When a Memory Walks Free

That night the wind broke a window. I stood barefoot in the doorway watching as the storm came in uninvited. Power was out and the dim room mixed into the darkness creeping in from outside. The window glass had broken into thousands of rain-soaked shards on the beech wood floor. In the shadows, the see-through white, long curtains reaching from ceiling all the way to the floor, danced in the wind like ancient ghosts dressed in wedding gowns. The rain poured in drumming loudly and outside there were waterfalls running down from the over-filled eaves. The sound reminded me of wild horses running as their hooves drummed the ground. I stared into the darkness. Behind the broken window the world seemed to disappear as if it never existed. I could smell the scent of wet leaves and pumpkin fields carried by the autumn storm. The sight looked exactly how I often felt inside: sometimes my mind felt as broken as that window.

I was awoken from my thoughts, as Noah appeared beside me and put his little arms around my leg.

“Who came in through the window?” He asked in a quiet, sleepy voice. The big, white T-shirt and long, blue underpants were wrinkled and fuzzy. I wished I had more money to buy new clothes for the boy.

“The storm came in, nothing else. Go back to sleep, honey”, I said and brushed his nut brown, curly hair. It had grown too long, hanging in front of his eyes. I should cut it. I only had kitchen shears but they would have to do.

“You’re wrong. Someone else came inside with the storm.”

I got chills down my spine. I looked around in the room. There was no one there. Something about the way Noah had said the words made me anxious.

“It’s just your imagination. Go back to sleep”, I said a little firmer this time. Noah looked at me with his big, dark eyes shadowed by the long, black eyelashes. Then he obeyed and walked silently back to his room. Something kept bothering me.

As I was cleaning the broken glass, I found a dead bird. A big, black owl. Its feathers, wet from the rain, looked like snakeskin, and its beak was slightly open as if it was still breathing but I could not be sure in the dark. I fetched a towel from the kitchen and lifted the bird with that. The feathers were glued to the floor and let go reluctantly. Somewhere in the distance a lightning erupted and for a second it lit the room and the trees standing outside. I was soaking wet from the rain pouring inside. The bird was in my lap in the towel and did not move. Its head was dangling in an unnatural way, it must have had broken its neck when it flew against the window. I covered the bird with the towel and put it in a cardboard box. Noah must have seen the bird. My intuition was warning me.

The storm kept coming in from the broken window all night but when the morning dawned it finally stopped. In the cloudy, gray weather next day we buried the bird in the backyard, underneath a rowan tree. I dug a hole using a green planting shovel and Noah sat on the ground, legs crossed, watching. Finally the hole was deep enough.

“Mommy”, Noah whispered.

“Yes, honey?”

“Why are you burying it underground? The bird will suffocate there, will it not?”

I stopped for a moment and gave the boy an encouraging smile:

“Its not breathing anymore, therefor, it cannot suffocate. Just like your dad there in the corner of the fields, underneath the apple trees, do you remember? We have to find a stone for the bird, like the one your father has.”

The boy looked puzzled, even sad for a while. Then there was an expression of disappointment in his face.

“Then why don’t you bury it with dad. They could keep company to each other.”

My heart skipped a beat. I had not visited Edward’s grave for a year, I simply could not. I often stared through the window at the big, black gravestone standing in the shadows of those apple trees but I could not force myself to go to it. Something kept telling me not to. I shook my head.

“I can’t bury it there”, I said and it sounded as if I was supposed to say something more but the thought slipped my mind. I looked at Noah and then said briskly:

“We are going to find a beautiful, big stone for this grave. Come, honey!”

Behind the house, there was a forest and a river running through it, a river no bigger than a stream. There were big stones peeking from the water, rising defiantly up towards the sky. We found one we liked and placed it on the freshly dug grave. All flowers had died already but I broke a small branch off the rowan tree and put it on the grave. The orange berries looked so very beautiful.

