“CONFESSION of a GHOST”
a novel by Alexandra Kryuchkova
in the “PLAYING ANOTHER REALITY” series
39 BEFORE/2 AFTER. HOUSE No. 1
*****DARK TOWER*****
***
Somewhere in the Universe
“Scared, Rukh?” the Guardian asked at the door of House No. 1.
“Yes,” I admitted.
“Don’t be afraid. It’s not the place to get really scared.”
I obediently opened the door, stepped inside and expected to see anything, but … I ended up on a fragile suspension bridge, swaying from a gale force wind over a raging sea! The wind longed to break the bridge and throw it into the abyss. The bridge led to an island surrounded by a high stone wall, behind which there was a Dark Tower, going straight into the sky.
“Where are we? What’s happening?” I shouted to the Guardian, and huge waves crashed down, clearly trying to drown us.
“Let’s go, let’s go,” the Guardian led me to the iron gates of the fortress, and they at once opened obediently, and behind them…
…it was so quiet, as if the raging sea didn’t exist! A stone-paved path led up to the Tower, where a few ghosts flashed in the windows. Butterflies fluttered over beautiful flower beds on either side of the path.
“How strange everything is here! Even the flowers,” I involuntarily burst out, “they are beautiful and sad. Why?”
“These are violets,” the Guardian sighed, and I noticed an old monk approaching us.
“Hello, Rukh,” said the monk, piercing me with a deep gaze. “Health and strength to your Angel. The sea is almost always restless here. A storm is about to break out. Come on, let’s warm ourselves by the fireplace.”
We entered the Dark Tower. A candle appeared in the monk’s hand. He lit it with the power of his mind, and we climbed a narrow spiral staircase up to the top floor to a tiny door decorated with a skull and the inscription “Memento Mori”.
The first thing that caught my eye in the cell room was the absence of a roof, the starry sky spread over us with the Moon floating across it. A bare stone floor. A small window without glass, but with bars. A wooden table by the window, with old books, a pen and an inkwell. A rocking chair by the fireplace with a cracked mirror above it. The walls were adorned with candlesticks and icons with Saints, each of whom smiled in response to my mental greeting.
“My name is Saturn. We are inside your Self, Rukh,” whispered the old monk, sitting down into an armchair by the fireplace blazed instantly.
“House No. 1 is self-consciousness,” the Guardian confirmed, “what kind of person you are inside, not outside, your ‘ego’.”
“Egoism and pride don’t threaten you,” Saturn chuckled. “House No. 1 turned out to be not a luxurious palace, not even a castle, but the Dark Tower on an island that occupies only 13 degrees out of 360 in the Circle, designed for 12 Spheres of Life. You’ll be lucky with the number ‘13’, since your first breath falls on the 13th degree of Cancer, and ‘your Self’ Sphere has 13 degrees.”
“The door opens at the moment of the first breath,” the Guardian clarified, “House No. 1 is also called the House of Life, and its owner is the Master of Destiny, in your case it’s the Moon. Since the Moon is too far from here, Selene is a fictitious planet, Sirius is a star, so Saturn plays the dominant of Destiny role, having the maximum impact on your Consciousness.”
“Angel, don’t rush! Jumping up the Stairs is a thankless task, you may hurt yourself,” Saturn stopped the Guardian and materialized two chairs for us. “The island is located in the sea, in the Sign of Water, Cancer. You are an emotional and sensitive girl, subtly feeling the non-manifested and hidden, our Subtle World, or Another Reality for people. They say that such as you live without skin and have amazing intuition. We are talking about the Astral or Starry body – a super-sensitive soul, which is always in search for protection and care, a stone wall. One day you will build a high stone wall, shutting yourself off from people because of the acute mental pain they have caused, and your Dark Tower that goes into Heavens in order to communicate with our World, occasionally inviting the chosen ones, with whom you don’t need to be afraid of being wounded or killed.”
“Cancer means a delicate body and an impenetrable shell, right?”
