As Above So Below

Clash. The sky roars with anguish as a sword of heavenly light strikes the earth with rage. The clouds cry heavily as the ocean, past the cliff, drunkenly sways in pure hysteria. Near the top of the cliff lies a cottage, darkened by the looming horde of clouds that dominate over the sun. One strike of light from the wrath above and the thatched roof will burst into flames. Clash. The sword of light strikes a nearby tree, sparing the cottage for another moment.

Warm light illuminates from the windows, white chiffon curtains obscuring the evil that lies within. Four windows cover the front of the rectangular cottage- two on the first story and two on the second. A door, meticulously hand-carved with love and painted white, rests in the center of the horrid home, complimenting the deliberate symmetry. Clash. For a moment, a nearby flash of light illuminates the deep, lush green of ivy hederas crawling up the cottage exterior, concealing the chipped white paint stained by the dirt and grim of time.

In the left window on the second story, a shadow briskly passes by. Then, a shadow crosses the window beneath it. Clatter. An immense roar of chaos, glass breaking and furniture flailing, abrupt from within the cottage, a unique own storm bringing about its own grisly melody of shatters and crashes. Shadows move across the bottom left window, creating uncertain shapes from the obscuring curtain. Clash. Another flash of light illuminates the foreboding cottage. Suddenly, the storm within the cottage is disrupted by a scream of pure terror, of one who so desperately wants to live.

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The sun, with warmth, shines upon the earth, reflecting the lush green of grass and sparkling upon the deep subtle blue of the ocean. The sky, with open arms, welcomes the merry flight of seagulls, calling their iconic song. Atop the cliff, the smell of grass mixes with the salty smell of the ocean from down below. A grey Sudan, after driving lonesome for a while on a gravel road, approaches a cottage. The sun brightly reflects the white paint, slightly chipped but hidden well by the ivy hederas creeping up the wall. The cottage is very symmetrical with four windows evenly distributed on the front, ruled by the exquisite white door in the center.

The Sudan pulls in front of the bright, warm, and welcoming cottage. Exiting the car is a couple, William, broad and tall with looming height, and his wife Clara, a soft beauty with elegant posture. William opens the trunk and pulls out luggage and carboard boxes. Clara, wearing a bright yellow sundress, stands in front of the cottage. Her face looks questionable with concern, to which her husband notices.

“Hey, you alright, my love?” William asks, setting a box down and walking up behind Clara, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“It’s a hut,” Clara remarks.

“It’s a cottage,” William chuckles. “The roof is technically made of straw, but look how sturdy she looks!”

“Does it even have electricity?” Clara questions.

“No, sorry my love. We’re gonna have to live like pilgrims from now on,” William satirically replies.

Clara scoffs playfully, “Yea and what am I gonna do? Churn butter?”

William laughs as he embraces her tighter. Clara lays her head back and rests on William’s shoulder as he replies, “In all seriousness, though, they wired the whole house about a year ago. That’s why I bought it. It’s functional, far away from everyone else, and looks timeless.”

“Yea, because paint chipping is timeless,” Clara remarks.

William gives her a kiss on the cheek before saying, “Touché, but you’ll learn to love it. Anyways, the truck should be here later today with all of our furniture and stuff.”

William and Clara break away from each other to grab the boxes and bring it into their new home. The interior is barren, unloved for many years. Clara sighs in doubt as William gently touches her shoulder, giving her a reassuring smile. In front of the door is a staircase. They both carry the boxes up the stairs, turning to a door on the left. Clara begins to walk in the door before William stops her saying, “Leave it outside the door my love.”

Clara protests, “But we should start unpacking the small things that we do have.”

Williams sets down his box outside the door as he says, “No. We need to leave it outside to bring in the larger furniture like the bed frame and dresser first.”

“But the boxes will pile up in the hallway and we won’t be able to get the furniture in,” Clara argues.

William sighs with indignation and agitation as he grips her shoulder, except this time not as reassuring. He grips her with significantly more force, driving into her shoulder as the sleeve of the yellow dress wrinkles from the sunken indents from his fingers. His eyes darken and eyebrows begin to furrow as he says in a demeaning tone, “Clara… don’t test me.”

