down my face, from where they had missed my eyes.
I hung around my wrist and throat like gory jewellery. Necklaces and bracelets of dripping crimson. But still I covered my face. I screamed and I screamed. But no one came. There was no one to save me. I couldn’t move, I was too frightened. They came ever on, scratching and biting and poking. Singing and whispering excitedly. Drawn by the blood, my blood. If I were to look I could have seen it in their eyes. Anger and hate burning brightly there, like demented coals. But I did not look.

*

In a hospital a girl lay on clean white sheets staring at the ceiling. A group of grim faced doctors stood in the corridor, restlessly talking. She could hear them a little, though they spoke quietly.

‘. . . disgusting . . . people these days . . . shouldn’t be trusted’
‘. . . left alone . . . cold last night . . . this morning’
‘. . . scratched to pieces . . . an animal ... saw anything’

The girl sighed, and moved restlessly. The doctors glanced in quickly. She did not move, slowly they turned away and began their talking. One bruised and battered arm moved. It was covered in deep puncture wounds, as if teeth or something extremely sharp had been pushed into the flesh. Freshly clean, the bright light showed just how deep the gashes were.
The searching hand found something. A pen, left by one of the doctors on the bedside table. Then the hand began to search for something to write on. It moved slowly, as if even gentle movement pained it. The hand found something and it began to write slowly. It scrawled words onto a piece of paper. After a while the hand dropped the pen, as if exhausted by the minuscule effort.
The body began to shake, and the girl began to scream. She tossed and twisted on the bed. The doctors rushed in and began taking hold of her, holding her down. This was done with an air of practice, like it had happened before. She screamed and thrashed. Her shouting was rushed and hardly understandable. Her head jerked up. Ruined eyes and a ruined, once pretty face stared sightlessly up. The eyes were no longer there. Gaping bloody holes. Eyes that had been gouged carefully, but brutally out. At last the girl’s head dropped back onto the pillow with a sigh.
‘No, No’ she whimpered. ‘Stop it. Why?’ With a last moan she laid her head back and stared with sightless eyes at the ceiling once more. The doctors sighed and let go of her. One made to pick up a pen. He stopped frozen, his eyes flickering quickly over a piece of paper. ‘Look’ he said, sounding slightly confused. He lifted up the piece of paper. Untidily scrawled over a piece of paper were words. The doctors looked at each other in horror.
‘Destroy it’ one whispered. The one holding it dropped it, flinching his hand away as if burned. It fluttered to the floor and rested, as if guided by unseen hands to the floor. The words stared blood red at them. They quickly left the room and closed the door. The paper moved as if in a breeze, but there were no windows.
Scrawled, with smears of blood scattered across the page were the words:

When the wind blows,
Through the apple tree,
That’s when they’ll come
They’ll come for me.
When the moon is high,
Hanging high in the sky,
That’s when they’ll come,
And come they’ll fly.

With pointed sticks,
And flaming brand.
With words of hate,
And rage in hand.
When the wind blows,
They’ll come.
I know your demons and devils.
I’ve seen your angels tall.
When the wind blows.
They’ll come.
Yes, they’ll come.