The Little Black Book

The metal of the ancient car crash graveyard creaked, far above, rhythmic, slow and fading. Laying on the intrusive plants that bled through the cracks in the grey of the road, Vincent quietly shifted in the shallow crawlspace to a slip of daylight that somehow made it through the pileup unhindered. Heeding his heartbeat to steady, he opened up the little black book.

I still can scarcely believe I was lucky enough to win! Finally giving back to all these people who helped me makes me feel even better than winning the $20,000 in the first place. I've needed a lot of help. Because I’ve known some real monsters. I’ve also known some incredibly generous and kind people. Who knows where I'd be without them? Or even without the monsters who've taught me caution...

In the distance, a bang followed by a quick, quieter echo. ‘Wood bouncing’ Vincent thought. He tucked the book into the thick layers of material and furs over his chest and began pulling himself across the road on his elbows, weaving between the crumpled shells of vehicles at a snail’s pace. Across a stretch of open and beaten road, a door lay flat at the foot of a dark doorway, the snowfall displaced around the entryway. He waited and listened to silence. Then he pulled out the book again, flipping through the pages of notes, lists, maps, sketches, back and forth, until settling and reading.

It was scary, thinking about seeing some of these people again. They’re good people, it’s just hard to face up to them after all that's happened. I suppose it’s normal, to need help, but it’s not easy. Still, I had nothing to be scared about, really. I’ve never felt lighter in all my life. Without friends like these, I probably wouldn’t be here today. Let alone on my way to start a new chapter of my life with such a special one! I still had just enough to invest in keeping the old house in the family. So, not only do we get to maintain the garden Grandmother has been tending all her life, but I’ll also get to actually live close to my best and most deeply beloved friend. I’m so very happy. The future holds bright things!

Vincent looked up from the book again at the unchanged scene ahead. He drew in a long breath and tucked the book away, crawling into the vine-ridden bowels of a bus at the edge of the pileup and standing with great caution. Step by careful step, he approached a long-broken window and crouched in the shadows within. He scanned for any trace of movement as far as his eyes could see, but saw none more than the breeze-swept plants of the overgrown ruins and a few insects. Vincent repurposed two of the layers of his shirt into boot mufflers, fastening the fabric around his shoes as he made an effort to acclimatize to the new level of chill. Once he was done, Vincent ducked out the window into the open air and sprinted across the road to the nearest building, squatting down against the wall by the open doorway. He could see the huge beastly paw prints leading to it clearly now. Snow crunched softly beneath him as he inched closer to the doorway, until he’d passed the snow and was close enough to feel the stale, still air that ruminated from inside. His heart beat violently within him. He held a hand over it and breathed deeply, slowly, suddenly recalling a familiar entry from the little black book.

I still get a lot of anxiety these days. Maybe it’s not something that’ll ever go away. It's like an urge to keep us safe that just goes into overdrive sometimes, but the intentions aren’t bad, it’s just trying to help. So, anyway, since we’re stuck together, I’ve been trying to learn to live with it. I’ve made some progress with simple breathing exercises, breathing in for four seconds, holding for four, out for four. That lessens the urgency, which makes everything feel a little safer than the immediate threat of you vs the world. Truly though, I think the best thing for the long-term is gratitude, focusing on what we have and what we can do rather than what we might lose and what we can’t control.

With a swift shake of his head, Vincent brought himself back to the moment, breathing in and counting to four, holding and breathing out as described. He found himself recalling those words increasingly often these days. Life was always dangerous; Out of the few who remained, those who hadn’t learned that by his age were already dead. In these past few years though, however long it had been since he’d begun this journey, he’d encountered many more dangers both perilous and foreign. This monster was just another in that list and one he would overcome, just like the others.

