u/rahonn

I moved out to my own flat and after many years my cats will finally be safely looking at the world through windows or when we're on a walk (on a leash of course). Two out of my six cats were already indoor-only for about a year, third one was indoor only for about a month or two. Fourth doesn't really make any attempts on running to the door or anything, she also doesn't want to go for a walk that much (she hates sound of cars and we live close to the road now), but she gets plenty of exercise inside as I make sure to play with them every night in addition to walks and my (failed) attempts of play throughout the day.

My question is how to make the transition easier for my two boys. They are clearly not happy with the arrangement, they like walks and calm down a little after we come back. But then they just start yelling randomly. They wander around aimlessly, one of them goes somewhere hidden (for example a cardboard box or under the desk) and scratches at the corner - this one specifically is the first time I've ever seen in cats. I try to exercise them all equally, those two boys get longer walks so the transition would go at least a little smoother. I have gabapentin ready if I see that this particular day the stress is unbearable (everything was consulted with the vet, they know about our life changes, but I live now four hours away) like today. I bought them toys, made toys myself, bought calming pheromones, installed mesh screens in windows so they can not only look outside but smell the air and hear everything better (only with supervision ofc). Since there's six of them all that means not everyone gets to cuddle with me all the time, but that too I try to give out relatively equally depending on how cuddly the cat reacts to my cuddling attempts. I want to install wall catwalk and a catio for them, but this is a rental property, so I have to design it carefully with that in mind. Between work and life in general, and my limited funds, catio won't be ready for quite some time. Cat walk has to wait too as the move has eaten away all the additional cash I had.

Now for my question - what else can I do to make the transition easier on the two cats that clearly have a problem with the change? Or is it a case of 'just wait it out'? I want their little lives to be as safe and peaceful as possible so it pains me how much it bothers them.

I’m okay. I’m alright. It’s been busy few days.

Or weeks.

I don’t know anymore.

I learned a few things. Few of those I wish I didn’t know. It’s too late, I suppose.

But I’m fine. More than fine to be honest. I’ve never felt better. I’ve never been better. Despite knowing what I know, what I’ve been through, what I did, what I saw when I looked into the darkness-

I’m getting ahead of myself here. Emotions still run wild and I’m still not used to all the changes in my life. I’m still not used to feeling safe.

Do you know how hard it is to find any documents from before the wars? I didn’t know that. I assumed that whatever hasn’t been destroyed, blown to pieces or burned would be digitalized by now. Well, I assumed wrong. I didn’t know where to even start looking. So I did what I do best.

I lied.

I took a deep breath before I even pressed send. I stared at black letters. The more I stared, the less they made sense. The less confident I felt in anything I wrote. I closed my eyes, fell back on the stacked pillows. I hated talking to strangers, hated that more than almost anything else on the planet. Almost. There were some things I hated more. One of them being unknown. I sprung back up and pressed send before I could change my mind. The worst they could do was say no, right?

The inside of my mouth hurt and bled, skin around my nails ripped apart by my own teeth. Stress quite literally ate me alive. Worse than simple no turned out to be lack of any answer whatsoever. One day turned into two. Two turned into five. Five into two weeks.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Each time I felt vibration in my pocket, my heart skipped a beat just to become still again when I saw green bubble of text from my boss.

I looked online about the thing that haunted me, just to feel like I was in fact doing something to help my situation. Every search ended either with ghost, wendigo or a curse as a cause. It all sounded wrong. Especially wendigo since it’s not even the continent where it originated from. I thought long and hard about it being some kind of curse. Not in a way people think – divine punishment for misdeeds done by the human who foolishly brought misfortune, and often death, to their family. I thought about a curse as something mundane, something that was tied not to a family but to group of people sharing few characteristics or maybe history. Maybe they wronged someone with knowledge how to work with unseen horrors lurking in darkness. But if that was it, then why me? I know for a fact I never did anything worse than cutting someone in traffic. Even as an active alcoholic I just sat on my ass, nothing else.

History searched resulted only in disappointment. If you type the name of my village the only things you see are current stuff – news about co-financing for the construction of a children’s clubroom next to freshly installed playground, posts comparing old road with new, the one lined with sidewalk on both sides. I looked on and on as people say how nice and modern and clean everything looks. And I hate it.

I hate all of it.

Modern design of new buildings, be it homes or public places. Fresh road with sidewalk on both sides. Simplistic (new!) fences. Complaints about animals coming close to homes. Photos of previously neat lawns with grass cut by millimeter destroyed by wild boars. Call outs to authorities to ‘do something about it’. Bus. There was even a bus driving regularly through our village.

My village.

Few voices shared my opinion – the changes did more damage than good. To build the road (with sidewalk on both sides!) many trees had to be cut, many meters of flowers decimated because people didn’t want to walk on gravel. New homeowners built houses looked more like bunkers, devoid of any character, only concrete, concrete, concrete. New builds migrated closer and closer to the forest. And more and more voices shouted about destroyed lawns, animals invading their land.

Laughable.

People move to village surrounded by forest on all sides and complain about animals, about the trees.

I remember walking the old road. Asphalt broke under my old, taped boots. Even walking in the middle of the road was safe. Not many people had cars back then. I walked in the shade of old oaks, chestnut trees, alders. Sweet smell invaded the air, forcibly made the day better, more bearable. Chickens and cows, and horses sang their songs. Sea of green wheat stretched up to the wall of the forest. In short two months green would turn to gold, most precious thing in the world.

I remember the day they cut the oldest tree.

Lone oak stood tall on my grandfather’s property. With my grandfather long gone, his children didn’t have anyone opposing them anymore.

I had my eyes on old metal plaque, matted, partially rusted by years of braving the elements. Someone took a screwdriver and a hammer and made a hole in a plaque. Then another, another, another and another. Holes spelled the year tree had been planted.

And they cut it. Just like that. Tree fell and I screamed. Someone yelled for me to shut up, but it hurt. It physically hurt to see the monument fall.

If Atlas falls, who would carry the world?

Memory still fresh on my mind, barely 10 years old, made my heart ache once again. I searched and looked, busying myself. Just to not think about fallen trees.

I think I still have that plaque somewhere.

Notification popped up on my phone. I barely spared a glance. New email icon almost made me fall from the chair.

I walked with purpose. I walked fast. Faster than I thought possible without running. History department was located in one of the oldest buildings in the city, far from the campus I finished my degree in. Unfamiliar, cramped hallways filled me with immensurable anxiety. I needed out. I needed to be outside. On top of the tree, like a bird.

I wanted to fly away.

Knuckles met wood-lookalike plastic-covered cheap door. “Come in.” Deep raspy bass responded to my silent call. Deep breath, the last like that of drowning man, filled my lungs and I thought I might just die. Door stood open yet the smell kept me from taking even one step inside. “Please, come in. And close the door. I don’t want another complaint.” I did as the voice asked. From the smell alone I thought the room would be filled with white-gray milky smoke snaking its way across the air slowly, waiting for any movement to propel it forward. But the air was clear. Seemed to be, at least. “Hello. You must be-”

“I contacted you about the history of my village, yes.” I cut him off. I didn’t like hearing my name. It sounded weird, wrong. At least when it wasn’t shouted with anger.

Dark eyes peered at me from under meticulously plucked eyebrows. He looked nothing like a man I imagined to see. Nothing seemed to be misplaced. Not even one book or paper laid on the floor. Neatly arranged books on the gigantic shelf stood proud in alphabetical order. “Yes, well. Thank you for the email. And once again, I’m sorry for the delayed response.” Crooked smile didn’t fit all this neatness around us. But it did fit the smell. Tobacco heater raised up to his lips when he finished speaking. I didn’t respond, so after he huffed out nearly nothing of the smoke he inhaled, historian continued: “I’m proud to say I’m very honest person, so I’ll give it to you straight. At first I thought you were just another student too lazy to do the assignment. I ignored your email. But I talked with few of my colleagues and none of them even heard your name before, so I checked if you are in our database. And you are. But you finished a degree from completely different department.”

I nodded at his words. “Biology.” My voice broke a little and I wanted to die from the embarrassment.

The man smiled and inhaled another dose of nicotine. “Yes, that’s why I agreed to the meeting. It’s quite unusual for a young woman such as yourself to be wanting to deep-dive into the history of the place she lives.”

I smiled politely. If he only knew of the shadows. The tapping. The forest, the trees, the fallen trees. The trees keep falling and I hear them even kilometers away. “I understand, but as I mentioned in my email-”

“You can’t find anything beyond current affairs.” His eyes glinted, like a hungry man’s at the sight of freshly baked bread. “But you found your grandmother’s journal.”

My hand instinctively reached into my backpack. Fingers lingered on the leather cover a tad too long before I pulled it out. “I don’t think it’s my grandmother’s. First page is dated for 1914 and there’s my grandfather’s family name. I think grandmother only kept it safe after grandfather’s passing.”

Historian nodded. I doubt he heard any of the words I spoke. His eyes already glued to yellowed pages slid across old, grayish-green ink, took in the shape of letters, meaning of words. I waited for the verdict. Memory of the faded blue ink turning freshly black popped into my mind. Would he think I traced over the thoughts of people long gone? Fresh tightness in my chest bloomed. Not waiting for the invite I sat down on the only other chair in the room. I watched the man I asked for help. I watched his expression shift slightly. Curiosity gave way to slightly raised eyebrows, relaxed posture stiffened. Notebook – still open on the first page – carefully landed on the desk.

