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Cindy of Ravenswood

Caretaker of the Elderly

By William L. Truax IIIPublished 2 months ago 10 min read
Cindy of Ravenswood
Photo by Valdemars Magone on Unsplash

There is a difference from right and from wrong, here, my thoughts do not align. I was always under the impression that they were good guys in the world and bad. Now I am not too sure. Let me first introduce myself to you, my name is Cindy Poppins, I am a caretaker for the elderly here in Ravenswood, it does not matter what their fault is or was while they were alive, rather younger, now that they are old and feeble mind and body. It is my task to take care of them in their final days. This is where I say the lines blurred between what is good and what is bad. To give further note in this I will try my best to recall the conversation from one who has passed, as well as one whom is waiting to pass.

It was my fourth year in the service. When I met this kindly old man. He said his name was Menon and he was a battle-hardened veteran. Fighting in the many great battles such as the demon of Helm’s Kepa, or the battle of Kirkland Falls, he also claimed to have been the battle of Ever More (a battle that I have never heard of), he said he was knighted once and then removed of knighthood the following second when his life was spared. He had gone on to claim such great and magnificent deeds of heroism and heroic valor, it was one night he called me over and asked me to grab his hand as he had a parting message to give to me, and I sat at his bedside holding the dying man’s hands.

“Cindy,” his voice garbled and sounding distant, not that of the old man I was used to, “I need to tell you all the things that I had done for the sake and well-being of my family. From the day that I insulted the King after he knighted me till now. Everything has been done in the ways of protection and love. Forgive this old man for the atrocities that I have done. I have taken many lives. I have destroyed countless homes and families and villages. I have decimated armies and men. I have decimated and annihilated the wounded and those unable to fight, those unwilling to fight, I have plundered, I have ravaged the landscape and the women folk of our enemies, I have crossed the lines between what is good and what is evil and all of the same time I did everything for the sake of protection and love. I see now that I am no better than anyone else. Please forgive this old man for all that he is done.”

I held his hand as he was taking his final breaths, I whispered in his ear that he had not done no wrong, I had whispered that all of his sins had been forgiven and that he was fine and there was nothing to hold him if he did not wish to be held. I told the man all the good things I could possibly do and all the things I could possibly say. And then he said one final thing to me; “Watch for the Hand, it is not what it thinks it is.”

I did not know what he meant by that. He did not last the night. Despite all the questions and concerns I had for him and his well-being for his soul and for his family. There were so many questions left unanswered. I had no idea that time what the “Hand” was referring to meant, nor did I expect such a kindly old man to have said so many atrocities that were all in the name of righteousness and justice that they were all in the name of such heroic valor and deeds that even now his name is still in songs and dances. It was not until a couple of days after that, another kindly looking young man came walking in with an older gentleman. The young man had stated his father was ill of mind and body, and he was not able to take care of him and asked for my services to which I accepted. I brought the old man in without even a single thought, as many elderly gentleman in my town. They all become like this. It is as if growing old became a curse. The people of mind that altered them from all the damage they had done to themselves was more heart pulling and heart aching then it was destructive to them, sadly for them they did not know what was going on and how badly their mind was altered at the same time, I can attest to the pain that causes for the family members who endure this battle.

His name was Kyle “A” Mere, he seemed to be the youngest of all of our old gentlemen in our home. As though I was the only one taking care of them, there were several others. But this man stuck out to me differently than all of the other older folks that were in the town. He was of strong will. But his mind had been altered. He spoke of the darkness and of the light. He spoke of a great battle as if he was a prophet of some kind, and his vision had altered his viewpoint of everything. He spoke of a man who he knighted long ago and, due to an insult about of his wife. He was removed of his nightly status. This man then went on to talk about how the days of the lights were coming to an end and how darkness would reign once more over the land, the great corruption and catastrophe of all ages, how the world we plunge the darkness for ten years to forty more and in that darkness. The only light would be of fire, and in that light, fire would be but the enemy, and in that enemy. There was no hope, only damnation, only the plague-ridden rats to feast upon, the grubs of the earth would be washed away, and the evil one would rise as lightning would strike every town at once.

