The Dancing Beast

Jonas

First ten years after Matt’s disappearance, we had gotten together every year at that day to share memories of childhood and make sure everyone of us was doing fine. But that was before, and soon we were drifting apart because of adulthood and its responsibilities. Just last year, I heard that Carl had passed away due to having some sort of cancer growth in his intestines. Lena, on the other hand, had moved somewhere out of the country long time ago, I did not know where. And what came to Aurelia and Levi, I had not had any contact with the two of them in years, for no particular reason whatsoever. To be honest, I had no time in my busy life to dwell in childhood memories or to spare my thoughts for some old friends I never saw nowadays anyway. Not except that one day every year. It had come again, the anniversary of Matt’s disappearance. 30 years ago it was now. I sat in a bar with a glass full of whiskey in my hand. It was an Asian bar. There were painted dragons on the ceiling, and next to me a lantern so tiny I could easily escape its light and keep my head in the shadows. Usually, I did not use alcohol at all really, but this time every year I needed it in order to silence the surrounding world for a while. I needed it to numb the quilt I felt about that late summer’s day. I knew, just like every one us did, we would never know what had really happened that day.

The Dancing Beast they had called him. The newspapers. That was because Matt had suffered from neurofibromatosis. He was a normal child until a year-old. Then he started to get freckles and coffee colored stains on his skin. After that came those nasty tumors that seemed to favor his face, for all. Nevertheless, it was all just cosmetics, and none of that really bothered his physical capabilities to live a normal life. When Matt was five-years-old, some of the tumors were surgically removed, but that was more traumatic for Matt than having them, so his parents decided no more surgery was needed. For as long as I could remember knowing Matt he had looked rather grotesque. He had those chubby tumors that covered almost all of his left eye, I did not know whether he could see anything with it at all. His mouth was hanging crooked on the other side and you could hear that in his speech. It sounded a bit blurred. However, after a while, we got used to it and could understand him easily enough. But most people simply seemed to fear the little boy. He truly looked like some sort of a monster or a beast.

However, that did not mean that Matt was not loved. Oh, he was though. Even though, people on the streets stopped to stare at him with disgust, and he was bullied and called names, there was a lot of us who truly loved him as well. His medical condition seemed to had made him grow faster than us others of the same age, and he seemed more mature. He was intelligent as well as emphatic, and some people could sense that from afar. Matt’s mom used to treat his son like any normal child, or she treated him like he was special, but not because of his condition, but simply because he was her son. Matt was close with his father also, who made sure his son would get the same opportunities that every other child, and who taught him all the important survival skills as all dads should. On top of that, Matt had us. The five of us, we loved our monster friend deeply. He was part of the team like any one of us. Besides, we all shared a passion for dancing. We all went to the same dancing school and Matt was the best among us, for sure. His neurofibromatosis did not limit his dancing at slightest, even though, doctors were constantly warning him that that would possibly not be the case later in his life. But right then he was magnificent. He moved effortless with clean lines. He resembled a cat with feet ever so light. His condition did not limit his movement, not at all, but it did mean that he was not to be seen by outsiders, never competing with us.

And compete we did. Every other week. They were not big competitions, no, just small ones. It was all fun, nevertheless. I was doing solos as well as group performances from time to time. But Matt could not compete because of his face. He tried though, to change our dance teacher’s mind into letting him participate. Even his mom did. Our teacher was old, conservative, and strict, a woman who was clearly stuck in her own forgotten past glory. After months of persuasion, however, she surprised us all, and agreed to Matt participating in a competition. She made a chilling routine for Matt and Lena to perform as a duet. It was called ‘Beauty and the Beast’. Lena was dressed as a beautiful princess and Matt was left without a costume at all. He was just himself. Regardless, Matt was excited. He did not know that was to be their first and last routine ever. They danced gracefully. Lena was a great actor and you could see every emotion from her face, as Matt’s face never changed at all. Or maybe it did, but it could not be seen under the tumors. They did not only win the highest score of the competition, but Matt also won the best costume. The judges were not aware that Matt was wearing no mask.