“Interesting.” Quiet whisper startled me. Short finger traced line after line of text. “You said it’s a contract between families about relocation and safekeeping. And there is something like that written here, but at the same time I don’t think it’s necessarily only about this.” Brown eyes focused on me. They were shining. Sparkling. Shiver ran up my spine. “I understand how you got confused. The language, although not that different from the one we use today, is a bit different. Words with slightly changed meaning when reviewed without the context of the time they were used in can make the whole document mean something completely different. This-” he pointed at the notebook. I have no doubt he’d jab his finger into the page if it wasn’t so old. “says about relocation and keeping safe in regards to the families named on later pages. Someone agreed to help them relocate. Someone agreed to keep them safe. But the words used here were chosen carefully. I think – this is only my opinion now – that the families wanted to keep their helper’s identity a secret. Maybe one of the sides invading this terrain.”

“If the other side found the journal, they couldn’t say anything about betrayal or anything, right?”

Historian smiled with only half of his lips again. “All sides of the conflict were incredibly suspicious about everything. They could just accuse anyone of anything, really. If there was any proof, that was completely different story. Depends of what officer got assigned to gather evidence of said spying. In most cases those families if caught, would end up with their faces to the wall and gun to the back of their heads.”

I nodded. No one would play the role of the judge in active warzone. “This doesn’t really help here, right? The notebook. There’s no clue about the village.”

Man looked at me for a second, his eyes lost focus as he drowned in his thoughts. “I can look around. I definitively have more access to archives and such than you.”

“And you know what to look for, how to do it.”

I agreed for him to take pictures of the notebook. Something deep inside told me it would be really bad idea to let him keep the original for the time being. No matter his mask of easy-going demeanor or half-jokes about stealing it. I kept close watch as he positioned his light, fixed the focus, changed lenses on the biggest camera I’ve ever seen. He pressed the button again and again, and again, and again. Then he asked questions. About the notebook, my family, family names mentioned in the notebook.

Satisfied he gathered as much information as he could, he finally let me go. Door closed behind me with soft click and I felt weight on my shoulders double. I twitched slightly, looked straight into the shadow of an unlit hallway. I swear I saw something move there.

Why was I spared?

Question circled back to me for the thousandth time. Why am I still alive? I tried to- Few times in the past I- It’s difficult to even write this. Words fall from my mouth no problem, but the written words feels more permanent. More real. And I don’t want this information to be real. I just want to forget I even did anything to myself. I lived.

Why?

This… thing, whatever it is, met me when I was a child. It would be incredibly easy to just take me. Make me disappear.

I waited for the email with any information. I worked long hours, volunteered for the overtime. During work, when I talked to people, I joked with clients and scolded some, I laughed with regulars and got angry at teenagers. I was normal. I had feelings, emotions. I felt human. The feeling persisted when I turned the key, enabled the alarm and walked the dark night like I owned it. Loud music made all windows in my car tremble. Bit by bit, grain by grain, human in me escaped the closer I got to the house.

Empty shell walked up the stairs to my bedroom. Didn’t eat. Didn’t shower. Fell face first on the couch since I didn’t want to stink up my bed. Didn’t fall asleep. That was out of the question. Alone in the darkness.

Tap tap tap.

Not alone.

I was tired. So, so tired. Of fear, of living like this. Of being tired. I blew all money I saved on moving to a different country and I came back home faster than I left. I had nothing left to try. I had no strength left to change anything. Not a job. Not a living situation. Not even myself.

Tap tap tap.

But I was still alive.

I opened my eyes and pushed myself up. Work uniform clung to my skin, oily, drenched. Smell of fries, pizza and stale sweat followed me right up to the window. I opened it. Opened myself to the darkness. Cold night air snaked its way into the room. Fresh, moist. It gripped my heart, squeezed it tight. The smell of late night walks through still undeveloped village. Wild boars, small excavators, dug through the earth on both sides. Deer stomped through the meadows, elk not far behind. Screaming foxes made my heart jump at the unexpected sound. Most of the landscape stayed without a fence so the animal populations wouldn’t get separated.

Late night walks with red eyes following me from every window. Late night walks when no one was around. No one looked at me. No one laughed at me. No one cared. The only time I felt at peace.

I looked into the darkness and didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Yet my eyes traveled to the left, to the forest. My heart began to sing.

“You were right. There is something weird about the beginning of your village.” The man exhaled nauseating, sickly sweet smoke. It was supposed to smell like blueberries, instead smelled like rotting corpse set on fire. “There were no mentions about it before 1914. It wasn’t on any of the maps. Here, look at this.” He grabbed rolled up piece of thick paper and spread it on the table, holding edges with his hands before I placed two books on each side. Perfectly manicured nail jabbed into the green area. “This is a scan of map from 1910. That’s where your village is now. Roughly. I compared it with the maps made just after the war. Suddenly, in just under four years and during the worst, biggest war yet those families in your notebook managed to build rather large settlement in the middle of the forest. Where did they get resources and materials? Where did they get as much manpower to build more than ten houses in only four years? Even if everyone worked together, which would be possible but it is a stretch, they wouldn’t have any materials to build with. Could they use trees? Sure, but then the manpower stretch breaks. And then!” The man vibrated with excitement. Another map rolled open on top. Year in the corner written in beautiful cursive – 1939. “This is map of the whole country made by German spies right before the start of the Second World War. There is no settlement marked where the village sits. Could be an error of one man, who knows. Except it’s not only this map. To avoid mistakes, German military ordered three people to make maps independently. There is nothing on any of them that would indicate anyone lived in the area.”

My head spun, heavy from the overload of information. Historian rambled on, asked me questions I answered automatically. Were there ruins anywhere in the area? Any stories never written about, maybe, the whole settlement being wiped out? He asked specifics too, but I said ‘no’ to all of them.

Village popped up again in maps after the war officially finished. The whole time there were only two points of exit – the main road, the only road, from one smaller town to the capital of the voivodeship. Everything else was just forest and farmland.

But around 2010, when my grandfather died, first agreement to cut down portion of the forest was signed. First outsiders came in and wanted to rule the land as their own with no regard to the people already living in the area. Complaints about cows, chickens, pigs, horses being too loud, too disruptive. Tractors and harvesters destroyed their warped ideas of ‘peaceful, countryside life’. At which statement locals laughed out loud. But rich and powerful had connections. I still remember the fines people had to pay for supposed mistreatment of animals. Some had their livestock taken altogether. I didn’t care back then, I was too young to understand.

I understand now.

I thanked the historian for all his work and got up to leave. “Can you give me some contact information to any older people living in the area? I have to talk to them, get to the bottom of this. This, all of this, is so bizarre. I’m shocked no one else noticed the discrepancies in the maps.”

“I don’t have any contact to anyone to be honest. But I can try to get it for you.” I smiled without any intention of providing what I promised.

I walked the forest that evening. I walked trying to keep my fear in check. I ditched sandy road and stepped into the bushes. I ducked and weaved between low hanging branches. Smell of resin brought back more memories. Happy, careless memories. Dry underbrush smelled like a fall from the tree I climbed. Creek I followed sounded like steady, quiet part of the river I used to jump into.

If only I wasn’t robbed of my innocence at such young age.

I got to the hill covered in fallen trees. Doubt nuzzled itself into my heart. I moved quickly, before it could make me change my mind. I climbed higher and higher. Wet trees (why were they wet?) like snakes moved from under me, made me lose my balance more than once. But I pressed on. Under the tree, over it, around. I reached the top and didn’t know what to do. The mounds I found as a child no longer existed. I didn’t know where I should even begin to look. I had no plan. Nothing even close to it. Embarrassment washed over me. With few pieces of large puzzle in my hand I thought I knew what I could do. Where would I get the rest of the puzzle? There were no historical records to look through, no one to talk to since everyone who might know something were dead or close to dying.

But I was tired. I had to change something, anything. I sat down on one of the trees and waited. If I turned out to be wrong, which I most definitely was, at least this nonsensical existence would finally end.

I waited.

And waited.

I looked around some more, changed places.

And waited.

Light disappeared much faster in forests than outside of it. Trees obstructed the sun, cast shadows much deeper, richer. I wondered if maybe I would bump into the forester out here. His words rang true in my mind – there were close to none animals left here. No squirrels, no birds, no deer, elk, foxes, wolves, boars. Animals weren’t the thing I had to fear here.

Sun set fast, shadows deepened and stretched infinitely, twisted and merged with each other.

I didn’t hear anything. I didn’t see anything. I sat and waited, but I felt like my wait-time neared its end.

Tap tap tap.

Hollow sound echoed both close and far away. Much different than sharp tapping on the glass.

Tap tap tap.

I turned, tried to locate the source of it. To no avail. I saw nothing. Nothing but shadows stretching endlessly. I stared into the darkness for a long while without blinking, but it was worth it.

Because darkness stared back.

Something shifted ever so slightly. Hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Primal part of me screamed to run, to get away. Something I didn’t understand came closer, I felt it more than saw or heard.

“Why did you let me live?”

Darkness stopped as if shocked by my question. It couldn’t be, I doubt it left any emotion. But I made it stop with my words alone. Unexpected.

“Did you need something from me?”

I stared into darkness, but darkness stayed silent. Nothing moved. Nothing responded. I tried again.

“Do you need me to do something? Why am I still alive? You could’ve killed me long time ago. But you didn’t. You need me for something, am I right?”

I didn’t get an answer to any of my questions. At least not directly.

