How am I mad? You’re the mad one!
My name is Lord Jaden Smith, but you may call Lord Smith. London during the 1500s was a spectacular place and I was the son of the wealthiest man in the metropolis, yet something caused me a great sense of unease. I lived in house, a beautiful house that my father had bought me, but there was something strange about the house; it was an abandoned house. The previous owner had retreated into the house and never came out again. At the time we were buying the house the estate agent pestered my Father into listening to something very important. But my Father dealt with that… the blade of his sword kissed the man’s neck a bloody forever night’s sleep.
Now I regret ever letting that poor man die, because ever since I entered that house a contagious depression suffocated me, making me its prisoner. One day, as I orientated my way through the gloomy hallways of the house, I entered a room and that was when I saw her.
Her? Who was she? What was she doing in my dwelling? I had to be rid of her.
I swiftly devised a plan that suited my needs. Every night I tried to talk to this spirit in an attempt to find a way to allow her to peacefully leave, but every night I failed. I became paranoid with rage and confusion about why this spirit would not go.
I brought the priest but he claimed to see nobody – when she was smirking right in front of him. That day was the day that I no longer had faith in the church; if God couldn’t help me then who could? As a cause of that a Sunday was never a significance of mine, I didn’t have a God, a religion, a faith.
I was an unbeliever.
But the day came when my parents brought the church to me. What had they been saying, suspecting?
“Jaden’s been possessed…His inner soul is not clean.”
Yes, it must have been.
Or was it the priest? Could it be that he was the one who planted this demon into my dwelling. Yes! Had he been asking of me? Could it have been that I was his next target?
No I would not allow it.
The woman then appeared with rage burning in her eyes; what I did next was what she ordered me to do. The corpse of the Priests and Nuns littered the floor of her shrine, my chambers. But why did she make me do it? She appeared behind me afterwards, and with anger I shot my dagger out of my hands and towards her. To my satisfaction she vanished.
It was at the darkest hour when she arrived, as I woke from my sweet slumber. She stood by my bed, a tall, dark figure. ‘Who was this person?’ I had thought at the time, with a beak as a nose and fingers paler than I had ever seen.
Something didn’t seem right.
But her eyes, yes it was her eyes that made me uneasy. Her eyes a piercing black penetrating through my very skin, as if observing my inner being in the most peculiar of ways. As if her eyes had a mind of their own they kept staring, watching for what? Who sent her to my chambers? Fear lorded me over, commanding me to keep as still as a frozen statue. My mind shouted at me to strike with the tip of my sword, but I wouldn’t. Couldn’t… It was a spirit. Fear got the better of me. Not only was I too weak but I was I coward. She placed her hands on me; as she did so a spearing cold gripped my body and made me shudder. I think she felt my disapproval because instinctively she flinched backwards. A heavy silence ruled the room, allowing the wheezing of my panting breath to bellow out.
My hand quickly gripped the welcoming handle of my sword; I had hid under my bed dress. Courage exhilarated through my blood, breaking the bonds of fear. I ruffled my bed dress. No! Did she hear me? Did she know that I was awake? She then reached for something. That was when I acted. With fear driving my courage, I struck out, with only murder on my mind.
My sword ripped through her chest, yet oblivious to my sword she reached for my heart. She left with my heart, my soul.
Now I lie below the church grounds. Dying but not dead.