Voice of God - Part V

Photo by Mika Baumeister on Unsplash

It was four o’clock in the afternoon when I returned to my office.

I tried to unlock the mysterious door in the dim-lit corridor on my way, but it would not budge.

After locking my office, I drew the curtains and turned on the desktop lamp to study the newspaper.

It was an article from two decades ago detailing the horrendous murder of the young graduate said to haunt the adjacent woods.

It was written by a man called David Chapman.

I looked up his name on a tablet I brought with me from home, but there were no traces of him on the internet.

I was about to throw in the towel and return to the grocery shop when I found a matching name on a freelance website for independent journalists.

The profile picture showed a balding man in his late-fifties. He was dressed in a chequered shirt and wore round, tinted glasses sprung alive from the seventies.

I sent him a direct message, going over the reason for contacting him, and that I hoped to arrange a meeting in the coming days to discuss the case at hand.

I did not mention my involvement with Dew Shire and only detailed information about the case of Enis Fair, and that I would very much like to learn more about the circumstances of her investigation and subsequent death.

David Chapman got back to me two days later and asked to meet up out of the public eye, and that he’d come and pick me up in the witching hour along the roadway the next day. 

Though hesitant, for good reasons, concerned with this singular request, I accepted.

It took David two and a half days to make up his mind and schedule a meeting, and I feared that refusing to meet up would deter him from contacting me again.

At long last, the day I eagerly anticipated arrived. I drew the curtains and turned off the night lamp at approximately ten o’clock.

While waiting for the time to pass, I stuffed my bag with a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, a bunch of keys, some snacks and drinks, and a blanket, just in case.

It was Friday, so I wasn’t in a hurry to return to school the next morning but knew that I was being watched. It was better to return the same night and make sure no one noticed my absence.

At half past eleven o’clock, I unlocked the door and waited a few seconds before opening it.

When I was certain no one was lying in wait in the corridor, I scurried to the exit and made my way to the haunted woods a few yards from the barred village gates.

David had not notified me of where I should wait, but I figured we would eventually meet along the roadway leading to the nearest town.

The roadway was on a slope. I paused now and then to catch my breath then continued. The beginning of a hurricane picked up and made it difficult to advance uphill.

It struck me that the reporter might never make it here due to the inclement weather but hoped I was mistaken.

The message was sent to me when the storm had already begun and David must have known about the weather before asking me to come here.

In fact, I firmly believed this storm was the sole reason he wanted to meet up today of all days; no sane person would trek the woods in such weather after all.

It was during one of these brief pauses that a granite rolled down from the incline to my left and struck my foot before coming to a standstill.

I picked it up and looked around myself when I thought I saw a figure behind an oak tree. That was when I realised the granite had rolled in the opposite direction of the windblasts.

Someone tossed it in this direction on purpose – at least that was the first thought that came over me. 

I hardly took a step towards the massive tree when a cold hand tapped my shoulder and squeezed it.

I jolted and turned around to find David Chapman in front of me.

“Ms Carlton, isn’t it? I’m glad you made…”

We shook hands and then got into his black Mitsubishi, which he had parked at the side of the roadway.

I had not heard the motor, nor had I seen the headlights approaching in the dark but as he started driving I noticed that he had turned off the headlights so that he drove no more than a few miles an hour.

He laughed as he realised what must have been a quizzical look on my face, and deftly mentioned that he did not want to draw attention to himself while driving through the woods.

His laugh was robotic and rather forced, and more than anything, nervous.

The drive lasted somewhere between twenty minutes and half an hour.

I counted the seconds to stop overthinking and concentrate on something other than the dark roadway.

Now and then I thought I saw an animated figure move about in the thickets but became less and less sure as we neared the end of the haunted woods.

The retired journalist parked the car next to an inn and I followed him out.

Due to the circumstances and the late hour, the inn was populated by less than a handful of townspeople, most of which seemed either homeless and ruffled or too young to set foot there.

David greeted the owner, a middle-aged woman smoking indoors behind the counter, and then we took a seat in the farthest corner to discuss what brought us together this very night.

When our beers arrived, I asked the reporter for the details of the missing person’s case and the following murder investigation. 

He took a deep breath and knocked back a pint of beer as if recounting these events required the force of booze to retell.

 “I worked as the chief editor and director at a news firm twenty years ago. Enis Fair started working for me two years after her graduation. She was pregnant with her first child when I first met her.

“Her long-time boyfriend was in the military and due to the nature of his job, had yet to hear about her pregnancy. I took pity on her. It was during her fifth month as a junior reporter that a tip about missing children in Dew Shire reached us.

“I was set to go down there and interview the locals myself and let Enis take care of the affairs here. But she insisted that she preferred field work and so I gave in to her pleas.

“She went to Dew Shire as an undercover teacher since she was an unknown figure there, and we arranged to meet up, in this particular inn, every two to three weeks to exchange information. 

“During our first meet-up, I sensed that she did not look well and suggested we keep the project on hold until she gave birth, but she was adamant about continuing her investigation.

“She would not say how the investigation was going, though. She only assured me that she had a lead and that we would discuss it later next week.”

I asked as he naturally paused to drink. 

“And did she ever manage to?”

He nodded and downed another pint. 

“When I saw her again the following week, I could hardly believe how much weight she had lost. She did not look like a pregnant woman; her cheeks were deep and hollow, her eyes barely open, and her complexion pallid.

“She told me that Dew Shire was a strange place, that the people living there made her blood curdle. Even this time I insisted we stop the investigation and that she should return, but she said she was close to finding out the truth and that she had something to show me at our next meeting.

“I shouldn’t have listened to her, but I allowed her to return to Dew Shire that night. That would be our last meeting alive. She never showed up and I reported her missing. They found her dead body in those woods. The cause of death was never found due to the traumas her body was subjected to by the wild animals.

“More perplexing though, and which this article you brought with you doesn’t state, was the absence of her infant. For many years, I thought it had been consumed by the savage animals…”

“But no longer?” I asked. “You think it’s alive?”

