The Faucet and the Drips

The Faucet

It was pouring on that day, even more than the day before. I remember mindlessly scoping through Crave for something interesting to watch, bored out of my mind. I was curled on the couch with a small blanket lazily bunched over my legs, a bowl of popcorn kernels slanted near the far arm of the couch. The screen continuously changed hue as I shifted through show after show. Nothing sparked an interest. I had thought maybe it was the rain pelting against the roof that put me in a depressed state. I never did like the rain nor the disgusting worms that were summoned by it. Again a long sigh left me as I hunched over to grab the bowl, making my way through the dark house to the kitchen. I casually flicked on the stove light as it was bright enough to make out the area while placing the bowl in the sink, whose faucet had a drip I could never solve. I had leaned against the counter for a moment, taking in a breath as the ‘tap, tap, tap’’ of water played in the background. The house was utterly silent except for that, and for a reason, I still cannot explain a shiver ran up my spine. Suddenly I whipped around as I felt a quick shallow breath blow against my nape. I was met with the darkness of the hallway. I was alone. I swear to you that it had not been the first occurrence of such an event. Of course, I always played it off as those crime shows steeping into my tired brain. Speaking of which, I had glanced at the time while my heart had yet to finish thumping. It was a quarter past three, so I decided to turn in for the night.

Even as I lay in bed the ghost of a breath lingered as if a draft was slithering through the window. I tried closing my eyes for what seemed like ages, only to reopen them to the same darkness in my room. The state of my mind declined as my drowsiness worsened…like a coma of the opposite effect, I could not fall asleep that night. I felt as if something was observing me obscured in the darkness, its first breath like a warcry. My mind wandered into darker streets: thoughts of murder, suicide, and death. Does darkness just do that? Corrupt on instinct? I still don’t have a clue, yet I can’t deny it as a truth.

A creak. Faint and sudden cracks through the floorboards. My fists had unconsciously grabbed onto the blankets as I recognized exactly where it came from. The first few stairs were the most sensitive, snapping at any pressure from above. I eyed the darkness, stuck in a trance, and I cannot forget the way my heart threatened to leap out of my chest. What was there to be afraid of? A never-ending leaky faucet? I could have laughed, but my voice had seemed to shutter away inside my throat. Another snap followed and I jolted that time.

Closer. That time it had been closer and I realized…it was not the house settling. I remember exhaling because I had been holding my breath. I thought back on late-night crime-doc binging. That must have been it, that which also sparked the thoughts on the darker part of the street. Exhaustion had gotten to me then, I realized I was abusing myself and at that moment I decided from then on to turn in before the marathon could glue me to the couch. So there I went, back into a comfortable position on my bed with my mind at ease.

A drip filled my ears. I had fallen asleep after I came to my decision, yet my sleep did not stay peaceful…nothing really did back then. Though I no longer paid mind to the rain because it was a natural weather phenomenon, it was this other sound drowning my mind with water that led to my disgruntled awakening. I sat up, rubbing my aching head, I didn’t even care to check the time. It could be 9 a.m and I’d still choose my mattress over anything else. Though I was tired, I thought to myself that the obnoxious noise could no longer reach me in reality. I smiled to myself despite everything. Of course, that smile died as soon as I made it because the dripping…had not gone away. My face scrunched in confusion. It sounded like it was right next to my ears. How was that possible? I thought unbelievably. At that point, I was dead tired and ungraciously annoyed, so I got out of bed to check the house. I thought that taking a walk-through would prove to myself that nothing was wrong, that no paranormal activity 6 was occurring in my home. I walked past darkness, flicked on the lights to “cure” the room of it, then turned them off once I thoroughly scanned over the area. My mood had calmed a bit. I was glad for that honestly.

The last one to check was the kitchen. I strolled over in confidence, excited to get it over with and reunite with my bed. I entered the dark so I could use the stove light. That was really all I needed. The thought of a cockroach infestation had not occurred to me, so that’s all I decided to use as a light source. I clicked it on, expecting the room to light up with a yellow hue. However, that’s not what happened next. Instead of the normal colour, the hue of blood masked over the kitchen. When did lightbulbs burn out to red? I stood puzzled, my heart then became unsteady. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Red over the walls, the table, chairs, cabinets…the sink, and its dripping faucet. My fingers twitched to click the stove light off, but the darkness did not snap back as it was supposed to. The bloody hue remained. I had grabbed the sides of my face and even pinched myself because I believed I was still dreaming. I know it sounds unreal, but that’s what they did in movies so I figured it wouldn’t hurt to try.

