"Do you hear that, son?" A rough voice spoke out—carrying the distinctive rasp of a chain-smoker, yet the paternal intonation of a father.
Hakim bent forward on the armchair, extending his palms and wiggling his stubby fingers. He was a well-built, stocky man with tanned skin and midnight-black hair that seemed to absorb the light. He waved a cigarette as he talked, and an impressive mustache twitched eagerly beneath his nose as he peered down at the infant crawling toward him across the carpet.
"That sound," Hakim continued, "...it's the wailing of The Moon Goddess."
The fireplace crackled, sending stray embers into the air as the wind roared once more. Sliding between the gaps of the windowsills and doors, the wind harbored the cry of a banshee; an eerie, unrelenting sound that sent shivers down Hakim's spine.
However, to the 8-month-old Ansel, obliviously crawling on the ground, that sound seemed beautiful. Whenever the wind whistled, he would sit up straight and listen.
The door rattled as its knob twisted. Elize stepped out of the kitchen and into the living room, wiping her hands across her apron as she watched her husband and son. "Come on now, dear... you can't go telling poor Ansel that same story every time you hear the wind whistle. And you shouldn't smoke in front of the baby."
"But he wants to hear the story!" Hakim argued, animatedly pointing at his son, "...Look at his posture, so straight! And he isn't even picking his nose!" Hakim side-eyed his cigarette, sighing before snuffing it out.
Elize let out a humored sigh, leaning against the door as she crossed her arms over her chest. She had a modest figure and fair, freckled skin, accompanied by golden-blonde hair that fell in rivulets across her back. Her eyes were a sparkling blue—reminiscent of a diamond gemstone.
"If you keep feeding our son those stories, he'll eventually grow up to believe in ghosts and ancient Gods."
Ansel cooed, flashing a toothless grin as he crawled toward his mother.
Elize watched her son approach, scooping him up and cradling him in her arms. "There, there. Come on, now."
Now comfortably nestled within the arms of his mother, Ansel giggled and pointed toward his father, whose expression blanked at his son's mockery.
"He's gotten bored of your story, Hakim." Elize smiled, her gaze flicking over to her husband for a few seconds, before landing back on her son. Her hand came up and ruffled the generous patch of auburn hair on Ansel's scalp.
"Hmph!" Hakim leaned back in his armchair, "I suppose they grow up eventually."
Seeing his father's dejected expression, a small frown fell across Ansel's face. Tugging at his mother's sleeve, Ansel pointed at his father once more.
"Well I suppose we can hear him out one more time, can't we?" Elize chuckled, pacing across the room and settling down onto the sofa opposite her husband.
Hakim, clearing his throat, began to speak in a mock-serious voice. "Ahem! You already lost your chance to hear my story! I don't need your pity!" He huffed, peeking one eye open to watch Ansel's reaction.
Ansel's frown grew even wider, a glossy finish sparkling across his eyes—well on the verge of bursting into tears.
Catching his wife's murderous glare, Hakim defensively waved his arms. "Okay, okay, I understand. Ahem! But you better listen properly, okay? And no making fun of me," he smirked.
As Hakim began to recount his story, Ansel felt his eyelids grow heavy. A weight pressed down on his tiny, infantile body, and the world devolved into static. The color drained from his vision, painting the world in shades of black and white. Hakim's mouth was wide-open, mid-story, and a piece of broccoli was stuck between his teeth.
The warmth of his mother's grasp was extinguished—like blowing out a flame.
For a single moment, everything was utterly still. The wind wasn't whistling. The fire wasn't crackling.
Luminescent golden particles floated freely in the air, hovering in ethereal swarms and spreading out across the cabin's interior. These small particles were the only moving objects—beside Ansel—in a frozen world. Not realizing the gravity of his situation, the innocent Ansel reached out with a hand.
His finger dangled in the air, before touching a stray particle that wandered too close. Then, just as if nothing had happened, time carried on. Reality went back to normal, and a soft giggle escaped Ansel's mouth.