It's Only The Beginning
Many of us know someone in our lives who has been touched by the paranormal. Thousands of accounts of isolated visions, sounds, and rare incidents of actual encounters pop up from time to time around the world, usually having to deal with a certain area or dwelling. “I hear strange noises in my house,” or “that old building is haunted,” are statements we witness in our daily lives. These recollections are often brushed off, scientifically explained, or given the old “your imagining things” line. In most cases, not another thought is given to it; but what if the evidence surrounding one individual case were so strong no number of excuses could justify anything else but a real paranormal presence.
Often our mothers tell the story of their children's birth repeatedly; by the time we reach age eight, we can repeat it verbatim. This is not the case with Patricia Basile and her husband, Norman. The events of the September night when Noman Jr. entered the world are still tightly concealed within the memories of Mr. and Mrs. Basile, only to be recalled in private when Mr. Basile had knocked back a few too many.
“Where are the keys? Dammit, they were sitting right here,” Norman belted out over Patricia's steadily increasing laboring screams. Frazzled, he patted down his pockets for a third time, checking under all the papers now strewn over the kitchen table.
“Need to go...now,” Patricia managed to utter through her gritted teeth. Standing in her soaked nightgown, she cradled her large belly, bending slightly over and steadying herself against the counter. It hadn't been an easy pregnancy, not that she had anything to compare it to. At seven months, her stomach protruded so far she couldn't even see over it, making doing practically anything these last two months impossible.
“We can't go anywhere without keys. What do you want us to do, fly?” Norman sarcastically shot back from under the table, crawling on all fours, his eyes scouring over every inch of the stained tiles.
“Can't... wait,” her words were strained as she moved herself to brace against the doorframe. She knew she was no help, unable to at this point in her pregnancy to tell you whether or not she had shoes on, let alone where her husband, in his hast, had left the keys.
“Ugh, fine.”
Norman abandoned his search for his keys and carefully escorted his wife to their fifty-six Chevy. He opened the back door, and Patricia eased herself across the white leathery upholstery of the car. She groaned, trying to contort her legs through the door, feeling more blimp than a woman at this point. Shutting the door behind her, Norman took a moment to collect himself; the birth of his first child was not running smoothly.
He climbed into the front seat and went to start the ignition.
“Crap,” Norman said, remembering he didn't find the keys; he had to pull it together. He reached down under the steering column, yanking hard on the wires till they were free.
“Norman, please,” Patricia cried from the backseat, sweat now visibly forming on her brow.
“I'm doing the best I can here; just sit back, and try to relax, for God's sake!” He carefully selected two wires and began quickly stripping them of their coverings.
“Come on, you son-of-a-bitch start,” he screamed as sparks shot everywhere. He knew tomorrow he would be cursing himself for what he was doing to his car, but there weren't any other options at this point. Friends and family were too far, and at this time of night, he would be lucky to even get ahold of anyone. After a solid five minutes of failed attempts and many threats to the car concerning what Norman would do to it if it didn't start, the old Chevy finally roared to life.
“See Patricia, nothing to worry about,” Norman said, running his hand over his disheveled hair and glancing back at his wife in the rear-view mirror to give her a forced smile.
“Just.... drive.”
Norman pressed the accelerator down to the floor, zooming around corners and only pausing at stop signs. It was to their benefit the streets seemed desolate. There were no cars, no people; it was as if the world was void of any sign of life except for their car careening down the road.
They pressed on; fifteen minutes turned to thirty minutes, thirty turned to forty-five. Norman had not remembered the drive to the hospital taking this long. His anxiety rose- had he missed a turn in his hast? He turned his head to ask Patricia if he was going the right way when there was an all too familiar thump on the windshield. A second later, another and another.
“Wonderful, lost, and now rain, this couldn't get any better,” Norman mumbled, turning on his wipers at full blast.
“What did you say?” Patricia yelled in between heavy breaths.
The rain was coming faster now, beating down on the little car.
“Nothing, I've got this under control. You just sit back; usethe breathing thing the Lamaze, or whatever it's called, class taught you,” Norman said, slowing his speed to try to make sense of where they were.