Nothing. The red and the drip remained. I spun to the sink next, furiously twisting at the knobs to make it stop. I had been so focused that I didn’t notice the living room closet door slide open. So focused on ripping the knobs off with my bare hands that I didn’t notice the approach of an eerie figure. I had shouted in frustration then, releasing the pressure on my aching mind. I failed to notice the figure behind me. Accompanied with a pipe and a smile too curved to be classified as human.

I screamed as I had tumbled out of bed. It had all been a dream. I steeled myself and opened the curtains. The sky was clear of dark clouds and birds chirped in my ears. Rubbing my eyes I made my way to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. I rounded the corner but there I had halted. The ‘tap, tap, tap’ flooded out the haze of having just woken up. The kitchen seemed to blur as I zoned in on the faucet. ‘Tap, tap, tap’ it repeated. My previous dream flashed in red. I then decided to phone a Plummer, before the tap could drown me while wide awake.

Count from Zero

Numbers. It all began with zero, a simple oval, not much about it. It was the conjunction between two equal sides, sides that would never reach out hands in mutual respect, never stop their process. Numbers add on from a single digit, then double, and so forth the impending doom. Once youthful, graying, decaying, falling to pieces with aging. Age is a pandemic and there isn’t a vaccine for it in this era. No sudden ice age to halt the process of graying and not existing on this sphere floating in endless space. How ironic. For life to be butchered here and only extended where it cannot be. An endless eternity that prohibits our existence. Though beautiful and mysterious it is merciless and deceiving. The numbers go on and on, past the point of any return. Once grayed cannot revert to any other form. That is it.

In a city attempting to reflect the night sky, Igweis Semme sits atop it all, watching life flicker about in the great expanse of the sea. He was a simple everyday office employee, having to waste away behind a desk, staring for hours at a screen. His mind began to feel fuzzy the longer he worked and the more he worked the closer the gray seemed to get. It was getting to Igweis, wrapping around and around his head until it felt like it’d pop off. He knew he had to play his part in society. What would a jobless man achieve had he no name? So he sat there for some time, tearing at his torn fingernails. The lights were beginning to hurt. That wasn’t all for Igweis unfortunately. Despite the oxidation of the cubicle, the point where everything shone no more and became depressingly pointless. It was the unmistakable, unshakable itch that the very numbers were the root of it all. Every light counted upon every day, every minute, every person, every object, every finger pricking upon the keyboard-oh how it drove him mad! That itch he couldn’t scratch because he couldn’t physically touch it or strangle it like he so badly desired. Nothing else would quench it, nothing else would do. As he slaved away and grayed. The numbers ate away at him and were going to until even his frame could not be named. Unless he discovered a way to keep away the numbers. Now he really sounded mad! How much repellent would he even need? Igweis scoffed, removing himself from the revealing wall. One could only dream, he thought, pouring himself a cup of coffee at the compacted oak counter. He first stirs in the sugar, then the cream and as if hypnotized by it changing from black to light brown, he forgets his hand is still tipped. Cream splashes upon the counter and quickly scurries onto the white tile floor. Igweis watches it pool still holding on to the cream and his coffee. He takes a sip as it reaches new terrain. He wishes he could do the same.

He drew down the blinds to hide away his buzzing mind from the shameless eyes of the city. Sitting upon a wheeled chair, his hands folded, coffee releasing its heat in steam. Igweis’s fingers twitched as he began to count them. The number reached a double then reverted to a singularity. Each time the twitching of his fingers increased, crazed as if he was losing control over his digits- who desired to snap off and regenerate into a grotesque abnormally. The cycle finally broke when the numbers excelled through the playback. Igweis let out a freakish scream and threw himself off the chair onto the harshness of the bold floor tile. His fingers thaw from the hyperthermic shivers that had run through them moments ago. To Igweis, even those brief moments wanted to pull him into a wheelchair. His eyes stared at them, at the tiles, at the walls, at the many things scattered about in the room. He felt a gray creep closer, dying him with its dullness, threatening to yank his hair, wreaking havoc on his body and mind. Igweis crawled back toward the wall, leaning his back against the solid structure. His breathing was speedy and unsteady, leaving traces at the random. Zero. It all began there and only worsened he concluded, sucking in a deep breath.