“I don’t think; I know. It was six years after her murder – everyone calls it an unfortunate accident, although I don’t think so – that I received a phone call from a woman who allegedly lived in Dew Shire.

“She informed me that the infant was sound and safe, but in great peril should I fail to save her. I was reluctant to believe this woman for many reasons. There had been no word of its existence until then, and the woman refused to let me come in person and claim the child.

“She insisted we meet up in the same woods Enis Fair lost her life so savagely and I accepted. But she, as was the case with Enis, god bless her, never showed up. I called her more than I should have since then, but she stopped answering my calls.

“I dearly wanted this to be a hoax call, but I could not brush off the woman’s desperate pleas to save the child from whoever preyed on her. Shortly after this, I retired and hoped all these years that I made the right decision. Until two days ago. You proved me wrong. Whatever’s taunting Dew Shire is still there…”

I briefly looked away. “And now another child has gone missing – just like back then.” I met his unyielding gaze. “It can’t be a coincidence, can it?”

“This is only the beginning of a series of unfortunate events, I’m afraid. I wished I could say it was not so and assure you.”

“You think there’ll be more disappearances?”

“I no longer think, and I highly advise you to flee that place before things get out of hand.”

“What about the children in my care?” I began. “I’m their teacher and if there’s something out there who preys on them, then it is my job to see that nothing happens to them!”

David Chapman shook his head. “Dew Shire is alive and it’s no pretty thing! There’s something wicked living there and I hope you’ll realise this before it’s too late!”

“Then I’ll ward it away, whatever that is!”

“You cannot.”

“Help me fight it…” I leaned forwards and lowered my voice. “I’m not asking you to physically be there, in Dew Shire, but be someone I can confide in and seek advice from when time so requires it.

“I… think I saw Enis Fair in those woods before you found me. Listen, I know how this sounds, but I don’t think she was there to harm me. 

“She’s stuck there along with the truth she buried with her, and I think she wants people to know what’s happened to those children and save what’s left of them. Please, you must believe me.”

He stood up. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…”

Seeking the truth, however wicked and harmful, had always been my sole weakness.

The lure; though distorted and surely shrewd, was enough to keep me awake untold nights and mess with my mind.

If no one wanted to help me find out the truth then I had to find it all by myself, there were no questions about it.

But as much as I wanted to disperse all the lies and find whatever Enis Fair buried with her, I dreaded the unknown and the terrible circumstances that surrounded me in this god-forsaken hamlet.

With no one by my side, no one to come to my rescue, I had no other option but to rely on myself and my own gut.

These things, however, proved to be a much larger issue than I anticipated.

I did not sleep a wink for several days and it was now wearing me out. Every waking hour felt like a waste of time. But Dew Shire brought me here for a reason…

Voice of God - Part IV

Photo by iam_os on Unsplash

My eyes focused on the empty seat next to Hans.

It unnerved me in ways no words could capture to constantly be self-aware of Vera’s absence.

It was half past three o’clock and the class would end in forty-five minutes. I decided to go off-subject and learn more about the children who were put under my wings.

I gathered the stools at the farthest corner, the kids helped of course, and we sat in a circle.

I observed them keenly; Leila was restless and fidgeting, Michaela, with her upturned nose, calm, while the boys who were sitting next to one another giggled among themselves, perhaps exalted that they were no longer required to sit still and study.

And so I began: “It occurred to me this morning that I knew so little about each of you, and that I wanted to hear more about Dew Shire and the communion here.”

“Oh, Dew Shire’s no fun, miss, there’s nothing to know about it, really,” said Derrick, and the others agreed.

Hans was quick to add. “I can’t talk for all of us, but I dare say that Dew Shire has nothing to offer for us children.”

So, he knew this already, I thought and smiled faintly as I recalled his introduction on the first day of school.

But it struck me as quite odd that they only talked about Dew Shire but said nothing at all about themselves or the communion they belonged to.

It was as if they had been instructed by someone not to breathe a word about themselves and the congregation.

Michaela, who had previously remained quiet, then spoke up amidst my musings and threw me off.

“Everything’s well in Dew Shire, miss, it’s just… never mind.”

The children all fell silent as she reluctantly stopped mid-sentence. They all exchanged gazes with one another and looked anxious and ill at ease.

I pressed on, sensing that there was more to these words than the kids let on.

“You can tell me. It’s all right Michaela.”

She took a gander at the others before she met my quizzical look.

I expected to hear her talk about the nature and ordinariness of thrashing in the countryside, but she did not.

I laughed quite bewildered by her utterance and glanced at the other kids who all dropped their heads.

For the briefest of moments, I thought I heard incorrectly – that it ought to be like that – but I knew it was not.

“My parents force me to read the Gospel every night. It’s a tradition of ours and my good mother said naughty kids like me won’t be spared if I don’t read it. I’m sure it’s the same for the others. Just look at us, miss…

“I’m sure half of us have stayed up late studying the Gospel tonight. But it isn’t the act of studying that bothers us; it’s your arrival, miss. You’ve not come alone to Dew Shire. A diabolic creature follows you and—”

“A diabolic creature?” I repeated, taken aback more than I wanted to admit.

“It’s all in the Gospel, miss,” said Leila who had said no words up until this point. Her eyes were fixed on the floor.

“But I don’t believe it; I don’t believe what they say about you.”

“You must be mistaken, then,” I replied and was about to dismiss the singular meeting when Hans assured me.

“It is all true, miss! There cannot be—”

The door creaked open and a dishevelled Nath bolted inside, out of breath.

But his cheeks were not flushed and his chest hardly moving. His eyes landed on Hans and did not budge until I, rather reluctantly, dismissed the class and let the kids go home for the day.

Only when the kids had gone did the uninvited guest speak.

It struck me then, as he delivered the bad news, that he must have eavesdropped on our conversation and barged in so that the kids couldn’t tell me anything I was not supposed to know.

