Imago

IMAGO

S. A. Narciso

Published by S. A. Narciso

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2018 S. A. Narciso

License Notes

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About this collection

This is no ordinary short story collection. It's a mind-tingling, thought-provoking puzzle awaiting to be put together.

Secrets unveil as the reader goes on and images emerge from the wildest dimensions, among with demon-monsters, entities from inner space and horrific plot twists.

Are you ready to be scared and thrilled?

Are you ready for IMAGO?

Connect the dots and find out… and remember: anything you can imagine is real, otherwise you shouldn't be able to imagine it.

-First image: an old rocking chair, an elderly woman and a roaring fireplace. Matt will find out that there is more to a secret than the secret itself.

-Second image: dunes in the desert in the middle of the ocean; an island for tourists with unforgettable scenarios, almost otherworldly. Where exactly are the boundaries between dimensions?

-What does an empty entity look like?

-And what is the subtle difference between imagining and seeing?

-A tortuous-dark trail in the woods will reveal an ancient symbol depicted and carved through the eras of known civilization.

-Where is all this energy coming from? Are we all connected to a source, a field of wonders that can manifest to the awaken?

-Is it possible to prove a connection between past, present and future throughout a unique writing found in a cave?

IMAGO is a clear message, a hidden truth awaiting to be captured, decoded and disclosed.

This and much more…

Table of Contents

You want to know a secret?

Details

A ride to nothingness

Ogami

Strangers of the hidden path

Project IEA

Scripta manent / Written words remain

IMAGO

To everybody I've met and made a sincere connection with (or thought so in my imagination) in this bizarre dimension we call life.

You want to know a secret?

She was rocking back and forth on her old rocking chair.

Back and forth and then again back and forth.

Elisabeth was doing it very slowly, in an endless and almost hypnotizing rhythm.

Her face was like an ancient marble statue, staring intently at the roaring fire of the chimney as the cuckoo clock placed on top of the fireplace ticked away the seconds, the minutes, the hours.

Back and forth.

The fragile body settled on the wooden chair and the carved canyon-like wrinkles easily gave away her age. The red, orange and yellow flames of the fire were reflecting in the center of her gray eyes like a mirror; an old faded mirror, with no spark of vitality left. The flames seemed to passively dance in her eyes like tiny demons in hell.

Back and forth.

A very thick layer of warm clothing concealed her thin bones and body. His grandmother's hands always reminded Matt of sun-dried tomatoes since he discovered what they were and looked like.

Back and forth.

The surprisingly long, snowy-white and fuzzy hair was the first thing anyone would notice about her persona, even though her presence would somehow become the most dominant and uncomfortable feature felt by the people who occasionally passed by the house. To her grandson, she sometimes looked like an ancient mummy, particularly when the sun shined through the window, enlightening her outlines like lights do with an antique artifact in a museum; to be precise, she looked like a living mummy in flesh and bones.

Back and forth.

She scared Matt on various occasions; especially when the sunlight started diminishing in cold winter evenings, automatically enabling every sinister detail of her awkward behavior to come to life. She frightened a few men and women months after she was diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease. Like that time the electrician came in to fix a problem with the lights in the living room.

Elisabeth was rocking on her chair like she often did and Matt was spying the electrician from the upper corner of the stairs. He loved to spy everybody from up above. If he was careful enough to remain in complete silence, it was difficult for anybody to notice him from that spot. He found it fun to do, especially when he was playing around the house, imagining all sorts of adventures and childhood fantasies.

Suddenly his grandmother stopped rocking and croaked something in what seemed to be a strange language. She was clearing her voice in an attempt to speak; and she rarely did this. Her lips moved up and down as she spat with anger on the floor.

You ugly baboon! she yelled at the electrician.

The electrician, Mr. Harold, didn't expect anything like that while he was working with wires on a ladder. He almost lost his balance from the fright and fell down.

Matt couldn't believe what was happening. He started giggling nervously as his mother dashed quickly in the room from the kitchen to see what was going on.

