Echoes Of The Land

Each star that stood out, I’d given them a name while laying on the flowered, thin sheet. Staring into the lovely night skies had become my favorite pastime. It was something I like to think of as a space that I could enjoy while being alone. It allowed me to reminisce about my dad’s life before death. I’ve always loved nights when hundreds of stars filled the sky, the same stars that my dad used to tell me stories about when I was but a small child. It had become a precious bonding time for us when we would camp in the backyard of grandma’s house. It started off with dad teaching me how to put our tent together but after a while, I was the one reteaching him. He had Alzheimers, it progressed pretty quickly, unfortunately ending his life too soon. He taught me how to make a fire with sticks and how to filter water, along with other things that I will carry with me for the rest of my life. It was always easy for me to sleep when I was in the tent, somehow I felt closer to him. Every once in a while, I would take the tent and other camping necessities out back to continue the tradition that we started. Sometimes, I swear that I could hear a faint whisper of his voice. Most people would probably be scared but knowing that he was still near, watching me, gave me a sense of peace. Grandma owned a huge white house and 130 acres of land, which included a small lake that had become every kid from around the way, go-to spot to chill the summer’s heat.

One Friday night when I spent a night outside, it was the beginning of a change that I wasn’t quite ready for. I laid asleep, dead to the world in the comfort of my tent. I would usually wrap myself within the sleeping bag as it would always become chilly at night. This night was different, it was warm out and the air was moist as if it had rained. As I was asleep, I could hear a low but noticeable clanking sound and for some reason there was a foul stench in the air. The sound of bubbling water caught my attention but I knew it was impossible, it had to be part of my dream. A little girl’s small voice said wake up in my ear, it was faint but audible. I quickly sat up glancing around, sweating as my heart rate rose. I wasn’t really sure what I was looking for after seeing nothing was there. I then began preparing to lay back down but it wasn’t an option as my mind told me to further investigate. I learned that the clinking sound had come from the flap of the tent, from it being partly unzipped. That in itself was odd, I knew that I zipped it completely and checked it twice just as my dad taught me. Cautiously, I unzipped the rest of the opening with delayed movement as my mind was still foggy from sleep. Climbing out, I immediately noticed the wind that had been blowing just minutes before was no longer present. The air was still moist and warm just as it was before I had fallen asleep. I stood tall, a little weirded out wondering if I was still dreaming. Everything felt off to me. The foul smell had become stronger and the bubbling of the lake had begun to make splashing sounds as if someone was there. The lake was at least three hundred feet away, after the slim dirt road. There was no way I should’ve been able to hear the sounds so clearly. The skies were barely blue but cast enough light for me to see. I began walking toward the sounds, noticing small footprints on the dirt road. I had a feeling that no one else was awake and I knew that there were no children staying with us. I continued following the sound leading to the lake. I stood near the edge of the lake. Suddenly, the bubbling stopped as a scream pierced the air. I looked around, seeing nothing while noticing that my surroundings had become deafeningly silent. A cold gust of wind blew harshly out of nowhere. Without blinking, I hotfooted back to my tent, urgently zipping it as quickly as gravity allowed. It took hours to fall back to sleep that morning. I decided to keep it to myself out of fear of being made fun of.

Two weeks had passed before anything else would happen. Grandma Aggie, short for Agatha, bore ten children, five girls and five boys. A big family, I know. It’s something that she took so much pride in. My dad was the third oldest of the bunch but had the most children of the ten. He had seven of us. The remaining of his siblings had two to three children and swore to never have anymore. Every summer, my siblings and I, along with some of our cousins would stay at grandma’s house. We didn’t live like the city folks, where if there’s too many people in the home, it would be against some made up rule. We didn’t have to buy everything from a food market, most things were either home grown or raised. We had dirt roads and friendly, long distance neighbors who were always polite and offered rides. We still sat around campfires telling scary stories while making smores and joking around. We didn’t wake up from an alarm clock but from roosters.