Discreetly, in such a way that gave his intentions away. I could hear that he was trying to figure out whether I knew more than I let on – and whether he had come too late.

I ignored his question and focused solely on the first part of his conceived speech.

“The kid’s gone; we’re all to gather in the church in half an hour. I did not disrupt your class I hope?”

“The kid? You mean Vera? How so? Did you call the police?”

He shook his head. I was flabbergasted; I saw red at that instance.

“A kid’s gone missing and you haven’t called the police? Is this how it works in the countryside!”

“That, I’m afraid, you’ll have to ask Mary in person. She’s the one who calls the shots here. But you must have noticed that already…”

He held out his hand towards the gaping door.

I put back the stools in their rows, refusing the other’s help, then packed my stuff and secured them in my office at the other end of the winding corridor.

Nath had left the school building when I passed by the classroom to lock it and then made my way to the exit.

The patter of rain was so subtle that it was no wonder I had not noticed it had begun to pour; the grey clouds covered the tip of the snow-capped mountains and patches of fog threatened the lucidity of day.

I drew my shawl and skittered to the lofty and coal-dark building down the bumpy trail leading to the fountain.

There was still a quarter to the meeting yet I found the church full to the brim as I forced the doors open.

All eyes, depthless and sunken, turned towards me as I entered. Taken aback, I quickly retorted to one of the empty seats near the entrance only to be ushered to the front row by Nath.

I was quite bewildered by the mass of townspeople to notice that I was sitting next to Vera’s mother.

I observed her as a kid would a giant and noticed that she looked anything but grief-stricken.

She, much like everyone else in Dew Shire, looked devoid of emotions; soulless and callous, human to the touch and flesh but not at heart and spirit.

Mary’s arrival arrested me. She pranced down the aisle and, like a preacher, stood in front of the awaiting mass.

I couldn’t wrap my head around her character, although I could tell that she was of great importance to Dew Shire and its congregation.

But there was something surreal about her, an eerie feeling that gnawed at the back of my mind. 

Her countenance was unlike any other. Yet I couldn’t read her, and it was this insight that sickened me to the core.

“You must’ve heard about the unfortunate event that has befallen us, my brothers and sisters. Little Vera, bless her, has gone with the wind and I plead with each one of you to find me should you see her.

“I’ll pray she’s unharmed, perhaps lost but safe, and that we’ll find her soon. Now, let’s pray—”

Mary clasped her hands together in a prayer when I interrupted her.

“Shouldn’t we call the police? They, rather than a man-made god, will surely find her in time.”

She disregarded me as did the others. A chilling prayer pervaded and I was the only one who did not plead with the gods.

The gathering was over.

I seized Mary as she was about to leave, but I did not say a word until Vera’s mother left, and there were only three of us: Mary, Nath, and I.

The young woman, however, was not startled by my aggressive nature. I could tell that she expected this much from me or perhaps even worse things.

“No matter how much I think this through, I believe, whatever happened to Vera, it was her mother’s doing.

“She must’ve seen red when you talked to her about Vera’s wounds, and I think she… We need to call the police before it’s too late!”

“Call the police?” she repeated, there was a hint of disbelief in the tone of her dismissive voice. “On what grounds and on what evidence, exactly? If we are to call the police, then we’d better find leads first.” 

“I- I saw her scars as I’m sure her classmates did as well! That should be enough to at least detain—”

Mary leaned in.

“This… is my congregation, Ms Carlton, and we do as I say here. Do you understand?”

I briefly dropped my eyes, which darted from side to side, unsure and antsy all at the same time, before I exited the church and came to a standstill in the doorway. 

I cast a glimpse of the grim interior as I recalled the day I brought Vera home.

Her tiny eyes quivered at the sight of this place, this beat-down House of God, and clung to me as if a Satanic force would get her and rip her away from the face of the Earth.

Now she was gone. 

The shadowy corners, the dim-lit vaults, and the singular yet crafty work of idols arrested me. I wanted to explore it, search every nook and cranny, and—

“Miss?” I shifted my glassy eyes to the front yard where I, in my musings, failed to notice that Nath waited for me.

He did that quite often, I reasoned, waiting for me, even when I did not expect him to.

Even today, when he barged into the classroom, I was certain that he waited in front of the door, eavesdropping all along.

I came up with some excuse and followed him out into the murk. It had become rather dark and gloomy due to the parky weather. But it did not rain; it had done its deed and then faded away.

I hardly took a few steps when I turned to face the church for the last time, and a bloodcurdling shiver ran up my spine. This place… What about this place unnerved me so? I couldn’t even tell.

I excused myself and went up the winding trail towards the school building, then I turned around when I was sure Nath was no longer following me and made it down to the grocer’s shop.

I snatched the first item I saw on the shelves and swiftly advanced towards the counter.

The grocery shop’s owner never let me out of his sight. I could almost hear the nervous lurch of his beating heart as I approached him.

He crammed up as I inquired about Dew Shire.

By the time I was to repeat myself and less discreetly this time about the nature of my experiences the last few days, he turned his back to me and fished up a ripped piece of newspaper from under the counter.

I held my hand out to take a look at it when he placed his hands over mine and, finally, met my gaze.

“Be careful out there, you mustn’t let them know I gave this to you. And.” He glimpsed outside for a fraction of a second, then let me go. “Get out of Dew Shire at the first chance.”

I tucked the newspaper in my pocket and exited.

Voice of God - Part III

Photo by Lan Gao on Unsplash

“Do you have any questions on today’s lecture?”

Hans raised his hand, making noises to get my attention. I smiled and let my eyes wander to the other children, who were already packing their stuff to leave.

Hans was curious about the world, the outside world beyond these flat lands, which pleasantly surprised me. He did not stop raising his hands throughout the lecture and was hungry for knowledge.

“You said, miss, that our planet is one of many in the Milky Way, then how come I have never seen an alien before?”

