Now, this story is entirely true. It happened quite a while ago, sometime early last year I think. I had always intended on writing it down and getting it up here, but somehow it always slipped my mind. A couple of days ago though, I had perhaps the scariest dream -- the scariest experience in my entire life (to be posted later) and while drenched in sweat, heart pounding, there was one thing in my head: I had to get this story on here. So here it is:
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The old man sat still, staring irresolutely at the chess board in front of him. No one sat opposite him. It had been like this for three days now, he walked into the library, sat on one of the cushions in the foyer then set up a chess board; waiting. I hadn’t said anything, just walked on by each time.
I felt restless today though and upon entering the library, gave the old man a pointed look. He smiled and motioned to the chair opposite. Intrigued, I moved closer, sitting in the proffered seat. “Well, I’m white, so I go first.” He said, sucking at his lips, making smacking sounds. He moved a piece forward; I countered and so we began to play. After a moment, he said suddenly, “Did you know chess is one of the oldest board games in the world? It started around the 1400’s.”
I stared. “Umm, okay.” Thanks for the pointless trivia pops, I thought irately. Frowning, I examined the board, and then moved my horse forward. Smiling serenely, the old man seemed not to care that it was his turn. I waited impatiently, tapping my foot. “Come on then, hurry up.” I said, glancing at the clock on the wall. I had to go soon. The old man started, glancing around as if just realising where he was.
“What? Is it my turn?” He asked curiously. At my affirmation he snapped, “Well then don’t rush me!”
And so it continued. Over a period of weeks, I challenged the old man and always he regaled me with pointless questions, trivia and nonsense; covering a variety of subjects including the distance of the sun, Solomon and the Queen. I weathered it though, having little better to do after school, waiting for my mum to close shop. One day, I questioned him. “Do you believe in God?” At first, he said nothing, and the smacking of his lips never abated.
“Yes.” He calmly moved another piece forward. “I’m a Jehovah Witness,” he said.
“Really?” I asked, intensely curious. All my friends had stories of these people coming up to their doors and their reactions to it; slamming the door in their faces, and one once stepping out with a visible pentagram on his chest, hissing in anger. It was funny, but I had never had the chance; it was as if they instinctively shunned my house.
“Yep, that’s right. Been one for nearly 40yrs now.” He continued, bobbing his ancient head. I raised my eyebrows, trying to hide my excitement. I’d hit jackpot!
“Wow,” I said, hiding a smile. “That’s dedication for you.” Smiling, he nodded and continued sucking his lips in that extremely irritating fashion. I told him of my being Muslim and we continued to talk about religion, when he said something both interesting and disturbing: “You know, I’ve been attacked by the devil seventeen times in my life.”
I blinked. “I’m sorry, what now?”
“You heard me. That’s why I’m so sure I’m on the right path.”
In light of this news I reappraised the old man. His errant, messy white hair, once giving him an innocent air, now looked the affectations of a mad man. His eyes, flickering to and fro over the chess board, seemed to gleam with a strange intensity I hadn’t noticed before. I’m sitting beside a complete loony, I thought with increasing incredulity. He’s insane! Rather then deter me, this interested me all the more and I leaned forward.
“Seventeen times you say?” At his nod, I continued. “Could you describe one such attack for me?”
“I-I remember … ah, that last time. It happened when I was about 47, no 52 …” He seemed confused and dazed all of a sudden. “Well, it was around there anyway, that I had a nervous breakdown.” Ah, that would explain a lot. “I was on a train, when it happened and I began tearing the cushions to pieces.” Note to self: Mental Breakdown=tearing stuff to pieces. “And that’s when a policewoman came into the train and pointed a gun at me!” Oh and I wonder why, I thought sarcastically, yet keeping my face blank and attentive.
“The policewoman pulled a gun on you?” I asked, interrupting. “Was that the devil at work?”
“Yes, exactly.”
“So, what happened?”
“An angel saved me.”
“ … Come again?” This man gets nuttier as the seconds go by.
“An angel saved me,” He repeated. “Knocked the gun out of her hands.”
“And, uh, what did this 'angel' look like?”
“It was tall, around eight feet high –
“Male or female?” I quizzed, halting him again.
“No, no, no!” He said, shaking his head, becoming irritated as if I should know this. “It was neither. It was—
“Did it have wings?” I asked, this time unable to keep the sarcasm from my voice.
“No.” Thoughtful now, he added. “It had a small goatee though.
“But it wasn’t a male?”
He shook his head in the negative. This was fascinating stuff; it so trumped anything that had happened to my friends. Game entirely forgotten now, I said, “And then?”
“Then it got me a cup of coffee.” His voice never wavered, just kept on steady as if we were discussing the weather. He actually believed this. I didn’t ask the obvious; where the hell did an angel with no gender, no wings, but a small goatee get a cup of coffee from on a moving train …?
“And this isn’t the only time such an event has occurred?” I asked. “Why is it, do you think, that you are so important to the devil—to be attacked 17 times that is.”
“Well now,” he said, smiling beatifically. “That’s cos I’m on the right path now ain’t it?”
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And there it is. Every word of it true. Hope you enjoyed lol.
