They were all gone, blown away like leaves in the wind. I was sitting at the edge of a tall cliff; thinking of how it had all gone down as the sun rose in the eastern sky, shimmering on the still ocean. Maybe I should tell their story from the beginning.
I woke to the sound of soft rain tapping on my window, letting through the gray shade of a day overcast. Stretching lazily, I reached for my phone, as one does, first thing in the morning. 11:17 am. That sure was odd. My parents were early risers and usually had no qualms about waking me up to have “a family breakfast” at some ungodly hour of the morning. I rolled out of bed, and wiped some of the sleep out of my eyes to get a look about myself and my childhood bedroom.
It’s always a strange feeling to come back home. Coming back to find it different, to wonder if it was you who had changed. Walking along the streets that used to just be streets and seeing them as memories instead. The tall cliff by the lighthouse my school bus used to drive by, the lonely beach west of town where a whale had once washed ashore, the suburbs that stretched away into the pine forests at the mountains’ reach, my dingy old room… gloomy places that reminded me of simpler times. Home was a calming reprieve from the hustle of life.
Putting on some clothes, I made my way down the stairs and into the living room, calling out into the kitchen. I heard no reply but the static of the rain. I then made my way in and found it spotless; no dishes in the sink, no crumbs on the counter, nothing. Going back through the living room and out onto the backyard; I found it empty but for the tire swing gently swaying in the wind, the branch crackling rhythmically as the tire swung back and forth, back and forth.
The tire swayed as I called first my mom then my dad, finding their phones ringing in their bedroom. That was admittedly quite weird but I was too lazy to be worried that morning. So, instead, I scrounged up some breakfast and went back up to my room to play the new zelda game. I occasionally looked out my window and onto the street; it too seemed deserted. No cars passed by as the rain fell lightly on the tarmac, no lights were on and no dogs were barking.
It wasn’t before well into the afternoon that I took a break. My parents were still nowhere to be found so I figured I would order myself a pizza. Domino’s wasn’t picking up and neither was that local pierogi place meanwhile the Chinese restaurant’s number didn’t even ring. Frustrated, I decided that I would resort to extreme measures and try to cook something myself.
By cooking, I mean instant ramen so I started filling up a kettle as any self-respecting college student does. But it wouldn’t turn on. I grabbed some pop tarts to warm up in the microwave yet that wouldn’t turn on either. I then reached for the light-switch but to no avail; apparently the power had just gone out. I looked out the kitchen window and out onto the street to see all other houses had remained equally in darkness when something else caught my eye.
A nightingale, perched on a powerline some 10 yards away was staring back through the kitchen window and into me, it seemed. It stood there, unmoving for a few moments as the gentle rain shone on its fluffy coat, its tiny eyes carrying an expression, much too human somehow, that I could not place.
Then, there came the sound of a chirping from the forest that the old suburbs had woven their way into. With a tension in its tiny body, the bird sprung into the air and disappeared amidst the pines, lost between their shadows. I couldn’t help but feel a sudden cold in my stomach at the sight of the forest, and the deep darkness that rose between the trees.
However, looking away, I quickly got back on the topic at hand and considered my options, pushing away the uncomfortable feeling. I’d been cooped-up inside the entire day so I thought I would head into town and grab a bite in there. I gave a call to one of my high-school friends, Rob, to see if he would come along.
It’s odd how people can stay the best of friends despite years apart. How a man can spend 30 years in suits then go right back to being 17 at his high school reunion. I hadn’t seen Rob except for summers and spring break in the 4 years since our graduation yet we could hang out just like we always had. Except this time, he hadn’t picked up.
Whatever, I would just stop by his house on my way. Wallet, phone, keys; check. I got on my bike, put on a raincoat and made my way out the door. The garage door closed behind me and the house fell back into silence. The tire kept swinging at the edge of the forest, back and forth as something moved between the trees.
The streets really were empty. There wasn’t a sound from any house as I made my way over to Rob’s. Not even a tv was turned on in a living room, not a single car was backing out of a driveway. Off in the distance, a light mist seemed to be rolling down from the mountains that stretched away into the horizon, gray and hidden by the clouds. It was working its way through the pine trees that hid the night under their dark canopies.