I chuckled without really meaning to. Hans’s tone was grave, and I did not want to downplay his childish curiosity.

As I was about to respond, my eyes landed on Vera’s wrist and my smile faded away. The little girl nimbly pulled her sleeves down and was in a great hurry to leave.

Bruises. On her arms, there were bruises. I could swear on the heavens that there was no trace of physical abuse yesterday, so how…

“Miss?”

I stood up just as Vera scampered out the door and glanced at Hans.

“I’m sorry, buddy, let’s talk about this another time, all right?”

Without waiting for the boy to leave the dilapidated classroom, I ran through the corridor until I caught up with Vera.

She peeked over her shoulder as I neared and picked up her pace.

I snatched her arm and then let go as she let out a groan. She was in pain. Those wounds bothered her, but she was in great pains to hide them from me.

Besides, she wanted me to follow her back home yesterday, so why was she running away from me now? I could not figure her out.

Hans and Michaela – even Laila and Derrick – were somewhat easy to read and decipher, but Vera was different. The more I tried to understand her, the deeper I sank into confusion.

“I want to go home… please, miss.”

I caught my breath before replying to her strange plea. It was not like I was trying to stop her from going home, I was just—

“Please…”

Her quivering eyes avoided mine. What was wrong with her? But the little girl would not say. Even so, I couldn’t keep in what went through my mind.

“What about…” your scars? I couldn’t finish my question.

If Vera was truly a victim of abuse and my visit to her home triggered her parents to do this to her, then would she – or anyone for that matter – confide in me? I crammed up and nodded to confirm that she was allowed to go.

I lost heart.

Even when she vanished out of sight several minutes ago, I stared blankly out the fence and imagined the horrors that poor girl was returning to.

But I couldn’t just stay put and wish upon the stars for a miracle, could I? Vera and the other kids were put in my care. I had to do something. It was my responsibility to keep them safe – even from their own blood.

I pulled out the business card Mary gave me. I didn’t think I would have any reason to hit her up, but I guess one should never say never.

Mary picked up the call after my second attempt. Although she knew my phone number, she sounded as if it was the first time we spoke on the phone.

I explained to her the nature of my sudden call and that I believed she was in a position to talk to Vera’s parents. She listened without interrupting me.

When she finally spoke up, I was not quite sure if she cared much about my concerns despite the fact that she assured me she would take care of this for me.

“Thank you, I know this was sudden and—”

“No worries,” she replied, added. “Besides, it was wise of you to call me first.”

“I’m sorry?”

She paused. I could tell from my end of the line that she changed sides and took her sweet time replying. For some reason, she enjoyed my startled tone, at least that was how it felt.

“You must understand how things work in the countryside I suppose? People here don’t like to be told what to do. Thrashing is not uncommon in the country…”

“That’s—what I saw, I beg your pardon, was more than just thrashing. That poor child’s arms were—”

“I’ll talk with her parents as per your wish, but that’s all I can do for you, Ms Carlton, and I highly advise you not to involve yourself in family matters.”

“Family matters?” I couldn’t help but smirk. “I’m her teacher! I have the responsibility to make sure my pupils are in good health and grow up into respectable citizens in this damn country!”

“Watch your words, dear. I don’t mind your language, but this is not how we spoke to each other in Dew Shire.”.

Before I could respond, the woman hung up on me. I listened to the buzzing noise left from our phone call, wheezing and trying to calm myself down.

Usually, things like this never happen. I had never lost my cool in my entire career. Until now. This place, this school, and these people did something to my psyche.

I couldn’t tell if I was simply overreacting or going bonkers.

Mary was right. I was living in the countryside where corporal punishment was common – even expected – so why did I react the way I did? Maybe it was the bruises I witnessed that put me under a heinous spell.

I had to stop caring. Mary said she would take care of this, so what reason did I have to doubt her?

I returned to my office, ate some filling crackers and then began to prepare for tomorrow’s lecture. Some time passed like this. Then I heard a clamour from the corridor and glimpsed outside from the cracked door.

There was no one in the drafty hall.

I tightened my grip on the rusty knob and was about to go back inside and lock the door when I caught myself staring at one of the doors down the vacant corridor. I was certain it was locked for the entire two days I stayed here.

But not this time. It was ajar. I looked around the corridor a second time, then decided to check the room out. Hardly had I touched the loose knob, when a bitterly cold hand gripped mine.

I jolted and let out a bloodcurdling gasp.

Next to me stood the man whose name I still did not know. He closed the door, and only then did he release his grip.

I took a few steps away from the strange guy and was in great pain to calm my hammering heart, trying to rip out of my chest. What in the whole world was this person doing here? At this hour, at that. I was about to speak my mind when he beat me to it.

“Sorry ‘bout that, did I scare you?”

I nodded after a brief moment of hesitation. I followed his eyes as he looked around in the corridor.

“I was passing by when I heard something. I thought you needed help.”

“What… did you hear?”

He dropped his eyes. “I don’t know, really. It sounded like you were screaming or something.”

“Screaming?” I repeated. “Why would I scream?”

“I must’ve heard wrong. I’m sorry for scaring you, Ms Carlton.”

“No… no, it’s okay.”

I couldn’t tell if he was genuinely worried about me or if he just came up with something to hide whatever lay beyond that door.

I bid him farewell; that was the end of our bizarre conversation. I saw him out and was about to return to the office when he asked something anew. This time, I was sure. There was something inside that room, and whatever it was, he did not want me to go in there and find out.

But I couldn’t let him catch onto my growing suspicions, so I played along.

“Hey, uhm, I completely forgot this, but Mary told me she needed to discuss something with you. Tonight.”

“Tonight?” I repeated and added. “I spoke with her over the phone just a few hours ago…”

“She said it was important, so you’d better hurry.”

I remained hushed for a few seconds and tried to decipher what went through his mind to no avail. Why was he so eager to see me go?

“I don’t really know where she lives, though. Mind taking me there?”

