Pedant «The Devil’s fingers»

Author: Praskovia Vlasova (Girhasha)

Material: sterling silver or bronze frame and orthoceras (fossil).

Status: for sale

"I cannot get rid of a repeating nightmare since I moved here. Small details change every time but the general plot remains the same.

In this obsessional dream, I stand on the edge of a long chain of rocks that goes far into the rough sea. The giant trees of deep forest make rustling noise behind me. Though a shore is so far away that stony beach resembles a narrow grey line, the tree crowns with dark-green foliage hang over the horizon like storm clouds. The wind mauls furiously crests of the high waves crashing at the foot of the cliff. Salt splashes cover me from top to toe; white sea foam licks the soles of my bare feet. I stand in the middle of the battle between primaeval nature elements, even the air around me is electrified.

There is nothing here except the roaring wind, the rough sea, the clouds veil and crudely squared rocks near the wild forest. This world is reigned by an emptiness and a dreary solitude. I know that these rocks were formed by rains and storms and this forest have never witnessed any bird singing or animal crying.

Fear and loneliness has gradually begun to fill my soul as a midnight cold fills a house with a kindled hearth. I can hear vague voices in the sea.

Suddenly, the wind that used to almost come through me, increases. His furious gust pushes me against my back and throws me in the black depth of the sea. At the last moment, I grasp a sharp stone jut which cuts my hand like a knife. The waves roll more often trying to catch me and to take me away. I cannot even scream for help because the silence and the dreary solitude of this place stifle my inner cry.

It's not the wind that unclasps my fingers, not even the pain, it's the growing emptiness in my soul. I fall down and waves instantly close up above my head. All the sounds cease and the light starts to dim more and more as I sink to the bottom. With all my strength, I try to come up to the surface to get rid of water column grip that squeezes my chest with its iron bands. But someone's cold slippery hand grabs my ankle and pulls me down.

I wake up in a cold sweat and try to convince myself that it was only a nightmare. I do my best not looking at the visible scaled prints of monstrous fingers on my ankle which will be there for the next couple of hours. The loud noise of surf and wave roar makes me shudder from horror. I cannot believe that it sounds only in my head. However, there are only an old dry river channel, dust and mountains outside the windows of my new house. River water has gone away long ago and there is only one reminder about it which are oblong black cylinders with prints of ancient shells in the dried up riverbed.

Might they really aim to drown me? I tried to leave this place, but the sea noise in my head did not cease even for a second, no matter how long I was driving the car. I cannot hide. I feel the call of a sea which disappeared ages ago."

© 2015  Извне.