Photo by Axel Eres on UnsplashMy sister’s been acting out of character these days. It all started the day we moved to my dad’s hometown in the countryside. He’s had some trouble finding work after my mum fled with some guy she met on Tinder.
Grace and I were too young to take care of ourselves. I was eleven, and she was only thirteen years old, so Dad figured it was time we met his side of the family.
We had never been to the countryside before. My dad never talked about his family or relatives, so I always assumed he just… never had one. Stupid of me, I know. But anyone in my stead would’ve thought that knowing Dad.
He’d always been tight-lipped. I got that from him. But whenever we asked about our grandparents, something in his eyes would change, like he was trying to suppress something. So both Grace and I learnt to keep our thoughts to ourselves and mind our own business.
The day we set foot in his hometown far off in the country, something about the uprooted trees, downcast weather, and profound silence unsettled me.
I grabbed Grace’s hand without being aware of it and didn’t let go until we were at a safe distance from the broad-leaved woods that surrounded this godforsaken hamlet.
I didn’t know what I was expecting, but the bedridden woman and her mentally challenged son were not it.
My paternal grandmother lost both of her legs to diabetes and had been bound to her bed for over two decades, and my unsound uncle took care of her despite needing help himself.
That guy looked as if he hadn’t touched water for ages, by the way. His name was Carl. He hadn’t always been like this, Dad said. He was just a regular kid like me, maybe a year or two older, when he became whatever he had become.
Dad wouldn’t tell me what happened, though. He said it was too scary, and that he didn’t like to talk about it.
While Carl gave me the heebie-jeebies because of the way he’d stare at us at first, I eventually took to him. He’d come and have a chat with me whenever Dad went job hunting.
He was funny and a good cook too! Grace and I loved – loved – his spaghetti and meatballs! And the strangest of all, he wasn’t as stupid as he looked.
Whenever Grace tried to sneak out, he’d come rushing over and stop her. He told me he had some kind of sixth sense after… Oh, right! I wasn’t supposed to tell anybody what happened to him. He said Dad would be very upset if he learnt that I knew what happened to Uncle Carl.
But maybe I could make an exception this one time.
Carl was eleven years old back in the 1980s. He and Dad were only eleven months apart and had grown up like twins rather than siblings. My grandfather hadn’t gone missing at the time.
Carl said my dad used to hate taking the sheep out to graze, so my grandfather only took Carl with him to the meadow near the dense woods. They usually returned before nightfall. But something unforeseen happened one wintry afternoon. Carl fell asleep.
It had never happened before. When he woke up, my grandfather was nowhere in sight. It was the day before his birthday, too! Why would anyone just… disappear the day before their birthday? It made little sense. That was also why my uncle did not think much about it, either. He figured his dad returned home without him.
But when Uncle Carl gathered the scattered sheep and returned to the barn, the gravity of the situation settled. Also, he hadn’t noticed it at the time, mostly due to the panicked state he was in, but two of the sheep were missing too.
The authorities swept through the entire hamlet without much luck. There was no trace of either the two sheep or my grandfather. That was when the first rumours about the thick woods began.
The Wolf People. The kids in Carl’s and Dad’s school pointed fingers at them, keeping them out of their plays. ‘Marked by the Wolf People’, that was what everyone said about them.
Those kinds of things, however, didn’t bother my dad as much as they bothered my uncle. Carl, although older by a couple of years, was easily upset and squeamish.
From being one of the brighter kids in their humble village, a real social butterfly, he grew detached and hardly ventured outside unless it was to graze the livestock.
Three years after this incident, the missing two sheep returned to the barn. Although they should’ve been famished – even dead – the sheep were in good health. Someone had taken care of them all this time.
In the hopes of finding a piece of my grandfather and easing his guilt, Carl took one of their herding dogs, a Beauceron named Tripper, to the woods the following morning.
My dad tried to talk some sense into him, said Carl, but ever since my grandfather disappeared, a pang of guilt latched onto his shoulder and kept sleep at bay. He believed that had he not dozed off that afternoon, my grandfather would still be around.
I think he wanted to confront them, too. The Wolf People.
When night fell and there was still no sign of my grandfather anywhere in the woods – dead or alive – my uncle made up his mind to return home. On his way back to the main forest trail, however, Tripper perked up its ears and began to sprint in the opposite direction.
It was looking up at a gnarled tree, growling, when my uncle spotted it. At first, he tried to calm the thing down and tell it to return to the main trail. But the poor dog couldn’t be soothed and it certainly wouldn’t listen, either.
When it stopped dead in a matter of seconds and backed away from the tree, however, my uncle knew something was in the offing and picked up the pace.
Closing in on the naked tree, he glanced up and found my grandfather’s mummified and decapitated head on an overhanging branch.
Uncle never recovered from the trauma. He relived that moment every single night. For over two decades, he ventured into the woods every morning in the hopes of finding the rest of my grandfather.
My dad, who failed to beat some sense into him, ran away from home at eighteen years old and made up his heart and mind to never return. I think Dad blamed himself for not doing enough for Carl. As I mentioned, they were raised as twins and the bond between them was therefore strong.