After the truth came to light, the newspapers went wild. They called him the Dancing Beast. The reporters were drooling over an interview, but Matt’s parents tried their best to keep the scavengers away from their son. Against all odds though, Matt loved the attention. Not the negative comments, I do not think so, but those that cheered him and the admiring looks and just the attention overall. It was at that point, that Matt started to talk to me about joining a circus when he would be of age. I thought it odd, that he wanted to be known as a freak, but he said to me then:

“I would be allowed to be different. No, I would be expected to be different. Then people would not constantly try to make me like everyone else. I am not like everyone else, I am me. And people would come to see me. I would dance for them. I would become art, beautiful in my own ugly way. And I would have similar people around me. The Dancing Beast. It sounds intriguing. That I could be.”

Oh Matt, how I desire being capable of loving myself the way you loved yourself against all the hardship and mistreat in your life. Oh, how I miss you, my friend. Can you ever forgive me?

All that was 30 years ago. The day Matt disappeared, we were all there together, the six of us. We left our bicycles at the tree line of the forest, on the grass, over the ditch separating the road from it. I had leaned my pear-like-green Canyon bike against one of the huge, old pine trees for it did not have a stand of its own. The day was warm and none of us had an overcoat on. The forest smelled of moss and bark. Matt was collecting pine cones and putting them in the pockets of his shorts, I noticed. None of us asked him why he was doing so. I really do not think it mattered anyway. Even though the day was dry and the sky was clear of clouds, it had rained yesterday and the ground had soaked so that it was still moist under my shoes. I was wearing sneakers and they got all wet when sinking into the mossy ground. I remembered the feeling of my tennis socks turning soggy and squeaking every step I took.

We circled in the forest for a while. We all lived quite close by, on the same street, except Levi. The street was located on an urban area, and all the houses were new and grand. My house was right next to Matt’s house. Around the street were lot of forests, such as the one we were in at the time, as well as a couple of lakes. We had no permission to go to the forest or to the lakes without an adult’s supervision. Both lakes were dirty and full of murky water and vegetation, so we had no interest in visiting them, but the forests we loved. Lena was good at recognizing plants and flowers and had helped us all when we had to make a flora for the school.

Suddenly, Aurelia started to complain that her feet were sore from all the walking and that we should get back. The sun was hanging low in the sky and the rays of light were touching the tree trunks and the ground with their bright orange hue. She was right. And we were just leaving when we heard it. Dry branches cracking and leaves rustling. We stopped.

“Sshh.. It's a bear,” Aurelia whispered loudly. We all got suddenly real scared. We were whispering to each other, trying to come up with a plan. The crackling became more consistent. It was not coming from someone stepping on dry branches on the ground, but it was someone breaking the branches as to inform us, they were coming. And the rustling started to remind that of shoes stepping on wet moss.

“People,” Matt said aloud what we were all thinking.

As we were not supposed to go into the forest without an adult, that meant no one knew where we were. That was obviously how we intended to keep it, so we started leaving quietly but with a quick pace. That was when the noises grew into a terrible rumble. Someone was running. No, not someone, there were more than one. It seemed as if the rumble came all around us. We started to run away in panic and that is when we heard the male voice shouting behind us:

“Damn you devil!”

“Lets scatter up!” Lena yelled, and right that moment everyone had vanished around me somewhere. I ran as fast as I could with my tiny, child’s legs. I think it was my instinct that told me, I was in danger. I could hear crackling and banging around me and someone screaming. I kept running even though my feet started to ache. I kept trying to find back to where our bicycles were. Suddenly, the forest around me disappeared and I could see the road and the houses. I did not have time to stop before the ditch and so I fell into it face down. I could feel all my clothes soak by the muddy water.

I tried to stand and felt dizzy. I was out of breath. I turned around and stared at the now dark forest. I could not see anything. I could not hear anything. Total silence. It was as if all the world had been swallowed by those huge and old tree trunks. I waited for a while, 5 minutes or 5 hours, I had no clue. After nothing happened, I took my bicycle and went home. The rest of the evening, I sat beside the telephone and tried to call everyone, to make sure they were okay. I was afraid of us getting grounded if we were to get caught. Later, I thought how childish a fear it had been. As the night grew closer, we found out everyone else had returned to their homes but Matt, he was still missing. So, we had to tell our parents what had happened. They were worried beyond believe. All that night our parents were searching the tree line of the forest with flash lights. I was not allowed to go with them so I sat my nose glued to the window, waiting. The police had been informed, but they said that they would not be able to do anything before dawn. When the morning sun finally got up, they started interviewing me, Aurelia, Lena and Levi. I was petrified of the thought that I could somehow be guilty and they would put me in jail. They searched the forest with K9-units and they found some leads yes, but after a while it came apparent those did not result in the finding of Matt.