Clara eyes lock with that of the devious evil standing before her. She does not say anything, but only places the box on top of his and heads down the stairs to grab another box.

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Clash. A stroke of light illuminates the horrid cottage as the clouds drown the world with its rain. Wind smacks against the house. Woosh. Trees are pushed violently by the wind, the leaves rustling rapidly and frantically. Clash. Another brief stroke of light. Craunch, craunch, craunch… The crunch of gravel can be barely heard rapidly approaching the door. Thump, thump, thump… Footsteps rapidly race up the stairs. A shadow passes the left window, and then again. Thump, thump, thump… The footsteps race back down the steps. Suddenly, the door bursts open. Bang!

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The sun is nearly set, and dark clouds are approaching. Clara washes the dishes and places a serving of tonight’s dinner in a container, placing it in the fridge and saving it for when William comes home from work. Clara finishes the dishes and readjusts the violet aconite flower in the vase. She then walks up the stairs to her bedroom. She turns on the bedroom light, the left window of the second story window illuminates from outside the cottage. She sits on William’s side of the bed and opens the second drawer of his nightstand. A pair of reading glasses rest on top of a couple of books. Next to the books lies a Sig Sauer 9mm pistol, one he got when he served in the army.

The sound of wheels rolling on gravel approach the cottage and Clara quickly closes the drawer. She peeks out the window looking for the grey Sudan only to find a small red Elantra. Out of the car steps a woman tall with fair complexion. Clara rushes down the stairs and opens the door.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Clara questions.

“I need to talk to you,” the woman responds. A few drops of rain begin to fall. The woman pauses a moment before saying, “Please.”

Clara clears the door, signaling the woman’s welcome. The woman walks in and both head to the kitchen, full of appliances and decor. The woman sits at the adjacent dining room table and Clara brings her the container of leftovers and a glass of water as she says, “Here. I know it’s a long drive and you’re hungry. Please eat.”

Jasmine takes a sip of water, eating the food. Clara waits patiently for Jasmine to finish.

“What are you here to talk about, Jasmine?” Clara interrogates.

Jasmine takes a sip of water, pausing before saying, “William.”

Clara sighs, glancing away from her stare as Jasmine continues: “You’ve been here, isolated, for almost three months now. I know he won’t let you contact anybody. It took me forever to find you. Clara, please, come with me and just forget about him.”

The rain drops outside have turned into a shower as Clara responds, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m happy here.”

Jasmine scoffs and says, “Are you? I now for a fact if he hasn’t started hitting you, he’ll definitely start soon. I know better than anyone what an abusive relationship looks like.”

Clara clenches her fists, saying, “I love William, and if I don’t know any better, I’d say you’re jealous! You’re just trying to steal him from me!”

Jasmine opens her mouth to speak, but struggles to get anything but a few incomprehensible sounds. Clash. A bolt of lightning struck a nearby tree. Clara, unbothered by the storm, walks to her flowers, caressing it as she says in a playful tone, “Isn’t this a beautiful flower? It goes by many names… aconite… wolf’s-bane… but my favorite name is ‘queen of poisons.’ It’s basically untraceable. I was planning on killing him and making it look like a suicide or accident, but I think life in prison would be a worser hell. And you came at just the right time! In fact, he should be home soon. What a shame to find out he murdered his ex-wife and almost killed his current one! The only thing I could do was shoot him! It was self-defense!”

Clash. Clara laughs cynically. Through a struggle, Jasmine attempts throwing the glass at Clara, missing, and breaking the glass. She stumbles, falling and knocking over a chair in the process. Approaching the cottage is the sound of wheels on gravel. Clash. The grey Sudan turns off. All jasmine can get out now is a blood-curdling scream, desperately clinging on to life. The footsteps outside pick up the pace, rapidly approaching the door in response to the scream. In a hurry, Clara runs upstairs, fumbling for the gun and running back down. Clash. Suddenly, the door bursts open.