“… Yeah, sure.”

Mary Magdalene lived at the crook of a jagged mountain pass.

Her house could hardly be considered a hut like the ones we passed to get there. It was as lavish as the person it housed.

I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of life the young woman led and what her occupation was as I made my way to the front door next to the weird guy, whose name I finally learnt. He told me his name was Nath. It was not short for Nathaniel or anything like that – just plain Nath.

He had, like many of the villagers, spent all his life in Dew Shire and could not imagine a life outside of it.

I thought of Hans. He, too, would probably never set foot outside this place and be stuck here for all his adult life. It seemed like a recurring and expected thing here, to live in the same hole until you pass away from old age.

Nath peeked over his shoulder as he knocked on the door for the second time. He came off as anxious, as though he wasn’t sure what he was doing here.

I ran my hand through my auburn hair and drew a deep breath.

By the end of his third attempt, the heavy door creaked open and a bare-faced Mary showed up. I could tell right away. She had no idea why we were here. Even so, she quickly got into her role and welcomed us in.

Nath drew closer, whispered something in Mary’s ears, and excused himself.

I followed Mary into the drawing room and planted myself on the maroon settee. Mary cleared her throat as she followed suit. In the prevailing silence, I looked around me and could hardly believe what I was seeing.

My inquisitiveness grew; who the heck was she?

The entire room was riddled with candlesticks, fragrant incense, antique tints, and ancient furniture. It felt like I had returned to a time long-forgotten in the past. The air was heavy and choking.

I locked eyes with Mary as I made up my mind and she, with her silent gaze, confirmed me.

This was a shrine. A place for prayer.

I gulped and felt how dry my mouth became in an instant. Still, Mary never avoided my bewildered eyes and stood her ground as if nothing was out of place. Who are you, I asked myself, but she was not going to tell me; I only knew what she wanted me to know about her.

I snapped back to reality when one of the windows flung open and chilled the inside out of the blue. Mary closed the window before taking a seat across from me.

“Nath said you had something to say…”

She did not reply at first. She just stared at me. It looked like she was trying to figure out what was going through my mind.

“Excuse the late hour, Ms Carlton. It’s about Vera.”

“You’ve spoken to her parents already?”

“I took care of the matter. There’s no need to worry.”

She wanted to end the conversation. But I wasn’t going to let her slip away this easily, so I insisted on knowing the details.

“I already told you all you need to know,” she said and showed me the door. “I hope you don’t insist on this any further. I have my reputation and I cannot disclose confidential—”

“I’ll see myself out, then. Thank you.”

She observed me until I was no longer in close proximity. The mysterious door was once again locked tight when I returned to the school grounds. I wrapped my hand around the cold doorknob and felt a chill run down my spine.

I wanted to look over my shoulder but fought every fibre of my being not to. Someone lurked in the shadows and observed my every move.

I let go of the doorknob and locked myself in the office soon afterwards. I didn’t blink an eye until daybreak and whoever watched me beyond the door and hid in the corridor did not, either.

Something was wrong… but what, exactly?

Voice of God - Part II

Photo by Caitlin Taylor on Unsplash

Here I was now – on my way to the past.

I sold my apartment, resigned as a private tutor, and left everything familiar just like that. The salary was thrice the amount I was making and the rent to my new home was pre-paid three months in advance.

I would be able to save up to $1,000 a month and still have enough left to indulge in my time-consuming hobby – thriller books.

The offer was too tempting to refuse.

Besides, after my mother’s death, there was nothing left for me to do in the city. I had no family I was aware of, no friends, or goals.

I lived day to day; there were days when I skipped meals; even breathing felt like a waste of time. It was time to change things up.

That phone call arrived at the right time.

I was contemplating ending my life.

When I learnt that I was returning to Dew Shire, I knew that I had done the right thing by accepting this job offer.

During my adolescence and even during my adulthood, I never even once thought of visiting that place.

For a very long time, I even forgot about its existence. I erased every memory I had of it. Still, Dew Shire called me back home where I belonged.

I received this offer for a reason, it was not a coincidence. I just knew. There was something very ominous and arcane about this place, one that gave me goosebumps and a dry throat.

“How much do I owe?”

“Nothing. Please be safe and,” the chauffeur rummaged through his pockets until he handed me a business card with his phone number. “Call me if anything should happen.”

I stuffed the card in my pocket and closed the door.

In front of me was a narrow alley, which led to a barred gate. There were towering trees on either side of me and well beyond the steel gates.

I waved the chauffeur farewell and watched him drive away before advancing.

The round moon was the only thing welcoming me as I made my way into the sleeping hamlet and ambled through the lone trail until I saw the first of several huts on my right.

I was told to continue down the alley until I reached the red brick school building to the left across a dilapidated building, which used to be a church.

I readjusted my backpack and sniffed the cool air. It smelled like downpour and earth even though the cobbled alley was not damp with rain.

I tried to reminisce my childhood but there was not even a single memory left of this place in my head.

When I finally reached the school building, a person greeted me and offered to carry my backpack. It was a man in his late thirties I think. He was wearing this very stale and textured brown blazer over a white shirt and a tweed green-brown waistcoat.

It was 2023. This man looked as if he was still stuck in the 1920s with his overly formal wear.

“Come; I’ll show you where you will be staying, miss.”

We entered the school building and scurried through a winding corridor until we arrived in front of an office. Rather than an office, though, it was a bedroom with its own draped bed, desk, and a redwood cabinet.

I could tell from the dustless window frames and the fragrance of lavender that someone had been in here to clean up.

After helping me unpack, the man bid me goodnight and said Mary Magdalene (he called her Mary) would arrive in the forenoon to show me around the village and greet the children.

I locked the door after him and sank into the office chair. Somehow, perhaps because I was exhausted from the three-hour journey, I soon fell asleep in that position.

A remote din startled me. I gasped and frantically looked around the crammed office room until my eyes landed on the door. With my heart in my mouth, I stumped towards it.