Vincent slowly peered into the doorway, looking around at the dark and dusty interior. Satisfied with its emptiness of life, he stretched a leg across to the other side of the doorway to step over. As he did, he assessed his path along the wall towards the shadowy edge of the next building. An odd silhouette in the shadows caught his eye. Vincent froze. The thing was on the roof. A bead of sweat formed on his temple in slow motion as he felt his stomach descending. He took a step to his left, then another, gradually distancing himself from the building. A low, rumbling growl, barely audible even in the silence, broke the inner ice that held him and Vincent ran. He darted ahead as fast he could, looking up to see the rapid-moving blur of the monstrosity leap from one rooftop to the next as it easily narrowed the distance between them. He veered further to the left, running down an alleyway on the other side of the road. A deep roar like a thunder-filled drum permeated the air all around him as he heard the beast's huge form slide across the ground where he'd entered the alley, its talons scraping loudly against the cement. Vincent darted to his right, towards a broken window, certainly too small for the monster. He climbed inside without looking back at the beast already audibly bounding towards him in the alley. Vincent sprinted across the wood-pane floors. Dust and snow shot up in a trail of slow-falling mist behind him. He ran down hallways and stairwells and found himself in some large, dark room, sufficiently lost, before squatting in a nook under a desk in a corner. For a few moments, he concentrated on his breathing. Vincent slipped his hand into the pockets between his layered clothing, tracing the familiar shape and cool metal of his knife, confirming it was still with him, then the smooth plastic of his last glow stick, pulling it out, along with the little black book. He cracked the glowstick and flipped to a page where the corner was folded.

I'm here at last! I'm not much of a gardener myself, but I've been learning so I can make sure to take good care of this little front yard paradise. I can't even tell you how right everything feels now. My besty's on his way over with a house warming gift. A statue of a lion to guard the garden!

I'm a bit nervous, but I want to tell him how I feel. I want to spend the rest of my life with him. He sees me for who I really am and still accepts me for it, we're both so comfortable being vulnerable with each other. I feel safe with him. If it were just the two of us in all the world, in this old, little house with a beautiful garden, I'd live the rest of my days happy.

Vincent hovered the glowstick inches from the paper, slowly moving it across the opposite page and staring at all the little details in the drawing there. The Garden he read for possibly the hundredth time, gliding his fingers gently over the intricately inked native flowers and plants in front of the home. He flicked through all the pages he'd marked, quickly glancing over the mentions and illustrations of relevant places and maps, settling again on the last of them, the garden page. He sighed, curled up under the desk and slowly fell asleep.

Awakening in the morning after no incident overnight, Vincent stood up, leaving the depleted glowstick on the floor and walking through the building again in search of an exit. After quite some time, he found his way to an unlocked door on the ground floor. There was no sign of the monster and he was nearly at his destination; He was sure of it. Sighing a small cloud of steam into the cold air, he set off again.

Hours of walking down streets later, Vincent had checked over abandoned houses far beyond his counting. The morning sun seemed warmer and brighter than usual and so far, he'd encountered no significant problems. He was peering through a window in the entryway of the next house, when he saw something both alien and familiar inside. It was some kind of old machinery that he'd never seen before, but he couldn't shake the feeling he knew what it was. After a few seconds staring at it, entranced by this feeling, Vincent pulled out the little black book again, opened it to the garden page with the folded corner and flicked ahead a few pages.

One of the neighbours down the road, an old family friend as it turns out, has this big, ornate vintage sewing machine. They had it restored and it's a gorgeous bright red with this big, gaudy wheel on the side. Even the table's been fixed up and shines beautifully.

