The Pale Angel

THE thick silence reigning in the hotel’s lobby weighed on me, drowning out every rushed step of mine along the frail wooden planks. The furious beat of my heart drummed through my ears; perhaps out of fear, perhaps out of lust for destruction – an eagerness to bring this madness to an end. The moment that the idea – the ever so trivial idea – to simply destroy this abomination of a statue had occurred to me, I was determined to see it come true, and as I paced past the receptionist, not even the glamourous chandelier – whose shining ornaments had so charmed my – could avert my eyes. The lantern which I had preemptively taken with me, I now lit with a match; its hinge creaked pathetically, shattering the quiet behind me. Once I left the lobby and descended the arch-shaped stairs of the entrance, the unfathomable darkness of the garden befell me at once – a void drawing in any light, swallowing it whole. Faintly, the fountain’s splash echoed through the night.

Four days had it been since we had first arrived at the hotel. It had been a trusted friend of my dear wife who had recommended this place; recounting the great service, the impeccable cuisine, and of course, their incredibly grand – gargantuan even – garden. The latter we had noticed immediately; indeed, before even glimpsing the hotel itself, we had spotted the expanse of greenery from afar. Then, as a well-dressed young man had opened the door of our carriage, a beautiful landscape of neatly cut hedges – full, puffy trees – and a colorful canvas of flowers greeted us, leaving our mouths agape. Truly, no account could have prepared us for such a sight.

A keenness unlike any I had seen before sparkled in my wife’s eyes as she eagerly wrapped her arm around mine, telling me that she so desired to take a stroll through it. I couldn’t have blamed her – I had as well. The well-dressed man had taken our luggage, and so, before we had even checked in, we wandered through that mesmerizing maze of a garden – hand in hand, as we had in our younger days.

The entrance was an intricately decorated arch, entwined with vines. To either side, shoulder high hedges, neatly cut, stretched for hundreds of meters – there must have been at least a dozen acres upon which this garden had been built. That afternoon, time had passed as does a blissful dream. There was no way of telling how many hours we had spent in that maze of bushes and flowers; but it hadn’t mattered, for they had been beautiful hours – hours at the side of my beloved who had seldom borne such a bright smile. We had soaked in the beauty of each flower – daffodils, hyacinths, chrysanthemums, and many more only my wife had known – their scent and warmth; had basked in the gentle November sun as our soles brushed the pebbled path.

However, there had been something that vexed me since I had first seen it. In the middle of this labyrinthine garden stood a fountain, tall and proud. Water flowed in a high arc from its four little openings, splashing down into the main basin of the fountain, where other guests had tossed a few coins. About this, of course, I couldn’t have cared less. It was only when I had glanced up to the heavens that I saw what would bring forth the anguish I now felt. Atop the fountain rested a pale statue – a withered depiction of a woman with angelic wings. It must have been terrible destiny, for her eyes had fallen directly on mine, and since that moment, a certain dread had filled the whole of my being. I had quickly shot my gaze from her face down to her body, yet the sharp contortions of her feeble arms had only deepened my anxiety. My wife surely had picked up on this sudden change in my expression, for I must’ve been pale – so miserably pale.

Much more of that day, I cannot recall; at once, we had checked in and settled into our little room, and shortly after, a state of great delirium had befallen me. When I had regained my strength, the night sky had already crept over the wispy clouds, and I had found myself lying next to my wife who had fallen asleep with a booklet in her hand. I had extinguished the candles which she had left burning and went to bed myself – except that there hadn’t been the slightest chance of me joining her dreams; there had been a distinct and poignant pain rushing to and fro my frontal lobes, stinging me with pulsating agony that reverberated down my spine. Instantly, I knew that the encounter with the statue had been at the root of my misery. Ha! you say, what a madman – but I implore you, listen! Though I am not of greatest vigor, headaches had never been a commonality for me; quite frankly, I had never had one. Thus, I quickly concluded that some ill must have been cast upon me!