Leonora

I stared through the kitchen window into the first winter’s night and how the sun going down painted the gloomy streets with its orange gleam. All the slush on the streets would freeze during night and become slippery trails. I stared in silence and waited to see a little, familiar figure emerge from the horizon, coming down the street. I had waited to see my son come home for 30 years. He never came.

I had loved my little son more than anything in the world. He had been the most beautiful child I had ever seen. Others did not agree, but to me he had been perfect from the moment I laid my eyes on him. I had wanted to offer my child everything in the world that others kept telling he could never have. I missed him so it hurt my chest as if a knife was cutting trough it. Please, come home. Please.

My son was 12-years-old when he disappeared. At first, the police thought he had ran away. I could not believe that, never. Furthermore, his friends told different. Someone had been chasing them in the forest. They heard it, but no one had seen anything, and that made the police hesitate at first. However, when they searched the forest during next few days, it confirmed that the children were telling the truth. Dogs picked up a trail and led the police to a clearing where there was sings of a struggle. But that was it. They never told us anything more and they never found my son. Volunteered divers searched both lakes nearby, but the waters were too murky and the other lake was too big anyway. They never found anything either.

Regardless, I kept waiting and hoping. Whatever had happened that day 30 years ago, I was still convinced that he was alive. A mother could sense these things. I would have known if he was not, surely. And that was what kept me hoping all those years.

Matt: 30 years ago

Everyone had vanished around me and there was nothing but silence. I stood on a clearing and tried to hold my breath so no one could hear me. I was in excellent shape and had not ran very far, so I was not out of breath. Nevertheless, my heart was pounding loud and my head felt heavy. Who had screamed before? I was planning out where to go and how I could find the others. I was sure, they would be back to where our bicycles were by now. I let a long, deep breath out and got goosebumps right away. I had no overcoat with me and it was getting chilly.

Suddenly, three figures came out of the forest. They were much older than me clearly, but not adults. They walked slowly towards me and I waited. Should I run? Right then I recognized that one of them was from my school. I had seen him. I knew his dad was a police officer.

“Devil,” he murmured to me, and I could see he was under the influence of some kind of a drug. His pupils were huge and black and he stared with eyes that looked like glass. I could see fear in those eyes. I realized, he was more scared of me than I was of him. Then they were right beside me and grabbed me. The boy I knew punched me. The others joined him. They struck me multiple times and I fell, that I remember. The pine cones I had been collecting for my mother, who made animal figurines out of them, fell out of my pocket and scattered on to the ground. I could taste blood in my mouth and I felt unable to breathe. They were cursing aloud. Devil. Was that me? I got delivered a big blow to my head. I guess, that was what really killed me. I knew, they were serious about hurting me, but I knew as well that they did not intend to kill me. They panicked when they realized they had done that.

After all that, they wrapped my body in a baby blue fleece shirt one of the boys had with them. Then they were carrying me for what seemed like a really long time. We were on the lake. They pushed my body into the cold water. The current was carrying me for a while, but then the thick vegetation grabbed on to me and pulled me under, right to the very bottom. My grotesque face became unrecognizable.

The divers, they were close, but they never found me.

And still I wait, in my watery grave, for someone to come and take me home. I dance under the water, dead. Dance like the Dancing Beast. 

Fear of God

Detective Inspector Ian Amory

Four-year-old Alanna Robinson’s case shook our department to its foundations. Most of us had never even heard about exorcism happening in real life, but there we were, gathered standing around a table and staring at pictures of one. The case was so unique I had no clue as to how to proceed with it. I was a profound atheist myself and had little understanding for religious crimes. I could not comprehend, how someone would do something of that magnitude in the name of their god. Neither did I understand, how somebody could actually be convinced that their child was possessed by a demon. How could anyone believe such a thing.