Strange Happenings

Eventually the darkness of autumn subsided as a white veil of snow covered the dry grass. It scrunched nicely under shoes when walking. Frost hardened the ground and day after another a white cotton-like cloud hang low in the sky absorbing the sunlight. Bright-orange berries bent the branches of the rowan tree down, ready to feed the animals through the long winter but despite that I never saw birds or squirrels in the tree. A weak draught came from the mountains. It took away the smell of autumn and replaced it with coldness that froze the hair in your nose making it hard to breath. During nights, I watched through the window, I had now fixed, and saw the colorful auroras flowing like a river in the sky. Some believed that those lights were souls of the men and animals of past. I had no opinion on that but I found the colors soothing. I loved winter nights, wrapping inside a blanket, sipping hot cocoa and staring outside. To Noah, I had only given hot milk as I did not want him to have too much sugar before going to bed. He buried his curly hair in my chest.

“Tomorrow I will cut your hair. It’s too long”, I said and brushed it.

“No. My hair’s fine”, Noah stated reluctantly, lifted his head and shook it exaggeratedly in a child-like manner.

“Yes, I will. You can’t see anything under that hair!”

“What if I don’t want to see. What if I wouldn’t like what I saw.”

The question was so strange I left it unanswered. That something, feeling of uneasiness, still haunted me. Behind the window, the still fresh grave looked lonely. It was so far away from the other grave standing further in the fields. My eyes closed and the Sandman welcomed me into a dreamworld. The last thing I heard was Noah snoring in my arms.

I woke up in the middle of the night, still sitting in my chair. I was not sure how long I had been sleeping. I lifted my hands from the arms of the chair and put them down on my lap, suddenly realizing that Noah was gone. I panicked, I was not sure why, and jumped up.

“Noah! Noah!”

Then something flew over my head. I stood still. I looked around in the room. On the top of the fireplace, there was an old, silver-framed mirror. I saw from the reflection that behind me, on the chair I had just sat on, was a big, black owl. It could not be the same owl but my mind instantly thought so, nevertheless. I was startled and turned around quickly but the owl was gone. Noah came from his room looking half asleep.

“Mommy. Why are you calling for me?”

“Oh, I was just scared when I woke up and you weren’t there anymore! Then I thought I saw an owl fly in the room”, I explained and turned on the floor lamp in the corner of the room. Luckily, the power had returned by now. The warm light filled the room and made Noah’s face look round and plump.

“But you buried the bird?” Noah said and blinked sleepy.

“Yes, yes, I did. There is no bird here, of course. I guess I was dreaming”, as soon as I said that I felt really tired and yawned. I scooped Noah into my arms and carried him back to bed.

Almost a week had passed by when I finally got around to cut Noah’s hair. The boy was sitting on a kitchen stool and was moving in annoyance as the scissors came too close to his earlobes. I had put a faded, yellow towel on his shoulders so the cut hair would not get on his skin. I was cutting the hair hastily and was aware that it looked uneven. I was in the middle of cutting the hair on the back of his head when I noticed something terrible. My hands stopped.

“Where did this come from!” I gasped. There was a red spot on the back of his head, like an imprint or abrasion. It looked bad.

“But mommy, don’t you remember? You did that.”

I struggled to breath.

“No, no, I did not. Don’t lie to me!” I yelled shaking my head in disbelief. I put down the scissors and walked to the window. I closed my eyes and breathed. I did not do it. But who then? I just stood there for a long while and eventually my mind wondered back to the dead bird. Maybe I should light a candle on the grave. I turned around, dried my eyes and looked at Noah.

“Mommy, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know”, I said hesitatingly. I walked back to the boy. There were no signs of any red spot on the back of his head. I rubbed my eyes. I guess, I was just tired. I raised the towel off his shoulders and ordered him to go for an evening wash. Then I started preparing porridge out of oat flakes as we did not have much else for a supper.

It really properly snowed the first time that night. We woke up to a winter wonderland. Noah loved snow and so we spent most of our days outside. I had lit a candle on the owl’s grave and I wished I would have the courage to light one on Noah’s father’s grave as well. But I had not.

We were walking down a snowy path between the fields. It was difficult for Noah to walk as his tiny legs kept sinking into the snow so he wanted to ride piggyback. We went on in silence, Noah was swinging on my back. He was heavy for a four-year-old.

“Mommy, why did you bury dad?”

I stopped. I tried to think.

