fiX - A ParaBnormal Fairy Tale

by Michael Golvach

  And I never referred to her, or any of the other people on this earth, as monkeys again. To do so would only be condemning myself and my Father.

  ...You’d do well to remember that, shadow...

  But I was still lost to a great degree. Though I knew what I knew, having experienced her humanity in such fullness, I couldn’t bear to imagine the possible futures on this earth without her. The look in her parents’ eyes when they received the news of her death. Or had to identify her body. In a morgue or, worse yet, there in that dumpster. Covered in poisoned semen, rotting food and all manner of filth.

  And, though I possessed the ability to bring her soul back into her body. To allow her to continue her life. I felt that would be cruel, and more damaging to her soul than letting It return Home. Better It return to the peace of the One than to continue existing here for countless years, never forgetting the horror. And, yes, I now realise the soul that inhabited her body may have come here to learn how to survive, and cope with, what she’d been through. Or, perhaps, to die in that specific way so that other souls might learn. And that the decision I made to end its lesson was not mine to make for it. Then again, nothing happens here that He hasn’t accounted for.

  As her spirit left and her body died, I absorbed all the knowledge of her soul and the intricacies of her human vessel. And when her spirit was safely back Home, I erased her body from this plane of existence and assumed her form. And I called myself by her name. I called myself Melody. By the time I made it to her home, which I would now be calling my own, I was already her. Melody Chardonnay Forest. And I cried like the baby I was when my parents greeted me with a warm hello and a hug. They didn’t understand, yet somehow they did. I can’t explain it.

  I’d never felt so much a fool and so wonderfully human. And that night, I prayed to my Father, along with Melody’s father and mother. But I still couldn’t hear His voice. I was still absent from His grace. And, though I was scared, I’d never felt so loved in all my time since I’d fallen.

  And I felt responsible for Melody’s passing. The arrogance of that statement is clear to me now, but I felt it. And it saddened me deeply.

  Tortured over what I considered an incorrect decision, letting Melody’s body die, I exacted revenge on all four of those vicious, evil young men. Every one of them knew their time had come when I caught them alone at night. When they found themselves face to face with the beautiful young girl they’d beaten, raped and killed, in what they assumed was the flesh.

  And before I sent each of them back Home the worst way possible, I said hello to them. I told them my name was Melody and I was sorry they had to go. But I wasn’t sorry, and they knew it. No one heard them pathetically begging for their lives as I slowly eviscerated them, and no one came to save them from me. And I felt invincible. I felt, surely, I was doing His good work.

  I took my time with the last one. Certain I was going to hear His voice calling me Home as soon as I finished. And when the life left that young man’s body, I felt everything about him too. Just as I’d ignored with the other three. All the bad. And all the good. The perfect soul escaping Its flawed human prison. I knew then, I wouldn’t hear His voice when I was done.

  And when I let the spirit leave him, I was alone again. Because I’d been doing exactly what I’d been doing since I fell. The only difference being that I’d been doing it in a consistent form. As young Melody. The pleasantly overweight, orange-red haired little girl who wanted nothing more than to be accepted by her peers.

  But, underneath, I was still a murderer. Trying to empty the evil out from this world by filling it up with more of the same.

  And so I waited. Living out my days. Experiencing the ageing of my human body. Getting used to the speed at which time passed on this earth. Becoming accustomed to being a human. Or at least a reasonable facsimile of one.

  As I grew older, around ten years of age, my body began to change and my appreciation for the other humans developed with it. And, though I still felt afraid and alone, without my Father and in the company of people who called themselves my friends, I’d become extremely fond of seeing a certain young man from a distance. It wasn’t love at first sight, but there was something about him that touched me. Like a beauty I couldn’t perceive with my human senses. He only appeared in and around the area in which I lived from time to time. Never on any regular schedule. But whenever he was near me, I could feel him. I could smell him. And I knew, within a relatively short period of time, that what I felt for him was love. But I was still mindful enough of my human form that I dared not express it. Because children didn’t know what love was, or what it meant, according to most of the young adults and virtually all of the full-grown ones. Although, that’s, essentially, the opposite of what’s true.

  Still, I took pleasure in his company, even if we never spoke. I felt a sense of calm around him. I felt, for more than a few moments on more than one occasion, that he might be a Messenger. Another of my kind sent to watch over me and shepherd me back Home. But the years went by and, though I never felt anything but love for him, that love began to translate into a deep and painful sadness. Something I’d never known in the Above. Something I’d never known since I’d made the decision to become Melody. Because I knew, more and more perfectly over time, that his presence in my world was largely dictated by his mother’s absence from his own.

