Neve Emek: Room 102 - Part 7 of ?

7

I stirred awake with a gasp, my hands wrapping around my throat as if I were surfacing from the depths of the ocean, heaving for air. Eyes shot wide open.

For a short while, I did not know where I was. The ceiling above me was cloaked in darkness, the frame distorted and sagging, barely holding up something that should have long since collapsed down on me.

The walls loomed close, breathing foully, their patchy and mottled surfaces full of rot due to the damp air. I lay there motionless, utterly confused, my mind racing to understand and stumbling through fragments of memory as I finally recalled how I ended up here. From the airport’s harsh white lights, the train’s rattling windows, to the taxi driver’s stubborn refusal to cross further than the outskirts. Each image returned like the scattered shards of a mirror, until at last the truth arranged itself into something coherent, something that made sense to me.

Neve Emek.

Cold sweat trickled down my still body as the name of that place overtook my mind, the shirt clinging to my bare skin as though I had run a fever. A bead rolled from my temple down the side of my cheek and sank into the pillow, which reeked far worse than what I wanted to describe in these passages.

I turned on my side, trying to force my breath into a calmer rhythm, but the silence pressed in from every angle and suffocated me. Something had woken me. Something that no longer was here, inside. But what? The certainty of it gnawed at me, though I could not say what. No sound lingered now except the faint, insistent throb of my own pulse drumming in my ears.

But I was sure. Something had stirred me.

It almost sounded like… dragging.

The sound of metal scratching against the decaying floorboards, digging deeper and deeper into the rot, until it turned into a bone-chilling shriek.

I closed my eyes for no longer than a few seconds, forcing myself to chase the comforting embrace of sleep again, but behind the lids, a dull pressure now swelled. Unbearable. The thought wouldn’t leave me; it carved itself into my mind, as irrational as it was: why had I woken at all? What had been here that wasn’t anymore? What was that sound, even?

I rolled onto my back and fumbled for my phone; the glow blinded my eyes, too stark against the surrounding murk, but I managed to squint at the digits. 03:36 am. I had only been asleep three and a half hours. Now, sleep wouldn’t come to me. Not as easily as it did hours earlier.

That was when I recalled the last image of yesterday in my mind and sat up abruptly, my shaking gaze settling on the crumbling wall across me. It was gone. The doll. Then again, was it ever really there? In either case, it did not matter. What mattered was that something woke me up, and now I couldn’t sleep anymore. I had to check it out. Though the thought of feeling blindly through the corridors again did little to soothe me, it was either that or… lie here like the dead in their tombs and wait for it to return.

The air outside the covers wrapped me in clammy cold, pricking sweat into gooseflesh across my arms. I reached for my phone and let the dim glow stretch into the dark. Its beam caught swirls of dust drifting in the air, dissolving as quickly as it formed.

The door handle was cold to the touch when I closed my fingers around it and paused. Listening and straining my ears to catch anything out of the ordinary beyond the door. But there was nothing to hear, save my own irregular and shallow breath.

Then, steeling myself, I twisted the handle and stepped into the corridor.

Turning my head from one direction to another, a deep frown now formed between my brows as I tried to make sense of what had happened during the few hours I had slept. How was this possible? The entire corridor was darker than I remembered, darker than it should’ve been, as though the walls themselves had absorbed what little light remained and left nothing but a heavy, oppressive black in its place.

My hand found the switch just beside the doorframe. I flicked it up, then down again, once, twice, thrice – straining for even the faintest flicker. But nothing happened. Not even a spark. Then again, why did I even assume this place had a working electronic system? And even if it had, surely, the overhead lightbulbs were in no condition to switch on.

I advanced reluctantly, navigating my way through the murk. Each step forwards seemed to linger longer than it should, reverberating down the empty hall and returning to me as though someone else were walking at my back.

The first door I tried was stiff, the knob so cold it numbed my fingertips. I twisted hard, but the lock held firm and resisted with a groan, travelling down the corridor in a strange, amplified way, before spitting back in a low echo.

One door after another was either locked or immovable.

My phone’s glow stretched thin against the walls, trembling with every shift of my hand. In its quivering beam, the corridor seemed to bend at odd angles and distort, twisting even. Peeling paint flayed like scabs, water stains crawled down the walls in shapes that morphed into grotesque faces, and mouths were frozen open in silent howls.

By the time I reached the end of the corridor, my nerves were haywire and my distraught mind a jumbled mess. How come I found nothing? Not even a single—

A creak pierced through the silence.

My eyes stretched wide, frozen for a split second by the bizarre sound, before I whipped around and held my breath. My heart pounded hard against my ribs, faster and louder by the second, my mouth dry as chalk. Unable to calm down or ease my senses. Not until I saw where the sound had come from.

Down the corridor, not far, not even halfway, one of the doors I had already tried now stood ajar. It hadn’t opened for me, not an inch, yet now it hung cracked wide enough to show the blackness within. For a long moment, I could not move. Something about it pulled at me in ways no words could even come close to describing, causing a sudden tremor in my whole being.

My body decided before my mind did, and I retraced my steps.

The stench hit me before I even fully pushed the door open.

A sour odour that clawed down my throat and made my stomach churn. It was the smell of rot layered over waste, of damp stone left to rot, of pipes that hadn’t carried clean water in years. I retched in place, teeth clenched, bile rising in the back of my throat.

But necessity forced me forwards, one reluctant step at a time.