They were sickening. Every strike and curve, absolutely horrid. Igweis wanted to escape the line. It wasn’t a cycle and that was part of the problem. He let out a laugh in his madness, a dark and unattached chuckle. His former scream had died on the rocks. From zero a line drew out both ways. Shape kin to a circle that couldn’t function in a cycle. The irony was revolting. Was it broken? Igweis was able to form those three words to ponder amidst the horde of numbers pressing firmly against his skull. The room had been occupied by his absurd chuckles for quite some time now, but there was no room for such things in Igweis Semme. He obsessed about the numbers that grew every day, bringing him closer to the door nobody was sure laid beyond it. He counted at random, having no set mind to form any actual order. Just like the twitching of his boney fingers and darting of bloodshot eyes, it was madness. Mad rambling on and on, alone on top of the city. One figure to an overpopulated horde.

The twinkling of the stars was sickening. Igweis hated the city for modelling itself after it. His coffee, with its sugar and cream, had stained upon the floor, the rising sun giving it an earthy tone. The cup, his glass cup, the one he always used sat coldly away from his slouched position. With droopy eyelids, he mumbled unrecognizable slurs like he had snuck heavy liquor into his mug. But the real disturbance was that he hadn’t had a button to drink. His blank, lifeless stare weighted upon the lone plain mug, its shadow casting from its breakable body. Igweis’s mountainous nails demanded to dig into the floor beneath him, to grant access to something solid. For he was not at the moment. A single droplet slid down from the rim of the mug. His eyes focused in to follow it as it stained the side of the plain ceramic, only to pool with the rest on the floor. One joining hundreds of others. One adding onto being useless and forgotten. One succumbs to cold and the rest follow. It was inevitable. Disgustingly so. Igweis spat upon the floor, thick saliva splattered sickly on the tile. The numbers add up and the temperature plummets. No degree could warm him. Igweis felt his heart, steady in his chest. His nails longed to claw at something, to tear out something, to stop the numbers from eating him inside out like an unearthly parasite. Only then did he realize what it was they were twitching for.

The Buzzing

There is a buzzing. A buzzing so loud it seems to be the universe trying to speak, with its words only coming out as a low hummmm. I lay in bed past midnight, with my window thrown open to release some of the stuffy heat in my room- dissatisfaction hit me at the lack of the world's empathy. After tossing around for hours my bed became a stack of hay. Dishevelled and a piled-up mess. I stare blankly at the ceiling as if I was ready to succumb to death. Then as my lids slowly,snail-slip down to cover my pupils I hear a faint buzzzzz. It immediately shakes away any hope of finally falling asleep after these horribly hot, sleepless skips of time (much to my irritation). I rise from my coffin tilting my head in every direction. Having the eyes of a cat at the moment I desperately search for the cause of the disturbance. Waiting, watching while planning its swift execution. I listen...buzzzzz...it's so close..buzzz....right by me...so why can't I see it? Unsteadily, I push myself off the side of my bed and approach the fully open window. Thinking that perhaps it was flies outside having fun tormenting a human in the late night. I peek outside toward the dark and empty fenced backyard of my house. Its utterly silent. Tapping my fingers on the window I return to my bed, telling myself that I was hearing things from lack of sleep. Yeah...just hearing things. Turning to my side I prepare to rest. Buzzzzzz. I flick my eyelids open. There it is again and somehow even louder than before. I was flipping through my mind for answers about where it could possibly be coming from, but I had no idea. Lack of sleep can cause you to hear things, yet as the buzzzz made itself known again I doubted that was the case. It kept repeating as the night rolled by. It would be quiet then all of a sudden....buzzzzzzzz. My eyes scanned everything and couldn't find the source. Now the heat might as well have been the perfect dog because I didn't even feel it anymore. It felt as though I had begun losing my mind...maybe that was it! I was going looney! I was losing my sanity in form of insect buzzing. Its all inside my head if my heads not screwed on right. Buzzzzz...this time...I felt it. And I couldn't believe how insane what I realized sounded. Shivers blitzed down my spine setting off my lungs like grenades. My head was screwed on, there was nothing wrong with it or me. The source of the buzzzzzing....was from inside.

...Crunch...