Shadow moved. Creeped closer silently, as if gliding above the ground. Trees disappeared in it, not even an outline could be visible. It drew nearer. Slowly, like a black wall. I sat and stared, terrified out of my mind. It touched my outstretched leg and I watched as it got swallowed. Darkness moved up my calf, crossed the knee, slowly obliterated my thigh.

It didn’t hurt.

I still felt my legs. I could move them no problem.

Wall nearly touched my nose when I finally closed my eyes.

Memories flooded my mind. All at once, everything I wondered about had been answered. I knew everything, from start to finish. Or rather not the finish, no. There was no end to it all, at least until I was alive and had something to say about it.

Darkness spit me out. I don’t remember how I got home, but when I did, I fell asleep almost instantly. Next few days I lived in a daze. My head felt like it could crack in the middle at any moment. Bone separated from bone with wet pop of skin that finally stretched too thin. I couldn’t keep anything down, slept next to the toilet and existed only on paper.

“Are you okay?” someone asked. I nodded, not recognizing the voice coming from the darkest corner of the bathroom. Or maybe this was only a hallucination from exhaustion.

Slowly, but surely the memories separated, each one a bit clearer than the rest still mushed together. Through eyes of others before me I saw what happened and why I was still alive. I wasn’t the chosen one. I was just in right place at the right time.

I looked at the face of the devil and tried to feel something. Anything. Fear. Or at least regret. Nothing. There was nothing.

I said words, right words, but they had no meaning anymore. I think he’d come with me no matter what came out of my mouth, just so he could badmouth me once again.

“You can’t do anything right, can you! Went and got a degree for what, when you can’t even think!? How long do you have driver’s license? How long? Almost ten years! And you can’t even drive out of the sandy road!?”

It went on and on, and on. Just like any other time he already had something to drink that day. I just looked at the passing trees as we drove deeper into the woods. Heart in my throat beat rapidly, I felt y face grow hotter as he turned the car around. He got out and walked to the back to asses the damage. I jumped out, walked fast after him. Cold steel felt heavy in my hand before I raised it above my head. Then it weighted nearly nothing.

Wet crack sounded much louder than I expected. I dropped the wrench. It got buried in the sandy road by the limp feet.

Sweat poured off me. My back ached like never before. I could feel my arms go more numb with each passing minute. Legs held on until last second. Then I just collapsed. Every breath felt like a hellfire raging in my lungs. Every slightest air movement caused my overheated, sweaty body to shiver. But I made it to the top. Now the only thing left was to wait.

I looked to the sky slowly turning darker shade of blue with orange and red clouds here and there. I looked at the face of the devil. His eyes were half open, he tried to gurgle something out. I almost felt bad.

Almost.

I tried to feel some sympathy or regret, I really did. I mean, this was the man that taught me how to ride a bike. How to use powerdrill. He taught me I shouldn’t expect someone to be nice to me without giving something from myself. Taught me I would never be good enough if I wasn’t like him. Taught me fear like I should never know at such young age. Taught me that words hurt more than fists – he himself helped me understand the difference. Taught me that anger is the most powerful emotion there is. That no matter what I achieved, what I make of myself – I wouldn’t be worth any type of love. Not even from my own parent.

I looked at the blood seeping out of the broken skin. It clung to his hair, weighed it down in clumps. I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. Tears did.

Shadows elongated, twisted and merged. I could barely see through salty water, my own pain getting in the way of the revenge I longer for. I furiously rubbed my eyes, but the tears wouldn’t stop flowing.

Earth moved behind him. I put my hand on his head, on his wound, and pressed down. He let out pathetic whine and I choked out few last words he would ever hear.

And then he was gone.

Swallowed by the dirtmound that haunted my nightmares for so long. I fell to my knees and cried until I couldn’t anymore. I wasn’t mourning him. I mourned my own life. The life I could have if I wasn’t born of him. Or if he just stopped drinking. I cried and cried, and cried. My tears fell on the dirt, mixed with his blood. I puked, and cried even more.

I got home. No one noticed the blood. No one even asked where he was. As if they knew. But they didn’t. They couldn’t know. Just like no one knew about all those missing people from both wars.

I found a strength to start a new life. Finally got a push I needed. I still need to figure out some things, like how often do I need to- Nevermind. I already started planning. I would build a house in those woods. Where would I get the money? I just will ask for a better job. I could ask for money, but that would raise suspicion. Or not. But I wouldn’t want to risk it anyway. So I’ll ask, wish, for better job. And I will get it. Just like I will get the whole forest for myself. I won’t put up fences, I want to help animals thrive. They started coming back, you know? I saw a family of foxes. And a deer. I will get anything I wanted until I kept my part of the contract. I could wish to just be safe, just like the original contract stated. But I wanted more. So I will have to provide more. Everything has a price.

Historian wrote to me. He wanted to meet, talk about something weird he found. He mentioned the tapping. Poor guy got too close to the truth. I suppose there would be one more fallen tree. I knew it would be the last one. At least until I was alive.

Since the last time I posted about my peculiar problem, I haven’t been able to sleep.

I laid in my bed, surrounded by safety of warm blankets. A shield from all the evil this world had to offer. My brain refused to shut off and rest, so I just laid there and stared. At slightly blue-gray ceiling, black walls adorned with countless white words and drawings.

It could be the stress. Could be genetic predisposition to problems with sleep catching up with me. Or could be that extremely rare disease where human suddenly looses the ability to sleep. All that’s left then is to wait for death. Although I’m fairly certain the disease is just a myth. I could be wrong, in which case – what a horrible way to die.

I laid in my bed and thought over my life. Choices and mistakes I made. Turmoil of my life manifested in bruises, on my body and soul. Broken bones, broken perception of myself. Despite my body being closer to thirty than twenty, my mind instantly reverted back to nine the second he walked into a room. I couldn’t help but think – would it be better if that thing, that moving mound of dirt, caught me? Would I feel like this? Useless, lonely. Maybe I would belong there. Maybe-

Tap.

All my thoughts vanished, leaving me with black canvas. Fear grabbed paint and got to work. What could this… thing… look like?

Tap, tap, tap.

As much as I wanted to see it, I pushed the painting away. I tried to block out the sound. Even thinking about failure of my life smelled like fresh flowers in that moment.

Four sounds. Four taps against cold glass. Like four drops of water that caused the flood.

I decided to run away. Not from home, I never felt like I had one. From my life as a whole. I needed to get away, start over. Build from the grave up.

Warm blanket turned into a suffocating cage. Black walls became a prison. I felt something move in my chest. Like a parasite I tried to burn for years. It did not die in any way that’s important. It laid dormant. Waited for the perfect moment. Such like this.

Tap, tap, tap.

Monster waited patiently, but made itself known. In subtle ways it always walked with me, but never attacked. Mere fact of its presence filled me with bottomless dread. My shadow moved on its own in ways only I noticed. A twitch here and there, quick unexplainable darkening of the shape of me, quick movement disappearing around the corner where there was no corner. It choked me, filled my throat with tar. Clogged, stuffed it full so only few atoms could pass through at once. The anticipation of an attack that never came.

I looked at the duffel bag in front of me. The only thing I could bring with me aside from worn out backpack. So many things I had to leave behind. Collection of books and bones, CDs, black walls adorned with my own writing, old beloved furniture I collected over the years – equally as unwanted as me. I packed only most important things. Few changes of clothes, basic toiletries, medical history, medication. Although I didn’t know why I felt the need to bring with me the latter. Sleeping pills didn’t work anymore. I could as well flush them down the toilet. Small thing that once granted me a moment of peace of mind, shape of tiny coin in color of fresh salmon meat. I stood and stared at white and blue packaging. It looked back at me.

Why was I still alive?

After all those years. It had countless opportunities to kill me, but instead it settled on silent observation. A torment. It chased me, but only in the forest. Was it keeping me alive for something? What did it want if not my death?

I zipped the bag shut. It felt heavy on my shoulder. I carried twenty six years down the stairs. Silence followed me like a stranger I never met. Meaningless hug, and a second, and third, then fourth. Some cliché words exchanged, void of any promise. Call us and Visit us. Or We’ll visit if we can. I closed white door with rust specs already eating away at the metal beneath the paint. All four of them probably stood in front of the house I grew up in. The place I never left for more than two weeks at a time. Maybe they waved. Probably not. They probably just stared, maybe exchanged some words about me. I wouldn’t know, because I never looked back.

Driver tried to make some small talk. I answered as well as I could. I never learned how to talk to people. How to make connections that lasted more than a month. Awkward silence hasn’t been broken by any of fellow travelers, so I too put on my headphones to drown it out. To run away from it as I did with all my problems.

First hour of my journey to new life. We passed meadows, farmhouses, seas of golden wheat and green pastures. Grazing animals looked at us, still grinding grass to dust between molars. Trees lined the road mot of the way. None of them were broken.

By the third hour I closed my eyes. Sleep tried to take me into peaceful, silent void, but something prevented this from happening. Each time something else. Other passenger’s phone rang so loud I heard it over the sound of music blaring in my ears. She spoke equally loud. Her shrill voice shot needles through my brain. After she stopped talking with ‘her darling son’, driver didn’t slow down before bigger hole in asphalt. The whole van shook violently. I decided to power through without sleep. Maybe this was the best course of action anyway. I knew what lurked in the darkness. Waited patiently. For me? For the right moment to strike? Who knew.

