HEIRLOOM

Chapter 9

The night drags on, and my mind swims with lingering memories of strange moments from our vacation and the haunting visions that still held me captive. Despite my eagerness to fall into a restful slumber, my mind remains ever-vigilant and stubbornly awake, trapped in an endless cycle of worry and anxious contemplation.

As I lie in bed, a faint sound interrupts the silence of the night - the clinking of dishes coming from the kitchen, echoing in a hallway.

"Kristeen must be washing the dirty dishes," I think, burying my weary head into a plump pillow.

As the night wears on, I try to find the solace of silence but there's no silence I crave.

Instead, the sound of chickens clucking restlessly in the yard grates on my nerves, breaking the stillness of the night. I find myself questioning why they're so agitated tonight, their behavior markedly different from the previous calmer nights. Adding to the unsettling ambiance, a creaking noise permeates my consciousness from somewhere within our home, the distinct sound of either a door or a window being moved. 

Frustrated and wide awake, I roll from side to side, attempting in vain to will myself back to sleep. Finally, I give up and slip out of bed, grabbing my dressing gown to shield me from the chill of the night air. As I stumble down the hall and into the kitchen, I am struck by an ominous sight — the room is completely dark and devoid of light.

“Kristeen must have just finished washing the dishes," I muse to myself, but something feels off, and I can't quite shake the feeling of unease. The clinking of the dishes was still audible moments ago, so how could she have finished and left the kitchen so quickly? My mind whirls with confusion and apprehension as I try to make sense of what was happening.

My eyes scan the shadows, searching for any sign of movement. I half-expect Kristeen to appear in a doorway or around a corner, but the house remains eerily silent. With a rising sense of urgency, I make my way to the front door and fumble with the lock, finally succeeding in opening it. I step out onto the porch, peering into the darkness beyond.

A gentle breeze carries the bittersweet scent of summer fading into autumn, mingled with other fragrances that the forest so generously bestows. The only sounds are fragments of a boisterous chorus of multilingual frogs, living in the peat bogs of the forest. Their joyful cacophony interrupts the otherwise serene night, bringing forth vigorous chords that resound through the tranquil air.

A night bird cries out piercingly in the distance, its voice echoing through the stillness. It lands on a sprawling branch of a massive, age-old spruce, beginning to sing a haunting and sorrowful melody that resonates with my heart. I stand still and listen, savoring the sweet freshness of the night air, heightened with the alluring and mysterious fragrance of the flowers that bloom under the cover of darkness.

The bird suddenly takes off, soaring up into the pitch-black canopy of the trees and vanishing from sight. But its melancholic song rings out into the night, its dreary trills lingering in the tranquility. It is as if it has left behind an ethereal and haunting essence, a fleeting reminder of the transitoriness of everything beautiful in this world.

I inhale deeply, allowing the crisp night air to fill my lungs, as my thoughts drift back to our vacation. The setting may be beautiful, but the recent strange incidents with the black candles and a shard from cemetery, that have threatened health of our friend, my mounting suspicions, and the phantom-like hallucinations lurking in the shadows have left me feeling anxious and fearful, with a growing sense of urgency to depart as soon as possible for everyone's safety.

Although Gabriela seems to be enjoying herself, my own peace of mind hinges on leaving this place behind. With my primary goal of capturing the perfect photograph fulfilled, and Gabriela having spent ample time with her friend, there appears to be no compelling reason to remain here any longer.