Inquisitive: Part 15
By Hassan Izzo
I stood up again. “What happened to the girl?”
“She rejected the opportunity to become an agent for our mission out of hand.”
“So, what happened to her?”
“She is where you do not want to go.”
My grandmother stood up as well and I backed away. “Stay there.”
“You too will have that choice and I beg you to make the right one.”
“I don’t want to hear any more from you.”
“But you must, and you will. As I told you, I can put you back in your body. It is an option that I have fought very hard for because, despite everything, I was being truthful when I said that I wanted you to have a life. But what you must realise is that if you go back, it will merely be delaying the inevitable. You will still have to decide.”
She moved closer to me and I backed further away. “Don’t come any closer.”
“You can walk by my side and live in eternal bliss.”
“I don’t want to join you. You’re evil! Why would anyone want to go to hell?! You’re evil!”
“You must change your perceptions of good and evil. You must. We are the side you want to be on. We will be the winners.”
“Get away from me!”
She backed away from me before suddenly grabbing her throat like she couldn’t breathe. It was like she was being gripped by an unseen entity. Finally she was released and gasped. “Grandma?” Any concern in my voice was involuntary.
“You must make the right choice or you will end up – “ She grabbed her throat and went through the same process.
“I don’t care OK. I refuse.”
“You will end up…”
My eyes widened in terror as everything behind my grandmother fell away, replaced by a vista of raging, roaring fire. The flames formed anguished, despairing faces of terrified people; too many people.
“In the fires of hell, to burn for eternity.”
I looked into the eyes of my grandmother and saw them turn jet black. I knew instinctively that something else had entered her body.
“I do not care what you choose, you are mine now anyway, another soul for my collection. You are mine.”
The voice was demonic. It started to laugh. I couldn’t take anymore, I felt like insanity had consumed me. “No, let me go, let me out, let me out of here, let me go!” I tore at my flesh, crazed with fear. The evil laughter continued. “Let me out, let me out!”
I opened my eyes.
“Oh my God he’s awake!”
“My baby boy, my baby boy.”
I blinked several times as I tried to get over the feeling of disorientation.
“He did it, he pulled through.”
“My son, my son.”
“I knew he’d be OK.”
Three voices; three voices that I recognised. I tried to sit up.
“No, no, stay as you are: relax, a doctor will be here in a minute.”
It was my mother, father, and best friend. My eyes darted back and forth, taking in their faces. They all leant in; smothering me in hugs and kisses. “Mum, Dad, Kevin.” My mother was smiling and crying all at once.
“Oh it’s so good to hear your voice,” she said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “No more OK? No more stupid, little crazy things OK? No more.”
“I told them everything,” said Kevin. “I had to. You passed out but you didn’t wake back up like we thought you would. Everyone was asking questions. I had to tell the truth but after I told them what we were doing they asked why, so I told them about everything. I told them how it was something we’d done since we were kids; done things to see what would happen.”
“It’s OK, it’s OK.” I looked at my mother. “No more. I promise.” I turned to my father. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too. We all did.”
Like any other writer, Hassan Antonio Izzo is happiest when he is sat at his desk putting words down on paper; whether it be updating his blog, working on a short story, script, poetry, journalism, or wrestling with his first novel. If anything stands a chance of getting him away from his desk, a few drinks with friends would stand a good one. His biggest claim to fame is that Quentin Tarantino loved his Mr T t-shirt when he met him; which was pretty cool.
A proud South Londoner, you can follow on Twitter @Hassanizzo86