The Veil

Hailie Arnold

I don’t remember when I noticed the veil. It stood tall, so tall I couldn’t see where it ended. It wasn’t obvious, just a thin, translucent gray. There were people on the other side, some looked at me whereas some did not even glance past the curtain. When I was twelve, I remember a glowing, old woman looking into my eyes across the veil. Her eyes were just like my mothers. Her hand trembled as she reached through the curtain and gripped my wrist. I screamed and screamed. My mother thought I was hurt. She stared at me startled with concern and motherly worry.

“What? Are you okay? What’s wrong?” She panicked.

The thin lady glanced at her and immediately let go of me. I stopped screaming and looked at her staring so longingly at my mother. Their eyes, they were the same. Then, she was pulled back behind the veil. My mother continued to ask me what was wrong and why I screamed, but all I could do was stare at the woman.

“Don’t you see her mom? Don’t you?” I begged.

She was right there, right in front of us. I felt her skin, I felt life radiating from her. That was the first time my mother thought I was crazy.

That is when she took me to my first shrink. An old, frail woman. She smelled of butterscotch and cigarettes. She told me all sorts of reasons why I was seeing these things. This veil. But none of them sat right with me. Although things scared me beyond the veil, it was not evil. I was not imagining it.

My mother fired her.

When I was seventeen, my mother gave up. As I went on and on about this veil, the more distrust and resentment bubbled within her. She asked my father why I couldn’t be normal. He loved me regardless, he didn’t even think I was crazy. I promised her it was real, that people watched us.

“You need to stop! You are too old for this! It isn’t real!” She would scream at me. She sent me away after that. I was in the mental facility for six months, yet nothing changed.

The veil moved with me. I saw more and more at the facility, most of them saw through the veil there. I believe they hated me, wanted me gone. They didn’t like being seen, and I didn’t like being watched. I began to pretend I couldn’t see beyond the veil, I ignored their glares and anger. The radiating hatred that spread past the veil into my veins. That’s why they let me leave. I no longer said anything. The veil disappeared and they believe the medication worked. My mother was thrilled, a normal daughter she claimed. My father on the other hand acted confused. He wondered why the veil disappeared.

He was always so intrigued by the veil. He asked me questions, what it looked like, who I saw. I never thought to question him. Something my mother despised me for, he only had a curiosity and love for. I know you aren’t supposed to have a favorite parent, but he was mine. He did not see the veil as my flaw, but a gift!

The last time I was twenty two. My father picked me up and we were driving, as I glanced out the window in the pitch black of night. The veil was thinner at night, maybe it was the darkness obscuring it or the veil was falling down but it was so easy to see through it.

I saw a man, blood streaming from his eyes like tears. So I screamed, my father swerved right into oncoming traffic. I saw his last breath. Bleeding out next to me. Then he let out a final breath and I watched him cross beyond the veil. The man with tears of blood leading him.

But I never saw the veil again.

Cyprus Whitaker

Biography: I use art as a way to destress and express myself, I hope you enjoy my creations

Artist Statement: I created this painting while in the midst of a late night mental break down. It captures my visions of past memories

Hailie Arnold

Biography: My name is Hailie Arnold. I am in my final term at OSU, about to finish up my English degree. I have always had a passion for language and the ways it can be used, as well as spooky stories.

Artist Statement: This story is open ended. I like hearing the interpretation from others on what it means rather than assuming my actual intention; that’s part of the mystery of the story. So what does it mean to you?