Village Verschwinden

Every day, no matter the hour, no matter the minute or second, smoke could be seen rising from the woods. It would engulf the underbrush, slowly creeping out beyond the many trees’ long coiling branches; and then, after taking forms like those of humans, it would dance about and sigh as if it itself had come alive. Every day this would happen.1

In a nearby village, the shutters were always drawn, candles would not glow, and blank stares would continuously peer out from behind the peepholes of their doors. You could feel the tension. You could nearly taste it on the buds of your tongue. For within this village, no matter the hour, no matter the minute or second, fear was always present.2

There was an old legend of an animal, a beast, a monstrosity that lived a few miles into the forest. The people would gather around their fires, their lampposts even, and speak in whispers, exchanging tidbits of glimpses, desperately trying to trade their tasks. But these tasks were not of an easily passed content.3

The villagers carried masks—the women toting them in purses while the men slipped them halfway into their pockets. They never knew when they were to be selected, so they had to be ready.4

Because it could happen at any time, when walking from office to home, from home to restaurant, one could always suspect that they’d see a selected one. The man or woman would be silently crouching in the distance, careful to remain unseen for as long as he or she possibly could. Their mask would be on, its peaked nose singling that they were to fulfill their task, and they would continue slinking.5

Step. Step. Breathe. It was nearly possible to see the sweat forming from three blocks away. Their lungs would pump laboriously and their eyes would become bloodshot. Their lips would tremble. Then, as soon as they stepped out of the village’s boundary—as soon as they passed the ox pens—they would vanish.6

<(X)>7

Caitlyn sits on her bed, her eyes shut tight and ripples forming on her eyelids. Slipping by her thin, colorless lips, murmurs are heard. The sunbeams filter through the drawn shades of her window. Dust is seen in the light, small fragments of never-ending and miniscule factors. A mask lies on the rough blanket of her mattress.8

The tears falling from her cheekbone mix with the dust, forcing it to the uneven surface of her wood-plastered floor. There they pool, seep into the cracks, making their way into the plaster of the earth.9

Her hair hangs loosely around her face. Its auburn strands hiding her brown eyebrows and silver irises. “I will not die. I refuse to!” she shouts, her voice breaking the stillness.10

She stays in that manner for minutes that cannot be counted. Never moving, the knuckles of her fingers are pressed into white recesses. And gradually, without a spoken word, the sunlight turns orange, then red, then nonexistent. Lifting her head for the first time in hours, the bones of her neck crackle. ‘Stand up,’ she tells herself, willing her legs to comply.11

Taking a slow, shuddering breath, she grasps the grey sweat jacket off of the hook near her door and fingers the doorknob. Its bronze melts into the groove of her palm. ‘Open it. Open it, Caitlyn.’ As the door slowly swings, permeating darkness eats away at the rest of her apartment. She slides the mask onto her face.12

Outside, the cool breeze chills the sweat on her face and body. The thumping in her chest quickens, violently pulsating against her sternum as if trying to free itself and land upon the cobblestone path at her feet. Quickly, she brings her hands to her chest, locking it in.13

There is no one else on the village road beside herself. She swallows hard and keeps to the shadows cast by the moonlight, her eyes opened wide. Thoughts race through her mind, trying to keep up with her heart. ‘What’s going to happen? Why me, what have I done?’ The wind blows fiercer; the lampposts darken; she can no longer see as she is lost in an abysmal darkness.14

Step… Step… Breathe…15

She has vanished.16

<(X)>17

Leaves rain down. Soft, silky leaves of unimaginable colors and dimensions, of incomparable shapes. Trees hundreds of yards tall stretch outwards to the sky, while clouds of grays, purples, and pinks decorate the ethereal atmosphere. Light, jarring light removes every shadow. Caitlyn opens her eyes and sits up under her blanket of foot-long maple leaves. The heat is stifling.18

Her pants are soaked, and as she looks around she sees the reason why. Beneath every branch and leaf, white dust pokes up where it can ivory and crystalline. “Where am I?” she breathes, her terror bubbling from her center to the very tips of her fingertips. But suddenly, she is strangely calmed as if some foreign entity had surrounded her. Had brushed the fear away from her being.19

“This place is beautiful,” she says as she looks about again, actually seeing the landscape. In addition to the many leaves and snow, rocks ranging in size from pebbles to boulders sit in every direction. 20

Immediately, her head stops. ‘There’s something behind that tree.’21

A small creature slowly emerges, moving away from its hiding spot. Its head is fuzzy with curls, and its clothes are extravagant, definitely not of her century. It is hardly three feet tall, and its arms and legs are long and skinny like swamp reeds. However, she can’t tell whether the creature is male or female for its features are a blend of both. “EEloo, Katty,” it says, its voice popping in pitch. “’You prodely wunderin’ who me am.”22

Caitlyn stands in shock for a few moments. “Uhh... Yes, actually... But more so what you are.”23

“Aye, aye, purrfectly legit, purrfectly legit. Me, dearly, am a trobbeego, a wittle manny, a heebeejeebee, as it goes. I lib here in the trees and guide newers,” the creature said, shifting its weight from foot to foot. “And you, dearly, is a newer.”24

“I am?” she asks, puzzled.25

“Of course, of course. Wuut? Donch'a think me know a newer when me see one?”26

“No, I’m sorry, I’m sure you know a newer when you see one. I’m just… amazingly confused right now.”27

“Aye, aye, purrfectly legit, purrfectly legit. That’s wuut happens wid most of yous.” The small trobbeego starts to climb a rock nearly three times its size to the left, its arms stretching beyond their normal length—whatever that may be.28