Overhead, a single bulb dangled on a length of cord, swaying faintly in the draft that seeped through unseen cracks. It was dead, no glow left in it, just the brittle rattle of its glass shell when I brushed near.

My phone’s flashlight cut a flickering arc through the dark, sweeping across the ruin: cracked tiles buckled from damp, streaks of discolouration running up the walls like the veins of a tree, each stain resembling something organic and animate. But it wasn’t these things that arrested me as I stepped further into what I could only describe as a restroom of some sort.

The only intact sink was slumped against the wall at a crooked angle, its porcelain riddled with cracks like spiderwebs, the edges sharp nubs. Rust ringed the drain in the colour of dried blood, thick and ugly, as though whatever water had once passed through it had taken pieces of it with it.

The faucet resisted at first, stiff, then gave with a groan, shuddering and coughing, before it spat from the tap with the stench of corroded metal and something more pungent. The thick stream of water, greenish-brown in colour, was so sour that I jerked back unwittingly, chest seizing, but then the water thinned and ran cold against the porcelain.

I dipped my hands under, the chill biting at my skin as I gingerly sniffed it. The sour smell had faded, as had whatever had caused the foul colour to form. What remained was the stench of corroded metal from years of still water inside the pipes. It wasn’t safe to use, not to mention drink. Perhaps the caretaker knew where to find clear water? I’d better ask him.

When I twisted the tap shut, however, it didn’t stop. I couldn’t for the life of me understand why it wouldn’t. The stream kept running and pooling into the basin. I turned harder, wrenching it back and forth until my wrist ached, but the water gushed stubbornly on. A strange tightness now pulled in my chest, rising with each second I failed to stop it.

Then… the water began to change. Again.

Slowly, gradually at first – then all at once.

It darkened and thickened, shifting back to that foul murk, until it became a sludge-like torrent that filled the sink with alarming speed, bubbling. It then frothed against the drain, lapping at the cracked porcelain lip, before spilling over and gathering on the floor. It all happened so fast, I had no time to react properly or process what was happening. Not fast enough, that is.

The stench was unbearable now, suffocating. It pressed into me, gagged me, clawed up into my sinuses until I staggered back, the foul water seeping inside my shoes and soaking my feet through. And then—

The door slammed shut behind me.

It was so violent that it caused the tiles under me to vibrate, driving the foul water into twitching rivulets and setting the bulb above trembling. Had I not held onto the cracked sink just in time, I might’ve lost my footing. But when I swung my phone wildly, slicing through the dark, towards the door, it was still cracked open. Just like I had left it.

My eyes narrowed as I took in the scene before me, unsure of whatever had just happened – if it had happened – when my gaze suddenly settled on the sink I was clutching hard. Dry.

I let go with a wheeze, hyperventilating.

The entire basin was empty, and the tap sealed tight. Not a drop was spilt over, nor was there any puddle on the floor. No evidence that it had ever run at all.

I staggered back against the wall as the realisation hit me like a punch to the guts, my breath coming out in ragged bursts, sweat crawling cold across my skin despite the heat. How!? How on earth…

Too out of it to think straight, trembling all over, I staggered out the open door and did not dare look back. All sorts of dire and macabre thoughts were racing through my mind to distort me further, but I pushed them all away and made it back onto the drafty corridor blanketed in pitch-black darkness. But as soon as I turned my back against the restroom door, something stopped me.

That sound again. The one that woke me up.

The shuffling.

Gulping hard, my glassy eyes unable to focus, I turned around.

Slowly.

Afraid to make a sound, to make a hasty move.

And my eyes narrowed.

There. Beneath the narrow gap between the doorframe and floorboards, a shadow shifted inside the restroom. A definite movement, not a trick of my unsound mind playing games with me. Then that sound again. Metal scraping against the floor. Scratching and shrieking in a morbid tune, drawing closer for every second I lingered here.

Every nerve screamed at me to run, to return to the safety of the guestroom, but I couldn’t move. My whole body was crippled, paralysed beyond repair. Like I was a puppet pulled by invisible strings, strings that controlled my every move, my every thought.

Then it came to a stop.

I held my breath, my feet finally staggering back.

It left, whatever it was.

I thought.

A sudden crash tore through the corridor as the restroom door burst outwards, the frame cracking and spraying splinters across the corridor as the hinges screeched, then tore free entirely, sending the door skidding past my feet. From the darkness behind the shattered frame, something heaved itself forwards – huge, uneven, its silhouette dragging against the dim-lit walls.

I staggered back, blinking. But not enough. My legs still wouldn’t listen to my commands, still wouldn’t do as I instructed them. All I could do was watch as the horror unfolded before me, drawing closer and closer by the second. But what was I even looking at? How to describe it without sounding mad?

It was made of fragments, of body parts that should never have been bound together. Overlapping stitches, dozens of human shapes pressed into one another as if they were one single entity. Some faces were visible only in profile, eyes closed, as if still in prayer; others blurred into the creature’s torso.

And its head, if one could call it that, was encased in a tarnished metal helm shaped like a tilted Khamsa, fingers stretched downwards instead of upwards. The helmet was engraved with eroded calligraphy of verses of the holy Qur’an, though the writing was incomplete and the verses incoherent in places. I recognised it almost instantly, my mind reaching deep into my memories of a time when my grandfather recited the Qur’an in the peacefulness of our home.

