Phew. And here we are, at the end. Part three of this tale of curious and haunting isolation. Not sure who has stuck around for the ride to this point - but for those who have, I appreciate and thank you. Now, here is the final chapter. Once again, follow the LINK IN BIO. Cheers!
Part III
Somewhere, a new voice, spoke to me. It came from somewhere in the back of my mind, telling me, that I had begun to unravel. It wasn’t constant or direct, more like a car taking a winding road down a treacherous mountain. Despite my provisions still remaining, I had stopped eating and only drank small amounts of water when my parched body demanded it. I wanted to see myself, see the reflection of my face; I thought that would be serviceable indication as to whether I had, in fact, lost my faculties.
What I received instead was only the voice. The godforsaken voice. But, it had changed. No longer the declaration of singular words and names. Now, its ghoulish mockery framed full sentences:
“You attempt to see without opening your eyes, Victor.”
I shuddered violently. The words slithered inside my ear, crawling through the caverns of my body, and out again.
“I am tired of your riddles! Tell me something proper that I may respond to!”
That is when I heard that most horrible noise… A rasping and choking echoing in the cabin – it was laughter! Unmistakably! The vengeful spirit was laughing at me!
“Foul beast! Show yourself! You hide in the shadows, out of sight, because you are craven!”
“What is a man who has walked so far in his life without ever observing the footsteps he has left behind?”
“Villain! I tire –”
My words were cut off as a violent gust of wind threw open the door! The air funneled in and around me, swirling me around. I gasped, as I fell back into my chair, suddenly lost for breath. The gale of the wind continued to batter the cabin’s interior. Jars shattered upon the floorboards, the lanterns and fire both extinguished; in a moment, the only light that remained were a few red embers at the bottom of the fireplace.
Then it passed.
The wind drifted out of the cabin, and with it, one final name was uttered.
“Polly Grey.”
Once again, the gears of my brain churned into action. As I strived to reignite the lanterns, I muttered the name Polly Grey to myself. Grey. Grey… I once knew an Ian Grey, he was on one of the Amazon expeditions that I led. I was not certain, but I recalled that Ian Grey succumbed to an illness he had contracted during the voyage. It was not foreign to me that men I voyaged with were at risk of death. It was a risk well-known in our line of work – the risk as equal to me as much as anyone else. But I digress! My mind wanders more and more every day and I forget my purpose! Ian Grey was the only Grey I have known. I have known no Polly… and yet, something about the name will not wash away. I have heard it before: Polly. Not from my mouth, but another’s. We plan on calling her Polly, after my mother. There --! As if struck by lightning it comes to me! It was Ian Grey who said those words! He spoke of his infant daughter – a girl named Polly – while we traveled together!
But what of it? I saw no relevance of a girl I had no interaction with. I could not help but call out to the voice, knowing that it was unlikely to respond.
“I do not understand! I know of this Polly Grey, but I do not know her! I beseech you! Tell me your purpose!”
“The answers are before you, Victor. You have only to see them.”
I had not anticipated a response and, hearing the voice was like hearing it for the first time. Cold and hollow. A voice that freezes your insides. That wretched voice, forever playing games with me! What was the significance of a girl whose father I had once known? A man now dead!
Suddenly, I choked. Though I sat, I felt light-headed, as if the world had fallen from its axis and spun me upside-down.
The words came out of me, quiet yet distinct, “She grew up without a father…” every word was a struggle, “… because… of me.”
My head suddenly swam with nausea as I finished. My heart beat thunderously in my chest. Pins and needles pricked along my extremities. My mouth tasted of bile.
But I could see the picture. Finally, it lay before me, illuminated.
“I-I remember. In the brush, the men drank… from brown waters. I… told them to. I was the only one with water and… they were thirsty… I pointed down. I told them to drink. Ian Grey drank… He was not the only man who perished…”
I bent forward and retched, but I took no notice. Because the laughter returned. That awful, ungodly laughter.