My feet crunched upon the fresh powdery snow as I trudged forward along the side of the road. The distance to my apartment is lengthier in the problematic-prone winter months. With the smokey sky offering its early 1900's illumination, the stillness chilled the molecule. There was no other life other than the occasional engine rumbling by. While walking the terrain gradually changed and a range of either leafless or needled trees formed beside me. As I marched on my own a 'skkkiiid' alarmed me. I spun my head back only for my own footprints to greet my startled eyes. There was nothing there, just me on the road making my way home to bask in its warmth. I shrugged my shoulders, the tingle of my fingers demanding I ignore whatever I thought I heard. Up the trail again, I marched, towards my cozy apartment. In time with the crunch, the 'skkkiiid' occurred. I let out a breath, as steadily as I could, and for the second time ignored the urge to turn around. More crunches followed and as I approached the last minutes, the animal shed that even in broad daylight would be eerily dark, signalled a directional transfer. I passed by without much thought, yet the 'skkkkiiid' that walked with me for the past weeks developed a much greater presence. Almost as if I was being controlled my right foot froze solid before it touched the surface. My head felt like it was forcefully yanked to the side. My eyes were drawn into the darkness of the animal shed. There was no sign of life, but I felt a cold presence freeze my very soul. Just because there was no life didn't mean there was nothing there. My crunch has a stalker. It follows me everywhere. It's not my own shadow. I'm never alone.

Bones of the Vampire

Death came into existence when the first heart beat no more. Alas, this creature was the first ingredient in the concoction known as mortality. Death by natural cause...being viciously torn by those of carnivorous birth...natural.As the world aged it began to house new causes of death. Knives, spears, guns, bombs, poison. Basically, any object can horrifically wound a living creature beyond the point of recovery. Death. The only victor of the outcome. Time continues, advances give way to new means of life and as life and death are hanging in the balance, these advances open Death's tomb as well. Though we try to create extensions to life, be that as it may, Jarvik-7 has flaws. The taking of organs to be replaced by those from the recently deceased. Sounds like something from Frankenstein, but it is all true. Vampires are so alluring because of the envy of their immortal lives. Humans seemly desire to exist. The desire lives at the back of our minds. Our own greed further demands a solution for our -in contrast-mortal lives. While we bite our nails in anticipation, death is kept busy stealing the spirits of others and our anxieties become all-consuming. As long as creatures live, creatures will die. Death will live for eternity.

Songs Sung at Pripyat

It was summer again with the heat on the rise. My husband and I just reach Camp Pripyat, a 3 1/2-hour car ride from our home in the country, to drop off our son. Who is just as excited about getting out of the car as he was when we first left around 10 in the morning. He eagerly grabs at his bags and swings the door open in pursuit of being one with nature.

“Birch, not so fast, aren’t you forgetting something?” I rest my hands on my hips as the car door on the driver’s side shut.

My son turns on his heels, walks over and gives me a nice hug. After all, we had been generous enough to drive him.

“Dear, you might embarrass him if you hug for too long.” My husband, Reed, states while walking over.

“Yeah, mom. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m his mom, I’m allowed to hug him for longer than usual.”

“Mom,” Birch whines into my shoulder and I give in.

“Fine, but remember. You’ll be here for 3 weeks and if you miss my hugs you won’t be able to hug me.” I warn, wagging my finger.

“He’ll be fine like he said. Our son’s tough like, well, birch.” Reed sides with our son, wrapping his arm over my shoulder.

“Is that why you named me that?” Birch asks while securing a pair of binoculars around his neck.

Before either of us could answer, a camp counsellor came over to greet us.

“Welcome, welcome to Camp Pripyat! I’m Liraz, one of the camp counsellors here.”

“Oh, hello. We’re the Streps, and our son Birch is so excited about your program.” I greet her with a kind smile.

The tan-suited and explorer-hatted woman leans down to Birch.”Good because at Camp Pripyat we love those who have all that extra energy.”

“I sure do!” Birch replies, giving his signature salute from his Boy Scouts troop back home.

Reed laughs. “He sure does.”

“Well,” Liraz says, lightly patting her knees as she rose, “I’ll introduce our new camper and get him settled in. Thank you for coming all this way, you didn’t have any trouble on the way down?”

“Oh no, no trouble. Birch woke up us an hour early, dressed, and raring to go.” Reed pats his back, squeezing his shoulders slightly.

“Good. Good.” Liraz says in relief, she rose her hand to her hat. “I just hate when parents run into difficulties.”

“That’s certainly nice of you to worry, but the trip was rather enjoyable. I’m looking forward to getting home though.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Your boy is in good hands. Now please, leave the rest to us.” Liraz then gives a salute of her own and walks away with Birch who waves back to us. I stand there until I could no longer see him.

The zoom of another car went by while I lean my head against my arm propped up on the door rest.

“You miss him that much already?” Reed asks, holding my hand. “I’m still here, you know.”