“I didn’t bury dad. Dad passed away and that’s why he was buried. Just like the black owl that flew inside the house.” For a second, I could almost feel the wet feathers in my hands.

“But who buried dad if not you?”

My eyes grew wide and I heard my self gasp in horror. I could not recall who had dug the grave. How could I not remember that?

“And why did dad pass away? Did he fly through a window as well?”

My ears started ringing. I lifted my hands to them and shook my head.

“No, no, no. I don’t remember. Your dad is dead, that’s all you need to know.”

I could feel Noah’s little body trying to get down. I dropped my hands and let him come off.

“Dear mommy, that’s okay. You will remember. Lets go. I want hot milk, my toes are frozen!” Noah started running’ in the thick snow. I rubbed my forehead. Let it go. You haven’t slept well recently, that’s all. Then I followed the boy.

Black Bird Returns

It was as if I was unable to reach a part of me. I was disturbed by the enigma of what really happened to my husband but still I was unable to visit his grave. Instead, I burned candles on grave of the owl. The rowan tree was still full of berries, no animal would come and eat them. I kept wondering that maybe that was because of the grave. Maybe the animals could sense the dead bird resting underground. I had seen birds in the forest behind the house but they never came to our yard. I sat in the armchair, thinking. It was early morning. The sun was shining bright at the break of dawn. The snow glistened like it was filled with thousands of little diamonds. Why was I unable to remember? I was starting to think that someone had something to do with it. I was unable to recognize my reflection in the mirror, it looked unfamiliar. Was it a witch’s curse or why did I feel as if my head was foggy. It was difficult to see.

Suddenly my eyes met something. In the rowan tree, on the highest branch, sat a big, black owl. It was staring at me and I became restless. Again, I realized I was thinking that it had to be the same owl I had buried, even though, I knew that was impossible. What if I truly was cursed? What if it was trying to tell me something? I felt the bird’s stare so pressing, I had to turn away from it. I instead looked into the silver-framed mirror above the fireplace. My face was wrinkly, my hair on a bun was gray and messy. I rubbed my eyes. I should go wake up Noah. I had promised the boy that we would built a snow castle later today. It would take time and the days were short now so we should get an early start. I turned to the tree again. The bird was gone.

The snow castle ended up looking miserable. The roof was low and it was hard for me to get inside. We decorated it with pine branches and watercolors but that did not help. Noah was happy, nevertheless, and that was all I needed. I left him outside to play and went inside to prepare a meal. My mittens were soaked and I left them on top of the heater to dry. I took off the red overalls and the white beanie. My hair looked like a bird’s nest. I was combing them with my hands when I felt a burning on my cheek. The pain kept growing. I went to the bathroom, lit the dirty yellow light over the mirror cabinet and was surprised by what I saw. There was a bright red spot on my left cheek. Funny, as I did not remember hitting it. My head was pounding and the cheek kept swelling in front of my eyes. My ears started ringing. I closed my eyes and rubbed my forehead. Suddenly, there was silence. I opened my eyes and there was nothing out of ordinary about my cheek. No redness, no pain.

I put on dry woolen socks and went to the kitchen. I took off a white and blue striped woolen carpet on top of the hatch on the floor. I pulled from the metal ring that worked as a handle and the hatch opened creaking. It was pitch-black in the cellar. I grabbed a flashlight hanging from a nail on the wall, and dropped down. I found a sack of potatoes and another with turnips. I picked some vegetables and put them in a plastic bowl, then lifted the bowl up on the kitchen floor. I found also a bottle of red wine and some red currant juice for Noah. Then I jumped out of the cellar, closed the hatch and pulled the carpet back to cover it. Just as I was doing that, Noah ran inside waving his hands.

“Mommy, mommy! The owl came back!”

I stared at the boy, his red cheeks and nose and his big, brown eyes.

“Honey, I don’t think it’s the same owl. I saw it this morning myself. It looks similar but it’s not the same bird”, I explained and moved the vegetables in the sink.

“But it is. It is the same bird and you called for it to return. Don’t you want to remember dad?”

I turned around quickly and stared out the window.

“What are you talking about?” I asked. I did not understand what Noah meant.

