Forum Home Forum Home > Writer/Book Forums > Writer's Showcase
  New Posts New Posts RSS Feed - The Accuser: a short story
  FAQ FAQ  Forum Search   Events   Register Register  Login Login


Forum LockedThe Accuser: a short story

 Post Reply Post Reply
Author
Message
Paolo Macachor View Drop Down
Guru
Guru
Avatar

Joined: June/05/2006
Status: Offline
Points: 1756
Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote Paolo Macachor Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Topic: The Accuser: a short story
    Posted: November/29/2006 at 11:03pm
THE ACCUSER
by Paolo S. Macachor

And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.
- 1st Corinthians 13: 13



Abigail Kaanyag, 25 is my soul mate. No, we're not in a relationship...
at least not just yet. But we agreed on this certain divine pact to be
in one way or another the desired end of our great expectations.

I'm Bruce Bacalso, 26 and I work as a video editor in Modern Cebu
Television (MCTV)... Abigail is a drama teacher. In this memoir,
I am gonna grow ever closer to Abby Kaanyag... because it is also the
recollection of my prophetic nightmare, that Abigail will be shot
in the heart... the triggerman being myself.

I woke up to this nightmare in a fit of exhausting hyperventilation,
wearing nothing but my Hanes undies, I threw water over my face in
my apartment's only washroom. When I stood upright from my stoop
to the sink, there I saw him yet again... The Man dressed in the Grim
Reaper's robe, the man with the contentious, bearded face with an
evil warrior's piercing gaze... it was my hallucination. My imagined
apparition. The Accuser stood and pointed and bobbed his pointer
finger in a gesture of blame, like always, he grinned maniacally and mouthed
those 2 words of hatred. The words of anathema and alienation:
"Hala ka!!!!! Hala ka!!!!"

Then, after accusing me of being my soul mate's own assassin - he vanished.
Leaving me wounded with fright and dread, and an overwhelming sense of
guilt.

***

It was February the 14th, 2006.

Later during the day, I was cutting a segment where MCTV reporter
Nancy Salimbangon interviewed Mayor Alfred Go about his sense of
liberalism of allowing topless nude female dancers to perform in his
Eroto-Sinulog exhibition to be held at the Serge Osmeņa building in Jones
Avenue.

And then it happened, in the computer monitor, in the cropped screen preview,
I saw her in her sky blue, sleeveless dress and my right hand holding out a
Glock 19 - trigger finger ready. BLAM! Her heart reduced to smithereens. I jumped
back from my seat in surprise, startling my colleague, Fred
and as a hallucinogenic punctuation mark - The Accuser's face flahsed subtly but
perceivably and he wore a malignant snarl. I merely heard a whisper for an aftershock,
the ominous whisper of the word.. "Hala."

I must need therapy, though I quickly regained composure, Fred slapped
me in the back, perplexed but still a reassuring friend. Yes, I need help.
But delusions or not, my prophetic nightmares, to me are nonetheless tangible enough to be
qualify as genuine sepulchral warnings.

"Nah, I'm ok Fred.", I said.
"Well... okay, whatever you say," was Fred's response. Not really believing my obvious
denial of my state of tension.

Oh God. Today, today I had to contact Abby and confide in her all these peculiar
and delirious manifestations.

Right before I finished work at MCTV, I sent an SMS to Abigail asking if I could
see her during the night. After that I got her positive reply, The Accuser manifested before
me again and said, "Midnight." I saw an amazingly detailed vision of the Glock's
double action firing pin striking the primer of the bullet, exploding and ricocheting out of
the ejection port, my supposed soul mate at her moment of death....

The Accuser snarled, "Kill her... Mang Nardo will still be my vessel. Shoot her. It's the
only way."

