The Tale Of A Violet Mind

Part I- The Suspicious Guests



When the paper had released on the gruesome murder, the facts were so vaguely laid out that even the journalists themselves would be hard pressed to go back into their work and recall, in any detail, the occurrence of which they filled their note pads so full.

It truly sickened me to have to admit to myself what a poor job the paper had done of expressing the intent in which the 'crime' was committed. Of course, I suppose I couldn't altogether expect any accuracy paralleling anything beyond that of a drunkard's fish story. It's not that I wanted to read a beautiful piece of work straight from the papers, no, I would undoubtedly birth that myself, here, where it is quiet. I have solace, peace and a clear mind to make every little decision on what I say and how I say it and I am fully able to deliver into your hands, and still protect what I have made by myself but distorted by others.

Firstly, it wasn't a cool, still evening as the papers so claim. It was a COLD windy night, for it was already past 9 o'clock. Who calls that evening and doesn't rise after noon? Maybe that gives some insight to the work ethic of our dear journalists who so readily report on instances of emotion and conjuring of which they know so little. I digress. It had been raining early in the day and so the sky carried a very queer hue of green, it was almost as if the elements were warning of impending danger. Given the weather, all doors and windows were shut, cellar door locked as well.

I had wondered upon her garden when approaching the house, and I thought to myself, how could a garden so beautiful as to be notice in the black of night be conceived by a woman so vile in nature; so beguiling; so deviant and so disregarding of others as to turn an upright citizen such as myself into an apparently reprehensible character who dreams such disturbing dreams that I so frequently do of blood and stench?

I closed my mind off from these thoughts as I made my way down the side walk which ran between hers and the neighboring house, I neared the back door and spied a bush that seemed quite full for the time of year that it was. It was a fern like plant and to the touch was somewhat prickly, yet plush. It's branches grew from below and grew outward, not upward toward the sky, but almost in the crude shape of a bowl; like a large supine hand with fingers extended to maximize surface area. Odd I thought this to be. And then the thought came to me, I stand here at the door of the wicked, pondering the shape of a stubborn bush whilst preparing to enter unlawfully, the house of one I intended to see only this last time.

I then realized the gravity of my plot and pressed forward to negotiate entrance with the iron doorknob. As I began to fiddle with the thing it once again brought to the forefront of my memory, the only thing as cold and hard on this earth that I ever thought I touched; the heart of the woman I had so deeply cared for, the woman I had known for so long as my very dearest friend. With a bit of patience, a bit of know-how and the rest luck, I managed the door open and was immediately met with a stare case.

Climbing that staircase ever so quietly, I’d thought back to all of the wonderful times I’d so blissfully traversed this very same case. Some of those times carrying her, some of them running to her, even one instance I recalled, running from her as she tried to wet my brand new, prized Italian made Fedora with water from a muddy puddle. That was an eventful day, we had just returned from the carnival where I had won all 6 of those 'un-winnable' prizes. Now, instead of a loud knocking echo as I ascended each next step, there was only silence. That silence seemed somehow to grow with every step upward I took, with that silence was a vexing sense of guilt. Long this stairway was. Eighteen steps in all and in such a narrow space. As I reached the top of the stairs, I slowly crouched so that my head would not become visible to anyone who may have been watching.

Whom was I fooling? There was no one present but she, and at that, from the sound of it, yet another floor above myself. I could hear her humming in harmony a song we used to call 'ours' because of its origin and sentimental value. I'd bought her a record player with the largest horn you've ever seen. I wanted her records to play most resonantly, so that she could hear them as she gardened. Now that I think of it, I dare say it was her suggesting that very idea to me subliminally in an order as to have her way.

That is not like me to disregard the peace and quiet of the neighbors. Once again, I digress. It was that catchy tune that we used to listen to together to recall our first encounter with each other on a record that was given to her by her uncle Sander. I do admit, the chorus had a touch of eeriness to it, appealing, nonetheless.

With her upstairs and no one over to call, I was free to roam the second floor, at least for a short while. I just had to remember the exact spaces in which the floor creaked. From our many nights of dancing in the sitting room, I had noticed several places that the floor needed fixing, unfortunately I hadn't gotten to that before now. I knew that upon entering the sitting room, just to the left, there was one board that was unforgivingly loud, unforgiving on this night indeed. Beyond that were only perhaps two spots to be aware of, at that I begin to think of myself on her third floor.

If I, on the third floor were busy humming away notes that reminded me of the taste of my most recent prey I had devoured, would I even give notion to someone preying on me from below?

