Anna

What I didn't say that night stayed in my throat for a long time. The tears did not fall on the pale cheeks and standing, in front of the mirror, the reflected image returned a smile to me.

My gaze fell on that horrifying half-moon; it was so penetrating that it made my blood freeze in my veins, if I still had a heart capable of pumping it down my limbs.

I reached out to the cold glass surface and the reflection did the same. We brushed our fingertips with a delicate touch. Undetectable and otherworldly, a bond was established. And I was looking for myself in that smile.

In vain.

A few days earlier

The sun was high in the sky on a summer day in early August. It was just a little before my birthday and I was at the height of excitement; under the warm rays of light, I hopped and waved my arms, occasionally making little noises. I couldn't help it because I knew my special moment was coming. All around, the garden was full of fairies and flowers that danced to the rhythm of my jolts. They were saying things to me that I didn't listen to, because I was too caught up in happiness.

"Anna. Anna! Anna, answer! ». My mother's scream reached my mind, as well as my ears that until then had completely ignored it.

I stopped moving and fell silent. Turning slowly, I looked at her.

"Anna, finally ... next time I'll have to take you by the ear!" she said, scolding me. "You can't always shut yourself up in your world and ignore everything and everyone."

I nodded, looking down. In those cases I never knew how to answer because I would have simply said: "I'm not doing it on purpose!", But it was useless to say it and say it again. I had repeated it countless times to my mother but she kept telling me what I could not do, which is to be myself.

The teachers at school did the same and so did my classmates, so I eventually learned that it was better to remain silent and nod because people accepted the willingness to change something wrong. And that was how I felt: wrong.

"Lunch is ready soon, go tell your grandfather."

"That is fine. What are we eating?" I asked, looking back at her, peering at the summer blouse.

"Rice salad ... and I put a lot of sausage in it!" She ended the sentence with a big smile that I saw out of the corner of her eye. I didn't know she wanted to remedy the inappropriate reprimand from earlier.

I jumped and waved my arms a little: I loved sausages.

"I'll go now!" and I ran to the little wooden house in the back, where my grandfather spent his time fixing his cuckoo clocks.

In a short time I was in front of the door left open to let the air circulate; the grandfather was bent over the work table. He wore a clean white tank top and long, comfortable light brown pants. At his feet he wore summer slippers.

I went in, trying not to distract him from his work. I loved watching him as he fitted, polished and observed those mysterious gears. Then the watches were so beautiful: they embodied the most disparate fantasies, such as enchanted castles or lively villages. He sharpened his eyes, whispered and sighed. Wrinkles formed on his face, adding to those of seniority.

I would have liked to touch them but this would certainly have taken his focus off his work so I preferred not to disturb him. I waited for him to notice me as he moved from the table to pick up pieces from the countless drawers crammed with spare parts.

*

He turned to me, stopping his gaze. He sighed and then smiled warmly.

"Tell me, Anna, what happens?"

"What are you doing?".

“I change the pieces, which are now completely rusted, on this watch. I have to finish it by tomorrow ».

I nodded, not knowing how to answer, but that wasn't a problem because he understood when I was uncomfortable.

"But you came to tell me something, didn't you?" He suggested smiling, as he placed the things he was holding on the work table.

It took me a moment to rearrange my thoughts, but then I replied: «Yes, Mom says it's ready! And she cooked the rice salad with sausages! "

"Well, then let's run to eat. I want to fill my belly! ».

Together we went out of the house, under the warm rays of the summer midday sun, and entered the house through the back door.

*

Our home was small; composed of a bathroom, two bedrooms and a kitchen. A lovely garden surrounded it and the small wooden house in which the grandfather lived, a studio apartment, was located at the back, near the vast countryside that stretched as far as the eye could see.

The three of us were the rulers of that independent kingdom and I dreamed of living in an enchanted castle.