I unbuckled my seatbelt for a second and leaned forward to reach under my seat. My bag felt even heavier now as I pulled it out. I rummaged through the contest of smaller pocket in search for the one book I brought with me. To my surprise, I saw another one right next to it. Unfamiliar with the size and edges of hardback cover I pulled it out. Thick and heavy. Complete mystery wrapped in brown, tattered paper, held together seemingly only by thin, linen twine. I knew better than to open it. The present could as well be a trap. I was running away from something I didn’t understand and during my journey I found a book which inexplicably made its way into my bag? No, thank you.

Sudden pressure on my forearm startled me. Book almost tumbled to the ground, but I caught it at the last second. The woman who talked loud on the phone earlier was looking at me.

“Are you okay?” She asked when I pushed headphones off my ears. Barely contained curiosity in her eyes rubbed me the wrong way. “You’ve been looking at it for the last hour.”

I felt immense urge to hurl that book out the window. “Uh, yeah, I’m fine. I’m listening to audiobook and probably got lost in it a bit. Thanks for checking in.” Woman didn’t look convinced, but that was all she would get from me. Once again I lost myself in music – the only peace I’ve ever known.

I still didn’t want to believe anything weird was happening. Or I just tried to will this into existence. Nevertheless, I tried to reason how anything got into my bag without my knowledge, but for the life of me I couldn’t come up with anything. In my desperation I wrote to both my siblings.

Hey. Did you put anything in my bag when I was in the toilet?

Van screeched to a halt. Seatbelt dug painfully into my body, pressed into my skin as if desperate to cut through it to get to my blood. I pushed headphones off my ears to ask what happened, but all I heard was Loud Nosey Woman hurling insults at the driver. “Where did you learn how to drive!? This is your fucking job and your performance is unacceptable! I will be filing a complaint after this trip is over!” Thankfully, I caught only the tail end of it. Driver, seemingly not phased by the screaming, calmly exited the vehicle. Other passengers tried to calm the woman down, but she firmly believed in her own version – it was all driver’s fault. I craned my neck to see what sparked the commotion in the first place.

In the middle of the road stood moose. His head hung low, weighted down by giant antlers, and bobbed slowly from side to side.

My first thought – rabies. Any time wild animal behaves weird it’s best to avoid it and contact whoever in power – police officer, forester, veterinarian – and they either will ask for all of the details to pass to correct institution or just tell you where to go. In no situation should you approach the animal.

Something scraped against the asphalt, something hard and big.

I felt blood drain from my face. Memory popped up in my mind and forced its way to the front of my brain. It was hazy, as if I looked at it through murky water during algal bloom. Grandma Maria stood in the shade of our apple tree, one of many. She turned her head up to meet my eyes as I pressed my cheek against coarse bark. Sweet smell of surrounding flowers overwhelmed me, I could barely make out strange tone of my grandma’s voice, one that I would hear more and more often.

“Bad things happen to people who leave this village.”

Moose took another step, this time faster. “Get the fuck back in!” Scream almost shattered my eardrums, but it did work. Driver stopped filming approaching animal and hopped into his seat to reverse. His movements so nonchalant and calm as if it was just another day. Van turned around and for split second, when it stopped parallel to the road I saw eyes. Milky white, yet darker than any night I ever lived through.

Hand reached out of the deepest depths and lunged for my throat.

Loud Woman chewed driver’s ear off. She went on and on about suing the company, endangering her life – not our lives, her life specifically. Others joined her at first, but with each passing minute they crumbled away into their own post-adrenaline-rush exhaustion. I don’t know when my headphones died. Hour ago? Two? I wouldn’t be able to tell. My body refused to move even a centimeter. When did I blink last? Was I even breathing?

“Bad things happen to the people who leave this village.”

Coincidence. Plain and simple. A collection of factors conducive to events which could be perceived as fate, a predestined future. Everyone in their life heard something similar. “Leaving this place is risky!” and “Future anywhere else is uncertain!” Following incidents then seemed like fulfilled prophecy.

But I’ve heard of more accidents than weddings. More funerals than births. More people mourned than celebrated life.

Dying village full of old people, disabled people. Those who spread their wings just for them to be cut off and the carcass to be tossed back into our territory. But there were few who moved out and lived a good, happy life.

Then why me?

Muscles around my dry eyes twitched, forced eyelids to close – a painful movement of steel wool scraping against wood.

No. It wasn’t just me. My aunt, all three of her kids, my grandfather, his brother, whole lineage of that side of my family. They went out into the world, tried to make something of themselves. They all came back hurt, came back wrong, if not physically then mentally. Or came back in wooden box. It took months, sometimes years to conclude them crawling back. But they all did. Without exception they all came back to be laid down in the ground they grew up on.

Tears flooded my vision. I remained comfortably empty without any space left for any emotion. My eyes fell on the leather. I caught the last of my hands’ movements as they settled, like children hiding something from their parent. From the corner of my eye I saw Loud Woman make a face, try to sit as far away as our tight seating allowed her to. I stroked the cover, this time consciously, deep down enjoying what I saw in her eyes.

During the next stop, she demanded the big, burly man switched places with her. He put up a good fight when he thought I didn’t hear them.

“With all due respect, I’m too wide to sit in the middle. Ask that woman or driver’s son.”

“I wouldn’t want to compromise their safety.”

Hot, bitter coffee flushed the last of the meal down my throat. If you could call a dry bun a proper meal.

“Oh, so you’re not concerned about my safety then?”

“You’re much bigger than her. If anything happened-”

“And what do you think can happen? She’s been quiet and calm all this time. Why am I even arguing with you? I’m not switching. That’s final.”

His shoulder pressed into me. I know he tried making himself as small as possible, but to fit comfortably in the middle seat he’d have to break both his collarbones. Only about three hours remained of my journey. Not that it mattered. I barely registered the world around me anymore.

Hey. Yes, I put grandma’s journal into your bag. You know, a parting gift. I know you’re into things like what’s inside so I think it’ll be better for you to have it. I don’t know why granny didn’t leave it to you in the first place.

I stroked the cover. My heart guided my fingers to the buckle, yearning to get to know the content. I stopped myself at the last second every time. I pressed my scolding hot forehead to the cool dark glass.

Pain shot through my head in hot white flash. I felt my eyes open, but darkness persisted. Lips parted to let out at least a fragment of my agony, but no sound wanted to be away from the madness. It pressed up against my skull from the inside, stretched my intestines and stomach until they almost burst. I rolled over. Pain spilled out my lips onto wooden floorboards. They met in quiet splash. Cold sweat poured out of every crevice of my body. I trembled – in fear, in pain, in anticipation. Another wave came soon after. My body contorted, wrapped around itself.

It’s been few weeks now. Each night looked the same. I went to sleep, woke up suddenly just to puke my guts out and writhe in pain until sunrise. I came to completely different country to work and I wasn’t able to do even that. Company manager sat me down. I knew what she’d say before she opened her mouth.

Last night of the nightmare. Fear of excruciating pain kept me awake. I sat up on my makeshift bed – a blanket laid out on the floor. Darkness surrounded me, consumed me, pushed against my body feeling for a way in.

Tap tap tap.

Notebook laid on the bottom of my bag, hidden away under the real bed. A bed I left untouched since my second day here in fear of dirtying it again. I slid my hand across the floor, feeling for the strap. I pulled the bag towards me. My fingertips danced across smooth, soft leather cover. Small belt came undone and once again I peeked inside. Simple log book from the start of World War I. First page marked handwritten contract between ten or so families. Everyone was mentioned by full name. All in all I think around fifty people signed it, their varying handwriting adorned whole three pages. I flipped the pages. Page six was left blank. After that there were a lot of names. And dates. Full government name, hyphen, date. Most of them written in black, some in blue.

My first thought – this was a log book of an old timey crime ring who smuggled people. But I noticed a lot of last names repeated. People written into this book had the same last names as people who signed the contract on the first page. After fifteenth page last names started to change. I compared them to the signatures on pages three to five. It all matched with comments left next to some signatures about last name changes, through marriage or divorce. I skimmed the pages, curious to see if I recognized any of the people mentioned.

Tap tap tap.

Excruciating pain shot through my spine. Electricity jumped from one nerve ending to the next. My teeth ground against each other, enamel cracked and splintered away.

I saw some last names I recognized. Everyone mentioned lived in my village – one of the natives to this land. To tune out the pain I tried remembering who lived in which house, what they looked like, what I knew about them.

Soft night shirt soaked up all the cold sweat my skin produced.

Near the end of the notebook only three last names repeated. Then only two. I stared at lines on the paper. Familiar handwriting – like this of a handicapped chicken – stared back at me from yellowed pages. Names so familiar sent shivers down my spine. Why? It shouldn’t be weird. This was grandma’s journal. It shouldn’t be weird. My grandfather’s writing could very well be in it. It shouldn’t be weird. I turned the page and saw white. It shouldn’t be weird. My name, there on the page, along with my date of birth. It shouldn’t be weird.

Tap tap tap.

And the names of my siblings, their birthdays. Names of children I heard about once, but they did belong to the family. It shouldn’t be weird. But it was. Notebook containing only a contract and names of the descendants of those mentioned?

Tap tap tap.

Early morning sun didn’t have my attention. Shadows danced under my bloodshot eyes as I packed my belongings. Once again the awaiting journey filled me with dread, but this time for entirely different reason.

Milky white eyes flashed in my mind.

“Bad things happen to the people who leave this village.”

