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    Onderwerp: Djahiz

    1. #1
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      Standaard Djahiz

      Djahiz en zijn mooie stiefmoederEen Arabisch volksverhaal over op listige wijze een vrouw verleidenDjahiz was een jongeling die op zijn stiefmoeder verliefd was, en zij was even mooi en dom als hij intelligent en lelijk was. Om haar gedwee te maken, verzon hij de volgende list: Hij bracht haar een brief van haar vader die haar bij zich uitnodigde omdat hij op zijn sterfbed lag en haar nog eenmaal wilde zien. Djahiz bood zich aan om haar te vergezellen, en zijn aanbod werd aangenomen. Zij pakte haar bundel en Djahiz vertrok ondertussen om langs de weg waarover de reis ging, op bepaalde plaatsen voorraden te begraven.

      De volgende ochtend werd de reis begonnen. Ze hadden al een poos in de grootste hitte gereden, toen de stiefmoeder een verfrissing verlangde. Djahiz verontschuldigde zich, hij was vergeten iets mee te nemen, ze moest dus geduld hebben tot het volgende dorp.

      Op dat ogenblik vloog een raaf krassend voorbij. "O, leugenaar!" schreeuwde Djahiz. "Wie scheld je voor leugenaar?" vroeg de stiefmoeder. "Die raaf die me wil wijsmaken dat onder die boom vissen, brood en limoenen begraven zijn," antwoordde Djahiz. "Wat, versta jij raven?" wilde de stiefmoeder weten. "Och, ik heb veel gestudeerd, hoewel ik nog jong van jaren ben. Door toeval heb ik een grammatica en een woordenboek van de vogeltaal gevonden en nu versta ik ze," antwoordde Djahiz.

      De vrouw, die erge honger had, dacht dat de raaf toch de waarheid gesproken kon hebben en vroeg haar metgezel te stoppen en onder de boom te graven. Ze vonden vissen, brood en limoenen en de stiefmoeder beschouwde haar zoon als een groot geleerde.

      Nadat ze een poos verder getrokken waren, vloog een andere raaf krassend voorbij. "Zeg, aartsleugenaar!" riep Djahiz. "Mijn lieve zoon!" zei de vrouw, "wat zegt hij dan? Je moet het eerlijke volk niet zo snel voor leugenaar schelden." - "Als we geloof aan hem zouden hechten," sprak Djahiz, "dan bevinden zich daar onder die boom een gebraden stuk vlees en een pastei." De stiefmoeder drong erop aan halt te houden en ze vonden alles precies zo als de raaf gezegd had. Ze geloofde dat haar zoon een grote heilige was en kuste eerbiedig zijn handen.

      Ze hadden heel goed gegeten, maar niets te drinken gehad en hadden van dorst kunnen vergaan. Al gauw daarop kraste een andere raaf. "O, schavuit!" riep Djahiz. "Lieve zoon, doe het eerlijke gezicht geen onrecht! Geloof me, deze raven zijn apostelen van de waarheid. Wat zegt hij dan?" - "Daar onder die boom zouden flessen wijn en koele sappen begraven zijn," antwoordde Djahiz.

      Het was echt zo; ze dronken van de beste wijn en lagen nog uitgestrekt in het hoge gras toen een vierde raaf boven hun hoofd kraste. "O, schandelijke leugenaar! Goddeloze bedrieger!" riep Djahiz heel boos. "Noem de goede raaf geen leugenaar," zei de stiefmoeder. "Zijn woorden zijn immers juist en waar als de Koran. Wat zegt hij dan?" - "Och, ik schaam me het te herhalen, hoewel er een groot ongeluk in het spel is," antwoordde Djahiz.

      En Djahiz weigerde lang en deed zelfs alsof hij huilde van schaamte en droefheid. Tenslotte, na veel smeken, kwam hij ermee tevoorschijn: "Als jij, liefste stiefmoeder, zo zegt de raaf, me niet ter plaatse zou omhelzen, dan sterven op dit ogenblik je vader en je kind."

      Wat moest ze doen? Aan de geloofwaardigheid van de raaf viel onmogelijk te twijfelen. Djahiz beweerde wel dat het niet gepast was; maar hoe meer hij weigerde, des te dringender smeekte de stiefmoeder hem het leven van haar vader en haar kind te redden. Ze kuste zijn handen en voeten en hield niet op met smeken, tot hij haar drie maal omhelsd had. En zij waren samen gelukkig, en wij hebben het nakijken.



      * * * EINDE * * *

    2. #2
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      Standaard

      Het meisje dat met een derwisj trouwdeIn Bagdad leefden eens twee broers. De een was een rijke koopman, die iedereen in de stad kende en hoogachtte; de ander daarentegen was arm en werkloos. Hij droeg altijd hetzelfde hemd en was blij als hij elke dag een brood te eten had voor zichzelf en zijn gezin, dat bestond uit zijn vrouw, een zoon en een dochter. Ook de rijke koopman en zijn vrouw hadden een dochter en een zoon. Toen de zoon van de koopman wilde trouwen, sprak hij tot zijn moeder: "Het wordt tijd moeder, dat ik een vrouw neem. Ik vraag je een bruid voor me uit te zoeken, die zo mooi is dat ze tegen de maan kan zeggen: "Verdwijn! Ik wil in jou plaats schijnen."

      Nog dezelfde dag trok zijn moeder haar mooiste gewaad aan en ging de huizen langs van de bekende en belangrijke families van de stad, om uit te kijken naar een geschikte bruid voor haar enige zoon. De vrouwen in de huizen waar ze op bezoek ging, vroegen haar: "Waarom zoek je bij vreemden naar een bruid voor je zoon? De broer van je man heeft een dochter, die mooier is dan alle andere meisjes van de stad."

      Maar de moeder antwoordde hen: "Wij gaan niet met elkaar om. Wie komt er nu bij armen over de vloer." Maar zij antwoordden: "Je zou er beter aan doen naar hen toe te gaan, want in de hele wereld vind je geen mooier meisje dan je nicht."

      De vrouw van de koopman volgde uiteindelijk - nadat ze tevergeefs had gezocht - de raad van de andere vrouwen op en ging naar het huis van haar arme zwager. Ze had een paar kostbare diamanten oorbellen meegenomen, die ze aan de toekomstige bruid van haar zoon in plaats van een ring als verlovingsgeschenk wilde geven.

      Wel, jullie weten dat de koopman en zijn familie zeer rijk was, maar de zwager en zijn familie daarentegen zeer arm; en arme mensen zijn meestal erg opgewonden als een rijke bij hen op bezoek komt. Toen de arme vrouw haar rijke schoonzuster zag, begroette zij haar uitbundig: "God zegene je, tante! Je komt hier in je eigen huis! Moge je pad geffend zijn." En zonder op antwoord te wachten, ging ze door: "Vereer ons met je aanwezigheid! Neem plaats en rust wat uit van je tocht! Je verdient meer dan we je kunnen aanbieden..." en nog veel meer van dergelijke complimenten maakte ze in haar opwinding; daarna informeerde ze naar haar echtgenoot en de kinderen. De rijke schoonzuster antwoordde slechts: "Ik dacht, laat ik jullie eens gaan bezoeken."

      De arme familie had die dag bij uitzondering vlees te eten, maar zij waren zo druk met hun gast en ze waren zo verheugd over haar aanwezigheid, dat ze het vlees en het eten helemaal vergaten. Ze dronken een mokka met hun bijzondere gast en aten er wat lekkers bij. Toen de vrouw van de koopman haar nichtje zag, was ze zeer onder de indruk van haar schoonheid en haar lieftalligheid. Ze wachtte zelfs niet eens af om er met haar man of haar zoon over te spreken, maar haalde de oorbellen te voorschijn en gaf ze aan haar nichtje. Toen ging ze weg en haar schoonzuster nam afscheid van haar met alle denkbare beleefdheden. Tot slot zei ze: "Ga in vrede en onder Allahs hoede!"

      De vrouw van de koopman ging snel naar huis om haar man en haar zoon van haar ontdekking op de hoogte te stellen. Ze was zeker van hun toestemming en hun vreugde. Ze was nog maar net thuis of ze deelde hen het nieuws mee, en was teleurgesteld dat zij niet blij waren met de goede tijding. In tegendeel, ze sloegen hun handen voor het gezicht en riepen: "Hoe kon je zoiets doen! Wij willen niets met die bedelaars te maken hebben! Als we mijn broer of zijn zoon op straat zien, draaien wij ons om en nemen een andere weg. En jij behangt hen met zulke dure sieraden!"

      "Waarom niet, vader?" vroeg de dochter, "wat geeft dat? Als een broer arm is, moet de ander hem daarom dan verloochenen?" - "Wat een domme praatjes!" schold haar vader, "wij willen niets met die armoedzaaiers te maken hebben. En daarmee uit!"

      Toen de arme man 's avonds van het bezoek en het bruidsgeschenk van zijn schoonzuster hoorde, sprak hij tot zijn vrouw: "Als die je niet voor de gek hebben gehouden en als ze morgen niet terugkomen om de sierraden van de oren van je dochter te halen, dan ben ik niet wie ik ben. Wanneer heeft mijn broer ooit met ons gesproken, of ons met een groet of een blik verwaardigd?" En zijn zoon ging door: "Bij Allah, hoe is het mogelijk dat zij je dochter met hun zoon laten trouwen? Wij zijn toch vreemden voor hen, omdat wij arm zijn?" Maar zijn moeder antwoordde hem vol vertrouwen: "Dat zullen ze nooit doen, die oorbellen terugvragen." Ze zeiden haar: "Goed, we zullen tot morgenvroeg wachten en zien wie gelijk krijgt, jij of wij."

      De vrouw van de koopman werd de volgende ochtend in alle vroegte wakker en stuurde haar dienares naar het huis van de arme man om te berichten: "Mijn meesteres wenst dat jullie haar de oorbellen teruggeeft, omdat zij het met de verkoper niet eens kan worden over de prijs. De jood vraagt namelijk van haar een hogere prijs dan zij bereid is te geven." Dit was het smoesje dat zij 's nachts had verzonnen.

      Wat kon die arme vrouw daarop zeggen. Ze dacht aan de woorden die haar man en zoon de avond tevoren hadden gesproken. Ze haalde de kostbare oorbellen, deed ze weer in het kistje en zei: "Hier, neem ze mee, goede vrouw. Moge de zegen van Allah je begeleiden." De vrouw van de koopman ging ermee naar haar man en haar zoon en zei: "Hier, neem de oorbellen. Ik heb het meisje, haar ouders en haar broer bedrogen."

      De rijke koopman en zijn zoon gingen er nu zelf op uit om een bruid te zoeken, en tenslotte viel de keus op de dochter van een rijke koopmansfamilie. Ze zeiden tegen elkaar: "We nemen deze maar, hoewel ze niet bepaald knap is."

      Je ziet het, zij hechtten meer belang aan rijkdom en het aanzien van de familie dan aan schoonheid! En de koopmansvrouw moest naar die familie gaan en de toekomstige bruid de oorbellen aandoen. De zoon van de arme man hoorde ervan en zei 's avonds tegen zijn moeder: "Heb je het nu gezien hoe ze je voor de gek hebben gehouden? Ze hebben de oorbellen nu aan de dochter van die rijke koopman gegeven. Ze beledigden ons omdat wij arm zijn. Ze hebben ons belachelijk gemaakt bij de mensen. Wat hebben we je gezegd?" En hij vervolgde: "Ik kan niet meer door de straten van deze stad lopen, want ik zou mijn oom of zijn zoon tegen kunnen komen en dan zou ik van schaamte door de grond zakken. Ik moet deze stad verlaten om mijn eer te redden!"

      "Nooit mag je ons verlaten!" zeiden zijn ouders en zijn zuster; maar hij was zo wanhopig en teneergeslagen, dat hij moest weglopen als hij zichzelf niet het leven wilde nemen, en zo ging hij van hen weg en liep maar en liep maar. In de woestijn kwam hij een groepje bereden politie tegen, met in hun midden een man die de kleren van een derwisj droeg; de derwisj sprak hem aan en vroeg hem: "Mijn zoon, wat zoek je hier midden in de nacht?" Hij antwoordde hem: "Ik was wanhopig en kon niet langer in de stad blijven." De derwisj spoorde hem aan: "Vertel me je zorgen." En de zoon van de arme man vertelde hem het hele verhaal zoals het was gebeurd. Toen hij daarmee klaar was, vroeg de derwisj hem: "Wil je mij je zuster tot vrouw geven?"

      Allah had het hart van de jongeman vervuld met een grote sympathie voor de derwisj, en hij sprak zonder na te denken: "Kom met me mee, ik zal alles voor je regelen." De derwisj antwoordde: "Ik zal je nu mijn trouwbelofte geven en dan zal ik iedere avond naar jullie huis komen om je zuster te bezoeken."

      Aldus keerde de zoon met de derwisj naar huis terug en klopte aan de deur. Vader, moeder en zuster kwamen aangesneld om de zoon te ontvangen en zij riepen blij: "Allah zij dank dat je teruggekomen bent!" De zoon sprak: "Als jullie het goed vinden, dat deze man met mijn zuster trouwt, zal ik bij jullie blijven. Als jullie haar echter niet onmiddellijk aan hem uithuwelijkt, dan zullen jullie mij nooit meer terugzien, want dan zal ik naar een verre stad trekken."

      Daar zij zich zo veel zorgen om hun enige zoon hadden gemaakt, stemden zij direct in het huwelijk toe en de dochter sprak: "Goed, broertje, ik zal met deze man trouwen." De derwisj bracht de nacht door bij de dochter en tegen het ochtendgloren verliet hij het huis van de arme man.

      Toen de dochter ontwaakte, vond zij 50 goudstukken onder haar kussen, en de volgende ochtend was dat weer het geval. Van nu af aan lagen er dagelijks 50 goudstukken in haar bed. En de 50 werden er 100, de 100 werden er 150, tot zij een zeer hoog bedrag aan goudstukken bezaten. De derwisj sprak: "Neem het geld, het is van jullie. Koop daarvan een groot huis van jullie buren, verbouw het en richt het in met kostbare voorwerpen. En als jullie meer geld nodig hebben zal ik het jullie geven."

      De vader ging de mooiste huizen in de buurt bekijken en kocht het huis dat hem het beste beviel. Hij kocht ook de huizen die er omheen stonden en liet ze afbreken, zodat hij om het huis een uitgestrekt park kon laten aanleggen. Ze breidden het huis uit en richtten het smaakvol in, terwijl de koopmansfamilie bezig was de bruiloft voor te bereiden, want al spoedig zou in het huis van de koopman de bruiloftsnacht gevierd worden.

      De vrouw van de koopman stelde voor: "Laten we je broer en zijn familie uitnodigen voor de bruiloft, ook al hebben we zijn dochter niet als bruid uitgekozen." De koopman liet zich door zijn vrouw en zijn dochter ompraten en zei tenslotte: "Nodig ze voor mijn part dan maar ut."

