Patreon Exclusive Sneak Peak: Letters To Shadows - Part III

Survivor: Dear Reshma,

Do you remember when we used to walk down by The Francis Dee Memorial Nature Preserve? It was always so enchanting this time of year. The wildflowers grow along the path’s edge, bursting with colour and buzzing with life. The swans with their signets well on their way to becoming independent. The last of the season’s bees are still gathering pollen for the hive and the swallows wheeling through the air, skimming the water of the pool before disappearing out of view. The whole place is alive and humming with life. A truly beautiful place, in memory of a beautiful person.

The weird thing is, right now, it’s just the same...it’s a little quieter, fewer birds, I think, but all in all it’s almost entirely the same, the swans, the bees, the vibrant flowers. But the one thing that’s off, really off… there are no people. They’re all missing, just like you, Reshma. Perhaps they are like me now? Or more.

So here I am, alone, on our bench, writing this letter to you with hope filling my heart. Hope that you’ll come back to me someday soon...hope that you’ll remember this place, because I’ll be here waiting for you. How couldn’t I be?

I’d like to tell you a story, Reshma, something that you’ve missed whilst you’ve been gone. I don’t know if I’ll be able to tell you when we meet again, so you can read this instead, in case my words fail me. You need to know though, you need to know why I’m different.

Not long ago, I was running through the woods behind our house, calling your name until my voice was hoarse. The garden gate was open…so was the back door. I thought that’s where you went. Was it? You can tell me, even if you think I can’t hear you, you can tell me. 

It had started to get dark before my throat was so dry I could barely form a whisper, let alone a shout. It was only then, only when I stopped, that I took count of where I was. Except, I didn’t know. I’d been in these woods a hundred times and yet I had no idea where I was. It was as though a trance had come over me since I left in search of you. Did you hear me Reshma? Did you hear my shouts? I hope you did, but in a way, if you didn’t perhaps it spared you some pain. I wept then, my legs crumpled as I sank to the ground and my tears soaked readily into the dry earth of the summer forest. It was then that something changed, shifted, and altered my life forever. A single translucent white shoot began to sprout out of the ground next to me and it was as though the forest was responding to my tears, as though they were bringing life to the area around me. Oh how naive I was then. I choked back a smile and the thought of something growing from my tears, like a fairytale. We had a fairytale didn’t we, Reshma? But like all fairytales, there’s a dark and malevolent evil at play. The one in this story came to me then. Tapped my shoulder, everso lightly and waited. My heart skipped a beat and fluttered, ‘Reshma!’ I cried and turned with glee. But instead, what awaited me was as abhorrent and foetid as a thousand putrefying bodies. An amorphous form loomed over me, a viscous brown liquid pulsating through its tendrilled mass. A hundred tentacled hands writhed and squirmed toward me from every direction and in an instant I was blinded. Blinded then drowsy then gone.

I awoke strung from a tree by my hands and feet. I felt like I’d just awoken from an operation. Do you remember Reshma? When I had to have that cyst removed and I woke up so quickly from the anaesthetic that the surgeons had to keep giving me more. Even after the operation I felt ready to go almost immediately. That’s how I felt. Consciousness returned to me in a blaze of confusion. I was sick then you know. I don’t know what was worse. Throwing up all over myself or the tightness under my nails as my body convulsed and pulled the tendrils tight against the tree I was suspended from.

Then, in a flood of emotion, you came back to me Reshma. Your enchanting smile and hopeful eyes. It solidified my resolve and I pulled and pulled and pulled. The floor rocketed toward me, cut my face, broke my nose. But I was free. So I ran. My fatigued limbs barely carried me through the gloomy forest, but as dawn broke and light filtered through the canopy the way grew clearer and I broke out into an abandoned street. I heard nothing of the creature. Nothing of anything. I only wanted to hear one thing, just your voice. That’s all. 

I limped my way back home in the vain hope that you’d be there. You weren’t of course and the long walk gave me time to really come to terms with what had happened. Although, I’m not sure you can really class this as coming to terms with it. I’d gone from our happy life in each other’s arms to alone, without you and in the company of some impossible monstrosity. Everything makes me jump now, everything makes me afraid. A bird fluttering from a rooftop. A distant sound. It’s all too much. In my head, it’s all that thing. And every time I blink it’s squirming tendrils come feeling for me and I feel my fingers ache with the memory of being strung from that tree.

Our home is ruined, Reshma. I don’t know if you’ve been there…if you haven’t, don’t. It’s a crumbled mess of brick and ruin. I couldn’t look at it. Couldn’t face it. I staggered then from our once home, limbs cramping and muscles tightening with every step. If there’s anywhere you’d be, anywhere we’d meet, It was the Francis Dee Memorial Preserve…our favourite place. Our favourite bench. When I first arrived the wind was howling and rain tore at my bruised and bleeding body. By now my limbs convulsed and twitched with pain. In agony, I stumbled the last few steps to our favourite spot. The flashes of that creature in my mind becoming more frequent, more vivid. Even my vision pulsed, almost as though my eyes were cramping, changing.

That’s the thing now Reshma. I’m changing.

Sorry, I should finish. You’d always tell me off for jumping to the end of the story, for not giving you all the details.

I dragged myself onto our bench, feeling hopeful that you’d be on your way, just around the corner. The few birds that remained sang their beautiful chorus, though their was no response. Their joyful tune barely hung in the air as the wind swept them away. And one by one, the birds flitted away, still singing their hopeful song. This is my hopeful song, except…except I can’t fly away. I can’t move away, I can’t move at all. Not now.

When I first felt it was…how do I describe it? I’m sorry for this, like pulling a long splinter out from under your skin…or a hair from the food in your mouth. Sickening, but necessary. I think that’s the thing…it feels necessary. As though I’ve been meaning to do this ever since I lost you. To settle in, to become part of the landscape so that I’m always here for you. And so here I am. The tendrils from my broken nose now entwined with the wood of the bench. The cuts across my knees and shins sprouting feelers that writhed with purpose and sank into the ground hours ago, securing me, like the powerful roots of a tree. At some point in writing this I lost feeling to my toes, but with that loss came the dissipation of pain. No longer did they ache and curl against my will. My arms stopped bleeding and instead a thick brown fluid covered the wounds. I see it now, solidifying, coagulating. Growing. 

My nose is no longer broken, my eyes no longer throb. All the pain is going and with that, a preternatural calm has washed over me. I feel at ease with this. My vision is waning but it no longer matters. I have become one with the wood I sit on and the earth below me. A stiffness is creeping up my body, easing toward my arms. Perhaps my muscles and tendons are turning to bone, perhaps something else more akin to bark. A deep cracking like the boughs of an ancient oak settling after a storm. I no longer feel the cold, my skin a tough hide meant to weather the storm. A comfortable solidity securing my future as I wait patiently for your return, my Reshma. You can speak to me here…I will still hear you. I’ll always hear you.