The Rain

Dawn till dusk till dawn again

Douse this infernal sorrow

Life strives senselessly until its egregious end

Vitality feeds on death’s sweet marrow

When not one soul treads the earth

Anguish shall not manifest

Salvation, descend upon this sordid world

Purge existence in your tempest

It was so slimy, but I couldn’t not help it. Another day, another life saved. Squirming across my spread fingers, the worm was unaware of the tragedy it had narrowly escaped. The storm drain gurgled in dissatisfaction at its thwarted attempt of consuming another innocent soul. Life prevails today. 

An open patch of sodden grass laid across the sidewalk. It was someone else’s yard, but I was sure they wouldn’t mind another worm. I placed the squirming fiend within the densest clump I could spot from where I stood. With a groan, I continued my way to school.

While it was true that I couldn’t stand the thought of anything suffering, it would be a lie to say my heroism that morning wasn’t also mild procrastination. High school was a turbulent ocean of madness, its walls plastered in hypocrisy, its rooms shuttered against the world, its teachers overworked and underpaid, and worst of all, it was packed with teenagers. I never claimed to not be hypocritical too.

 My boots felt like bricks I trudged along the flooded road. My umbrella had seen better days, and drops of rain tapped a rhythm against the hood of my raincoat from the hole in its nylon canopy. Rain, rain, go away I sang silently, knowing it wouldn’t go away. It hadn’t gone away in seventeen years. The world was flooded, and life went on as it always had. A little drizzle couldn’t stop capitalism. 

Storm drains crowded every street, covering deep canals that webbed from cities and towns into the ever-encroaching ocean. Coastlines had descended drastically since the rain started, whole islands disappeared under the ocean’s depths, hundreds of species had gone extinct, and there was no sign of it ceasing. I had dreams sometimes of the sun; glimmering specks of dust suspended peacefully in rays of sunlight gleaming through windows, shells on shimmering beaches reflecting light in soft opalescent pinks, yellows, and blues, and trees glowing emerald in contrast to the deep shadows in their foliage. These were things I’ve never experienced, only read about and seen in old photographs. It was all gone. Everything was melancholic gray. 

As my mind basked in fantasies, each monotonous street block passed onto another until I stood before the rusted iron gates of Solar Peak High School. Moss engulfed the dark brick walls that rose high above the school’s swampy lawns, ending in sharp spires on each corner of the building. The cobbled pathway was obscured by grass, and shadows spread to the spike topped fence. The contradiction of its name was astounding. 

I swallowed, but the dryness of my throat prevailed. My body felt heavy, as if the school and me were magnets on the same polar end. I wiped the sweat from my palms on my jeans and took one dreadful step after another down the pathway and up the six stairs that lead to the double oakwood doors. A creak echoed through the empty hall inside as I heaved one open. 

The secretary glanced up at me from her computer with a grimace when I walked into the main office. Her red curls were pushed back from her stern face with a scarf. With a disappointed sigh, she handed me a late slip. This wasn’t my first offense. After giving her a wry smile and nod, I left the office.

I dragged my feet down the halls, my heart thumping in my throat, dread weighing me down. There was nothing worse than showing up late to class. Nearly everyone watched me as I peeked through the classroom door, slid in the room, then shuffled to my seat. Thankfully, Mrs. Cinder was merciful and didn’t stop me to ask why I was late in front of the whole class. 

Every class dragged on and on until my blissful release to lunch. I sat on the bench next to my friend, Paula, like I always did. We weren’t best friends, but we preferred each other’s company to anyone else’s there. She slouched over the table as she ate, her dark braided hair nearly falling onto her plate. The food was food, and talk was sparse, but nothing was expected of me, which was great. When I finished, I waved a quick goodbye to Paula, I emptied my food tray and put it away before going back down the fluorescent lit halls. 

Something yellow on the gray floor caught my attention. It was small, and I would have missed it if I weren’t looking down at that moment. As I crouched near it, I realized it was a caterpillar. Its tiny, fuzzy body barely moved when I poked it. I wondered how long it had been there. Picking it up, I examined it. I had no idea what an emaciated caterpillar might look like, but I was sure it was hungry. The halls were starting to empty and the bell chimed to signify the end of the period. I hurried to the courtyard in the middle of the school and placed the caterpillar on a fallen leaf, frowning when it didn’t attempt to eat or move. The second bell urged me to go, but the caterpillar looked so pitiful that it wrenched my heart to leave it there. I reminded myself that this was its natural habitat, and that if it didn’t survive, I did all I could. Still, I hesitated to go. Biting my lip, I went back inside.

