falling angels and legions

At the end of a quiet road, behind a veil of twisted old palm trees, there was an old house. A woman lived there with her 3 children; her husband was in the political prison in Baghdad Iraq.

On bitter nights, she sat by the ala aldeen kerosene heater in her old house. She was making some home bread as it is cheaper for her, and she was washing clothes and ironing them as her side job to make money to survive in the unkind city of Baghdad at that time in the communist Shia backed government, just like the one we have now.

She did all her work and sent the kid to deliver the washed and ironed clothes to the neighbors and they can bring the money they gave, for them it was cheaper than the actual professional iron and laundry store, and to help this lady. She grew tired enough for sleep. The children were fed lentil soup and fresh bread as they couldn’t afford meat or fruit. But on this night, as her eyes grew heavy, she was startled by a sound. Sound that she hadn’t heard before despite that she saw many phantoms and entities in her life. The sound was calling her name, Fatima, Fatima is enchanting voice 

 Who could be calling her name, she wondered?  She rose from her old bed, and walked toward the sound in the dark part of the small house, and said in Arabic language, meno enta and shetreed? Who are you and what you want in this hour, and started praying and saying grace, with her long beads rosary.

Where are you, she asked?

“I’m here,” a deep well mannered voice said.

She was terrified and started calling God names and praying more, WHY, and “Who is this?” she asked angrily

while her hands were shaking to start the lantern as she didn’t have a flashlight, and the only electric light that were in the house was near the front door .she run to the kitchen and hold a knife in one hand and the lantern in other hand   screaming for help as loud as she could so hoping that someone outside can hear her as she was scared to go close to the door. The children woke up and started to cry so she put them in the corner of the room and each hold a kitchen knife whatever they could find to help their mother and they put a second lantern to brighten the place, the little child 5 years old sneak slowly to the front door and turn on the light and ran back to his mother.

I turned on the light mom, now can we see who is this intruder? he said to his mom. That child was me.

My brother Samir was 9 years and my other brother Raad was 4. Our house was an old house and part of other houses beside it that the landlord gave to my mother with very low rent as goodwill as he used to know my father.

My mother started to walk slowly around the place toward the door to make sure if the front door was closed

She asked again, I am going to call the neighbors, who is it? But there was no answer.

Samir my older brother called someone from the neighborhood; they came and checked the place for any intruder

but there was no one in the place.

But we heard a man’s voice too, we told the neighbor.