“I know.” I look at him as he occasionally flicked his eyes to me. “This is his first time so far away.”

“Birch has been to your sister’s house, she lives even farther.”

“Sure, but he’s alone this time, Reed. My maternal instincts just kick in, you know?”

Another vehicle rolls by as the car continued past the seemingly endless space of grass and trees. “He’s not so little anymore, he’s growing up. One day, we’re gonna have to let him go.”

I secure a neck pillow at my nape, gazing off into the field. “Not quite yet”

A small side hotel comes into view and Reed pulls into its nearly empty parking lot. Only a few cars are stationed. We park and I made no move to remove myself, causing my husband to look at me.

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna sleep in the car?”

“If we were gonna stop for the night why couldn’t we have just stayed at Camp Pripyat?” I grumble.

He shook his head. “You shouldn’t over mother him. Besides, you’d probably make him seem like he needs you to hold his hand.”

“A night wouldn’t have hurt him more than a mosquito bite, and camps are full of em, you know Reed.”

He sighs while stepping out of the car. “As much as I like being coddled by you, dearest-” He walks around and opens my door.”-this is a time of growth.”

“How natural.” I say, stepping out with the weight of my conflict.

“I gotta find some herbs to ease maternal instinct.” Reed mumbles to himself while guiding me by the small of my back inside the hotel lobby.

I gaze up at the blank canvas. Not a single white or grey cloud hung above. It is as unpredictable as Birch’s first time alone. I prefer the rain to a blank sky, at least then I’d have an idea. The heavens were cruel tonight.

The lobby of the hotel-which I hadn’t caught the name of-was very quaint, with a small sofa area tucked in the corner, a couple of tall house plants, and a counter with one of those silver “ring for service” bells. Though something made me believe I shouldn’t ring this one. We walk in and I grab a brochure off the rack near the side of the counter. Reed rings the bell, a high ding twinkling in the atmosphere as I read over popular vacation spots in the mountainous regions.

Reed leans over my shoulder in mild interest at the image of a snow-covered cabin. The place equalled the same distance as Camp Pripyat and is an ample family vacation R and R. I smile when the footsteps of the manager walk from behind the counter. He is an older man, face pinched with wrinkles and graying hair that is slightly left in nature’s hand. He wore a v-neck cream-coloured sweater and if he wasn’t wearing a grey shirt underneath, it would be hard to tell skin from knit.

“Welcome.” He said with a slight grumble he hadn’t tried to cover up with the tightness of his mouth.

“Uh, hello we would like a room for the night.” Reed explains, ignoring the man’s stiffness.

“Hmm.” Is all he replied before reaching down for a binder, it smacked against the lacquered wood as he threw it down. I grab onto Reed as I watch him flip through the pages. There is a steeliness to his eyes as he checks the contents over. “We have one room at the end. That or nothing.” He gazes up at us, unaffected by his own tone.

“Ah, well that will do then.” Reed says while in silence I try to discern the man’s behaviour. My eyes flick over to the pictures hanging on the wall. He was smiling in those photos surrounded by what looked like to be grandchildren. The man clears his throat and I redirect my attention to notice him glaring at me.

“Best keep to yourselves around here, yeah.” It isn’t a question. There was no tilt of compliance. It simply is said.

To me, it seems like an act. A cover, but I have no clue to what.

After he gave us the key we walk out to the room and I halt on the pavement.”I don’t even have a change of clothes, Reed.” I place my hands on my hips.

“It’s like the old days.” He replies while unlocking room 113.

“We’re not in high school.”

I walk in after him as he shuts the door and I plop down on the bed. The room is a standard motel room, smelling like a laundromat and furnished with simple pieces.

I worry for Birch as Reed gets comfortable and flicks on the RCA TV. I always was envious of his adaptability. An old movie plays though I didn’t pay it time nor room for thought. I thought of Birch, the thick woods, the lake, and the strangers surrounding him. Sure. Liraz is nice, like me in some ways, but my motherly instinct flares.

“The manager has…” Reed starts.

“Quite the character.” I finish, mindless in flipping through the brochure.

“Finishing my sentences, just like the old days.”

“Yes, but now we have a son. A son we left all alone.”

Reed sighs, flopping down on the mattress on his back. “You sure are stubborn.”

“I can’t help it.” I say as a 50’s song begins to play in the background of the movie.

Reed glances at me but says nothing. The music plays between us as if putting distance between us as well.