I could hear voices on the other side. Unbeknownst, I clutched the knob and tightened my grip. The murmur was inexplicable.

When I finally opened the door, I came face-to-face with a young woman and the stranger who welcomed me last night. They both crammed up before the woman spoke to me.

“You must be Ana Carlton, we talked on the phone.” The young woman reached her hand out.

“I’m Mary.”

I shook her outstretched, cold hand. She looked younger than I imagined. Even her voice lacked the agitation I recalled.

Her speech and mannerisms were eloquent and graceful. She was dressed in a similar fashion to the guy next to her.

I unwittingly looked down on my own attire and pondered whether I was the odd one in this god-forsaken place.

“You seem surprised, Miss Carlton.”

I scratched the back of my head with an edgy snigger and changed the subject. “Just a little tired. It was a long drive. Are the kids here?”

“They’ve been waiting for you. Shall we?”

We strode down the winding corridor. It was still too early in the morning hours, so the lights were turned on. The countryside, from what I read, was usually much darker in the mornings than what they were in the cities.

I noticed that one of the rectangular lamps flickered as we passed by.

The pair in front of me did not speak or strike up a conversation with me as we turned right around the corner and entered yet another corridor. We advanced in the quietude until the duo stopped in front of an ajar door.

I could hear chitchat from the small gap.

I left my phone on the desk so I did not know the exact time, though.

Mary stepped aside and gestured for me to enter. The small classroom was hardly functional; the dirtied beige walls were peeling, the loosely hanging lamp flickered and moved at each movement, and the floor was grating.

The entirety of the classroom told me time had not been kind to it. Apart from the old-fashioned blackboard and desks, this place could barely be called a place of education.

I lost my motivation and will the second I entered this drab place and, eventually, let my eyes wander to the only row of desks before me.

The children, three girls and two boys, stood up as soon as they became aware of us. They observed me with as much inquisitiveness as I did.

I studied them one at a time until my eyes wandered to the last desk, where a skinny girl with plaids quickly averted her gaze upon seeing me glimpse at her.

“This is your new teacher, children. Remember what I told you and behave.” Mary directed her honeyed and rotund voice at me. “I’ll take my leave then. Please call if anything should bother you.”

I nodded and watched as the pair walked out. Numerous eyes were, in return, observing me with great keenness. I cleared my throat to disperse the hardened mood and took a seat at my designated desk to the far left of the blackboard.

This was my first time being in a classroom; ever since I graduated, I had only worked privately as a tutor and with only one child at a time.

I was strung out – anyone in my stead would feel that way – but it was not anything unpleasant. I looked forward to the challenge. Besides, I thought, as I looked up at the alarmed faces, these kids must be more nervous than I was.

“My name is Ana but call me whatever suits you,” I began and naturally paused before asking the children to introduce themselves, starting from the left.

“My name’s Michaela and I’m seven years old, miss.”

Michaela had straight blond hair and a pair of emerald eyes. She was nowhere near a woman, but I could tell from her confidence that she would grow up into a Wonder Woman one day.

I nodded and looked at the boy next to her.

“I’m Derrick, miss.”

Derrick had tanned skin and curly hair. His eyes were almost pitch-black and boundless.

He lacked Michaela’s confidence and looked like he would rather be anywhere else but in this classroom.

I smiled and let the girl next to him take over.

“My name is Laila, miss, and I’m seven like Michaela.”

Laila was as white as a sheet. Her porcelain skin matched that of her black, velvety hair.

Her eyes were ocean blue and she had high cheekbones. She reminded me of a black-haired Marilyn Monroe.

As soon as her turn was over, she dropped her eyes and bashfully looked at the boy next to her.

“I’m Hans and I’ll become the mayor one day!”

The other kids burst into stifled laughter and I belatedly joined them until my eyes landed on the girl with the plaids. My smile faded; she was the only one staring blankly at her desk.

“And, what about you? What’s your name?” I asked amidst the lightened mood that soon hardened with my sudden question.

The girl with the plaid flinched and would not look at me. Hans spoke in her stead.

“She’s Vera, miss. She doesn’t speak much.”

“Is that so?” I replied. “In any case, I’m glad to meet you, Vera.”

We spent the rest of the morning studying a book I brought with me. The children were exceptional readers, so I figured their former teacher had taught them well.

By the time the clock struck twelve, I ended our first school day and was handing out the homework I had prepared when Vera grabbed my sleeve. The other children had already left at that point.

I patiently waited for her to speak her mind, but she would not say a word – or let me go.

“Is something the matter, Vera?”

She glimpsed at me. I could tell that she wanted to say something but couldn’t. I placed my hand over hers and smiled.

“What is it? Do the others bother you?”

She shook her head.

“It’s okay, you can tell me what’s the matter. I’ll keep it a secret.”

I finally heard her voice. Still, she would not look at me. It was as if her whole world would crash and shatter if she did so. I could not help but wonder why she acted the way she did. I had seen my fair share of shy children, but she was different.

Laila was shy but Vera she… I didn’t know how to put it… strange or maybe antsy, even? 

“C- can you take me home, miss?”

“Take you home?” I repeated, bewildered. “Do you live far from here?”

She shook her head. Then why? But if I asked her this, wouldn’t she lose heart and stop opening up to me?

I patted her hand and beamed to assure her that it was okay. She finally locked eyes with me and stood up in a jiffy. Before I knew of it, she seized my hand and led the way.

Such an icy-cold hand, I thought and tried to wriggle my hand a tad from her tight grasp. She held onto me for dear life.

We were passing by the coal-black church when she finally, and rather abruptly, let go of my hand.

I broke off and followed her gaze fixed on the crumbling church. As I was about to ask her what was wrong, she dashed into my arms with wide-open eyes and quivered.

Startled, I looked around us and then returned my gaze to the church where the oval gate was slightly cracked. What in the world had she seen? I did not dare to ask.