“Yes, exactly. Children are comfortable with you. They feel the world as you do. But with adults… At the slightest threat of discomfort, you’ll withdraw hiding into yourself. Caution, shyness, fear of expressing emotions for fear appearing ridiculous, molded from a different dough. Amazing imagination, but innate self-doubt and fear of change. The task is to reveal the talents generously provided by Heaven, and, stepping on the throat of fears, to share with people the results of the soul’s creativity.”
“And my mother? Won’t she protect me?” I asked.
“Of course,” Saturn sighed, “for people like you, the support, approval, love and care of loved ones are important. There is a strong attachment to the well of the Past and mother. The well is hidden in the basement of the Tower. Diving into it, you’ll become a deep personality.”
“Will I have a big family?”
“The family is not to be mentioned here,” Saturn sighed again. “Anyway, you’ll strive to build a cozy nest in a quiet harbor in order to feel safe. When you acquire a shell, people will no longer understand who you are – the stony expression on your face will become your mask. Unlike most earthly women, you are unsociable and laconic, though you know to listen and hear, you have the ability to speak without words. Look for those with whom you can communicate as customary here. Your Selene tends to help people. You are inclined to self-sacrifice. A devoted, honest and faithful, but easily inspired soul, you are open to magical influences, primarily by husbands and / or business partners. You’ll be deceived and betrayed, however, it’s better to be betrayed by someone than to betray someone.”
“Will I live by the sea?”
“You’ll love and fear it at the same time, painting it from childhood, even before you have seen it with earthly eyes. What did you feel walking across the bridge?”
“Fear,” I agreed with Saturn.
Suddenly, thunder rumbled outside the window and rain poured down instantly.
“Uranus is naughty,” Saturn sighed. “Well, I’ve said enough about your Cancer essence, the Moon will tell you the rest.”
Ghosts began to appear from the cracked mirror, surrounding me and pulling me into …
***
Library of the Universe
“I don’t understand,” I confessed to the Guardian, as I took a seat in the Reading Hall, “why are there, in my Consciousness, ghosts appearing and the monk living, and the sign ‘Memento mori’ on the door to the cell? Saturn said nothing about himself, the Moon sailed over the Tower in the distance, and the sea wanted to drown me.”
“Not all at once, Rukh! The Stairs must be walked, not jumped. Listen attentively and absorb the information. It’ll be easier to remember on Earth.”
The book flatted open at page with “The Girl and the Sea” miniature.
“She used to sit for a long time by the Sea at sunset, the Girl in a pink dress. Lost in thoughts about something, she was gazing into the Sky. There was a Mysterious Land in the clouds, where winged people lived. Lilac castles beckoned her to them, in their quaint gardens fabulous flowers were fragrant and magical birds were singing. The wind carried unusual aromas and echoes of enchanting melodies to the Girl. And she also saw familiar faces there, they smiled and called the Girl to their Heavenly Country, to the City of the Sun. She dreamed of getting to them, but didn’t know how to do it, because she had no wings. The Sun was setting into the Sea. Warm waves caressed her legs, singing a quiet kind song that she had heard from her mother when she was still a baby. The Girl looked around, but there was no one on the shore, and she felt completely lonely. The gloomy Rocks didn’t understand her, because they couldn’t feel anything, however, that was the reason they would never die. The Rocks, as usual, were only watching silently the picture at sunset: the Girl and the Sea. The Sun was approaching the horizon. The waves were whispering louder and louder. The Magic Country floated away, losing its outlines. The Girl was standing by the Sea, and her tears fell onto the waves, and the Sea became salty… The seagulls that flew to the seashore in the evening didn’t find anyone there. The Sun sank behind the horizon, and the Night came. Somewhere far away in the Sky, the seagulls noticed the outlines of an unknown City. They wondered, what kind of City it was, being situated not on Earth, but in the Sky. They had never seen such cities before! And the two most curious seagulls decided to make a flight to the mysterious City, but they had not enough strength to reach it. And the Girl disappeared. The Rocks no longer saw her there, on the seashore, at sunset. Only the book left by the Girl on the coastal stone reminded them of her existence.”
