Life can be mystifying. Things happen that cannot be explained.

But death may be more confusing than one could ever imagine. So it would seem in . . .

 

 

Stranger In The Night

 

A man of forty-four went to bed each night 

in fear of what he might dream. 

He tossed and turned 

and disturbed his wife and children 

with a menacing scream. 

 

When he awoke each morning, 

his head would throb, 

but he could not remember a thing. 

However, his left hand ached 

from a stabbing pain in his finger, 

just above his wedding ring. 

 

Night after night he feared going to bed 

and angered his wife 

with ridiculous excuses for staying awake.

She ragged on him 

to reconsider the late hours he kept 

and told him his annoying behavior was a mistake.

 

What caused these nightmares 

that raged in his head 

troubled him in ways 

he could not explain.

This torment persisted, 

interfered with his ability to function at work, 

and made him feel like he was going insane. 

 

In order to survive, 

he had to discover 

why he could not recall anything       

about his eerie encounters at night. 

He had never experienced something 

like this before, 

and he knew in his heart 

this was not right.

 

So he picked up the phone 

and called a friend, 

a man he had known for years, 

a man he could trust.

The phone rang and rang 

and then a strange voice 

echoed in his ear,            

which left him nonplussed.

 

Trembling, he moaned, 

“Who are you? 

You do not sound like Justin, 

the friend I tried to call.”

“It has not been a long time 

since we last spoke, Lawrence,” 

the voice resonated. 

“And what we talked about 

you should recall.”

 

Lawrence did not know how to reply 

and sat silent, trying to think 

of what they had spoken about.

The more he wracked his brain, 

the more confused he became, 

and then he lost control 

and began to shout.

 

“Stop playing games 

and tell me who you are, 

where Justin is, 

and what you want from me.”

“Lawrence, Justin is a figment of your imagination, 

the major player in your dreams—

the nightmares you cannot picture or see.”

 

“But I have known Justin for years 

and we have done things together 

and have served as each other’s source of support.”

“Yes, you have done that, 

but with me, 

two days a week for the last seven years. 

And you have made great progress, 

I am happy to report.”

 

“With you? 

I do not even know you. 

You are just a voice on the phone, 

but I have never seen you before.”

“Well, your wife was so bothered 

by your nightly troubles, 

she sought out a therapist 

who could provide assistance, 

answer your questions, and more.”

 

“But for seven years, 

how can that be? 

You would think it would be difficult   

to erase that from my memory.”

“Many clues to your situation 

have been discovered 

through the use of hypnosis, 

while other information 

you have kept hidden cleverly.” 

 

“So, if you are not Justin, 

then who are you? 

And what did you find out, 

as a result of my hypnotherapy?”

“Please call me Dr. Demon. 

And, yes, I uncovered a deep-seated fear 

you have kept a secret from yourself, 

and even tried to keep from me.”

 

Lawrence became very uncomfortable 

about what he might hear 

and began to shake uncontrollably.

“Secret? A secret I have kept from myself 

for so many years,” he stuttered. 

“But how can that be?”

 

“I do not think this is a subject 

we should get into over the phone—

it would be best discussed 

at my office later today.”

“I know you said I have been there before, 

but I have no recollection, 

so please give me the address 

and help me find my way.”

 

Later that day, Lawrence ambled down Wentworth Avenue, 

turned the corner onto Market Way, 

and climbed the steps of a building at the top of the hill.

He stared at it quite perplexed, 

for he knew deep down 

he had never been here before, 

and his insides churned, 

as he began to feel ill.

 

Something felt dreadfully wrong 

about this whole scenario, 

and he thought about turning around and running away.

But then his left hand began to ache 

from a stabbing pain in his finger, 

just above his wedding ring, 

a gruesome feeling he could not downplay.

 

“Trust me,” a voice in his head murmured. 

“You are on the right path 

and will soon find your salvation.”

The voice sounded like Justin’s, 

but he had been told Justin was not real,     

so this brought him even greater consternation.

 

His aching finger pulsated 

at a level so far off the charts 

that his head became cloudy, 

and he felt faint.

The world around him became murky—

he stumbled back and forth 

and then, standing before him, 

he saw his patron saint. 

 

Justin, dressed in a white robe 

and what seemed to be a halo circling his head, 

smiled and motioned to him to follow his lead. 

With no effort at all, 

he floated behind him, 

as if riding through the clouds 

on a gentle steed.

 

Murdered by his wife seven years ago, 

Lawrence had entered purgatory      

to expiate his sins, 

but now Justin assured him 

heaven awaits.

He became calm 

and the pain in his finger disappeared. 

No longer confused, 

he entered the giant Pearly Gates.

 

  

Copyright © 2017 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.