Experimental Writing

Gray Man // Bear Man: The First Tale

//

The gray man came to the village every year, on the same night, and always at dusk. His cloak would sweep over the ground as he walked through the streets, passed all the farms and houses closed up tight, and toward the well that sat in the middle of the town square.

The villagers didn't know where he came from, and they didn't know what he would do if he saw them, but they did know what he did.

Each year, he'd stand over the well, a hand held over it, and he would speak. And the next day, the villagers would notice that the water was sweeter, clearer, than it was the night before. It was, perhaps, the only reason they allowed the man into the village.

They did not know his appearance, and called him gray man simply because of the cloak he wore, but some peeked out their windows when he performed his spell on the water and they swore his hands were ashy and pale as dust. The skin thin and veins the only color they could see.

Some listened out their windows, as well, and they swore neither the voice nor the words they heard were not human. They would describe it as a crackling ripple. A strained howl, like a lone, starving wolf in the wilderness.

And they worried that he was such a predator, that one day he would not come to cast his spell on their water, but instead, rain his fury onto their homes, drive them out and devour them.

They feared, yet they watched and waited, as another year rolled around, and he walked through, gray cloak dragging on the pebble path, toward the well with eyes strangled in shadow, with his hand outreached, and his voice a low murmur.

And when he left, they breathed again.

//

They teach their children from birth that there's a bear in the woods around the village. They say he lives in a small house with trophies from his kills mounted on the walls. They say there are wooden spikes outside of the house, to act as warnings of the beast that lurks within.

None of it is true, however.

The truth is this: after the man in the gray cloak finishes his spell on the well, he will wander into the woods. No matter the path he takes, he will always happen upon the bear's cabin. Yet, a bear does not need a cabin. A man does. And the man who lives within this cabin has the height and breadth of the largest of bears. His skin is covered with a thick, coarse hair that staves off the winter wind.

And every year on that particular night, the bear of a man meets the gray man outside of the cabin's door. The moon above them is always full, and when they meet, their hands will grasp the other's before they walk into the forest.

And no matter what path they take, they will always climb a certain hill, sit under a certain tree, and, with their hands entwined, look up at that moon which does not mutter about them. And they will smile at each other - the bear man first, in a wide, warm grin. The gray man will return it, though smaller, shyer.

And they will sit under the tree, this certain tree that stays orange throughout the year, whose leaves do not fall in autumn, and they will watch as the stars dance and fall in the sky. And they will watch as the moon glows yellow.