***

Little did I know that Abby kept a Glock 19 for home defense. She tucked it under
her bed and with it a 10 round magazine but not yet in condition one. She dressed up
in that sky blue dress and Hawaiian skirt, her top being the wardrobe she wore in
my dream. Abby is also an actress - well, was.... she starred in Independent Cebuano Films.
All four of which where directed by , "Mang Nardo" - the prolific 60 year old filmmaker whose
themes ranged from politics and in the case of ANG KABAN NI VAN DAMME - Van
Damme's Chest; also costarring Abby - it dealt with erotica and homosexuality.

Personally I hated that film, Abby's character Mona was raped by the f**got when he made
his transition to heterosexuality.

I even spoke with Abby and we came to terms in agreeing that the material, well in ALL of
Nardo's material is vile and ungodly. I am no saint, I curse, I get even... I... Anyway,
Abby once told me, "Bruce, dear, showbiz is too much... few people get to own their souls in
the stratas of upper class life." And further she stated that the infidelic and worldly complexities
that surround the quasi-Westernized Cebuano filmmaking scene. Nardo's producers paid her 80
thousand Pesos during each film, half of her earnings she donated to the non sectarian institution
called ORPHAN WATCH (anonymously) and now she invested most of her earnings in the
business of a cybercafe - ABINET... Only a year younger than myself, she is now the CEO of
her own venture of individual proprietorship. And as if God has recompensed her from departing
the corrupting, devolving world of showbusiness, her sideline and her work as a teacher pay off
very very well.

Save for herself and househelp Boy Kuarisma, anonymous to all are her contributions to ORPHAN
WATCH.

She merely checked the pistol under her bed and as she went downstairs, the doorbell rang.
These little details, I found out not because I am a voyeur who spied on her during the moments
where I supposedly wasn't on the scene, but through her recollection... as she is aware of myself
creating a journal of my ... our uncanny experience.

For the record, Abby is trained in firearms use and she even has a liscence to carry... although
her Austrian weapon usually stays put at home... She was trained as a sharpshooter in
Mang Nardo's action film, "Tambokikoy nga Higayon" (Fat Chances)... I didn't like that
film either, it was her second movie... it was very well made, but it was dark and it did
no good whatsoever in alleviating the human condition.

***

We sat on the floor, in the carpet, like Japanese, and Boy prepared us dinner... Unlike the
S.O.P's of class marginalization of househelps and masters, to Abby there was no such S.O.P.,
Boy Kuarisma was to eat supper with both of us... he was 50 years old. A loyal servant. And
with what Abby pays him he might as well be called a butler.

"I will be ready with supper in 45 minutes,", said the man named Boy.
Abby smiled.
I nodded in acknowledgement.

I told Abby every single occurence during the recent time. I told her I was certain it was a
hallucination. But it was too good and too vividly prophetic to be a product of mere
hysteria.

"Abby, look.... I haven't been really exactly close to you recently... but I love you... Tell me,
tell me a reason why I would have to shoot you..."

At this Abby's face tightened. She swallowed, and then went on to say, "It must be my father's
curse..."

"What?"

"My father, he was a practitioner of the black arts... The occult. It was Satanism... Any practitioner
of the black art and his offspring may be subjugated even through no will of their own to the
lawless one..."

"What are you trying to tell me?"

"I have encountered the devil."

***

Hala ka - those 2 words literally meant, "Watch out you!" But the nuance and the way it is
normally uttered in the Cebuano language make it all the more a malevolent, ominous and
accusing phrase... Little did I know, until tonight that one of the devil's titles is The Accuser.
As he was thrown down to earth, he would accuse the brothers and sisters of the Lord,
day and night because of his wrath that his time is short...

First of all, I didn't really know what to make of this sudden foray into the world of religious
mythology... After my parents died at an early age, when I was 22 - just when I had something
to prove to them after numerous fiascoes as a college student... It's PAINFULLY tragic to
experience the loss of people that you love at a time when that is right to cherish them the most
and to make peace with them.