      Die nacht sprak de derwisj tot zijn vrouw: "Morgen gaat de zoon van je oom trouwen. Als ze een dienares sturen om jullie uit te nodigen, geef haar dan dit geschenk, en hij gaf zijn vrouw een gouden broche, die bezet was met prachtige en kostbare edelstenen. "Geef dit aan de dienares," sprak hij, "als ze komt om jullie uit te nodigen. Neem de uitnodiging aan en dan stuur ik morgen een draagstoel naar jullie toe. Je hebt mijn toestemming met je moeder naar het bruiloffsfeest van je neef te gaan." De volgende dag kwam de dienares van de koopmansfamilie om de vrouw van de arme broer en zijn dochter uit te nodigen. Ze kon echter het huis niet vinden, want de oude woning stond er niet meer. Ze ging naar de buren en vroeg naar het huis van Ali, de arme man. "O, mijn ogen," sprak ze tot hen, "help me en wijs me het huis van de arme man Ali."

      Maar de buren antwoordden haar: "Zeg niet, het huis van Ali de arme man, maar zeg liever: het huis van Ali de koning, want dat is zijn huis."

      De dienares liep naar het mooie, grote huis en klopte aarzelend aan. Een dienares deed haar open. Ze vroeg haar ongelovig: "Is dit het huis van Ali?" De andere dienares beaamde dit en nodigde haar uit binnen te komen. Op dat moment kwam de vrouw des huizes de trap af en sprak tot de dienares van de koopmansfamilie: "Hoe gaat het met je, moedertje, wat kan ik voor je doen?"

      De dienares vertelde: "Mijn grootmoeder laat zeggen: Kom vanavond naar de bruiloft van mijn zoon." De vrouw van Ali antwoordde: "Wij verheugen ons zeer over de uitnodiging, en moge jullie overladen worden met Allahs zegen." Ondertussen bekeek de dienares heimelijk het huis, de kostbare inrichting en de prachtige gewaden van moeder en dochter. Toen de dienares weg wilde gaan, gaf de moeder haar de gouden broche als geschenk voor het overbrengen van de uitnodiging. Helemaal van streek ging de dienares terug naar het huis van de rijke koopman. Haar meesteres vroeg haar: "Heb je de familie van de arme man uitgenodigd?"

      De dienares antwoordde: "Ja, grootmoeder, ik heb ze uitgenodigd. Maar met hen vergeleken zijn jullie arme mensen!"

      "Wat zeg je daar?" riep de vrouw van de koopman geprikkeld. Maar de dienares toonde haar de gouden broche met de diamanten en zei: "Dit is het geschenk dat zij mij gaven voor het overbrengen van de uitnodiging." - "Waar ben je dan geweest?" vroeg de kooprnansvrouw verontrust. "Je hebt je vast in het huis vergist en een andere familie uitgenodigd." Maar de dienares stelde haar gerust: "Nou, nou, meesteres, windt u maar niet op. Toen ik het oude huis niet meer kon vinden, vroeg ik de buren waar het huis was van Ali, de arme man, en zij wezen mij het nieuwe huis van Ali, die nu 'Ali, de koning' heet."

      Toen de koopman en zijn zoon thuiskwamen, vertelde zijn vrouw hen onmiddellijk het verhaal: "Ik weet niet wie met de dochter van je broer is getrouwd," begon ze, "kijk eens wat zij de dienares geschonken hebben voor het overbrengen van de uitnodiging." Toen namen ze een besluit: "We stellen de bruiloft liever maar een paar dagen uit. Laat een brief naar het huis van de bruid brengen, waarin je schrijft dat het tijdstip van de bruiloft geen geluk belooft en dat wij vanavond een belangrijke zaak moeten afwikkelen. En dat we daarom jammer genoeg gedwongen zijn de bruiloft uit te stellen naar n van de volgende avonden. We hebben dan tijd om te onderzoeken, of die rijke man werkelijk onze broer is en wie zijn dochter heeft getrouwd."

      Diezelfde avond kwam de draagstoel van de derwisj, die prachtig was versierd; aan beide kanten - rechts en links - stonden twee zwarte slaven in een wit uniform. Ze klopten aan de deur en zeiden: "Komt U? We zijn hier om u naar het huis van de bruidegom te brengen!" De moeder kwam naar beneden met een dienares en de bruid van de derwisj. Zij namen plaats in de draagstoel en lieten zich naar het huis van de koopman dragen. De vrouw van de derwisj schreed de trappen op, en de familie van de koopman zag, dat ze een betoverende jonge vrouw was. Ze vroegen haar nieuwsgierig: "Zuster, met wie ben je getrouwd?" Ze antwoordde hen: "Met een zekere derwisj, met een derwisj." - "Een derwisj?" vroegen zij verbaasd, "waar komt hij dan vandaan?" - "Van Allah," antwoordde ze, "Allah heeft hem mij gezonden. Hij komt alleen 's nachts en verder kennen wij hem niet."

      Ze waren allemaal ten zeerste verbaasd. Toen vroeg de bruid: "Zou hier vanavond niet een bruiloft zijn? Waar zijn de andere gasten? Alles is hier zo rustig!" Toen antwoordden zij haar: "Nadat we jullie al hadden uitgenodigd, moesten we jammer genoeg de bruiloft uitstellen tot de volgende week. Maar nu jullie hier toch zijn, kunnen we de avond wel samen doorbrengen."

      Het avondeten was klaar, en de vrouwen van de beide families gingen samen aan tafel. Toen zij klaar waren met eten, kwam de zoon van de rijke koopman binnen. Hij zag de dochter van zijn oom en zij beviel hem zo, dat hij zijn moeder heimelijk toefluisterde: "Ik wil alleen haar en niemand anders als bruid!" En hij vertelde haar dat hij de derwisj een proces wilde aanspannen op kosten van zijn neef. Zo zou hij zijn nicht laten scheiden van de derwisj en haar zelf tot vrouw nemen. Zeer laat in de avond vergezelde de familie van de koopman de familie van Ali, de rijke man, naar huis.

      's Nachts vroeg de derwisj aan zijn vrouw: "En, hebben jullie de bruiloft gevierd en de bruid naar de bruidegom gebracht?" Ze antwoordde hem: "Nee, ze hebben de bruiloft uitgesteld tot volgende week, maar ze verheugden zich over ons bezoek en nodigden ons uit voor het avondeten; we hebben de tijd zeer aangenaam doorgebracht."

      Toen sprak de derwisj: "Morgen zullen ze proberen mij een proces aan te spannen." - "Hoezo?" vroeg ze geschrokken. "Je neef wil graag met je trouwen," antwoordde de derwisj, "en hij probeert een reden te vinden om jou van mij te laten scheiden." - "Wat vertel je me nu, derwisj?" sprak ze ontzet, "kan hij je pijn doen? Ik ga voor je staan. Je bent mijn ziel, en ik zou mijn leven geven voor het stof op je voeten. Als hij mij vroeger niet tot vrouw heeft genomen, waarom zou hij het dan nu doen?" De derwisj antwoordde: "In ieder geval zul je voor de sultan geleid worden en daar kun je zeggen of je liever je neef of mij als bruidegom hebt."

      De ochtend brak aan en het proces was al aangespannen, zoals de derwisj had voorspeld. Zijn vrouw werd naar het hof van de sultan gebracht. Daar sprak zij: "Bij Allah, ik wil mijn neef niet als bruidegom! Waarom gaf hij mij die oorbellen voor maar n nacht en liet hij ze de volgende morgen weer ophalen? Waarom verloofde hij zich met een ander, liet voor haar een uitzet aanschaffen en voorbereidingen voor het huwelijk treffen? Mijn neef was verloofd en nodigde mij uit voor zijn bruiloft. En toen veranderde hij van mening. Ik wil de zoon van mijn oom niet! Ik trouwde een dag nadat hij ons vernederde en het verlovingsgeschenk weer liet ophalen. Van mijn echtgenoot weet ik niets. Hij komt 's nachts bij me en verlaat me voor het ochtendgloren, maar ik blijf hem trouw."

      De sultan liet het geschil uiteenzetten. Tussen hem en de aanwezigen was een rood fluwelen gordijn gespannen. De sultan antwoordde op de rede van de jonge vrouw: "Mijn dochter, van die derwisj weet men dus niets, niet eens of hij een dsjinn of een menselijk wezen is. Hij komt 's nachts bij je en verlaat je tegen het ochtendgloren; dat wijst erop dat hij een geest is. Het zou beter zijn dat je de zoon van je oom tot man neemt. Hij is een jonge man, beminnelijk, knap en vermogend. Ondanks alles wat je hebt opgesomd, wil ik je van de derwisj laten scheiden." Zij antwoordde: "Om Allahs wil, geloof me toch; mijn oom, zijn hele familie en de verloofde zijn bij elkaar niet zo veel waard als het stof op de schoenen van mijn echtgenoot. Mijn leven is het zijne, en ik ben tevreden met hem."

      De sultan vroeg haar: "Ben je niet bang voor hem?" Zij antwoordde: "O nee, waarom zou ik bang voor hem zijn?" - "Misschien zal hij je op een dag kwaad doen," sprak de sultan. "Ook al zou hij me beledigen," gaf zij ten antwoord, "ik zal nooit mijn mening over hem wijzigen." Toen vroeg de sultan haar: "Als je die derwisj overdag zou zien, zou je hem dan herkennen?" - "Ja," antwoordde ze, "ik zou hem uit duizenden herkennen."

      Het gordijn werd iets opzij geschoven, en terwijl de sultan sprak, werd zijn hand zichtbaar. "Kun je ons een beschrijving van hem geven," vroeg hij haar, "zodat we hem voor je kunnen laten zoeken?" Zij antwoordde: "Uw hand, die ik zie, doet me denken aan zijn hand." - "Je moet je vergissen, hoe kan dat nu?" antwoordde de sultan verrast. "Heel erg zelfs," ging de jonge vrouw onverstoorbaar verder, "uw hand, o heerser der wereld en tijd, en zijn hand zijn dezelfde!"

      Het gordijn werd opzijgeschoven en de sultan liep naar haar toe. Hij sprak: "Je hebt gelijk! Ik ben je echtgenoot. Ik trouwde met je om je broer een plezier te doen, die 's nachts van huis was weggelopen en in de woestijn ronddoolde. Ik zei tot mezelf: "Ik ben benieuwd of hij me zijn zuster tot vrouw geeft. Hij stelde vertrouwen in mij en deed het. Nu ben ik je echtgenoot! Ik geef je opdracht om in mijn plaats recht te spreken: je moet zelf bepalen wat er moet gebeuren met je oom en je neef. Wat jij beveelt zal onmiddellijk worden uitgevoerd."

      Vader en zoon hadden met zichtbare ontzetting vernomen dat de sultan in eigen persoon haar echtgenoot was. Ze stonden er onthutst bij en wachtten angstig af, wat voor oordeel ze zou vellen. De sultan herhaalde: "Wat jij beveelt, zal ogenblikkelijk met deze twee geschieden." Na een poosje sprak ze: "Ik wil ze niet bestraffen. Misschien hebben ze mij onrecht aangedaan, maar ik wil geen onrecht aandoen. Bij Allah, laat ze vrij!"

      De koopman en zijn zoon kwamen uitgeput weer thuis. "Wat is er met jullie aan de hand?" vroeg de vrouw van de koopman. Haar man antwoordde: "Toen we het hof verlieten, zijn we voor een tweede keer geboren. Als het woord 'ophangen' over haar lippen was gekomen, dan zouden ze ons tween, ik en mijn zoon direct hebben opgehangen, en ze hoefde maar 'onthoofden' te zeggen of ze hadden ons onthoofd. Maar geprezen zij Allah, de Almachtige; ze heeft onze levens gespaard. Haar echtgenoot is geen derwisj, maar de sultan in eigen persoon."

      Ali en zijn zoon keerden trots en gelukkig naar huis terug, want zij wisten nu wie de echtgenoot van hun dochter en zuster was. "Is mijn oom een sultan, of is het de echtgenoot van mijn zuster die sultan is?" zei de zoon tegen zijn vader. "Ze waren te hoogmoedig om met mijn zuster te trouwen, en zie hoe Allah voor haar heeft gezorgd!"



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    3. #3
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      De koning en de arme violistHet houten zwaardEr was eens een stinkend rijke koning die vele kastelen en schatten bezat. Hij kon alles krijgen wat zijn koninklijke hartje begeerde en kon doen en laten wat zijn koninklijke wil hem ingaf. Maar bij alle rijkdom van de wereld miste de koning toch n belangrijk ding: een geluksgevoel. Deze koning leek wel wat op de pauw. Dat is een vogel die glimt van trots als hij zijn mooie veren ziet, maar die moet huilen als hij zijn lelijke, kale poten ontdekt. De rijke koning voelde zich een gevangene in zijn eigen kasteel. Op een goede dag besloot hij al zijn bezit achter te laten en zijn koningsmantel te verruilen voor de kleren van een eenvoudige boer. Zo zou niemand hem herkennen. Toen ging hij op zoek naar het geheim van geluk, naar iemand die werkelijk gelukkig was.

      De koning reisde door vele steden en dorpen, klopte her en der aan en vroeg: 'Bent u een gelukkig mens?' Maar elke keer opnieuw was het antwoord: 'Ach, we zijn vreselijk arm. We hebben in dit land niks anders dan een stinkend rijke koning. Geluk? Dat moet hier nog uitgevonden worden! En als we het geluk ooit vinden, dan zal het bij ons niet oud worden.' De koning trok teleurgesteld verder en probeerde het steeds opnieuw: bij boeren en buitenlui, bij burgemeesters en baronnen. Maar niemand voelde zich erg gelukkig. Overal waar hij keek zag de koning slechts sombere gezichten: van verdrietige kinderen tot ploeterende oude mensen.

      De koning wilde zijn zoektocht al opgeven, toen hij na vele omzwervingen tenslotte in een klein dorp kwam. Daar zou het nog een laatste keer proberen. Hij liep naar het dorpsplein dat helemaal vol stond met allerlei marktkramen. Kooplui en ambachtslieden schreeuwden met rood aangelopen hoofden om hun koopwaren aan de man te brengen. Maar hoe de koning ook keek, hij zag nergens een enkel opgewekt gezicht. Zijn zoektocht was mislukt. Daarom besloot de koning maar huiswaarts te keren. Hij dacht bij zichzelf: 'Geluk is blijkbaar voor niemand in mijn koninkrijk weggelegd. Dus ook niet voor mij!'

      De koning was al buiten het dorp gekomen, toen hij ineens een klein, krakkemikkig huisje zag. Hij had er totaal geen aandacht aan gegeven, als er niet uit die hut een prachtige melodie had geklonken. Nieuwsgierig liep de koning naar het raam van het huisje en zag daar een man zitten die op een oude viool speelde. De man zag eruit als een arme sloeber, maar hij leek zowaar plezier te hebben. De koning kon zijn ogen niet geloven. Hij besloot om ook aan deze arme violist zijn vraag voor te leggen: 'Bent u een gelukkig mens?' De violist antwoordde: 'Ja, want ik heb alle geluk van de wereld!' Verbaasd vroeg de koning: 'Leg me dat eens uit, want ik begrijp er niets van! Je hebt in dit huisje helemaal niets dat waarde heeft. Je bent kromgetrokken en versleten, net als je viool. Hoe kunt je dan toch gelukkig zijn?'