I asked Uncle what else he knew of the Wolf People, and whether he believed they had anything to do with what happened to Grandpa. He wouldn’t say anything the first few times I asked him. But by the third time, he finally responded.
They talked to him, he said. Ever since the day he found my grandfather’s head in the woods, the Wolf People talked to him.
“What kinda talk?” I asked.
He played with his slender fingers marred by husbandry. A sheepish smile played on the corner of his chapped, thin lips.
“Good things. Usually.”
“Usually?”
His flickering eyes darted from side to side as he leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper. I could tell from the way his voice trembled that he was fraught with worry.
“They… they tell me bad things, too. Really awful things. I- I don’t want them too, though! I- I swear!”
“What do they say? Carl?”
He shook his head, fidgeting, looking from side to side as if he was making sure no one could hear us.
“I- I can’t. Cannot! They’ll hear! They always hear!”
“It’s okay. They can’t hear you here. You can tell me—”
His eyes grew wide. “HIDE! Carl must HIDE! They’re coming for me, they…” He went from shouting and covering his ears to complete silence. I followed his wide eyes to the swings in the garden. What was Grace doing there?
My voice trailed off as I shifted my gaze back to my uncle, or rather, the spot he was supposed to be at. “What in the world did you… see. Carl? Carl!”
I looked for him everywhere. I even went down to the basement where electricity did not work. When I returned to the garden, noticing that it had become dark outside, I stopped short and listened. Huh? Who was she talking to?
“Grace,” I said and inched closer to the swings, “who are you talking to?”
She was making some awkward moves with her hands, as if she was trying to explain something to the chilly air. But why couldn’t she hear me? I called her name again, this time louder, and waited for her to spot me.
From speaking gibberish one second, she went mute in a flash and looked at me with a blank stare. It only lasted a few seconds, though. As if by magic, a huge smile crossed her face as she hopped down from the swing made of a car wheel.
“Who were you talking to, Grace?”
She cocked her head.
“What do you mean?”
“You were talking to someone.”
“I was? You sure?”
“‘Course I am!” I said, flustered, doubting my own eyes for the briefest of seconds. “And- and you were making these funny moves with your hands too!”
“Did you stay up all night again? Dad told you not to you know that, right? Want me to tell Dad?”
“What? No! I mean… Don’t tell Dad anything, he’ll just… worry about me for no reason. He’s got enough on his hands already. You… you really weren’t talking to anyone?”
“Nope. But you did.” She pointed at the wooden fence where I had talked to our uncle a few minutes ago. “You were talking to yourself.”
“I was talking to Carl, dummy! Did you see where he went off to, by the way? I can’t seem to—”
“Who’s that?”
“Who’s who?”
“That Carl guy. Who’s he?”
“Is this some joke, Grace? You don’t know Carl? Our uncle?”
“Uncle?” she repeated. “We don’t have an uncle, Pete.”
“What’re you talking ‘bout? Of course, we have! He’s taking care of Grandma and- and lives here with us! He even made those meatballs you liked, remember? The ones with tomato sauce and not ketchup.”
“Are you… okay?”
There was no way this was real. I just talked to him and—I looked up.
“What’d you just say?”
Grace met my eyes and repeated herself. “I said we should call the ambulance for your craaaazy head.”
“No, not that one. What did you say before that?”
“The Wolf People?”
“Yeah, that one! How do you know—”
“You told me about them, Peter! What is wrong with you?”
“No, that can’t be! You- you must’ve heard it wrong. Maybe Carl told you about them…”
“That Carl again? Is he your alter ego or somethin’? God, look at how pale you are! You look under the weather! Should I call Dad?”
“No. No, it’s okay! I must’ve… I can’t have dreamed all this, though? What’s happening to me?”
“You should go take a nap. Dad won’t return until supper and you don’t look so well.”
“Maybe I should,” I said, adding quickly. “You really don’t remember Carl?”
“Peter, please…”
“I’m- I’m sorry. You’re right. I’ll go take a nap and then—”
“Watch out for Tripper. He’s been barking the entire night since a week ago. I bet he’ll escape this time.”
“Tripper?”
“Your dog, duh? Take him out tomorrow when you’re grazing the sheep. That poor thing’s been locked up here ever since that day.”
“What are you talking about? We don’t have a dog named Tripper! I certainly don’t!”
“Pete, for God’s sake! You know what? I throw in the towel. Just get that poor thing out tomorrow with you, okay? And, no, before you ask, I’m not grazing the sheep in your place this time. You’ve had a week on you. Get over it. You’re not the only one who’s lost someone, okay?”
“Lost someone?” I asked, but my words fell on deaf ears. Grace was long gone. My head spun like a top. What in the whole world was this? A dream? A nightmare? But why did it feel so… so real? It was almost like—I looked over my shoulder as a gust of wind breathed down my neck.
My frantic eyes drifted to the woods in the distance as night descended upon the village. What was this? These stranger sounds? The canvas of twinkling stars beckoned me to follow them, the whispers. The grinning moon turned upside down. I lost my footing. The whispers picked up.
“Na-chi-go-rya-loo…”
I covered my bleeding ears, trying to shut off the voice ringing in my head.
“Carl?”