A massive metal blade lurched behind it, carving a jagged trench through the floor as though the floorboards were nothing but paper. It hauled the weapon with a slow, grinding pull, each movement accompanied by a metallic shriek that shot up my spine.

Then it straightened.

Not like a person rising, though.

Its spine snapped into place with a brittle, jerking motion, the movement so sudden the air seemed to recoil from it. The warped metal helm tilted, as if listening to something I couldn’t hear.

Then—

Without warning.

The blade arced upwards in a single motion, rising with impossible speed despite its massive weight. The air didn’t just whistle – it fucking screamed, a thin, tearing sound like something ripping under water. The very air around the blade arced, the corridor’s lights flickering as if afraid to illuminate the swing, as dust billowed up in a choking cloud, fluttering like ash.

My lungs clamped shut as it all went down in a rapid sequence of events. It felt like the thing had cut the air itself, severing the breath right out of me. I hardly managed to process what was unfolding before, unable to focus.

Not until it lunged. Straight at me.

I wrenched my eyes away almost instantly, forcing my feet down the corridor, barely managing a stumbling near-run. My heartbeat hammered so wildly it felt broken, slamming against my ribs with enough force that I swore it would rip out of my skin any second.

The corridor became distorted as I fled, everything blurring except the knowledge pounding in my skull: I couldn’t slow. One misstep and it was all over. But finding the exit, the stairwell going around the obstacle ahead was impossible in this darkness – if not feasible. I couldn’t risk it. Instead, I directed my flickering eyes to the right side of the corridor, searching for the guestroom like a madman, the scraping sound behind me overwhelming all my senses and forcing them on high alert.

It was around this time that I noticed belatedly that I no longer had my phone with me to illuminate the corridor. I must’ve lost it during my flight, somewhere down the corridor behind me. Even so, there was nothing I could do about it now. I couldn’t turn, not even look back over my shoulder. Not until that thing stopped pursuing me. What was it even? Some kind of ghost? Entity? Or—

The guestroom!

My hands were slick with sweat as I fumbled to slide the key into place. It was like my hands had forgotten how to function. When at last the lock came into place with a harsh clack, I pushed the door open and locked it, stepping away without taking my eyes off the door. Waiting for something to happen. For the door to burst into pieces. But nothing happened.

That was when I noticed it was gone. That shuffling.

Still, I wasn’t convinced. I did not budge, not even for a second, for several minutes. Just listening and waiting. To be proved wrong.

But nothing happened. Nothing at all.

I doubled over and gasped for air, only now realising I had been holding my breath this entire time. Relaxing, although still not fully convinced I was safe. Thousands of thoughts were racing in my head, each one worse than the other. My first thought was to flee. To escape this place. But what if it was still out there? What if it waited for me to make a mistake and fall right into its trap? For now, it seemed, the guestroom was the only safe place to be. Though I did not understand why that was. Why had it failed to come here?

My eyes unwittingly drifted to the hole in the wall.

Blinking. Frowning.

Something moved. Inside that room. Beyond the wall.

I advanced.

My whole body trembled as I drew closer, crouching to take a closer look inside through the gap. My shaking hand resting against the thin wall, unable to ease, my quivering eyeballs fearing the worst.

I peered inside.

Sitting atop the crumbling bed was the humanoid creature, its sharp blade as heavy as lead tucked at its side. Its helmet-like head was turned towards the gap in the wall, dropped low, as if it knew I would be there. Then—

It stood up, the metal blade falling to the floor with a loud thud, the eye of the Khamsa locking onto mine without hesitation.

I backed up. Waited. Listened.

But not for long.

The air behind the wall thickened, pressing against my skin as though it carried the weight of something monstrous. I arched my brows, unsure of what was going on, when my ears suddenly rang with a low hum, a vibration that seemed to come from nowhere.

Then came the first scrape.

A long, dragging sound that rattled through the walls.

Another followed, louder, slower this time.

I held my breath, every fibre in my body screaming at me to run for it. To flee before it was too late. But my feet were frozen to the floor. Paralysed. Still, I tried hard to make my body listen, to move. Even so, it felt like I was stuck in place, rooted in cement and unable to budge.

That is… until a violent, unnatural shudder split the wall, bending inwards with a wet, splintering crack, so that dust and fragments rained down in a choking cascade. I couldn’t believe my eyes! The wall bulged like it was made of flesh, pushing towards me!

I stumbled back from the shock and tripped over.

That was when the walls stopped moving. Just like that. As if I had hallucinated it collapsing just seconds earlier! Like I had lost my bloody mind!

Before I could recover, however, the wardrobe burst open with a violent snap, and a swarm of critters poured out. Cockroaches. Dozens of them. Their legs skittered across the floor like a thousand tiny claws, surging towards me before I could crawl away, scattering over my arms, my chest, my neck.

I slapped at them, clawed at them, but more kept coming in waves. They climbed inside my clothes, under my collar, down my sleeves, and across my cheek. I shook violently, twisting on the floor, trying to peel them off. But one of them managed to shoot straight towards my mouth.

I gasped in shock and rolled over, my face flushing and turning blue, as the critter forced itself deeper into my throat, suffocating me. My gag reflex fired violently in response. I retched, coughed, clawed at my neck, tears streaming from my eyes.

Panic drowned out every other sensation.

The room spun.