  And you need to know... That young man’s mother stopped going away shortly after we first laid eyes on each other. Two years after, to be more accurate. And, though it pains me to tell you this, I did promise you a full explanation. And so I have to tell you: Though she did leave him regularly, to fend for himself in this world, his mother went away for good when he was roughly twelve years old. I wiped her body from this existence. But, it’s important you know that I didn’t kill her. The drugs she used killed her. To be more precise, she died while she was heavily intoxicated, being strangled and held under water, in the dirty bathtub of an abandoned house, by a brute of a man whom she refused to consent to have sexual intercourse with. A man who died from a drug overdose, on top of her in that very same tub, just seconds later. And that young man witnessed the aftermath through the slightly opened door of the bathroom. Responding to his mother’s frantic calls for him before she succumbed and began breathing water. Holding on to the little red waggon he used to transport his few possessions. Sucking his thumb, in that instant, as the fear paralysed his mind and caused his behaviours to regress. He saw the tainted, filthy water splashing onto the floor. He saw her hands draining of electricity and clutching at air. He heard her submerged body’s muddied death moan. And I took advantage.

  I blinded that young man to the horror he’d witnessed, assumed his mother’s form, guided him to another unoccupied home and helped him to fall asleep on the soiled mattress there. Removing his thumb from his mouth. Holding his hand against my chest. Slowly spinning the battered mobile, from the top of his pile of things in his waggon, with my free hand as I softly hummed a simple tune to him for about seven minutes. Calming him down. And, while he slept, I wiped his mother’s body from this reality and I internalised her form. I wiped that brute’s body from this earth. And I wiped every vestige of that young man’s waggon, its contents, and his mother’s horrible death, from his memory, as well. Ensuring that, when he awoke, he would simply believe that his mother had gone away again, and would be back eventually. As normal.

  I hope you understand that what I did to him. It was only out of a misguided notion that I was helping. Though, I suppose, it was mostly because I couldn’t bear to imagine that young man’s world growing any darker. He held such promise and I thought that, given the proper direction, he could overcome his circumstances and become something better. Though that wasn’t my decision to make for him, and my definition of betterment wasn’t necessarily his. I only knew that I wanted the very best for him. It was as if he were my own child. As if he were born from me.

  From that point forth, whenever he wasn’t nea
r Melody and he went back to his mother, Melody became something of a problem child. She would run away from home for days—sometimes weeks—on end, and it disturbed her parents greatly. Thankfully, they only punished her with grounding, which never really worked.

  Given, I could have existed in multiple places at once, from a human perspective. But to do so constantly, in multiple forms and for so great a length of time, required more energy than I believed I possessed.

  And when Melody ran away from home, for those bits and pieces of time, I shed her form and assumed the form of that young man’s mother. I had to be as his mother was, and make myself emotionally unavailable to him on all occasions, which caused me great pain. And I had to physically go away often, because that’s what she did. And when his mother went away, Melody would return home and receive the simple punishment she deserved for disobeying her parents repeatedly. But things worked out as I hoped.

  As time progressed and that young man spent more of his days in my borough, squatting in abandoned houses and being with his friends, I would make his mother go away more often and for longer periods of time. So that, though we never spoke, I could be with him. Near him. So I could feel him and not have to be distanced from him in the way that society dictated the fixed relationship between a mother and son. I could spend time around him and let him experience me, as well, without fear of social consequence.

  Melody became a much more polite and obedient child and I got to spend more time around the one human who made me really feel like I was understood. Though we’d never spoken a word to each other, whenever I saw him, I knew that he held a piece of my heart. And that he treasured it.

  And, one year later, when we were both beginning our teenage years, my most dear young man’s mother became absent to an even greater degree. She had to, because I finally met the one man I believed I needed to change and I didn’t have the energy to play so many roles at once. That man’s name was Daniel and he was quite a bit older than me. Twenty-six years of age, to be precise. Robbing the cradle, in the vernacular, for certain. He was a cruel man and he despised almost everything about me, but he was a paedophile and I could appease his aberrant sexual proclivities to a degree no other little girl ever could. He realised that, as any human male would, and he forgave me my unattractive physical qualities in exchange for exclusive access to the pleasure I could provide him if he made me his ‘girlfriend’. I only emphasise that word because it meant so very little to him.

  He dealt deadly poison. Drugs that took innocent lives obliquely. He would encourage me to dress provocatively. And he would insist that I regularly orally pleasure those other persons who purchased his poison. To ensure they became addicted to the sexual gratification my mouth could bring them, as they quickly became addicted to the poison he was selling them. And I never objected.

  Although it might sound ridiculous, he was the perfect man in my eyes. So close to pure evil that I thought, for certain, if I changed him to good I would be redeemed. And I worked on him every moment, as I suffered beatings and humiliation and all forms of abuse. Physical, emotional, psychological. If there was a way he could mistreat me, he knew it and he employed it. In that sense I made him happy. Which made me happy, because I knew he would never leave me, no matter what he said to his friends and colleagues behind my back. There wasn’t a woman on this earth who was capable of satisfying his sexual appetite, or withstanding his abuse, as ably as I could, and I knew he knew it.