That night, I had slipped out of the sheets several times to wash my face with fresh water, and to take some medication we had stowed beneath the sink. Somehow – probably due to physical wear throughout the day – I had managed to get a few hours of sleep; although I wouldn’t call it rest, for once my eyes had closed, nothing but nightmares awaited me. I had dreamt of a great – great garden similar to the one in front of the hotel; however, the garden of my dreams – a convoluted forest, rather – had been the opposite of what I had strolled through with my beloved that day: its hedges had double their height; its flowers had all withered except for bloody roses; the pebbles had been as small as grains of sand, swallowing everything that touched them. And through this lunacy of a dream, the pale statue of the angel, suddenly, had found me. Her arms twisted around her body, producing a shrill sound that caused me to wince – my ears to bleed. In the place of her eyes, large white orbs had glowed, their brightness forcing me to cover my eyes.

The following three days had been equally as gruesome and tiresome, for not only had I not managed to get any substantial rest during the night; the throbbing pain had begun to haunt me throughout the day, too. Visions of the pale angel – the withered woman – had slowly crept into my life, making me see her wherever I turned; her glowing eyes, the shrieking sound of her arms striking across her stomach … I couldn’t bear it any longer.

I had been quick to reach for the bottle, hoping to drown out the voices that echoed through my mind. My wife, however, had kept me from succumbing to that darkness, instead offering solace in her embrace. Though her presence had made the nights somewhat bearable, I had been certain that I couldn’t spend the next week in such a state; not just for my sake, but for the one of my dear beloved. That is how I then found myself rushing through the hotel’s lobby, lantern in hand, determined to tear the statue apart, be it with my own hands.

On the other side of the entrance door, a single guard was patrolling the area, and although he did it rather carelessly, I broke out in a heavy sweat. What for? I wasn’t to commit any crime – no crime at all, no! – if one should be arrested it should be whoever dared to put such an abysmal statue into this world! Nonetheless, I hushed past the guard, covering the lantern with my coat so as not to cast any noticeably out of place shadows. Once I had entered the garden, I picked up a hectic pace, the pebbles flying as I ran over them. My erratic breathing was visible in the thin, brisk night air. Then, I found the fountain with the statue. The water flowed as it had on the first day; the lantern in my hand swayed – the shadow of mine which it cast danced on the hedges. There I was now, and still, once the dim flicker of the lantern fell upon her face … I ran – I cowardly ran away. A single glance at her mocking visage was enough – enough for me to acknowledge that I could never escape her as long as I stayed at this place … but of course! I ran straight past the guard, who definitely must have heard me, and headed for our room; having in mind to wake my wife, and flee this forsaken hotel for good.

At the door, I paused for a second, catching my breath. Then, carefully – oh! so very careful as not to frighten my dear beloved – I turned the knob and entered. Peacefully, she slept under the blanket. The lantern, I set down next to the door, went to the bathroom to wash my hands and face. I thought I had nothing to fear anymore, yet my reflection – although bearing a smile of relief – grew very pale. My consciousness trying to catch up to my primitive instincts, I frantically looked around, checking the mirror several times.

A sudden thud caught my attention – I froze, eyes fixated on the door to the bedroom. My hearing failed me, for the tremblement of my hands – the pulsating blood through my ears overshadowed any kind of noise on the other side. With three quick breaths I hastened for the single blade razor on the sink, and cried a shout of rage; then I bust open the door with a sturdy kick. My wife was no longer under the sheets! Oh God! what could I do? The statue – the statue – I foamed repeatedly, a wild desperation consuming me, there simply was no other explanation! Another thud, from … from the closet? All that had been fear, anguish and horror morphed into a grave lust – a hunger for destruction – a yearning to see this monster come to a fall.

I hushed toward the closet and … – crack! – There she was! as I knew it so well – my pale angel of agony, arms wrapped around her body, shrieking at me with glowing, wide-open eyes. Overcome with fury and a thirst for death, I lunged forward. With a swift motion, I slashed her throat – but oh! not even this crimson fountain spurting from her was enough to satisfy me – no … no! – not after the anguish she had let me know – never! My hand clamped around her throat, and in a frenzy, I drove the blade through her eyes again and again – again! – and again! until her arms unveiled her true self and fell limp. Eventually, I crumbled to my knees, exhausted.

Next to the lifeless – devoid of color – pale angel sprawled out on the floor, I waited for my wife to return – for the moment in which she would rejoice upon seeing me well. Yet slowly I came to understand – I realized that she would never come back, for she had never left the room in the first place.