Alanna Robinson’s parents had been taken into custody as well as the man who had claimed to be a priest. That had been a lie as was proven at the beginning of the interrogations. The parents had not been aware of the deception. All three were now accused of murder. The parents seemed to have a motive as Alanna had had a life insurance, which could greatly help the financially unstable couple. I was appalled though, that for any reason a parent could kill their child in such a brutal manner. As to what came to the idea of them murdering their child for insurance money, I was not convinced of it completely. I was questioning the fact that they would be stupid enough to think they would get away with it doing it this way. It raised too much attention to them. That whole morning I had been trying to write down something to say to the reporters I would have to face eventually, but I was not satisfied with anything I had tried. I threw away yet another piece of paper on which I had failed to write down what I wanted to say. The trashcan was flooding on to the floor with discarded grid paper.

Furthermore, the parents of Alanna Robinson seemed sincere against all odds. It was quite obvious that they truly believed their daughter had been possessed. Or they were extremely convincing liars. I did not know what to believe, to be honest. My head was throbbing with pain and the coffee on my table had turned cold and bitter. I buried my face into my hands and slowly let a deep breath escape from my lips. I raised my head and my eyes met the picture lying on the table, a picture, that showed a little, bruised body lying on a bed, dead. What the hell I am going to do with this case?

The exorcism that had took place had started with Alanna Robinson’s parents and the fake-priest tying the four-year-old girl into her bed with thick, braided rope made of polyester. Then, while the pretend-priest had prayed, the girl had been trying so hard to escape the ropes, that they had caused burn marks on her legs and hands. According to her mother and father, Alanna had been howling, cursing to Satan’s name and spitting towards the priest. They noted seeing the girl's eyes turn black and her laughing manically and making animal noises. After that, the three of them had hold Alanna’s eyelids open by force and poured 'holy water' into her eyes and mouth in order to drown the demon inside. Then it had gotten completely out of hand. The girl had been beaten several times with a wooden stick, all the adults had covered her with a blanket, face included, and sat on her. Alanna’s rib cage had collapsed and she had died. Her parents described the room being filled with thick, black smoke as well as the bed shaking uncontrollably. They had not realized what they had done, at first. However, when they had wrapped their heads around it, they had panicked, and Mr. Robinson had called the police himself. Alanna’s parents held on to their believe that Alanna had been possessed by a demon. They blamed the man who had falsely introduced himself as a priest. He had not admitted to them, not only that he was not a priest at all, but that he also did not have any previous experience of carrying out an exorcism.

All of it felt simply unbelievable.

Father Salomon Saxon

Just like any other morning, I was enjoying a cup of coffee black, a chicken sandwich and some yogurt with fresh strawberries, while sitting at our kitchen table. My wife Iris had brought me the newest paper which was currently resting on the counter. I could see the big letters on the cover page shouting at me. As I was reading it, I got shivers down my spine. I knew what was going to be in it.

Abigail and Oswald Robinson. I had met the couple few weeks prior. They had contacted me under extremely odd circumstances as they were convinced that their child had been possessed by a demon. At first, I did not believe what I was hearing but Abigail and Oswald were relentless. After a short discussion I agreed to meet them and their daughter Alanna.

Never before had I heard such a thing in my life. I mean, I had heard of possessions and exorcisms but not in real life. I did not know any catholic priest who would have actually carried out an exorcism, let alone asked me to do one. And I had been a priest for 30 years. To be perfectly honest, regardless of my faith, I did not believe demon possessions were real.

Nevertheless, I agreed to meet the family. My first impression of them was that they were not tidy people. The house looked as if it had been a long time since someone cleaned in it. They were obviously not financially successful people either. Actually, it seemed that they were quite poor but managing nonetheless. Meeting Alanna I felt nothing out of the ordinary about her. She had good manners even thought she seemed a little shy. Her room was relatively small and smelled of dirty clothes. In the corners were so much dust that it had already started to form balls. Alanna was wearing denim overalls, which had not been washed for a while assuming from the smell coming from them. The girl was pale but I had guessed it was due to a poor nutrition rather than to a demon possession. Her parents were pale anyway, so it seemed she was probably like that naturally too. Her barley-like yellow hair had been tied up but was too short in the front for all the hair to reach the ponytail. So some of the hair was hanging in front of her eyes.

