Dear Muse (Those Whom the Gods Wish to Destroy Book 1) (15 page)

When half-witted Hilda arrived, I managed to excuse myself and slip out. On the way home, I ran into my uncle, who had countless questions about the stability of my new home. It survived an earthquake, I told him. That was not enough. Did the floorboards creak? Any holes in the roof? Any rats in the wall? There was a dreadful spider web in the corner of my room, I replied, that Aiden was too cowardly to swipe away. The fool thought I was serious.

By the time we got to my house, I realized I was the fool. My uncle was simply bored and looking for an excuse to drink some wine with his lunch. As I prepared the food, I noticed a sort of hoarseness in his voice, and when I looked at his face, I saw creases under his eyes and gray hairs sprouting from his thinning scalp. While I was becoming a woman, and soon, a mother, he was in the twilight of old age. Seized by a sentimental swoon, I went on to explain last night’s events. He was kind enough to save the scolding until the very end.

I did not expect him to believe me. Just about everyone on the island has a story. None of them ever hear about the echoes coming from the cavern depths. However, my incident is not necessarily supernatural. New animal species are constantly discovered. When prompted, he could not come up with an explanation for what I saw. He believed me, and for now, that was enough.

And so my day ended. Aiden came home and went to sleep immediately after dinner, scarcely able to make it to the bed. For all his troubles, I am grateful that at least he can sleep soundly. In a moment, I shall try again.

My ink has run thin. Since the strangeness seems to have settled a bit, it may be a few days before we speak again. Wait for me, dear friend.

And here I am an hour later. The moment my head touched the pillow, there was a great disturbance outside. Not a loud screech like last time, but a chatter that grew to an incomprehensible collection of voices. It even woke Aiden from his deep slumber.

From the window, I saw a few torches near Vern’s house. We rushed outside for the good news. The chatter dimmed to scattered whispers, everyone seemingly catching a glimpse at Vern’s haggard countenance. Ghostly pale and speckled with stubble and dry blood, he fluttered his cracked lips. His whole body quaked, as though it were required to speak. He managed a single word. As the crowd asked him to repeat it, the doctor and the mayor rushed him indoors, where Judith and Thomas stood. Judith lingered in the doorway for a second before closing the door.

After the crowd established that no one present could decipher Vern’s utterance, there was a collective relief that he was safe. All would be clear in the morning was the general consensus before everyone dispersed to their homes.

On the way back, I embraced Aiden. He did not reciprocate, nor did he seem as relieved as the others. Once inside our house, he peered out the window and turned to me, moving in close to whisper in my ear. Vern had uttered the name Brenton, Caleb’s surname before their time on the island. Before elaborating anymore, he collapsed into bed and lapsed into a slumber, leaving me here to ponder the significance.

I did not know Aiden’s name, nor did he know mine. The odds of Vern and Caleb exchanging the secret were extraordinarily low, and him mentioning it in a crowd of fellow townsfolk made no sense. Aiden probably heard wrong. In any event, there is no use wasting ink on speculation.

Entry 26

Vern did not last the night, nor did he speak another word. The doctor pronounced the cause “acute exhaustion.” Despite the lack of confirmation, the funeral doubled as mourning for Caleb.

Judith did not take the ceremony well. The poor woman tore out clumps of hair and attempted to tear out her eyeballs. Of all people, my mother prevented her from blinding herself. All it took was a slap across the cheek and a peek under her eye patch. Next, they were hugging and sobbing on each other’s shoulders.

The mayor spoke about Vern’s courage and the importance of providing for one’s family, and Aiden said a few words about Caleb. Nothing I can recall, but the attempt was admirable enough. As they started to bury the body, Thomas and Hailey walked hand in hand up to the grave to drop some flowers. This caused me to shed tears.