Crunch
It sounded as if a rock had hit their windshield. When the wiper blade passed over the spot where it had hit, it left an unsettling deep rich red streak across the glass.
“What was that?” she asked from the back seat, her voice a bit unsteady under her.
“Ah, damn bu-”
Crack
Crack
Crack
Three more hit the windshield.
“What the hell,” Norman said, straining his eyes to try to make sense of what was going on.” Do we have a bug magnet in the car or something?”
Thump
Thump
One missed the windshield, perching itself squarely atop his side mirror where Norman could get a better view.
They were much larger than any insect he had ever seen. It looked similar to a grasshopper with its bulky hind legs and nearly three times the size. With massive black vein-infused wings spanned a good eight inches tip to tip. It wasn't only the size that was unnerving to Norman, but its great blood-red eyes sent a chill through him. He looked at the hideous winged insect, unable to tear his eyes away as hundreds more pelted the windshield.
Patricia slightly whimpered from the backseat.
It sat there, almost studying the couple, letting out a loud screeching sound clearly audible over the pounding of the rain and the other bugs smacking the windshield.
Then as if on command, the one perched on the mirror took flight and smashed straight into the side window, leaving a bloody trail smeared down the glass.
After a moment, it was as if a switch was turned off, they stopped, and all was silent once again aside from the rhythmic breathing from the back seat and the steady beat of the rain.
“Norman, what,” Patricia groaned in pain and drew in a breath,” was that?” she finished.
“I ...I think they were locusts,” Norman stuttered, looking back again in the rear-view mirror to his wife.
“It's OK let's just get to the-”
“Norman,” her voice screeching as she pointed a shaky finger back to the road.
Norman whipped his head around, and there in front of the car, was a body. Not of a person or some wandering animal, no. It was an enormous fifteen-foot-long snake. Its fangs out, coiled back and ready to strike.
Norman slammed on the brake pedal, but nothing happened. Panicked, he pumped it again.
Nothing.
“I can't stop!” Norman yelled as he braced his arms against the steering wheel. His eyes dead-locked on the snake as it rose, the front portion of its body off the wet cement.
Patricia screamed from the backseat, her voice ringing through his ears.
As the car barreled to within a few feet of the snake, something happened the Basile family could not explain. Even to this day, it remains a mystery to them. As the car sped dangerously close to impact, the snake burst into thousands of tiny white particles which left only the outline of where it had been. As the car passed through the vapor left behind by the snake, an electrical pulse coursed through their bodies. Norman Sr. could feel the current travel through his fingers, up through his arms to his chest, and finally through his legs and toes. He spun the car around and pulled the lever for the emergency brake. The vehicle came to a halt facing the opposite direction across both lanes of the road. “What the fuck is going on here, did you see that, Patricia?” Norman waited for her response.
“Patricia?”
Norman turned around in his seat to see his wife, color vacant from her face; she held her hands up as a red substance dripped onto her nightgown. He looked down; streams of blood tricked down her legs and onto the seat below.
“Go,” was the only word she was able to say before her eyes rolled backward and her head fell slumped to the side.
Norman punched the accelerator and turned the car around.
He still didn't know where he was going. He scanned every street sign he could, but the rain made reading any of them impossible. He struggled to keep his composure as his rapidly quickening heartbeat drowned out even the rain in his ears.
He turned down one street and then the next, praying something would look familiar. With a great sigh, he pulled over and rolled down his window in an attempt to read a street name. “Cic” was all he could read; the rest had been scratched off.
Perfect, Norman thought, just perfect, wiping away the rain from his face. He was out of ideas, lost with his pregnant unconscious wife in the back seat; he looked up at the sky.
“Please.” Norman had no idea what he was doing, he was not an overly religious man, but in this moment, something compelled him.
“Please, just... help,” he begged defeatedly, laying his head on the steering wheel and pounding it with his fist. Norman shook his head; he was being foolish. He needed to figure out how in the world he was going to find the hospital. Just sitting in their car in a rain storm hoping for something to happen wasn't going to do any good. He knew Patricia didn't have much time, and he was unqualified to have her deliver in the back seat.
He was about to put the car into gear when he noticed a man walking up the sidewalk carrying a large white umbrella.
