The voices. They seemed incessant, clanging in Julia’s head as if she had summoned them or contained them inside the small recess of her brain. Despite the profuse effort she had deployed in the attempt to silence those demonic voices, they remained as thunderous as ever. She mostly heard her stepfather, his voice, barely a whisper, slick and slimy, casually expulsed from his throat. The words were ghastly, terrifying even. Julia could not see him but the voice was emanating from the woods and despite the rustling of the dead leaves and the grotesque howl of the owls, it was crystal clear.
-I won’t hurt you. Come touch me, come look at me, come smell me.
Julia shut her eyes, attempting to eradicate the voice plaguing her brain and her soul. She was powerless against this mere sound, barely a whisper that reminded her with a shudder of those nights years ago in the woods with her stepfather.
She could not disregard, nor would she ever completely abolish the pungent memory. His scent of cigarettes and whisky could not simply be washed away and his brutal, lingering touch would never be forgotten. Julia despised that place: the dark and damp environment of the woods irked her and his voice was akin to the rapid snakes that swiftly slithered away amongst the tall reeds.
Despite the mental defence she had excruciatingly erected, she always began at square one. Revisiting those nights, hearing his whispers, her own terrified pleading. The fear that lurked in her heart everyday succeeded in liberating itself at night, mercilessly clawing its way through her body when she was weakest. At last, she would fall asleep many hours later, exhausted by the infinite torment. The next morning, she would be relieved to see the clear morning light, to perceive the sound of a blissful bird’s chirp; aware that merely a few hours later she would be once again reliving her nightmare.
© Copyright 2009 Lenna Rivoli (UN: bookworms at Writing.Com).
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