As I turned a corner, a soft hum emanating from behind a metal door startled me. It wasn’t that someone was humming, but it was the eerie way it buzzed through my head like carbonation that made me halt. It felt like a sneeze that wouldn’t come. The feeling grew more profound as I crept closer to the door. Other students walked by with concerned glances and whispers behind hands and books. Could they not hear it? 

The humming stopped abruptly when I put my ear against the cold metal, leaving both my ears ringing in the residual silence. My head pulsed a few times before the feeling faded. I pulled away and stared at the door for a moment, debating whether I should try to open it when Ms. Stanford, the school counselor, approached. 

“Everything okay?” She asked, puzzled.

I jumped away from the door. “Oh, yeah. Sorry, I just heard something in there, I think.” 

“What did you hear?” She watched me with concern.

“I-I thought someone was singing in there or something.” I stammered. “I guess not, though…”

“It was likely a janitor.” She raised her eyebrows. “That’s a supply closet.” 

I nodded awkwardly and excused myself before shuffling off to class. 

Throughout the last three classes of the day, I couldn’t stop thinking about the mysterious humming door. I was sure of what I’d heard. I could still feel the buzzing in my head when I thought about it. The last bell rang, and I packed up my backpack and headed straight for the door. When I got close, I glanced down both sides of the hall to ensure no one else was around before I cautiously approached. There was no humming; no noise at all, even when I pressed my ear against it again. No buzzing either. I tried the handle, but it was locked. At the sound of oncoming footsteps, I narrowed my eyes at the suspicious hunk of metal, then went to check on the caterpillar. It was gone, but the leaf had tiny holes in it. I smiled, hoping that it would survive. After searching the courtyard as rain buffeted my coat I found no caterpillars, so I went home, satisfied that I had saved another life. 

Weeks passed by, and the door remained staunch in its silence. I did, however, find a chrysalis hanging from a tree in the courtyard eight days later. Hoping it was the same cute bug, I visited every day to check on its progress. It grew slowly, and every few days I would gently poke it to watch it wiggle. The day it emerged as an orange and brown spotted butterfly, was the day the door hummed its solemn song again. I was heading home and walked past when I felt the familiar buzz. I stopped and watched it, waiting for the sound. It came with a rush of dizziness that staggered me. 

I clung to the wall for long, nauseating minutes before I could stand straight again. I wondered if I should call an ambulance, but noticed that the door was cracked open. The humming intensified as I inched the door open. The room was unnaturally dark, and the stench of mildew and rot wafted from within. With a shaky breath I crept inside, then stopped. I was stiff with fear, and sweat was trickling down my face and back. My heart thundered in my ears, but I heard nothing else. When nothing happened, I took another step, then another. The hairs raised on the back of my neck, and I looked over my shoulder. Just the open door and hallway on the other side. When I looked back ahead, I jumped and shot my hand over my mouth, smothering a shriek. 

A woman stood a few feet away. Long, blond hair hung in strings around her swollen face. The tattered beige dress she wore hung to her knees. She was covered in filth and reeked like death. Her glossy, pale eyes bore into mine as she stood staring and unmoving. Sweat soaked the back of my shirt, and under my arms. My deodorant had failed me. Terror kept me in place, but I recoiled when she reached up. Snatching her hands back, she cradled them to her chest and turned.

“Wait!” I shouted when she began to retreat. 

She hesitated. Her shoulders hunched and her head tilted down so her hair covered most of her face. She seemed apprehensive. We stared at each other for a few moments before she turned and crept into the darkness. When I made no move to follow, she returned and gestured me to follow. 

“It’s too dark. I really can’t see.” I reproached. 

The woman nodded, biting her lip. Then she tentatively lifted her arm, reaching a hand out to me. I tried hard not to flinch away. Her pale skin was bloated and cracked; her nails broken in places. She didn’t seem menacing, but I’ve also seen plenty of horror movies. Despite my better judgment, I took a deep breath, then placed my hand in hers. 

I gasped at how cold her flesh was. This was not a living woman. She held my hand steadily as I walked blind, navigating me around objects. When I felt her tug me downward, I halted. She tugged again softly. I searched the floor before me with my foot. As I thought, there was a drop; she was leading me downstairs. Her hand was surprisingly strong, and she helped me keep my balance as we descended. Carefully, I stepped down, each shaky step after another. The creaking of the stairs was deafening in the otherwise silent stairway. The air grew colder the further down we went and it felt as if the walls were closing in.

At the end of the stairs, she led me a few steps and then stopped, letting go of my hand. I sighed in relief and hoped there was not another staircase to traverse. The jingling of keys reverberated in the void, then the turn of a lock and a handle. A gust of cold musty air swooshed past my face as the door opened. As she grabbed my hand again I jumped. She chuffed, herding me through the door, then closing it behind us. I stood where she left me, listening to her shuffle around. Dust filled my nose, making me sneeze. At he piercing light of a lamp, I threw up my arm to cover my eyes. 