“If the owl was no more, you could remember again, right?”

I was getting annoyed.

“Go to your room!” I yelled at him. My head was pounding again. I opened the wine bottle and poured a full glass. Noah was just standing there, silent, watching.

“Go!” The boy ran away.

The Grave Opens

Auroras danced in sky, green, blue and purple. Unlike usually, this time they did not calm me down. I had decide to open the owl’s grave and make sure that the bird was there but the ground was still frozen so I had to wait for the spring and I was anxiously counting the days.

Even though, winter was long, I enjoyed it. Months went by and I got better, my mind seemed to ease. I slept well and did not worry so much. We went for walks with Noah every day and we were already planning which flowers to plant when the spring would come. I had started knitting and had managed to finish two pairs of socks, two shirts and mittens. I felt rested. The sun stayed in the sky longer each day, snow started to melt and the ice turned into water drops and dribbled down from the eaves. Somewhere in the forest birds started to sing on the trees that were turning greenish again. I had planned that we would paint eggshells on the Easter and fetch some willows to decorate with colorful feathers. I hoped to see birds on the rowan tree but they were still evading it. Spring spun into life and soon we were able to go out without wearing jackets. I was waiting for the ground to defrost and then the day finally came.

The spring sun felt warm on my bare arms. Light, chill wind broke the heat from time to time and made the hairs on my arms rise up. The smell in the air was a mix of wet sand and cool spring rain we had gotten yesterday. I struck my shovel into the ground. It was hard but I managed to dig. The rowan tree above me had withered and towered gray over me, watching. I kept digging until I recognized the cardboard box. It was partly decomposed but still in the same place I had buried it last autumn.

I lifted the box carefully from the ground and it felt too light. I opened the lid and found the towel inside. But even though, I kept turning it and searching, I could not find any sings of the bird.

It’s not possible, I thought. I was in disbelief. My head was pounding. My ears were ringing. I dropped the towel from my hands and stared at the rowan tree. There was a burl I had never noticed before.

The Unseen Becomes Visible

I was sitting in silence in the kitchen. Noah had gone outside to play and had not returned yet. My head was pounding as if a herd of buffaloes were thumbing on it. I had drank a glass of wine, then another and then another and then took some pain medicine. I made coffee and hot chocolate and ate some salted crackers I found. Nothing helped. My body was shaking and I could hear my pulse. I was sure I was having a heart attack. Then the door opened. I got up in panic.

“Noah! I thought you would never come back!” I wanted to hug the boy but something was keeping me from doing that.

“You opened the grave, right? You know now that the owl never existed”, Noah’s voice was different. Grown-up. Like a familiar stranger. Someone else was speaking through him. I heard myself cry.

“What do you mean? Someone must’ve opened the grave and taken the owl. I don’t understand.”

“Come and I’ll show you”, the boy said and offered me his little hand. I hesitated a while, then grabbed it and let him lead me out the door, past the rowan tree and towards the grave on the corner of the fields.

“No, no, no, I don’t want to. Please”, I begged but my feet kept walking. Noah stayed silent.

The night was drenched in mourning, the ground was gray and naked beneath my feet. I was not wearing any shoes and my toes felt frozen. My ears were ringing. The world otherwise was strangely quiet. I followed the boy all the way to the grave and then forced myself to look at the gravestone. Engraved in it read: “Here lies Noah Eric Avonius”. I turned to Noah but he was no more. Painful memories came back forcefully, I was screaming and dropped down to my knees. Wet grass stained my dress.

“No, no, no, I don’t want to remember, please! Please, take it away!” But I could not run from the truth anymore, it was seeping back into my mind.

I was very young, only barely in my twenties. We had gotten married and bought a house in the countryside, far away from civilization. I had grown up in a city, I was a city girl, and suddenly I was forced to leave it all, the social life, my friends, my family, everything. I was so lonely, I did not want to get up in the mornings. Then I got pregnant and gave birth to a little boy. I was sure I would never feel lonely again.

But I was wrong. Edward did not help me with the baby and I felt exhausted. The child needed me every second of the day. Noah had a colic, he never slept, he just kept crying all the time. I could not sleep either. I felt like I was going to die, every day was a battle. Then Edward left to war. I was completely alone with Noah. I simply could not cope. I never meant to hurt anyone. I was not myself.

