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| I; he knew he would die |
I did not make my mother happy when I was born. "A boy?" she had cried. "No, she can't be!"
My parents had decided months earlier that they didn't need to know what sex I would be, assuming I would be a girl like every other baby had been in my mother's family.
You see, I was the first boy born to her family in over a hundred and forty years. She blamed my father for his influential genes but soon got over the potential loss of a baby girl.
They named me Christopher after my great-great-great-great-grandfather, who was the last boy born on my mother's side of the family. I learned my first word from our cat at the age of seven months which merited the nickname Kit - which worked well for my mother, who had planned on calling me the name Katherine.
I didn't grow up aware of the fact I was some sort of miracle child. My parents had waited until the eve of my eighteenth birthday to tell me the story of their shock, and my mother's horror, and my father's disdain for having to repaint my nursery.
That night, I lay awake in my bed. I thought of being eighteen and what that would even mean. Would I be an adult? Would I go to university and break the endless cycle of my family? I wanted to leave Ravenstown. My friends would be leaving in less than a year to start their lives elsewhere. But would I be stuck here like my family was?
I vowed to myself then that I wouldn't still be in Ravenstown by the time I was nineteen. No, I would get out. There was nothing here but my father's restaurant, a few dotted parks and a small convenience store. What could I possibly do with my life here?
I was right about one thing; I was gone before I turned nineteen. But I never got to leave.
My friends turn up at my door just after five p.m, their arms full of hold-alls and rolled up blankets.
"What's all this for?" I ask with a strained laugh.
"We are going camping!" Connor says, his lips spreading the widest grin I've ever seen across his face. "Go grab some clothes and let's go!"
I look to Robin, who seems just as mentally unprepared as I am.
"And where are we going to be camping, exactly?"
Connor wiggles his eyebrows. "Not far."
I step out and close the door, feeling the cold cement of the step on my bare feet.
"We can't go to the forest." My voice is quiet. God only knows what my mother will do if she finds out what Connor is insinuating.
"Of course we're not!" he says with faux enthusiasm.
"Robin," I glance over at him and nod my head toward Connor. "Please tell him."
Robin only shrugs; Connor's doormat forever.
"Come on, don't be such a wuss! You're eighteen now. It's time to play with the big boys."
I realise then that there will be no talking him out of it and step back inside to gather a few things. My mother appears in the hall just as I'm treading down the stairs with my backpack.
"And where are you off to?"
I hesitate. "Out."
She crosses her arms. "I can see that. Where to?"
"Hi, Mrs Carlton," Connor chirps from the doorway. My mother immediately softens.
"Oh, are you boys taking my son out for his birthday?"
My mother has always liked my friends, Connor in particular. He acts as the perfect gentleman in front of her, and she is utterly blind to it. He still gets excellent grades, and his parents are the image of manners. Connor, however, is not what he seems; he is crude, foul-mouthed, bossy. He just knows how to hide it well.
"We thought we'd take him to the lake on the north side," he says, pointing away from the house. "Watch the stars, toast some marshmallows... Like when we were kids. And then we'll go to my house."
"Will you be drinking?"
"Not at the lake."
My mother narrows her eyes and looks at each of us. "You're not going to the forest, are you?"
"No, definitely not," Robin says, not quite as convincingly as I would like.
Her expression doesn't change, but she steps aside to let me out. "Take care, boys."
As we pile into Connors car, I breathe a heavy sigh. "She'll kill me if she finds out... Maybe we should just go to the lake."
Connor grins again as he turns on the engine. "We are going to the lake."
"What?" Robin and I voice in unison.
"The one from the story."
I hold back the urge to vomit all over Connor's freshly cleaned car as it starts to move, and I know I'll regret agreeing to do this.
After a short discussion - mostly me begging Connor to go to the lake - we start driving on the east side until we come across a gap in the crude fencing, a path leading into the forest. I don't want to ignore all the signs, warning of danger. Connor is sure it will take us to the lake, but after only a few minutes of driving through the thick trees, the path stops suddenly.
We step out of the car and look around the forest.
"Well, there's no lake," Robin offers with apparent relief. "We should go back."