I pushed past all the people waiting for the driver to open the door. Muffled grunts and whispers flew around me and I paid them no mind. Door opened. Like a ghost, I appeared in the furthest corner of the small bus. I plopped down on the window seat and pulled out the notebook.

First I chose someone born in 1950s. Internet had many search results for me, but none of the people seemed to be the one I looked for. I tried adding the name of my village. Still nothing. I chose the next on the list. Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when phone I’ve been holding started to buzz. I tried calming my wild heart before answering.

Tap tap tap.

“Hey. Can we talk?”

I looked around. People slept in every uncomfortable position imaginable. Only few squinted at their phones, trying not to fall asleep.

When did sun set again?

“Yeah.” I whispered, not wanting to draw any attention to me. Notebook laid on my lap still open. I managed to get through all the people born in 1950s, 1960s and I just started on 1970s. I looked down on it as my mother stumbled through her words. I couldn’t hear her. I stared at the year 1973. It looked much different the day before.

“Are you there? Hello?”

“Uh, yes. I’m sorry, the reception is spotty. What did you say?”

I could hear my mother sigh and try to hide it. “I said aunt Anna had an accident. She didn’t survive.”

I think I realized that before my mother even said it. Something in the way black ink glistened in dim light, as if still fresh, told me that. Curiosity got the best of me, I pressed index finger into her name. It didn’t smudge, not even a molecule of ink moved out of place on the page.

But it transferred to my fingertip.

“I’ll be back in time for the wake.” I said absentmindedly, realizing my mother waited for me to respond again. I didn’t know what she said. I think she knew that, because she only told me to call them when exactly I’d arrive back home and hung up.

Most written in black, some written in blue.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Quiet voice slithered up to me. I smiled and threw equally quiet thanks in the rough direction it came from. My eyes quickly returned to the notebook in my hands.

The more I stared at the yellowed, delicate pages, the more I felt my brain dissolve. It sloshed around in my skull with tiniest movements. I could barely make out written words in dim light my phone’s screen produced. Yet I read them again and again, and again. By the time clock struck 3am, I probably could recite the contract word for word. Short few sentences about relocating and keeping each other accountable, as well as safe. Worded strange, but it was contract written at the beginning of 20^(th) century. Language evolves constantly, words become less or more used.

Relocating?

What did I know about the village I was born in and lived all my life? Close to nothing. It’s not that uncommon actually. History taught in schools focused on biggest, most relevant events, places and times. Villages like mine were often omitted from books or even official documents.

Relocating.

A lot of people relocated at the start of any war. Did any of them formed a pact with another families and put it to paper? If so, it’s not really common knowledge. And what was it about keeping each other accountable?

Exhaustion finally cut me away from reality and I fell into dreamless void. Much needed rest didn’t last long though. Three hours later someone shook me awake. I got up, still groggy with only one eye barely open, and shuffled out of the minibus. There was no tearful reunion. No one waited for me by the gate or even opened the door. My bag hit the ground, feet followed familiar route to the kitchen. I saw movement out of the corner of my eye and instantly forgot why I walked there. I could just stand there and look. He looked back. Few painfully slow heartbeats passed before I managed to turn away. I grabbed strap of my bag and almost ran up the stairs to my room. To safety.

I didn’t stay long at the wake. It’s not like I liked to look at dead people and I wasn’t that close to aunt Anna. Our relationship could as well be described as strangers since I began distancing myself from my relatives around the age of fifteen.

He saw me move to stand up and shot me a look. I saw devil’s face and it wore my father’s anger.

I pretended I didn’t see that and quietly left the room on trembling legs. I drove home slowly, more so than usual. Front door shut behind me. I stayed in one place, in the dark. Haven’t moved a muscle. Just cried.

Bottle sang sweet nothings from the closet. It never sounded more enticing, but I resisted. With all my might I focused on my breathing. I needed to turn on the light. I needed to do something. To change. Myself, my life, anything. I needed a change.

But I tried and failed. I went to a different country to start new life, got sick and had to come back to the place I wanted to ran away from, the source of my suffering.

The source of my suffering.

I looked down at light brown wood. Priest’s croaky wailing, an attempt of leading black shapeless mass of mourners, sounded in the background. I stared. Bored holes in shiny, polished wood. No matter what happened, we all end up in the wooden box. Cremation and ashes in urns weren’t common practice in my country, especially not in my village.

What did I know about my village? Close to nothing. I decided to change that. Better that than standing in place and letting life pass me by.

I looked down at the light brown wood. Heavy dark clouds hanged low. If I wanted to I could reach my hand up and touch them. Scoop a handful and toss it at my sibling like dirty snow on the side of the road. But I didn’t. I only stared at shiny wooden box containing my aunt’s body. Four men in pristine black suits put on their white gloves. Priest wailed another, hopefully last, prayer. Box slowly disappeared into the hole. Black shapeless mass of mourners stepped closer to throw a handful of dirt on the lid. No one looked inside. No one had time when another person behind them already grabbed their piece of dirt to throw. I stood on the other side of the grave with only gravediggers and funeral home’s employees behind me. I bent over to join the ritual. And I looked. Down the dark hole, encased in shadows. For some reason I thought about milky white eyes of a moose.

Earth shook slightly and opened. Black tendrils wrapped tight around the casket. Wood creaked and first cracks began to form before it got pulled in and the earth closed again.

I stared at the light brown dirt. Big hand moved me gently to the side. Gravediggers grabbed their respective shovels and moved all the dirt back into the hole they dug. Mourners still cried and sniffled, priest still wailed, sky was still covered by thick black blanket. No one noticed a thing.

I stared at the empty grave.

I needed to know more about my village.

Since the last time I posted about my peculiar problem, I haven’t been able to sleep.

I laid in my bed, surrounded by safety of warm blankets. A shield from all the evil this world had to offer. My brain refused to shut off and rest, so I just laid there and stared. At slightly blue-gray ceiling, black walls adorned with countless white words and drawings.

It could be the stress. Could be genetic predisposition to problems with sleep catching up with me. Or could be that extremely rare disease where human suddenly looses the ability to sleep. All that’s left then is to wait for death. Although I’m fairly certain the disease is just a myth. I could be wrong, in which case – what a horrible way to die.

I laid in my bed and thought over my life. Choices and mistakes I made. Turmoil of my life manifested in bruises, on my body and soul. Broken bones, broken perception of myself. Despite my body being closer to thirty than twenty, my mind instantly reverted back to nine the second he walked into a room. I couldn’t help but think – would it be better if that thing, that moving mound of dirt, caught me? Would I feel like this? Useless, lonely. Maybe I would belong there. Maybe-

Tap.

All my thoughts vanished, leaving me with black canvas. Fear grabbed paint and got to work. What could this… thing… look like?

Tap, tap, tap.

As much as I wanted to see it, I pushed the painting away. I tried to block out the sound. Even thinking about failure of my life smelled like fresh flowers in that moment.

Four sounds. Four taps against cold glass. Like four drops of water that caused the flood.

I decided to run away. Not from home, I never felt like I had one. From my life as a whole. I needed to get away, start over. Build from the grave up.

Warm blanket turned into a suffocating cage. Black walls became a prison. I felt something move in my chest. Like a parasite I tried to burn for years. It did not die in any way that’s important. It laid dormant. Waited for the perfect moment. Such like this.

Tap, tap, tap.

Monster waited patiently, but made itself known. In subtle ways it always walked with me, but never attacked. Mere fact of its presence filled me with bottomless dread. My shadow moved on its own in ways only I noticed. A twitch here and there, quick unexplainable darkening of the shape of me, quick movement disappearing around the corner where there was no corner. It choked me, filled my throat with tar. Clogged, stuffed it full so only few atoms could pass through at once. The anticipation of an attack that never came.

I looked at the duffel bag in front of me. The only thing I could bring with me aside from worn out backpack. So many things I had to leave behind. Collection of books and bones, CDs, black walls adorned with my own writing, old beloved furniture I collected over the years – equally as unwanted as me. I packed only most important things. Few changes of clothes, basic toiletries, medical history, medication. Although I didn’t know why I felt the need to bring with me the latter. Sleeping pills didn’t work anymore. I could as well flush them down the toilet. Small thing that once granted me a moment of peace of mind, shape of tiny coin in color of fresh salmon meat. I stood and stared at white and blue packaging. It looked back at me.

Why was I still alive?

After all those years. It had countless opportunities to kill me, but instead it settled on silent observation. A torment. It chased me, but only in the forest. Was it keeping me alive for something? What did it want if not my death?

I zipped the bag shut. It felt heavy on my shoulder. I carried twenty six years down the stairs. Silence followed me like a stranger I never met. Meaningless hug, and a second, and third, then fourth. Some cliché words exchanged, void of any promise. Call us and Visit us. Or We’ll visit if we can. I closed white door with rust specs already eating away at the metal beneath the paint. All four of them probably stood in front of the house I grew up in. The place I never left for more than two weeks at a time. Maybe they waved. Probably not. They probably just stared, maybe exchanged some words about me. I wouldn’t know, because I never looked back.

Driver tried to make some small talk. I answered as well as I could. I never learned how to talk to people. How to make connections that lasted more than a month. Awkward silence hasn’t been broken by any of fellow travelers, so I too put on my headphones to drown it out. To run away from it as I did with all my problems.

First hour of my journey to new life. We passed meadows, farmhouses, seas of golden wheat and green pastures. Grazing animals looked at us, still grinding grass to dust between molars. Trees lined the road mot of the way. None of them were broken.