  Then, the following summer, when my world became too small for me to maintain a secure distance, I made significant contact with that certain young man. That young man I’d felt an undeniable affection for, from afar, for so long. It was inevitable that we would truly meet then. Because his mother’s increased absence ensured that he would be near me more often.

  We spoke briefly on numerous occasions. You called yourself Davey, but you would always be David to me. Just as you were to your mother before me. And I felt my time to make my penance through Daniel was coming to a close. Although I still felt a sadness when I saw you, David, I felt more certain, each time, that I was on the correct path Home by way of Daniel. Especially—and I hope you don’t take this the wrong way—because I had broken your heart, to a degree, becoming the girl I had to be. So that I could change Daniel. Knowing that you had been informed of my deviant and immoral behaviour by your friends. Some of whom took advantage of the sexual incentive Daniel provided through me.

  And I knew that you could feel that sadness, for certain, by then. And, because you tried so hard to avoid me, when your inner self didn’t wish to, I was sure that you had felt it before, as well.

  I need you to know that I never meant for the things I did, as I worked toward what I thought was my salvation. I never meant for them to hurt you.

  And the last time I saw you, fearing I might never see you again, I gave in to my human impulses and I spent an evening with you. I placed myself where I knew you would be, ensured that no one else would be present to distract us, and I let you dictate enough of the evening’s events as was necessary to make you feel the deepening of our physical and spiritual bonds was coincidental. But you weren’t as arrogant and selfish as the man I’d falsely promised myself to, and I had to practically drag you up to your bedroom.

  And your true shame. Your embarrassment at having me see your room, though you thought my seeing it would make me think less of you, actually cemented my belief in everything I’d felt in your presence. It made me absolutely certain that you really did feel love for me. And that filled my heart with such joy... If the night had ended then, it still would have been perfect. Even though I felt I could never truly know you, that shame you felt was more wonderful, in a way I can’t describe, that...

  ...But, I’m losing myself again. Apologies...

  It was very important to me, having kept watch over you as both your mother and an object of your affection, that I leave you with some gift. Something to help make the remainder of your human life more full of pleasant possibilities. To touch you and gift you with something of the knowledge I contained about your world. So you would understand better how it worked. So you could use that awareness to live a wonderful life.

  The strangest thing was, when I got you alone and we talked as relative equals, I began to feel nervous. As if things were out of my control entirely. I’d never before felt what you made me feel. You weren’t good looking, in the traditional sense, but you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I still see you that way. I can’t remember anything about you, or your human body, I could ever have found unappealing. And that night, when you accepted me—everything Melody was, and everything I was—completely and kissed me, I felt a greater love than I’d ever felt in the In-Between. The feelings I had for you were reciprocated perfectly in you, and the combination was as close as I’d felt to God’s love in so long it scared me to death. Because, although it wasn’t as pure as God’s love, the undiluted human expression of love I experienced between us made me feel a warmth I’d never known since I began living as a human. It made me feel safe. No longer alone and afraid. It made me want to be with you. To know you. To lay with you. And it made me want to cling to this life, and the sensations I shared in your company, forever.

  And I knew then that I could never be with you. Not having done what I’d done to you. Not having been what I’d been to you. Though you were never, technically, my son, I still felt conflicted about desiring you sexually.

  And so I did every wrong thing I could to you. Even as I hated myself for doing them.

  I enticed you to use drugs, although you never had before. I allowed you to walk me home to Daniel’s house, knowing full well the situation wouldn’t be pleasant. And, though I wanted to stay with you more than I’d ever wanted to remain with anyone on this earth, I desperately wanted you to leave. So I could finish my work changing Daniel and I wouldn’t have to explain myself to you and have you reject me, as you surely would have. Perhaps not feeling betrayed, but most defi
nitely feeling manipulated and looked down on. I decided, then, that I had done you enough wrong. That any amount was more than you deserved. But before I could think of how to talk you into going home so you would be safe, when we neared his house, Daniel opened the front door of his home and engaged you in confrontation.

  And I played the victim during the entire ordeal. And I apologise to you, David, but Daniel could never really hurt me. All the crying and the begging was solely meant to ensure his satisfaction. And, had I known the damage I was doing to you, I would have dropped the pretence right then and there. You must believe that. I pray you do. I tried to let you know, as best I could without giving myself up. I begged you to leave, I told you you weren’t the one who needed saving and I told you I didn’t want you to get hurt any more, which only confused you.

  And then the real Messenger—the one you know as the shadow, the one that had been using you—made Its presence known to you. It had been watching over us both for years by that point in time. It was assigned to show me the way back Home just before I became Melody, when I began truly seeking a return to my Father’s grace. And It attached Itself to you the moment It realised how you made me feel, so many years before we made a true social connection, despite the compromising position I’d put myself in.

  Please forgive me for never telling you before. And, had the world not brought us together again, please forgive me for, most probably, never summoning the courage to find you and tell you before your body died.