I’d gone there camping with my father once when I must have been around 14. The age where you’re too old to play games with your parents and be a child yet too young to have a real conversation with them. Bored, I’d gone off wandering into the treeline, away from the clearing where my father was setting up the campsite and along a calm creek. I’ve always had a good sense of direction, and being 14, I thought that basically made me Bear Grylls. So I’d gone away much farther than I should have, far outside of shouting distance, and would surely have been lost if it wasn’t for the creek.
I’d been walking for maybe 15 minutes when I came across a fork in the clear stream and something caught my eye. A raven. A curious thing, perched on a low-hanging branch; its head was cocked to the side, standing as still as can be, facing my way. I couldn’t tell in the oily black of its eyes where its gaze fell exactly. It tilted its head further to the side as I approached, wrapped in an ambient blue that reflected off the water. I’d never pet a raven before, had I? I was going to give it a shot.
Moving from rock to rock, I approached carefully, the sound of my footsteps carried away by the gentle flow of the water. I was maybe within 5 meters that the raven calmly lifted off the branch and landed on another, further along the creek, still facing my eager self. There, the soft light reached down from the clouds and cast a shine upon its tiny eyes.
There was a sharpness unlike any animal, staring calmly in my direction, unblinking and beckoning me to come. So I did. Stepping across the creek fork, from smooth river stone onto earth and moss, I got within its reach, transfixed. Once again, the raven retreated further along the creek, deeper into the forest, from one branch to another, not making a sound as its feathers carried it into the darkening trees. It retreated, and I pursued.
I was again, just within arms reach of the bird when I realized I couldn’t see it anymore; it had vanished into a pocket of darkness between the pine needles. I broke away my gaze and looked around to find I couldn’t see much of anything at all. All the trees around me were in the same darkness the raven had fallen back into, barely visible in a lingering blue, as dim as the first signs of dawn. The sun must have been far below the horizon, even its echoes at death’s door.
I turned back to look for the raven and peered into the darkness. I peered into the blackness it had disappeared into. I first saw nothing. With every second passing, blind eddies in my vision stirred and stirred to adapt to the dark yet never came together. I only felt hints of movement at the edges, sudden and silent. Then, slowly, imperceptibly at first, I started to feel a presence standing in front of my eyes that I couldn’t see, cloaked in a darkness eyes would never adjust to.
It must have been inches from my face, staring through me as my eyes darted around in the darkness, dilated to be as black as the night, frantic and blind. Then I felt it breathing; it was like a frigid wind, blowing in from the shadows and carrying fear, wrapping all around me like a python.
It’s breathing gave way to silent mutterings; whispers in the wind, coming from all around me, one second nearly inaudible, the next, inches from an ear, mumbling in a manic tongue. I could feel its embrace, tighten, like a vice around my waist, fear itself starting to strangle me. I felt a piercing sensation, digging its way into my stomach, cold and burning at the same time.
I felt a hollowing deep inside, a numbness that spread and spread; it was like anesthesia, it was sweet and it was calming. It was cold and dark; not like winter but like sleep, soft, so soft. It was calling on me to sleep; to simply lay down for a while while it took away the fear. I only had to sleep and let the shadows take me.
I was held there, my eyelids getting heavier and heavier when I heard the song of a nightingale. It was the softest thing, perched on a thin branch to my right, its head bobbing up and down with its music, shining under a ray of moonlight that poked through the canopy.
It turned to look back at me with a quizzical look, head tilted to the side with what looked like wonder on its tiny face, seeming to be asking me a question: “beep, beep, boop?”. It took to air with a bounce, rising through the moonlight, a strafe to the left and then to the right, chirping with the rhythm of its beating wings. Between the sway of the branches, I saw the full moon through the shade of its feathers; a silver light carrying a melody; one moment of seemingly all the beauty of the world. The bird drifted off into the skies, as soft as the wind.