I managed to scramble to my feet, stumbling towards the door, throwing myself at it. It didn’t budge. Not even slightly. I fumbled with the lock. The keyring slipped from my grasp as I did. By then, my vision had become so blurry that I could no longer discern the keys from the floorboards.

My breath came in shuddering bursts around the critter lodged in my throat, my nails scraping uselessly at the doorframe, at the handle that refused to turn. When I staggered towards the window, my vision now tunnelling, the first thing I noticed was the frost crawling across the panes in thick, white lines. I had to seek help! If not, then I—

My fingers burned as I pressed my palms to the frozen glass, smearing it with streaks of heat from my breath and tears, as I tried to shout for the caretaker. But all that came out was a strangled, choking rasp. The glass was too thick. I had to open it. Now fumbling with the latch, coughing, retching, the creature inside me withered with every heave.

The latch gave way.

And then…

Everything stopped. I felt my throat repeatedly, trying to find a trace of the critter despite breathing normally now. Even the walls behind me had stopped moving and pulsing violently. What…

My hands trembled as I blinked at the frosted window. In the mess of smeared condensation from my laboured breathing and desperate fingerprints, a clear streak cut through – just wide enough to see out.

The burial grounds unfurled beyond, bathed in the pallid glow of the moon. The headstones stood rigid, their shadows stretched and contorted into crooked silhouettes like an army in eternal formation. And there, exactly where I had seen the open grave before – a movement.

It was the caretaker. But what was he doing there, in the dead of night?

I froze as my breath fogged the glass, unwilling to blink or look away. Then, too suddenly, he straightened and his head snapped upwards, face tilting towards the frosty window. Even at this distance and angle, despite the depths of darkness, I saw his eyes glint as he met mine for a split second, and I dropped back at once, pressing flat against the wall, heart hammering in my ribs like it wanted to break free.

The pane of glass was so thin, the frost so fragile – had he seen me? Or had the veil of ice concealed me just enough to trick his brain? I didn’t know. All I knew was the sound of my laboured breathing and frantically beating heart. And in those harrowing moments, all I could do was count each beat of my pulse, each shallow gasp of air.

Seconds stretched into minutes like this.

When at last I dared another glance, sliding low towards the cleared streak of glass, the graveyard lay still in all its eeriness. This time, the caretaker was gone, and only the disturbed patch of soil where the grave marker was supposed to be remained as proof he was ever there.

The frost had reclaimed the window once again in those few minutes, sealing my view ahead, but my eyes still lingered on it. Sleep was impossible now, even in this standing position. Every time I shut my eyelids, I saw the caretaker’s face turned upwards, those eyes glinting in the moonlight, or the creature that had pursued me down the corridor, charging at me with its heavy blade.

So, I lingered near the window. Hour after hour, rubbing fresh circles into the glass and staring out at the burial grounds. On high alert. Ready to flee the second I caught anything unusual in the stillness.

The gravestones seemed to me to shift in the shadows as though they leaned closer whenever I blinked sleep away. Like they were alive and watching me – just as I was watching them. And each time I wiped the glass clear, I expected to find the caretaker or that creature standing there, shovel in hand, staring back at me. But nothing of the sort happened.

Now and then, the wind stirred the branches and frost cracked faintly against the glass, every sound jolting through me like a nail driven into my chest and my body bracing with each flicker of movement.

And like this, the night stretched thin and black morphed to grey, then purple and orange. By the time the first smear of light rose over the horizon, I was still there, stiff and shivering in front of the window. For the first time in my life, I was afraid, afraid of what my mind was capable of. At the same time, I wasn’t fully convinced I had only seen things. That my mind simply came up with stuff to scare me witless.

What I saw – what I thought I saw – maybe they were all fragments of a truth this place was desperate to hide. And if that was the case, the caretaker knew more than he let on. I had to get to the bottom of this mystery. Before whatever haunted this place got to me first, that is.

Neve Emek: Room 102 - Part 6 of ?

6

The door creaked open just enough to let the light spill out, and in the narrow gap a face appeared. The man beyond the door was old, in his late sixties, or perhaps older. He was bald save for a few wisps of hair sticking out at odd angles, and his face bore the hardened lines of years, marked with pale scars that caught the overhead lightbulb that kept flickering in a steady beat. His clothes hung loose on him, rumpled and stained.

He peered at me, eyes small but alert, before abruptly drifting past me and towards the empty pathway, then back at me again. Though it was impossible to know for sure, it felt as though he had caught something in the darkness – something he didn’t want me to notice.

“Who are you?” he said, as I was about to follow his gaze to the pathway. Like the other Israelis I had encountered up to that point, he had a thick accent. “What business you got here?”

I cleared my throat, forcing myself to keep calm, but it was easier said than done. Something about the man’s constant flickering behind me put me on edge, like he was keeping an eye out for something that I wasn’t meant to see.

“My name’s Sami, sir. I came here because of, uh, some inheritance issues. Apparently, this place,” I took a pause, letting my eyes briefly settle on the large building up ahead. “It used to belong to my grandfather.” And when the man failed to reply. “I’m sorry, but… may I know who you are? I don’t remember the solicitor saying—”

“You came alone?”

“I’m sorry?”

He opened the door wider, leaning in. “Did you… knock on the doors?”

He said the last phrase in a lower voice, as if he feared someone might overhear us. I arched my brows unbeknownst as soon as I picked up on this shift in tone. The doors?

“I thought this place was abandoned,” I said, adding. “It’s not?”