      'Het is heel eenvoudig', zei de violist. 'Elke ochtend voordat ik van huis vertrek, dan bid ik. "Heer der wereld, gezegend is uw naam. Dank U dat wij niet langer slaven in Egypte zijn en dat we vandaag als vrije, gelukkige mensen mogen leven. Wilt U vandaag aan mij en mijn gezin denken?" En als ik op straat mijn viool ga spelen, dan heb ik 's avonds precies genoeg geld verdiend als ik nodig heb. Genoeg om voor die dag eten te kopen voor mijn vrouw en kinderen. Zelfs genoeg voor een kruikje heerlijke wijn. Elke maaltijd is een groot feest. En 's avonds laat dank ik God voor het geluk van die dag. Dit is mijn geheim: je moet elke dag steeds als je beste dag zien. En de avond zal tonen hoe je dag geweest is.'

      De koning luisterde ongelovig naar dit verhaal en stikte van jaloezie. 'Heb ik daar al die tijd naar lopen zoeken?!' Hij wilde gewoon niet geloven dat geluk z eenvoudig kon zijn.

      De koning dacht toen bij zichzelf: 'Ik zal deze vrome violist eens op de proef stellen. We zullen eens zien of hij zich dan nog zo gelukkig voelt.' De vorst ging terug naar zijn kasteel en bedacht een plan. De volgende morgen vaardigde hij een bevel uit voor het gehele land: Vanaf heden is het verboden om in het openbaar viool te spelen. Overtreders van deze wet komen in de gevangenis. De koning liet dit besluit op elk dorpsplein in het land aanplakken. De violist ging die morgen nietsvermoedend met zijn viool naar het plein. Daar zag hij tot zijn grote verbazing het aanplakbiljet met het verbod. 'Wat moet ik nu doen?', vroeg hij zich af. De man besloot te bidden: 'Heer der wereld, ik ben een arme violist. En nu mag ik niet langer de kost verdienen met spelen op straat. Maar ik heb nergens anders voor geleerd! Ach, wilt U ook deze dag tot een gelukkige maken? Denk aan mij en mijn gezin!'

      Na dit gebed opende hij zijn ogen en zag toen waterdragers over het plein lopen. Hij besloot die dag zich bij hen aan te sluiten en water uit de bron te halen voor de rijke mensen die het niet zelf wilden dragen. En 's avonds na het waterdragen had hij net zoveel geld verdiend als anders. Genoeg om van te eten met zijn gezin en zelfs nog voor een kruikje wijn. En hij dankte de Heer, want zijn geluk kon niet op. Als God op een dag geen regen geeft aan het land, dan zorgt Hij de volgende morgen wel voor wat meer dauw.

      De koning stuurde een knecht om te vragen naar de toestand van de arme violist. De knecht hoorde dat de man waterdrager was geworden en net zo vrolijk leefde als altijd. De koning stikte van nijd en bedacht wederom een plan. De volgende ochtend kwam hij met een nieuw bevel: Het is aan alle waterdragers verboden nog langer water te putten. Ieder moet voortaan zelf zijn water dragen. Overtreders van deze wet komen in de gevangenis.

      Na zijn ochtendgebed ging de violist opgewekt als altijd naar het dorpsplein. Daar las hij tot zijn schrik het nieuwe bevel van de koning. 'Dat is pech! Wat moet ik nu doen?', dacht de violist die nog maar net waterdrager was geworden. Hij besloot te bidden: "Heer der wereld, ik ben een arme sukkel en schlemiel. Maar wilt u ook deze dag tot een gelukkige dag maken, zodat ik mezelf niet als slaaf hoef te verkopen? Denk aan mij en mijn gezin!" Daarna deed de man zijn ogen open en zie: daar zag hij een groep houthakkers over het plein voorbij komen.

      Al had hij niet eerder met dat bijltje gehakt, de violist sloot zich die dag bij de houthakkers aan. En na flink veel hout te hebben gekapt in het bos, had hij net zoveel geld verdiend als anders. Precies genoeg om van te eten met zijn gezin. Hij had zelfs nog geld over voor een kruikje wijn. En hij dankte God voor het geluk van die dag. Want weet wel: wie met weinig tevreden is, wordt door God niet vergeten.

      De koning was nieuwsgierig geworden naar de lotgevallen van de oude violist. Hij stuurde een soldaat om naar het geluk van de man te vragen. Maar wat bleek: de violist die inmiddels houthakker was geworden voelde zich gelukkiger dan ooit. De koning bedacht daarom nog een plan. De volgende ochtend kwam hij niet met een nieuw verbod, maar beval dat alle houthakkers van zijn rijk in koninklijke dienst moesten treden. Zij mochten niet langer hout hakken, maar moesten als soldaten de landhuizen en kastelen van de koning gaan bewaken. Alle houthakkers werden kort daarna gedwongen om hun bijlen in te leveren. Ze kregen in plaats daarvan een zwaard. Ook de violist die houthakker was geworden kwam in dienst van de koning. Maar de vorst had bovendien bepaald dat alle nieuwe soldaten pas na een week werken hun loon zouden krijgen. Zij moesten in die eerste week zien te overleven met wat er overbleef in de koninklijke keukens. Maar daar bleef natuurlijk zo goed als niets over.

      De violist bad opnieuw tot God: 'Heer der wereld, wat nu? Vergeet ook op deze boze dag mij en mijn gezin niet!' En toen hij zijn ogen opende, zag hij het gloednieuwe, fonkelende zwaard aan zijn riem hangen. 'Als ik dat nu eens verkoop', dacht hij bij zichzelf, 'dan heb ik minstens een hele week te eten voor mijn vrouw en kinderen.' De violist, die inmiddels soldaat geworden was, sneed eerst een zwaard van hout. Want als houthakker had hij het houtsnijden onder de knie gekregen. Hij stak het houten zwaard in de schede en verkocht zijn echte zwaard. Het geld dat hij kreeg, bleek precies genoeg voor die week. Net als altijd. En de koning hoorde opnieuw van het geluk van de arme violist. Toen bedacht de vorst een allerlaatste test voor hem: 'Dat zal hem leren!'

      Als soldaat werd de violist naar het kasteel van de koning geroepen. Die dag zou er een executie plaatsvinden van een gevangene van de koning. Het was een oude violist die het verbod van spelen op straat had overtreden. Hij zou worden onthoofd op het marktplein en de soldaat-violist moest zijn beul zijn. Als hij zou weigeren, zou hem hetzelfde lot wachten. De hele stad was uitgelopen voor dit spektakel. Toen de executie begon, bad de soldaat-violist: 'Heer der wereld, vergeet mij ook nu niet. Red mij en deze oude violist!' En met zijn hand op het heft van zijn zwaard riep hij luidkeels: 'Als deze man schuldig is, laat ik dan met n slag van mijn zwaard zijn hoofd mogen afhakken. Maar als hij onschuldig is, laat dan dit ijzeren zwaard terplekke in hout veranderen!'

      De beul trok zijn zwaard en zie: iedereen zag het wonder met eigen ogen! Het zwaard was inderdaad van hout geworden! Allen aanwezigen - zelfs de koning en zijn ministers - stonden versteld vanwege het wonder en het bijzondere Godsvertrouwen van de man. De oude violist wiens hoofd net nog op het hakblok lag, werd vrijgelaten. En de violist die gedwongen voor beul moest spelen, werd door de koning opgenomen in zijn koninklijke Raad van Wijze Mannen. De man mocht elke dag raad geven aan alle ministers en vioolspelen voor de koning. Zulke wijze muzikanten waren zeer zeldzaam aan het hof.

      En als de violist 's avonds thuiskwam, was hij vrolijker dan ooit. Dan at hij een feestmaaltijd met zijn gezin en dankte God voor het geluk van die dag. Het geluk zit vaak in een klein hoekje en het paradijs ligt meestal op een gewone keukentafel.



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    4. #4
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      Het zilver op de haardEr was eens een arme boer die het erg moeilijk vond om zich staande te houden in deze wereld. Want hoewel hij erg hard werkte en zuinig leefde, lukte het hem niet om ook maar een beetje geld te sparen. Het leek wel of hij na een leven lang hard werken er nog even slecht aan toe was als op de dag dat hij werd geboren. En op een ochtend begreep hij, dat als hij ooit iets wilde bezitten in deze wereld, dat het hem gewoon in de schoot geworpen zou moeten worden. Hij wenste dan ook dat hij op een morgen wakker zou worden en bergen met geld zou aantreffen op zijn schoorsteenmantel. Hij vond dat het geld op zijn eigen haard moest staan, zodat hij zeker zou weten dat het voor hem bestemd was. Hier dacht hij aan terwijl hij zijn dagelijkse werkzaamheden op het land verrichtte.

      Op een dag toen hij op het land aan het werk was, bleven de kleren van de arme boer aan een braamstruik hangen. Om te voorkomen dat dit nog eens zou gebeuren, groef de man de wortels van de braamstruik uit en trok hem uit de grond. Terwijl hij dit deed, stootte hij op het deksel van een grote aarden pot. Opgewonden groef hij nog wat verder en verwijderde toen het deksel van de pot. Hij ontdekte dat de pot tot barstens toe gevuld was met zilveren munten. Eerst was hij verrukt, maar toen hij een paar minuten had nagedacht, zei hij: "Ik vroeg om geld op mijn eigen haard, maar nu vind ik dit geld hier in de grond. Ik kan dit niet meenemen. Want als dit voor mij bestemd was geweest, zou het vast en zeker gewoon op mijn eigen haard hebben gestaan, zoals ik wenste."

      Dus liet de man de schat waar hij hem gevonden had en ging naar huis. Toen hij thuiskwam vertelde hij zijn vrouw over zijn vondst. Die werd kwaad op de dwaasheid van haar man om het geld op het land te laten. En toen haar man lag te slapen, ging ze naar het huis van een buurman en vertelde hem alles en zei: "Mijn domme man vond een geheime schat vol geld op het land, maar de stijfkop weigert hem mee naar huis te nemen. Ga er heen en haal de schat op en deel hem met mij."

      De buurman was blij met het voorstel en hij ging op weg naar de aangegeven plek om naar de schat te zoeken. En daar waar de braamstruik omver gewoeld lag, vond hij inderdaad een aarden pot. Hij nam de pot op en opende hem. Maar toen hij het deksel optilde zag hij geen zilveren munten, maar een pot vol giftige slangen. En bij de buurman kwam de gedachte op: "Ah, die vrouw moet mijn vijand zijn! Ze hoopte natuurlijk dat ik mijn hand in de pot zou steken en gebeten en vergiftigd zou worden!"

      En dus draaide hij de deksel weer op de pot en nam hem mee naar huis. En toen de nacht gevallen was, ging hij naar het huis van zijn arme buurman, klom op het dak en leegde de pot met giftige slangen in de schoorsteen.

      Toen het ochtend werd ontwaakte de arme boer die als eerste de pot had gevonden om aan het werk te gaan. Maar toen de ochtendstralen van de zon op de haard vielen, gingen zijn ogen wijd open. Want de haard was bedekt met zilveren munten! Vol dankbaarheid zei hij: "Oh! Eindelijk! Dit geld kan ik accepteren! Ik weet nu zeker dat het voor mij bestemd is, omdat het hier op mijn eigen haard staat, precies zoals ik wenste!"



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    5. #5
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      Het luie meisje uit ArgentiniEen Zuid-Amerikaans sprookje over hulp bij opdrachtenEr was eens een jong meisje dat heel lui was. Haar moeder wist niet hoe ze het meisje van haar luiheid kon genezen, en toen hoorde ze eens over een koning die luiheid zo erg haatte dat hij in zijn rijk alle luiaards liet doden. Toen zette de vrouw haar dochter op een ezel en stuurde haar weg, opdat zij bij de koning gebracht zou worden.

      Toen het meisje hoorde waarheen zij onderweg was, begon zij te huilen en de mensen vroegen waarom zij huilde. Toen zei de moeder: "Het is alleen omdat zij thuis niet wil werken."

      Het kwam de koning ter ore waarom zij thuis was weggejaagd en hij stuurde boden naar haar en liet haar naar zijn paleis halen. En hij toonde haar een kamer die van onder tot boven vol lag met katoen. En de koning zei tegen het meisje dat zij tot aan de volgende dag deze katoen moest spinnen en hij liet haar in die kamer opgesloten achter.

      Bedroefd dacht het meisje na, wat moest ze doen? Toen hoorde zij een stem: "Petekind, wil je dat ik je help de katoen te spinnen?" - "Ja, dat zou ik graag willen, peettante." - "Dan hoef je niets anders te doen dan te gaan liggen slapen; ik zal intussen het werk doen." Toen ging het luie meisje liggen en toen zij sliep deed haar peettante het werk.

      De volgende ochtend kwam de koning kijken hoeveel zij had gewerkt, en hij vond alles klaar. Toen liet de koning haar eten brengen en beval haar te gaan slapen, want hij dacht dat zij de hele nacht doorgewerkt had.

      De volgende nacht bracht men het meisje weer naar een kamer, helemaal vol met katoen, met de opdracht alles te spinnen, en de koning sloot haar daar zelf op, net als de vorige nacht. En toen alles donker was, klonk er een stem die zei: "Petekind, wil je dat ik je bij het spinnen help?" - "Ja, dat zou ik graag willen." - "Nu, ga dan maar liggen slapen, dan zal ik beginnen te spinnen." Omstreeks middernacht was al het werk al gedaan en de peettante maakte dat zij weg kwam.

      De volgende ochtend kwam de koning weer en vond al het werk klaar. Toen zei de koning: "Eindelijk eens een ijverige vrouw! Die zou precies de goede echtgenote voor mijn zoons zijn." En de koning liet haar wederom eten brengen, en daar hij dacht dat zij erg moe moest zijn en het de hele nacht zonder slaap had moeten stellen, beval hij haar te gaan slapen. Het luie meisje liet zich dat geen twee keer zeggen en sliep de hele dag door.

      's Avonds kwam de koning weer en zei tegen het luie meisje: "Vannacht moet je de katoen niet alleen spinnen, maar ook de hele draad opspoelen."

      Toen het donker was geworden, verscheen weer een peettante en zei door het raam: "Petekind, wil je dat ik je help bij het spinnen en het opspoelen van de draad?" - "Ja, dat zou ik graag willen." - "Nu, ga dan maar liggen! Dan zal ik voor je aan het werk gaan." Zo ging het luie meisje slapen en de peettante ging aan het werk. Bij het ochtendkrieken wekte zij het meisje om het werk aan haar over te geven en ze zei: "Laat je niet weerhouden; je zult met een zoon van de koning trouwen. Wij zijn drie zusters en wij komen op je bruiloft. Je zult ons niet herkennen, maar wij zullen in de gedaante komen waarin we ons vertonen."

      Toen de koning zag dat al het werk gedaan was, zei hij tegen haar dat zij met een van zijn zoons zou trouwen en dat de bruiloft de volgende dag al zou plaatsvinden. Toen zij de volgende dag de kerk betraden om te trouwen, zaten daar drie oude vrouwen, de een nog verwilderder en mismaakter dan de andere. Maar de bruid liet de drie oude vrouwen aan tafel nodigen en zei tegen haar metgezellen dat het haar drie beste vriendinnen waren.