The whole time I spent at the house Alanna was playing by herself, and did not seem anyway different than the average girl of her age. Her parents were nice and decent too, but definitely a bit jumpy. They were scared at something. Oswald explained to me, why they thought Alanna might be possessed:

“She's just normal right now, yes, but sometimes she changes. She becomes something else. She calls herself Elvira. She uses curse words that neither of us have taught her. During the night, she walks around the house and sometimes when she comes to our bedroom, her eyes turn black. I've seen it myself!” His voice was crackling.

“And then, sometimes she makes this noise that sounds like a dog growling. She has broken stuff in her room and I've seen her levitate. She just sort of hovers in the air. That makes me really scared. She talks about Satan, mentions his name. She has also hit my wife and pulled her hair. She has called her a whore. It seems as if all the rage is towards her,” Oswald explained, and then looked at his wife. He took her hand into his own and started gently rubbing it.

“I'm terrified of her,” Abigail whispered and started crying. All this time, Alanna had been within a hearing distance but seemed not to react in anyway to what was said about her. I would rather had that conversation just between the adults.

“And when she snaps out of it, she cannot remember anything she has said or done. Can you please help us?” Oswald begged. My heart was breaking for the family, but I had to be honest of what I really thought about the situation. I calmly told them that I did not believe the girl was possessed. After that, I recommended them to take Alanna to a psychiatrist because I strongly believed, that the behavior their daughter showed, could be explained with schizophrenia or something similar. Both Abigail and Oswald seemed disappointed in my answer. They insisted it was a demon. I got the queer feeling that they were not telling me the whole truth. Unfortunately, I could not do more for them. In the name of Jesus Christ, I was sure that it was no demon but an illness. Before I left, I prayed with the whole family and as I hold Alanna’s hand, I felt nothing. No evil.

And now, I became aware that Abigail and Oswald Robinson had not taken my advice. They had found another priest, who turned out not to be priest at all, and they had gone along with the exorcism. As I read how it had all played out, I knew right away, it had not been an exorcism. Carrying out an exorcism, you should never touch the child. If I had agreed on doing the ritual, I would have prayed in the name of Jesus and archangel Michael, whose responsibility it was to fight against the devil. I realized, that if I had agreed on doing the exorcism, little Alanna would still be alive. I could not fight the tears and the pages of the newspaper became wet. Oh Lord. Was it right thing to do when I declined? I was so sure the child was not possessed. Even so, should I have carried out the ritual? Maybe try and guide them? What have I done.

Abigail Robinson: six years later

It had been five long years in jail for the murder of my own daughter. I had been convicted, even though I still believed I was only guilty of trusting the wrong person, the one that lied about being a priest. I had trusted that he knew what we were doing and that we were only hurting the demon inside and not Alanna. He had assured so. It had been an emotional ritual for me. I wanted to quit many times during the exorcism, but had assured myself, that what we were doing was right and we would soon have our daughter back. I should have listened to my gut, though. But I did not. And now I was in jail, accused of something I did not do. That did not mean I was not guilty, though. This punishment was right for me and my husband. I could never get over the trauma caused by seeing my dead daughter’s body and realizing what we had done.

Even so, I was still to this day convinced that Alanna had been possessed. No one else could understand my believe, but I knew better. No mental illness could have explained it. No illness could make you levitate or give you strength like that. It was not human. And then was the name Elvira.

Alanna had claimed to be someone called Elvira. The name did not resonate with others but I knew what it meant. When I was little, I caused my sister’s death. Not on purpose of course, but I had accidentally pushed my sister of the balcony of our two-storey house. She died instantly. I had lived with the shame my whole life without ever telling a soul. After my sister’s death, my parents shut down. The name Elvira was never mentioned again in our family. Alanna could not have heard it anywhere. But when she started to talk, she started to insist that her name was Elvira. She started to manifest violent tendencies towards me and one night, when she came into our bedroom, she stared at me and said:

“Sister. Why are you afraid? You want to kill me, sister?”

Even though, the room had been dark, I could still see that her eyes were all black as the ink of an octopus. Her feet did not touch the ground. She tilted her head and said:

“You will pay with your life.”