“No.”

“But the lights—”

“People here don’t like to wander outside past midnight.”

“…Wander? But what has this to do with me?”

He gave a short nod before following it up with the very words I feared I might hear coming here. “You’re Palestinian, aren’t you? I know the old man was.”

“You knew my grandfather?”

“Just answer the bloody question.”

“I am, yes,” I said. “Why is this relevant?”

A smirk formed on his lips as he briefly looked away, as if amused by my reaction, refusing to reply. Was he mocking me?  

“Sir, why is this relevant?”

 “You’re asking me why,” he said. “But don’t you know the answer already?”

“I—”

“Anyway, best you keep that fact to yourself.” He smirked again. “Just in case.”

“Just in case?” I repeated to myself before shifting my focus back to the stranger, who shouldn’t be here, on this property. “And who are, exactly? Why do you keep beating around the bush?”

“Me? I’m the caretaker.”

“The… caretaker?” I said. “But how come the solicitor did not—”

“Mr Sami, you might not know, but my family’s kept these grounds for generations. Long before settlers came.”

“But I’ve never heard of you. If that were the case, wouldn’t my grandfather have told me?”

“Well, you didn’t know about the property, either,” he said, his voice laced with confidence. “Did you?”

“Right. Please,” I said, waving my hand to gesture ‘go on.’

“Your grandfather treated us well, fed us and gave us a roof over our heads. Which is exactly why I have no bad blood with the Palestinians. But the others? That’s another story.”

“The settlers took over the country decades ago…” I paused, trying to process it all. “Are you telling me that deep-rooted grudge continues to this day?”

“It’s pretty much alive, yes. That’s why keeping your identity, at least for now, is the best course of action.”

Hearing this, a sudden thought crossed my mind.

“You know about the conditions for the transfer of ownership. How?”

A why smile formed on his lips before fading. “Like I mentioned, my family has been taking care of the property for ages. Isn’t it natural that your grandfather confided in us?”

I wasn’t convinced, not nearly as as I wanted to be. But it was getting colder by the hour, and I had no place to stay the night. Though not the wisest decision, I changed the topic. But not because I trusted the guy. Only I figured that there’d be enough time later on to question the caretaker’s background and identity. My priority was to find shelter from the cold.

“I know this comes out of nowhere… but where do I, uh, stay?” I said, then quickly added upon seeing the caretaker arch his brows. “I thought there’d be a guesthouse or something here. But there’s none. It seems.”

“Neve Emek is not known for its hospitality, no. But…”

 “But?”

He hesitated. Why? Why would—that was when I noticed him glance at the building. It happened so quickly that I failed to follow his gaze before he addressed me again. Did he notice me?

“You see that building over there?”

“Yeah, sure. Hard to miss.”

“Your grandfather built and designed it himself back in the good ol’ days. Before the settlers came, that is. There should be plenty of rooms there where you can stay the night. Been closed for years… but it stands.”

I frowned. This was a first for me. From what I could recall from my childhood in the occupied Palestine, my family was in no position to either own this place, not to mention have the financial means to design this kind of huge structure.

“When was this place built again?”

“Should be ’03.”

“That’s five years before we fled…” I said under my breath, the confusion mounting and reaching new heights. Where did Seedi get all that—

“Or—” he hesitated, “—you can stay here. With me.”

I was too lost in my mind to realise what he was meaning. “Stay, where?”

“Here,” he said, gesturing at the small hut. “Not nearly as spacious, but just enough for a single guy like me. I have a room to spare, if you don’t mind the critter. You know? Spiders and things like that.”

 “Well, I’d rather not impose. Thanks, uh, anyway.”

It took him half a second to reply for some reason. “Oh, yeah? Your call, then. But don’t tell me I didn’t try to help you.”

“Help me? I don’t think I—”

Before I could finish asking, the caretaker shuffled back inside momentarily and returned with a ring of keys that clinked in his hand. The ring was huge and the keys… Why were there so many? Sure, the building itself was massive, but did it really have so many rooms?

“Here. See this bronze one? It’s for the old wing, west side. Stairs down to the end, turn right. You’ll find one of the guestrooms down the hallway. Place is a maze. Don’t wander, it’s easy to lose yourself.”

“Lose myself? How come?”

“Place is a maze. Mr Khalil was, let’s say, an interesting man. He liked a good chase and was a man of few words. Never told me why he built this place like this, but I believe he had his reasons.”

I took the keys, albeit reluctantly after hearing this, before another thought crossed my mind. “One more thing: do you perhaps know where the bus stop is? Tried looking for it on my way here, but don’t recall seeing it.”

“The bus comes once a day. Five hours between stops, and only at dawn. You miss it, you walk. But I wouldn’t do that if I were you. The closest town is several miles east. It’ll take hours on foot.”

“Right. So, uh, where is it?”

He pointed towards the blackness beyond the burial ground, like I knew this place like the back of my hand.

“You’ll see a signpost. Northwest.”

“I’m not following, sir.”

“See that synagogue?”

I squinted. “I see a minaret—”

“Once you pass the synagogue, you keep walking till you see the signpost. Should be easy enough. Anything else?”

“No—” The door shut with a hollow thud before I could finish my sentence. “—thank you.”

