by Greg Wilburn
but in fact, were angels in disguise. They were once ladies that lived in our town and loved us all so dearly, but when they both had miscarriages at the same time under mysterious circumstances, we turned them into monsters and demons, throwing them out from the midst of us. You told us that they were kind and different, and we, the true monsters, could never understand what that meant.
It hurt how you, with your infinite wisdom, told us that you were tired of pretending to be a beast like us. You said you were kind and different, just like them, and that you too would be an angel in disguise. And you explained why you couldn’t return to us, no matter what. Mostly because we could never let the she and the her back as the truly loved members of us that they once were. In that, you refused us in your righteousness and said you could never return to the evil darkness when you had learned to become the light.
The town founder’s great-great-grandson spoke after an intermittent silence, saying that on his dad’s death bed he told him about the she and the her. He said they were demons hidden beneath human guises, poised to steal any soul that wandered their path. He listed the names of the mysterious deaths and problems that occurred when the she and the her were among us, and especially went into heavy detail about their miscarriages. And at that seemingly irrefutable proof—especially to us at the time—we could do nothing but believe it. It was a lied truth, and I can only admit that now, Art, at my end.
But you spoke back, saying that we can’t blame our happenings on two innocent women who should’ve been loved and supported, not marginalized and neglected.
But we’d had enough by then. My Dad yelled out that if you wanted to be a demon, a possessed and hollow being under their control, then good riddance. The others followed suit, and eventually we won ourselves out with those lies. We chose to make you the monsters just so we could hide us from our true selves. We consumed ourselves with our subjective ignorances and we guised the objective truths of the three of you as lies. We had to drag your Mom and Dad away as they wailed and screamed bloody murder for you.
The last thing I remember from that night was me standing there, alone and unnoticed, looking at the three of you. The she and the her were looking down at you and smiling, I just know they were. Not in some evil way, but in a way of love that I never really understood before. I stepped forward, but you wouldn’t let me near. All I could do was whimper an apology and watch you.
I can see it so clearly now. You looked intently at me with your teary eyes and told me it was okay and that I had to do it. It was necessary. You understood, didn’t you, Art? In that moment, you could really see me. You saw that I was a demon-angel, stuck in between and inaccessible to both existences. I was caught between you, the she, and the her, and the rest of us on the other side. I was an adversary to both, and I can tell you that I realize it now more than ever. And you watched me as I backed away until I disappeared in the distance.
I visited Art, I hope you can see that. I stopped by every four days, up until my heart tried to kill me. I could feel you looking out of the dusty windows, telling me it was okay. I truly felt it was all going to be okay, but the guilt never left. The weight of being your adversary and forcing you into becoming my, and our, sacrifice took its toll daily. My mind was plagued with it, and that’s why I had to see you so often.
It’s selfish, I know, but I had to. I had to have you tell me that it was all okay. I had to keep you as my angel and my savior, and I couldn’t let your light go out, even if everyone else had given up on you long ago. When my heart attacked, I was scared, Art. I hope you can understand that. Something about it happening in front of you watching me scared me away. But I know it wasn’t you that did it. The ambulance came in no time, and I know without a doubt that it was you that summoned them. Thank you for saving my life.
Instead of making me indebted to you and coming more often, I became a coward. I thought my heart would kill me if I came near you again. I thought that was my eternal punishment: to need you to save me and yet never be able to have you. That’s really what I thought it was, Art. I promise.
That’s why I came back after I became a lawyer, and that’s why I never married. I drive hours to get to the city for work and I waste no time with women anymore. I’m pretty successful at being a lawyer, and I’m never out of work. I bought the house that’s closest to 13th Street too. I knew I had to be as near to my savior as possible. And in all this success, I haven’t forgotten. I never will. Even at this end, I remember it all.
We forced you to become a demon, an outsider, a forgotten. I did. We let you drift out of our minds and hearts, just like we’d done with the she and the her. We forced the angels among us out so we could stay the beasts that we are without the light shining in our darkness. I’m sorry, Art. About everything. About you, the she, the her, the me, and the us. All of it.
Art, my angel, I’m playing my part of the adversary in this end. I already played my part of the demon in condemning you in my and our seventeenths and forty-eighths and ninety-sevenths truths, and now I’m going to be like you. I’m going to be an angel and condemn us all—us demons—, with the absolute and infallible truth, the objective, the true, and the final. I’m playing my role again, and now I must die. I must die to live. And I hope to see you soon.
Sincerely and with deep remorse,
Thomas Wingefeld
Note: This letter was found in the final pages of Thomas Wingefeld’s bloody diary two days after his death by Arthur Dallenger.
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Thank you for taking the time to read this work. I hope that you were able to enjoy it and can look forward to other stories I will publish in the future..
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To Michael Matchell, for all of his hard work and dedication.
To my family, for all of their support and encouragement.