That evening Noah was sitting in a tub. I stood in the bathroom doorway and watched the hazy scene. The warm water looked yellow and there were happy soap bubbles bouncing on the surface. Noah smiled at me revealing his tiny, adorable, white teeth. I walked next to the tub and sat on the floor crossing my legs. I stared at my son with a slight smile on my face. He looked so happy right now but soon the crying would start again and I just wanted to rest. Noah turned his back to me and then I… Raised my hand, put it on the back of his head and pushed. I did not have to use much force, he was so weak. He started to fight back and I pushed with both hands to keep him underwater. I pushed until he stopped moving and went limb.

I lifted my dead son into my arms and stared at his chubby, round face. Funny, though, I did not feel anything. I heard the front door open.

I walked to the door with the boy in my hands, dripping water. It was Edward. He had returned. When he saw me, he screamed in horror and ran to me, snatched the boy from my arms and pushed his face against his soaked wet, curly hair. I felt nauseous. Edward raised his eyes and looked at me, he knew. I opened my mouth to say that I was sorry but right then Edward hit me in the face. My cheek felt burning hot, I felt it swelling. It was as if I was awoken. I started crying. Edward opened the door, took a shovel resting against the wall and carried Noah underneath the apple trees. Then he dug a grave and buried the boy. And then he left. I never saw him again but a month later I noticed someone had placed a gravestone on the grave. At that time I was starting to forget. And soon came the night when the black owl flew inside with the storm and transformed into my son.

Then The Stars Fell From The Sky

In the horizon, Eret could see, the wasteland was burning under the hot, orange sun. The air rippled from the heat like waves of the ocean he had never seen. His throat felt dry, the rib bones were visible under the sunburned skin. Food was scarce and everything he had found, he had offered to the Gods to please them. He believed that the suffering of the body would lead him closer to other worlds. He wanted to learn how to move between time and space like his father, and his father before him, but Eret had a wild mind, untamed, that could not be silenced. He was unable to concentrate and lose control. His head was filled with so many voices, he was not sure which one was his own anymore. His father had tried to cure him from that disease of the mind but he had been unsuccessful. That was why Eret left his family and went to live in isolation.

It was a long way to the sacred grove. Eret made the journey barefoot. He sat on the shore of the big, blue lake and stared at the stone wall that had paintings on it. He had made those paintings: reindeer and bears, wolves and foxes, human in between, part of the nature not detached from it. The red paint depicted a world divided in three layers: on top were the world of Gods, in between the human world and under it the underworld where the dead and the dark spirits roamed. Eret wanted to move between these worlds and learn their secrets. He wanted to see the past and the future, to understand what it all meant but he was stuck in his human world. He was stuck in his body because of his underdeveloped mind. He was painfully aware that there was something wrong inside of him, something he was not able to explain.

He reached his hands into the warm water and washed his face. The picture of the burning wasteland came back to him. What does it mean? It was 1^st of August and the nature was soon to turn into autumn, soon it was time for harvest, Eret thought. He should go back to his family to help them get ready for winter. A lonely crow cawed on the branch of the downy birch. The bird was watching Eret and their eyes met. Eret tried to clear his mind in order to listen to what the bird was saying but again these many voices started to whisper lies in his ears.

“The stars will fall from the sky...” One voice said.

“The sun and moon will burn out...” Another whispered.

“And the earth will be no more...” Came the third.

“Stop that”, Eret said out loud and shook his head. The voices were describing the end of the world, he knew. That was the only thing they were telling him. And he could not hear anything else.

“Please, stop”, he repeated.

Suddenly, the crow took flight, its wings flapping and feathers fluttering. It flew right towards Eret. He raised his hands to cover his face but the bird started pecking on his skin.

“No!” Eret yelled and leaned backwards. He lost his balance and fell into the lake. But the lake had no bottom and he sank deeper and deeper and the blue water turned green and then gray. Come with me, he heard the crow cawing inside his head. Let go, don’t fight.