As a result, I stopped saying my prayers and started relying on things that are physical, tangible
and easily reliable in THIS LIFE. I didn't care about God, Jesus or Mary and Joseph... I didn't
give a damn.

And as we ate dinner, I still wanted to maintain the possibility that this must be some sort of
psychic energy, maybe a genuine prophecy from myself - but nonetheless The Accuser being
a construct or archetype of delusion.

We had Lumi noodles and fried chicken, and as I've primed you to expect, Mr. Boy ate with
us... His mind was busy as well, he was pondering...

"Bruce... Yes, I've seen him too, the guy with the hood, bearded... dressed like the Grim Reaper...",
said Abby.

At this my eyes widened with terrified awe. But she could have been pulling my leg, because -
I've already described the manifestation in my dreams... in my visions.

"He told me..", she continued, "that on the night of February the 14th in my 25th year on earth,
he will take me over as his vessel.... because I will have the prominence and grace necessary
to alienate the masses from God... the Filipino masses and at a time when what we call
the local filmmaking industry is growing..."

I raised an eyebrow, "But what about Mang Nardo? What has he anything to do with this?"

Abby shrugged, "Hey it's a little obvious that he's one of the people in the industry ushering
in the neglect of values, religiosity and the essence of responsibility. We know Nardo's films..."
Abby took a deep breath and continued, "The devil told me, the possession will take place
at midnight. My 25th year, 14th of the second month..."

She swallowed, "And the only way it isn't gonna happen is if someone kills me... because
Satan can't ressurect the dead... The weapon I own for home defense is a Glock 19... it's
upstairs, Bruce."

***

It was 10: 45... Boy Kuarisma was extremely tense and uneasy. Of the three of us,
he was the only one wearing clothes suited to ward of chills of either environmental,
or psychological causes...

"Abby, I don't want the sight of that gun...", I told her...

She brought it down awhile ago.

"Bruce, I don't know how trustworthy the devil is... but when I encountered him
vis a vis Aragorn meets the Grim Reaper, he told me... that there is an alternate
prophecy... something that he HATES."

This was all very hard to swallow for me, the concept of demonic prophecies, a
grand plan to sow perdition amongst our local "Hollywood", and my soul mate
speaking with the lawless one... But I had to ask, "Someone else is going to die?"

And right after that query, The Accuser... Satan appeared in front of me, and taunted
me once again. "Hala ka!!! You have no hope... There will be no alternate endings...
Because Mang Nardo will die tonight.... and SHE, She alone will be my vessel...
The filmmaking industry is mine! The media is mine!"

"Be silent!", said a guardian angel, to which the Accuser reflexively responded
by evaporating. No it wasn't a guardian angel after all, it was Abigail who said it...

I was catching my breath, "You saw that?"

Mr. Boy was pale and he was trembling, "We all saw that, young Mr. Bacalso,
sir..." Boy was pressed against a wall.... Abby's face was an expression of
righteous fury. For some reason The Accuser did not ever frighten her.

***

Voices. I was tormented my voices... Whispers. But all coming from The
Accuser, Satan, the father of lies... They were random thoughts, free
associations, as if the ruler of the damned was ventilating his catharses
to me... "Never... made peace.... with God... and man.... parents .... death...
your fault..... God hates you...... Parents... your fault...."

"Arrrrgh!", I moaned.

After the voices ceased their torment... Abby parenthesized my ears, and
said, "Bruce? Bruce?!!"

I took a deep breath... "I'm okay now.... I'm okay..."

Abby then said something that I couldn't fathom, it was either because
I was in a state of disorientation, or the content of what she was saying
was undecipherable in and of itself, "One Kay Oh Are... One, Three,
Eight..."

"What?"

"It's a recurring dream I've been having Bruce... One Kay Oh Are,
One, Three, Eight... I think it has something to do with the
alternate outcome of the demonic prophecy..."