Most of the time I found myself with my feet placed between the two realities; one leg on one side and one on the other. This was absolutely not bad for me, but others often told me not to stay with my head in the clouds, to put these fantasies aside. Only my grandfather understood me, only he was able to enter that magical kingdom.

We often played games based on my fantasies that took shape in the guise of heroic and mysterious stories. He and I would stage everything and take care of the smallest details, furnishing my room with puppets to create a stage with the audience, or villagers and so on.

Of course it was important that everything revolved around my rules; because of this it was difficult to play with other children my age. I was almost nine years old but no friends and this would have made me feel terribly alone if it hadn't been for my grandfather, the only one who understood me, listened and didn't force me to be what I wasn't.

Something strange happened the day before my birthday. I was trying on clothes for tomorrow's party and looking at myself in the room, I admired the dress I loved. At that point, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a shadow right behind my reflection. Frightened, I turned to see who was there, but I didn't see anyone other than my soft toys lined up on the trunk next to the door, which was closed. I had not heard any noise and I have always had well developed hearing. So what did I see, exactly?

Trembling, I looked back into the mirror but I didn't notice anything strange and the fear passed in a short time, convincing me that I had had some sort of hallucination.

That night I slept badly; I dreamed of being in front of the mirror and my reflection was pale and faceless, completely naked. I couldn't move, look away, or make any other single movements. The muscles were paralyzed, hard as marble, while my heart was beating madly in the rib cage, making me tremble from head to toe. The reflection was still while I could not escape from that horrible vision. Thus it was that the nightmare went on; an infinity of time to observe the reflection of an unknown and disturbing myself with the shades of fire behind it.

*

Slowly an impulse crept into my head.

An idea.

And it was scary. I woke up in sweat, screaming.

It was my birthday but I didn't even think about it anymore. Mom ran to my rescue, hearing me scream and cry. She hugged me tightly, even though she knew I hated being touched, and she showered me with questions and affirmations. Things like, "What happened? Have you had a nightmare? Look at you, you are soaked ... we must dry you immediately or you will get sick ... ». She never stopped and the only thing I was able to say was to let me go.

Shortly after, I undressed and took a quick bath, and then had breakfast with one of my favorite dishes, which was simply hot milk and chocolate biscuits. The nightmare became gradually less defined, until it faded. I was not aware, however, that I had not forgotten anything. I had just buried what had happened, somewhere in my mind.

*

It was early and Grandpa was definitely asleep, so I decided not to bother him.

It was while I was getting ready in my room, after my bath and breakfast, looking at myself in the mirror, that I remembered. Fear, above all. That night, before I fell asleep, I felt terrible terror, without knowing why. It was the middle of the night when this had happened but at that moment I wanted my grandfather beside me, because strangely my torment was aimed at him. I couldn't define anything of what I had felt, only horror and these two things were somehow connected.

With this in mind, swallowing the words I wanted to go and tell him, I went to sleep and had that nightmare.

I could not get out of my head the pale face reflected in the mirror and the color of the flames in the background. A shadow in contrast with the intensity of the heat emanating from that image.

I held back the urge to run to my grandfather and put my hand on the smooth and cold surface of the glass. The normal representation of myself gave me back the touch and everything was normal.

But the idea, the fear and the urge to run to the house became urgent.

Without further hesitation, I left my room, crossed the narrow corridor slightly lit by dawn and reached my grandfather's cottage, crossing the garden. The mom did not notice anything because she had gone back to sleep, she being very tired from the previous day's shift.

*

The air was still very warm and not at all muggy, insects flew from flower to flower and the soft sunlight illuminated the gnarled wooden outlines of the house. The door was locked, but not locked. I opened it slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible.

I peeked inside and saw my grandfather, asleep on his bed, wrapped in a sheet, snoring.

Watching him, I was seized by an impulse: to run and hug him, to kiss him on the cheek, to wake him up and tell him that I loved him and I was so afraid.

But I preferred to let him sleep out of respect, so I slowly closed the door once I was sure everything was okay.