*****ON THE BORDER*****
***
Ouranoupoli
I woke up to the alarm at 9:50. I had a strange dream, but Ray… what did he try to say? The Island of Violets actually existed. Michael, an excellent poet and deputy minister, had invited me once to that cafe to celebrate the release of his book, which included also some poems dedicated to me. Michael dreamed of celebrating my wedding in Italy.
I went down for breakfast. Nicolette’s mom used to cook herself. Her breakfasts were much tastier than in hotels. My room was more spacious, and what a gorgeous balcony I had! In the afternoon, the Sun left it, allowing me to dine enjoying the view of the islands in the azure sea; at night, the Moon used to float by, and a mysterious multi-beam star winked me. The house was built on a rock overlooking the sea, in a word, I lived on the top floor of the mysterious Tower in order to calmly talk with Heaven without fear of tsunami. Funny! I was lucky on “13”, that was the number of my apartment on Athos, my dacha and garage, my ex-husband’s flat in Moscow, the last digits of my phone number and so on.
Rising from breakfast, I ran into the maid and asked her not to clean my place every day, just to take out the garbage, since I liked to feel as at home.
The sea – sea – sea … After swimming, I used to plop down in the white sand by the distant rocks, and then to return home, buying on the way some ice cream and fruit in Acropolis Tavern’s minimarket, where I occasionally had dinner.
After reading “The Girl and the Sea”, which hadn’t much to be corrected, I fell into childhood memories, but at exactly 18:00 – I loved everything systemic, not digesting chaos and since it was too hot during the day – I went for a walk to the Athos border, taking with me the Akathist to the “Seeking for the Perished” icon of the Virgin Mary. On the way, I visited the Church of Saints Constantine and Helena, where there were the “Gatekeeper” (Portaitissa), “Quick to Hear” (Gorgoepikoos) and an old icon of St. Petka Paraskeva, beloved by the Greeks and me. The icon of Petka, I had bought on St. Stephen island in Montenegro, where I had lived in a castle on vacation a long time before, was the first hand-painted icon in my house. In Ouranoupoli, you could enter the church in any clothes and shoes, and Greek women didn’t cover their heads with scarves for the memory of the war with Turkey – a protest against Muslim customs. Inside the church, there was air conditioning and chairs for parishioners to sit, except for special moments of liturgy.
The road to the border with Athos started from the Tower and went to the left along the sea, perpendicular to the main street. In about 30 minutes you could see the Zygou monastery, the monument “Protected by UNESCO”, the golden coat of arms of Mount Athos, barbed wire and a small customs house, although in 99% of cases, if the sea wasn’t stormy, they got to Athos by ferry, not by land. I liked that rural road – past the vineyards and olive groves, the lands of local residents, and the tiny luxury hotel “Sketes”, where I wouldn’t have stayed, because the sea after the Tower was different, it changed dramatically, turning from kind and homely to spontaneous and harsh, as if the real border had been located at the Tower.
I reached the border and habitually stopped at the ruined Zygou, first mentioned in 941. Usually access to the excavation area was closed, but Sophia, Dimitra’s daughter, had taken me there and shown all sorts of interesting and curious things. I turned right and walked to the sea along the barbed wire, greeted the Holy Mountain and read the Akathist. Guards by the wire – wasps – were flying to scan intentions, but I wasn’t going to cross the border, and they left me alone.
Sophia had shown me a mysterious cove of stunning beauty to the right of the border. There was a small passage between the rocks, and during the evening tide you could get inside and out only by swimming, so it was no sense to take any value with you – everything had to be left on the rock at the entrance. I climbed one of the rocks to meet the sunset. The Sun was like a burning candle. Having taken a few photos, I found ghosts distinctly manifested on them, so I sent the photos to my friend, Svetlana, and, raising my head, I saw … I could swear, it was the same Monk from the airport! He walked slowly along the shore, sat down at the rock nearby and met the sunset too. When the Sun disappeared, I wandered back. The Monk followed me and turned towards the customs house. I exhaled in relief. There was something about him that distinguished him from other monks, but what?