Since class was canceled, I spent the day with my family. While Mother made tea, I listened to my uncle and Father discuss Vern’s fate. Nobody has mentioned the blood, Father remarked. The conversation grinded to a halt, so the fool went on to ask the question on everyone’s minds: “Did Vern kill Caleb?”

My uncle did not dismiss the claim outright, which worried me more than verification. It was as though I were not privy to something that even included my mother, who scolded my father for speaking inappropriately. My uncle merely commented on the look in Vern’s eyes, and the depths of those caverns, as well as the extensive damage to his fingers. The doctor blamed exhaustion, an easy diagnosis if he had fallen through the cracks and climbed his way back up. I suppose they could have been broken on Caleb’s skull as well, though I curbed the temptation to speak my observation aloud.

My father had mentioned the instability of the island, likely the start of some rant, when Aiden and his father knocked on the door. They had assembled a group of volunteers to search for Caleb one last time. I accepted, eliciting laughter from all, including Aiden. My uncle accepted, followed by Father, though with ostensible reluctance. As they left the house, Aiden mentioned something about the northern woods.

This left me and my mother to clean up. She went on about how handsome Aiden was and said that my child would put us both to shame in that department. The pregnancy has given me a few cases of morning sickness and an increased appetite, but the prospect of a child in my belly has yet to fully register, despite the considerable bump. Meanwhile, Mother was asking about potential names! Aiden had mentioned one, though it was at the tip of my tongue. I did remember recording it in an early entry. Did we decide on a female name?

On the way home, I decided to make a stop at Judith’s. She and a few women were chattering at table outside in the yard, while Thomas and Hailey sat on a tree stump. From a distance, I did not appreciate the ladies’ nonstop chatter and constant stares in my direction, so I walked up to the children. The moment I knelt down, Hailey immediately sprang up and wrapped her tiny arms around my neck.

They were talking about my story and concocting a plan to extinguish the sun so that it would always be night, so that they would never have to go to the school house again. Thomas did not seem to like me very much, Hailey openly admitted, though she utterly adored me. I told Thomas that I sincerely loved him and that it was okay if he disliked me. This caused the boy to instantly cry. We calmed him down before full on sobs, avoiding the notice of his mother and the hens.

I gave them a miniature lecture on the importance of night and day, as well as the futility of reaching the sun. If Thomas did not want to go to class, he should take it up with the mayor. For once, he laughed instead of cried. Even the children thought the mayor was a joke.

Hailey shifted the conversation to Vern. Was he in heaven? Was the sun in heaven? What about the fairies? Heaven is a not a place you can see, I told her. It is far, even farther than the sun. The fairies are right under our noses, but they make an extraordinary effort not to be seen. If Thomas’s father was really whisked back to us by fairies, they would have done so with care and subtlety. The fairies did not find Caleb, Hailey mentioned. Not yet, I replied. They were both left terrified of the woods, an exceptional fear to harbor.

I gave my condolences to Judith before leaving. She thanked me for speaking to Thomas, and as the other hens started to cluck, I excused myself. Back at home, I lay down for a bit, but then decided to write out this entry. Why spare the ink at this point? All I do is ramble. My hand is aching and my eyes are heavy. Perhaps a nap is in order.

I will return to the woods tonight.

I could not muster the courage to leave the house, tossing and turning in my bed all night, wide awake as Aiden snored like a bear. I cannot name the cause of my fear, but after the events in the past few hours, it must have been a premonition. As I write this, I cannot deny the suspicion that it is all a dream. If not, then from henceforth this town and its people will never be the same.

My agitated half-sleep was interrupted by a shriek, less disturbing but far more alarming than that other dreadful night. It was enough to get me to my window. I peered through the darkness, and in the distance, saw a figure sprinting outside every house, screaming for help. It was Judith. The first though to cross my mind: Where was Thomas?