With the keys clutched in my hand, the perpetual darkness that seemed to hang over the burial ground stretched and expanded around me. What the fuck? It was almost as though the guy was in a hurry. Or like he didn’t want me around for too long. And didn’t he just call the place a maze? Why not help me navigate the place than just—

A whistle.

I whipped around, holding my breath.

Behind me spanned several acres of tombs and tombs only.

I let my eyes sweep around, trying to find the source of the sudden din, when my gaze settled on a grave marker in the distance. Eyes open wide and breath hitched in my throat, I watched as the silhouette of a child sprinted into the depths beyond the burial ground, towards some sort of forested area adjacent to the place.

My legs moved of their own accord for reasons I could not fathom or decipher. They had their own will. Like I was possessed by something other than the will of my mind. Even now, in safety, I cannot and dare not say what caused me to do such a dangerous thing. But I guess this was the pivotal point in the sequence of events that would soon start happening to me, and I was nothing but a pawn in a larger scheme at the time.

The earth grew uneven beneath my feet as I neared the marker. My breath came fast, misting the air. Just as I reached out, the ground gave way beneath me.

I lurched forwards, catching myself at the last moment, gravel skittering down into a hollow below. What the…

An open grave yawned at my feet – freshly dug.

I staggered back, my heart hammering against my ribs. For a moment, I thought I saw movement within, the flicker of something pale, but when I blinked, it was gone. It looked… familiar. Like something I had seen before. I could swear I had seen it, but… The thoughts eluded me. If I concentrated just enough, then maybe, surely, I’d have to remember. Right? So, why couldn’t I?

Moreover, whose grave was this? Freshly dug, gaping wide. Had someone from the village passed away recently? That would explain why it was dug open the night before the actual funeral took place. Still, I wasn’t convinced. Not entirely. Not enough. I was missing something. But what?

My first thought was to go back to the hut and inquire about the grave. But I didn’t. Something stopped me. Difficult to say what. I guess it was my intuition telling me to stay away.

Instead, I leaned closer to the grave and peered into the hollow; the earth smelled damp and raw. My eyes strained against the dark, half-expecting to see something shift beneath the soil, a hand clawing its way up or a shrewd face staring back. But nothing of the sort happened.

I exhaled and relaxed the grip on my suitcase. See, I told myself, it was nothing. Ghosts aren’t real. Shouldn’t be. I was just tired, and it showed. I needed to get some sleep, to clear my mind, and stop it from wreaking havoc inside me. With these thoughts fresh in my mind, I started for the building, or rather, The House of the Crossing. Why was it called that? Should’ve asked the caretaker. Well, if things went according to plan, I’d be trapped here for the next six months, so there was no need to rush things.

 When I arrived at the gate, I figured the largest key would fit into the lock, and that was exactly what happened. Once I twisted the key, the hinges groaned as though the gate hadn’t been opened in decades, and the latch snapped back with a clank. When I pushed, the gate barely swung. Instead, it more or less collapsed inwards and sent a small rain of dust drifting down from above the frame.

The first thing that struck me as I passed the doorway was this stale, thick, and sickening air unlike any other. Hard to describe using plain words, but it had this nauseating rank of a place sealed for too long, where the air had no means to circulate or ventilate. Damp wood, mildew, the subtle odour of rust – all of it blended into a staleness that instantly caused me to gag and cover my nose.

The next thing that arrested me was the entrance or some kind of lobby spanning before me. It was vast, almost canonical in its proportions. The ceiling vaulted high above in arches, where patches of ceiling had fallen away to reveal the skeletal structure of the building.

The entire building was literally falling apart.

It should be dark as hell here, too, under normal circumstances, but some moonlight had managed to trickle in through the narrow, high windows, which were clouded with grime, so that light barely entered and shadows pooled where the light could not reach.

I stepped forwards, the soles of my feet aching from the ceaseless walking. Once, I thought, this place had been a polished and sophisticated structure akin to and no less than a museum, but nothing was left of its former glory. Almost as though it had been subjected to some heavy disturbances over the last few years. And I wasn’t talking about the fires. No, something else had happened in this place, and whatever it was, I didn’t want to know. At least for as long as I stayed here.

On either side of the lobby, corridors stretched away into darkness, lined with several doors. The caretaker had warned me about the maze, and boy, he sure did not exaggerate – not one bit. The very architecture seemed to have been built to disorient on purpose. But why would my grandfather do such a thing? I recalled him as a laid-back guy who had thrown his former life away to start over in a new country, a new place to save his family. He wasn’t the kind of man who’d build a place like this.

Or maybe I didn’t know him. Not as much as I thought I did.

The left corridor narrowed almost immediately as soon as I turned the corner, the vaulted space of the main hall giving way to claustrophobic stone passageways. The striped wallpaper was slick beneath a film of mould that climbed up in mottled green patches. In places, the paint had peeled away as well, revealing rough stonework beneath. Where did all this moisture come from? It made little sense! Sure, the entire place was in bad shape, but the cracks on the ceilings were superficial.

I froze more than once as I kept following the corridor, convinced I heard a footstep trailing behind me or the rasp of breath from within the shadows. But when I snapped around, there was only the long and narrow corridor vanishing into shadow behind me and nothing else. Like I was hallucinating it all.

There were alcoves in this part of the building as well. They looked like shrines or chapels, which were small and crumbling spaces tucked off the main artery. Each contained remnants of something that once belonged there, like a rotting bench, a distorted table that might have been an altar once, and niches where candles had burned down to wax and been left to die.