The darkness was gone when I looked back down; the forest pierced by pale rays that shone upon the creek’s surface. I followed them back to the campsite and to the sound of a crackling fire. I came and sat on a log across the firepit from my father, facing the treeline. His face was painted by the dancing colors of the firelight, eyes staring deep into the blaze, like in a trance. I looked over his shoulder and into the forest.
That same ancient evil was lingering, looking over our campsite. It seemed to pull at something inside my stomach. It ached dully as a string seemed to pull at something deep within me. Something that wanted to join it. Yet the shadows were kept hidden in the forest, reduced to but a feeling of dread; the moonlight had watched over us that night.
I felt an echo of that same dread raise the hairs on the back of my neck, forcing me to turn and take a look behind me. So, I imagine you won’t be surprised that, in such a state, I proceeded to promptly crash my bike into the edge of the sidewalk and go flying into a garden. After a few rolls and a few too many scratches, I sat upright to get a look about my surroundings and find myself on the driveway of Rob’s house.
My first instinct was to be embarrassed; yet I was promptly reminded of the kind of day this was when that embarrassment was greeted only by the sound of the rain, not one concerned neighbor even peeking out of a window. I suppose the crash had at least gotten my mind off things.
My bike was resting peacefully at the Brown’s door, the collapsed front tire continuing to slowly spin as if in a cartoon. I was walking up to it that I noticed that the front door had been left open. This was a small enough town that people often still left their doors unlocked. However, leaving them open entirely didn’t adhere to any code of neighborly friendliness that I knew of.
Letting go of the bicycle, I walked to the door with careful steps to knock. Once. And then twice. And then a few more times some moments later. I called out to Rob, to his dad and then to his mom and then knocked some more. No disgruntled neighbor seemed to care enough to look. No disgruntled neighbor seemed to care enough to open the door either when I toured a few houses to ask about the Browns.
Only thing I saw was one black cat, sat on a roof at the corner of the street, watching me with its emerald eyes from behind a chimney. It watched me move about the street with a lazy calmness before a sudden rustling from the forest drew its attention and it scurried off and vanished behind the house. A familiar coldness rose in my stomach for a moment before going away. I forced myself to ignore the feeling.
After some time walking around the street, I came up and sat on the steps leading to the Browns’ house and called Rob again. I dialed, started waiting and was just about to punch something in exasperation when I heard his phone ringing inside the house. I figured that enough was enough and that I wasn’t living in Silent Hill; I opened the door and went inside.
I kept calling out for someone to answer me yet my only company remained the hum of the raindrops. I looked into their backyard that gave into the forests surrounding our little town. The pines were damp and let none of what little light there was filter down to the undergrowth, blending into one another, forming a silent void.
A spring had worked its way into my steps by this point as I made my way through to Rob’s room, looking over my shoulder as I turned my back to the woods, a knot tightening in my stomach at the thought of things much worse than just being caught trespassing.
His phone was on his desk, next to his computer that was still running, a neon screensaver on his monitor lighting up the room as its fan hummed with the soft sound of the wind blowing against the house; everything in its place but Rob. I was leaned back against his window overlooking his backyard, stretching and letting out a loud “fuck” as my stomach dropped; I felt the forest staring into me.
Slowly turning back around, I looked outside the window; there were darkening clouds over the mountains now; the mist was its harbinger, telling tales of a storm to come. From there on, the pines stretched from the horizon all the way up to the treeline at the edge of the backyard.
I forced myself to look down and saw a movement in the canopy; something below the leaves, tall, nearly poking above at times, that rustled the leaves some 50 yards off. I don’t know what came over me but I went down the stairs and onto the backyard to get a look.
The entire day, I hadn’t seen a single soul, not heard a word but my own echo in the empty streets; it had all seemed surreal, like a gray hell where I’d walk the streets of my town forever and ever, followed by something I could never see. I just wanted to find something that broke the mold, that would do away with the dread in the air.