He tried to relax and felt how the stream pulled him deeper, carrying him away. Everything turned black and then he saw the lake from above. He saw his own body lying on the shore under him lifeless, and he panicked. The voices started to speak all at the same time and he felt horrified.

No, no, no! He tried to yell but no voice came out of his mouth. He tried to move but could not feel his body. Let go, the crow repeated. But he could not. The panic took hold of him, he was terrified.

And then he woke up.

Eret was back in his village, helping his people. The first snow had fallen early that year and the ground was covered in white cotton. The sun hung lower in the sky every day and the nights were getting longer. Eret could hear his father playing the drum and chanting in a monotone voice on the bottom of the fell were spirits gathered. Eret’s mother came to him and put her hand on his shoulder.

“Are you still hearing the voices?” Mother asked Eret.

“Yes. They come to me now in my dreams as well. They speak of the end of the world”, he answered.

“Those are the voices of demons, my love. They are tricking you. The end of the world is not yet to come in centuries. We don’t speak about that”, his mother said kindly.

“I know. I wish I was healthy. I wish father could heal me. I wish he could free me from my demons”, Eret whispered. His voice was tired and crackling.

“Last night I saw a dream so vivid I thought I was awake. I saw a white deer, bigger than other deer, I saw it die and collapse to the ground. I saw the snow cover the corpse, then suddenly it was raining ash instead of snow. Then the stars fell from the sky.”

“I don’t want to hear it”, his mother told him and shook her head.

“Go to sleep”, she ordered.

The harsh winter storm blew thick snow around in swirls. Eret saw the forest trees bent so that they looked like they could snap and break anytime. His boots left deep footprints on the snow. He could still feel the heat from the burning wasteland somewhere far away, something in that vision had burned into his retinas forever, it was calling him. It felt as if there was a fire slowly growing inside his heart. Every night the stars fell in his dreams after the first deer was struck down. Every waking hour he was waiting for the world to end.

Then, he stopped. He had heard something. He hid behind the snowy white trees and listened. Between the heavy tree trunks he saw his mother and father speak to each other. They had not noticed him.

“The crow is asking my help. He comes to me, because our son will not leave with him. The crow is the spirit animal who’s tasked to lead him into the underworld but he won’t go”, Eret heard his father tell.

“It’s the demons in him. I am worried. I am afraid of him, to be honest”, his mother told.

“It’s not just the demons. I know you don’t want to hear this but I think, we should look for another kind of healing. I think we should take him to see what they call a psychiatrist. I think his mind is ill in a way that I don’t have the knowledge to heal”, Eret’s father said.

“No. I say no. And we do not discuss this again”, his mother answered in a determined voice. Then they started walking away.

Eret leaned his back towards the tree trunk and sobbed. He felt feeble, lonely, afraid. He knew there were demons inside him. He was afraid of what they would do to him. But he never thought his old-fashioned father would suspect he was mentally ill.

“I just need to follow the crow and go to the underworld, then I can leave my demons there and be born anew”, he whispered to himself.

That very night the crow returned. It sat beside his bed and looked at him. He could now see that the crow’s eyes were the color of an amethyst and they looked ancient.

You are ready to go now? The crow asked tilting its head.

Yes, Eret answered in his sleep. He was lying on his back and suddenly, he felt how he started to grow roots. They stretched and burrowed into the ground deeper and deeper. He could see the layers of earth flashing by, centuries of history. He came across a fountain so pure he had to stop and drink from it. Then he dug deeper and deeper and in the end he reached the earth’s core of lava. He felt the warmth fill his heart. He was relaxed. The voices had been silenced. There was only emptiness.

Come with me, the crow cawed and Eret opened his eyes. He was flying above a desert filled with bones. In the horizon he saw the wasteland burning and then… Someone was coming.

Don’t go there, come with me, the crow said but Eret could not move. He stared at the one coming, he had to know. This was his vision coming to life.

It was a skeleton riding a skeleton horse. The eye sockets of the man were empty and black but Eret could feel that the skeleton saw right into his soul.

“I’ve been waiting for you, Eret”, the skeleton said. Eret could feel that under the bones the man was smiling.

“Now, it’s time to fill your destiny.”

