Under the veil

He glanced at the clock on the mantle, it was shortly after midday but he had no clear idea on which day, not since the fear had taken him. In his mind he positioned all the players in his life, where they might be, what they would be doing at such a time on any given day. Familiar faces brought some temporary repreive as did the thought of their everyday activity; so warm and usual, so comforting and normal. As briefly as he was comforted, however, he became painfully aware he was, in truth, home alone.

There was a strange stillness in the room, and he fancied he heard a muffled sound from the corner. A giggle? No, the sound was harsher. A cackle. Unmistakable, they were laughing at him again. Always the same, they mock him, they hide in the shadows and laugh at his pain. He had been terrified of them coming today. In truth, he had found it harder to suppress the sounds these past few days, or perhaps it was weeks? He couldn't recall. He used to be able to reason with them, to get some peace until she returned.

At the thought of her, the cackling stopped. She was his angel, the girl he had fallen for years before. She loved him despite the weakness of his mind, maybe because of it. The whirlwind abated when she drew near, her voice was soothing and her touch gentle. How could he tell her he felt so much weaker? How could he burden her further? No, she had a life to lead too, it wouldn't be fair to tell her about the fear. The cackling was back, this time there were more voices laughing, but the laughter was different, there was all of a sudden a heaviness to the air and a feeling of genuine menace. The air began to chance hue. He closed his eyes and promised himself this could not be, it was all a trick, their trick. The air could not change hue.

He slowly opened his eyes, but already everything was different. The air was tight around him, like a gauze wrapping. Every breath was a struggle. He was still in the room, but it had changed somehow. He could make out furniture, tables, the walls but it was through a haze. The edges of things had become soft, and the centre sharp and painful. 'It's all wrong' he whispered, and caught through the fog shapes moving. Children perhaps? No, they were cackling, they were here too, inside the fog, behind the veil, laughing and pointing.

He couldn't hope to survive in a world like this, he could trust nothing and hear no-one. Laughter and haze were all he could reason. The cackling swirled about his head like a furious drumming and shapes moved in the mists about him. He dropped to his knees. 'I can't see her face, I can't hear her voice', he cried out. 'He can't see her face, he can't hear her voice!' came a chorus in reply.

He curled into a ball and wept for what felt like hours. Slowly he realised the room was back as it was before. At least, it seemed so to him. He staggered to the chair and glanced at the clock on the mantle. It was shortly after midday, but he was not entirely sure which day. He was terrified.