My first memory of losing something takes me back many years. I was still a kid, around 5 or maybe 6 years old. Back then, I enjoyed collecting little wooden toy animals. I had one particular favorite. Perhaps the reason I liked it so much was not because it was prettier than the others, but simply because I kept losing it. Despite being young and easily distracted, I vividly remember what happened.
I was playing on the floor of my room with the other little wooden figures when suddenly, I froze in place. There it was, lying right next to the leg of the chair, the little doe looking exactly as I remembered it. I eagerly picked it up, still unable to believe my eyes, and immediately included it in my game.
I was overjoyed, at least until I turned my head for a moment in the opposite direction. When I looked back to where I had left the doe, it was gone.
It may sound naive and silly, but even back then, I knew there was something strange about the whole situation. I searched every nook and cranny of my room, desperate to find it. However, it was nowhere to be found. I felt a sense of despair as if someone was playing a prank on me, deliberately hiding my toy.
I hadn’t thought about this incident for years, and it had become deeply buried in my memory. It likely wouldn’t have resurfaced if something hadn’t happened to remind me of that day.
Now, at the age of 23, I live alone in a secluded town. I prefer tranquility and birdsong over the constant noise and hectic pace of city life. I have a cozy little house all to myself, the kind I had always dreamed of. It’s a two-story house with two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a kitchen, a living room, and a spacious garden filled with various flowers and peaceful corners where I can fully dedicate myself to work or reading.
On one of those quiet afternoons, I was reading a book on the sofa in my living room, accompanied by music playing from the record player. Suddenly, the record started screeching, producing unbearable sounds. I quickly jumped up and halted its spinning.
“I concentrate better in silence anyway,” I thought to myself as I returned to my seat.
But then, something caught my eye. I’m not entirely sure how I noticed it, but there was a small part of something sticking out from behind the leg of the small table where I kept the record player. I bent down and picked it up. The moment I laid eyes on the little wooden doe, I recognized it. A wave of confusion washed over me, and I shivered.
“What are you doing here?” I wondered aloud. Could it have been tucked away somewhere in my belongings when I moved? That seemed unlikely, as I would have noticed it much sooner.
I went back to the couch, sat down, and continued to gaze at the toy. I knew it was the same one, without a doubt. It couldn’t be a mere look-alike. I ran my fingers over its surface, feeling its texture once again—exactly as I remembered.
Was this some kind of prank? But I hadn’t shared this story with anyone. Not a single soul.
I stared at the toy, unable to make up my mind to call someone. Suddenly the silence that filled the room didn’t seem soothing to me but instead instilled fear and tension. I twirled the toy nervously in my hands until my eyes landed on something. Its stomach was carved with letters, perhaps signs. I didn’t recognize them, I had never seen anything like them. And I was almost prejudiced that they were missing before.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away from those strange markings on the wooden doe’s stomach. They seemed to form a pattern, a language that was unfamiliar to me. It sent a shiver down my spine, and an unsettling feeling washed over me.
Curiosity got the better of me, and I decided to investigate further. I reached for my phone, ready to snap a few pictures of the carvings, hoping that someone might recognize the symbols and provide some insight into their meaning. But as I held my phone up to take the pictures, suddenly the lights turned off.
The room was plunged into darkness, and I felt a chill crawl up my spine. I didn’t realize how fast it got dark outside. Goosebumps formed on my arms, and an eerie silence settled in the air. Fear gripped me, but I couldn’t bring myself to move. I was paralyzed, consumed by a sense of dread.
And then, the silence was shattered by a soft, haunting melody that seemed to emanate from nowhere and everywhere at once. The music was mournful, like a dirge, and it sent shivers down my spine. I could feel the weight of an unseen presence in the room, its presence heavy and oppressive.
Trembling, I fumbled for my phone, desperately trying to turn on the flashlight. But no matter how many times I pressed the power button, the screen remained dark. Panic rose within me as I realized that I was trapped in the darkness with whatever unseen entity had invaded my home.
The haunting melody grew louder, filling every corner of the room. Shadows danced and twisted, taking on grotesque forms that seemed to reach out toward me. I tried to scream, to call for help, but my voice failed me. It was as if an invisible force had stolen my ability to utter a sound.
Amid the chaos, my gaze was drawn back to the wooden doe clutched tightly in my hand. Its eyes seemed to glow with an otherworldly light, and for a brief moment, I could have sworn I saw movement within the tiny carved figure. It was as if the doe was alive, pulsating with an energy that was both mesmerizing and terrifying.
With a surge of desperation, I hurled the wooden doe away from me, hoping to break free from whatever curse it held. But as soon as it left my hand, the room fell silent. The oppressive presence vanished, and the darkness lifted, replaced by the soft glow of the lights.
I was left alone in the room, shaken and breathless. As I looked at the floor, I realized that the doe was no longer there. It has vanished once more.
I was relieved, thankful that the toy was gone.
But I don’t think it ever really was. Every night when I close my eyes that melody starts playing again, it becomes everything to me, leaving me unable to fall asleep. I’m uncertain if my sleepless nights are the cause of the increased instances of losing my belongings, but I have noticed a definite rise in such incidents following the event.
I’m afraid that over time, I might not only lose my belongings but also my mind.