This was wayyy too much for me. "Oh God, give me a break... now
a bunch of codes and numbers to decipher to keep you from
having to be shot? As if.... My unwillingness to shoot you isn't enough.
Shouldn't we be getting some sleep now, Abby?"

"Erm... yeah, I need rest, I have papers to check and videotapes
of performances I have to review but... I don't feel like dozing off
NOT tonight!"

And, right then... a knock on the door came.

"I'll take that.", said Mr. Boy with finality.

***

It was 11: 15.

The man standing in the doorway was Mang Nardo. He was dressed
in a tattered white shirt and pants. He was haggard, and he was carrying
a San Miguel Beer bottle, he barged into Abby's living room and
tossed the bottle towards the far wall. To this Mr. Boy flinched.

"Why?!", Nardo cried out.

I blacked out when he elbowed me in the chin. I was on the carpet,
according to Abigail... As loyal a servant Boy Kuarisma was, he was
also a coward, he ran off... and Abby was left to fend for herself against
a geriatric madman.

"Why?!!!!!!", Mang Nardo howled. Abby grew tense. She backed up,
up onto the stairwell where Mang Nardo prowled tauntingly. As if
assailants under the influence still know how to taunt...

***

Skin. Physical attractiveness. The feminine physique. Cosmetics
was the modern world's definition of beauty... and making out in
your car, or you and your lover's special place of solitude, or the
first episode of lip locking was this world's definition of love...
How tragic, how shallow....

Mang Nardo continued to prowl and climb up the stairwell while
Abby was climbing - up as well, yes but backwards...

"Why? You could have been the industry's.... number one icon
of elegance... and beauty... and love.... you could have been
the object of men's covetousness.... But now, I lost my job
with the producers of my pseudo-Indy prod co because you
backed out!!!!!"

Abby did not respond. She wanted to make her way to the bedroom.

After she dashed past a hallway on the second floor, she finally did,
she locked her door, made a deliberate fall to her sides and reached
under her bed... No gun!

***

"I've heard about your critique on the priviledged lifestyle Abigail,
I know your indifference to hedonism... and your hatred for life..."

More taunts from the evil filmmaker, and the door was starting
to give way as the old man was frantically ramming it with his
body.

All this Abby experienced while being isolated in her own room.

"But you see... your hypocrisy is evident... because you wouldn't
give this 2 story house up for a shanty..."

Disorientation. It happens. When people panic. Abigail panicked,
which is why she forgot that she had tucked her Glock 19 under
her sky blue blouse, and tightly fitted between her waist and
Hawaiian skirt. She whipped it out...

Mang Nardo finally broke down the door... but BLAM-BLAM!
The loud report of 9 millimeter fire erupted, and the 2 rounds
struck the geriatric, maniacal, perverted, and depraved sociopath
of a filmmaker in the sternum.

He fell prone with a thud! on Abby's wooden bedroom floor.

Abby told me that she can somehow adopt easily to the heavier
"kick" of the pistol... she has tried firing 1911 pistols, and slightly
larger models of the Glock series. The Glock 17, also a 9 millimeter
and the Glock 22, which fired with 0.40 caliber rounds...

This was justifiable homicide, hopefully... although he was an old man,
Nardo was armed... with alcohol, and manic fury. He was that....
plus dangerous. Although Abby was not too prissy as to feel she
has lost the innocence and gentility that was essential in being a woman,
she took no pleasure in putting 2 rounds of lead in the homicidal
director...


***

I woke up my ass still seated on the living room floor
, this is where Abby told me everything that happened.
"We have to call the police!", I told her.

"I must second that motion.", said Boy... who just came out
from hiding.

"It's 11: 55, Bruce...", Abigail said...

After this, a sudden, subliminal appearance of the Accuser cackling
"Halaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" startled me. Immediately, I stood up, and
Abby rose from her crouch.