“Supposing I am a careful individual, this should not be as difficult as I am beginning to make it.” I whispered to myself. “I ought to keep my mouth shut, concentrate on the task at hand and execute at once.” And then I begin to think to myself “Execute, this is such an odd way of putting it, is it really any type of execution? Am I for once finally in that coveted position of superiority?” I couldn’t have been more thoughtful that night if I had tried, for after that consideration, I fell into a myriad of thoughts that cost me, thankfully nothing but time. Perhaps it was my mind sending my conscience into trance.

One by one, every sweet memory that I had enjoyed with Amelia had raced through my mind as though someone was quickly reeling through frames of a moving picture, with every memory that I passed through, a gut wrenching feeling that I had acquired upon entering the sitting room grew stronger. The emotions were hate, fear and remorse. Hate for feeling the fear and remorse for feeling the first two at all. It was a very unnerving thing to be staring into space in a dark room where I’d been many mornings in times not so long passed awaiting a delicious breakfast from a woman adorned with physical features of decadence whom I saw as my one companion through this insipid tale we refer to as ‘life’. Seated, I had closed my eyes and it was at this point, for some very queer, irrational reason, I began to see myself in this room, sitting on the sofa, sitting up straight with hands on knees and a look in my eye that still haunts me. It was as though she could have come downstairs to find me in this position and I would have done no more than shift my eyes toward her, if that. My gaze was that of a heavy madness.

My view was from across the sitting room, just to the left of the fireplace, which was centered just opposite the sofa. I, to this day, still cannot fully explain my experience from that night, the best that I can do is say that I was not inside myself; not inside my body, yet there WAS indeed something inhabiting the vessel. Once I became fully aware of what was happening, I began to panic; I grew delirious and yet my body across the room did nothing, only my emotions. I thought I moved, I did not move.

I thought I screamed, I did not scream, I thought a tear fell from my eye, yet no tears fell. It was a feeling of utter helplessness and at the same time a feeling of having a greater power than I had ever had before. It tore my logical brain apart, into pieces. I felt lonely and mistaken in my entire belief system of what reality was. Though, in this, I came to see that what I was now a part of afforded me the ability to care not what my hands took part in. On this night I would gladly accept such a virtue.

I became calm and focused my attention on the feelings I had, this was not a hefty task, for it was as if I was newly born; as if I were a ghost; the living body unseen and the dormant completely present; tangible in every way. I took note once more at my eyes from across the room as I sat on the sofa, still in the same, upright position and face of stone. The eerie gaze now filled with only one of the three emotions I had previously felt. Hate. No remorse, my god no remorse! And fear? Do you jest? As I stared deep into my own eyes time became of no concern and the possibility of Amelia discovering me in the sitting room was no longer present in any form of reality I was in touch with by now.

My stare grew deeper, deeper, and yet deeper until I began to feel a tingling sensation rise from my sacral region, all the way up through my back, it traveled to my cervical spine and began to branch out across the back of my head, it wrapped around the sides and onto my face, all the while growing stronger and less bearable. By the time it reached my eyelids it was a burning sensation, I wanted to scream, but could not. I wanted to shake it off, but dare I even tease myself? It began to penetrate my eyelids, into my eyes, as it did this and entered the very center of my head; this terrible feeling dropped down through my body and covered every inch of my skin as it soaked me in pain. I felt as though I was placed into a tub of acid, it went deeper than my skin. It had eaten through to my bones.

I was now looking upward from the ground to myself STILL sitting in most casually on the sofa. I had lost gaze with the eyes of myself opposite me when this mysterious sensation reached my eyes, those of which I saw out, but once again I managed to look into those perplexing things which resembled the oceans hue in a sea storm and was captivated by the allure, so captivated. When in my entire lifetime had I ever been so fixated on these windows of mine? This time, as I lay adoring them, the sensation that had engulfed my body faded into a comforting feeling, likened by only that of a caring mother who swaddles her son tightly and caresses he to her bosom when the boy fall ill. Just when I feel that nothing could break my stare with these beautiful eyes, my self whom I watch began to smile, a devilish smile that formed and I tell you I had, until then, never felt a terror so profound.

All at once it became clear to me what had happened. In my fury I searched the darkest corners of mankind for a fitting way to dispose of my ill will toward Amelia. In an attempt at forgetting and starting anew, I became obsessed with things that not only did not cause me to forget, but also fed the hate. At the time, it seemed a revolutionary means to new life, a deeper belief, and a strong foundation for myself to re establish standards. Magick. A reality opposite that which a relentless vixen, a black succubus, an ostentatious rake such as she, dare not have anything to do with for it is far to powerful and far to true for such an individual of superficiality.

As I became more proficient at the art I practiced, I became more liberal with my demonstrations, even if they were for my feline friend Zurich and myself. Perhaps only now I am waking up. Perhaps I was not as attentive as I had originally planned to be; perhaps I’d gone a bit far.
Perhaps.