“Forgive me if I sound rude, friend, but are you a he or a she?”29

The trobbeego nearly falls off the rock. “He or she? He or she?!” It reaches up with its small hand and, grasping the rock’s edge, pulls itself up and quickly spins around. “There be no differences in me race! Think us all as transvesties, or whatever yous call dem in ya village. We all da same, dearly!”30

“I’m sorry, it’s just that I’ve never met such a crea--... trobbeego before,” Caitlyn stammers, her face blushing at full capacity.31

The wittle manny sits down on the rock’s rough ledge and sighs. “Aye, aye, purrfectly legit, purrfectly legit.” Brushing off some imaginary dust from its blue breeches, it looks back up at Caitlyn. “Whelp, we bedder be goin’... Yous gotta see ‘im soon, ya know.”32

“See him?" she blinks. "Who?”33

“Why the only bestest persona in all dese here woods!” Jumping down from the rock, the trobbeego grasps Caitlyn’s pointer finger and immediately begins leading her onward. “We’s go see Cermanza!”34

“Cermanza?” she yelps, being yanked down a foot or two, but is left unanswered as the trobbeego skips along under the branches’ outreaches.35

<(X)>36

Time passes slowly. Or, is time even passing? The hour, the minute or second seems to have no hold on the forest. Things move, so there is a passing of sorts. But if Caitlyn were to find a clock, would there be the comforting tick, tick that she longs for? The trobbeego walks next to her, in front of her, but it seems to not even think about the time.37

In addition to this, the place itself is unusual. Everywhere she looks there are pieces of every season. All save spring. There are fall leaves blanketing the winter snow, and the insufferable summer heat that sends droplets of sweat and salt racing down her cheeks. Yet, still, the trobbeego walks.38

“Excuse me, friend. But what exactly is this place?” Caitlyn says, looking down at the spindly being.39

It stops for a moment, but then continues. “Here be the forest. It neither old nor young, neither seeded nor grown. Dis place, dis sanc’uary, was created by me lord, Cermanza. It be me ‘ome, as it will be yous.”40

“But what if I don’t want it to be my home? What if I were to leave?” she says, fear creeping into her being again.41

“Yous cannot, dearly.”42

They continue on for a few miles, traveling beneath the wooded arches above, creating prints in the dust and slowly decomposing leaves. “How long must we walk?” Caitlyn sighs.43

“Oh, no much, no much. We be almost dere,” the creature replies quickly, nervousness creeping.44

Caitlyn doesn’t notice it. “Where does this Cermanza reside?”45

“Da golden trees near da center of da forest.” It reaches down and plucks a stick from the ground. “Away from gazers.”46

Caitlyn grasps her sweat jacket, taking it off and hanging it over her shoulder. With a slow turn downwards of her head, she gazes at her guide. "Friend, what is your name? I never asked you before."47

This time it stops completely, seemingly confused as to what to say. Then, “it is Bellasimorth, dearly. Bellasimorth.” The trobbeego once again begins to walk, its step lingering almost unnoticeably, and its annoyance of all the questions showing effortlessly.48

<(X)>49

Caitlyn, too, becomes nervous, her rising body heat adding to the already existing humidity. It has become brighter—unimaginably brighter. Her vision is impaired and she can no longer see Bellasimorth beside her; the creature has become lost in the blissful light. “Are you still with me, friend?” she calls out.50

A rolling echo curves about her ears. “No, Caitlyn. I am not.” The response chills her bloodstream.51

Her feet are wet. Unseen puddles of water, liquid, has enveloped her toes and heels. Her arms flail about, running her fingertips against the essences of nothings. She does not know the direction she walks in; she does not know the presence she stands in.52

“Hello, beloved Caitlyn,” a voice calls out, welcoming her. “How are you, darling child?”53

She swings around to the direction of the voice, following it in a circle. It is everywhere, coming from every direction. "I am lost!”54

The voice chuckles, resonating across the brightness. “Of course.” No words are spoken for a few moments. “Do you know who I am, Caitlyn?”55

She stops moving her arms, but keeps moving forward in the puddles. “Cermanza?”56

“Yes. Do you know why you are here?” the voice questions.57

“I do not, sir."58

“Do you capitalize my name when you say it? Do you capitalize ‘sir’?”59

“What do you mean?” she asks, even further confused, even further lost.60

“My name. Do you capitalize it, or is it some ordinary word constrained to every cult within your village?” the voice thunders.61

“I… I’m not sure, sir. I haven’t known you till now.”62

“But you’ve known of me.”63

The brightness begins to fade as Caitlyn’s eyes become adjusted, as the light leaves the clearing. There is nothing before her but trees, rocks, snow, and leaves. Everything is the same as it had been during her entire travel. But something is not the same. The rocks are different; their shapes and forms are carved, pointing. Pointing at her. Pointing at her being.64

A sigh runs with the winds. “You’ve known of me, Caitlyn.”65

Her breathing becomes quick; her eyes grow wide. The hairs of her body stand on end, ripple with the shivers running up and down her skin. Breathe. No step. Breathe. She cannot breathe. She cannot take in oxygen.66

“You’ve known of me, Caitlyn, but you’ve never acknowledged me.” Silence. The rocks begin to move. “And now, child, sadly comes judgment.”67

In an instant of a nonexistent second, the rocks waver, elevated in the mid of the dust-free air. Slowly, unemotionally, they start to turn down and their tips point far below. The light returns, except this time it seems to generate beneath the stones. It shines out in ghostly waves, touching everything in the pocked clearing, turning everything white again.68

"Sir?" A lone word spoken into the silence... The light vanishes instantly.69

A low rumble begins to build--like a growl, almost. It intensifies, filling Caitlyn's ears. It shouts in a garbled language, a clicking and popping language. Bellasimorth cowers near the trunk of a tree, holding its hands to its pointed ears.70

"It just... we coold use her, sir!" it shouts.71