By the third hour I closed my eyes. Sleep tried to take me into peaceful, silent void, but something prevented this from happening. Each time something else. Other passenger’s phone rang so loud I heard it over the sound of music blaring in my ears. She spoke equally loud. Her shrill voice shot needles through my brain. After she stopped talking with ‘her darling son’, driver didn’t slow down before bigger hole in asphalt. The whole van shook violently. I decided to power through without sleep. Maybe this was the best course of action anyway. I knew what lurked in the darkness. Waited patiently. For me? For the right moment to strike? Who knew.

I unbuckled my seatbelt for a second and leaned forward to reach under my seat. My bag felt even heavier now as I pulled it out. I rummaged through the contest of smaller pocket in search for the one book I brought with me. To my surprise, I saw another one right next to it. Unfamiliar with the size and edges of hardback cover I pulled it out. Thick and heavy. Complete mystery wrapped in brown, tattered paper, held together seemingly only by thin, linen twine. I knew better than to open it. The present could as well be a trap. I was running away from something I didn’t understand and during my journey I found a book which inexplicably made its way into my bag? No, thank you.

Sudden pressure on my forearm startled me. Book almost tumbled to the ground, but I caught it at the last second. The woman who talked loud on the phone earlier was looking at me.

“Are you okay?” She asked when I pushed headphones off my ears. Barely contained curiosity in her eyes rubbed me the wrong way. “You’ve been looking at it for the last hour.”

I felt immense urge to hurl that book out the window. “Uh, yeah, I’m fine. I’m listening to audiobook and probably got lost in it a bit. Thanks for checking in.” Woman didn’t look convinced, but that was all she would get from me. Once again I lost myself in music – the only peace I’ve ever known.

I still didn’t want to believe anything weird was happening. Or I just tried to will this into existence. Nevertheless, I tried to reason how anything got into my bag without my knowledge, but for the life of me I couldn’t come up with anything. In my desperation I wrote to both my siblings.

Hey. Did you put anything in my bag when I was in the toilet?

Van screeched to a halt. Seatbelt dug painfully into my body, pressed into my skin as if desperate to cut through it to get to my blood. I pushed headphones off my ears to ask what happened, but all I heard was Loud Nosey Woman hurling insults at the driver. “Where did you learn how to drive!? This is your fucking job and your performance is unacceptable! I will be filing a complaint after this trip is over!” Thankfully, I caught only the tail end of it. Driver, seemingly not phased by the screaming, calmly exited the vehicle. Other passengers tried to calm the woman down, but she firmly believed in her own version – it was all driver’s fault. I craned my neck to see what sparked the commotion in the first place.

In the middle of the road stood moose. His head hung low, weighted down by giant antlers, and bobbed slowly from side to side.

My first thought – rabies. Any time wild animal behaves weird it’s best to avoid it and contact whoever in power – police officer, forester, veterinarian – and they either will ask for all of the details to pass to correct institution or just tell you where to go. In no situation should you approach the animal.

Something scraped against the asphalt, something hard and big.

I felt blood drain from my face. Memory popped up in my mind and forced its way to the front of my brain. It was hazy, as if I looked at it through murky water during algal bloom. Grandma Maria stood in the shade of our apple tree, one of many. She turned her head up to meet my eyes as I pressed my cheek against coarse bark. Sweet smell of surrounding flowers overwhelmed me, I could barely make out strange tone of my grandma’s voice, one that I would hear more and more often.

“Bad things happen to people who leave this village.”

Moose took another step, this time faster. “Get the fuck back in!” Scream almost shattered my eardrums, but it did work. Driver stopped filming approaching animal and hopped into his seat to reverse. His movements so nonchalant and calm as if it was just another day. Van turned around and for split second, when it stopped parallel to the road I saw eyes. Milky white, yet darker than any night I ever lived through.

Hand reached out of the deepest depths and lunged for my throat.

Loud Woman chewed driver’s ear off. She went on and on about suing the company, endangering her life – not our lives, her life specifically. Others joined her at first, but with each passing minute they crumbled away into their own post-adrenaline-rush exhaustion. I don’t know when my headphones died. Hour ago? Two? I wouldn’t be able to tell. My body refused to move even a centimeter. When did I blink last? Was I even breathing?

“Bad things happen to the people who leave this village.”

Coincidence. Plain and simple. A collection of factors conducive to events which could be perceived as fate, a predestined future. Everyone in their life heard something similar. “Leaving this place is risky!” and “Future anywhere else is uncertain!” Following incidents then seemed like fulfilled prophecy.

But I’ve heard of more accidents than weddings. More funerals than births. More people mourned than celebrated life.

Dying village full of old people, disabled people. Those who spread their wings just for them to be cut off and the carcass to be tossed back into our territory. But there were few who moved out and lived a good, happy life.

Then why me?

Muscles around my dry eyes twitched, forced eyelids to close – a painful movement of steel wool scraping against wood.

No. It wasn’t just me. My aunt, all three of her kids, my grandfather, his brother, whole lineage of that side of my family. They went out into the world, tried to make something of themselves. They all came back hurt, came back wrong, if not physically then mentally. Or came back in wooden box. It took months, sometimes years to conclude them crawling back. But they all did. Without exception they all came back to be laid down in the ground they grew up on.

Tears flooded my vision. I remained comfortably empty without any space left for any emotion. My eyes fell on the leather. I caught the last of my hands’ movements as they settled, like children hiding something from their parent. From the corner of my eye I saw Loud Woman make a face, try to sit as far away as our tight seating allowed her to. I stroked the cover, this time consciously, deep down enjoying what I saw in her eyes.

During the next stop, she demanded the big, burly man switched places with her. He put up a good fight when he thought I didn’t hear them.

“With all due respect, I’m too wide to sit in the middle. Ask that woman or driver’s son.”

“I wouldn’t want to compromise their safety.”

Hot, bitter coffee flushed the last of the meal down my throat. If you could call a dry bun a proper meal.

“Oh, so you’re not concerned about my safety then?”

“You’re much bigger than her. If anything happened-”

“And what do you think can happen? She’s been quiet and calm all this time. Why am I even arguing with you? I’m not switching. That’s final.”

His shoulder pressed into me. I know he tried making himself as small as possible, but to fit comfortably in the middle seat he’d have to break both his collarbones. Only about three hours remained of my journey. Not that it mattered. I barely registered the world around me anymore.

Hey. Yes, I put grandma’s journal into your bag. You know, a parting gift. I know you’re into things like what’s inside so I think it’ll be better for you to have it. I don’t know why granny didn’t leave it to you in the first place.

I stroked the cover. My heart guided my fingers to the buckle, yearning to get to know the content. I stopped myself at the last second every time. I pressed my scolding hot forehead to the cool dark glass.

Pain shot through my head in hot white flash. I felt my eyes open, but darkness persisted. Lips parted to let out at least a fragment of my agony, but no sound wanted to be away from the madness. It pressed up against my skull from the inside, stretched my intestines and stomach until they almost burst. I rolled over. Pain spilled out my lips onto wooden floorboards. They met in quiet splash. Cold sweat poured out of every crevice of my body. I trembled – in fear, in pain, in anticipation. Another wave came soon after. My body contorted, wrapped around itself.

It’s been few weeks now. Each night looked the same. I went to sleep, woke up suddenly just to puke my guts out and writhe in pain until sunrise. I came to completely different country to work and I wasn’t able to do even that. Company manager sat me down. I knew what she’d say before she opened her mouth.

Last night of the nightmare. Fear of excruciating pain kept me awake. I sat up on my makeshift bed – a blanket laid out on the floor. Darkness surrounded me, consumed me, pushed against my body feeling for a way in.

Tap tap tap.

Notebook laid on the bottom of my bag, hidden away under the real bed. A bed I left untouched since my second day here in fear of dirtying it again. I slid my hand across the floor, feeling for the strap. I pulled the bag towards me. My fingertips danced across smooth, soft leather cover. Small belt came undone and once again I peeked inside. Simple log book from the start of World War I. First page marked handwritten contract between ten or so families. Everyone was mentioned by full name. All in all I think around fifty people signed it, their varying handwriting adorned whole three pages. I flipped the pages. Page six was left blank. After that there were a lot of names. And dates. Full government name, hyphen, date. Most of them written in black, some in blue.

My first thought – this was a log book of an old timey crime ring who smuggled people. But I noticed a lot of last names repeated. People written into this book had the same last names as people who signed the contract on the first page. After fifteenth page last names started to change. I compared them to the signatures on pages three to five. It all matched with comments left next to some signatures about last name changes, through marriage or divorce. I skimmed the pages, curious to see if I recognized any of the people mentioned.

Tap tap tap.

Excruciating pain shot through my spine. Electricity jumped from one nerve ending to the next. My teeth ground against each other, enamel cracked and splintered away.

I saw some last names I recognized. Everyone mentioned lived in my village – one of the natives to this land. To tune out the pain I tried remembering who lived in which house, what they looked like, what I knew about them.

Soft night shirt soaked up all the cold sweat my skin produced.

Near the end of the notebook only three last names repeated. Then only two. I stared at lines on the paper. Familiar handwriting – like this of a handicapped chicken – stared back at me from yellowed pages. Names so familiar sent shivers down my spine. Why? It shouldn’t be weird. This was grandma’s journal. It shouldn’t be weird. My grandfather’s writing could very well be in it. It shouldn’t be weird. I turned the page and saw white. It shouldn’t be weird. My name, there on the page, along with my date of birth. It shouldn’t be weird.