After a moment I peeked, squinting as my eyes adjusted. Thick cement columns lined the left and right of the long, rectangular room. The lamp cast its light in a soft yellow orb surrounding the table that it sat on, obscuring the corners of the basement in deep shadow. Various books and paper scattered the table. Dust shrouded boxes laid stacked in haphazard piles. My eyes widened and my arm dropped when I looked down. I stood before a pentacle drawn on the floor with something red that I hoped wasn’t blood. Drooping white candles were placed at each of the points.

I jerked my attention to the woman. She lowered her eyes and fidgeted with the frayed hem of her dress. 

“Why did you bring me here?” I asked. 

In response, she looked up at me, conviction in her eyes. She snatched an old local newspaper off the table and thrust it into my hands. I raised my eyebrows and she scrunched hers in return, pointing to the crumpled paper I held. Accepting that she would tell me nothing, I looked at the paper and found an article circled in pen. Icy tingles of shock cascaded over my skin when I read the title: Teen Girl Goes Missing. I held my breath as I continued. 

‘Eighteen year old high-schooler, Sade Moore, was reported missing Monday night.’ 

The date of the newspaper was from seventeen years ago. I raised my gaze slowly to meet hers.

“Sade?” I breathed.

She closed her eyes and nodded. I swallowed hard. Questions and speculations raced through my mind. How is she here? Why is she here, in my school? Why did she bring me to this room? Is she dead? Will I die now? What is she? Vampire, poltergeist, zombie, demon, Frankenstein’s monster… I looked down at the pentacle on the floor. 

“Witch?” I asked more to myself than to the being before me, but she answered with another nod. “A witch did this to you?!” I screeched. With raised hands, she shook her head, then pointed to herself. She was a witch. Before I could turn and run she grabbed another slip of paper from the table and held it out to me, her face tilted down to hide her expression. The paper was browned with age and water stained. Were those tear stains? I read the smeared words from where she held the paper, not wanting to touch it. It just seemed like a daunting poem before I got to the end, and the blood drained from my face. The word ‘Salvation’ was underlined.

“My name is Sateria”, I said. It meant salvation. 

She grabbed the front of my shirt in her fists and pulled me until all I could see was the pleading in her eyes.

I gripped her arms and she loosened her hold. “What do you want from me?” I demanded.

Her glossy eyes searched mine, as if she could find the answer there, then she released me and walked toward the back of the room. The lamp’s light wavered when she passed and shadows flickered along the floor. After rummaging through a box, she returned and handed me a paper and pencil, then held out her poem. Realization shattered my rose-tainted window to reality, then welded the pieces together again with dread. It wasn’t a poem at all; it was a spell.

Understanding, anger, and fear convoluted my mind and I dropped to my knees, holding my face in trembling hands. She made this spell. She conjured the rain. She wanted me to fix it. 

I crawled to the door and hunched against it. My sobs broke the stifling silence, and I sat there for hours as my mind spiraled in an antithetic vortex of despair and hope. When my body, aching from relentless shivering and sitting on the concrete floor, anchored me, I came to a decision; the only one I had, really. I heaved myself off the floor, grabbing the paper and pencil Sade had left next to me and placed them on the table. 

 Sade was gone. I hadn’t heard her leave, but I was sure she was no longer there. I hoped sardonically that she was satisfied, wherever she was. After grabbing the pencil, I scribbled and erased and scribbled some more until I had procured what I hoped was a good enough spell, then lit the candles and sat outside of the circle with my botched portrayal of a poem, then hesitated. I wasn’t sure it was going to work. Sade could have been wrong. I could have been wrong in understanding her. I could accidentally summon a demon. Shaking my head, I closed my eyes and began to chant. My pulse quickened and every hair on my body raised with anticipation.

A rush of warmth enveloped me. It was pleasant at first, then my senses filled with prickling heat. The intensity rose until it became a flame. A scream seared through my scorched throat as my nerves ignited. Agony was all I knew as the inferno raged on and on. Then it stopped.

I opened my eyes to complete darkness. My head pounded, and I sat up, realizing I’d been lying on the floor and must have passed out. Rubbing my temples, I grasped for newly melded reality. The burning had subsided entirely, and I was left shivering once again. I fumbled around in the dark until I found the lamp and lit it again. Everything looked the same, except the paper I had written the spell on. The words glowed red as embers. 

With my name and my will

I call upon you, sun

Cast dawn upon the sunken world

Dissipate the shroud of fear

 So life may once again bask in your radiance

I’m no poet.