That night I became convinced that she was possessed. It could not have been anything else. I feared for my life. Me and my husband, we contacted father Salomon Saxon for help, as he was well-known for a good reputation among the catholic church. But he did not help us. And then we found that other priest, the fake one. The night we carried out the exorcism was the night of utter terror. I felt so insecure. When the morning sun shined through the windows, we got up and lifted the blanket, and I could see then: she was gone. Terror like that is something that has no match. We could never take back what we had done that night.

In jail I had time to reflect upon that night for the end of my days. And for sure, not a day would pass by without me doing so. I could not do more than pray to God. But I feared that God in his anger would never forgive me.

 

Footsteps in the Attic

Sofia

I was lying on our king-sized bed and listening to the sound of birds woken by spring morning sun. They were sitting in a rowan tree, singing to each other. A ray of sun from the window touched the pinewood dresser in the bedroom, uncovering a thick layer of dust dancing on its rough surface. I could smell the silence in the mansion and it made me wary. Nicholas was out of town, and I always felt wary being alone in our home. He had inherited the mansion from his aunt. He had lived there as a child with his parents, but they had died in a fire, after which Nicholas was raised by his aunt and her husband. I thought the mansion was too big and spacious and it felt like time had stopped moving, trapping the whole house in the past. When we got married, I redecorated the mansion without any remorse, but you could still smell the pinewood and old fabric everywhere. It was part of the house. That smell was the one making me wary. After we moved in to the house, Nicholas had told me tales about ghosts in the attic, but I was convinced that it was just old pipes banging and old wooden floors creaking, nothing more. That did not mean, that I was not a little scared, though. I always felt like somebody was watching me and keeping an eye on what I was doing in the house.

I reminded myself, that I was not alone. I gently rested my hand on my now huge belly and waited for Jelly Bean to wake up, but she was still asleep. I called the baby Jelly Bean, even though I knew she would get Nicholas’ mother’s name Sylvia, after being born. I thought it was too fancy a name for a little baby on the womb, so before birth she would be known as Jelly Bean. I got up slowly and painstakingly since the pregnancy was nearing its end and my stomach was so big it reminded me of a round and heavy planet. Even walking and sitting were difficult tasks to perform and my groin was often throbbing. The room spun around me and I had to wait a couple of seconds before it stopped. Then I made my way to the dresser and opened a drawer. It was filled with beautiful clothes: dark-grey trousers, pretty blouses and girly dresses that I could not use. It made me sad. Instead of putting on nice clothes, I picked up my black sweatpants with an elastic waistband and big brown tunic with yellow flowers on it. Normally, when Nicholas was home, I tried to look decent, but being alone it did not matter. Yesterday I had worn just a bathrobe and a blanket all day.

I went downstairs to prepare breakfast. When it was ready I took it with me to the living-room and sat on the couch to watch morning news. That was when I heard it: the footsteps. They were coming from upstairs. It was just those ‘ghosts’ making noise, I thought to myself, but my skin got goosebumps, nevertheless. First time I heard the footsteps I had been utterly terrified. I had thought that somebody was in the house and I had frantically checked all the rooms to calm myself down. And later, when I told Nicholas about it, he just laughed and told me it was the ghosts. It made me wary and after that I always disliked going upstairs when I was alone. It always seemed as if it was coming from there. You could not hear any voices downstairs, but from upstairs came the noises as if someone was walking back and forth in the hallway and sometimes banging windows and doors. One time I even thought I heard a high-pitched scream. It was just the wind. But when I heard the footsteps, I could not help myself but to stare at the staircase that was visible from the living-room. I got an eerie feeling that someone was standing at the end of the stairs and waiting for me. Most times when I was alone in the mansion, I stayed downstairs the whole night, sleeping on the couch and went up only when the sun was already up and the darkness surrounding me at night had gone. Then I slept an hour or two in our bedroom before starting the day.

