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The Blind and the All-Seeing
Horror
 Created on 2-14-08
 Views(76)
 Story Rating G
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At the mere age of two months and one day, Sara Brown was left on the front porch of a Harlem orphanage. She was loosely wrapped in an old, tattered afghan that was striped red, white and black. She was found crying the next morn. A slip of grimy, soiled parchment bearing the scrawled message “Sara Elizabeth Brown, 5/11/80” was discovered within the folds of the blanket. Destined for a childhood of destitution and depravity, her parents gave her three things: life, a name, and a blanket.
The orphanage in which Sara was raised was many things, and affluent was not one of them. Often there weren’t sufficient supplies of food or clothing for the children. All Sara’s life she wanted to find her parents and ask them why they abandoned her. At night she prayed that God would make them realize their mistake and retrieve her from her squalid existence at the orphanage. And she prayed that no one else would adopt her first; God answered the latter half of her prayers.
She fancied a quaint little couple, a mother with that warm, 1950s TV smile who cooked bacon and eggs every morning and tucked you in at night. And a father, who taught you right from wrong and read you bedtime stories. Wanting to impress these picturesque parents of her imagination, she strove excel at everything she did. She was at the top of her class and an exquisite vocalist.
After years of searching, the orphanage procured a copy of her birth certificate; she had been born in New Orleans, to a woman named J. Brown, but her father’s name was absent from the document.
Finally, she turned 18, she was her own self, she no longer belonged to the orphanage, but also had no one to call hers. Mrs. O’Reilly, manager of the orphanage, allowed her to keep her lodgings as it was still two weeks from graduation. Then in the blink of a blind eye, it was graduation night. Sara had full honors, valedictorian. Also she had accepted a full four-year scholarship to Juilliard. Everyone was proud of her, everyone except for her seemingly-non existent parents, of course.
Four years later Sara took a job teaching music at a local high school. She had just moved in with her boyfriend of three years Jude Rho. Together they rented a commendable apartment in Queens. It seemed her life had turned around, she had met the love of her life, had her own genial residence, amiable neighbors (oddly enough the woman in the adjacent apartment shared Sara’s last name), a degree, and a job she loved. There was just one thing which caused her discontent, the whereabouts of her parents. She no longer wished to find out why they abandoned her, but to somehow punish them for what they did to her.
“I’m glad it doesn’t take me as long to get ready as it does you,” Jude jested as Sara readied herself for a Friday night out with her friends.
“Ugh, well girls have to be perfect,” she replied, still fixing her hair. “There, all done,” she added a decent amount of time later.
“Well, see ya,”
“Love ya. I’ll be home ‘round one.”
“Love you too,” Jude added leaning in and stealing a kiss. “I’ll be waiting”
Sara made her way through maze of hallways painted in an odd neutral hue. She took the crowded elevator, which she always feared would be over its weight limit, snapping the metal cable with a sinister crack, sending her and a throng of strangers to their untimely deaths.
Once she reached the concrete skeleton of the city, she hailed a cab and instructed the driver on her destination, a club of no singular significance on 27th Street.
After suffering the torturous New York traffic, she paid the driver, disembarked and met her friends outside the club.
“How you doin’ Sara?” asked Selina.
“Fine, and you?”
“Excellent, y tú Marívi?” Selina, who was of Italian decent, interred Marívi who was Puerto Rican.
“Muy, muy bueno, gracias”
The rest of the night commenced in the gaieties of female merriment: drinking, dancing, gossiping, and lots of giggling. Finally the trio decided to call it a night, it was half past twelve, so they each had barely enough time to make it home.
“Oh, I know what we should do!” exclaimed Selina.
“What?” Sara and Marívi laughed in unison.
“There’s this fortuneteller right down the street from my new apartment. We should go get our fortunes told,” she suggested.
“Lethsdooothatttt!” mumbled Marívi drunkenly.
It never occurred to them that said fortuneteller might not be open at such and odd hour. So the trio hopped a cab to Selina’s neighborhood. As they pulled up to the fortuneteller’s abode, one of the various old brick buildings which were commercial on the primary floor and residential on the upper floors, the first thing Sara noticed was the large red sign across the front window which bore in black letters “Madame Judith, The All Seeing.” This visage was transcribed in such primitive hand it almost frightened Sara, but gave her a sense of foreboding all the same.
The building set off the sidewalk and had somewhat of a front yard, but one can hardly call a three foot wide mass of dead grass and plants a front yard. The whole thing was fenced in by a spiked, black, wrought-iron fence. Sara and Marívi stood back, taking in the gruesome edifice.