Connor shakes his head, now staring at his phone screen. "Look," he orders, holding it out for us to see. "There's the lake. It's right in the middle. We just need to walk a bit."
"It'll be getting dark soon." I try to control the trembling of my throat as a cold sweat coats my skin. It's still warm, the sun shining brightly above us, but there's a distinct chill in the air.
"All the more reason to start walking now!" Connor begins hauling our bags out of the car, and we share them out between us.
As we walk through the trees, I can't shake the feeling of someone following us. Even in daylight, the forest is spooky. Everything is so still as if not even animals inhabit it. No birds fly through the leaves above us, no rodents scuttle in the branches. It's as if nothing lives here.
We've been walking for half an hour when we see the first reflection of the water.
The lake is beautiful as it appears in front of us, spanning nearly half a mile, a low mist settling over it. It's like a photograph or a scene from a film. The three of us stand, our bags falling from our shoulders as we gawk at it in awe.
Robin breaks the silence. "I need to get a shot of this." He digs into his bag and retrieves his camera, and we watch him as he points it a few times.
It doesn't take long for us to settle under a large oak tree, arranging our sleeping bags and laying down branches to light. And by the time the sun is just beginning to set, the fire is roaring, the beer is flowing, and the smoke from Connor's hand-rolled cigarettes is billowing into the lilac sky.
"Should we tell ghost stories?" Connor suggests, giggling through a cloud of his exhale before passing it to me.
"No, we definitely shouldn't." I try to laugh along with them as I take a drag, the smoke not making enough of an effect on me.
"But what if we see it?" Robin asks slowly.
"See what?"
"You know... the ghost of the forest."
Connor rolls his eyes. "There is no ghost." He swigs from his bottle of beer. "And, like, even if there is... There's no house."
"What do you mean?" I ask swallowing.
"The story says you see a house. There's no house." Connor points across the lake. "See? Nothing. No house, no ghost."
Our eyes follow Connor's hand, squinting through the mist.
"Can we stop talking about it now?" My voice is shaking, but my friends are too enhanced to notice.
We stop talking about it thankfully and fall into the conversations that are standard for us, watching the sun finally send us into darkness and the fire slowly dwindle until one by one we fall asleep.
The lake surrounds my naked body, ripples dancing around my waist. I look down, the water turning red around me. I feel the most powerful surge of hopelessness imaginable, and I fight the urge to scream as I lift my hands, sending waves of crimson further. Blood flows from deep and open wounds on my wrist as I clutch a long hunting knife in my right hand. Someone grabs me, a man, his pale gown now drenched in bloodied water as he grasps at my shoulders in panic. I can't hear what he's saying or anything at all, only see the hysterical tears falling from his eyes. I lift my wounded arm and caress his face with my fingers, feeling dizzy from his beauty. I want him to stop crying. His tears hurt me. My blood drips down his white hair and onto his clothing. And then I hear a scream.
My eyes flutter open suddenly, and I find myself staring up at the night sky. Only the moonlight illuminates the makeshift camp, and my eyes struggle to focus on the branches overhead.
Once my eyes adjust to the darkness around me, I make out the sleeping bodies a few inches away, and the moon bouncing off the water. The bright lustre of the reflection astonishes me as it irradiates the trees around the lake. I narrow my eyes, hoping my vision is blurred.
And then among the stillness of the arresting scene, the reflection moves.
The blood thumps in my ears as I frantically whisper to my friends to wake up, but they dream on while my heart jumps furiously behind my bones.
Run.
I need to run as fast as I can. Get out of the forest.
Get out.
But I'm completely frozen. I watch the light grow bigger and sway from side to side before it abruptly stops.
A pull overwhelms me. I try to stop myself, but instead, I lift my body from the sleeping bag and slowly place one foot in front of the other. Twigs and dry leaves crunch under my trainers as I creep closer to the lake, to the bright light beckoning me toward it.
I stare up at a beautiful white face, the ice-cold eyes boring into me, sending a stabbing pain through my core.
The man from my dream. The ghost.
