The Return

Hearing a woman softly weep disturbed me greatly. Something was terribly wrong.

It was a certain wail, a certain keen that escaped her throat at varying levels. I knew that sound. An odd familiarity.  A memory of a sound of pain.

The same sound's that came from my sister's mouths...and mine.

The hair on my arms and the back of my neck were zinging with little electrical shocks adding to my already alert state.  I could not stop myself from going and listening from the bottom of the stairs.

I could hear no children crying. Just the weeping of a woman and a low sinister murmer only a man could make. 

I looked to my right and noticed the front door was slightly ajar. Seemed maybe he was in a hurry to come in or too lazy to shut it properly. I didn't know which.

I listened for further signs of distress, I could feel the aching strain in the air. A thick sensation of frightening anticipation.

After a few minutes, I saw her silhouette walk across the hallway entrance into the kitchen. She turned her tear filled face to me and gave me a small smile, her hand making a downward gesture as if to say,

"Stay...all is well. You can go down now."

Not all of me was buying that. The gut feeling of dread would not leave me. It became more urgent as the seconds ticked passed.

I walked uncertainly away. Not sure of whether I should stay or go. My senses however, remained on high alert.

I kept my ears tightly tuned and my other sense highly aware. Tested for any changes in pressure or thickness in the air. Attuned to any sign of danger, I knew I would feel it quickly.

Sleep could not be attained under such conditions. The night crawled like a centipede across a leaf eating as it went.

I waited for signs of sunrise, keeping my ears and senses alive the whole time. Finally, in what seemed like forever, I could hear the sound of small feet padding down the hallway toward what indicated was the kitchen area.

I waited and then heard a slightly longer and heavier stride down the hallway which sounded like Mrs. D.s step.

My suspicions and my fears would not abate though. At that time, things seemed normal. I knew it wasn't. I would soon find out how right I was.

I heard Mrs. D moving around the kitchen and the smell of food soon wafted down to me. My stomach growled in spite of my "on alert" status.

A couple minutes later, the oldest son came down, smiled at me and gave me the peace sign.  He then waived at me to come up. 

I didn't know if Mr. D would be joining us, or if this false impression of peace was going to blow up at any time.

I didn't see Mr. D at the breakfast table. Just myself, the two children and Mrs. D who served up a lovely breakfast of eggs, rice and sausage with the usual serving of naan and chai tea.

I heard a toilet flush down the hallway. My heart picked up a beat. I knew it was Mr. D coming down to the table.

I looked up at Mrs. D, she again waived her hand downward.

I sat quietly. Mr. D came to the table and greeted his sons then looked down on me with his large, flat black eyes.

"I'm berry sorry." He clasped his two hands together as if in prayer.

I looked at him, not knowing how to respond, I just nodded at him.

Breakfast was held in an awkward silence, the tension barely disquised in phony smiles. I remained on yellow alert.

I was afraid that something would happen when I wasn't there. Afraid that I would come home to something brutal. Even worse, that I would come home to something dead.

My senses would not let me go.

So I watched.

I listened. 

I gave all my attention....

I didn't wait for long....