A Bark

He had felt this bothering before. Before… everything. As a teenager he had worked as a carer in a low-cost nursing home for the elderly and demented, where the story of the ‘Grey Lady’; a name that failed to invoke excitement or imagination, went that if a resident were to die each day over three consecutive days, then a grey lady would be seen walking the halls at night and banging heard from the attic. He enjoyed ghost stories and while he never allowed for them to alter his strict scientific sense of reality, he always found it peculiar and a little wonderful how strong and visceral were their effect on him.

It goes without saying that three residents did die over three consecutive days on a grey, damp day in early winter, and as night fell, banging. He stood on the second storey of the old Edwardian building staring up at the faded and stained ceiling and marvelling at a dull thudding that conjured up imagery of struggle and pain. He knew where everyone was in that care home. The residents, the staff, there could not be anyone up there. He alerted his co-workers to the sound, whom all being at least a little superstitious, were convinced of its source and so were dismissive and uninterested, almost frustratingly so. He however, could not tolerate such a phenomenon. A fear, supernatural in essence was born in him, the source of which had the potential to destroy, engulf, and swallow up his understanding of reality. He had no choice. He could not allow the fear to go uncontested. He would go into the attic, find the source lest live a life with a question unanswered; an ever-enduring existential blemish.

He stood at the entrance to the staircase leading up. Steep steps in a warped and windowless corridor, paint thinning and chipped. He crept up the stairs, eyes wide. His body tense, tight. He reached the top, pushed the door open with a creak to behold an elongated womanly form crouched in the dim light of the attic. A terror took him; every cell of his body became possessed by that form, though only for a moment. He knew her. It was the tall aging beauty of his colleague, Anja. Anja, who was noisily navigating the storeroom, which was the attic, had come in for the late shift a little early so went unaccounted for. Realising the situation; he was seized in almost hysterical laughter. He explained the whole experience to Anja, who of course did not entirely share in his feverous excitement. He had had a paranormal experience, the only difference which separated his from anyone else’s, he said with a hint of smugness, is that he had found the natural source of the perceived supernatural, whereas others had not, though even he did not appreciate the full extent of his experience. Yes, arguably anticlimactic, but in that brief moment his absolute grasp on reality was entirely lost; given over to something else. And while a rupture may be patched, it could never fully be what it was.

His colleague exited the attic awkwardly down the steep staircase with a bundle of supplies in her arms, leaving him alone in the attic. He stood, smiling, relishing in the relief of his reinforced sense of reality, and reached for the pull switch of the single light. The light extinguished and a piece broke off, slipped through his grasp and fell with a thud to a bare planked floor. He paused in the darkness staring at a slight reflection. He slowly reached again for the pull switch without removing his stare, and, turning on the light, saw lying on the ground, a golden heart shaped locket. He retrieved it from the ground and examined it, eyes widening at the beauty and intricacy of the labyrinth engraving which covered the outside. He opened the locket.

He returned to the moment. Now it was a bark that was the source of his bother. A bark as consistent and unmoving as the waves beating against the cliff edges of the prehistoric coastline where he walked. A bark that in all likelihood was the result of something mundane and not worthy of his concern, but the possibility that the dog was in need of help, either for itself or for someone else, was bothering. It was windy and grey, but warm. Rubbing his fingers over some scratches on his face, which he did not know how he got, he began to whistle hoping the dog's head would pop up along the horizon of shrubs. But it did not. He contemplated leaving the path. It would be a steep climb through thick and prickly foliage if he were to attempt to go towards the bark, and with a backpack that, while he was used to, still did not help his balance. He looked out and down the cliff face, contemplating his options. Sea birds rolled and dived below, so perfectly a part of a homogenous, awe-inspiring terrain, a terrain untouched by the enterprise that was Homo sapiens. How many others had laid their gaze on this sight, as if staring into fire, and were struck silent with amazement at the natural beauty, whilst also with that sense of alienation; an understanding that this was not meant for them? The footpath that brought him here separated the brand new from the most primordial, each being equally as incomprehensible to him. He could no more participate in the new world, than he could take to the air to dance with the ancients.

The barking pulled him back. He had a quick glance in each direction and noticed two men distinct in stature but equal in their ensemble; rugged yet dapper, and black. He could not remember when he had last seen anyone. They must have been on a path parallel to where he stood, only further up the cliff side. Their bodies stood facing the Atlantic, but both of their heads were turned identically and unnaturally in his direction. He contemplated calling to them. While he certainly did not want their attention, they were obviously already aware of him so he couldn’t see the harm in it, but he knew they were too far away anyway. They would not hear him over the waves crashing and the wind blowing. He raised his arm and gave a single wave. They did not return the gesture. Not a good sign. Meeting unknown people was always a numbers game out here, and ‘one to two’ were odds that he did not care to entertain, let alone the fact that they had not returned his friendly gesture, and he only knew that there were at least two men, there could well be more. He continued along the path until he was out of sight, but the barking persisted and he could tell that the dog was stationary. His choice now was not a choice, find out or do not. He would not invite ghosts into his life, and so began to climb.

As he ascended away from the path, slates of rock repositioned under his weight, the prickly shrubs slashed at his ankles. The sound of the barking became more defined but the source was still obscured by the steep incline. He continued on and up. The rocks becoming more and more unstable the higher he went, the barking louder until the sound seemed to encompass and deafen him. A fear began to creep in that not all was as it seemed. Rocks were now falling from all along the cliff face. Panic, visceral fear, began to take him which, being so disorientated, only willed him to continue onwards. By now he was on hands and knees with the skyline in his failing sight. He crawled through the rocks and bushes which slashed at his face before breeching the summit to reveal a large house with a garden that looked out over the ocean, and a dog silent, staring at him in that way that dogs do when puzzled. He saw the dog was OK. Still disorientated, he clawed for the fence but was blocked and when he looked up to see his obstacle, he was met with glowing eyes staring down at him from two monstrous elongated forms of men. The barking resumed. Now it was not only the cliff face that was falling away but the earth itself, the sky, his very form all writhed and swelled like a convulsing snake. With every bark he thought he would die, and invited it. Screaming now, he chose his one remaining option, and thrust his arm into his coat pocket and grasped the golden heart shaped locket. As he worked the metal over in his hand the ground began to steady. He ran his thump along the labaryinth covering the locket and the barking returned to a more tolerable volume. His countenance morphed from one of intense terror to vacancy until he raised himself from the ground, made his way back down the cliff face, and continued along the precarious, prehistoric path, the two men watching as he went. It was windy and grey, but warm.