OK gang. Here we go again! Please let me know if you guys think this is better!!
I’m awake. It’s dark. This isn’t right. I peer through bleary, sleep encrusted eyes at the glowing digits on my evil alarm clock and realize it’s a god-awful 4:03 AM.
“Ah what the hell,” my mind enquires, cruelly disturbed from its rest period.
My boss is out feeding her cows right now and here I am awake (after four years I still haven’t decided if she is dedicated to the herd or her being up at this time of morning is sheer lunacy). I still have two and a half precious hours of sleep left but yet I’m awake. Probably drank to much water last night.
“Go to the bathroom and go back to bed,” I mumble under my breath.
I go to stand up and find myself laying face down on the floor with my favorite olive drab Puma’s staring back at me. At this point my brain registers extreme pain, kind of like when I had my kidney stones. On the same level but not the same place. Force a golf ball through a straw and imagine how much that hurts. Or have a baby. Something along those lines.
I force myself up to my feet and I feel as if someone slid a dagger in into my ribcage.
Flip on the light.
Look in the mirror.
“Oh my GAWD!”
There is an angry purplish spot the size and shape of a serving platter wrapping around my side where it would be hidden by my left arm. I look down at my arms and see that they are covered in nicks and scrapes, but it’s weird because they look like they have begun to heal like into little faint white lines.
Granted, I’d had bad dreams before, heck I even elbowed my wife once during a bad one, but this is a first. Holding onto the sides of the pedestal sink for balance, I turn the water on as cold as I can get it and manage to splash some on my face and freshen up.
“Idiot. Now you’re awake,” once again mumbling to myself.
I decide it’s coffee time.
Stumble down the stairs to the kitchen.
Throw in a pod and brew a cup. Take a big whiff and I begin to feel like a member of the human race again.
Nothing else to do when it’s this damn dark out.
A couple splashes of cream, three spoons of sugar, and a couple of ibuprofen later, I sit on my favorite perch, my leather couch, with my feet propped up listening to the night sounds in the house.
There are none. Silent as a tomb.
Sitting down was a big mistake. My eyelids feel like someone has tied heavy fishing sinkers onto them and they begin to slide shut, so of course at that moment the dogs begin to wake up. My buddies, Jersey and Shiloh.
“Outside” I ask, which is silly because they always want to go out for an appearance of the magic Frisbee or tennis ball. They wiggle their butts in agreement so hard they slide across the grey concrete floor, so out to the patio we go. Coffee, dogs and the early morning. What more can you ask for? More sleep.
The dogs do their business and into the silent house we go. My best friends betray me for time on the bed with Mommy.
Back in the living room I peruse my eclectic collection of books on the shelf next to the television for something to read. I entertain the idea of turning on the television but then I’ll never get to sleep again and who really wants to watch another infomercial about a great kitchen invention!
“Zombies, Nuclear War, Zombies, Knights Templar. Ah that will do it.”
I grab my copy of The Knights Templar: The History and Myths of the Legendary Order by Sean Martin and sit back down and wonder why I grabbed that particular book. Haven’t read about the Templars in ages. I open the well worn cover and out falls a thesis I had to write for a college class about the persecution of the Templars.
As I read, my eyelids become like a ship’s anchor dragging me back to the dark depths of sleep. I know what is happening and silently rejoice in the fact that I’ll get a tad more sleep. Maybe I will be fresh for more tedious programming work today!
I drift of to sleep, book in my lap, college paper in my hands and coffee on the table.
My eyes snap open.
Maybe it wasn’t too much water but too much of my favorite cider, Strongbow, the night before.
The room is stark white. That type of white that if there is too much light you’ll go blind. White, like the blizzard of ’78. I’m still stretched out in my chair, in my t-shirt and flannel pants, looking into an abyss of whiteness.
“What are your intentions?”
Out of utter abject fear I say nothing.
“What are your intentions,” I hear repeated.
“To go to work, come home, play with the dogs,” I say, only my mouth doesn’t move. The thought just broadcast from my mind.
Again the voice. “What are your intentions?”
Thank you Katherine Kurtz! I remember now why this sounds familiar. The Adept Series. This is the Great Hall of the Akashic Records.
“To protect the light from the dark,” I spit out.
“Who are you?”
“A humble servant,” I reply.
This has to be the weirdest start to a workday ever.
I begin to see images in front of me. Things I recognize. My face. The blood red cross of the Knights Templar. Two men on horseback, the symbol of the Templars. The drooling face of what I know as a zombie?
I realize I’m watching the playback of a movie. Or the history of untold events.
This is where the real story begins….