Tap tap tap.

And the names of my siblings, their birthdays. Names of children I heard about once, but they did belong to the family. It shouldn’t be weird. But it was. Notebook containing only a contract and names of the descendants of those mentioned?

Tap tap tap.

Early morning sun didn’t have my attention. Shadows danced under my bloodshot eyes as I packed my belongings. Once again the awaiting journey filled me with dread, but this time for entirely different reason.

Milky white eyes flashed in my mind.

“Bad things happen to the people who leave this village.”

I pushed past all the people waiting for the driver to open the door. Muffled grunts and whispers flew around me and I paid them no mind. Door opened. Like a ghost, I appeared in the furthest corner of the small bus. I plopped down on the window seat and pulled out the notebook.

First I chose someone born in 1950s. Internet had many search results for me, but none of the people seemed to be the one I looked for. I tried adding the name of my village. Still nothing. I chose the next on the list. Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when phone I’ve been holding started to buzz. I tried calming my wild heart before answering.

Tap tap tap.

“Hey. Can we talk?”

I looked around. People slept in every uncomfortable position imaginable. Only few squinted at their phones, trying not to fall asleep.

When did sun set again?

“Yeah.” I whispered, not wanting to draw any attention to me. Notebook laid on my lap still open. I managed to get through all the people born in 1950s, 1960s and I just started on 1970s. I looked down on it as my mother stumbled through her words. I couldn’t hear her. I stared at the year 1973. It looked much different the day before.

“Are you there? Hello?”

“Uh, yes. I’m sorry, the reception is spotty. What did you say?”

I could hear my mother sigh and try to hide it. “I said aunt Anna had an accident. She didn’t survive.”

I think I realized that before my mother even said it. Something in the way black ink glistened in dim light, as if still fresh, told me that. Curiosity got the best of me, I pressed index finger into her name. It didn’t smudge, not even a molecule of ink moved out of place on the page.

But it transferred to my fingertip.

“I’ll be back in time for the wake.” I said absentmindedly, realizing my mother waited for me to respond again. I didn’t know what she said. I think she knew that, because she only told me to call them when exactly I’d arrive back home and hung up.

Most written in black, some written in blue.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Quiet voice slithered up to me. I smiled and threw equally quiet thanks in the rough direction it came from. My eyes quickly returned to the notebook in my hands.

The more I stared at the yellowed, delicate pages, the more I felt my brain dissolve. It sloshed around in my skull with tiniest movements. I could barely make out written words in dim light my phone’s screen produced. Yet I read them again and again, and again. By the time clock struck 3am, I probably could recite the contract word for word. Short few sentences about relocating and keeping each other accountable, as well as safe. Worded strange, but it was contract written at the beginning of 20^(th) century. Language evolves constantly, words become less or more used.

Relocating?

What did I know about the village I was born in and lived all my life? Close to nothing. It’s not that uncommon actually. History taught in schools focused on biggest, most relevant events, places and times. Villages like mine were often omitted from books or even official documents.

Relocating.

A lot of people relocated at the start of any war. Did any of them formed a pact with another families and put it to paper? If so, it’s not really common knowledge. And what was it about keeping each other accountable?

Exhaustion finally cut me away from reality and I fell into dreamless void. Much needed rest didn’t last long though. Three hours later someone shook me awake. I got up, still groggy with only one eye barely open, and shuffled out of the minibus. There was no tearful reunion. No one waited for me by the gate or even opened the door. My bag hit the ground, feet followed familiar route to the kitchen. I saw movement out of the corner of my eye and instantly forgot why I walked there. I could just stand there and look. He looked back. Few painfully slow heartbeats passed before I managed to turn away. I grabbed strap of my bag and almost ran up the stairs to my room. To safety.

I didn’t stay long at the wake. It’s not like I liked to look at dead people and I wasn’t that close to aunt Anna. Our relationship could as well be described as strangers since I began distancing myself from my relatives around the age of fifteen.

He saw me move to stand up and shot me a look. I saw devil’s face and it wore my father’s anger.

I pretended I didn’t see that and quietly left the room on trembling legs. I drove home slowly, more so than usual. Front door shut behind me. I stayed in one place, in the dark. Haven’t moved a muscle. Just cried.

Bottle sang sweet nothings from the closet. It never sounded more enticing, but I resisted. With all my might I focused on my breathing. I needed to turn on the light. I needed to do something. To change. Myself, my life, anything. I needed a change.

But I tried and failed. I went to a different country to start new life, got sick and had to come back to the place I wanted to ran away from, the source of my suffering.

The source of my suffering.

I looked down at light brown wood. Priest’s croaky wailing, an attempt of leading black shapeless mass of mourners, sounded in the background. I stared. Bored holes in shiny, polished wood. No matter what happened, we all end up in the wooden box. Cremation and ashes in urns weren’t common practice in my country, especially not in my village.

What did I know about my village? Close to nothing. I decided to change that. Better that than standing in place and letting life pass me by.

I looked down at the light brown wood. Heavy dark clouds hanged low. If I wanted to I could reach my hand up and touch them. Scoop a handful and toss it at my sibling like dirty snow on the side of the road. But I didn’t. I only stared at shiny wooden box containing my aunt’s body. Four men in pristine black suits put on their white gloves. Priest wailed another, hopefully last, prayer. Box slowly disappeared into the hole. Black shapeless mass of mourners stepped closer to throw a handful of dirt on the lid. No one looked inside. No one had time when another person behind them already grabbed their piece of dirt to throw. I stood on the other side of the grave with only gravediggers and funeral home’s employees behind me. I bent over to join the ritual. And I looked. Down the dark hole, encased in shadows. For some reason I thought about milky white eyes of a moose.

Earth shook slightly and opened. Black tendrils wrapped tight around the casket. Wood creaked and first cracks began to form before it got pulled in and the earth closed again.

I stared at the light brown dirt. Big hand moved me gently to the side. Gravediggers grabbed their respective shovels and moved all the dirt back into the hole they dug. Mourners still cried and sniffled, priest still wailed, sky was still covered by thick black blanket. No one noticed a thing.

I stared at the empty grave.

I needed to know more about my village.

I have a question about medication in general, not only HRT (but HRT is included). I'm moving to Norway soon. I already have papers from my doctor about doses, what I'm taking the meds for and stuff (it's already written in english). Is that enough to continue treatment in Norway? Do I have to have anything else with me or ask my doctor to write anything else important? As those are meds I can't really function without (for example - special pain meds for rheumatoid pain or sleeping meds) I would like to avoid any period of time without taking them. Testosterone isn't my biggest concern since I can have online visit with my endo and have a family member send the T to me, but this too I would like to avoid since it's too much of a hassle.

I know what you’re thinking. “It’s a forest! Trees are there and sometimes they fall! What’s the big deal?” And to be completely honest, if I were you, I’d think I went nuts. I know I didn’t, but I also don’t really know what to do.

It started about 20 years ago. I don’t remember much from that time. Everything seems a bit foggy. And loud.

So, so loud.

But I remember the forest – the trees and grass, and hills, as my fortress. Sunlight poured in through treetops. Wind carried a scent of pine resin and played with leaves, creating nature’s shadow play. Tree trunks towered above little me. I liked to look up and imagine myself at the very top, perched on smallest twig like a bird. What would I see? Endless blue. Lush green stretching as far as my eyes could see. I imagined myself flying away and never coming back.

The first time my small foot stepped alone into the forest, I instantly fell in love. My heart became black ground, moss green, cracked bark. Finally I felt like I belonged somewhere. Somewhere quiet.

I would walk only one trail where I could see the edge of the forest at all times. It quickly changed though. I pushed the limits, explored how far I could go before my mind started to scream at me to go back. Even if I loved being there, the fear of getting lost sometimes won.

I think I was about 7 or 8 when I decided it was time to venture deeper. I stood right by the fork in the road where I would typically turn right. Small heart hammered against my equally small ribcage. Thoughts sped through my mind too fast for me to comprehend what I was even thinking about. Once again I checked the backpack and confirmed I had everything I needed – water bottle, three uneven, extremely thick slices of bread and single sausage. I looked ahead. Not far from where I stood road bent to the left, snaking around the hill. Unknown hidden behind wall of beloved trees terrified me.

“I’m not a baby anymore.” I said out loud. My fingers curled into fists and I got ready to take first step. My whole body seemed to vibrate slightly. I lifted right foot and put it forward. Soft gray sand instantly swallowed most of the sole of my old sneakers. I took another step. And another. And another.

Nothing happened to me. I giggled to myself. I felt so silly, of course nothing would happen. Magic wasn’t real after all.

Before I could make it to the bend, sand shifted under my toes. I looked to my right. Giant tree laid just off the beaten path. The one I saw so many times from the entrance to the forest. One of the branches broke off at odd angle, allowing me to take a seat on it. I rested my ankle on the opposite knee and found the hole on the side of the sneaker. A hole I knew I asked to be fixed. With a sigh only a disappointed child could muster, I tried to shake the sand out. Didn’t work. I put my finger in and scooped it out from under the lining this way. No matter how much I tried, there was always some left.

My mood soured quickly. I prepared for so long. At least a week! And now what? I looked up ahead. From where I was sitting, I could see around the bend. Road looked soft the whole way until the next bend, this time to the right. No doubt I would get sand under the insole. I looked at the ground with the intensity of thousand suns. My eyes stung in the corners. I took the biggest breath and held it in.

