Why oh why did I come back here? After having made it home under the threat of heavy rain, I was back by the footpath leading to his house.
I looked around; it was dark, and the tall grass and shrubbery seemed to be mocking me, “how much longer did you think you would have been able to hold out against the pull, Ilith?”
Ilith? They are calling me Ilith? Are they tongue tied or something? It’s Ilis, Ilis with an S.
The leaves rustled and the plants swayed and parted, letting me through. I cannot recall walking from the road to the house so I must have floated.
There was no need to knock, the massive front door, made from what looked like mahogany wood, was opened. I entered a low building that was more like a rudimentary mountain cabin than a real house.
As my eyes adjusted to the dim interior light, I stood still, not moving an inch. Bumping into things that move in the night was not my shtick — well not unless I knew what it was, and where it was going.
The cabin was unfinished. There were parts that, if you look up, the stars can be seen winking at you. The floor was tiled in some areas, and others were bare concrete. There was a large kitchen and living area. Two chairs and three small square tables made from the same material as the door, completed the furnishing. A long rope with three knots hung from a trapdoor in the ceiling. I vaguely wondered what was up there. Maybe a state-of-the-art observatory where he made contact with his people?
But what made me gasp, was the walls.
Each bit if concrete and wooden surface was covered in paintings. These were not ordinary pieces of art. They were beautiful and vivid and powerful and vibrating. All the colours of the rainbow, plus shades in between were used to create the art. Many were scenes from nature — butterflies, trees, birds, and I even saw one piece that looked like a cloud of fireflies with bottoms depicted as glowing light bulbs. The flies had bright green eyes. They looked a bit menacing.
Near the back door, scripted in purple paint against a white wall, was a series of numbers and symbols and shapes in long, sequenced-liked equations. I am no math whiz, but they appeared to be complex. They did not look like the calculus people like me suffered through during high school.
Feeling strangely drawn to these figures, as if on some level I knew what they meant, I stood and stared.
“How was the trip over, my dearest? You took a long time in coming, but finally you are here. Welcome.”
I did not even bother to turn around. It was him. I was the fly in the spider’s parlour and given that I came here on my own volition, all bets were off. I was prepared for the consequences of whatever happened tonight.
I. Trudie Palmer
One Love