“Come on girls,” Selina encouraged. “It’s not haunted or anything…”
“Maybe, but it is ominous,” Sara contested.
“Sí, no me gusta el edificio,” Marívi added, reverting to her native tongue in her drunken confusion.
Selina slowly pushed forward the unlocked iron gate which let forth a spine rupturing creek which gave all three girls a start. Slowly they proceeded toward the door of the building. They noticed there was no doorbell so they used the knocker, which was a bird’s head of black iron holding in its beak a large, swinging ring. At first the only reply to their knocking were sudden sounds of movement from within, but then slowly a middle aged Creole woman, who seemed out of place in New York, answered the door.
“I sorry but we’s closed,” she said in a groggy voice.
“Oh,” interjected Selina. “We just wanted our fortunes told.”
“Wells I guess I’s could tell ya’s fochuns; biznuss has been kinda slow fu me,” Madame Judith added.
The girls then followed Madame Judith into her abode. The only lighting was with candles, so it was significantly dark. Once her eyes adjusted Sara noticed everything in the home was red, black, and white, and that Judith was wearing a red headband, and a black and white pinstriped nightgown.
“Madame Judith?” Sara interred. “Why is everything red, black and white?”
“Why dems be de most powaful cullas in de world,” answered the woman. “Why do yous thank dat deys be on a Coca-Cola can? Dey knew if dey used dem cullas dat dey would be a success. Or why Hitler chose dem cullas? It was de same wit him.”
Then Sara thought of her blanket, and how it was comprised of those three colors. Was it just coincidence? She didn’t want to think about it, so she put all thoughts of her parents and childhood out of mind.
“Now it’s ten dollas fo’ a palm readin’, twelve fo’ tarro’ cards, and fifteen fo’ de crystal ball.”
“Oh I wanna crystal ball reading!” Selina exclaimed.
“I think I do to,” said Sara.
And then they looked over to Marívi who had fallen asleep.
“Ha, LOL!” Selina interjected. “I guess she is exhausted from the dancing—“
“And the drinking!” added Sara.
“Alright now, is yous ready te begin?” the eccentric gypsy woman asked?
“Yes!” Selina answered.
Then the woman looked deep into the crystal ball that was concentric to the table. She twitched, and her facial expression changed as if a sudden chill had overtaken her. Then she spoke, but in a somewhat changed, lower voice. She spoke of marriages, and children, and money, and longevity, Sara could not quite remember the exact words she used.
“Now fo’ yo turn,” Madame Judith said, looking at Sara. Again she looked into her crystal ball, yet this time she reached out and lightly, gracefully placed her forefinger on the top of the ball. As soon as her flesh touched the crystal she twitched, as the first time, except more violently. Her facial expression changed just like before, except it was graver and more blank this time.
“The one you seek is right before you,” was all she said in a low, clear, ominous voice. Then she melted back to her normal face and demeanor as if all the air had been let out of her.
“That’s it?” asked Selina. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I know what it mea—” Sara started but was cut of by a loud crashing noise coming from the window which cause all four women, including Marívi, who was awakened by the noise, to scream. Madam Judith, though, seemed to be the most disturbed. She went over to the window holding a candle. She slowly turned her head down to look at the ground just outside the window. Then with a shriek even shriller than before she jumped into the air flinging the candle, which luckily was caught by Sara.
“What is it?” they girls interred.
Slowly, shakily, Madam Judith turned around. She had lost all of her complexion and her eyes were as big as apples as she said, “It, was a …a raven, a bird, it is an ill omen, it’s from Hell, an ill omen yas must leave all of yas! Now go! Go!” As soon as the last word escaped her lips she ran as hard as she could, seeking refuge in some unseen part of the structure.
“Well I guess we should leave then,” Sara said.
“Yeah, see ya later”
“My head hurts,” Marívi lamented.
Later, as she was ridding home in the back of a taxi cab, Sara pondered what the fortuneteller had told her.
“The one you seek is right before you,” she kept repeating to herself. “That’s it! It’s Mrs. Brown!”
Mrs. Jessica Brown lived next door to Sara. In fact, she was right before her, as Sara lived in apartment 436, and she lived in number 435. She knew what she had to do, this was her mother. She had finally found her mother, and now she must extract her revenge! Sara returned home at two to find Jude asleep, tired of waiting. She soon joined him in slumber.
The rest of the weekend she planned the deed. Monday she was off of work, and Mrs. Brown was retired. No one else would be in the apartment complex, no witnesses, no one to place her at the crime scene, she would tell Jude she was going shopping, and she would tell the police the same.