Norman looked around, confused as to why this man would be outside in this weather at this time of the night. Norman called and waved him over to the car as he walked closer. When he drew nearer, Norman could see his golden-brown hair cascading over his shoulders, and he was bundled in a coat of vibrant blues and purples.
“Umm, excuse me, sir... My wife... I errr… need the hospital,” Norman said quickly, deciding he did not have time to explain less this man ask questions to which he did not have answers. The man stared inquisitively at Norman.
Norman motioned towards the backseat.
“My wife, she's in labor, please, sir. It's urgent. Do you know where the hospital is?” Norman pleaded with the man.
“Yes,” he said, pulling open the back door and sliding in next to Patricia.
“I would be happy to show you.”
Norman threw the car into drive and sped down the street; the storm was getting worse with each passing moment, powerful gusts of wind tried to force the car off the road. Norman was constantly battling to keep them straight between the lines.
Norman, white-knuckled, did his best to keep the car on course, following the directions exactly as the man was giving them.
“So, your first child?” the man said when they had reached the last stretch of their journey, Norman could see the vibrant glow of the hospital lights a mile or so down the road.
“Yes, off to a bumpy start.”
“Well, let me tell you, this is only the beginning with this boy,” the man said, placing his hands over Patricia's swollen belly.
“This one here,” he said, rubbing his hands over her stomach, “is intended for great things.”
“Oh, we don't know if it's a boy or girl yet; wanted it to be a surprise,” said Norman with a nervous halfhearted chuckle.
The man in the backseat said nothing but smiled, gazing down as they pulled up to the emergency vehicle entrance.
Norman wrestled with his seat belt, finally breaking free from it, and poured out into the street as a nurse dressed in crisp gleaming white rushed over to the car.
“Sir, this entrance is for emergency vehicles only. You will have to move.”
“Wife ...pregnant...labor...unconscious ...” he choked, pointing his hand toward the back seat.
The nurse made her way around to the back of the car.
“We need a wheelchair out here, stat, page maternity, tell them we are bringing her straight up to the eighth floor,” she barked to the other employees as she ran back inside to fetch the wheelchair. “Maternity is all full, Shannon. The rooms are already doubled up,” someone shouted to her over all the noise.
“Well- put her on the peds. floor then. We need to get her inside immediately,” she called back. For a moment, Norman forgot about the stranger in the backseat until he pulled open the door, opened his white umbrella, and stood.
Norman was surprised the man seemed unphased by the commotion, his golden-brown hair flowing behind him.
“I don't know how to thank you, sir, never would have made it here without you,” Norman said as he took the man's hand and shook it forcefully.
“Here,” Noman said, reaching into his back pocket to pull out his wallet,” Let me pay you; it's the least I can do for your trouble.”
“Quite unnecessary,” he answered, as he pushed away the money, “Help will always come to those who ask. Take care of the boy; he is indeed incredibly special.”
And he walked out into the darkness spinning his white umbrella overhead.
“Sir...sir,” Norman was snapped back to reality, “Sir, we are taking your wife inside. She has lost some blood but has regained consciousness,” said the petite brown-haired nurse who had come out the first time, her hair neatly pinned behind her white cap.
“Norman,” Patricia croaked. They had managed to get her into a wheelchair and were now pushing her through the front doors.
“I'm here, Patricia,” he said, running to catch up behind her and placing his hand softly on her shoulder.
“Sir, we are taking her up to the pediatric floor because maternity is full; by the way it looks, she still has some time before she delivers. We need you to fill out some forms,” said another nurse, even tinier and more mouse-like than the first.
“I'm sorry?” Norman was confused; the hospital had all their information on file. Why would they be asking time-consuming questions when his wife needed him?
“Sir, your wife is not a patient; we need to know her information,” said the mousy girl in a firm tone.
“You have everything. Her name is Patricia Basile; we have been here to Saint James hospital before,” Norman boomed, his frustration with all the night's events now in danger of boiling over. “Mr. Basile,” she said, clearing her throat,” Saint James hospital is over thirty-five minutes away. This is Little Company of Mary Hospital.
