Every now and then I think it's important to change the pace of things a bit. While this account is centred around film - a celebration, discussion and review of it - I thought I would let followers in on another side of myself. As many of you can probably tell I love writing (something some of you have said I should do less of in my posts). Instead, I am going to share with you some of my writing, a short story I wrote not long ago broken down into three parts. It's a bit of a psychological thriller, inspired by some of the stories by Edgar Allen Poe. For those of you who do take a few minutes to read it (which I am very utterly grateful for) I would love to hear any thoughts at all you might have. Here is:
The Voice
Part I
A careful look, followed by a fleeting “Good luck!” and, a moment later, I was utterly alone. The recognition of the weight of my isolation came faster than I anticipated. As I stood in that doorway, looking out at the two bodies slowly fade into the thicket of the forest, knowing the darkness that lay behind me, a feeling of helplessness – the like of which was formerly unfamiliar to me – washed over me like a torrent.
One month was all that was required of me. I had not appraised my inventories yet, and so I had no choice but to trust the assurances given that the cabin had rations enough to last me one whole month. Because it was a contest that I sought to complete: reside one month in this long-abandoned cabin, and I would receive a purse of money.
I recall the sound of myself scoffing as I listened to the man’s proposition. I do not believe he was perturbed by my audible admonishment, and it does come to mind that I detailed for him a list of my accomplishments, an illustration that I hoped showed I was more than capable of such a simple contest. Multiple voyages through the tributaries of the Amazon, summiting the sheer face of the Flagstone and other peaks in the Himalayas and the Alps, and, of course, backpacking through the dense rainforests of Eastern Asian, which I formerly wrote about and published as a popular novel.
Why then this feeling that now sits heavy in my insides? Why this black cloud that floats above my head? Is it doubt, is it fear? Such intangible concepts I have never come face-to-face with but only glimpsed. Yet here, as I turned away from the forest and set into my new home, I sensed that the feeling would not dissipate.
Quickly, I lit the lanterns hanging from the walls of the cabin in an effort to rid the blanketing darkness. In a moment, the monsters that lurked in the shadows evaporated. What lay before me was – as I believed it to be – a common log cabin. One cobwebbed room, filled with a litany of old relics: rusted kitchenware, sparse furniture – a small bed and one chair, an old stone fireplace, and, upon a tilted shelf, jars of provisions and sustenance. Altogether, it seemed rather trivial to me; I could see that I had more than I needed to live for one month.
On the fourth day, it began…
I was seated in front of the cabin on a bench I had crafted for myself. At the time, I was working on a set of wooden cutlery; I had already completed the spoon and was fleshing out the intricacies of the fork’s three prongs.
It was a pleasant evening. A gentle warm breeze was on the air. The soothing chirping of the crickets created an echoing symphony of the forest. It came to me then that I was actually quite enjoying my stay thus far. A vacation away from the hustle-bustle of the city, my wife and two children. What man can say he does not desire a leave from those odious responsibilities?
It was then, while whittling on the bench, that I first heard it! It took time for it to materialize to completion, slowly wending its way, forming itself out of the forest’s cacophony of sound.
A murmur first given weight, deepening. The voice of a man. Then, the transcendence into words.
“V-viiii… Viiii… Viccc…”
I knew it before it finished: the voice was speaking my name!
“Viiiictor… Viiiictor…”
“Who goes there?!” The sound of my own voice as I responded back startled me! My words rang out through the night.
In response, the forest fell silent. The wind stopped. The crickets stopped. The spirits of the forest waited patiently for my continuance.
I yelled again, “I said, who goes there?!”
But the voice had disappeared.
Staring out into the now-silent, black void of the forest, a chill came over me. It crawled over my skin, tactile goosebumps of fear forming.
I entered the cabin, shutting the door swiftly behind me.
Soon, I was deep within the midst of a disturbed sleep; memories long thought forgotten found their way back to me. Faces I had once known, events that once transpired…
To Be Continued...
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