Monday. Sara arose at eight, a reasonable time when all one has to do is murder. She brushed her teeth, washed her hair, and did all the usual morning routine. Then she picked up the telephone. She dialed Mrs. Brown’s number carefully, as to get every digit correct.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
Click.
“Hello? Jessica Brown speaking.”
“Yes, this is Sara.’
“Oh, how are you doing Sara?”
With this it took every fiber of Sara’s existence to hold back what she really wanted to say.
“I’m doing fine. How are you?”
“Wonderful.”
“Well, I was wondering if I could borrow a cup of sugar.”
“Oh no problem, I’ll go get the sugar out of the cabinet, you come right on over dear.”
“Okay, bye”
“Bye”
Click.
With prolonged steps, Sara slowly, quietly, crept up behind her victim, her heart beating like all the drums of Africa. With every fall of her foot her heartbeat crescendoed as if building up to some climax. Slowly she raised a gleaming axe over her right shoulder.
"Mrs. Brown?" she said in a smooth, warm, almost psychotic timbre.
"Yes? Here is the—" Mrs. Brown replied as she spun around and then let out a shrill, horrifying scream that would have made the hair on the back of Satan's neck stand at attention.
Then, with surgical precision, Sara swung her axe at the poor, emaciated creature's neck, cleaving her left jugular vein, and carotid artery. Before the sad soul had time to react she succumbed to the ground in a pool of her own crimson effluence.
But as her victim was swiftly fading out, a thought struck Sara: she was Montressor and this thing was Fortunato. “It is equally unredressed when the avenger fails to make himself felt as such to him who has done the wrong.” (Poe) “It must know that is my revenge, that it is being punished, otherwise the act is void and pointless, a meaningless murder,” this she thought as “it” was nearing expiration. “Do you know why I had to kill you?” Sara interred adding a maniacal chuckle, doing her best to hold back the hysterical fit of laughter the so very much wished to consume her. Coughs of blood and gurgling gasps were Mrs. Brown’s only reply. “You abandoned me, left me to a poor little orphanage in Harlem. Bet you didn’t even know it was me, your daughter, your flesh....hugh…and blood,” with this Sara finally succumbed to the hysterical laughter she had been struggling to suppress. Hugh. Her flesh and blood, the rest was emptying itself upon the floor. And there as her killer was caught in a fit of psychotic laughter, Mrs. Jessica A. Brown drew her last, albeit bloody breath. Sometime later in the day, after Sara had cleaned up, and disposed of the murder weapon, she decided to revisit the fortuneteller, to see what might happen to her, as now she had committed a capital offense. She rode silently in the back of a cab, till she saw the large sign reading “Madam Judith, The All Seeing.” “STOP!” Sara yelled at the driver, almost giving him a heart attack. She paid the driver and stepped out, still taken aback by the foreboding structure. She gradually made her way up to the door, but this time as she raised her hand to knock, the door suddenly swept back, and a familiar face shone through. “I been expectin’ ya,” Madam Judith declared. “How—” “Now we’s need to do dis quickly. Dat omen last time meant dat ders sometin’ evil ‘bout ya o ‘round ya. But since I fo’saw ya’s comin’ back der has to be some pu’pose to it.” With this Madam Judith rushed to the table, and Sara followed.She looked into the crystal ball, again this time she reached out and lightly, gracefully placed her forefinger on the top of the ball. As soon as her flesh touched the crystal she twitched, this time not as violent as the last. Her facial expression changed just like before, except it was not as ominous as before.
“The one you seek is right before you,” was all she said in a lower voice.
“But that is what you said before!” Sara exclaimed, confused.
“Den it still be true,” the fortuneteller replied in her normal voice.
Think. Think. Think. Sara told her self. What does it mean? And then it hit her like a train hits a car: with all the devastating force needed for obliteration— “Right before you!”
“Madam Judith?”
“Yes?”
“What is your last name?” Sara interred.
“Brown.”
Comments
Please Login to post comments| On February 26th 2008 California1516 Said : | |
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:O WOW! that was a really well written story..and nice word usages also!! :) |
| On February 21st 2008 DeathMetalPunk Said : | |
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I like it. Especially the parts about Jude (name derived from the Beatles) and the black, red, and white (you kinda stole a quote from Jack White) but i like the story. |
| On February 17th 2008 chaostheorem Said : | |
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this is quite swell, austin. i like the ending. and the murder scene. nicely described. |
| On February 15th 2008 jetkills Said : | |
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wow thats long ^_^ but awesome keep me posted on anything new |