Eret woke up in the snow. He was cold, so very cold. He raised his hands and saw that they were covered in blood. He panicked. He could not remember how he got there. In the snowy branch of the downy birch the crow was sitting and said to him: you stepped astray. I cannot help you anymore. And then the bird turned into ash that vanished into the cold air.

Eret could see smoke rising in the distance. All of a sudden he felt like throwing up. The smoke was coming from the village. He rushed towards it and the fear filled his heart.

When he got there, he saw that everything had been burned down. There were charred bodies lying on the ground, the bones were broken. He knew what it meant to break a skeleton. He cried in disbelief. Among the corpses sat his father. Eret ran to him.

“What happened?! Where’s mother?” He asked. Slowly his father raised his head and revealed his mutilated face.

“You happened. Don’t you remember. You came into the village and slaughtered everyone. You broke the bones so that none of these people can get a new body in after life. They are now doomed to live without a new descended body, just free spirits lost in time. You are the end of the world. You have killed the first deer and you will make the stars fall from the sky. You will burn out the sun and the moon and you will see that the earth is no more. I should’ve recognized the face of death. You are not my son. I curse you demon!” The father said and collapsed to the ground dead.

Swiss Cheese

Ruth

I sat in the bathroom, face buried into my hands and breathing rapidly. I could hear Robert yelling outside the door. He was confused, going on about the same things we talked about every single day. I wished he would stop for a minute, give me silence and peace for just a little while but the heavy accusations kept coming. Why do you keep me here against my will? Why can’t I go see mom? When was the last time you thought about me, what’s best for me? You do nothing else but hate me. I want to leave. I want to go home.

How could I explain to him that this was his home. That mom had died twenty years ago. That I did not hate him, and I tried the best I could to take care of him. I did what I could so that he was able to live at home he did not recognize as his own. Would it be better to put him into a nursing home? There he would not have his own furniture and belongings, though and strangers would take care of him. Would it matter? There were days that even I was a stranger to him.

I got up and sprinkled my face with cold water. A tired, old and wrinkly woman stared back at me from the mirror. I was old, too old and too tired to take care of my beloved brother much longer. I simply could not do it anymore. I felt that I was not good enough. I was not able to help Robert. I tried though. And never got as much as a thank you for trying. Who would thank me? I was not a hero, I was carrying out my responsibilities. I was doing what anyone would do in my place. I changed his diapers, made sure he ate well and healthy, kept the house clean and safe, read books out loud to Robert and played him music as that sometimes seemed to bring back memories. His feet would start moving with the beat and he would suddenly remember long-forgotten things from childhood. He recognized the music.

The tiny, frosted glass bathroom window pointed towards the garden and from it I saw all the colors of the spring. It was nice that summer was coming. We could go to the park to feed the ducks and I could buy Robert an ice cream cone. It would be good to get out of the house. Robert was in good physical shape and he would have been able to go outside during winter too but I was not. A bad hip. I was able to move pretty well with my walker but I was too afraid of falling on the icy, slippery ground. And I knew that if I fell, I would probably not walk again. Then who would take care of my brother?

Robert was banging the door with his fists. He had always been calm, sweet and happy person, all of his life. Until he came down with the sickness. Then he started to have these tantrums. He scared me when he was like that. His words were sharp and hurtful, sometimes he even hit me but the most painful thing was to see the look in his eyes. It was a look of pure, raw terror. He was scared of the world around him. The world he was not able to recognize anymore. Who would not be afraid as a prisoner inside the faceless, unknown world. I opened the door and looked at Robert. Between his eyes were deep wrinkles of worry. He dropped his hand.

“Why can’t I go home?”

*

I woke up, in the middle of the night, to a feeling that someone was staring at me. I was not mistaken. Robert was standing at the door. I was not able to see his face in the dark room. I rose to sit and waited for him to get angry again but he just stood there. Suddenly he whispered in an unfamiliar, childlike voice:

“Mommy. Someone is eating up my brain. Someone is inside me and eating me away.”

I sighed in horror. He had never before seemed to be aware of his condition. Sure, he had stated that he had a bad memory couple of times but nothing like this. Shivers went down my spine. Could he be able to feel his condition? Could he be able to feel it inside him?

