The day things began to change, actually started out like any other. I was shirking my homework assignments by talking to a friend, the way you do on a Sunday night, and suddenly there was a faint static-y voice overlaying theirs. I could still hear my friend but there was something else I couldn’t quite make out. When I asked them if they could hear it too…
…they laughed condescendingly and said, ‘Sometimes I worry for your sanity, Charlotte.” I racked my brains, wondering where I had heard that unsettling voice before. It wasn’t even a distinct voice, more like a moan, yet I faintly recalled hearing it on my last trip to London. I was standing inside St. Martin-in-the-Fields Church, listening to an orchestra practice for their latest Baroque concert. From the adjacent hall, a soft moaning was emanating from the closed wooden doors. I remember walking towards them, ditching my family, and feeling a sense of unease wash over me. I continued to creep along, thinking that even if something did happen, at least my dead body would be found in one of the most beautiful and quaint churches in all of Europe. Suddenly, the door and the gentle groan didn’t seem so foreboding; they were more mysterious and horrifically lyrical than anything else…
…I noticed that I myself couldn’t hear what I was saying. “What’s going on?”, I thought. Before I knew it, everything around me was in sepia, no more colors from the spectrum, it seemed as though time itself had stopped. Words ran through my head quietly, almost as a whisper in my ear. A chill ran down my back, the feeling of being scared and confused draped over me. I had to find a way out…
…of this frightening situation. It seems like someone or something is trying to send me a message. But is this a good power or a bad one? I don’t know if I want to sit around frozen in time to find out…
…Suddenly I heard the voice again. “Stay, stay, stay,” it whispered hypnotically. I felt my want to leave drifting away. It was replaced by the need to do whatever the voice told me to do. “This way,” said the voice. I followed the sound…
…It lead me to the end of a long hallway, and through a huge oak door. “Wait,” I thought. “I just walked right through that door!” I found myself in a dimly lit room, with a candle burning in one corner. Soft piano music floated towards me. I heard a woman’s voice, singing an old jazz tune I had heard once. As I looked around, I noticed people sitting around tables. They were speaking quietly to one another, not with the British accent I had expected, but rather with an American one. “How did I get across the Atlantic?” I thought…
…As I glanced around the room, I noticed people sipping strong coffee, and folks reading strange poetry to one another as they sat around small round tables. I was asked to sit down by a nice older gentleman. He offered me a cup of Joe and a cigarette. Then he asked, “Do you take sugar in your coffee?” I nodded and asked for a spoon. As the spoon passed in front of me, I was shocked to see my own reflection.
Then, the man commented, “You seem upset, which is too bad as you are looking so lovely this evening.”
“My reflection, it’s all wrong. I’m all wrinkled, but I’m only sixteen. It was just yesterday evening I was avoiding my homework and chatting with my friend, Brittney, when I heard a soft whisper.”
“Incredible. Brittney’s here tonight, she’s…”
Just then the announcer came to the stage. ” I’m proud to announce Ms. Brittney LePois.”
It was undeniably my best friend Brittney, from my school days. This must be my future. But why am I here?
“I know that woman! Well sort of. I knew her many years ago. Why is she here and now?”
“That’s what I was trying to tell you. Brittney’s not just a beautiful singer, she also elegantly takes out zombies.”
“That’s whacked out! How could I not know any of this.”
As the music swelled, the light intensified and I was suddenly transported back to that Sunday night on the phone with Brittney and the haunting voices.
“Are you still there Charlotte?” “Shh, quiet I can almost make out what the voice is saying now.”
As the minutes wore on, the crackly disembodied voices became clearer and clearer.
“Brittney I think it’s you, it’s your voice.”
Finally Charlotte was able to make out these last words, before the connection was severed.
“Someday you’ll walk into a jazz club. A man will offer you a cup of coffee and a cigarette. RUN! He is a zombie,as is the saxophone player. GET OUT BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE!”