Children can often be cruel. A kid picks up a toy, and suddenly her hair is being pulled. She accidentally chose the ‘wrong’ toy, one which was already ‘claimed’ by someone else. In a sense they’re very territorial little critters. Some researchers theorize that it’s an evolutionary trait; figure out where you belong in the pecking order, early. I don’t know exactly how a green toy tractor would be beneficial for one’s survival, even if it is a perfect replica of a John Deere. Something about projecting parts of yourself onto inanimate objects and therefore extending your survival to that of the object, I guess.
I have a fair amount of experience in this department. I grew up in a world without sound. Even if my condition was invisible to the naked eye, draping me like a ghost made out of thick blankets, the other kids knew. Of course they did. This made me a very easy target.
Early, my parents made sure to give me all the tools I would need to take on the world. Sadly, it wasn’t really enough. One would think being deaf is a shield from the words of others, but words are never the worst part. Disgusted looks after I miss a cue during P.E. Being omitted from band class even though I loved the feeling of guitar strings against my fingertips. Teachers not bothering putting subtitles on during movie time. Those were the worst parts.
The day I met Anton was cold. I remember dragging my feet towards school. Brown puddles were scattered on the pavement and my, previously white, shoes soaked up the water a little too well to be made out of leather. As I arrived, the bell rang. Walking slowly, dreading another day of ableism, I noticed a red haired boy sitting by his lonesome under the bleachers next to the football pitch. Something about him gave me an impression of inherent kindness. I don’t know what gave me the courage to actually be the conversational instigator. Probably the freckles.
“I’m Sara.”
He gently mouthed something back.
After that we spent a lot of time together. At the start, we would wait for the other kids to finish playing their games before swooping in afterwards when no one was around. Two silent, stealthy ninjas on their quest for world domination through hopscotch and basketball.
Anton picked up sign language quickly and suddenly I had someone who wasn’t of my blood to talk to. However, so did my tormentors.
Apparently teenagers are cruel, too. And they’re more determined.
Soon I had heard (pun intended) every insult in the book. But when the words got vile, I would follow the advice Anton gave me.
“Close your eyes. That’s your superpower,” he would sign.
Now, I think I’ve made it clear how much this person means to me, and why it hurts so fucking much to think about his fate. Fuck.
In university we both picked up hiking together. The scenery in Sweden is absolutely breathtaking, if you know where to look. Anton’s favorite part about nature were the sounds, mine the smells.
I remember that morning in vivid detail. We woke up in the same tent just before the gilded rays of the sun pierced the trees of the coppice. Small particles of pine aroma made their way to my nose, yelling at me, no screaming that they were ready to reproduce.
“Get of your phone,” I had to repeat the signs three times before I got his attention.
“Fine. Not many gay dudes on Tinder in homophobe-city anyways,” he replied, referring to the near backwater town were we stayed.
We did what we usually did: started wandering the forest aimlessly, enjoying the many impressions the forest offered. Everytime a squirrel scuttered up an oak tree or we spotted a plant we’d never seen before, we stopped. I could mistake these small moments for anomalies in the space-time continuum, they seemed to last just a little bit longer than all the unpleasant ones.
I was inspecting a particularly cool rock, probably some kind of granite, when I noticed Anton stop moving on the spot. This was indicative of something I could never experience. He was listening for, or to, something. It kind of looked like he was in a trance of some sort. I made it a game to try to guess what bird had him that enchanted. I made a noise to get his attention, but it was futile. In the end I just walked up right in front of him.
“Is it a blackbird?”
“It is a violin.”
At first I thought it was a nickname I didn’t recognize for one of the local species, so I made him clarify.
“No, someone is playing the violin,” his hands told me.
Eventually, he was moving towards the sound. Or so I assumed. I kept asking him questions, but he wouldn’t stop, answering in few words. ‘Magnificent’, ‘stunning’, ‘almost magical’.
We entered a small grove. A tiny lake, placed in the middle, was the centerpiece. And on the water, there was a rock. On that rock sat a man, hunched over, completely naked with a violin and bow. There was something… off about the way he was positioned, almost like he had been waiting for a long time. As if he, or it, could hear my thoughts, he stood up and straightened himself. I’m not going to lie to you, he was beautiful. Long, blonde hair falling down his chiseled body, which was almost glistening in the sun. I would call him the epitome of beauty, but his smile was crooked.
Something wasn’t right.
Anton had stopped to take in the scene, but was soon on his way towards the man. I began to calmly ask him to stop, walking backwards in front of him. Soon my gestures were getting more, and more frantical as I realized he wouldn’t slow down. He had stopped responding to me, and seemed completely enthralled with the music the man on the lake was playing. Anton was much stronger than me, so I could never physically stop him in normal circumstances if he set his mind to something, but now I couldn’t even slow him down. It was as if he turned into a machine, dead-set on reaching his destination. I started shouting, I think. He would just glance at me with content eyes.
Not even when he set his foot in the water would he flinch.
I started screaming at the man to stop the music, but he just looked at me with dead eyes. He wasn’t so pretty anymore. A subtle desperation had entered his expression and as Anton moved further into the pond, he licked his lips. I felt this awful feeling, like that thing carried a hunger so intense it could only be described as starvation.
I let go of Anton’s arm and started crying. The man would just look at me, then back at my friend, brandishing an awful smile. I didn’t stop crying until Anton’s shoulders disappeared, then his head.
The pond was deeper than I thought possible, and soon I could barely make out the shadow of the submerged Anton. I tried going after him, but he was determined to keep sinking. Soon I got lightheaded and swam back upwards. Before I breached the surface I looked down, and the last I saw of him was his kind eyes and gentle smile.
I feel like he wanted to tell me something.
“Just close your eyes.”
I gasped for breath. I started making my way back to the shore. Dripping wet I sat down in the warm grass.
The man on the rock looked at me with a certain confusion.
I started screaming at him. I don’t think I used any discernible words. Angry sounds. Primal sounds.
He just looked at me. The confusion was gone, now he just looked smug.
And he started to change. The color of his skin started draining. Soon the perfectly bronze skin was more akin to the grays of boiled chicken. His limbs started elongating to lengths deeply unnatural. His smile grew from something lightly wicked, to something nightmarish. Weirdly, I couldn’t see the increments of the transformation, yet he transformed nonetheless. The end result was… fucking terrifying. I couldn’t move.
It stared at me with large, oval black eyes. Earlier I mused on the fact that pleasant moments seemed to last longer than unpleasant ones, but this was different. It felt like forever.
Then it slowly raised a thin, sickly arm and waved a slow goodbye. The audacity of this fucking thing. It crouched and started climbing down the rock at the pace of a sloth, never breaking eye contact with me.
When it broke the surface of the pond it did so quietly, I could tell. The water barely moved and then it was gone. Along with Anton.
I had to get this off my chest. And now people will know where I went. Even if that thing still occupies the darkest corners of my nightmares, the forest seems to be calling me. Even though my lungs got damaged to a point of permanent remembrance I dream of the fluttering water. Even though I can’t hear his music, I feel something tugging at my sleeves. I imagine the music was a component of something far more sinister, something ancient. The beauty of it, however, is that I won’t have to be wary of every crevice, nook and cranny on my crusade. I know where it will be. On that same rock, in that same lake, hunching over that same terrible fiddle.