“Mommy. Soon I will be no more. Something’s gonna eat me and then I will be gone. Then there will only be that something who ate me.”

“Rob…” I whispered and turned on the light on the nightstand. I realized in horror that he had scratched his face bloody. The nail marks were red and the skin had broken so that tiny drops of blood ran down his cheeks.

“Oh Rob, why did you do that? That must hurt. Come, I’ll clean it”, I said and Robert stared at me confused.

“I was just trying to get it out of my head”, Robert answered in an innocent voice. It was terrifying to hear him distort his voice like that. I got up, took his hand and lead him to kitchen where I sat him down. I fetched a tiny towel I soaked in cold water, a bottle of disinfectant and couple of band-aids.

*

It went on for two weeks. Robert woke up in the middle of the night, and came to me thinking that I was mom. He kept going on that something was eating up his brain. He explained that his brain was like Swiss cheese, full of holes. Every time he spoke with a weird, childlike, high-pitched voice I had never heard him use before. Often he had scratched his face and couple of times even ripped his thin, gray hair. I was getting really worried and did not know what to do. So I called Robert’s doctor who wanted to see us. Unfortunately, the next free appointment was almost a month away. Until that, he recommended me to cut Robert’s nails short and make sure he was not hurting himself. The doctor also told me, that I could try a knit cap that covers the head and face but would not accidentally cover his mouth or nose while sleeping.

I cut and filed Robert’s nails that very evening. He did not like that and it took almost an hour as the whole time, he tried to fight back. After that I was warming up some honeyed milk for us. My own health was getting worse. Last few days, I had used my walker even inside the house. Getting up from the table, taking the couple steps to the refrigerator and then from there to the stove felt like an exercise. I was afraid I could not get out even during summer, by this rate. I glanced out the window and saw the Rowan tree standing there. The Bohemian waxwings had eaten all the berries during winter and now the new leaves were slowly sprouting.

Robert sat in the table staring out the window as well. Suddenly, he said in a low, coarse voice that reminded a dog’s growl:

“Cheese, cheese.”

I was startled and dropped the honey pot I was holding. Luckily, the lid stayed on and there was no mess but I knew I was not able to pick it up from the floor by myself.

“Do you want cheese with the milk? I can cut a few pieces for you, if you like? And Rob, sweetie, could you please pick up the honey pot for me?”

“Cheese, cheese, more holes. Soon there’s nothing left!” His growl grew into a terrible scream. I got so scared I burst into tears. I realized he was talking about his brain. It crossed my mind that maybe it was not my brother speaking at all.

“Who are you?” I asked in a hushed voice.

“Hmm… We live here now. He’s gone soon completely” Robert answered grinning. I could not be left alone with this thing. I started to make my way towards the bathroom, waddling painfully and slowly with my walker. Tears ran down to my chubby cheeks.

“You can’t run. When you are hungry, really, really hungry, you can never be full”, Robert growled after me and then laughed. I reached the bathroom, went in and locked the door. Then I sat on my walker and took deep breaths to calm myself down. For once, I was able to sit there in peace, the whole house was dead silent. I could picture in my mind, Robert sitting in the table, smiling a stranger’s smile. After a few minutes had passed, I heard how the milk started boiling over. I had to go back to the kitchen. Robert was standing at the stove, holding the pot, smiling happy and said in a perfectly normal voice:

“Whoops. This is ruined now but we’ll make a new batch, right?”

*

Officer Ainsley

I had never seen anything like that in my life. The neighbors had called the police when they heard loud screaming and shrieking. We got there as soon as possible and spent a good while knocking on the door without an answer. We tried the door and it was not locked so we let ourselves in. We went through the house trying to find somebody. When we got to the bedroom, I sighed in horror. Like I said, I had never seen anything like that in my life.

In the corner of the room, there was an old man hunched over an old woman’s still body. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw that the old woman’s stomach had been ripped open and the intestines were hanging out. The old man turned toward us and his face was covered in blood. He was chewing a piece of meat that was partially hanging out of his mouth. When he saw us, he smiled and shrieked in a high-pitched voice:

“Cheese!”