Elisabeth's stare was dead serious as she was pointing right at Mr. Harold with mean eyes.

Get out of my house! she croaked.

It went on like that for fifteen minutes as Mr. Harold was forced to interrupt his work and to come back when Elisabeth's anger towards him would've hopefully boiled out. Matt's mother, Jane, was apologizing the entire time for her mother's temper.

Scenes like that were pretty common when strangers came in the house. In fact, nothing she said and did made sense in the real world anymore. Whereas in grandma's world, everything was in the right place and the timing was perfect.

That was exactly where she seemed to be in that moment from Matt's point of view: in ease with herself and with the surroundings.

(Back and forth, don't forget).

Then she suddenly stopped and from Matt's perspective, grandma's hair looked like cotton candy. A toothless smile appeared across her face; a strange smile. Her eyes were finally giving a sign of life, some lucidity. The smile was spreading and it was an expression that her nine-year-old grandson didn't like much.

Grandma, are you feeling well? he asked, already knowing he'd never be answered.

It was useless. He tried so hard and so many times to communicate with her, but it was like trying to find a road on a dead-end street. No energy was flowing between them. There were no meeting points between those two different realities.

Sometimes she would mumble a tune or whistle the worst song in the universe in response but that was about it.

How I wish you were a normal grandmother, he confessed in a whisper, knowing that no one could hear him.

She was the last surviving grandparent in the family and sadly, she never got the chance to talk to Matt when he was big enough to really understand her.

Matt remembered some words spoken by her granny when he was two or three years old; although all that was left were confused images.

She stopped smiling and her face turned slowly expressionless again. She went on rocking again, smoothly and endlessly. Rocking away, back and forth.

Why are you staring at the fire all the time? Matt asked still hoping to receive a reply from somewhere inside her brain.

The fire responded with a crackle, ejecting a little piece of burnt wood on the floor.

She wasn't listening, or maybe in some hidden and secret area inside her head, she was. No expert could really tell what was going on in this case study.

Back and forth.

Stop moving that chair and listen to me! Matt demanded with desperation.

She closed her eyes and whistled a three-note tune. She kept moving her foot on the floor with a steady pace for the rest of the short afternoon.

The doorbell rang.

The newly fallen snow had covered everything like a thick layer of powdered sugar on a cake. Small footsteps of animals and human beings were the only signs of life ruining the beautiful scenery of the countryside. Little houses popped out here and there, some of which had grey smoke coming out of their chimneys. It was cloudy and there was more than a chance that a big snowstorm was about to arrive.

Mrs. Jane Henderson heard the bell and went towards the door, wondering who it would be at that time. She opened the door and found two police officers staring back at her.

Matt ran towards the front door window and hid underneath it. He saw a plump officer with a mustache and a tall and skinny officer with a long nose stand near the entrance of their house. He wondered what was going on as a breeze coming from under the window caused him to shiver.

Something was definitely going on today.

He was actually excited about this new development but his fragile stomach inevitably tightened; this happened whenever he was nervous about something.

After taking a look outside, he sank back down on the floor and tried to focus on what the men outside were saying to his mother.

Good morning, the plump one said.

Good morning officers. What can I do for you? she asked anxiously.

She studied the looks on their faces and realized they weren't going to reveal anything pleasant.

Just a few questions, Mrs. Henderson the tall officer recited. First of all, your neighbor, Mrs. Hackett was found dead in the kitchen this morning. We got a call from your front door neighbor, who hadn't seen her coming out of the house for her usual morning routine.

Mrs. Henderson covered her mouth with a hand, shocked by the news.

My God! she exclaimed, taking a step back.

Matt couldn't believe what he was hearing. It was not what he was expecting from the usual doorbell visitors, but at least he had no reason to complain about having a boring afternoon. Not this afternoon.

We're afraid the circumstances in which we found the body are very odd and the general suspect is leading us to think of unnatural death, the tall officer affirmed, studying Mrs. Henderson's facial expression.

"You