However, I didn’t. The feeling only got much worse as I stepped out the back door and onto the wet grass. The sound of the light rain grew deafening as each tap on my raincoat started to sound like a bang inside my skull, each gust of wind becoming footsteps racing behind me. The tops of the trees had stopped rustling; they grew more and more still as I approached the treeline, growing taller, turning into tall columns between which only darkness peered through.
I was maybe just one yard away from the forest that all sound seemed to go away, lost into the darkness that now filled my vision. All I heard then was a soft panting somewhere in front of me. I walked closer and closer to the sound, the panting getting louder, faster, more excited, the trees around me absorbing all other sound, closing in, it felt like.
All was darkness and that panting. Then I heard the wind blow once again far behind me, cut through the overbearing silence with a bang; saw it slam the glass backdoor shut. In its reflection, I saw myself and behind, something else. I turned around to see a single eye peeking out from behind a tree; It was all pupil and no white, point-like, all black.
The head it was attached to was panting faster and faster now, bobbing up and down, showing at its edges; teeth, too many teeth that chattered against one another. I stood there staring into that eye staring into me, with the sound of gargling between the panting as drool spooled on the earth, dropping in black, tar-like dallops.
I sat there staring as the creature twitched behind the tree. And then I blinked. It was a tree closer when I opened my eyes, its other eye peeking through at the opposite side, now shining with the dim-light from the clearing, spinning in its socket like a black hole, smooth like obsidian. One gaunt hand was gripping a pine trunk at its side; its finger sunken into the bark inches deep, crushing the wood like it was plaster.
I wasn’t screaming. Far too scared for any emotion, with a mere shiver in my movement, I slowly took a step back and away from the creature, its face turning ever so slightly to match my movement; and then I took another and then another, feeling the darkness of the forest grow weaker with each step. Watching me with its spinning eyes, the figure just kept panting, with a high-pitched, distorted growl that resonated in between its breaths.
I must have been a few steps away at most from reaching the clearing when my heel caught on a fallen branch, sending me tumbling down. My back hit a tree trunk and I had the wind knocked out of me, stumbling and rolling onto my stomach. I heard a horrible shriek roar behind and thunder forwards in my direction when I spun back and found its hideous jaws; locked open, showing uncountable rows of teeth, giving way to an abyss going down into its stomach, just one tree away.
One clawed hand had dug into the ground a foot deep next to my leg, reaching over from meters away, shaking and twitching, unable to strike. It was as if a man had been turned into a praying mantis; too tall, too thin, with an untold twitch, spring in its body, ready to explode out, snatch its victim and deliver death. I staggered backwards, keeping my eyes locked with its own that spun and spun in their sockets.
It was so desperate, whimpering on the ground, splayed out, caught mid-lunge, keeping locked in its immobile body all the carnage and hunger the world had ever seen. I fell back into the backyard and then into the house, my eyes locked with its own that kept spinning, drawing in the light all around it like an abyss.
The creature slowly started to wither away in the forest, turning an ashen gray as it let out a horrible strained shriek, unable to move, chained by the forest and burned by the light. It started to bite into itself with its gaping jaws, tearing apart its crackling flesh, ripping apart its limbs, devouring them with insatiable hunger; so much hunger.
The giant’s eyes just kept spinning in their sockets as it tore itself apart into a pool of blood, as dark as the night sky. It screeched out one final time, the sound shaking the windows of the house as it collapsed in its pit of gore and viscera. I stumbled my way back into the house as dozens of tiny, point-like eyes popped up in between the trees, twitching and swaying. I pulled the curtain behind me as I reeled back into the house, turning away as I heard the creatures descending on the corpse. Then there was the sound of teeth.
I staggered out of the house and onto the street, the world around me a haze, cold and numb like the gray clouds above. I walked through the suburban neighborhoods for some time, looking only ahead. Memories played out in my head, hazy like mist, as my mind seemed to want to think of everything but what had just happened. I was walking past a funeral parlor, barely even aware of it to my side, when it reached out to a memory from my childhood and pulled me in close.