If someone would ask my opinion, I would say that the house was too grand for my liking. It had a large attic which was kept as a cold space for storage, but could easily be turned into bedrooms in the future, when we would have more children. Upstairs, there were four bedrooms as well as two bathrooms. Downstairs were two more bathrooms, a living-room and a room with a fireplace and a great kitchen. In addition to all that, the house had an enormous cellar were we had put all the old furniture. The nursery for Jelly Bean would be in the room next to our bedroom upstairs, so I could keep an eye on the baby. But the first months she would be sleeping in our room, of course.

Nicholas

I could hear an uneasy tone in Sofia’s voice, when we talked on the phone. I recognized the feeling because I felt it too, every time I was alone in our house. I would never admit it to Sofia, but I was scared of the house. I had always been. To Sofia, I usually told jokingly that there were ghosts in the house, but to be honest I actually believed it to be true. A grown man who believed in ghosts, that was ridiculous! I could never admit that to anyone. However, I really believed in ghosts. I had grown up in that house and I had heard things and seen things I could not explain. I felt bad for Sofia every time she had to stay in there alone. But she was not alone. She had little Sylvia with her. We had turned my old bedroom, were I had slept as a child, into a room for the baby. I was worried because I had been scared to sleep in that room myself. There was something off about it.

As a child, I was so scared during nights, that I slept with my reading light on. But the light intervened with my sleep so much that my mom forced me to stop and instead she left the light in the hallway on and did not close my door all the way. That way I could see the light and that there was nothing scary going on. She was wrong, though. I started waking up in the middle of the night when the light flickered as if someone was walking past it, covering it for a second. I was petrified to close my eyes for I feared, that when I would open them again, there would be somebody standing at my door, watching me with one big black eye peeking through the hole. Childish imagination. But there were footsteps also. I could hear them pacing back and forth through the hallway. The sound was clear, it was footsteps for sure. And from time to time they sounded like they stopped right outside my room. Some nights I could hear the sound of footsteps coming from the attic as well. They were right above my bed. Sometimes I needed to use the bathroom during the night and every time I did, the light in the bathroom was turned off. That was weird because my mom used to never turn off the light in the bathroom, even during days. My father was always complaining about it: “Sylvia, is it really necessary for the god damn light to be on all the time? Could it not be turned off, when no one's using the bathroom?”

I knew fully well that Sofia had these same weird vibes in the house. I knew that she felt as if someone was standing at the end of the stairs watching, staring. There was something ill-willing living upstairs and in the attic, but it could never be felt downstairs. So I knew, that when I was away, Sofia would be sleeping downstairs, on the couch. I knew that, because I did so too, when alone. And everyone that came to the house felt it too, I could see it. They would sit in the living-room, drinking coffee and laughing, but you could see that they were staring at the staircase from the corner of their eye. They felt it too. Those were the ghosts. I did not remember much about my childhood but I remembered, that the ghosts had always been there.

Sofia

Earlier that day, I had called my parents and asked them if they would not mind coming here so I could have some company while Nicholas was away. They agreed open-heartedly and were willing to travel the 500 kilometers distance just for me. That made me feel better than in days. They would arrive here next evening and I could not wait for that. Feeling energetic, I put on warm clothes for outdoors and went to see our cows. They were enjoying the sunny weather. I finally got to talk to someone in person as our farm workers asked me about the baby and told me about their day in exchange. I really had missed some human contact. My little outdoors visit paid out in the evening though, as my feet were killing me from the walk on the heavy snow.

My thoughts turned back to my parents. They were very dear to me and that is why it had been hard moving here since it meant long distance between me and my childhood home. Nicholas’ parents had died when he was a little boy. There had been a fire in the house. At first, I was taken aback that Nicholas did not have any pictures of his parents and did not seem to want to talk about them. He explained to me that he really did not remember much of his parents at all, as if all the memories had just vanished.

Sylvia: memoir

I pitied the poor boy. Me and my husband, we were fighting constantly over little, meaningless things. This time Eric got mad over the fact that I had moved one shelf in the living-room to an other location without informing him first. I had not imagined that it would turn into a fight. Eric was so upset over our fight that he did not come to sleep that night, but instead stayed up and paced back and forth in the upstairs hallway. I had left the light on for little Nicholas and I could see how Eric’s almost two meter tall, heavy built body covered the light every time he walked past it. I prayed in my mind, that Eric would come to sleep but I knew better. It was the same every time. And as I had expected, after a while I heard the sound of Eric’s footsteps leading to the attic. That was where he kept his hunting gear and his rifle. Soon I could hear him on the stairs heading down and then the loud bang of him getting outside and slamming the door behind him. I got up from the bed and went to the window. I could see a tall and big figure disappearing in to the forest in the snowy winter’s night. I knew, that it would take days for Eric to come back.

