Timor Ignotum: A Dark Past – Part 2

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…paralyzed by fear – I start trembling. With the hairs standing up on my arms and neck I feel a chilled breath hit the nape of my neck—That wasn’t my heartbeat…

The door slams shut.

I jump and turn in terror then fall over backward, dropping my flashlight on the ground; it rapidly spins as it slides across the floor giving a strobe-like ambiance. Each pass around as the light aims in the direction of the door, I see a brief glimpse of a translucent figure, seemingly female, appear closer with each pass of the light. I cower cringing my head to the side raising my forearm in front of my face, palm facing outward. I shut my eyes in an infantile manner as if the tightening of my eyelids even harder would make the apparition disappear and somehow bring me solace. A moment passes and nothing happens; I start to open my eyes slightly to see if whatever it was has gone away, however, the spinning of the flashlight has stopped and was not facing in the direction I was attempting to see. I strain my eyes attempting to adjust to the darkness when I hear a female voice whisper in my ear. I sit paralyzed and yet somehow, I am feeling a little safer and even more curious as I hear this singular word spoken from the apparition. What could it mean? I wonder. I cautiously scoot toward the dimmed light of the flashlight beam facing the wall to my back and slowly reach to grab it. I grasp the flashlight and vigilantly pan the beam to my front, aiming toward the door. Nothing… whatever it was it’s gone now. I comfort myself. I pick myself up and headed my way back toward my truck. I can’t help but have my mind plaguing the events that occurred and cannot seem to stop thinking about that word I heard whispered to me… Steal? Steal what? I wonder. I get to my truck and head home for the night not being able to think about anything else, trying to connect everything I have witnessed and what could have possibly been stolen and by whom.

Days had passed and still, I have not figured out what truly happened that night. It wasn’t until the following year when I had received the next curious case, that things began to start making some sense.

Author: Rob Breault

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