Thanks everyone for the feedback for Part I of the story - I really appreciate all of the positivity! Here is Part II, which you can again access through the LINK IN MY BIO. I hope you enjoy!!
The Voice
Part II
When I awoke, the dreams, or nightmares, were gone. Whatever my subconscious had been deliberating over during my sleep had since receded back to the nether realms of my psyche. I had no recollection of them, only the lingering feeling of unease from the previous day.
It is a conviction of mine that there is nothing in this world that cannot be explained with rational thinking. Lesser minds have oft believed to have had metaphysical encounters: spirits, deities, creatures unknown, and other such unexplainables. But these are notions suffered by the minds of the ill and the ignorant. They have not experienced life to the extent that one, such as myself has, who understands that such paranormal entities – if one may use that term – do not exist in this world, and that all occurrences can be explained using science and intellect.
Thus, for the entirety of the next day I sought to uncover the source of this ‘voice’. I began in the cabin, scouring the perimeter of the structure for any breaches that outside air may enter through, which may result in the creation of a tunnel of sound. The cabin, I found, looked to be largely intact.
My next survey was outside, but that too proved to be fruitless. Upon observation, I saw that the quantity of the flora and the fauna of the forest outside would be insurmountable to the senses of one human. I recognized that it would take a lifetime of study to distinguish the sources of all possible sound, which did not account for the ‘unnatural voice’ that I witnessed.
My conclusion was that I was to remain indoors for the time being.
That evening, I sat in front of the fire, watching the boiling of the water and the rice that cooked within it. I felt insulated there; the warmth of the fire caused small beads of sweat to form on my brow and on my hands. But, I felt safe. I could not hear the goings-on of the outside world. The crackling of the wood and intermittent popping of logs in the fire created a safety net of white noise that I let myself contentedly fall into.
Alas, the peace of mind was not to remain. For one cannot remain stationary, unmoving, only staring into the heart of a fire for very long. Eventually, I had to resume activity. As I sat and ate the rice I had cooked, the fire slowly burned down, pulling the darkness down over me. That is when the voice returned.
This time, the voice spoke a different name.
“W-Wiiii… William… W-William F-Fracklin…”
The name took me for a turn. Who was this William Fracklin? Something about it conjured fleeting images, evoking something from my past, but, at the present, I could not place it.
“Who is William Fracklin?” I called back. But the voice did not respond.
I thought long and hard about this Fracklin fellow. There was something familiar about the name, something on the edge of my recollection that informed me he was someone I knew. The answer came to me as I slept.
Another night of distant remembrances. I dreamt of myself as a youth, climbing through the snow-capped passes of the Alps. I was a cocksure young man filled with bravado and a tenacity for achievement. I had set out on the expedition with a few other men I had met at school. One of them… one of them was named William Fracklin.
I forced myself to wake. Drenched in sweat, a pallid tremor coursing through my body, at once, I called out, “William Fracklin! I-I remember him… he was with me atop the Schwarzhorn!”
I was not surprised when the voice did not speak back to me. The day was only new: rays of fresh sunlight crept in through the cabin windows, I smelled the light scent of dew outside. I knew I would have to wait until later.
As I counted down the passing hours of the day my mind raced with questions. Who was this voice that spoke to me? What did it want with William Fracklin? What did it want with me?
The unease felt during my first moments alone in the wilderness seeped their way back, settling deep within me.
This time, they remained.
Like a friend you have not seen in many years, the cabin that I began to know as home, whose detailed minutiae and small idiosyncrasies had become a comfort to see, now became something frightful and unfamiliar. Shadows leapt out of crevices that once held light. Once gentle creaks now were sounds of horror. No longer was my stay peaceful.
Every evening, the voice would return.
Without prologue, items from my past were recited to me: names, locations, incidentals. Some I recognized immediately; others, like William Franklin, took time to identify and locate along the timeline of my life.
Eventually, I stopped asking for explanation. Like the final judgment of a jury, the voice would cast down upon me. Its weight, a stone anvil, dropping from a far-off height. Unavoidable and sure to crush the insides out of me.
Of course, I thought about withdrawing. I was given instruction how to do so. A signal fire to inform the men in charge of the contest so that I may leave this godforsaken cabin and these godforsaken woods and return to society. It was not the prize that kept me there. Nor was it the judgment of my peers should I fail this challenge. No, I was not troubled by either. What kept me there was the void of explanation, the belief within myself that this could all be explained – all of this nonsense! - and it was only a matter of time before I uncovered the answer.
“Tabitha McDoive… the second of August, six years prior… Harland Greene… Tangiers…”
The items began compiling themselves into a puzzle within my mind. I attempted to write it all down with the charcoal remnants from the fire, but each time I awoke I saw that the ashen scribbles had become unintelligible markings. I cursed to myself in a grief-stricken voice.
It wasn’t long until I lost count of the days. I began hoping that the month was close to ending, knowing, no, hoping, that the men would arrive and announce that my time was at an end. But they never came. Days came and went. The certainty that more than a month had passed without any sign of the men in charge became an ever-increasing dark spot in my mind. And, all the while, the voice continued.
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