It had been a gray day just like this one, the streets glossy under the rain, a smell of the forest rolling through the streets, fresh yet of the earth as it was carried by the water. I was in the living room, looking out onto the yard as my parents and sister were gathered on the couch by my side, looking at something on the coffee table out of my field of vision.
I was watching a raindrop flow softly downwards on the glass, drawing unpredictable shapes with the trail it left behind, slowing and then fast once again as it raced others to the window sill, silent under the soft roar of the rain. I remembered being so calm and numb, following that raindrop as nothing else seemed to matter in the world when I felt a tug on my right shoulder. I turned to face the living room and saw the faces of my parents, dark with sorrow and with a worry that seemed directed towards me.
My mom asked if I was okay and I replied yes with a soft nod of the head, as I looked down on the coffee table; our cat lay there, gray with a pure white about his belly that shone softly with the light coming from behind me, unmoving, dead. I looked at him, Milo, his name had been; trying to feel something at the sight in front of me as I felt the eyes of my family on my back, judging. I tried to force a tear out of my tiny brown eyes, wiping at them with a hand that was chubby and soft with childhood. I nodded once again that I was fine, gesturing softly as I sat there, numb throughout, the tear not coming out.
My sister to my side had been bawling the entire afternoon, face puffy and red at my side when she gave me a sudden shove: “You don’t even feel sad! You don’t even care about him!”. My mom reached out and told her that everyone grieved differently, while my father held me in a hug to comfort me. But I could feel their concerned looks upon my back as I still didn’t even shed a tear, calm, looking at the ground with hazy, numb eyes.
It only hit me when I was in bed, later that night. A sudden wave of emotion that had me crying into my pillow as I felt the emptiness in the spot on my bed where Milo would lay by my side at night. I didn’t know if I had cried from shame that I had not cared until I had missed his company or because I was simply sad; all I knew is that I had. Only, my parents weren’t by my side to hug me anymore.
I’d been walking for maybe a minute or maybe an hour when that memory shook me out of my trance, a sudden gust of wind blowing off the hood of my raincoat. The raindrops landed on my face, one by one with little taps as the breeze chilled my face for one moment of peace before I realized what had just happened.
All feeling rushed back; the image of those eyes popping out from behind the trees, glowing, not with light but with evil, for they had been as dark as the night. The sound of flesh, of tearing; the sound of teeth. Millions of them grinding against one another between wails and shrieks that shook the air. The dark blood and gore pooling on the earth and flying in the air, forming clouds like death. The dampness on my pillow as I had cried myself to sleep that night, all those years back…
My head spun around, darting from house to house, from tree to tree as I became aware of every sound that arose around me. I suddenly became aware of my own breathing, too shallow, not nearly giving me enough air.
I started to breathe in deeper and deeper but it felt like my lungs just wouldn’t inflate, compressed inside my chest that felt tight as if it were held in a vice. My breathing grew shallower and faster; faster and faster, as manic as my eyes as they scanned my surroundings once and then twice; each look revealing some little detail in the distance that I perceived as a threat.
I started to run, at first an awkward shuffle forward as I glanced behind me between each stride. I picked up my steps, faster with each one as I felt the danger pick up its pace behind me. I’d broken into a full on sprint, not daring to look back, shallow wheezes coming out to the rhythm of my lungs that had started to ache, suffocating with their effort.
I’d been running, as fast I could, for minutes when I felt my knees starting to buckle underneath me. Wheezing, coughing and a fire blazing through my legs, I dashed with one final effort into a park to my right, coming to collapse at the edge of a field of grass, stumbling to hide behind a large oak. I had my eyes clenched shut, hugging my knees close to my chest, bracing for the moment of impact when I heard the song of a nightingale.
The softest of sounds, it came from above my head, chirping with an improvised melody that cut through the hum of the rain. It washed away my fear; a feeling of warmth like a calm sunset upon my face. I slowly opened my eyes looking up to see the tiny bird looking back down at me, its light and brown coat damp, softly glistening with the rain.
