Damnatio Memoriae

Miles from any dirt-born road, there is a house slowly collapsing. It’s bones, like all bones, languish closer to the earth each year. Silence embedded between floorboards and window panes, clings to the walls like smoke. Surrounded by untamed fields long since fallow.

No one remembers this place. And yet, it is full of silence and eager company.

Whether forgotten or condemned of memory, she remains. Patient. Desperate. Unable or unwilling to leave. She is the hostess this forgotten place which no soul seeks, yet all seem to find.

She, with no name.

She, who rarely seems to sleeps incase she lose a wandering guest.

She is alone. Always alone, without a living witness. She could be a ghost, but a ghost is a memory. And there is no one to remember her.

~

It had rained for days. A slow rain. It crowded the silence. Her eyes were fixed on the door. The door to the house was always open. A dare. She only used the door at dusk. It was the threshold after all. Between day and night, the light and the dark. The liminal space between here and there, now and forever.

She expected someone to come through that door at any moment. No one came.

It was the silence that kept her company. It kept her from wondering who she was and why she was there. It was her protector. Her emancipator. If memory keeps us in this world, she was free to come and go as she pleased.

The rain began to lighten, until there was no rain at all. The silence crept back out from the house, smothering the fields until there was no echo of rain or wind. It was her and the silence alone again. She adjusted her neck and looked out the window at the other end of the room.

And there it was.

She had seen it through the window before. The harbinger. The psychopomp. It’s white heart face and colourless eyes staring right through her.

Her body tensed.

She hissed.

What did it want? It didn’t move. Watching her silently, statuesque, mocking her movement. It reminded her what of something she couldn’t bear.

Hissing again, she turned back to the door. Something was coming.

She waited at the threshold, poised. Until she heard it.

Thud.

A soft thud. Effortless. Another. And another.

She peered into the emptiness before her, eyes absorbing the starlight. It was familiar. Never the same sound. Something stirred in her. She knew this sound. It had awoken. It was alive. Looking back at the window, the face was gone. Now was her chance.

Thud.

Thud. Thud.

It was rhythmic. A gentle knocking. The silence and her solitude were broken. It was out there. Across the threshold.

Thud.

Desperation hung around her shoulders. She pulled into herself. Something came over her. Not anger, not fear. it was an impulse she couldn’t control. It was desperation. A mania. She rose and levelled herself to move. Then lept.

Thud.

The knock was calling. She would answer.

The silence rose with her. Guarding her. Carrying her. Protecting her always. Eyes fixed, she drove herself forward, drawing on every ounce of energy she had.

Thud.

It was clearer now. Closer.

Thud. Thud.

There. A glint, like a filament ignited. It was moving. She stretched herself out, braced and reaching. She would be precise this time. She had to be.

ThudThud. Flash!

She had it. She brought her face nearer. It screamed.

Thud.

Silence.

She felt the body go limp beneath her. She was ravenous. Maniacal. A wild, unnamable thing. It was so natural for her. She couldn’t hold it in. From a deeper darkness, she emitted a raw, brittle screech that tore the seams of the silence.

She held the soft warm body. This was why she waited in the silence. This is why she was here. This is why she would remain forgotten. She lifted herself up. It would come back with her. She would bring it across the threshold to rest where it too would be forgotten.

Should you come to this place, pulled to the rotting house and it’s inhabitant condemned of memory, don’t run and don’t fear. The psychopomp waits. Not an enemy, nor a friend. White faced with colourless eyes, she will bring you across the threshold, where she and death and silence are longing for your company.