Tree tops swayed gently. Rustle of the leaves sounded like a distant whisper.

Forest silently bid me goodbye as I marched out of there.

I begged to get my shoes fixed. It was uncomfortable to walk with hole and those were my only shoes I was allowed to wear while playing outside. I pleaded, reminded about the issue.

Two weeks felt like an eternity.

Fed up with waiting, I stomped to beat up van in the driveway. It was unlocked, like always. I found bundle of silver tape and wrapped it tight all around the toe area of my sneaker. I did the same to the other one, for a good measure. My eyes fell on the big flashlight. I pushed it into my backpack without much thought. It fit right in with my one sandwich and water bottle.

Tape made my shoes a little stiff. Didn’t matter to me that much. Silver tape caught a few stray rays and suddenly I felt happiness bubbling in my chest. I fixed my own shoes! And they look like an armor! Big smile stretched my lips, arms swung wildly. Sand shifted under my boots, but I didn’t care! I had armor!

I made it back to the huge fallen tree right before the bend. This was it. I stepped forward. I couldn’t contain the giddiness. Pure energy filled my arms and legs, and stomach. My head felt light. And I went on into the forest.

I looked around with sparkling eyes. Trees, moss, flowers. So many flowers! White, yellow, purple and even blue! And it wasn’t all that quiet! Birds chirped all around, but my young, untrained eyes only caught glimpses of smudged colors. Forest whispered from high above, promised wonderful things if I only went a little bit further. So I did. My legs moved on their own as my brain soaked up all the wonderful things around me.

Finally I came to a stop. In front of me, blocking the whole road, laid fallen tree. I looked up in awe. My eyes followed the trunk to the left and saw a wall. Roots, soil and smaller plants created flat sculpture. This, I thought, was what they call ‘uprooted’. I was convinced that’s what that meant.

I reached out to touch monstrous plant. Moss covering the bark felt soft under my fingers, and moist.

I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. All my excitement turned into terror. I knew magic wasn’t real.

But monsters still exist.

I didn’t look. I lowered my head, turned around and walked away. More than two eyes were glued to my back. Just a second ago shadows made the forest most beautiful picture I’ve ever seen. Now they darkened, hiding the worst secrets in the world. Heart hammered in my throat, I thought I might throw up. That would only slow me down. Shadow-hands slithered on the ground, stretched out. Sharp, needle-like claws barely missed my backpack. Wind whistled scary melody up above. I kept stupid fast pace the whole way back.

Darkness surrounded me as soon as I opened my eyes. I didn’t dare to move, tried to keep my breathing quiet. Deep rumble rolled through the sky. As it slowly grew quieter, hum of the wind took its place. I let out a sigh of partial relief. It must’ve been a nightmare. I pushed myself up on my elbows. Faint orange glow of the street lamp did nothing to help my panicked brain.

Ever since I came back from the forest I started having nightmares. I never remembered what they were about, but the me in the dream-world had to be very scared. I only know I became really scared of the shadows.

Nothing attacked me, I told myself as I laid back down and I closed my eyes. I was alone in the room. I was okay.

Rain drummed against the window and roof. It soothed my scared mind. I was able to quickly start drifting away, back into the dream-world.

Tap, tap, tap.

In my half awake state I asked myself if tapping against a glass was only in my head.

It took quite a while for me to go back into the forest, but when I eventually did at 12 years old, I wasn’t alone. Two people I thought of as my best friends walked few steps in front of me. We went deeper than I ever managed to. They talked loud about the band one of them found. Their voices disrupted peaceful silence of the forest. Somehow it made me nervous.

I kept my eyes on the back of Chris’ neck. Few times I slipped and looked down the road. Nothing was ever there.

Eventually we went off the beaten path down the little stream. Light danced across quickly moving water. We found fallen tree to sit on. Not that far from the road, but far enough so we wouldn’t be spotted. I pulled water bottle from my backpack. Chris took the first big gulp. His face grew redder by the second. He desperately tried to play it off, coughed few times. “It went down the wrong pipe,” he croaked out.

Jenny went second. She handled it much better than Chris, probably because she barely drank anything.

My throat burned. Living eternal fire lasted at most few seconds and then it moved down to my stomach. It warmed me up from the inside. Few short minutes later I began feeling invincible. Shadows didn’t matter anymore. I wasn’t scared. I started laughing and joking. I jumped into the creek, got all my clothes wet. Chris laughed along from the safety of the dry land. Jenny rolled her eyes. “It’s not fun anymore. I want to go home.”

I couldn’t go home. I knew I was doing something bad, I had to wait so my parents wouldn’t suspect anything happened. I let Chris and Jenny know I’ll be fine, but my heart hurt watching them go.

Why wouldn’t they stay with me? Weren’t we best friends?

Pleasant feeling nested itself in my head and made me forget about sadness in short amount of time. I swished around the liquid in my water bottle. I still had few sips left.

TV static spread across my skin. I struggled to walk straight and giggled to myself each time my foot caught onto something sticking out of the ground. I tried to be as quiet as possible. If anyone saw me right now, they’d instantly know what I had in my water bottle.

I looked right, then left. Not a soul. I risked it and crossed the road.

Under the cover of bushes, I climbed up. The hill I watched each time I walked the trail near the edge of this forest. I wanted to see what was up there and I finally found the courage to do so.

I fell down few times. Scraped my knee and palms of my hands, but I didn’t feel a thing. The top seemed so far away. I stopped and looked behind me. Despite my blurry vision I saw someone walking down the road. Adrenaline pushed me forward. I couldn’t be seen right now.

Last few steps were impossibly painful. I felt so sleepy. My legs weighted a ton, I was sweating so much. But I did it! I conquered the mountain!

The top seemed rather flat. Few trees grew there, but not much. I blinked few times, trying my best to not sway back and forth. I took few steps forward. Curiosity pushed me further and further away from the road. Structure. I squinted, tried to understand it, despite ‘it’ being right by my feet.

Few sticks tied together by something. Three tied together at the top and… It looked like skeleton of a pyramid with three sides instead of four.

Twig snapped somewhere in front of me. I heard it, but didn’t react. I didn’t know why. Something disconnected between registering a sound and reacting to it. Dry leaves crunched and swished. Twigs snapped.

As if something was moving faster and faster.

Towards me.

I snapped my head up at the last second and only caught a glimpse of the movement. I wasn’t even sure if it was there.

Two mounds of dirt piled up next to each other seemed to stare at me. Grass and fallen leaves already covered them both. They looked old, partially sunken in. I stared back, unsure of what I saw. I didn’t blink, so I know it wasn’t a trick of the light.

Mound on the right shifted to the side.

I merely blinked and in that time, I already ran halfway down the hill. Low-hanging branches pulled on my shirt, smacked me right in the face. I heard my own labored breathing, footsteps thundered right under me.

And behind me.

Too many footsteps at once.

I fell out onto the road and turned left. I didn’t slow down for even a second. Sobs pushed their way out of my tightened throat. Sand shifted under my feet, made it hard to move. I jumped to the side where grass still grew. I had to get away.

I don’t remember how I got home. I don’t remember much, really. Not of my home life. As if someone put a spell on me and just as I crossed a threshold or interacted with my family, everything became blurry, foggy.

After that, as you can imagine, I didn’t really go into the forest. I got busy and kept myself from thinking. I buried myself in books and music. I got consumed by that burning throat and lightheadedness it brought with it. Along with panic attacks.

I finished master’s and suddenly opened my eyes. I didn’t want to live like this. Rat race of mental dick-measuring by insecure people. I didn’t want to be a part of that, of the corporate work sucking out life out of everyone. I felt pressure. I was suffocating. I needed to change something, anything. Tomorrow, today, now!

With clenched teeth I fell to the floor and reached out to pull the real monster from under my bed. Three bottles went down the drain. Fury fueled my each movement as I paced around and thought – what now? I stopped in the middle of the living room and turned to look at the woods.

Something scratched at the back of my mind.

My shoes still had holes in them. Despite the fact that I finally was able to afford a new things, I still wore things down til there was nothing left. Force of habit I guess.

Change, change. I needed to change.

No.

I stopped right by the edge of the forest, far from the main ‘entrance’. My eyes shifted from one tree to another. Palm of my hand touched rough bark, tried to remember the feeling. Smell of pine resin permeated warm autumn air. I didn’t need to change. I needed to remember who I truly was.

I walked slowly, took in as much view as I could. Something grabbed my heart and squeezed it. Single tear rolled down my cheek. Quiet. Peace. This was my place of earth.

So I didn’t understand why I felt uneasy.

I ditched the road and went deeper. I walked for what felt like an eternity. My legs started to hurt, lungs burned – years of sitting at the desk caught up with me. Something didn’t seem right, I just didn’t know what it was. Hazy memory popped into my mind. I was running, someone was chasing me. The first time I ever put bottle up to my lips. Uneasy feeling intensified, I decided to start heading back. Anger subsided already. I began planning my life from the beginning.

I stopped dead in my tracks. It took few seconds for my mind to catch up and understand what I was seeing.

Fallen trees.

So many fallen trees.

Piled on top of each other at weird angles made a fortress of the hill they laid on.

It’s been so obvious. The whole time I’ve been walking around, three hours at least, I didn’t see any fallen tree. Until now. Goosebumps erupted up my arms and neck. I didn’t move. I didn’t dare to. This was the hill I ran from most of my life.

And now I came to it myself.