Deeper still, the corridor split and branched in ways that made no sense whatsoever. It took me a moment to assure myself I hadn’t got lost. Again, easier said than done, when a stranger had just told me not to get lost moments earlier.

So, what exactly was I seeing, and why did it confuse me so?

From what I could tell from this angle and position, a set of steps seemed to descend to another hallway, only to rise again and reconnect with the storey I was still standing on, but from the opposite end. Like in a winding circuit. But it wasn’t until I set off down one of the hallways that I understood why that stairwell was there.

Dead-end. Barricaded. Completely.

It was impossible to move past the heap of whatever parts of the building had collapsed and blocked the entire left wing. At least through this hallway. I had to retract my steps and follow the steps down a floor, then follow them up to the other side of the blocked path. And so I did.

The other side of the left wing was just as bad, with its own set of several branches of hallways and stairwells to explore. Some passages I followed ended abruptly at brick walls, while others were literal traps leading several feet down into the abyss. One misstep or rushed move, and I would have fallen to my death.

I doubled back more than once, uncertain whether I had already passed the same crack on the ceiling or the same broken lantern hook. Where was that bloody guestroom, anyway? Why wouldn’t it show itself?

I must’ve walked in circles for several minutes before I ventured to one of the narrower hallways and spotted a crooked sign nailed above a door. Guestroom 4. Surprisingly, in English, too. I was too drained to question why that was the case; instead, I spent the next few minutes trying to slide the correct key into the lock, twisting and turning hard until it gave with a reluctant groan.

A rush of stale air spilt out a soon as I opened the door, causing me to retch yet again, but for a much shorter time now. Seemed like I had adjusted to the rank smell and mildew in record time.

The guestroom was larger than I had imagined, more spacious and expanding in places too dark to see completely. The ceiling here hung low, and in the far corner, parts of the walls had collapsed and caused a jagged hole of some sort, where a flickering light spilt in from the other room it was connected to. It wasn’t anything too large, but when I peered through the hole, I noticed that the flickering came from a lit candle placed directly on what looked like a half-sunken bed. But it wasn’t the why that made me frown. It was the how. There were no doors in that room, no means for anybody to enter. So, how did that candle end up there, and who had lit it?

As I was having these thoughts, I felt something on my shoulder. Like a brief but firm squeeze. Once I turned and searched my surroundings, well aware that I would find nothing, both the bed and the candle disappeared. I blinked several times, trying to summon them back to life, but they remained elusive.

Was I dreaming stuff again? I couldn’t tell.

Inside the guestroom was a narrow bed that stood against the wall. The mattress was sagging in the middle, and the sheets, if they could still be called that, were little more than strips of fabric, eaten away by mould and something else that had stained it brown. A table sat nearby, one leg uneven, and littered with curled scraps of paper and something that might once have been a candle stub, now fused to the wood.

I placed both my suitcase and backpack in the corner, near the door, and moved cautiously around the space. At the other end, across the hole in the wall, I noticed a wardrobe slumping against the plaster. Its doors were almost rotted off their hinges. But that wasn’t the reason it caught my attention.

I heard something. At least, I thought I did.

A knock. No, tapping. From within.

I advanced towards it, unable to stop myself.

My breath caught in my throat as I got within reach, my ears straining to make out what kind of sound I thought I was hearing. But when I pulled the door open wide, my motions rushed and panicked, and only dust rolled out before me. It took me a few seconds to regain my bearings and calm myself down. That was when I caught the outline of a hatch inside the wardrobe. Though I tried to pull and push it open several times, it remained firmly shut.

The wardrobe itself wouldn’t budge either. It had been nailed to the wall and floor, tightly secured. I’d need tools to pry the screws loose. Maybe the caretaker could help me? Or… maybe I’d find another way in. Surely, the caretaker, if anybody, should have the tools needed to pry this massive thing?

But for now. Sleep had priority. I had to sleep. To fall asleep.  

The idea of lying on the mattress, however, made my skin crawl. Either that or… sleeping on the floor infested with critters. Just to put this on record, not a big fan of critters. Especially the ones that had made this place their home.

Sitting down first, I tested the weight of the frame. It shrieked under me. Literally. That was how bad things were. I lay back slowly the second time, eyes fixed on the ceiling, trying not to think about the damp pressing in from all sides, or the mould that might seep into my mouth as I slept.

Sleep embraced me into its arms not long afterwards, lulling me into a false sense of drowsiness as the darkness around me shifted subtly. But I couldn’t keep my eyelids open. Not for much longer.

That was when I saw it. From the corner of my eye.

A small figure near the collapsed wall.

The doll.

The… doll?

The…

Neve Emek: Room 102 - Part 5 of ?

5

By the time the village came into view, the darkness had thickened so much that I could barely see the winding path ahead leading into the village.

Neve Emek was smaller than I had imagined, though, and far stranger. It was nothing but a scattering of houses crouched together at the edge of the road, their shapes blurred and angular against the night sky, with no sign of life.

At first, I thought the people must simply be asleep. It was late, after all, and perhaps they lived by stricter rules here, far from city life and its routines. But the closer I drew, the harder it was to convince myself that was the case. No lamplight flickered behind the shutters, no dogs barked at the sound of my approach. The houses looked not asleep but… abandoned. As though their inhabitants had left years ago and never returned.