Vera lived across from the grocer’s shop. I knocked a few times before the door cracked open and a sturdily built woman in a filthy apron and greasy, dishevelled hair emerged.

She scowled as we locked eyes, then finally noticed the skinny girl tightly holding onto my arm and weighing me down. The woman, whom I assumed was Vera’s mother, swiftly snatched the girl and dragged her in through the crack.

I was about to ask if I could speak to her when the door slammed shut right in front of me. Dumbfounded, I turned around and focused on the church in the distance before shifting my gaze to the grocer’s shop.

The owner quickly averted his gaze upon locking eyes with me. I glimpsed at the church again before making my way to the shop. The bells rang as soon as I entered and made my presence known, although I was certain the owner already knew.

I grabbed some dairy products, coffee, and utensils for supper. When I was about to pay, the owner quickly glimpsed up and addressed me. I studied his hands and noticed he was trembling and fidgeting. Even his eyeballs quivered.

“You must be careful around here…”

I knew that already, but why did I have to hear this exact phrase from someone already living here? I could understand the chauffeur – an outsider – but why would this person tell me this as well?

Just as I was about to speak my mind, we both turned our heads towards the door, startled.

The bells rang.

The guy who followed Mary around entered. The owner fell silent and quickly put my stuff in a plastic bag as if to tell me to hurry and leave. He wouldn’t even accept the cash I gave him.

I looked over my shoulder as I grabbed the plastic bag and noticed the strange man carefully watching us, then put what I owed on the desk anyway, and made my way out.

I was a few steps away from the church building when the strange guy appeared beside me.

The grocery shop owner’s odd behaviour crossed my mind at the time, and I could not help but wonder what had caused him to be so antsy and on his toes.

The man next to me was hardly intimidating. His mannerism was that of a timid recluse. I kind of felt sorry for him, actually. How miserable was he to tail and run errands for Mary? 

“How was your first day, miss? I hope the children behaved.”

“It was okay, I suppose. I’m trying to get to know them little by little.”

 “I hope you’ll like it here. Mind, most don’t. They leave as soon as they get here. But, you know, Dew Shire is a quiet and peaceful place…”

I forced a smile. “I’m sure it is. I’m not interested in the rumours and things like that if that’s what you mean. I only believe what I see.”

He let out nervous laughter. “Actually, most of us already know you – or rather your mother. She’s somewhat of a celebrity here.”

“My mum?” I repeated. “How so?”

“It’s a long story. She was a kind soul; your mother I mean. We all liked her very much, so it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Yeah? How funny. My mum didn’t say much about this place, actually. It’s kinda weird to hear that people liked her when she… I don’t know, I grew up thinking she resented this place.”

“She did? Did she say anything else about Dew Shire… and about us to you?”

“No, she—” I stopped midway through, “do you perhaps know my father?”

“Your father? No. But I’m sure Mary knows.”

I smiled upon hearing this. “Mary must know a lot of things, huh?”

He did not reply. Instead, he mumbled something I could not understand and excused himself, as if he had just made a grave mistake.

I observed him as he scurried back to the grocer’s shop.

His shoulders were rounded; his figure belonged to an old man who had been through hell. Lonely, even agitated… I could not figure him out but one thing was sure.

He did know me, though. He wasn’t making things up.  As he vanished out of sight, I recalled that he was the only one whose name I still did not know.

We had met thrice already, but he never introduced himself. I brooded on like this until I was close enough to the church premises to notice that the cracked gate was now locked tight.

I tried to open it, but it wouldn’t budge. How strange. I heard people didn’t use the church anymore, guess I was wrong…

After doing the dishes in the restroom, I returned to my desk and fetched a pack of cigarettes I brought with me from home. I meant to quit while in Dew Shire but did not feel like it at this moment.

My mind was filled to the brim.

I took my first drag outside the school building and sunk into the only available bank next to the entrance. Half an hour later, as I was about to put out the cigarette, I noticed what looked like a torch outside the barred fence.

It piqued my interest and so I rose to my feet to catch a glimpse of what was going on. But it was gone, whatever or whoever it was in these wee hours.

Reluctantly, my eyes fell on the towering church. Vera’s quivering body flashed through my mind. What had caused such fright in her? Beyond this towering building made of coal.

I returned to the office and locked the door.

Voice of God - Part I

Photo by Cătălin Dumitrașcu on Unsplash

I grew up in Dew Shire, a forlorn hamlet on the outskirts of a dense woodland surrounded by rivers, mountains, and neighbouring towns.

To get to Dew Shire, one had to drive through a narrow-forested roadway which went through several villagers in the countryside.

The roadway was not lit up, so the vicinity used to be dark at night, which was why only a few people prowled these parts of the country in the wee hours.

But it was not the murk that kept people at bay. This, only a few people living in the area knew.

Two decades ago, one stormy night, a murder took place in the woods.

The authorities found a vacant blue Sedan on the roadway, which belonged to the victim, Enis Fair.

A young graduate, Enis had taken on her first job as a reporter in Danbury.

She was investigating a missing case in the area when an undisclosed hunter found her lifeless body at daybreak.

The vile animals had ripped her remains apart; it was only a coincidence she was ever found and belatedly identified by her employer.

People in Dew Shire, the young as well as the old, recounted numerous instances where her vindictive apparition scavenged the woodland.

Some swore to have seen her savaged face and harrowing grin, her bloodied white dress and greasy long hair dancing in time with the moaning wind.

It was said that she waited for her murderer to show up. She experienced such an unjust death that she could not bear to leave this earthly world and ascend to the afterlife.

These, however, were only sayings and no living being had seen the apparition with the naked eye, and those who did never survived to tell the tale.

Who could’ve guessed that I would return to this place? Even now, as I stared out through the car window and observed the darkness-shrouded woods, I could not believe I was here – that I had really come to this place.

In my absentmindedness, I belatedly noticed that the chauffeur struck up a conversation with me.

We locked our eyes through the rearview mirror.