      De bruidegom kon zijn ogen niet van de drie afhouden, want hij was verbaasd zulke lelijke vrouwen te zien. En eindelijk vroeg hij hun hoe het kwam dat zij zo mismaakt waren. De eerste antwoordde dat haar lippen door het bevochtigen bij het spinnen zo waren uitgezet, dat ze bijna op haar borst hingen. De tweede zei dat haar voet door het vele spinnen bijna een olifantspoot was geworden en de derde zei dat haar vinger door het spinnen zo breed als een eendepoot was geworden.

      Toen de koningszoon zag hoe lelijk de oude vrouwen waren geworden, zei hij tegen zijn jonge vrouw: "Lieveling, je mag in geen geval ook maar het geringste werk doen, want ik zou niet graag zien dat je zo mismaakt wordt als je drie vriendinnen hier!" En zo hoefde het luie meisje helemaal nooit meer te werken en ze werd nog luier dan zij ooit was geweest.

      En de drie peettantes waren de beschermengelen van de luiaards, die haar gered hadden omdat zij altijd heel vroom was geweest.



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    6. #6
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      Hoe de dood in de wereld kwamLang, lang geleden, toen de eerste mensen leefden, kende men nog geen dood. De mensen leefden en werden oud, en werden toch niet oud.

      Nu was er een moeder die veel zoons het leven had geschonken, onder wie ook de Yolox, die van haar eerste man stamden - later trouwde zij namelijk met een andere man, en deze werd langzamerhand moe en zwak. En toen ze ook nog rimpels en groeven kreeg, vond ze geen man meer die haar wilde hebben, en een paar jonge knullen begonnen de spot met haar te drijven. Ze gaven haar niets meer te eten. De arme vrouw klaagde en huilde, maar niemand had medelijden met haar en gaf haar iets.

      Toen zij op een dag door het bos liep, kwam zij een jonge man tegen die haar toeriep: "Als je honger hebt, eet dan je eigen rimpelige buik op."

      Toen werd de oude vrouw zo boos dat ze haar stok nam en de jongeman daarmee op zijn hoofd sloeg tot hij erbij neerviel. Toen trok ze haar mes, sneed hem zijn keel door en zei: "Jij wou dat ik mijn eigen vlees at; nu zal ik jouw vlees eten. Dat zal me beter smaken."

      En ze at eerst zijn hart op, toen zijn lever en ten slotte de rest van zijn vlees. En omdat het mensenvlees haar gesmaakt had, en omdat de mensen haar niets anders gaven, bleef ze dat eten. Ze loerde op de mensen, jong en oud, mannen en vrouwen, sloeg ze dood waar ze ze tegenkwam, en vrat ze op.

      En zo is het tot op heden gebleven.



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    7. #7
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      A Love Story?

      “Good Night Jackie. Have a good evening.” Lorna Carvallho spoke softly, the same way she always did when she spoke to Jackie. He felt gooseflesh erupt over his arms and run down his spine in a tingle of nervous impulses that made him smile. She didn’t talk down to him because of his problem - he had been taught to tell himself he had a problem rather than an syndrome or genetic malfunction as he had been told by medical professionals throughout his adolescent years.

      “Night” His single answer, spoken at high volume as he always tended to do when he got excited – or spoke to Lorna at all.

      She was everything he wasn’t, she was tall and skinny her creamy skin was flawless, her face symmetrical and didn’t make people stop and stare when they saw him in the street. She spoke easily and softly, she understood him, and he had been in love with her since the first time they had met. She had shown him around the small shop where he worked 15 hours a week, she had trained him and shown him where everything had to go in the storeroom, and how to fold the clothes that arrived by the box load on some days, but because of what she had taught him he kept up to speed with it.

      She had told him that nobody else knew her secret way to fold. It made Jackie feel special.

      The best thing was that sometimes when it was quiet she would let him help people at the till and use the cash register.

      Lorna treated Jackie like a human being, she wasn’t afraid to tell him off if he did things wrong, and she was full of praise for him when he did things well. Once she had even kissed him on the cheek and ruffled his hair slightly with her hand.

      “So how are things at home? Did you and your sister make up with each other after your fight?” She asked him out of genuine concern, while the others in the shop either ignored or laughed at Jackie, calling him names when he wasn’t listening like Spastic or Mongol face, laughing at their cruel wit, then suddenly smiling when he turned around or came back from lunch, putting their now well practised yet increasingly patronising and demeaning voices back in place. Lorna had her moments, there were times, especially when Jackie was in one of his moods that she would mutter under her breath or feel so angry with him that she had to walk away, it was like dealing with a small child, but one who was capable of understanding closer to that of an adult. She found it at times, especially during her time of the month such as now that the whole thing was utterly exasperating. Pressing each of her nerves as if they were protruding through her fair skin their raw bloodied ends wafting in the air like the fine hairs that covered her arms, with every breath of wind however slight that touched the sensitive ends waves of electronic pain surged through her body into her brain where they buzzed around like an wet dream over a teacher when you were in school. She knew it was wrong but couldn’t shake them.

      Still, at the end of each day they were together she had forgiven him, realising that he was a human, and he couldn’t help it. They had all been given a brief training session on how to deal with Jackie and others with his condition, but all it had been was a 20 minute video that explained the illness, which was genetic, followed by a further 20 minutes of moaning and bitching about having to put up with an invalid wandering around the shop.

      Cause more trouble than he’s worth. Don’t want anybody like that around here. Better keep to his bloody self, don’t want to catch anything from him fuckin’ window licker were some of the friendlier statements made during the meeting which was held not by management, but by the employees themselves one quiet Thursday afternoon.

      Lorna tried her best and she knew that whatever anybody said or did, they couldn’t do more than that, she wasn’t perfect and would be the first to admit she didn’t feel completely comfortable around Jackie, there was something about the look he had in his eyes, they were too close together and seemed black as the night sky when she looked at them.

      At them

      Never into them, they seemed to refuse any real contact, even the light seemed to avoid them, creating dark rings around his eyes as though somebody had dipped his binoculars in ink, and although Lorna didn’t doubt the others were capable of such an act, she was sure that it was something else that caused the shadow.

      “She doesn’t talk to me, but I said sorry to her.” His words sounded full of self-praise, they always tended to have the same quality when talking about things he has done. His own actions always sounded like the high ground option, slightly boastful. “Night” He said again, shouting the word as if the receding light also took away the resonance of the outside world. He turned and walked away, pulling his trousers up roughly as he walked. His backpack carefully placed over both shoulders, holding his lunch and a book, which Lorna swore he had been reading for the whole two years she had known him.

      Lorna watched him walk away, not wanting to admit the feelings she held for him, afraid of what they made her. Of how they defined who she was. She watched and thought that Jackie was loosing weight, he had always been portly and was never going to be slim or have a body that girls stared at on the long summer days lying on the local beach, but he was definitely slighter than a month ago.

      Lorna thought nothing else of it and instead when back to her embarrassing feelings; A mixture of sibling affection with a rather more substantial dose of.

      “Pity” She said aloud to the rapidly cooling night air, watching the word form in steam as it left her lips. The sight of the short, sharp cloud, just as malicious in vapour form as it was in her head or as two simple syllables made her feel ashamed.

      She backed away from the cloud and waited for it to dissipate into the air before she walked towards her waiting car. An old fifth hand Volkswagen that had seen more miles that had eaten hot dinners, but it took her from the warmth of her parents house to work every day and that was the most important thing. A to B was all that mattered. Maybe the occasional side trip to the movies of something if a nice looking man asked her. Not that it ever happened. A girl approaching her mid thirties with braces and ginger hair didn’t get too many suitors knocking at her door.
      She was sure that the only person who didn’t look at her when she walked down the street was Jackie, when he looked at her all she saw was a child like adoration. Like a boy looking at the bike he wanted inside the window of the shop.

      * * * * * * * * * * * *

      Jackie took the number 12 bus all the way to the end of his street, the same as always. The driver stopped and made sure he was ok getting down the steps, and tonight he waited to make sure that the kid crossed over the road safely, he didn’t know why, there was strange atmosphere filling his mobile office today, a closeness in the air which he could feel pressing against his body, every breath seemed a slight struggle.

      Jackie walked happily, another day behind him, another evening ahead of him, he always like the dark of the night. He found it comforting, the way everything was hidden, their outlines blurred together with the dark sky around them, changing even the simplest of shapes into something wondrously complex. He was born with very little imagination or chance of being able to express himself in ways beyond simple expression, and he supposed that was why he liked the night. Looking at the normal street he lived on but instead of seeing Mr Johnson’s house with its caravan parked in the driveway – he seemed to like it there because he was in it every morning when Jackie left the house – or the rubbish bins standing to attention every Thursday morning waiting to be emptied he saw monsters with long slimy limbs and sharp snarling teeth, their hissing breath orchestrated by the rustling leaves would kill you if you were caught by it, he saw spaceships with strange lights on them, visitors coming to explore and go to the seaside – because everybody knew there were no beaches in space.

      Jackie loved the night because he actually got to see the things that others could just dream about whenever they wanted.

      The front door to the his house was locked, and nobody answered when he knocked on the door or pushed the bell 12 times playing the same tune that had been in his head all day, he waited in the silence until the gently falling rain had slicked his thinning hair to his scalp and his sodden overcoat finally gave up and let the water through to his t shirt and ultimately the flesh beneath. Stepping backwards away from the house, he walked down the side path round to the back door, that door was always unlocked.

      There were no lights on in the house, his parents were probably sleeping already, they were old – in his eyes – and had recently started going to bed before he came home, and his sister was still ignoring him because of their big fight where she had called him bad names and locked herself in the bathroom for a few hours.

      The garden was gloomy in the twilight, but the light from the other houses and the streetlight at the bottom of their shallow garden provided more than enough light for him to pick his way over the overgrown weeds and rusty garden tools without injuring himself.

      The back door was unlocked as always, actually it was broken, ever since he had had to break the door down one day when he had was locked outside and it was thundering.

      He was scared of thunder.
      The only time of the night he didn’t like was when the lightening lit up the black, erasing it like electrical tip-ex, removing the dreams and the images briefly, showing the real background of the night, spoiling the illusion but not destroying it, and it was that which Jackie was terrified of.

      The way the trees and cars seemed to leer at him through the haze.

      The door opened slowly, the rubbish bag set behind it was a primitive security measure he had put in place when his father failed to repair the lock. In their old age his parents were loosing control of the house, they didn’t clean much, their joints were too stiff with the rust of a life lived to do much, and his sister who had only recently moved back in while her divorce was finalized didn’t seem to interact much with the family. She kept her self locked away in her room, sitting in bed for the most part, but sometimes at her desk looking at herself in the mirror, a brush in her hands. She had never been able to have children, something she would often lay at her brothers feet, his being a retard. He didn’t understand how, but there was a lot of things he didn’t understand, like how to work the washing machine or to cook a proper dinner for himself

      Once inside the house he walked through the kitchen, draping his bag over the dinning room chair and his damp coat over the sofa, where the cold unheated air of the living room would help it to fester by the morning. The lights still didn’t work.

      A power problem his Dad had told him. Nothing we can do about it but wait, he had said, that seemed like a long time ago, but Jackie could really remember for sure.

      Carefully Jackie bent over the table and eventually after many fumbled attempts and a few screams as the flame shot to life and the heat warmed his skin more than he liked Jackie managed to light the three candles – they had once been large blocks of wax, more the size and shape of a wheel of cheese than a traditional candle, but tonight was going to be their last night, there was hardly anything left to burn.

      Seeming to realise this fact the flames danced slower than normal, sedately swaying to the music, the slow dance of their concert, knowing that this was their last tango they were determined to make the most of the time they had left and draw the moment out as long as possible.

      Jackie fell onto the sofa, its cushions covered with old newspaper to keep the condition good for when the time came to sell it on again and buy a new one. His shirt rose up over his belly which was grumbling its usual evening complaints.

      “Shhh” Jackie spoke to his stomach raising a stubby finger to his lips.

      Pulling himself into a more upright position Jackie reached into his trouser pocket, a tight fit for his bloated hands despite their small size. He found what he was looking for, a crumpled piece of paper that was yellowed with age and dirt. It was ripped and held together with tape, the once sharp lines faded by the sun and the edges now frayed and soft.

      Jackie no longer heard the silence of the house, he was used to being in charge. The man of the house his Dad would say to him when he left Jackie alone with his mother and sister for whatever reason. You have to protect your family now Jackie his father would say bending down to look him in the eyes, before hugging him and heading out of the door.

      Leaning back over the table the piece of paper was smoothed out and peered upon like a treasure map or a love letter from a secret admirer. Yet it was nothing more secretive than a list, written in large uneven block letters. Reminders Jackie had written himself of the things he had to do each day.

      WASH HaNDs

      Brush TEETH

      SAY GOODNIGHT TO MUM AND DAD

      SAY PREYERS BEFORE BED TIME

      Jackie read the piece of paper several times over, musing over the words as if searching for some hidden message, a secret code, a spasticated enigma that might help him understand.

      Walking though to the kitchen, carrying a candle with him, hoping that he wouldn’t burn his fingers. He didn’t like it when he hurt himself, he would cry and nobody would tell him if he would be ok or not, even when he was little his parents would never tell him what was wrong, a lot of the time they would ignore him, telling him to stop it or give it a rest. Sometimes his mother would even cry herself although that was normally when his Dad was out. Seeing the tears roll down her cheeks, smearing her makeup, staining her wrinkled heavily made up cheeks with mascara like a scary clown at the circus he had seen on TV late on night always made Jackie stop crying. It didn’t make him feel better, but he didn’t want anyone else to be sad so he would stop himself.

      Sometimes he would get a cookie for being good and calming down.

      He pulled a dining room chair with him as he walked, scraping it along the tiled floor, not worried about the ear splitting noise it made because he knew his parents always slept soundly. Jackie positioned the chair underneath the cupboard and climbed on standing on tip toes to open the door and reach inside.

      The cupboard was bare.

      He fumbled around his fingers searching in the places his eyes couldn’t, crawling along like a spider hunting a meal. He had bought some things earlier in the week but they were almost gone now. Finally his fingertips brushed against something. His initial reaction was to pull back, once before he had grabbed a mousetrap his father had set but forgotten about. He had come within a few seconds of loosing a finger – or so he told himself.

      Once he had control of himself again he grabbed his catch and pulled it towards the edge of the shelf. It was a large bag of cookies Chocolate chip, his favourite. The bag was unopened and would give him enough to eat for breakfast too if he didn’t sleep him like this morning. His alarm clock didn’t go off and nobody woke him. He didn’t look, but he guessed his Dad was already out for his morning walk and his Mum was still asleep.

      She likes her lie ins he would tell people when asked what his parents were like. Nobody ever really saw them. They don’t go out much.

      Taking the chair back to its resting place at the table, covered with plates and dishes his mother was obviously spring cleaning again he told himself when he saw them. She loved to do that. She always kept things in good condition, moving them around to make them look better.