On the nights that I chose to camp in the backyard, I’d have to hurriedly collect my things and race for one of the available bathrooms if I wanted to be dressed on time to get the day started. My most annoying siblings, Constance, Sally, and Frank had always taken the longest times in the bathrooms. I stumbled into the house, not surprised to see grandma who stood at the stove cooking while still in nightwear. The smell of bacon mixed with a maple and cinnamon aroma wafted the air, making my imagination run wild. Grandma Aggie had always been known for her cooking and bedside manners. Before she would finish, I darted up the stairs to try and get to one of the bathrooms before anyone else would. I had always liked the upstairs bathrooms, in my opinion they felt more warm and inviting. I quickly put up my gear before collecting the clothes I wanted to wear, only to run back down the hall to be met by the closed door of the bathroom I wanted. I could hear the shower water running and humming behind the door. Everybody wasn’t awake yet, so surely there were three more available bathrooms, I thought. Going into the room that three of my sisters shared, I was met by another closed door. I stormed off in defeat.

It was the day of my aunt’s birthday and whoever knew grandma, they knew that she had always gone all out to celebrate her kids birthdays, no matter how old they were. By noon, people had begun showing up, close family and friends. Grandma’s smile stretched from ear to ear. We played family games in the yard, some made up while others were mainstream. Everyone’s favorite seemed to be family feud. I was never really good at it, so naturally I gravitated away, going into the house to splash my face with water before continuing the charade of being around everyone. I’d never been much of a social butterfly. I chose to sit in the bathroom on the first floor, too lazy to walk up the stairs. I sat on the toilet while gaining strength to go back out. Grandma’s room was next to the bathroom but I knew she wasn’t in the house. Through the wall, I could hear an ongoing conversation that I couldn’t make out the words to. There was also a tapping on the wall as if someone was trying to communicate through morse code. A ringing sound filled the bathroom along with the same foul stench I’ve smelled before. I stood, preparing to leave but not before noticing water all over the floor. The same bubbling sound that I’d heard before made itself present, encouraging the hairs on the back of my neck to stand at attention as goosebumps traced my entire body. Mist came from my mouth as if it was winter. The lights began flickering as my breathing began to feel constricted. Suddenly, I began choking uncontrollably as if I swallowed something. I held on to the sink for support as I struggled for air. I began to violently vomit water, not just any water but muddy water. I stared at myself in the mirror, feeling perplexed and terrified. The reflection staring back at me made me freeze, only allowing faint breaths to escape as my heart pounded slow and hard. I could see a face inside my face as the words “Necro Soal,” appeared all over the mirror before my eyes. The tub was full of muddy water as the bubbling continued. The only thing I could do was run. I ran wherever my legs carried me, right into grandma’s arms. Everyone was looking but at that moment I was beyond caring what people were fixing to say about me. Grandma just held me, asking no questions but simply waiting for the moment I would be ready to spill.

The party continued without another interruption. I chose not to tell her what was going on, instead I lied, telling her that I smashed my fingers in the door. Together, we enjoyed the party that lasted several hours. By nightfall, we followed tradition, lighting fireworks and singing around the fire we’d made. Most of us kids had sparklers while others had the chance to enjoy the real deal. My brother Ernest and I had always been the closest, always the two to concoct a plan to do something that we had no business doing. Our initial plan was to play a joke on someone, but that night we decided on something else.

We grabbed uncle Lance’s gin and juice mixture from his car’s glove compartment. Although uncle Lance thought he was slick by keeping it in the juice’s original glass, Ernest and I knew better. The cat was out of the bag one evening when uncle Lance lost his footing on the porch, needing Ernest to help him up while I collected the things he dropped, one being a spilling juice bottle. The strong smell of liquor is what caught my attention, not taking long for me to share the discovery with Ernest. Ever since, we’d made plans to take it one day and that day had finally come. I had always been a little more light on my feet than Ernest so it was only right that I snuck it.

After everyone had gone home, we decided to set up the tent to sleep outside, fearing that we’d get caught in the house, if not by grandma then by one of our tattle tell siblings. He and I laughed at some old memories, the times we’d pranked our siblings or pranked our cousins. We joked around for a good while before telling scary stories. None of them really stood out until he told me an old folktale about grandma’s house and the surrounding area. It surprised me that no one had spoken of it before. He mentioned a family being murdered on the land. They were a family unto themselves that ran a farm. They sold meat and dairy products to local stores and factories. Some people described them as friendly while others described them as a creepy cult. Some folks said they were murdered by their own family members who they were close with, just so they could inhabit the land. He’d also said that some people believed it was done by poisoning of the food but none of it was for sure. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up when he said their bodies were never discovered. We passed the liquid back and forth, both feeling relaxed from its effects. I was anticipating more of the story but had suddenly fallen into a deep sleep just as Ernest did, seemingly at the same time. I’m not sure how long it had been since we’d slept, maybe two hours at the most.

