His Only Warning

His Only Warning

Chris tossed and turned. He couldn’t sleep. The same dream had crept into his mind as he tried to sleep soundly. He woke up with his heart racing with every breath he took. His head aching as if he had been drinking all night. Drenched with sweat, Chris sleepily removed his shirt and tried to go back to sleep. Tap! tap! tap! Chris opened his eyes slowly; he shook his head from side to side. Maybe I’m hearing things he thought. But he heard something else. At first it started as a whisper, but it grew louder and louder until Chris had to cover his ears. It sounded as if someone was dragging their fingernails across a chalkboard. Chris heard the whispering again and immediately sat up in his bed looking around to see what or who was in the room with him. Fumbling for his lamp he pulled the string, and his room was illuminated. He looked on the floor and saw white stuff on the floor. He took a closer look at the white substance on the floor. Is that sugar? He questioned as he laid his head against his headboard tightly holding his blanket.

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Three days ago, Chris went out for a walk with his childhood best friend Reggie. The two grew up in the countryside in a small village in Pares, Antigua. Not only were they mischievous as little boys, but they had a natural love of exploration. So, when Reggie came back from visiting his dad in the States, he called his best friend Chris to go and explore the abandoned sugar mill that once housed slaves and sugar in the 1600’s. It was said that the Coddington family owned the plantation and slaves, but it was Mr. Winfield, the overseer, who treated the slaves the worst resulting in him chaining and killing a young slave woman who was rumored to have practiced witchcraft and could communicate with the spirits of the past. Ever since the murder of the young slave girl, people claimed to have seen the young slave girl who continued to roam the plantation at night seeking innocent souls.

The day of the visit, Chris was feeling queasy and anxious about the day’s activities. He couldn’t put a finger on it, but something was off. He couldn’t get his dream out of his mind. Reggie, meanwhile, was eager to see what mischief might happen after dark.

After the two friends gathered their belongings and placed them in the car, the friends headed to the abandoned sugar mill and parked off the road where their car wouldn’t be easily seen. When they were sure everyone had left the historical site, they took out their flashlights and began to search for a way in. Chris was doing his best to put on a brave front in the presence of his best friend, but when a leaf from the nearby hanging branch fell on the back of his neck, he quickly ran behind Reggie. Reggie started laughing at Chris and gave his friend a comforting shoulder pat before he continued investigating the property, hoping for an unlocked door. Once they reached the side door Reggie tried to open it, but it was locked. “Shit!” Reggie exclaimed. He didn’t see Chris breathing a sigh of relief; he also didn’t see the invisible hand that unlocked the deadbolt which caused the door to come slightly ajar causing it to make loud creaking sound. Both men pointed their heavy-duty flashlight in the doors direction and stared at it in disbelief.

“I thought the door was locked,” Reggie said beads of sweat forming around his chubby face. He was both confused and excited that the door opened without any of their help.

“It was,” Chris said his barely a whisper. “This is bad; real bad. We showed go right now,” Chris said his feelings of paranoia steadily building.

“Do you hear that. The sound of chains,” Reggie asked shining his flashlight around them. Just then, the air grew cold, and the land was eerily quiet. Like nature was holding its breath in anticipation for what was to happen next. A gust of wind blew across their faces, yet the tree leaves were still. Nothing made a sound. There was a loud screeching sound that came from inside the building. Chris’s heart quickened and he tried one more time to get Reggie to leave with him before disaster reached them. But to no avail. It seemed like Reggie was in a trance. His gaze fixed upon the old rusty door that led into the sugar mill.

“Do you hear that?” Reggie asked in a sort of hushed tone. But Chris shook his head. Chris begged Reggie to get back in the car with him and forget about the Betty’s Hope ghost. But Chris had already started to walk into the abandoned building. Slam! As soon as Reggie walked into the building it was as if a huge hand slammed the old rusty door shut. What happened next caused Chris to go hauling ass back to their hidden car. Chris ran like he was racing Ussain Bolt! As he was barely able to start his car, gut wrenching frightening screams could be heard coming from the sugar mill.

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Chris jumped up from his sleep breathing heavily. Today was the day his best friend Reggie wanted to go to Betty’s Hope Sugar Mill Tour, but after his dream, Chris had changed his mind. It was as if his dream served as a warning for them not to go there. Chris reached for his phone to call Reggie, but he didn’t answer so Chris sent him a text message instead. The text read Hey Chris, I’m not feeling well. I think I drank too much. We can reschedule. Chris pressed the send button and laid his phone down beside him and waited for Reggie to respond. Reggie called his friend a few minutes later sounding disappointed but was head strong and stuck to his late-night adventure. Chris pleaded with his best friend and even told him what happened in his dream. Reggie laughed it off and blamed it on the old folklore stories that had been handed down for generations. When Chris saw that Reggie was going regardless of what he said, he gave up and bid his friend farewell.

It had been 48 hours since no one had heard or seen from Reggie. When Chris told the police where he went, the police officers looked at each other and at Reggie’s family. They calmly and regretfully said that he was with the ghost of Betty’s Hope now and there was nothing they could do. The officers knew better than to go to the abandoned sugar mill. They’ve heard the stories and seen some of the mangled bodies and body parts scattered along the bushy path leading to the sugar mill.

Later that evening as Chris got ready for bed a light breeze blew across his face. This made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He checked to see if his bedroom window was open and chuckled to himself. Maybe it was the a/c coming on, he thought to himself. After putting his dirty clothes in his laundry basket, Chris felt a cold touch to his face and another draft of wind. His room got significantly colder. Walking towards his window, Chris gasped when he pulled his bedroom curtain back. A terrified Chris stared face to face with what used to be his best friend. Now Reggie was the one with hollow eyes and pale skin. His hands and feet were bound in iron chains—the same chains used on the young slave girl. Reggie just stood there staring at Chris from the outside. Chris wanted to run, to scream, to be anywhere but his room seeing the ghost of his friend. Reggie stood there staring at his friend, then his last words were spoken. “I should’ve listened to you. Help me, Chris!” Reggie’s ghost pleaded. And as if a strong gust of wind blew, Reggie was gone.

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Our dreams occur often to help protect us from things seen and unseen and serve as warning signs therefore we must take heed to them. Chris never went back to the sugar mill and Reggie’s parents has been burning candles and giving offerings to their deities in the hope that their beloved son, Reggie, would return home on day.