Norman was taken aback and stood silent for a moment before apologizing, handling the paperwork as he shuffled off to the waiting area adjacent to the front intake desk.
Norman sat scrunched in a tiny green pleather seat in the empty waiting room, pouring over sheets of medical forms.
“We will notify you if anything happens, Mr. Basile,” a nurse said to him from the intake desk,” but for now, we should let her get comfortable and let nature take its course.”
He could still hear the tremendous roar of the rain slapping the pavement from inside the building. Question thirty-five. Is the patient allergic to any medication? Norman thought for a moment and went to check the box for no when the lights flickered once, twice, three times.
“This storm is really doing a number out there,” Norman called over to the nurse at the desk. The girl looked up, scanned to make sure no one else was around, and motioned for him to come over. Norman got up and made his way over to the desk.
“The storm is not the problem; the lights always flicker on and off around here,” She didn't look much older than twenty-something, her eyes giving off a mischievous sparkle reminding Norman of girls in high school gossiping in the hallways.
“Umm ... well, you should probably get your electrical system checked out then, might have a short somewhere,” Norman said matter-of-factly to her.
“There is nothing wrong with the system; there is something wrong with this place,” she said, drawing the sweater draped over her shoulders tighter around her neck.
“You are pulling my leg,” Norman said as he waved his hand, dismissing the nurses' comment.
“Oh no, Mr. Basile,” she said, looking carefully over his shoulder once again to make sure they were still alone, “I have seen things, felt things, that…that I just can't explain. Footsteps, strange shadows, tray tables falling over, doors opening, and you've already seen the lights. Don't tell me you didn't feel it when you came in, the coldness. You can have the heat as high as it goes in this building, but there are always cold spots.”
“Come off it; you must be having a go at me,” Norman said, walking back to his seat. “I don't have time for games, madam; I need to finish this,” he said, shaking the stack of papers in his hand.
Twenty minutes passed, and Norman tried his hardest to ignore the constantly flickering lights while quickly scribbling down as much information on family history, illnesses, and insurance as he could on the intake papers. Even though he thought there was little chance of any merit to what she had said, once a door of possibility has been cracked, it was hard for him not to explore the possibility within his mind.
“Mr. Basile, if you are all finished with those, we can take you up to see your wife in the labor room,” a man's voice said, taking the papers from Norman and passing them off to a nurse following behind him.
They walked down the hall together, turned left, and stepped into the elevator.
The doctor pressed the button for the eighth floor; the shiny silver doors shut in front of them.
“Oh wait, she's on six,” the doctor said, rapidly pressing the button for the sixth floor. “We will take her to the maternity floor when she is ready to deliver, but she can stay on the sixth while she's in labor. Hopefully, by then, a space will free up there, busy busy busy,” he mumbled, the last few words more so for his own benefit than Norman's.
“Don't you think it would be safer to take the stairs with the storm? I mean, the lights are already on the fritz; what if the electricity goes out? I don't want to be stuck in this elevator,” Norman said, becoming slightly panicked.
“The lights always do that; it is nothing to worry about. I assure you we will be just fine.”
“I told the nurse at the desk down there you should have the system checked out; can't be too careful in a hospital,” Norman answered as he pulled the gown over his trousers and shirt. “It's not that; we just have a very,” the doctor paused, choosing his next word very carefully, interesting hospital.”
Norman looked at the man, wanting to press him further about what he meant, but the elevator dinged, and the doors opened to reveal a floor covered in pink and blue striped wallpaper with animals in funny hats having tea parties and others dancing across it.
“Now, if you follow me this way, Mr. Basile,” picking up his pace slightly as he walked down the colorfully decorated hallway. Norman followed, past pictures of elephants doing the limbo and tigers balancing balls on their noses. As he passed a fascinating one of a giraffe waltzing with an alligator, Norman suddenly felt the warmth being drained from his body. It was as if he had passed through an invisible veil which shut out the heat. Norman stopped as the hairs on his arms and back began to prickle. Chill bumps formed on his arms as a shutter ran up his spine. He looked around for the source. Surely, there must be an air vent blowing on him or a draft coming from underneath a door; but there was nothing, nothing but the hallway littered with animal pictures.