I jolted from my sleep wondering what was going on after feeling a tight grip around my wrist. It was Ernest, his eyes were wide with sleep deprived red veins pronounced in them. I wanted to think that he was playing but couldn’t shake the fear behind his expression. One of his hands remained on my wrist as his other went to his mouth, holding a finger at his lips to warn me to stay quiet. I did as he asked, feeling anxiety kicking in. I listened intently to whatever it was I was he wanted me to hear.

Five minutes or so had passed before anything would happen. It was so silent that if I listened hard enough, I could hear his heartbeat. The normal sound outside of the tent on a typical night would be that of crickets and occasionally the sound of nearby frogs croaking. That night, there was an eerie silence before the disturbance. The sound of something being dragged was just outside the tent. A far distance scream sounded, causing us to make direct eye contact. The sound of a little girl struggling bellowed through the air, along with the sound of splashing water. The tent dented in on one side as if it had gotten hit. Tears streamed down Ernest’s face. I had never seen him so scared before. I gently placed a comforting hand over Ernest’s hand that was still vise gripping my wrist, gently removing it.

I then moved to the front of the tent, slightly unzipping the opening but there was nothing out there as I peeked. However, I did notice that the tent had been moved at least two hundred plus feet, making us closer to the lake. The air was crisp cold as if we were in the depths of winter and not summer. Turning to look back at Ernest made my heart sink. His skin was pale with a twisted face. His eyes were vacant but held onto the very thing that was scaring him. I followed his line of sight. I turned back around, met by a fully unzipped opening as if the flap was never closed. Time seemed to have stood still for a moment. The thick fog that settled over the lake parted as if it was opening up. Whispers from all directions filled the silence. My eyes grew wide as they fixated on a group of shirtless, battered boys of various ages all lined up around the lake’s perimeter. Their skin was pale and their eyes were deep. They were soaking wet as they stared and repeatedly whispered “necro soal” in unison while pointing to the center of the lake.

Everything around me seemed to have shifted in a time frame that was long before me. I froze, staring at what they were pointing at. In the center, was a small girl with long brunette hair slicked down her back and clinging to her face. She was shivering, seemingly ducking down to hide. Several tall men dressed in camouflage clothing marched past me as if I wasn’t there. It felt like I was a spectator, only floating through.

The girl accidentally moved, causing unwanted attention. One man went in her direction while the others searched different areas of the water. I watched, baffled as everything unfolded before my eyes. The army men began to carry out malicious acts. Two of them used bricks while the others used ropes, batons, and knives.

I watched in horror as they slammed the bricks into some of the shirtless boys heads, slit their throats, and viciously beat them. Loud, horrid screams mixed with grunts and muffled yelling filled the air. The splashing of water and gurgling could also be heard. They tortured everyone in sight, with no remorse and no emotion. Tears escaped my eyes as I stood in shock. The atmosphere felt evil. I began heaving before violently shaking as my eyes rolled. Thunder began to loudly boom as rain poured from the sky. I could physically feel their pain and suffering rattle my body. The heaviness of their sadness internally wrecked me. In the exact spot where the boys stood, there was a silhouette of a woman who stood laughing with her arms folded. When the sky lit up from the lightening, the woman was revealed. My heart felt as if it skipped a beat before it broke. It was my grandma. She was young, identical to her black and white photos. She stared at me with dark eyes and a sinister grin, although I knew that no one else in that time could see me.

Within the blink of an eye, reality began to return as everything else slowly faded. The cold disappeared along with the fog as my hearing and eyes came into focus. Ernest called my name, grabbing my attention. He said that he’d been shaking me and yelling my name to awaken me from the trance. He also said that I’d been standing there for an entire hour although it seemed like it had only been a few minutes. It was clear as day what the land was telling me but it was all in a matter of how I would get the story out there without actual proof. That summer changed my life, it was the beginning of a journey and the ending of the rumors. Now that I know the truth, maybe just maybe, their souls can finally rest in peace.