The Wardrobe.

The Wardrobe..

The wardrobe stood in the corner. An evil faced monk with sharp eyes and holding a mandolin, guarded the ornately carved double doors. Gold facings in the shape of snakes surrounded the keyhole on each door. Two crowned heads sat atop each corner and glared at all who entered the bedroom. Four clawed feet held the closet off the floor; the talons had dug deeply into the floorboards and maintained the appearance of a hungry and desparate predator ready to strike.

The cabinet was black; its construction from old reclaimed oak wasn't the reason. The wardrobe was evil. Looking at the thing was difficult. If you looked straight at it, it shimmered mirage like, moving in and out of focus, one instant there, the next, just a shadow.

I was nine years old. I suffered from bronchitis, which forced me to sleep sitting up. My pillows, piled high, maintained my position. The old bed faced a long rectangular window. Corresponding but narrower windows latched against the cold October air bordered five narrow panes. A pair of red, heavy pleated curtains, which fell to the floor like saint’s robes framed these.

Lilies and reeds exploded fanlike from inside a fat, floral, two handed vase as it stood guard on the windowsill. To the left, a mounted King patrolled a weak fireplace. His companion knights, with battleaxes and shields linked, contained their fickle ally.

I carefully drew the crayon along the paper, highlighting and bringing the clown to life, as I did. A large bluebottle landed on the drawing book. Unthinking, I blew at the pest to chase it away. It walked along the wax line. I drew a deep breath and targeted the fly with a long drawn out blast of expelled air, to move it or frighten it.

I watched as the fly, shaking and shivering held on. The insect, in its own time, took flight and turned left towards the fireplace. It disappeared as it merged into a large swarm of spinning, buzzing, bluebottles.

The flowers on the windowsill had drooped over the vase and were lying with their dead heads on the sill. Icy leaf patterns manifested on the windowpanes as the cold, by degrees, rose towards the ceiling. I jumped with fright as the mounted kings decapitated head, toppled to the floor with a loud clunk, before rattling like a spinning coin against the fireplaces raised border. The fire was out.

Black swirling vapour emanated slowly from the wardrobe, growing thicker as it merged. The hellish cape pulsed as it seeped through the open doors. A low, out of sync and out of tune drumbeat, filled the room. The sulphurous smelling mist rose from the floor. Two red spheres merged into evil glowing eyes that glared from deep chasms inside a black grinning skull. A long claw like hand with thinly stretched skin covering arthritic knuckles, grabbed at the blankets, the monster rose.

The apparition stood over six-foot tall. His black, flowing monk’s habit, was held at the waist by a sword belt carrying an ornately carved scabbard. The engravings of demons and angels held out their hands as they pleaded for release. A thick white rope with black onyx beads ending in an upside down crucifix, hung around his thin waist.

The long sword handle wrapped in black-latticed leather, protruded from the sheath. The white haired head of an angel with large open eyes and a long forked tongue, served as a pommel.

He leaned in towards me and stretched out his horrible hand. I slinked down trying to escape under the covers. Just as my chin slipped below the blanket, I felt his long claw touch my face. He mocked concern, as he 'lovingly' drew the back of his spindly fingers down my cheek, his head was so close to mine, I could feel his cold, waxy skin. His stinking breath came out in a swirling vortex as he said in a chilled whisper,

“Suus parva adipem homo habens risum.”

I closed my eyes and slithered under the covers. I waited shaking with fear, I surfaced a few seconds later. The apparition had gone. The room was warmer. Rivulets of melted ice water were running down the window. The fire had come to life and was roaring and snapping in the fireplace. The mounted King’s head sat firmly once again on his shoulders. I pivoted in fright as the movement of the doors caught my eye. I stared transfixed as the two doors came together and closed with a soft, emphatic, click.

Copyright © Weefatfella. 2013.