      Jackie took the pack of cookies with him into the living room along with a mini packet of apple juice. He couldn’t see the straw in the cupboard, so would have to bit his way through the package to get his drink for the night, but as he wasn’t allowed to play with knives or scissors he had no other choice. Otherwise there would be water out of the tap as he was always told when the drinks were finished the day before the weekly shopping trip. Picking up the tray the candles were on, and tucking the cookies and apple juice into the pocket of his trousers Jackie left the living room and went up to his room. The darkness of the season meant that Jackie seemed to spend his whole life in the dark, he was dark when he woke up and dark when he came home, and on his days off he would still wake early, and spend the day sitting in his room reading and playing video games. He had the newest console, he had bought it himself, saved up his wages. It was great, the games were bright and colourful, they weren’t too hard like the other machines, also there were no horrible wires to get tangled up. He could never undo the knots and that always made him loose his patience.

      It was only 6 o clock, but the night was falling early, thick storm clouds were beginning to join a few miles away from the powerless house, the electricity in the air was heavy enough to feel even from distance. Jackie knew it was coming, but he just hoped it would take its time arriving, however the first heavy clap to thunder shook the house – a semi detached in a small side road come cul-de-sac just behind the main road into the town – before the first biscuit had been shovelled past the waiting lips.

      * * * * * * * * * * * *

      Instead of going straight home Lorna decided that she would grab a cheese burger for dinner. Her mother would have no doubt cooked something, but there wouldn’t be much taste to it and her parents would be more than happy to believe she had an eating disorder if she turned down dinner after a day’s work, or wasting her life as her father happily told her every chance he got. When he was sober at least.

      Lorna was lucky in several ways, her mother stuck around her drunk husband for her daughters sake, taking his drunken beatings silently, his fumbled vicious intercourse when he was ready for it, if the drink hadn’t relaxed him too much were endure with only the needed moans at the right time, her screams stifled so that her daughter wouldn’t hear what was going. Giving her a chance to break the cycle, and if by sticking around meant that her daughter – all be her the unwanted result of a three day Jack Daniels binge fuelled rape – didn’t get beaten or touched in any way, as would probably have

    8. #8
      Prikker Laroucha's Avatar
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      Standaard

      know have to say.

      That lesson had been drummed into him repeatedly, and he didn’t, he never spoke to anybody unless the introduced themselves first. If he knew their name then he reasoned that they weren’t strangers anymore. Which made them safe.

      “Hello, Hello, is anybody there?” The female voice called through the letter box, accompanied by a gust of win. The voice was panic and filled with urgency. It was strangely familiar to Jackie. He paused at the bottom of the stairs, the shadow loomed in the doorway and was turned negative when the lightning reappeared. The shadow jumped, nervous from the storm, but to Jackie it looked like the figure was trying to push the door down, lunging forwards trying to break in. The scream was mistaken for a savage war cry and the knocks soon became forceful blows in Jackie’s mind, the door shaking in its frame, the locks barely able to hold the figure at bay.

      Jackie walked through to the living room and peered through a crack he made in the curtains. Which were perpetually drawn, shutting out the sunlight, but also keeping out prying eyes, people trying to get a glimpse of the spastic that lived in their street.

      “Hello!” The voice called again, She had seen someone moving inside, the curtains were pulled back and a pair of eyes were looking, peering at her from the darkness inside.

      Lorna didn’t know why she tried this house, maybe it was because the other four before had lights on but nobody home, she figured why not try a lost cause, maybe you would be surprised. The house was in terrible condition, the grass was overgrown and the fence fallen down, either from a poorly guided car or from age she couldn’t tell and couldn’t be bothered to think about it. The windows were dirty and in some places cracked, the pain was peeling from the frames, the cobwebs had cobwebs and there wasn’t a single light shining from the whole place. The only house on the street when she looked back that was in such a bad state of repair, but still she knocked, hoping that somebody was there.

      If she was honest the house looked and felt dead, abandoned and forgotten, and when she pushed the letterbox to call the stench of decay burst through in a thick cloud, like stale air escaping an ancient tomb.

      The eyes startled her and she jumped backwards. Just as another fork of lightning speared the earth, scarring its surface. Lorna felt as though she was being guided towards this house, the lightning trapping her in a high voltage maze. She was filled with the urge to run, but before she could turn the door was opened and she was grabbed around the waist but a pair of strong arms and hauled inside.

      “Out of the storm, Out of the storm, Come, Out of the storm.” The raised voice kept repeating in a familiar tone.

      The stench within the house was overpowering, and only fear kept Lorna from throwing up over the floor, which she felt was covered in what she could only assume was newspaper or rubbish of some kind. She stood still, her back to the front door listening to her heart begin to slow, the rain finally driving against the door rather than against her. Her clothes were so wet her nipples could be clearly seen through her shirt and bra together.

      “You shouldn’t walk in a storm Lorna, its bad for you. You can catch cold or something” The voice knew her name, and she found it oddly comforting. She still hadn’t seen the owner of the voice, the black exterior look to the house was echoed inside. There wasn’t a single light, not even one of a video recorder or television on standby.

      “Jackie?” She spoke into the darkness, her lips moving vocal chords pronouncing the name before her brain fully realised why.

      “Yes” The short and blunt reply at least assured her of who she was with.

      “I didn’t know this was your house. Are you ok, did the power go out or something?” She asked, the stench forgotten about, more through politeness than anything else.

      “I don’t know, don’t worry about it, I have candles.” He replied defensively, but Lorna ignored him, used to his temperamental outbursts and dramatic over reactions, and had actually gotten quite good at dealing with them.

      “Well candles are good, but light is better. Come on I think it is just the fuse or something because the rest of the street has power. Luckily” She added as an after thought. She felt her way through the hallway, shuffling her feet as best she could in case she tripped and fell in the dark.

      “No. Lorna I’m scared, I don’t like storms. Don’t make too much noise my parents are sleeping.” He told her, his voice echoing through the house is if it were empty.

      The further she got from the front door, the more intense the smell became. It was almost indescribably, somewhere between the sweet stench of rotting meat, the metallic odour of blood and bleach. The combination made Lorna feel instantly queasy and she had to forcibly cover her mouth to keep from showering the pitch black house with vomit. Instead catching it in her mouth and swallowing it back down with nothing more than a grimace as the ejected stomach acid burned in her throat.

      “What is it Jackie? What are you trying to hide, you don’t have to worry.” She spoke slowly and calmly to him, a simple process but some of the time it was all the was needed to help him think rationally again.

      “No!” He shouted even louder, something probably either a foot or a first reasoned Lorna slammed into the wall nearby Jackie’s heavy breaths were next, increasing with speed as his rage seemed to billow out of nowhere much like the storm clouds “Go” He yelled at her. “I want you to leave now Lorna. Ill see you tomorrow. Bye Bye” He continued to shout, his previous comments about his parents seemingly forgotten.

      “I’m scared too Jackie, but I promise you once we get some light going it will make us feel a lot better. Then we can sit and wait for it all to finish What do you way?” She had never seen Jackie in such a rage before, she thought it was just because of the storm, he was scared and his family were not with him. To be honest she found it a bit bad of them, but she had lost her trust in families a long time ago so guessed her views didn’t count for much.

      Lorna began to move again not searching for anything, more moving towards Jackie to try and comfort him. Her varying emotions colliding again, struggling to decide between a feeling of pity or sisterly / motherly love for the man who was actually her own age but she never thought of his as anything other than a boy in the throws of puberty.

      It was by absolute chance that her hand brushed the light switch on the wall, lower than the usual placing, probably installed specially for Jackie if he was home alone.

      Touching. Lorna thought to herself cynically.

      If it had been chance that allowed Lorna to happen upon the switch, it was its close relative that made her try it. Light exploded from the bulbs, which although not strong, came as such a shock they may as well have been theatre spots, shining down on the lead actor delivering his Once more unto the breach dear friends address.

      Jackie cried out beside her, the light burning his eyes, while Lorna threw her arms up into the air shielding her eyes from the glare but not eliminating her vision.

      It didn’t take long for her eyes to become accustomed to the light, and the first thing she was, the only thing she saw in fact caused another rush of regurgitated stomach contents, this time the force of this eruption was too great for her lips to contain and it sprayed from her mouth like a horizontal shower, covering the floor and the back of the sofa. She hadn’t realised that they had worked the way into the living room.

      She paused at the thought. Living room, from what she was gazing upon dead room would have been a better turn of phrase.

      The room had once been homely, a large and comfortable looking sofa, with matching armchair, facing a good size television with a coffee table providing a resting place no doubt for weary feet who come nightfall had seen enough of the floor and welcomed their elevated position, on the wall there were photos, some of babies some of the family as a whole and a couple of scenic shots – taken by Jackie’s father during various family holidays. There was a fake open fire which burned with a fake flame but somehow still produced a heat, and the walls were painted a two tone colour. The base coat was a simple cream colour, which provided a good background for the dried blood and solidified brain fragments which provided the contrast. The pictures were hazy behind arterial sprays, the sofa was sodden with blood, so much so that patches still glistened in the now acceptable level of light. The carpet which while never top quality was ruined with not of a near solid layer of blood more than could have come from one person, but also various forms of vomit, faeces and urine. Flies buzzed merrily, their bodies fat and swollen from the riches they had discovered, their minds and bodies so drunk on filth that they didn’t even fly away when the light came on The only movement that resembled retreat was the wriggling of the maggots, the gestating next generation of IT flies to gorge themselves on their parents hard earned riches.

      Behind her Lorna could hear Jackie screaming angrily, the rage in his voice was unmistakable, he was angry at her, as if she had betrayed his most deepest of confidences by turning on the light.

      “Jackie, Jackie, wh..” She couldn’t say anything else, neither her brain nor her stomach would allow it. Her eyes continued to scan the room, equally unable to absorb any more information. Everything became unrecognisable and she found her image began to blur as her mind began to task of blotting everything out.

      Only one thing remained in focus and that was the iron which was on the coffee table, clumps of scalp, brain matter and hair clung to all three points, not to mention the clotted covering over the working surface. This object of destruction remained in sharp focus even as Lorna’s world went dull, her eyes becoming heavy.

      It was only then that she realised she couldn’t breath. Jackie had wrapped his rage filled arms around her throat and was squeezing her windpipe shut with a force that seemed almost unnatural. She began to struggle, her body quickly suffering from the cut off supply of oxygen because of the speed her heart was racing, she felt her pulse begin to slow, her limbs became heavy with fatigue.

      The whole time Jackie didn’t stop screaming, sometimes the rage left and all there was, was madness, but then the anger would return. Lorna felt safer with the anger. Anger she could deal with, insanity was something else

      Jackie began to pull her towards the stairs, taking her somewhere, she didn’t want to know. If he had killed his family, then why not kill her. She began to struggle, throwing her head back, scrapping her knees down his shins, she even tries to stamp on his foot, but none of it worked.

      Slowly she was worked up the stairs, walking backwards, the grip loosened slightly, the screaming died down as Jackie concentrated hard on climbing the stairs.

      “Jackie …St….stop” Lorna wheezed, as the world once more became dark. The lights in the upper portion of the house were obviously on a different circuit and so didn’t hadn’t come on when she flicked the switch.

      The smell of decay returned to her nose, filling her nostrils with this acrid aroma, stinging her throat – coupled with the left over vomit – with its abrasiveness.

      “No no no no no” Jackie repeated, an edge of confusion had entered his voice.

      They reached the top of the stairs and paused.

      Jackie was thinking, he didn’t know what to do. Lorna had seen his secret, the way his family lived – or didn’t. He released his grip around her throat, and when she tried to run he grabbed her again and threw her into the hallway. “Don’t run” He screamed at her, his voice shrill like that of a woman. He was actually hitting himself also, scratching at his head as if trying to claw into his own brain and find an answer.

      “Its ok Jackie” Lorna whispered her voice hoarse from being trapped in a vice.

      “Quiet, Quiet!” He yelled, contradicting what the finger pressed against his lips was saying. “You will wake my parents” He spoke with anger, but Lorna believe him.

      Did he really think that his parents were sleeping?

      Lorna walked towards the bedroom door and Jackie moved to stop her, blocking her path, his chest heaving as he breathed.

      “Jackie, I have to check. Don’t worry.” She told him, her resolve strengthening, he didn’t know, something horrible had happened and he didn’t know.

      She pushed past him and for once he offered little resistance, grabbing the handle she walked into the room. It was filled with darkness, but the stench was overwhelming, it assaulted her senses like a kamikaze pilot, unafraid and unashamed of what it was. Even death had its dignity

      The door creaked open, and she fumbled on the wall for a light switch, she found nothing, then she remembered the switch downstairs, and how it had been lowered. Her hand slipped down the wall, but she felt a strong shove from behind and she fell forwards. Stumbling she fell into the bed. She braced herself and threw her arms forwards and felt something in the bed. Cold and hard through the thin sheets. She didn’t need the light.

      “No No. You don’t listen. Why don’t you fucking – he coughed as she spoke the word, it hurt him to have to spit it out – listen to me.” It sounded like he was holding back tears. Grabbing wildly at her clothes, trying to grab hold of her. To throw her out, to beat her, she didn’t know.

      “Get off me.” She cried out, the darkness seeming to envelope her words, hiding them the way it hid the bodies she was being forced against. Kicking out her legs she raked her heels down his shin and dug it into his toe. She didn’t want to hurt Jackie, he didn’t know what he was doing, but she didn’t want to be here. She had to get out, get out and get him help.

      “We can get you help Jackie, Call somebody and they can take care of you.” She spoke as she raised herself off the bed. Jackie having let go to nurse his injured toes.

      She could see his eyes in the dark, glowing white orbs surrounded by darkness, like a crocodile in the river, only its eyes visible. Then it pounced. Lightening stuck again, she had been so preoccupied that she had forgotten all about the storm The room filled with light just as he leapt towards her. She was powerless to resists and he threw her onto the bed.

      He mounted her quickly and scratched at her face with his hands, fingers curled into claws. His nails dug into her skin and she closed her eyes for protection. Her arms engaged in trying to push his heavy body off hers and let her escape. The fist was late in arrival, and no unexpected. Placed into her stomach just below her ribs. Her breath and with it her fight pushed out of her, and with no more vomit to expel she curled up as best she could and cried. Cried stinging tears which burnt her bleeding face.

      Then he was on top of her again, screaming and raining blows down onto her, club like blows all over her body, wild with their power and animalistic with their ferocity. It was as thought he was tenderising her like a piece of meat. She cried and called out, but her mouth was covered over with a sweaty hand that tasted strongly of old pennies.
      She bit down hard on his hand, but it had no effect. His rage was in full swing and nothing could stop him. He pulled at her clothes, ripping her shirt, the rain made it paper thin and it came away with the slightest of tugs, her breasts exposed and nipples ready hardened. The foul air tweaking them even more.

      Before she realised what was happening her trousers had been removed and her legs forced open. She tried to stop him but another fist, this time to the side of her head made the whole room spin, and with that her body relaxed and she felt him enter her. Violently and dryly he began to ravage her, yet with each thrust she found herself more accepting. Each time his throbbing member delved into her privacy she saw more of the truth, as though the throbbing vein that ran the length of his shaft was carrying images instead of blood. Images transported through her increasingly flowing pleasure and into her brain.