“Ah, he finally opens his eyes…” More rasping laughter.
“What of it?! I see now, I see the harm that fell from my actions! I wish to repent for what I have done! Will that suffice in ending this terror?!”
“You only see what you wish to see. Look deeper, Victor.”
I stood, enraged and trembling. The new knowledge within me sat as a heavy pit in my stomach that I tried to ignore. Cover it, bury it, create a disharmony of noise over it. Anything to rid myself of it.
My eyes turned upon the cabin itself. I scoured the building. I had to find the voice.
“I am ready to face you! Show yourself so that we may end this!”
I waited for the voice. My eyes at the ready to follow where the words originated from.
“You are the only one who can end this, Victor.”
The voice came from behind. I spun around, thrashing at objects, knocking over the chair and the table.
“Remember the names --”
Again, the voice came from behind! My arm swept along the fireplace mantle, shattering old pots to the ground.
“-- William Fracklin… your climbing partner on The Schwarzhorn… every step of the way… yet you provided him no credit…”
“Lies! I did no such thing!”
“Tabitha McDoive… who warned you of the beast tracking your party… she lost her arm when the tiger attacked…”
“No! We had armed men on patrol--!”
“Harland Greene… only a boy… he died when you ordered the canoes push on through the storm…”
“No, it was not like that...” My voice became horse from shouting, my head reeled!
Everywhere I turned, the voice came from elsewhere. Its low, ghastly whisper continuing its pronouncement of offences.
“Irene Joviah… whom you courted while wedded… the mother of your bastard son…”
“Lies! You villainous fiend!”
The cabin became a tapestry of destruction as I continued my hunt for the vocal perpetrator. Everywhere, shattered glass, pieces of ceramic, broken wood.
My body gave way. Blood seeped down from my hands. My breaths were ragged. An exhaustion took hold of me: physically as well as somewhere far within.
“Please!... no more… I beg you, I beg you!”
My hands gripped the frame of an ancient painting mounted on the wall, its subject now only a muddled blotch. I ripped at the picture until its nails gave way and threw it into the fire.
Behind the picture on the wall was something new. It looked metallic or glasslike, only the years had covered it with a hard and calcified grime. I tore off a piece of cloth from my sleeve, spitting on it and began to scrub. I tried to block out the voice, focusing on the task.
“Nathaniel King… the man who wrote your novel…you convinced him to do it without pay…”
A glint of something bright.
Every word the voice spoke tore at me, deconstructing my very essence. “The list goes on, Victor…”
Suddenly, through the waning grime I saw something… something hideous…
“Your entire life, everything you have done, was built upon the sacrifice of others.”
I could not bear the sight before me! How – how could something so dreadful stand before me!
“There is no vengeful spirit in this cabin, Victor…”
I looked into the mirror’s reflection of myself. I watched as the words of the voice. That – that horrid voice leave my very own mouth…
“… there is only you.”
It was too much to bear! I staggered, falling backward onto the floor! How could I not see what was right in front of me all along? I had caused such pain on so many people! For so long, I remained blind, ignorant of my own actions!
I suddenly realized the deathly silence that now surrounded me. The night seemed to be swallowing the cabin, swallowing me; the darkness enveloping all of my thoughts and being.
“Please forgive me,” my words came out wearily, though I no longer knew who I said them to, “Please, forgive me.”
I spun around in the dark, looking for any sign of acceptance, but all was dark. Everything I could see was a pit of black.
“Please, forgive me…”
I turned and saw the lone sliver of light around the frame of the door. I moved toward it.
“Please, forgive me...”
I swung the door open and entered into the ethereal light of the moon.
“Please, forgive me...”
For a moment, I turned back, gazing into the darkness of my past and the gruesome reflection of myself in the mirror.
No more.
I walked away from the cabin, forward into the forest beyond.
“Please, forgive me.”
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