Sensuality is the part of time that grows a little stiller. It is Nature in love with itself, breathing and whispering, gliding upon the surface of the ocean waves. Hark now the siren's call--cover your ears, or don't! The time has come when all is ripe, the time when we cross the gate into that world parallel, the place resting on the edge of the world . . .
Sunlight poured through the windows, and dust particles glittered in the air. The house was empty. Zora stood up and took a look about her. How curious, she muttered to herself, how curious that I must’ve been out for quite some time. The pain in her right temple surged, and she remembered having fallen through some rickety wood plank of the floor beneath her, hitting her head and the rest, well, must’ve been some sort of near-death dream. Ah, but wouldn’t that be the exaggeration? She shook the notion off, for the rude awakening of consciousness returned her to a more pressing matter that she could feel swollen and aching. Zora chuckled when she looked up to see the aftermath of her fall, her composition book and ballpoint pens having been flung in the process too. She walked over and collected them up, and as she began stuffing them into her messenger bag, a fresh pair of footsteps descended the staircase adjacent the center hall from what would be the living room.
“Pardon me, miss, but I hadn’t realized there was another person inside this place. Did you only just arrive?”
“Mmm...no...I believe I’ve been here for some time. I don’t recall you either. What did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t, but it is Markus. Pleasure to meet you, it is. And yours?”
“Zora.”
“Say, you wouldn’t happen to be acquainted with this house’s history, would you?”
“Yes, in fact, I am. I came here to document what I could of the paranormal.”
“Ah, so you’re—”
“No, I’m not exactly a paranormal investigator. ‘Paranormal’ would only be the best, and most general, way to describe it, perhaps.”
“What are you looking for, then?”
“It’s...difficult to describe. What are you here for?”
“Oh, I’m just here for a personal research project of mine too. I’m a lecturer for a university, just beyond the pond. You know, up until a couple of weeks ago had I learned of this old place. They say—as I’m sure you’re already familiar with—this allegedly is the most haunted location in the Western hemisphere. I say ‘they’, but what I really mean are a few historians that have only briefly documented this place and its general whereabouts. One I had the pleasure in meeting, an elderly gentleman nigh on 100 years old, and discussing this matter with, but, to be honest, he seemed rather reluctant to provide any further details. As earlier, if you wouldn’t mind me asking again, do you know something about this house, even the vicinity itself?”
Zora’s intuition quivered. “Yes, I do. It’s getting a bit late here. See,” she flicked her finger towards the window behind her, “the sun’s already going down. It will be nightfall soon. Well, it was nice meeting you, and I do bid you a fare well and much luck with finding out what you need for your project.”
“It is much appreciated and well-received. Take care, Zora.”
Clutching her bag, she left the wooden abode. Indeed, it was becoming darker and unnaturally quickly it seemed. The path she took from her car to the haunted manor lay strewn before her as if a sudden summer storm had swept it up. How long was I really out for? Shadows grew taller behind her, the trees loomed. Wind pushed against her back, beckoning her forward before the hour would fall short of day. She carried on, going the way of memory, and there she found her car, parked as it had been in the earlier shade. Fumbling for keys, the right one finally found the lock. It opened, and...dust. She swiped a finger across the seat, and dust clung to it thickly. It smelled musty too. Leaves and twigs, a few branches, were lain upon the exterior, as if the natural world had grown a little older with it.
Zora brushed the dust from her seat and sat inside. With the same key, she plugged it into the ignition, but nothing would start up. No sound, no rumble. Nothing. Again and again she tried. Terrified she could not escape the night now, she made desperate attempts to start it, but to no avail. Soon, she had to face the reality. She could wait it out till morning in her car, but of what account would that yield if she still had no way of going? She sat there, staring out into the darkness behind the windshield.
Five blue things...air freshener, my dress, one-two-three stripes on my undershirt. Five green things...one-two-three-four-five leaves. Five yellow things...one-two leaves, the moon, that flashlight coming toward...hold on!
A beam of light bounced ahead on the path. Before long, it blurred against the windshield, and the man from the house emerged from behind it. “So you’re having the same problem too? I just came back from my car there on the other side—right around that bend—and it’s as if it’s someone’s idea of a practical joke. I came to find you.”
“I don’t understand it. Well...I do, sort of—”
“You can tell me when we’re in a safer location. Right now,” his eyes motioned to the right edge of the trees, “we’re not alone in the woods. Come.”
Markus took her by the hand, steadily pulled her from the car, and they hurried along the path to the manor. When they were inside, he closed the door and the rain began outside almost at once. On the north side of the living room was a hearth, and, taking out a lighter, he knelt down and switched the flame on and fed the logs with time and care. The wood was quite dry, and it wasn’t long before a generous fire took hold.
He sat down next to her. “I already know what you know. There are things words can’t describe.” He wrapped his left arm around her and pulled in closer as they both watched the fire. She could hear his heartbeat thumping as her ear rested on his chest. She didn’t need a reason to object. It just felt right.
“Maybe we’re the only ones left.”
“I think you’re right, Zora.”
The manor was empty and warm, and rain pelted harder against it.
Πάνθεον—All Gods’ Abode—from local legend, rested well this night.
In the meanwhile, eyes glistened from above the tree tops, and a metallic ringing flew overhead. Lights flashed over a nearby field, and that was also the night the farmer’s cows had completely vanished.
When morning came, the rain had stopped. Particles still floated about in the air, and more had formed outside. A mist had risen up and enveloped the whole area. Zora was already awake, peering out of the window. Indeed, it was only blur out there, but something about it felt as though she could see more in it. With curiosity, she kept her eye on this “abstract tranquility”—she had coined the phrase—as her hand reached into the messenger bag she religiously carried and carefully pulled out her Fujifilm camera. Slowly bringing the eyepiece up to her face, she captured a picture. Behind her, Markus could see what she was seeing.
Without turning, eyes fixated on what was before her, she spoke at last, “I came looking for it, and I found it.”
Her notebook stuck out halfway whilst she had the flap of her bag open. He squinted his eyes and looked a little closer. On the page it was opened to, words in black inked the paper, and they read:
“Πύραύστητος Σύννοιαί: ‘moths of thought’
Psyche, the mother-of-all. The butterfly that leadeth to the end of the world. Follow, follow, follow, fol—”
The text ended, but it seemed to carry on inside. Looking up, her long, dark hair fell tousled and perfect about her back.
“I think I’ve been here before. In dreams, perhaps...maybe not. Do you believe in déjà vu, Zora?”
She turned towards him and looked directly into his blue eyes. “Yes. Do you?”
The scent of her Being grew intensely familiar, conjuring a mysterious nostalgia that can’t quite be pinned down. “Yes.”
Music credits:
☽ "The Time is Now" by Presley Benson "Moontune" by Presley Benson ☽ Music SILENT HILL NO COPYRIGHT @cocatorecords9763
See on YouTube also:
Mooncast N (Nu)