Irene, My dead best friend [Wattys 2015]

Chapter 2: The fear finally settles in

Chapter 2: The fear finally settles in

In all of the time I’ve lived alone in this house, I swear I’ve closed more doors than I’ve opened.

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My parents own this old tattered down house down by the lake, surrounded by the woods. You know, your very own cliché movie scene, except this is my life. It hadn’t always been tattered, of course, mom used to take good care of it, but then I think the weight of her never having a kid after me, entirely belittled any sort of self-esteem she ever had. My dad and I tried for several years, to convince her that having children wasn’t everything in the world, but I think not having a daughter ruptured something deep within her.

Now though, the house looks like a haunted mansion, with the old greyed out shades, squeaky doors, squeaking floor boards, it’s just a mirage of awful sounds. That’s me not even counting the disturbing howling sounds coming from the corridors, the attic doors suddenly opening and then shutting with a bang in the middle of the night. The first couple of nights, when it happened, back when I was about 7, I remember I wet my bed with fear. The banging doors usually followed an episode of screeching walls and a period of arctic chills in my room. I, for the life of me could not understand what it was, and the anxiety and terror or even thinking about stepping out of my bed to go to my parents’ room (what if it was under my bed?) was way too much.

There were nights, where I could swear there were floating “objects” that reflected onto the floor just outside my room, passing under the closed door. My imagination would play it way out of proportion (I’m still not sure if it was my imagination, after all) by making me feel as though the floating reflections were travelling my way and my only sanctuary was my blanket. Meek chances at best, I agree, but I was 7 and had you been in my position, I doubt you would have thought of anything productive or more secure either.

I grew up with these fearful nights, some worse than the others, but never did I talk to my parents about it nor did I try to find out what it was that was freaking me out.

I did, however, try to channel out my fear and loneliness into more productive aspects by venturing out into the woods that surrounded my house. They were quite dense abd the trees were old, tall and brooding. Brooding is the only word I can think of that can actually describe these trees. They loomed up above me in a semi-protective yet fear inducing manner. I spent many afternoons just walking around looking at the different birds that had built their nests up in the branches, absolutely fascinated by what is Mother Nature.  

Which brings us back to now, 17 year old me, standing in front of the mini lake in front of my house, throwing pebbles as far as I can and petting my stray cat, who I aptly named Rufus, deep in thought. Rufus was this random cat that usually came out of the woods every time I came to the lake. It’s like it just KNEW that someone was out there who’d be ready to stroke its fur and play with it. There were times when I caught it just staring at me, eyes transfixed, un-blinking and empty. I learnt to ignore it, thinking of it as some quirk it had (looking back, I’ve ignored so much more than I should have, perhaps that is what lead me to finally meeting Irene and not even realizing it).

“You know, it would be more beneficial for you to maybe look at your surroundings, hunt a bird or two instead of staring at me like a mad cat,” I talked to Rufus, throwing a pebble as far as I could.

I could swear it raised its semi-existent eye brow at me, “Yes, I’m the mad one for talking to you, aren’t I?” and then it occurred to me, “I’m doing it again”. Sighing, I got up and started walking towards the woods. Despite its looming, fearful silence, it also has this perfectly serene spot it is as well and I know just where it is. I walked deeper into the woods, with just the crunch of the fallen leaves making their sound in unison with the birds chirping up above. As I walked in further, the leaves under my feet had just about finished leaving a dusty path in front of me whilst the chirping from the birds died down gently, just as though someone had very slowly turned down the volume button…of my surroundings.

And just like that, I knew. I knew I had reached my perfect spot, (the spot I would eventually meet Irene.)