Deserted (16 page)

           
Ponika
whinnied at me as I left him but I assured him
we would be fine. I made my way back upstairs, enjoying the feel of the railing
under my hands again; it feels like a lifetime ago when I was last in a real
home. As I made my way through the sitting room upstairs, however, something
caught my eye; something on the bookshelf. It wasn’t there before…was it? A
large purple tome sat perfectly upon the middle shelf. How I could miss such a
thing during my original onceover, I’ll never know, but I saw it now;
impeccable condition, calling out to me as books always had in my youth. My
heart skipped a beat and I rushed towards it, picking it up gently in my hands
as though it would turn to sand at any moment. There was no title and the first
few pages were blank. An abandoned diary, I had assumed, until the dark
chicken-scratch of someone’s writing jumped out at me after a handful of pages.
It was nigh illegible, causing me to squint and study the book meticulously for
several minutes.

           
“Our slaver’s folly?”
I mumbled, trying to decipher
the letters. It was the only combination of words that seemed to make sense to
me. The words were large and emboldened, as though someone tried to name the
story that was about to unfold. Numerous marking lay below the title, although
to this day I can’t figure out what they could possibly have said.

           
Flipping the page, a small excerpt in much neater writing greeted me, the only
legible paragraph as the story continued on through multiple pages. It was as though
the author hesitated in starting…or perhaps didn’t know how to. The letters
looped and curled in perfection, in far better penmanship than I – or anyone
else in town, for that matter – could ever hope to write like.

           
And then it went to pot, the letters stringent and confusing as the story
rushed to its conclusion. I slammed the book shut and made my way towards the
bedroom; this novel would make for perfect reading material before bed, in any
case.

I
crawled my way under the covers of one of the beds, welcoming the feel of warm
sheets once again. Once I was comfortable I helped myself to my canister of
water and decided to eat the small bag of chips I had found at the campsite a
few days ago; it would be just enough to keep the pangs of hunger away and
that’s all I was willing to take from our supplies. As I opened the bag,
however, I was certain that I caught a very strange smell in the air, if only
for a moment. Unsure of where it came from I sniffed at the bag and smelt
nothing unusual. Whatever it was it was no longer my concern as my stomach
rumbled at the idea of food. I quickly shrugged it off and tossed a few chips
in my mouth. Something about the chips felt…off, though. They didn’t taste
right and felt almost slimy in my hands. I looked inside the bag and saw
nothing wrong; the chips were a vibrant colour and appeared no different than
the fresh bags I had once consumed at home. They still felt strange to the
touch, however, so I decided to put them aside and attempt food in the morning
with
Ponika
. I rested my head on the large, soft
pillows and slowly opened the violet book that I still had clasped tightly in
my hands. Trying to read the rushed writing strained my eyes and so I found
myself reading the introduction over and over again, my mind reeling with ideas
as to its meaning.

“The
following is an eyewitness account of our descent into slavery…” I started,
whispering the novel’s contents to nothing but the empty room about me, “…and
how one man showed us how our only path to redemption was through seething
vengeance. I am one woman in a crowd of hundreds, but through our misery we are
united. Let this be a lesson to you all.” A chill ran through my spine when I
read it aloud and I felt the sensation in the pit of my stomach. The words
could mean anything, sure, but…why was I filled with such dread?

I closed
the book and tucked it into my backpack, hearing bags of food crinkle in the
quiet air as I squished it deeper into the bag. Whatever it meant, I knew I had
many more days in the wasteland to figure it out. For now, I wanted rest. I
closed my eyes and let my head become absorbed by the soft pillow, enjoying the
warmth of the blankets and the comfort of a bed with a smile on my face; this
was definitely something I missed from back home. It didn’t take long for my
fatigue to catch up with me, but it didn’t take long to wake, either.

           
The screech was deafening and woke me with a start. I looked around
frantically, still half asleep and gathering my bearings. It was dark but I
still knew something was wrong by the sharp pain in my back. As my eyes
adjusted I saw broken boards all around me and I was sprawled out on top of
even more, with a thin sheet stretching out under me. I was lying in a heap of
limbs on top of sharp and frayed pieces of what were once a bed and my back had
been pressed sorely against what looked to be parts of the headboard. As I
attempted to shift my frame I noticed the wreckage to my right. What was once a
beautiful dresser was now a broken relic of what it used to be; its doors were
unhinged and the clothes inside were tattered and dirty. As I tried
uncomfortably to get up from my spot I could have sworn I saw spiders crawling
upon the ruins around me. Could spiders really still exist, too? It was a fascinating
thought of just what could still survive in the wild desert but I had no real
time to think on it as I heard
Ponika’s
desperate cry
in the distance.

