EVIL Unmasked

Journal entry 57, Date: February 2nd, 1938

His eyes had a shade of deathly blackness, like that found in the endless depths of a lifeless ocean. An unspoken evil slithered like a serpent in its dark depths. Even on the day, I first laid eyes on him, the day he was born. Am I the only one who sees it? Isn't it so visibly profound? He can't be my son, can he? Can black magic really conjure a living entity from nothingness? He is the devil's offspring, the spawn of Satan himself. Nonetheless, I finally saw Sheryl smile today, from the heart, after years. For her, he's the most beautiful thing in this universe. She loves him. Deeply. Maybe too profoundly for my liking. We have named him Ezekiel...

Journal entry 60, Date: March 3rd, 1938

I am terrified. Every day now is a state of perpetual gloom and terror. Sheryl is so aloof. It's like I don't even exist anymore for her. She stays locked in her inner chambers with that goddamn sword. There are constant-dark chants in tounges never heard before, emanating from her room over the past month. Oh, my dear Sheryl. She's driven mad by the sword's dark influence. I knew it was cursed; I knew it the moment I laid my eyes on it. I want it to sink it in the deepest ocean. I need to wait.

 Ezekiel is a month old now and strangely hardly ever cries. He has this habit of staring right into my eyes with a gaze so penetrating, that it makes the hair stand upright on the back of my neck. I need to keep an eye on him.

Journal entry 78, Date: August 3rd, 1938

It's monsoon season again, the only season that fills me up with joy and jubilation. But yet, the rain pours with dark, relentless energy, almost as if, an act of vengeance. The days are now dark and sun-less like the nights. Sheryl has now become increasingly paranoid. She has now become increasingly suspicious of anyone who comes around Ezekiel and the sword. Ezekiel has learned to crawl now with uncanny dexterity and speed. He cries at the holy sounds of the neighboring church bells and shrieks in terror when the men of faith come to meet me for the community donation-related activities. Is this normal? I am worried.

Journal entry 107, Date: June 3rd, 1939

It's been over a year now that I have had one decent conversation with Sheryl . Its almost like that sword and Ezekiel are the only inhabitants of her frail, dark universe. I am all but a speck of dust in it. Unconsequential, unimportant, and my existence upended. All she does, all day long, is stare aimlessly at walls while murmuring incoherent phrases or chants. Ezekiel too mingles only with her mother.

Something is unnerving about him. I bought a dark black Cheshire cat yesterday, hoping against hope that my son would play with it, bond with it, love it for once as normal children do. But alas,it was not to be. The cat screeched with a horrifying snarl as soon as I bought Ezeikel in front of it, fearing for its dear life. It seemed scared to its wit's end, almost as if it had sensed an evil presence. Don't animals have the inherent gift inherently of spotting evil from a distance? Last night, I slept with a cloud of doubts as heavy as the despair that's growing in my heart. I woke up today to the loud cries of the chambermaid this morning, wailing incessantly. I rushed below to the antechamber, only to find the most horrific sight, greeting my eyes, filling me with instant dread. The dark Cheshire cat lay there lifeless in a pool of blood, with its neck brutally severed by an otherworldly force. I haven't slept a wink since then.

Journal entry 117, Date: August 3rd, 1939

I have to bring an end to all this doom and gloom. The sword is the reason behind my life spiraling out of control and descending into a dark merciless pit of dark magic and unknown horrors. If only I had believed what the locals had warned about. About the sword being cursed and possessing a dark force that would only leave destruction in its wake, such that once stabbed, there would never be any return. I should never have smuggled it into this country, fort Kochi, nor the very heart of my home where it has managed to mortally wound my happiness and mental peace once and for all. I have to do something drastic, right here, right now. Tonight will be that night. I hope against hope that Sheryl never discovers this little secret. I sincerely do.

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The sword had fulfilled Sheryl, made her whole. The realm of the living would now be breached and easily conquered. It had been ages, where days felt like centuries, that she had felt alive. She had endured painstakingly, without a single word of protest or retaliation. 

After the sacrifice, that ill-fated day, when it had all gone awry, she had been reduced to nothingness, a hapless mass of bare existence. Though she had been vanquished, the dark powers of the sword had still remained in her blood and soul. She could still transition from both these worlds seamlessly. Vivid dreams of the "selected few" in the world of the living were the cracks that she could slip into from the world of the undead. Only her physical form eluded her there. Her ability to "astral project" even with a body that was as frail and delicate as a wounded animal had still not deserted her. In those dreams, she could breathe and was strong again, peeking into the lives of the selected few with inanimate ease.

She had used her ability to full effect by entering the dreams of the poor museum caretakers and tormenting them by taking the shape of their fears. Thus compelling them to deliver the sword in her hands. She had shown them the way, the secret gateway to reach her. Perhaps her greatest weapon was her ability to scar and wound the "selected few" mentally, even though she couldn't cause any physical harm anymore. But the wounds of the mind cut deeper than any physical one. But today would be different. She could now wound mentally and physically.

 She and he had still endured and prevailed. Her son, brought onto this world by her sheer power of will and the dark forces of the sword, was a warrior like her. After all, he was the prince of darkness, destined to greatness. He would deliver both the worlds, the living, and the undead, at her feet, at her command. He would come any moment now. After all, hadn't she moved mountains and a lake for him?

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Charu now knew what EVIL stood for. Ezekiel Varghese Was Alive, a truth that had been staring at her face, all this while!! This brutal truth had conjured a dark reality that had cost her dear friend's life and shrouded her own with constant looming dread and fear. The nameless entity- known only as EVIL until this point, now had a name, an identity that could be traced, an enigma that could be explained. Charu felt resurgent, a feeling that had she hadn't felt in the last few weeks. "The Verghese family history keeps getting darker and darker; it needs to be examined with a broader and brighter lens of the mind," thought Charu. Who really was Ezekiel, and how was he even alive?? Hadn't he perished in the fire that broke out in the Verghese mansion years ago, when he was just three years old? Every other report and news clipping during that time suggested so. There was something amiss, a hole that grew darker with every passing instance, every time she tried to venture deeper into the family's murky history.

Also, what was the strange connection she had with Sheryl Varghese? What were these dreams, these worlds that felt so vividly real whenever she fell asleep? The fact that she could have an out-of-body experience while asleep and relive every aspect as if she was magically teleported to strange places was beyond her. Yes, my dreams mean something. They seem to tell me something. I need to interpret them, for they will provide meaning to these strange happenings, thought Charu resolutely.