Aiden ran right through the door with his rifle hung over his shoulder, grumbling and blinking, more of a sleepwalker than vigilant gunslinger. I followed at his side to prevent him from doing anything rash. A few people had already gathered around Judith. She pointed wildly toward her house, repeatedly screaming something about her husband. There was another shriek, and to my surprise, it was my mother. Her, my uncle, and Father were in front of Judith’s home. Vern stood in the doorway with Thomas by his side.

He was as equally disheveled as the previous night, too weary to stand without leaning against Thomas. The mayor soon appeared at the sight with the doctor, who carefully approached Vern, requesting he let Thomas go back to bed. The boy did not budge, clinging close to his father. Judith started to scream at him, and instead of clamping her mouth, more women joined in on the warning. The disturbance caused Vern to clutch the boy’s shoulder, pulling his face into the tattered, bloodstained clothing.

Gerald was the first to aim his gun at Vern. The women were silenced, and words were exchanged between both men. Vern was remarkably coherent compared to last night. He refused to let go of his son without an explanation. How many days have gone by? Why was he all bloody? Where was Caleb? The questions would be explained as soon as he let go of Thomas. Vern stepped back, still holding tight to the boy, then slammed the door shut.

The mayor shouted loud enough to gain our full obedience. He commanded everyone return to their homes and stay there until morning. Most complied immediately, the rest soon following. I had a perfect view of their house from my front window. Aiden sat in the kitchen for a whole minute before stumbling off to bed, rifle still in hand. I pulled up a chair and watched.

About an hour passed before a gunshot rang out. Minutes later, two men dragged out the limp body of another. They carried it toward the area that was becoming our cemetery. I do not think it is a wild assumption to tell you that Vern has died again.

I doubt this will make any sense in the morning. Unfortunately for us both, I am on my last drop of ink. Ten more days. Be patient, friend.

Entry 27

It happened again. And again, no body in the grave, no signs of entry or exit. Vern is now chained up in the schoolhouse. No class tomorrow.

Entry 28

It did not happen again.

Entry 29

Not only did I acquire a case of fresh ink bottles, but I managed to borrow a few wicks from Walter to continue my expedition. I have been quite busy since the last entry. Do I begin with my adventures or poor Vern’s fate? It would be awfully rude to keep you in the dark after nearly two weeks of silence.

How do I explain that which defies explanation? Vern is shackled in the town hall cellar. I had the good fortune of visiting him before he went completely mad. There were no words exchanged, for the poor man has been incapable of speech since his second death. I refer to him as the third Vern, though Aiden believes the same Vern has been simply resurrected twice, despite hard evidence of no tampering to his grave, besides the lack of body. As I put that into words, I realize my theory is no more valid than my husband’s.

According to the mayor, who permitted only he and the doctor go down the cellar, Vern has either lost his mind or contracted rabies. The latter would explain the former, as well as the heavy foaming from his mouth, but there are no signs of biting. All the diagnosis has accomplished is a mass panic.

Judith pleaded to return home, since her reason for being on the island was gone. My uncle easily dissuaded her before she could bring the request to the mayor. The whole incident was unfortunate, but the safest place for her and Thomas was this island. I believed him at the time, but in retrospect, know he was lying. I am not privy to Vern’s history. Even if it was as severe as my father’s transgression, I doubted his wife had anything to do with it. In my uncle’s defense, a war-torn country may be the only place worse than a haunted island.

I could not deny the supernatural presence. Every eye in town had seen Vern buried, and return unscathed the next day, with plenty of witnesses to his empty grave. To dig from six feet under was an impressive feat, one he showed no signs of achieving. For those with a keen memory, the second Vern looked identical to the first, as well as the third. Since a ghost is unshackable, it cannot be chalked up to mere apparition. Hilda calls it a fetch, and for the first time since her brain went soft, I am inclined to agree.

Yet it only raises more questions. Did three Verns climb out of the cavern? I think so. Where did two of these three Verns come from? I will not even attempt to theorize. When the third finally chokes on its own spittle, will there be a fourth? Rest in peace, old friend, but allow us to do the same.