      She spread her legs wider voluntarily, and even pulled him towards her, the images became clearer and she understood.

      He thrust and she saw the family, sitting around the dinner table. Jackie was angry and his parents were arguing. He had been shouting for over three hours and they were tired. He withdrew and ploughed into her once more and she saw his father leading him up the stairs. Jackie was stamping his feet and thrashing his arms around wildly. Hands clenched into fists. He reached the top of the stairs and turned around, pushing his father away from him. He didn’t like to be touched. She moaned as her body began to celebrate this experience. His father threw his arms out to balance himself but his legs were twisted and he fell back, his head connecting with the stairs three times as he fell, each time at the base of his skull. He was still alive when he finally stopped bouncing, but only just.

      He withdrew, pulling back to far, his rage subsided, his actions exceeding his plans. Guilt began to set in, until her hand reached from around her leg and grasped him, holding his cock gently and guiding it back into her warm opening.

      She had to see more.

      His mother and sister ran to the noise, worried about the noise they had heard. Jackie was standing by the body. His father was bleeding from the ears and the mouth, his whole body shaking as he tried to speak. Jackie was crying, scratching at his own face, staring at his father, sorry for being bad.

      “I was sorry, I didn’t mean it.” He grunted as he resumed his thrusting, the power building once more within him. Lorna didn’t feel the orgasm approaching, not until the power of it overwhelmed her and she locked her legs around him, screaming as her body began to quiver.

      The lightening struck once more this time connecting with the house. The windows rattled and cracked in their frames, the lights came on again, the power seemingly jolted into action. She saw in the bright white light Jackie’s mother and sister push past him, he stumbled into the living room. They were shouting at him, asking him what he did. Tears straining their voices, grief reducing their words to nothing more than abrasive words. It was then she saw him pick the iron from the shelf where it was cooling down before being put away.

      He began to pant. He swung the iron. First at his sister, splitting her head open in one powerful movement. He was pounding into her with such fury now that she came again right there, riding the wave of her pleasure and stepping from the dwindling wave to the newly formed crest of the other.

      His sister had died instantly; his mother herself had taken three solid blows, his strength failing him as did his stomach as he covered himself in the blood. Spraying from the three wounds to her skull. Still she managed to crawl away, her shrill pleading not heard by her son, the boy she clearly loved. Instead all she earned was another blow, with the full face of the iron this time. The blow shattered her now and fractured her eye sockets, the still fairly hot metal stuck momentarily to her skin, leaving blister marks behind, but they never swelled, a final double handed clubbing blow with the iron sliced through the already battered skull and carved out a chunk of brain about the size of an large orange. It hung to the iron but before she saw it fall he his thrusting stopped. His body began to shake and his screams of rage became screams of delight, his eyes rolled into his head and for a second she thought he was going to fit, then she felt him shake inside her and was filled with a force that pleasured her for a third time. The held each other shaking. Her eyes gazing towards the ceiling, it was a light pink colour, obviously his mothers choice. Her eyes traced the ceiling and paused when she saw six eyes staring back at her. Jackie’s had the glazed look men have once they have fired their shot for the day, the other two were almost liquid, held in their sockets by a thin membrane., like eggs carefully removed from the shell, the protective sack still intact.

      She shocked slightly, not as bad as she would have expected, their faces gazed at her, mouths open tongues hanging out like deflated balloons left hanging outside long after the party ended, their skin decayed thinning their faces. They were wet and covered with a clear fluid that was collecting in large droplets and occasionally falling onto the bed.

      Lorna rose from the bed, her trousers round her ankles her legs shaking, barely able to support herself, the bodies were sitting in bed, the covers pulled unto their waists, hands folded over each other, wedding rings glistened in the artificial light, too large now for the rotted fingers. Jackie’s fathers head was twisted too much to one side, broken as he fell down the stairs, death hadn’t been instant, and he had watched as his son battered his family to death. He choked on his own blood and felt his heart slowing before his life was finally over, his bowels emptied and the stench of faeces and concentrated urine were the last things he smelt, and blood pouring from the walls of his house his last vision. His wife’s head was slightly more unusual, it looked fine from the left hand side, but when viewed face on it looked like a large chunk the shape of a trivial pursuit piece had been crudely carved out, her brains long since melted away to liquefied nothing, pink and slightly jellied they still occupied her skull, but now settled at the base like the remains of a bowl of soup.

      Their faces had been cleaned roughly, and the room was filled with cheap air freshener, the kind that smelt nice in the shop but that was where it remained. D

      Besides her Jackie was curled into a ball on the floor at the end of the bed, he wasn’t crying, but was muttering something inaudible. She bent down, squatting and feeling his semen drip out of her and run down her leg in congealing clomps. She wiped it away idly and stroked Jackie’s arm. He too had his trousers around his ankles and withdrew from her touch.

      “It’s ok Jackie” She spoke softly to him, stroking his arm in loving slow movements, and within a few seconds he was sitting facing her. His face still contorted but the rage was gone. He was back to the old Jackie, he hadn’t known what he was doing and now she was sure he just felt bad for it. “Shhhh” She said when he opened his mouth to speak.

      She leant forward and kissed him deeply, her hand roaming back between his legs. He was hard again and she wanted him.

      They made love once more on the floor of the room, his parents festering gaze was blank in approval.

      The storm continued long into the night, and finally calmed down just before the sun rose. The pair lay sleeping on the floor of the bedroom, arms around each other. Lorna woke first and rose, peering through the curtains to check on the day. The sky was blue and the clouds were light. She turned around, Jackie was beginning to stir.

      “Morning sleepy head” She whispered to him, “Quiet, you don’t want to wake your parents.” She gestured with her head towards the two bodies. She smiled at them. A friendly smile, as if she was happy to see them.

      Lorna moved out of her house soon after, her parents shocked and stunned at the suddenness of the actions, and her mother had cried when she walked out and pulled out of the driveway. She cried for herself, her daughter would be better off she was sure, she was a smart girl, she cried because she knew that it was now just the two of them.

      The two set up home together, her parents never saw her again nor did the meet the man who stole her heart. Her prince charming.

      They tidied the house and buried the bodies of his Jackie’s parents in the garden, and the body of his sister, who had been sat in her room, tied to the stool before her vanity mirror, a brush in her hand, also tied in place, make up scattered around the desk.

      They can still be seen wandering around, Lorna is often sporting varying long sleeved high necked shirts, baggy enough to cover her bruises, but not to hide her swelling stomach.

    9. #9
      Prikker Laroucha's Avatar
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      know have to say.

      That lesson had been drummed into him repeatedly, and he didn’t, he never spoke to anybody unless the introduced themselves first. If he knew their name then he reasoned that they weren’t strangers anymore. Which made them safe.

      “Hello, Hello, is anybody there?” The female voice called through the letter box, accompanied by a gust of win. The voice was panic and filled with urgency. It was strangely familiar to Jackie. He paused at the bottom of the stairs, the shadow loomed in the doorway and was turned negative when the lightning reappeared. The shadow jumped, nervous from the storm, but to Jackie it looked like the figure was trying to push the door down, lunging forwards trying to break in. The scream was mistaken for a savage war cry and the knocks soon became forceful blows in Jackie’s mind, the door shaking in its frame, the locks barely able to hold the figure at bay.

      Jackie walked through to the living room and peered through a crack he made in the curtains. Which were perpetually drawn, shutting out the sunlight, but also keeping out prying eyes, people trying to get a glimpse of the spastic that lived in their street.

      “Hello!” The voice called again, She had seen someone moving inside, the curtains were pulled back and a pair of eyes were looking, peering at her from the darkness inside.

      Lorna didn’t know why she tried this house, maybe it was because the other four before had lights on but nobody home, she figured why not try a lost cause, maybe you would be surprised. The house was in terrible condition, the grass was overgrown and the fence fallen down, either from a poorly guided car or from age she couldn’t tell and couldn’t be bothered to think about it. The windows were dirty and in some places cracked, the pain was peeling from the frames, the cobwebs had cobwebs and there wasn’t a single light shining from the whole place. The only house on the street when she looked back that was in such a bad state of repair, but still she knocked, hoping that somebody was there.

      If she was honest the house looked and felt dead, abandoned and forgotten, and when she pushed the letterbox to call the stench of decay burst through in a thick cloud, like stale air escaping an ancient tomb.

      The eyes startled her and she jumped backwards. Just as another fork of lightning speared the earth, scarring its surface. Lorna felt as though she was being guided towards this house, the lightning trapping her in a high voltage maze. She was filled with the urge to run, but before she could turn the door was opened and she was grabbed around the waist but a pair of strong arms and hauled inside.

      “Out of the storm, Out of the storm, Come, Out of the storm.” The raised voice kept repeating in a familiar tone.

      The stench within the house was overpowering, and only fear kept Lorna from throwing up over the floor, which she felt was covered in what she could only assume was newspaper or rubbish of some kind. She stood still, her back to the front door listening to her heart begin to slow, the rain finally driving against the door rather than against her. Her clothes were so wet her nipples could be clearly seen through her shirt and bra together.

      “You shouldn’t walk in a storm Lorna, its bad for you. You can catch cold or something” The voice knew her name, and she found it oddly comforting. She still hadn’t seen the owner of the voice, the black exterior look to the house was echoed inside. There wasn’t a single light, not even one of a video recorder or television on standby.

      “Jackie?” She spoke into the darkness, her lips moving vocal chords pronouncing the name before her brain fully realised why.

      “Yes” The short and blunt reply at least assured her of who she was with.

      “I didn’t know this was your house. Are you ok, did the power go out or something?” She asked, the stench forgotten about, more through politeness than anything else.

      “I don’t know, don’t worry about it, I have candles.” He replied defensively, but Lorna ignored him, used to his temperamental outbursts and dramatic over reactions, and had actually gotten quite good at dealing with them.

      “Well candles are good, but light is better. Come on I think it is just the fuse or something because the rest of the street has power. Luckily” She added as an after thought. She felt her way through the hallway, shuffling her feet as best she could in case she tripped and fell in the dark.

      “No. Lorna I’m scared, I don’t like storms. Don’t make too much noise my parents are sleeping.” He told her, his voice echoing through the house is if it were empty.

      The further she got from the front door, the more intense the smell became. It was almost indescribably, somewhere between the sweet stench of rotting meat, the metallic odour of blood and bleach. The combination made Lorna feel instantly queasy and she had to forcibly cover her mouth to keep from showering the pitch black house with vomit. Instead catching it in her mouth and swallowing it back down with nothing more than a grimace as the ejected stomach acid burned in her throat.

      “What is it Jackie? What are you trying to hide, you don’t have to worry.” She spoke slowly and calmly to him, a simple process but some of the time it was all the was needed to help him think rationally again.

      “No!” He shouted even louder, something probably either a foot or a first reasoned Lorna slammed into the wall nearby Jackie’s heavy breaths were next, increasing with speed as his rage seemed to billow out of nowhere much like the storm clouds “Go” He yelled at her. “I want you to leave now Lorna. Ill see you tomorrow. Bye Bye” He continued to shout, his previous comments about his parents seemingly forgotten.

      “I’m scared too Jackie, but I promise you once we get some light going it will make us feel a lot better. Then we can sit and wait for it all to finish What do you way?” She had never seen Jackie in such a rage before, she thought it was just because of the storm, he was scared and his family were not with him. To be honest she found it a bit bad of them, but she had lost her trust in families a long time ago so guessed her views didn’t count for much.

      Lorna began to move again not searching for anything, more moving towards Jackie to try and comfort him. Her varying emotions colliding again, struggling to decide between a feeling of pity or sisterly / motherly love for the man who was actually her own age but she never thought of his as anything other than a boy in the throws of puberty.

      It was by absolute chance that her hand brushed the light switch on the wall, lower than the usual placing, probably installed specially for Jackie if he was home alone.

      Touching. Lorna thought to herself cynically.

      If it had been chance that allowed Lorna to happen upon the switch, it was its close relative that made her try it. Light exploded from the bulbs, which although not strong, came as such a shock they may as well have been theatre spots, shining down on the lead actor delivering his Once more unto the breach dear friends address.

      Jackie cried out beside her, the light burning his eyes, while Lorna threw her arms up into the air shielding her eyes from the glare but not eliminating her vision.

      It didn’t take long for her eyes to become accustomed to the light, and the first thing she was, the only thing she saw in fact caused another rush of regurgitated stomach contents, this time the force of this eruption was too great for her lips to contain and it sprayed from her mouth like a horizontal shower, covering the floor and the back of the sofa. She hadn’t realised that they had worked the way into the living room.

      She paused at the thought. Living room, from what she was gazing upon dead room would have been a better turn of phrase.

      The room had once been homely, a large and comfortable looking sofa, with matching armchair, facing a good size television with a coffee table providing a resting place no doubt for weary feet who come nightfall had seen enough of the floor and welcomed their elevated position, on the wall there were photos, some of babies some of the family as a whole and a couple of scenic shots – taken by Jackie’s father during various family holidays. There was a fake open fire which burned with a fake flame but somehow still produced a heat, and the walls were painted a two tone colour. The base coat was a simple cream colour, which provided a good background for the dried blood and solidified brain fragments which provided the contrast. The pictures were hazy behind arterial sprays, the sofa was sodden with blood, so much so that patches still glistened in the now acceptable level of light. The carpet which while never top quality was ruined with not of a near solid layer of blood more than could have come from one person, but also various forms of vomit, faeces and urine. Flies buzzed merrily, their bodies fat and swollen from the riches they had discovered, their minds and bodies so drunk on filth that they didn’t even fly away when the light came on The only movement that resembled retreat was the wriggling of the maggots, the gestating next generation of IT flies to gorge themselves on their parents hard earned riches.

      Behind her Lorna could hear Jackie screaming angrily, the rage in his voice was unmistakable, he was angry at her, as if she had betrayed his most deepest of confidences by turning on the light.

      “Jackie, Jackie, wh..” She couldn’t say anything else, neither her brain nor her stomach would allow it. Her eyes continued to scan the room, equally unable to absorb any more information. Everything became unrecognisable and she found her image began to blur as her mind began to task of blotting everything out.

      Only one thing remained in focus and that was the iron which was on the coffee table, clumps of scalp, brain matter and hair clung to all three points, not to mention the clotted covering over the working surface. This object of destruction remained in sharp focus even as Lorna’s world went dull, her eyes becoming heavy.

      It was only then that she realised she couldn’t breath. Jackie had wrapped his rage filled arms around her throat and was squeezing her windpipe shut with a force that seemed almost unnatural. She began to struggle, her body quickly suffering from the cut off supply of oxygen because of the speed her heart was racing, she felt her pulse begin to slow, her limbs became heavy with fatigue.

      The whole time Jackie didn’t stop screaming, sometimes the rage left and all there was, was madness, but then the anger would return. Lorna felt safer with the anger. Anger she could deal with, insanity was something else

      Jackie began to pull her towards the stairs, taking her somewhere, she didn’t want to know. If he had killed his family, then why not kill her. She began to struggle, throwing her head back, scrapping her knees down his shins, she even tries to stamp on his foot, but none of it worked.

