This is more like the stories I have heard before about Monfeld. It is another that can be put down to panic rather than the supernatural, but a good tale all the same.
Yet the statue’s shape makes me think about a previous posts. Yet I cannot quite remember where.
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I have no idea if this is just a British thing, but you will often find bronze statues in shopping centres. They all have a weirdly specific style. Humans or animals portrayed in a sort of feathery metal aesthetic, their features lined and ragged. Their profession usually has something to do with the town. You might find a big cow in a dairy town, or a miner in a mining town. All turn green over time, and you can always walk up and touch them.
The one in Monfeld is up on the second floor. This must have been deliberate. A figure looking over the balcony towards the people below. I believe it was meant to be a monk of some kind, with a huge hood and shroud covering his body. This was enough to cover his face, which in bronze translated to a smooth metal surface.
What was also interesting was the way it had its hands hooked in a loop, perhaps to represent prayer. For us it became a bit of a dare. We would look casual until Security were elsewhere , and then one of us would push our head through the middle of the ringed of bronze before getting spotted. A classic.
This was the reason behind my return. I just wanted one go. I wanted to say I was the last person to ever achieve this dare.
My feet kicked through the matted cardboard and empty bottles on the way to the statue. Monfeld has always been such a clean and welcoming place. In the gloom the statue was an unknown lump. But the photo would only take thirty seconds. I could stick my head through, hold up my phone, and be done.
No-one even knew I was here. My head went through. The camera went up. But when I tried to pull out, the bronze arms held me in place. Cold metal scraped against my skin. I peeled myself out, with the blood running down my arms. The smooth face watched me with no eyes.
I limped out of the mall.
After wrapping up my wounds, I looked at my phone to try and find the photo. But all I have is an image of the monk, leaning over the side in the darkness.
The wounds on my arms are real. Why did it let me go?
