Sequel To : The Temple

Sequel To: The Temple

Finally the job was done. That was all she could think about. She was free now. Free of responsibility for the rest of the day. Day? She looked outside, seeing the sun set with beautiful beams of pink light. Her mother had always called these pink beams of light, angels. Angels coming down to earth to make people dream the most beautiful dreams. She would say, if you wake up after the angels have gone, you wouldn't remember a thing of your previous day and your nights dream. She knew that her mother said that to make her get up early to go to school, or do her chores. She had hated getting up early as a child. But she was forced to. Now, she could get up any time she wanted.

She continued looking out into the sky, she imagined her mother, sitting there, watching down on her, praising the good deed that she had just undertaken. It worried her, the fact that someone might know what she had done, before the time came, when she wouldn't care anymore. That was a long time away, and she needn't worry about people knowing her secret. It was safe. Nobody will know until she was gone. As she contemplated, she noticed a very brief, very faint, flash of black go down one of the beams. Trick of the eye, she thought. It was nothing.

At that, she decided it was time to go to bed. She was completely exhausted. It had been a very long day. Too long. Why had it been so long? It seemed like forever since she had first discovered that skull. Strange. She never realised before. A strange tingling went up her spine, as if she was being watched. She turned around, to nothing. Nothing but a strangely increasingly familiar skeleton lying in her room. Peaceful as ever. But why did it suddenly look so familiar. Probably because she had been working with it the whole entire day, she laughed. She was just tired. She needed sleep. That day in the sun had really taken it out of her.

She briefly undressed and laid her next day’s clothes out on the smooth gothic style oak dressing table that her mother had left her when she died. She adored the intricate designs on the side. Slightly pointed. She had gotten a few scrapes from it, however she would never get rid of it. It was amazing. She looked at the clothes that she had laid out. She didn't have many clothes, and the clothes that she did have, she usually bought in packs of three or four. So she had quite a few of the same clothes. These ones however, looked like they had been worn a million times, with holes in the knees, and rips in the sleeves; when did that happen? She studied the clothes. Again. That feeling. She had seen these clothes over a thousand times, but this time, she looked at them, and it seemed like a million. A million lifetimes. She looked around at her room again. Looked at the ever so peaceful skeleton lying there, unmoving, yet so alive. This was crazy, she thought. It’s bed time.

She lay down in her bed, listening to the springs creak. When did they start doing that? Usually beds only did that after ten years or so - and she had only had this bed for a few weeks. It was brand new! She then started thinking about her stupid sense of déjà vu. Poppycock. She needed sleep. She opened the third drawer of her bedside table. That’s where she kept her tonic. Her special tonic. That was given to her by her mother, on her death bed. A recipe handed down through generations. It was almost empty. She had a few more bottles down stairs. How many sips did she take last night? It was full the last time she looked. Usually, this would put her to sleep instantaneously. Not this time. This time, before she drifted off into a forced, dreamless sleep, it started.

It moved. Just slightly to start with. A small twitch down the slightly cracked bones. She stared in total disbelief. What was happening? Then its arm shot up. Like it was raising its hand to answer her internal question. It stretched its finger’s out, then put its arm back down. Just like nothing had ever happened. But she had seen it. She knew it. She was not just seeing things. This was real.

She stood up. Slowly, very slowly. The tonic was starting to take effect. Why did she take that. Her feet felt as heavy as boulders. Her hands felt like they were filled with steel. But she pushed through. She started to make her way towards the skeleton, lifting the shovel at the end of her bed into a pose similar to a professional baseball player ready to strike a ball. She was getting closer now. One metre; half a metre; thirty centimetres. She inspected it. It was amazing. The way it was so well preserved. Like it was put beneath the ground just yesterday.

She noticed that she was trembling. The shovel was heavy - she told herself that that was the reason she was trembling. But she knew deep inside, that was not the case. She was afraid. This was not natural. This happened in movies, in dreams. Not in real life. She moved her hand towards the skull. Ever so slowly. Like she was going to touch a nest of bees, or the back of an un-familiar dog. She was waiting for something to happen. Her hand hovered 10 centimetres above the head. She gradually placed her trembling hand down on the smooth cranium.

Nothing happened. But, what if it happened again? What if it moved again? The risk was too great. She would not sleep until it was back, where it belongs.

She put the clothes on, the ones on the dressing table. Some people thought that she was wearing the same clothes

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