      Slowly she was worked up the stairs, walking backwards, the grip loosened slightly, the screaming died down as Jackie concentrated hard on climbing the stairs.

      “Jackie …St….stop” Lorna wheezed, as the world once more became dark. The lights in the upper portion of the house were obviously on a different circuit and so didn’t hadn’t come on when she flicked the switch.

      The smell of decay returned to her nose, filling her nostrils with this acrid aroma, stinging her throat – coupled with the left over vomit – with its abrasiveness.

      “No no no no no” Jackie repeated, an edge of confusion had entered his voice.

      They reached the top of the stairs and paused.

      Jackie was thinking, he didn’t know what to do. Lorna had seen his secret, the way his family lived – or didn’t. He released his grip around her throat, and when she tried to run he grabbed her again and threw her into the hallway. “Don’t run” He screamed at her, his voice shrill like that of a woman. He was actually hitting himself also, scratching at his head as if trying to claw into his own brain and find an answer.

      “Its ok Jackie” Lorna whispered her voice hoarse from being trapped in a vice.

      “Quiet, Quiet!” He yelled, contradicting what the finger pressed against his lips was saying. “You will wake my parents” He spoke with anger, but Lorna believe him.

      Did he really think that his parents were sleeping?

      Lorna walked towards the bedroom door and Jackie moved to stop her, blocking her path, his chest heaving as he breathed.

      “Jackie, I have to check. Don’t worry.” She told him, her resolve strengthening, he didn’t know, something horrible had happened and he didn’t know.

      She pushed past him and for once he offered little resistance, grabbing the handle she walked into the room. It was filled with darkness, but the stench was overwhelming, it assaulted her senses like a kamikaze pilot, unafraid and unashamed of what it was. Even death had its dignity

      The door creaked open, and she fumbled on the wall for a light switch, she found nothing, then she remembered the switch downstairs, and how it had been lowered. Her hand slipped down the wall, but she felt a strong shove from behind and she fell forwards. Stumbling she fell into the bed. She braced herself and threw her arms forwards and felt something in the bed. Cold and hard through the thin sheets. She didn’t need the light.

      “No No. You don’t listen. Why don’t you fucking – he coughed as she spoke the word, it hurt him to have to spit it out – listen to me.” It sounded like he was holding back tears. Grabbing wildly at her clothes, trying to grab hold of her. To throw her out, to beat her, she didn’t know.

      “Get off me.” She cried out, the darkness seeming to envelope her words, hiding them the way it hid the bodies she was being forced against. Kicking out her legs she raked her heels down his shin and dug it into his toe. She didn’t want to hurt Jackie, he didn’t know what he was doing, but she didn’t want to be here. She had to get out, get out and get him help.

      “We can get you help Jackie, Call somebody and they can take care of you.” She spoke as she raised herself off the bed. Jackie having let go to nurse his injured toes.

      She could see his eyes in the dark, glowing white orbs surrounded by darkness, like a crocodile in the river, only its eyes visible. Then it pounced. Lightening stuck again, she had been so preoccupied that she had forgotten all about the storm The room filled with light just as he leapt towards her. She was powerless to resists and he threw her onto the bed.

      He mounted her quickly and scratched at her face with his hands, fingers curled into claws. His nails dug into her skin and she closed her eyes for protection. Her arms engaged in trying to push his heavy body off hers and let her escape. The fist was late in arrival, and no unexpected. Placed into her stomach just below her ribs. Her breath and with it her fight pushed out of her, and with no more vomit to expel she curled up as best she could and cried. Cried stinging tears which burnt her bleeding face.

      Then he was on top of her again, screaming and raining blows down onto her, club like blows all over her body, wild with their power and animalistic with their ferocity. It was as thought he was tenderising her like a piece of meat. She cried and called out, but her mouth was covered over with a sweaty hand that tasted strongly of old pennies.
      She bit down hard on his hand, but it had no effect. His rage was in full swing and nothing could stop him. He pulled at her clothes, ripping her shirt, the rain made it paper thin and it came away with the slightest of tugs, her breasts exposed and nipples ready hardened. The foul air tweaking them even more.

      Before she realised what was happening her trousers had been removed and her legs forced open. She tried to stop him but another fist, this time to the side of her head made the whole room spin, and with that her body relaxed and she felt him enter her. Violently and dryly he began to ravage her, yet with each thrust she found herself more accepting. Each time his throbbing member delved into her privacy she saw more of the truth, as though the throbbing vein that ran the length of his shaft was carrying images instead of blood. Images transported through her increasingly flowing pleasure and into her brain.

      She spread her legs wider voluntarily, and even pulled him towards her, the images became clearer and she understood.

      He thrust and she saw the family, sitting around the dinner table. Jackie was angry and his parents were arguing. He had been shouting for over three hours and they were tired. He withdrew and ploughed into her once more and she saw his father leading him up the stairs. Jackie was stamping his feet and thrashing his arms around wildly. Hands clenched into fists. He reached the top of the stairs and turned around, pushing his father away from him. He didn’t like to be touched. She moaned as her body began to celebrate this experience. His father threw his arms out to balance himself but his legs were twisted and he fell back, his head connecting with the stairs three times as he fell, each time at the base of his skull. He was still alive when he finally stopped bouncing, but only just.

      He withdrew, pulling back to far, his rage subsided, his actions exceeding his plans. Guilt began to set in, until her hand reached from around her leg and grasped him, holding his cock gently and guiding it back into her warm opening.

      She had to see more.

      His mother and sister ran to the noise, worried about the noise they had heard. Jackie was standing by the body. His father was bleeding from the ears and the mouth, his whole body shaking as he tried to speak. Jackie was crying, scratching at his own face, staring at his father, sorry for being bad.

      “I was sorry, I didn’t mean it.” He grunted as he resumed his thrusting, the power building once more within him. Lorna didn’t feel the orgasm approaching, not until the power of it overwhelmed her and she locked her legs around him, screaming as her body began to quiver.

      The lightening struck once more this time connecting with the house. The windows rattled and cracked in their frames, the lights came on again, the power seemingly jolted into action. She saw in the bright white light Jackie’s mother and sister push past him, he stumbled into the living room. They were shouting at him, asking him what he did. Tears straining their voices, grief reducing their words to nothing more than abrasive words. It was then she saw him pick the iron from the shelf where it was cooling down before being put away.

      He began to pant. He swung the iron. First at his sister, splitting her head open in one powerful movement. He was pounding into her with such fury now that she came again right there, riding the wave of her pleasure and stepping from the dwindling wave to the newly formed crest of the other.

      His sister had died instantly; his mother herself had taken three solid blows, his strength failing him as did his stomach as he covered himself in the blood. Spraying from the three wounds to her skull. Still she managed to crawl away, her shrill pleading not heard by her son, the boy she clearly loved. Instead all she earned was another blow, with the full face of the iron this time. The blow shattered her now and fractured her eye sockets, the still fairly hot metal stuck momentarily to her skin, leaving blister marks behind, but they never swelled, a final double handed clubbing blow with the iron sliced through the already battered skull and carved out a chunk of brain about the size of an large orange. It hung to the iron but before she saw it fall he his thrusting stopped. His body began to shake and his screams of rage became screams of delight, his eyes rolled into his head and for a second she thought he was going to fit, then she felt him shake inside her and was filled with a force that pleasured her for a third time. The held each other shaking. Her eyes gazing towards the ceiling, it was a light pink colour, obviously his mothers choice. Her eyes traced the ceiling and paused when she saw six eyes staring back at her. Jackie’s had the glazed look men have once they have fired their shot for the day, the other two were almost liquid, held in their sockets by a thin membrane., like eggs carefully removed from the shell, the protective sack still intact.

      She shocked slightly, not as bad as she would have expected, their faces gazed at her, mouths open tongues hanging out like deflated balloons left hanging outside long after the party ended, their skin decayed thinning their faces. They were wet and covered with a clear fluid that was collecting in large droplets and occasionally falling onto the bed.

      Lorna rose from the bed, her trousers round her ankles her legs shaking, barely able to support herself, the bodies were sitting in bed, the covers pulled unto their waists, hands folded over each other, wedding rings glistened in the artificial light, too large now for the rotted fingers. Jackie’s fathers head was twisted too much to one side, broken as he fell down the stairs, death hadn’t been instant, and he had watched as his son battered his family to death. He choked on his own blood and felt his heart slowing before his life was finally over, his bowels emptied and the stench of faeces and concentrated urine were the last things he smelt, and blood pouring from the walls of his house his last vision. His wife’s head was slightly more unusual, it looked fine from the left hand side, but when viewed face on it looked like a large chunk the shape of a trivial pursuit piece had been crudely carved out, her brains long since melted away to liquefied nothing, pink and slightly jellied they still occupied her skull, but now settled at the base like the remains of a bowl of soup.

      Their faces had been cleaned roughly, and the room was filled with cheap air freshener, the kind that smelt nice in the shop but that was where it remained. D

      Besides her Jackie was curled into a ball on the floor at the end of the bed, he wasn’t crying, but was muttering something inaudible. She bent down, squatting and feeling his semen drip out of her and run down her leg in congealing clomps. She wiped it away idly and stroked Jackie’s arm. He too had his trousers around his ankles and withdrew from her touch.

      “It’s ok Jackie” She spoke softly to him, stroking his arm in loving slow movements, and within a few seconds he was sitting facing her. His face still contorted but the rage was gone. He was back to the old Jackie, he hadn’t known what he was doing and now she was sure he just felt bad for it. “Shhhh” She said when he opened his mouth to speak.

      She leant forward and kissed him deeply, her hand roaming back between his legs. He was hard again and she wanted him.

      They made love once more on the floor of the room, his parents festering gaze was blank in approval.

      The storm continued long into the night, and finally calmed down just before the sun rose. The pair lay sleeping on the floor of the bedroom, arms around each other. Lorna woke first and rose, peering through the curtains to check on the day. The sky was blue and the clouds were light. She turned around, Jackie was beginning to stir.

      “Morning sleepy head” She whispered to him, “Quiet, you don’t want to wake your parents.” She gestured with her head towards the two bodies. She smiled at them. A friendly smile, as if she was happy to see them.

      Lorna moved out of her house soon after, her parents shocked and stunned at the suddenness of the actions, and her mother had cried when she walked out and pulled out of the driveway. She cried for herself, her daughter would be better off she was sure, she was a smart girl, she cried because she knew that it was now just the two of them.

      The two set up home together, her parents never saw her again nor did the meet the man who stole her heart. Her prince charming.

      They tidied the house and buried the bodies of his Jackie’s parents in the garden, and the body of his sister, who had been sat in her room, tied to the stool before her vanity mirror, a brush in her hand, but he also tied in place, make up scattered around the desk.

      They can still be seen wandering around, Lorna is often sporting varying long sleeved high necked shirts, baggy enough to cover her bruises, but not to hide her swelling stomach.

    10. #10
      Prikker Laroucha's Avatar
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      know have to say.

      That lesson had been drummed into him repeatedly, and he didn’t, he never spoke to anybody unless the introduced themselves first. If he knew their name then he reasoned that they weren’t strangers anymore. Which made them safe.

      “Hello, Hello, is anybody there?” The female voice called through the letter box, accompanied by a gust of win. The voice was panic and filled with urgency. It was strangely familiar to Jackie. He paused at the bottom of the stairs, the shadow loomed in the doorway and was turned negative when the lightning reappeared. The shadow jumped, nervous from the storm, but to Jackie it looked like the figure was trying to push the door down, lunging forwards trying to break in. The scream was mistaken for a savage war cry and the knocks soon became forceful blows in Jackie’s mind, the door shaking in its frame, the locks barely able to hold the figure at bay.

      Jackie walked through to the living room and peered through a crack he made in the curtains. Which were perpetually drawn, shutting out the sunlight, but also keeping out prying eyes, people trying to get a glimpse of the spastic that lived in their street.

      “Hello!” The voice called again, She had seen someone moving inside, the curtains were pulled back and a pair of eyes were looking, peering at her from the darkness inside.

      Lorna didn’t know why she tried this house, maybe it was because the other four before had lights on but nobody home, she figured why not try a lost cause, maybe you would be surprised. The house was in terrible condition, the grass was overgrown and the fence fallen down, either from a poorly guided car or from age she couldn’t tell and couldn’t be bothered to think about it. The windows were dirty and in some places cracked, the pain was peeling from the frames, the cobwebs had cobwebs and there wasn’t a single light shining from the whole place. The only house on the street when she looked back that was in such a bad state of repair, but still she knocked, hoping that somebody was there.

      If she was honest the house looked and felt dead, abandoned and forgotten, and when she pushed the letterbox to call the stench of decay burst through in a thick cloud, like stale air escaping an ancient tomb.

      The eyes startled her and she jumped backwards. Just as another fork of lightning speared the earth, scarring its surface. Lorna felt as though she was being guided towards this house, the lightning trapping her in a high voltage maze. She was filled with the urge to run, but before she could turn the door was opened and she was grabbed around the waist but a pair of strong arms and hauled inside.

      “Out of the storm, Out of the storm, Come, Out of the storm.” The raised voice kept repeating in a familiar tone.

      The stench within the house was overpowering, and only fear kept Lorna from throwing up over the floor, which she felt was covered in what she could only assume was newspaper or rubbish of some kind. She stood still, her back to the front door listening to her heart begin to slow, the rain finally driving against the door rather than against her. Her clothes were so wet her nipples could be clearly seen through her shirt and bra together.

      “You shouldn’t walk in a storm Lorna, its bad for you. You can catch cold or something” The voice knew her name, and she found it oddly comforting. She still hadn’t seen the owner of the voice, the black exterior look to the house was echoed inside. There wasn’t a single light, not even one of a video recorder or television on standby.

      “Jackie?” She spoke into the darkness, her lips moving vocal chords pronouncing the name before her brain fully realised why.

      “Yes” The short and blunt reply at least assured her of who she was with.

      “I didn’t know this was your house. Are you ok, did the power go out or something?” She asked, the stench forgotten about, more through politeness than anything else.

      “I don’t know, don’t worry about it, I have candles.” He replied defensively, but Lorna ignored him, used to his temperamental outbursts and dramatic over reactions, and had actually gotten quite good at dealing with them.

      “Well candles are good, but light is better. Come on I think it is just the fuse or something because the rest of the street has power. Luckily” She added as an after thought. She felt her way through the hallway, shuffling her feet as best she could in case she tripped and fell in the dark.

      “No. Lorna I’m scared, I don’t like storms. Don’t make too much noise my parents are sleeping.” He told her, his voice echoing through the house is if it were empty.

      The further she got from the front door, the more intense the smell became. It was almost indescribably, somewhere between the sweet stench of rotting meat, the metallic odour of blood and bleach. The combination made Lorna feel instantly queasy and she had to forcibly cover her mouth to keep from showering the pitch black house with vomit. Instead catching it in her mouth and swallowing it back down with nothing more than a grimace as the ejected stomach acid burned in her throat.

      “What is it Jackie? What are you trying to hide, you don’t have to worry.” She spoke slowly and calmly to him, a simple process but some of the time it was all the was needed to help him think rationally again.