“Candy! Candy!” The old man would call out to me mispronouncing my name, his voice aged with time, it sounded more horse than when it could have been in his younger years, “Come hither to me quickly, make haste!” He would call out shortly after each time he wanted my attention. And of course each time I would go to and remind him that my name is Cindy Not Candy, “Candy the darkness it comes, will you be able to tell me if you are alive or if I am? Will you be able to discern fiction from truth? Will the walls of reality bend and break to the will of the master that is to come? Candy will you hold my hand?”

“Yes, Kyle,” I would say each time, not even bothering to correct him repeatedly, “I will also sit by you and see if I can answer your questions as I do every day.”

“Will you give parlay to this old man? I will harm no one but I am daunted and plagued by visions that no one sees, voices, no one hears, thoughts that are not of my own, will you parlay this old man?”

“Kyle,” I began to the old man as I had done every day, “you are far too young and too stubborn to think of such matters, you are not dying anytime soon. And yes, I will pardon you when that time comes.”

To my surprise, the old man then closed his eyes, and he took in a deep gas as if it was his last breath from some great battle that he was fighting, and he never woke back up. It was as if right then. When I told him like I had done many times before that I would pardon him if it came to that time, and it appeared that it did. And again I was cast into a world with immense questions and emotions. There seemed to be nothing left but a childlike face and a childlike wonder of the world. Though this man seemed to of been haunted by things that no one would understand.

It was that day, when I gave him his pardon, when his eyes closed for the last time, as if they itself had its hand and destiny, the son reappeared, he had not come to visit at all before, but here he entered, as my head hung low over the old man. I felt his hand, icy, cold, and clammy, place itself against my left shoulder and in a whisper into my left ear. He gave me the most chilling words or rather phrase that I have ever heard; “Here Comes the Sun (or Son.),” and then he turned and walked out as if nothing was left or that the old man meant nothing to him, I did not know what it was that he meant, but then he walked into the child and the two of them stared at the old man lying in his bed, they stayed there for about a minute or two and then told me to burn the old man’s body as they walked out. That night as I was bringing the ashes of the old man to his son, the chill in the air as the darkness whirled around me, it felt as if a hand was about to grab hold and yanked me and spin me in a circle around and around and would not let go. As if I was on a carousel or merry-go-round spinning so fast that it was uncontrollable, it was then that a bright fall of light appeared on the horizon, and I knew that the old man had foreseen something.

It has been ten years since I taking care of the elderly and their families had given to me the food and water, and clothing. I needed, to not only take care of them but myself as well. Ten years to the day that the old man told me of his or warning prophecy when the world would turn the darkness, and I have watched, I did listen, and here in Ravenswood, the dark Knight is coming, like an oncoming storm, he is coming to take what was owed to him, lightning had struck everywhere at once, and the only light is given to us by fire, and in that life, we hear that dark nights voice calling out to us, every day and every night. In all the history of Ravenswood, this was the first time he were not first on the list, but our men were first the fight and first to fall, and now it is up to us to stop what is become the ending of our time.

If this letter survives me, then I know that Ravenswood and our people have survived.

The sound of the drums are calling, the war is about to enter a new tone, I watched the younger men draw lines on the battlefield with women side by side, young and old, rich and poor, and I am the last of the younger women folk in the village though I am in my elderly years now. I am the only one able to take care of these older men. And I watch and I wake. The drums are calling.

Young AdultthrillerShort StorySeriesPsychologicalMysteryHorrorFantasyCONTENT WARNING

About the Creator

William L. Truax III

Disabled Veteran, Father of 2.

I am a teller of tales and dreams, visions, haunting melodies, subtidal invocations of the mind and song.

Many of the Tales here interact with each other in some way and all within the same Universe.

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