Dimitra was chatting with her husband and brother at their icon shop opposite the Tower. She greeted me with a smile, offered coffee and asked about my day.
“I went to the border. How is Peter with the keys doing?”
“I’ve phoned the twin monks. They say it’s August and they are full of festive events. I can send you Peter by post in about nine months,” Dimitra offered, handing me coffee. “Today, a couple from Serbia has bought two printed icons, and a man from London, you won’t believe it, has taken away your favorite ‘The 4th Generation’! As he’s entered the shop, got frozen and said, ‘I want it’.”
London… I felt something sank inside, and at the same time I saw the Monk, the very same one! He went to the square in front of the Tower, crossed it and…
“Sorry, I have a client!” Dimitra whispered and ducked into her shop, and I took a few steps towards the Tower, but Dimitra returned, “False alarm!”
“The Tower, you say it’s closed…”
“Yes, already for several years. They say the state has no money to maintain the museum. And there’s a problem with the roof. The tower is higher on the old postcards. We get earthquakes from time to time. The top floor collapsed, and there is no money to restore it,” she explained and held out something wrapped in foil. “My mother asked me to give it to you personally! Gingerbread, she cooks herself! For tea!”
After thanking Dimitra and her mother, I headed for the Tower and, abruptly slowing down, walked around it from the square side, then from the seaside. There was a lock on the fence, a lock on the door, and no light in the windows. However, I could swear by all the Saints, that Monk had entered it just a couple of minutes before!
…I couldn’t fall asleep for a long time, so I went out onto the balcony. It was too quiet. Too black the sky. The Moon wanted to tell me something, but the icon of the Virgin Mary at Janis’ shop appeared on the inner screen, and I heard, “Come on, Alice! Remember me, remember!” Yes, there was something important that connected me with the icon, but what? I went back to my room, lay down on the bed, turned off the night light, and tried to fall asleep again.
***
Somewhere in the Universe
In a building with many doors, people with wings were rushing at lightning speed. One of them, who looked like Guardian Angel, grabbed my hand and quickly led me down the corridor, as if we were late. In the queue at the Information Desk, I spotted the husband of my Moscow neighbor. He smiled and waved at me, wishing me good luck, or did it seem to me? – there was too noisy! – either from the wings rustling, or because at each door there were crowds of people, vigorously discussing something. We went up to the top floor and went through the door with the inscription “Live broadcasting”. A white-robed winged clerk was diligently scribbling words with a feather and an invisible ink in a ghostly book lying on the equally ghostly table. However, everything in the mysterious building seemed rather vague. Having finished with writing, he glanced at us and asked,
“Standard?”
“Yes, Bro,” nodded the Angel.
“What’s your name?” the clerk turned to me, I answered, he wrote down my name, put a tick next to it and handed the book to the Angel. “Put down the dates and time yourself. And sign it. There was a precedent here the other day. I was accused of putting the wrong number. They began to figure it out and found the Guardian’s fault. It was exactly midnight there, and the clock was a little behind!”
“When will it be sent?” asked the Angel, signing the paper.
“We have a new decree, three times a day in live broadcasting, so don’t worry, Bro, it’ll reach everyone! Good luck, Alice!”
I wanted to ask what that meant and where we were, but someone called out to me. I turned around and saw Ray. And instantly… the building was gone. There were no more people, no clerks with wings, just the black sky, the stars, me and Ray. Lightning ran across the sky. It flashed in red zigzags and died down, flashed and died down, but there was no thunder anywhere.
“Ray, what’s going on?” I asked.
“Lightning,” Ray replied calmly, coming close to me.
“What kind of lightning?”
“Telegram”.
“Telegram?” I was surprised. “To whom?”
“To the whole Universe, Alice,” Ray replied and … disappeared.
***
Ouranoupoli
I woke up. It was still night on Athos. I went out to the balcony. Absolute silence and too black sky, not a cloud, when suddenly … I saw the same flash as in my dream! The sky flashed with red zigzags and died down, flashed and died down, flashed and died down…