           
I leapt from the heap beneath me, tripping over the broken boards and the torn
sheet that had wrapped itself around my ankle. I heard more shrieks from
somewhere outside as I shook my foot free and I stumbled to the doorway, my
head pounding yet I didn’t know why at the time. I rested briefly at the
doorframe and was
certain
I saw someone run past me; someone dressed in
blue. My eyes were still heavy and my head quaked with pain so I was unsure if
I had really seen something or not as I carefully scanned the room before me.
While I found no one I was shocked at what waited for me in the now decrepit
foyer. The white loveseat was now in two pieces and covered in filth. I could
hear the buzzing of an insect upon its cushions but I had no idea what. The
floor of the room was caved in at places, exposing the kitchen below and the
splintered boards of the floor’s foundation rose up at me from every hole. As I
did my best to sidestep the now rotted floor I felt my backpack start to slow
me down; it suddenly felt much heavier than usual. Leaning carefully on the arm
of the broken loveseat, I whipped my backpack off me and quickly peered inside.
The stench alone was enough to wake me up and I pulled out what used to be the
food I had taken from the kitchen downstairs. Their containers were now full of
a brown sludge that a myriad of bugs crawled through. My knapsack had sopped up
the disgusting liquid, leaving me no choice; I had to leave it behind. The
sludge had seeped into the food I had found at the campsite and the books I had
with me were covered and ruined. Thankfully, I kept my journal and pens in a
separate compartment on the front. It felt like the only thing I had done right
in my journey so far. I grabbed them and tossed my backpack into the gaping
hole in the floor, watching it tumble down and slide on the tile below. As I
attached my pens to my belt, another screech echoed through the walls and I
clutched at my head; the pain was becoming unbearable and my ears were now
humming. I lurched out of the room and towards the top of the stairs, clutching
my journal tightly. My head was spinning, however, and I crashed shoulder first
into the stair’s railing as I tripped over myself. I stumbled to my feet again
but lost my balance from the sudden vertigo and tumbled down the steps, landing
face first into the damp and stained carpet at the bottom. I laid there for a
moment, trying to catch my breath as I struggled to grasp my journal that had
flung against the wall in my fall. My head quaked and my hands started to
tremble as I slowly reached out to my diary. It took all the effort I could to
slide my head to its side, moving my face away from the filthy carpet. That’s
when I saw the woman from upstairs; three of them, actually. They were
definitely spirits of some sort, with a blue aura about them and long billowing
hair.
Banshee
is the word that came to mind; I had once read a folklore
describing very similar apparitions. Two of these banshees flew through the
walls, oblivious to me but the one nearest the front door stared me down as I
pulled my journal towards me. Keeping eye contact with the woman I struggled to
my feet, unsure of what to do; it was standing between me and the doorway. We
stood there for a minute, watching each other as I found myself sweating
profusely; the effort to stay conscious was more than I had originally
realized. Suddenly it howled at me, its face twisting into a maw of sharp teeth
and a long reptilian tongue that flickered out towards me. My head felt about
ready to burst as I stumbled into the wall at the sound and found myself unable
to move. I panted heavily now, unable to focus my thoughts. I slowly raised my
eyes again towards the banshee and I saw
Ponika
through her ethereal form; he was standing at the doorway to the house,
whinnying at me as spirits whirled around him in the street. I staggered
forward, the spirit still staring me down with her small, beady eyes. I was
careful with each step, watching the woman’s reaction with every exaggerated
movement I made forward. She watched me with angry eyes but did nothing as I
continued. With only a few mere steps away I thought I was in the clear and
pressed myself onwards, causing her to finally lunge at me. I hit the ground
fast, causing the apparition to disappear into the wall behind me. I jumped to
my feet in an instant, ready to make a run for it when I noticed the banshees
were now gone…but I was far from alone. Had he always been sitting there? If he
was, I never noticed. Was he even really a ‘he’? With the screeching wails
seemingly far off, in another world, the being on the couch spoke to me.

           
“Give it back.” It grumbled. Its back was turned to me as it sat precariously
on the edge of the now destroyed sofa, its head aimed towards the floor. All I
could do was
stare
in horror at its pale complexion
and spotty hairline. Then suddenly it was standing; I’m not sure how, but the
creature seemed to almost teleport in its movements, instantly changing
direction without turning. Its face was hollow, its eyes sunken; it once was a
man, but what was it now? His gaze bore into me, frightening me more than the banshees
had. Do I make a run for it, or would that only make things worse? I swallowed
hard, clutching my journal so tightly that my knuckles turned whiter than the
apparition before me.

           
“You have something that belongs to us,” it murmured, its voice low and raspy,
“give it back.”

           
I could only shake my head in confusion. What did I have?
The
book, maybe?

           
I glanced towards the hallway that led to the kitchen, my thoughts running
rampant. Did this
thing
write it? Yet, the book mentioned a woman…and
besides, I didn’t have the book anymore; I didn’t have anything. If he knew I
had it to begin with, wouldn’t he know it now lay in the kitchen?

What do
I do? “I-I don’t know…” I started. “The kitchen…the book is in there.”

           
“Don’t play dumb with me!” It screeched and was instantly beside me, its
twisted tendrils of fingers clasping around my neck and forcing me against the
wall. I was suddenly frigid, my entire body shaking as my warmth evaporated
into thin air. I could feel icicles forming along the hairs on my arms. I
tossed my head sideways, afraid to look into the rotting mass of face before
me.

           
“Give it back!” It shrieked again.

           
With a racing heart and squinted eyes, I finally found my words. “I don’t have
it!” I cried out. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

           
His hand slowly retreated from my neck and I felt my own body heat start to
return. I could only glance meekly at the creature assailing me, wary of its
next move. Much to my surprise, its hand reached out and gently wrapped around
a stray piece of my hair. “Oh, I think you know exactly what I’m talking
about.” And then he tugged, ripping my hair and pulling my head towards his
chest. “This! You know
exactly
what this is!” He continued to tug,
tossing my head around as he clumped my hair within his gnarled fingers.

           
I tried to look at what he was seeing, to figure out just what lay in my hair
that had the man so infuriated, but it was difficult to tell with how wildly my
head spun and how dark the room was quickly becoming. During a brief moment of
stillness, I stared at the bewildered man and the mass of hair in his hand.

           
Ash.

I saw
only ash and the dirt of the wasteland entangled into my hair. Did he think I
started some kind of fire? “It wasn’t me!” I choked out. “I didn’t do
anything!”

           
The creature heaved in some kind of laughter, causing rancid breath to wash
over my face and bring back the queasiness I had felt earlier. It smiled at me
and started to speak when
Ponika’s
howl disturbed his
thoughts. He let go of my hair and glanced through the doorway at my horse that
paced impatiently outside.

           
Feeling no other option, I bolted.