“This way, Mr. Basile,” the doctor shouted as he grabbed him by the forearm, urging him to continue forward.
“D-did you feel that... that cold, it- it was freezing,” Norman exclaimed to the doctor.
“Umm ... well... just- just never mind that, come on, let us go try to make your wife as comfortable as possible until she's ready,” keeping a much closer eye on Norman this time as they rounded the corner to the last corridor in the ward.
Norman opened his mouth to ask the doctor a question when he heard the unmistakable sound of Patricia screaming. His eyes locked with the doctors, then shot down the hall; without so much as a glance back, he sprinted down the corridor. A thousand horrible images and thoughts ran through his mind with every step. Did something happen to the baby? Was something happening to her? He could hear the doctor in tow a few paces behind him. The doctor shouted,
“Room 631. She's in 631.”
Norman checked a number on the door, 610.
He was close.
His feet pounded on the tile hallway.
618.
The screaming had stopped, and Norman's mind went to the darkest of places.
Would he even make it there on time? Was she gone from this world? Norman pushed the thoughts from his head.
627.
Just a few more doors.
This was supposed to be a milestone in his life filled with tremendous joy and elation, giving way to new beginnings. The only emotions he felt were fear and doubt as if every negative emotion he had experienced over these last nine months had been comprised together right here and now, and it was all flooding over him at once.
Norman skidded to a stop and nearly fell over as the doctor came crashing into him from behind.
Norman grabbed for the metal handle of the door and yanked it open.
Expecting to see a mess of nurses running around with instruments flying all over, he went slightly weak at the knees as a wave of relief and happiness overcame him. Everything which had seemed so heavy only moments before drained away.
There was Patricia, visibly exhausted but with a beaming smile as she cradled a small, tightly wrapped bundle in her arms.
She looked up at Norman, and it grew, “I guess he couldn't wait, Norman…,” she said, “I want you to meet your son, Norman Jr.”
A day had passed since the blessed event. Norman Jr. and Patricia were being monitored for forty-eight hours due to the amount of blood Patricia had lost while in labor. Since then, they had been moved to maternity on the eighth floor.
“Why don't you go down to visit him in the nursery room viewing room,” Patricia said to her husband as the evening sun faded behind the darkening night clouds.
“I'm going to get some sleep, go, get something to eat in the cafeteria too; you look awful,” she said as sweetly as possible, giving Norman, now referred to as Norman Sr., a wave of her hand.
“All right, I'll be back soon, get some rest,” he called back to her, slipping out of the room. He turned to give her one last look, but with the brief pause, she had already found sleep. Her chest rose slowly, as her breathing could be an emotion of complete content. Norman Sr. made his way through the maze of corridors to the nursery on the seventh floor. He looked through the glass to the clear cribs filled with bundles of squirming infants.
He placed his hands on the glass, scanning them before his eyes fell upon one in the second row. Slightly larger and fuller than the other newborns in the nursery, unmistakably, it was his son, laying peacefully, his little eyes squeezed shut. He knew nothing would ever be so peaceful after they brought him home. The lows of a crying baby and the highs of his laughs would echo down their home's halls. He drank in the silence, for these moments in their lives were fleeting, and one last time he would grasp at their wispy tails before they were carried off.
“They are so cute,” said a little girl who had silently made her way next to Norman Sr. She was standing on her tiptoes to get a full view of the room. Her long mahogany brown hair was tied up into two lopsided pigtails.
“They sure are,” he answered, his eyes still glued to the nursery.
“Is one of these little ones your little brother or sister,” finally tearing his eyes away and looking down at her.
“No, but there was just one I had to meet,” she said, pointing her short stubby finger against the glass as she smiled up at Norman Sr.
She stood there for a little while, rocking slightly back and forth to get a better view. “Sleep well,” she whispered, kissing her hand and placing it on the glass before skipping down the hall and out of sight, leaving Norman Sr. with his mouth gaped open, staring after her. Perhaps it was the lateness of the hour or the enormity of the pressures he had faced today, or maybe it was just his eyes playing tricks on him, but he could have sworn the translucent crib the girl had pointed to, the one she had told him she had to meet …was his son's.