The air leaves my lungs all at once as he lifts his hand to my face. The light around him disappears, the darkness carrying a sense of constant terror and sorrow with it. I feel his fingers on my cheek and his lips part.
"Kit... my Kit..."
It's as if my heart ruptures; hearing my name on his lips brings tears to my eyes, and I want to hold him. I want to pull him towards me and stare further into his eyes.
"Who are you?" My voice is barely a whisper.
The ghost's eyes fill as he shakes his head slowly.
"Lian... It's Lian... Don't you recognise me?"
The voices of my friends assault my ears, sudden and loud. I turn away from the ghost and watch them jog toward me.
"Kit, what the hell are you doing?"
When I look back toward the lake, the ghost is gone, and the wood is in obscurity again. I can still feel the touch of his cold fingers on my cheek and run my own over it.
"Didn't you... Didn't you see him?" I utter, shivering, suddenly feeling so cold I can barely breathe.
Connor squints at me. "See who?"
My mouth drops as if just realising what I've seen. "There was someone... a man... here."
"There's no one here," Robin says, rolling his eyes at me.
I feel my legs give out from under me and my knees sink into the grass. "He said my name."
Connor smirks at me. "Dude, how much did you smoke?"
I look around, sure that the ghost is still here, searching for his light. I can feel him near. I can feel his all-consuming melancholy.
"The story... It's true. There's a ghost." My lips are so cold I can barely feel them, barely make the words come out.
Robin kneels next to me. "You were probably just dreaming..." He takes my arm and tries to lift me, but I can't even attempt to rise.
"No. I saw it."
Connor crosses his arms, and I watch him shiver. "You're just trying to scare us. Come on, let's just go back to sleep. It's bloody freezing."
I don't sleep. I've never felt so cold as I do this night.
// When I first saw you in Ravenstown, you looked dazzling. Your wife was a beauty next to you, a healthy girl of sixteen or so. They told me you were the village doctor. But I knew what you really were. You were a devil, sent to take my heart from me.
I took over the minister's cottage in the centre of the forest. I found this unusual as it was so far from the Kirk, but all the other houses in Ravenstown were full or unsuitable for living in. They sent you to me with your horse and cart to deliver my possessions from the village hall, such as they were. You seemed so shy at first, almost frightened of me. I couldn't stop looking at your eyes... they were sad and full and the most beautiful shade of hazel.
"I hope everything is alright for you," you said to me, lifting the chest with care. "I can bring some firewood in for you if you like."
"No, that's fine." I could feel my fingers absentmindedly counting Hail Marys on the rosary in my pocket. I watched you drag the chest across the rough wooden floor towards the bed. "You can leave it there, I can manage the rest."
The truth was, I wanted to get you out of the cottage. There was something about you that made me feel uneasy, afraid. And then I saw a phial around your neck. You must have seen my eyes shift because you immediately tucked it back under the ruffles of your cotton shirt.
"If you need anything," you began. "I live in the first cottage just at the south end of the wood." You coughed, a blush crossing your cheeks. "Claudia will most likely insist you join us for dinner soon."
I nodded, noting your nervousness. You seemed so much older than you were, but you were still a boy at just seventeen. And so was I, only a few years older.
You moved to leave with your hands clasped behind your back, but you hesitated as you reached the door.
"Is something the matter?" I uttered.
"This may be inappropriate to say." You paused briefly as if you were about to change your mind. "You are so much younger than the other priests we've had here."
"Oh." I laughed. "Yes, I guess you could say that."
I glanced above the fire on the back wall where four paintings hung in a half-circle, each of a priest before me, all much older than I. I'd been lead to believe your wife had painted their likeness, but at that moment, I couldn't dare ask. I wasn't as forward as you.
"May I ask... What is your age?" You looked at me with narrowed eyes and an equivocal smile on your lips.
My polite mask didn't waver. "Twenty-one. I was only ordained last October."
You nodded furtively, your hands never parting, your smile never wavering. "It was delightful meeting you, Father Lucian. Remember to light a fire every morning to alert the villagers that you're alright."
"I'll do that. Thank you, doctor."
As you finally opened the door, you turned to me. "My name is Christopher." //
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