Vincent was sure this must be the same machine. Even from outside and with layers of dust and aging making any previous shine invisible, even with the vines wrapping their way around the legs of the table and around the machine itself, he could see the red hue of some strange machine affixed with a wheel, atop a table. He put the book away and tried the front door, finding it to be unlocked and stepping inside. His breathing quickened a little, all on its own, as he entered the house, well aware this was the closest he'd ever been. He slowly stepped through the corridor, ignoring all the usual dusty and overgrown innards of a house and heading straight for the old sewing machine. Standing in front of it, he lifted his fingers to its surface and wiped a small part of it clean. A bright red shone through, vibrant beneath the green leaves around it. A small smile pinched at the corner of Vincent's mouth. It quickly faded as he noticed a slow movement behind him in the reflection. In an instant, he dashed to his right, jumping and smashing through the glass panes of a window, into the backyard. No time to check for injury, he picked himself up and ran to the fence, hearing the angry cries of the beast and the buckling of wood as it forced its way outside. Vaulting over rusted bicycles, Vincent cleared the fence and then the next and the next, panting as hard and fast as his body allowed, the air slicing at his throat and lungs like daggers of ice, the beast hot on his trail. Suddenly, he ran for an open door to his left, weaving between the plants and remnants of furniture inside the house and out the front, where he was greeted by a thicket of tall trees, lush bushes and an entire ecosystem of plants growing out from the yard next door. Vincent ran over behind a tree and crouched as low as he could, heavily obscured in the underbrush. The beast leapt outside, swinging its head around wildly, then started walking slowly in his direction, searching and sniffing the air, moving silently. It didn't see him yet. He tugged his boot from his foot. The beast's nose twitched. Vincent threw the boot a few meters ahead of him. It rustled the plants there. Vincent pulled out his knife. The beast approached. Vincent looked up at it through the dense cover of leaves. It sniffed the air, the fur on its back bristling as it slowly walked towards the boot until it was standing with its back to Vincent, head bent low, sniffing it. Vincent gripped harder to the handle of his knife, the heavy pulsating he felt throughout his body and in his fingers threatening to push it from his grasp. The beast was still engaged with the boot, sniffing at it and growling, ridges forming on the back of its neck as its muscles tensed against the growing fear and danger in the atmosphere. Ever so slowly, Vincent placed his other hand on the ground and began shifting his weight forward, raising the knife. As he leant forward, eyes fixed on the monster, he felt something pushing into his chest. It was the little black book. For a moment, he stopped, swallowed and took a deep breath. He looked beyond the monster and saw in the thicket, dozens of native flowers. His mouth opened silently as he looked around at where he was in that moment. It was all here and more. Between some of the trees, he could make out glimpses of a lion-shaped statue, covered in vines and moss.

"The Garden" he whispered, under his breath.

The knife lowered to the ground as he felt the tension in his muscles fade away and the air become lighter. He looked back at the beast, still sniffing the boot, circling it, fur bristled, contemplative, limping. Vincent placed the knife on the ground and put a hand over the book, breathing in and remembering the words inside. Slowly, he stepped into the open, keeping his breathing steady and the warmth and optimism of his ancestor in his heart. The beast looked up at him, eyes wide and fixed, it remained as still as the statue, save for its slowly rising head. Vincent looked back into its eyes, so like his own, so full of fear and unknowing. He raised his hands, palms open towards the creature, and took a step forward. The beast sniffed the air again, tilting its head slightly. Vincent took another step forward. It recoiled for a moment, growling. He froze, waiting. The creature inched forward, sniffing his hands, its bristled fur smoothing. Vincent carefully knelt, hands still up, then he slowly reached for the creature's paw, lifting it gently and finding a sliver of glass freshly buried inside. Looking back up at the creature's face, he breathed deeply again, relaxed, then dislodged the piece of broken window and slowly stood again. The creature sat calmly, licking its paw.

After a moment, Vincent walked inside his new home, placing the broken glass on a counter and surveying a house filled with relics and memories of a time long past. He picked up a framed photograph, wiping the dust away with his sleeve and looking at the elderly couple in the photo, standing in the garden outside, with dirty overalls on and shovels in hands. They smiled un-bashfully, hugging each other tightly at the sides. Vincent put the photo down and pulled out the little black book one last time, turning to the last page as his free hand hung by his side, balling up to somehow stop the tears.

We made it! We'll never be alone again.

Vincent smiled. He felt the creature's soft fur pushing against his fist as he opened it to the gentle press of the creature's face, her warm breath thawing the cold of his fingertips as the tears fell past the biggest smile he'd ever worn.