I forced myself along a narrow lane that cut through the centre of the village. The shops there leaned against one another, weathered by the passage of time. A wooden sign swung from a chain above a grocery store, the letters faded to nothing. Also, the chain groaned with every gust of wind, a rasping sound that was far too loud in the quiet. Some of the windows were boarded up, others frostbitten and too dirty to my liking.

I tried the grocery store door without thinking, expecting it to be locked. I mean, this whole place looked desolate, so why would I think otherwise? Instead, it gave way with a screech and opened. The sound was so sharp I froze in place, before glancing behind me to see if anyone had heard.

But there was no one. Just me and the dark.

The smell hit first. A pungent, suffocating reek of decay that coiled out from every corner like it was a living thing. I gagged, pressing my sleeve to my face, and stepped inside before instinct warned me back. What remained of the shop’s shelves sagged inwards, wood damaged and swollen with damp. Dust too coated everything in a thick film, but beneath it, dark stains marked the walls where jars had cracked and leaked downwards in hardened trails. A few, however, lay shattered on the floor, where the contents had set into misshapen lumps, mouldering, buzzing with insects.

Something shifted in the shadows at the back as I staggered back – a faint wet sound, like something dragging over tile. My gut tightened. I didn’t wait to see what it was; instead, I stumbled back into the open air and slammed the slanted door shut behind me. The smell clung to my clothes still – to my bare skin – as if I had carried a piece of the rot out with me.

I pressed on. What choice was there? Yet, this wasn’t what I had imagined coming here, this kind of desertion. Where on earth were the villagers? More pressing, where was I to stay the night? I came here thinking there had be a guesthouse at least, but from what I could see, this entire place was abandoned and left to its own demise, riddled with uneven streets that twisted and ended in sudden dead-ends. There was nowhere to go.

I searched desperately for a lit window, some sign that people still resided here. But every turn revealed only ruin and destruction: blackened timbers, walls scarred by what seemed like fire, and doors that hung from broken hinges to reveal nothing but hollow darkness inside. I saw whole roofs collapsed. What on earth had happened to this place? Had I been right in my suspicions?

The night deepened as I wandered, the silence thickening until I began to feel like the last moving thing in the world. Even the stars overhead seemed distant, fading behind a blurry haze, as though the village swallowed their light.

And then, when I had all but given up hope, I saw it. A faint glow ahead, so small I thought at first it was a trick of my eyes. But the closer I came, the more it steadied. A single source of light at the far edge of the village. Relieved, I took a deep breath and briefly shut my eyes before advancing.

It seemed to come from beyond the last row of dilapidated houses, where the land fell away and merged with the shadows. I frowned. It was the place from the photographs I received from the solicitor. The burial grounds.

But as I approached this mysterious place, I couldn’t shake the thought that perhaps the silence was some kind of foreboding. In hindsight, I guess that was indeed the case. Why would people just leave behind their entire livelihoods? It made little sense. I should have put more effort into finding an answer than dismissing it as nothing, but I didn’t. I just moved on command.

The road narrowed into a crooked path so that stones jut up through the dirt, until the last of the houses disappeared behind me at last. For a moment, I thought I had reached the end of the village entirely, that there was nothing more than earth and the gloom beyond this point. But then my eyes adjusted, and I saw… shapes. Not human, just… uneven and sticking up from the dirt.

I broke off, grimacing and trying to make sense of what I was seeing, when I crept closer and realised they were nothing but gravestones. Dozens of them, maybe more, scattered across the sloping field to my right. They leaned at odd angles, some split down the middle, others swallowed halfway by the ground.

It took me a moment to ground myself, to convince my frantically beating heart that nothing was out of the ordinary. It was easier said than done.

The gravestones seemed like eyes under the moonlight, marking my every step along the pathway like a shadow. I slowed without meaning to, with my suitcase dragging behind. I wanted to pass this place without looking too long, but something stopped me from doing so. I couldn’t tell what. And then I saw it again, that glow of light I had seen earlier but forgotten about.

It came from just beyond the graves. In the direction of the towering building up ahead. The structure was too large for a cemetery, with wings spreading out on either side. A sign at the gate read Bayt al-Maʿbar. The House of the Crossing. But what was such a massive building doing in this place, not to mention right at the heart of a burial ground?

I followed the line of the narrow road with my eyes, unsure whether to proceed or make my way back to the other side of the cemetery, when a single building crouched at the edge of the large building caught my attention. Its shutters were closed, except for one window lit from within.

Someone was inside. But why would anybody live in this place? Also, the solicitor said nothing about people living here. More pressing still, why hadn’t this person left like the others? Something about this whole situation was off.

I set down the suitcase, shoulders stiff and moved forwards. Hesitating. It took me a few seconds to gather my scattered thoughts, to summon enough courage to knock on the door. I had no other place to go. The nearest town was several hours away on foot. Not to mention, I had endured a long flight without getting enough sleep. Calling the solicitor at this hour felt odd, too. I didn’t know the woman, and she did not know me. The last time I contacted her, we booked a meeting at her office a few towns over. But I arrived a day earlier to check the place out for myself. Like I said, I thought this place was supposed to be a normal village – not whatever this was.

By the third knock, a shuffle reverberated through the quiet from the inside. I stepped back. A lot of thoughts raced through my head and weighed me down, but none of them quite stuck. All I could feel in those harrowing moments where time seemed to stop was the beat of my frantic heart in my ears.

Then… stillness.

I held my breath.