He was a middle-aged man with warm, brown eyes and a radiating, fatherly smile.

I did not know why, but there was also a hint of concern in those eyes.

“We are there in roughly a few minutes, miss, do you want me to drop you off somewhere specific?”

“No, don’t bother; I’ll find my way, thank you.”

He hesitated before speaking again.

He kept peeking at me from the rearview mirror.

I saw his Adam’s apple move as he gulped; there was something on his mind, something that bothered him and needed to escape his lips and be heard.

For some reason, I already knew what he wanted to say.

After all, he was not the only one who had warned me about Dew Shire.

Anyone who knew its past heeded me to listen to their admonitions and insisted that I change my mind.

Maybe it was because I was stubborn and hardheaded even as a child – I’m not sure – but these threats made me want to come here even more.

“Please forgive me if I say something I have no right to speak on, but this place…”

“I know. It’s not safe.”

He gulped. “Then why…?”

I smiled and dropped my eyes.

If only I knew why myself then maybe it would be easier for others to grasp my peculiar train of thoughts.

But I did not know the answer.

I was only sure about one thing: Dew Shire brought me here, not the other way around.

How could I possibly explain this to people? They would think I had gone bonkers if I said those words.

But it was the truth.

It really was.

It all began the day I received a call from an unknown phone number two weeks ago.

I was on my way home after a private lecture when I received the call.

Being a teacher for the last five years, I knew that my students liked to play pranks on me and call for the sake of having some fun in an otherwise mundane life constricted by rules.

But there were also instances where potential customers called me after hearing of my credentials from other parents.

During those five years in this profession, I helped graduate even the most afflicting child.

There was a case which I especially remember as if it happened just yesterday.

It was a fond memory of mine and one that helped me slave through the evenings and pay the bills.

Yet it was a peculiar case.

His name was Jonathan Giray.

I had the pleasure of teaching him in my first year as a private tutor.

He had dropped out of high school at the time and his parents, in a last attempt to save his academic life, hired me.

There was something grey about Jonathan.

Just grey and colourless.

He refused to be tutored and locked himself up in his dimly lit room every session.

I recognised from our first meeting that his problems were far more complicated for a mere teacher like me to handle.

Jonathan had given up on life.

Even as I tried to convey this to his strict and elite parents, they refused to believe my sincere words.

The Girays were academicians themselves, one with a doctorate in philosophy and the other dean of a private faculty.

They were not concerned with Jonathan’s wellbeing, they only wanted to save face.

In their minds, Jonathan was a failure and an embarrassment.

I resigned after a month and slid a note under Jonathan’s door.

Half a year later, Jonathan’s presumed suicide reached my ear.

I paid him a visit after the funeral.

A dark-grey marble stone greeted me.

The damp soil was dark, tender and soothing against my skin.

I left a bouquet of lilies on his grave and never returned.

He was my turning point, my downfall.

With him, I could no longer turn a blind eye to the miseries I experienced in each new household.

It wore out on my psyche.

Each day, I grew even more delirious than the previous trying to come to terms with my role as a mere tutor.

I was not God.

But I heard and felt those children’s screaming hearts for mercy deep within my soul. 

To return to the call concerned, I had not the foggiest idea who was calling back then.

Given the circumstances and my profession, I answered the call expecting the giggle of pranksters or the grave and rotund tone of potential customers.

But it was none of these things.

I only heard someone’s shallow, hesitant breathing on the other end of the line.

This caught me off guard.

It was unexpected.

By the time a woman spoke, I had got into my car and was ready to hang up.

A quiet and antsy voice greeted me by my first name.

While ruminating whether the woman was a customer after all, she asked if I wanted to take on a job.

She would not specify what kind of work I was supposed to do at first, but when I insisted, she revealed that I was to tutor children in a village.

Details on the village itself, the pay or insurance she would only send me if I accepted her offer within two days.

Before she ended the peculiar call, I asked for her name and contact information.

Mary Magdalene.

(203) NXX-XXXX.

I knew at that point that she used a pseudonym.

Could it be a coincidence? It could be.

But the nature of the phone call, her delayed speech and the bizarre job offer told me it could not just be a coincidence.

I knew my Gospel.

My mother was a nun before she gave birth to me.

I never had a father; I was called all sorts of names and slurs due to this while growing up.

There were times when I considered finding him despite my mother’s pleas.

Moreover, we did not look alike, my mother and I.

She was pallid and blue-eyed while I was tanned and brown-eyed.

My peers used to make fun of this, especially, they called me the whore’s daughter and a bastard.

I could not help but wonder over the years whether I resembled my father…

When she lay on her deathbed a year ago, she made me promise not to look for him.

She was cruel even as she passed away.

I was 28 years old at the time.

A father figure had always been missed in my life.

My mother remained a recluse nun until the day she died and harboured such hate towards men that I grew up thinking they were all devils.

It was an unwritten rule between us that I was not supposed to take to men.

Even after she bit the dust, I could not fall in love.

The resentment was deep and persistent; it pervaded and shaped my entire life.

But I knew I liked men.

I had never fallen in love with another woman despite my best efforts.

On countless nights, I prayed for my cold heart to open up and welcome the honeyed scent of females.

In the end, I ended up falling in love with a man.

His name was Ossian. Ossian Hallberg.

We were in the same peer group at university. With him, I experienced my first and last lovesickness.

I did not intend to act on my feelings, however, which was eventually for the better.

Ossian was already in love with another person – another man.

I realised two things about my covert sexuality with him: first, that I could fall in love like everyone else, and, second, that I liked femininity in men.

He was caring and kind, always the first to greet me even though everyone else avoided me.

His facial features were effeminate although his body was not, and his tone was sweet and sugary like a female’s although deep and guttural.

And first and foremost, he reminded me of myself; I, too, had both feminine and masculine features.

I was looking at a shrewd mirror whenever I stared at him, and he reminded me of a parallel universe where life was much different from the one I was living.