Unexpected exorcism

Copyright: Reinkkwer
(posted at worldbuilding.stackexchange.com)

Odd. The little things we take for granted.

The sanctuary, provided within the walls of our own homes; safe, warm, clean. Yet do we ever pay enough attention to spiritual cleanliness thereof? If we fail to cleanse a space, at other than the physical level, it can quickly become filled with all sorts of psychic detritus that is not necessarily beneficial to health.

On a recent overnight visit to Mother I was caught unawares. She happened to mention, casually as if it were nothing really, that she hardly slept, invariably roused by nightmares several times each night.

This surprised me, she being neither prone to sleeplessness nor, I, perhaps, assumed, nightmares, and I wondered if this were another symptom to be expected in the pantheon associated with her cognitive decline.

How wrong can one be? Well…

In that place, between wakefulness and the first kiss of sleep, a female voice. The words, half heard, came from the hallway, or, more accurately, the hallway ceiling. A jeering cat-call of dubious intent.

The darkness opened to shimmering, shifting shapes of discordant light, as that projected on the underside of a bridge by the waters lapping beneath. The woman is in the room.

Derision. Regret. Loneliness.

More shocking was the recognition that this was a neighbour who had passed some ten years prior. She had died in Mother’s arms, gasping in agony, waiting for an ambulance which never came.

I had no idea she was still here. What could she possibly want after all this time?

We chatted for a while, and, slowly, she calmed. “Where was Rusty?” her beloved Jack Russell. He was waiting.

She hardly noticed the veil as she crossed to greet him. The energies smoothed. The waters calmed.

Mother, unknown to sleep beyond 6am, finally emerged, embarrassed, around nine, yet boasting of a great night’s sleep.

Odd. The little things we take for granted.