Abigail handed me the Glock 19... "As incredible as all this sounds,
Bruce... I think I eliminated Mang Nardo, The Accuser's optional
vessel... he's gonna use me... I don't know how... But I may be
a danger to the Cebuano... and the Filipino society with the ways
the devil willl...."

I instinctively grasped the frame of the Glock and held the pistol in
my hands but I retracted from doing what she wanted me to...

"Abigail? What are you talking about!!! I won.... I can't... I...."

Abigail held the slide region of the Austrian weapon, and aimed
it for me on her bosom.

***

Semantics. Why wouldn't I call Abigail a girlfriend... or a lover...
Or even attach to that at least the prefix "Ex"... Abigail and I
have come a long way, we were friends at the end of high
school, and all the way through college... She dated some back
then, she even "went out" with me, whatever that means... but
much more so than intimacy in the carnal sense of the word,
we felt a connection in our journey through adolescence
onwards to early adulthood... and though we didn't share the same
proximity of interactionism when we moved out of the academe
(though Abby remained, technically, because she teaches), we
still felt that strong connection TODAY, that our little joke of
being soul mates was still a normative aspect of the way we relate
to each other.

I didn't dare put my finger into the trigger. The Glock has a
safety protruding in the trigger itself, but the feeling of having
such a dear person coersing you to train a weapon unto herself....
was reviling. It was repulsive. It was depressing!

I don't know if Abby knew something about hypnotic trance
induction, but the next thing I knew was that my right index
was already on the trigger.

I saw the clock on the far wall. 11: 49....

Abigail's eyes misted. But Jesus, were my eyes soaked with
fat tears... I was sobbing.

"Make your peace with God and men.... by doing this act
of atonement... sacrifices have to be made, Bruce... God's
way is more important... God's appeal for the betterment
of spirituality in man...."

I sobbed.

The Accuser appeared and howled.

BANG!

***

It took me awhile to recover.

It hurt....

It hurt my eardrums, that is.... No I didn't shoot Abigail.
But, this was the first time ever that I fired a weapon, and I
trained it to the direction where The Accuser, Satan himself
vis a vis Grim Reaper stood.... The shot punctured a region
in the concrete wall of Abby's living room.

But he howled with fury... and disappeared. Abigail was
never possessed.

***

One Kay-Oh-Are, One Three, Eight. 1KOR138.
It's been 2 years since that tense and eventful night
at Abby's. She is now my wife... and she is carrying
our first child...

This is the power of love.

1KOR138.

The cryptic numeric figures that popped up in Abby's dreams...
She was immune to the curse....

1KOR138.

1st Cor(inthians) 13, verse 8... Love never fails... Where there
are prophecies, they will cease...

This is the power of love. Well, okay, I'll give you this,
we are mushy on each other, and we still have the fire of
romantic passion... But it was the love in the broader sense,
that made Abigail immune to Satan's plan of possession....

She left the vile filmmaking industry.... she never kept much of
her earnings - the residue of profit from being an actress,
or the cash she rakes in from Abinet... she gives. She donates.
She loves.

As for me, I still work at MCTV, and encounter the eccentricities
of being a media man... But now I say my prayers at night... and
I look at love as something MORE than just kissing, pecking, or....
going to bed with my wife at night....

When I look back, I find out more about the intensity of my fear
and anticipation of the days when I dreamt that Abigail would be
assassinated by yours truly... The Accuser was never to be heard
of from midnight that night... Where midnight relieved Cinderella
of magic, it was that same stroke of time that put cessation to
Satan's grip on our lives because he knew of his failure....

So if you're rather uptight reading this, I, Bruce Bacalso would
like to end with this note: Pray... live life... find someone to
fill your empty space... have fun... give... sacrifice..... love.

THE END.


Back to Top
Sponsored Links


Back to Top
 Post Reply Post Reply
  Share Topic   

Forum Jump Forum Permissions View Drop Down

All my sites | Web Wiz Hosting Services | Privacy policy