It slowly descended, flapping its tiny wings, and settled on the grass, a foot to my right, head coked to the side, staring in my direction. It had a slight tension to its posture, leaned forward with its head, looking up at me with what almost seemed like a question it wanted to ask. And then it spoke: “Hello”
It stared at me for a few moments, inquiring, seeming to not notice the bizarre nature of the situation before repeating: “Hello?”. It cocked its head now onto the other side, a gesture that reminded me of raised eyebrows, as it seemed puzzled by my lack of a response. I took a good look at the bird and thought about it all for a few moments, with a sudden lightness and clarity in my mind.
All of the townsfolk had disappeared, leaving the streets deserted, silent as the grave. The forest had been taken by creatures I shuddered even thinking about, hiding in the darkness, twitching, watching from behind the shadows, waiting to lunge and devour. In the context of all of this, a talking bird really wasn’t the biggest deal now, was it? So, after a few moments’ consideration, gathering a joyfulness into my expression that I hadn’t thought I could, I looked the tiny creature in its beady eyes and replied simply: “Hello”.
It took to the air with a deft movement and landed at the tip of my boot, stretched out in front of me, as to look me directly in the eyes. It paused for a moment, looking down into the grass, seeming to think about what it was going to say. What would one say to a human in a deserted town, chased by monsters if one were a bird? Now that’s a question most people don’t have to ask themselves very often at all.
I was sat pondering this when the bird spoke up again in a melodious voice: “My name is Axel and I’m from the forest.” It stopped for a moment, concern appearing to work its way into its expression: ”I don’t think you’re supposed to be here” .
It’s speech was very much like its song; high-pitched and musical. It was shrill like that of a little girl and soft like a woman’s kiss, putting me at ease as the bird’s beak opened and closed, somehow producing speech. It reminded me of my mother’s lullabies long ago; when the wind blows, the cradle will rock. When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall. And down will come baby, cradle and all…
I broke away from my reverie as it pecked at my right boot, calling me to attention, a look, not of annoyance, but of compassion on its face, not that I could tell how a featureless little bird could emote so vividly. I responded in kind to her last sentence. “My name is Matt and I’m from this town. Do you know where everyone else has gone?”
She looked away, off into the treeline for a second, the gray light of the sky shining in her eyes. She seemed to consider what to say or not to say for a moment, another look of worry in her eyes. “Everyone’s… gone into town” she said, looking away once again into the forest. “Everyone?” I asked, a strange feeling coming about at how she had insisted on the word gone. I was about to ask more when a chirping came from inside the forest, starting at the edge of the park.
The bird’s head whipped around in that snappy kind of motion particular to small animals, the rest of its body quickly following, taking to the air with a snappy and nervous motion before starting to head for the treeline. I jumped to my feet after her, “Stop!” I said, trying to yell and whisper at the same time, the sight of the pine forest tying a knot in my stomach “You have to tell me what’s going on here. You don’t get to just be a talking bird and fly off”.
It turned around to hover in the air for a moment, hesitant, turning to the forest and back around to me before answering in its chirping voice that had lost its soothing song to notes of discord and tension: “I have to leave, dear Matt. I’ve already spoken too much; the fate of your people is not for me to tell”. She quickly zipped back around to fly into the treeline. I chased after her, now properly shouting: “You have to tell me something. Please!”.
Slowing down right at the edge of the treeline, she faced my way, her tiny wings fluttering frantically, desperate to head into the trees, yet forcing herself to stay: “Please, just be careful. Just… do not trust its word”. I shouted after her yet she had already zipped back into the forest, lost in a moment between the pines.
The forest towered at the edge of the park, a stray eye twitching deep inside, barely visible in the dark. I sure hoped that little bird Axel would be okay. Swallowing my fear, I turned away and looked out onto the street, a surprising fortitude in my stature, the hysteria of earlier washed away like grime by rain, blown away by Axel’s song.
Running, I had worked my way onto an avenue that led to the heart of town. I considered the bird’s ominous words for a moment before I got to walking again. The road stretched ahead, with a stream of water that ran at its side, calm and reflecting the rolling clouds above. I followed it like a boat on the river, still and steady like the rain all around.