Following days were peaceful and quiet. I loved spending time with my son, just the two of us, but at the same time I felt wary because I was waiting for Eric to come home. I knew it was just calm before the storm.

I had an unexplainable ability to sense when Eric was coming home. I would wake up early in the morning and just know that he would be coming that day. Those mornings I would stand at the end of the staircase waiting, my eyes fixed on the door. And when I heard the key being turned in the lock, I would run to Nicholas’ room and ask the boy to go play downstairs so he could not hear what was coming. Then I went to our bedroom, sat on the bed and waited.

I sprayed my face with ice cold water. It felt numb. The tears had dried out. My left eye was swollen so that it was almost closed and I knew how terrifyingly scary I would look in the little boy’s eyes. I tried to cover darkening bruises with make up, and then I put on long trousers and a long sleeved shirt with a high collar. They could hide everything else but the face. The face I could not hide. I went downstairs and saw Nicholas playing with toy soldiers on the living-room floor. I moved closer to him, carefully.

“Mommy. Why are you sick?” He asked and I could see he was scared.

“Mommy is alright honey, there is no need to worry. I was just a bit clumsy and hurt myself accidentally, that's all. Come with me, honey. Would you like to help me in the kitchen? We could prepare that rabbit daddy got on his hunting trip.” Nicholas walked up to me cautiously. I could feel his anxiety as I hugged him. My hands hurt but I kept him tightly in my arms and fought back the tears that wanted to come. It would all be better soon, I knew.

Sofia

It was the footsteps. I could hear them coming from the hallway. They sounded like they were coming closer and then going away. I listened quietly and reminded myself that ghosts do not exist. I had been reading a book and tried to continue from where I had left off. Then the footsteps stopped. I had read almost an entire chapter when it started again. Now they were coming from the attic and it certainly sounded just like real footsteps! Suddenly there was a rustling noise as if someone was going through something. Mice, I thought to myself. I could not concentrate on what I was reading and noticed that I did not remember anything about the last few pages. The words looked unfamiliar to me. The footsteps in the attic continued. I felt sick. It can not be mice. I got up from the bed slowly. I wore a white, saggy men’s teeshirt that was getting tight around my belly and came down to almost my knees. I slipped into my slippers and went to the hallway. It was silent there and I did not see any sign of any kind of ghost or a human. I walked to the door that led to the attic. In front of it was a Joshua tree in a large vase and next to that some figurines on a table. I had never been in the attic and I thought that neither had Nicholas, at least not during the time we had been here together. I moved the plant away from the door so I could get it open. The door had not been used in a long time as it moved stiffly. Its hinges were creaking. At that point I realized that the noises I heard had stopped completely. I looked behind me and saw the staircase and I got that feeling again, somebody was watching me.

The stairs leading to the attic were narrow and I had a hard time getting up with my huge belly. When I finally got to the attic, I was looking for a light switch for a while until I found it. The yellow light flooded everywhere and I could see the spacious attic filled with dust dancing in the chilly air. There was nothing more than some hunting gear, a rifle and couple cardboard boxes. You see? No one. No mice, no men, no ghosts. Go back to bed, silly.

But one of the boxes was open as if someone had gone through it. I sat on the floor and instantly regretted it because I knew it would be hard to get back up. I started to go through the box. It was filled with pictures. I realized I had found the missing family photos. In the first picture there was a mother, father and a child. The father was tall and he had sharp eyes. He had a face that was hard to read. The mother had on her shoulders a green scarf and long, reddish curls. Her face was in the shadows so that I could not see her well. It looked as if there was something weird about her. In the middle of the picture was the boy who looked utterly miserable. On the bottom was written: Eric, Sylvia and Little-Nicholas. In the box, under the picture, was an article cut from a newspaper. The big letters read: Mother tried to kill her family by burning them alive – Only the six-year-old boy survived.