      “No!” He shouted even louder, something probably either a foot or a first reasoned Lorna slammed into the wall nearby Jackie’s heavy breaths were next, increasing with speed as his rage seemed to billow out of nowhere much like the storm clouds “Go” He yelled at her. “I want you to leave now Lorna. Ill see you tomorrow. Bye Bye” He continued to shout, his previous comments about his parents seemingly forgotten.

      “I’m scared too Jackie, but I promise you once we get some light going it will make us feel a lot better. Then we can sit and wait for it all to finish What do you way?” She had never seen Jackie in such a rage before, she thought it was just because of the storm, he was scared and his family were not with him. To be honest she found it a bit bad of them, but she had lost her trust in families a long time ago so guessed her views didn’t count for much.

      Lorna began to move again not searching for anything, more moving towards Jackie to try and comfort him. Her varying emotions colliding again, struggling to decide between a feeling of pity or sisterly / motherly love for the man who was actually her own age but she never thought of his as anything other than a boy in the throws of puberty.

      It was by absolute chance that her hand brushed the light switch on the wall, lower than the usual placing, probably installed specially for Jackie if he was home alone.

      Touching. Lorna thought to herself cynically.

      If it had been chance that allowed Lorna to happen upon the switch, it was its close relative that made her try it. Light exploded from the bulbs, which although not strong, came as such a shock they may as well have been theatre spots, shining down on the lead actor delivering his Once more unto the breach dear friends address.

      Jackie cried out beside her, the light burning his eyes, while Lorna threw her arms up into the air shielding her eyes from the glare but not eliminating her vision.

      It didn’t take long for her eyes to become accustomed to the light, and the first thing she was, the only thing she saw in fact caused another rush of regurgitated stomach contents, this time the force of this eruption was too great for her lips to contain and it sprayed from her mouth like a horizontal shower, covering the floor and the back of the sofa. She hadn’t realised that they had worked the way into the living room.

      She paused at the thought. Living room, from what she was gazing upon dead room would have been a better turn of phrase.

      The room had once been homely, a large and comfortable looking sofa, with matching armchair, facing a good size television with a coffee table providing a resting place no doubt for weary feet who come nightfall had seen enough of the floor and welcomed their elevated position, on the wall there were photos, some of babies some of the family as a whole and a couple of scenic shots – taken by Jackie’s father during various family holidays. There was a fake open fire which burned with a fake flame but somehow still produced a heat, and the walls were painted a two tone colour. The base coat was a simple cream colour, which provided a good background for the dried blood and solidified brain fragments which provided the contrast. The pictures were hazy behind arterial sprays, the sofa was sodden with blood, so much so that patches still glistened in the now acceptable level of light. The carpet which while never top quality was ruined with not of a near solid layer of blood more than could have come from one person, but also various forms of vomit, faeces and urine. Flies buzzed merrily, their bodies fat and swollen from the riches they had discovered, their minds and bodies so drunk on filth that they didn’t even fly away when the light came on The only movement that resembled retreat was the wriggling of the maggots, the gestating next generation of IT flies to gorge themselves on their parents hard earned riches.

      Behind her Lorna could hear Jackie screaming angrily, the rage in his voice was unmistakable, he was angry at her, as if she had betrayed his most deepest of confidences by turning on the light.

      “Jackie, Jackie, wh..” She couldn’t say anything else, neither her brain nor her stomach would allow it. Her eyes continued to scan the room, equally unable to absorb any more information. Everything became unrecognisable and she found her image began to blur as her mind began to task of blotting everything out.

      Only one thing remained in focus and that was the iron which was on the coffee table, clumps of scalp, brain matter and hair clung to all three points, not to mention the clotted covering over the working surface. This object of destruction remained in sharp focus even as Lorna’s world went dull, her eyes becoming heavy.

      It was only then that she realised she couldn’t breath. Jackie had wrapped his rage filled arms around her throat and was squeezing her windpipe shut with a force that seemed almost unnatural. She began to struggle, her body quickly suffering from the cut off supply of oxygen because of the speed her heart was racing, she felt her pulse begin to slow, her limbs became heavy with fatigue.

      The whole time Jackie didn’t stop screaming, sometimes the rage left and all there was, was madness, but then the anger would return. Lorna felt safer with the anger. Anger she could deal with, insanity was something else

      Jackie began to pull her towards the stairs, taking her somewhere, she didn’t want to know. If he had killed his family, then why not kill her. She began to struggle, throwing her head back, scrapping her knees down his shins, she even tries to stamp on his foot, but none of it worked.

      Slowly she was worked up the stairs, walking backwards, the grip loosened slightly, the screaming died down as Jackie concentrated hard on climbing the stairs.

      “Jackie …St….stop” Lorna wheezed, as the world once more became dark. The lights in the upper portion of the house were obviously on a different circuit and so didn’t hadn’t come on when she flicked the switch.

      The smell of decay returned to her nose, filling her nostrils with this acrid aroma, stinging her throat – coupled with the left over vomit – with its abrasiveness.

      “No no no no no” Jackie repeated, an edge of confusion had entered his voice.

      They reached the top of the stairs and paused.

      Jackie was thinking, he didn’t know what to do. Lorna had seen his secret, the way his family lived – or didn’t. He released his grip around her throat, and when she tried to run he grabbed her again and threw her into the hallway. “Don’t run” He screamed at her, his voice shrill like that of a woman. He was actually hitting himself also, scratching at his head as if trying to claw into his own brain and find an answer.

      “Its ok Jackie” Lorna whispered her voice hoarse from being trapped in a vice.

      “Quiet, Quiet!” He yelled, contradicting what the finger pressed against his lips was saying. “You will wake my parents” He spoke with anger, but Lorna believe him.

      Did he really think that his parents were sleeping?

      Lorna walked towards the bedroom door and Jackie moved to stop her, blocking her path, his chest heaving as he breathed.

      “Jackie, I have to check. Don’t worry.” She told him, her resolve strengthening, he didn’t know, something horrible had happened and he didn’t know.

      She pushed past him and for once he offered little resistance, grabbing the handle she walked into the room. It was filled with darkness, but the stench was overwhelming, it assaulted her senses like a kamikaze pilot, unafraid and unashamed of what it was. Even death had its dignity

      The door creaked open, and she fumbled on the wall for a light switch, she found nothing, then she remembered the switch downstairs, and how it had been lowered. Her hand slipped down the wall, but she felt a strong shove from behind and she fell forwards. Stumbling she fell into the bed. She braced herself and threw her arms forwards and felt something in the bed. Cold and hard through the thin sheets. She didn’t need the light.

      “No No. You don’t listen. Why don’t you fucking – he coughed as she spoke the word, it hurt him to have to spit it out – listen to me.” It sounded like he was holding back tears. Grabbing wildly at her clothes, trying to grab hold of her. To throw her out, to beat her, she didn’t know.

      “Get off me.” She cried out, the darkness seeming to envelope her words, hiding them the way it hid the bodies she was being forced against. Kicking out her legs she raked her heels down his shin and dug it into his toe. She didn’t want to hurt Jackie, he didn’t know what he was doing, but she didn’t want to be here. She had to get out, get out and get him help.

      “We can get you help Jackie, Call somebody and they can take care of you.” She spoke as she raised herself off the bed. Jackie having let go to nurse his injured toes.

      She could see his eyes in the dark, glowing white orbs surrounded by darkness, like a crocodile in the river, only its eyes visible. Then it pounced. Lightening stuck again, she had been so preoccupied that she had forgotten all about the storm The room filled with light just as he leapt towards her. She was powerless to resists and he threw her onto the bed.

      He mounted her quickly and scratched at her face with his hands, fingers curled into claws. His nails dug into her skin and she closed her eyes for protection. Her arms engaged in trying to push his heavy body off hers and let her escape. The fist was late in arrival, and no unexpected. Placed into her stomach just below her ribs. Her breath and with it her fight pushed out of her, and with no more vomit to expel she curled up as best she could and cried. Cried stinging tears which burnt her bleeding face.

      Then he was on top of her again, screaming and raining blows down onto her, club like blows all over her body, wild with their power and animalistic with their ferocity. It was as thought he was tenderising her like a piece of meat. She cried and called out, but her mouth was covered over with a sweaty hand that tasted strongly of old pennies.
      She bit down hard on his hand, but it had no effect. His rage was in full swing and nothing could stop him. He pulled at her clothes, ripping her shirt, the rain made it paper thin and it came away with the slightest of tugs, her breasts exposed and nipples ready hardened. The foul air tweaking them even more.

      Before she realised what was happening her trousers had been removed and her legs forced open. She tried to stop him but another fist, this time to the side of her head made the whole room spin, and with that her body relaxed and she felt him enter her. Violently and dryly he began to ravage her, yet with each thrust she found herself more accepting. Each time his throbbing member delved into her privacy she saw more of the truth, as though the throbbing vein that ran the length of his shaft was carrying images instead of blood. Images transported through her increasingly flowing pleasure and into her brain.

      She spread her legs wider voluntarily, and even pulled him towards her, the images became clearer and she understood.

      He thrust and she saw the family, sitting around the dinner table. Jackie was angry and his parents were arguing. He had been shouting for over three hours and they were tired. He withdrew and ploughed into her once more and she saw his father leading him up the stairs. Jackie was stamping his feet and thrashing his arms around wildly. Hands clenched into fists. He reached the top of the stairs and turned around, pushing his father away from him. He didn’t like to be touched. She moaned as her body began to celebrate this experience. His father threw his arms out to balance himself but his legs were twisted and he fell back, his head connecting with the stairs three times as he fell, each time at the base of his skull. He was still alive when he finally stopped bouncing, but only just.

      He withdrew, pulling back to far, his rage subsided, his actions exceeding his plans. Guilt began to set in, until her hand reached from around her leg and grasped him, holding his cock gently and guiding it back into her warm opening.

      She had to see more.

      His mother and sister ran to the noise, worried about the noise they had heard. Jackie was standing by the body. His father was bleeding from the ears and the mouth, his whole body shaking as he tried to speak. Jackie was crying, scratching at his own face, staring at his father, sorry for being bad.

      “I was sorry, I didn’t mean it.” He grunted as he resumed his thrusting, the power building once more within him. Lorna didn’t feel the orgasm approaching, not until the power of it overwhelmed her and she locked her legs around him, screaming as her body began to quiver.

      The lightening struck once more this time connecting with the house. The windows rattled and cracked in their frames, the lights came on again, the power seemingly jolted into action. She saw in the bright white light Jackie’s mother and sister push past him, he stumbled into the living room. They were shouting at him, asking him what he did. Tears straining their voices, grief reducing their words to nothing more than abrasive words. It was then she saw him pick the iron from the shelf where it was cooling down before being put away.

      He began to pant. He swung the iron. First at his sister, splitting her head open in one powerful movement. He was pounding into her with such fury now that she came again right there, riding the wave of her pleasure and stepping from the dwindling wave to the newly formed crest of the other.

      His sister had died instantly; his mother herself had taken three solid blows, his strength failing him as did his stomach as he covered himself in the blood. Spraying from the three wounds to her skull. Still she managed to crawl away, her shrill pleading not heard by her son, the boy she clearly loved. Instead all she earned was another blow, with the full face of the iron this time. The blow shattered her now and fractured her eye sockets, the still fairly hot metal stuck momentarily to her skin, leaving blister marks behind, but they never swelled, a final double handed clubbing blow with the iron sliced through the already battered skull and carved out a chunk of brain about the size of an large orange. It hung to the iron but before she saw it fall he his thrusting stopped. His body began to shake and his screams of rage became screams of delight, his eyes rolled into his head and for a second she thought he was going to fit, then she felt him shake inside her and was filled with a force that pleasured her for a third time. The held each other shaking. Her eyes gazing towards the ceiling, it was a light pink colour, obviously his mothers choice. Her eyes traced the ceiling and paused when she saw six eyes staring back at her. Jackie’s had the glazed look men have once they have fired their shot for the day, the other two were almost liquid, held in their sockets by a thin membrane., like eggs carefully removed from the shell, the protective sack still intact.

      She shocked slightly, not as bad as she would have expected, their faces gazed at her, mouths open tongues hanging out like deflated balloons left hanging outside long after the party ended, their skin decayed thinning their faces. They were wet and covered with a clear fluid that was collecting in large droplets and occasionally falling onto the bed.

      Lorna rose from the bed, her trousers round her ankles her legs shaking, barely able to support herself, the bodies were sitting in bed, the covers pulled unto their waists, hands folded over each other, wedding rings glistened in the artificial light, too large now for the rotted fingers. Jackie’s fathers head was twisted too much to one side, broken as he fell down the stairs, death hadn’t been instant, and he had watched as his son battered his family to death. He choked on his own blood and felt his heart slowing before his life was finally over, his bowels emptied and the stench of faeces and concentrated urine were the last things he smelt, and blood pouring from the walls of his house his last vision. His wife’s head was slightly more unusual, it looked fine from the left hand side, but when viewed face on it looked like a large chunk the shape of a trivial pursuit piece had been crudely carved out, her brains long since melted away to liquefied nothing, pink and slightly jellied they still occupied her skull, but now settled at the base like the remains of a bowl of soup.

      Their faces had been cleaned roughly, and the room was filled with cheap air freshener, the kind that smelt nice in the shop but that was where it remained. D

      Besides her Jackie was curled into a ball on the floor at the end of the bed, he wasn’t crying, but was muttering something inaudible. She bent down, squatting and feeling his semen drip out of her and run down her leg in congealing clomps. She wiped it away idly and stroked Jackie’s arm. He too had his trousers around his ankles and withdrew from her touch.

      “It’s ok Jackie” She spoke softly to him, stroking his arm in loving slow movements, and within a few seconds he was sitting facing her. His face still contorted but the rage was gone. He was back to the old Jackie, he hadn’t known what he was doing and now she was sure he just felt bad for it. “Shhhh” She said when he opened his mouth to speak.

      She leant forward and kissed him deeply, her hand roaming back between his legs. He was hard again and she wanted him.

      They made love once more on the floor of the room, his parents festering gaze was blank in approval.

      The storm continued long into the night, and finally calmed down just before the sun rose. The pair lay sleeping on the floor of the bedroom, arms around each other. Lorna woke first and rose, peering through the curtains to check on the day. The sky was blue and the clouds were light. She turned around, Jackie was beginning to stir.

      “Morning sleepy head” She whispered to him, “Quiet, you don’t want to wake your parents.” She gestured with her head towards the two bodies. She smiled at them. A friendly smile, as if she was happy to see them.

      Lorna moved out of her house soon after, her parents shocked and stunned at the suddenness of the actions, and her mother had cried when she walked out and pulled out of the driveway. She cried for herself, her daughter would be better off she was sure, she was a smart girl, she cried because she knew that it was now just the two of them.

      The two set up home together, her parents never saw her again nor did the meet the man who stole her heart. Her prince charming.

      They tidied the house and buried the bodies of his Jackie’s parents in the garden, and the body of his sister, who had been sat in her room for days , tied to the stool before her vanity mirror, a brush in her hand, also tied in place, make up scattered around the desk.

      They can still be seen wandering around, Lorna is often sporting varying long sleeved high necked shirts, baggy enough to cover her bruises, but not to hide her swelling stomach.

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