It is late now and the curtains are drawn, the end credits of the old movie long passed. I lay with the brochure in my grasp, eyes staring into the mountain cabin as if I tour inside it. I imagine a great time spent there, all three of us together. I thumb the edge of the paper as I try not to worry.

‘It’s fine. Birch is okay. Being away to gain independence is good. Making friends is good and so is building trust.’ I tell myself these things though they do not sink in as Reed whisks off this planet in slumber. My worry is not reached.

But then I think of what the stale manager had said. “Best keep to yourselves around here, yeah.”

I dive into his words and fail to notice the slicing of my skin as I saw it along the edge of the brochure.

Blood spills over as a voice cuts through the silent hotel.

“I don’t know, Ruby, I wouldn’t want to go there.”

“It was an accident.”

“Still, I dislike walking on spilled blood.”

“Ouch.” It is then I wake up from my haze, the room unblurs and the paper cut is noticed.

As I kiss the wound my ears can’t help but pick up the conversation crossing over from the vent above my head.

“It was Camp Pripyat where those two kids died.”

Did I hear that right? I shift from my side unto my knees, then stand to place my ear against the metal mesh.

“I heard they drowned in the lake.”

“Where were the counsellors?”

“Beats me, lost in the woods ironically.”

The cold front against my ear is not tangible compared to the shudder of what I hear.

‘Birch. Birch. Birch.’

I jump off the bed in a frantic hurry, the bounce of the mattress stirs Reed as he sits up and rubs at his eyes. He notices the movements of a hunted deer.

“Dearest, did you have a nightmare? What’s going on?”

I walk back and forth in the room in a search of the car keys. “I have to go back.”

“Huh?” He says in confusion. “If this is due to a night-”

“No. No. From what I just heard.” I point up at the now dead vent. “Children have died at that Camp, Reed. I won’t leave my son there. No way.”

Reed gazes up at the vent, then back down to me. “You’re serious? You know you shouldn’t trust gossip.”

“What gossip stirs from the death of two kids? I don’t have time to argue…I-” I gaze down as I slip on my shoes.

It is then that Reed walks over. “Hey, it’s okay. We…I’ll drive us back in the morning. Just rest your mind full of maternal instincts for tonight.”

I don’t look at him as I stare at my shoes. These ones didn’t have laces like my old pair, didn’t have laces like Birch’s new pair. It means I don’t have to worry about tripping, but Birch…

“I can drive. I’ll be back tomorrow morning.”

“We can phone, tell Liraz to cabin our son if you’re so worried.”

“And you’re not?” I suddenly snap.

“I know he needs this.” He replies calmly.

“Yeah, and I know that this worry of mine has a root.”

I move to the door with my purse, before holding out my hand. “Keys.”

“I don’t want you going-”

“Keys.”

Reed sighs and rubs his head. “You sure?”

“I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“With Birch?”

“I’ll make that decision when I get there.”

My husband reaches into his pocket where the familiar set jiggles in his hold. A licorice plant and zombie keychain jiggle along with it. He drops it in my hand wordlessly. “I’ll be here. Drinking black coffee. Just be careful.”

I nod as I open the door and walk into the night.

The road brightens with the headlights of the car as I drive the same route I travelled only hours ago. I know Reed expected me to drive back, that’s why he kept the keys on his person. He’s always been too kind.

I drive on in the night, nearing Birch while I become farther away from my husband in the dust off the road.

The tires of the car skid along the gravel as I turn into the Camp Pripyat entrance, a log sign hanging above, and despite its claim of being nature friendly, it was never alive.

Through the foggy scent of pine and other wild plants, I pass the tiny shack on the side of the road. Up ahead with the headlights cutting through the night's gown I see the first cabins come into view along with campers as they run, trying to get gravel-faced kites to fly.

I brake hard causing a rumble in the gravel. The headlights point directly at the kids as they stop and cock their heads as if accusing me of being the crazy one.

“What are they doing?” I mumble to myself in the car while my hands grip the wheel firmly, sitting straight in my seat.

I step out of the car, the headlights dim and shut off, compelling my eyes to see embers floating in the air from behind the first cabin. I hear the children scruffle away, the rustle of paper scrapes at their feet. I walk toward the only existing light source still in puzzle pieces from the encounter moments ago.

‘Why would they be flying kites now? Especially with no set illuminated area of the Camp?’ I couldn’t understand the unusual action.

Grass replaces the gravel as I hug the corner of the building, shifting when a clawing bush grew out of the darkness suddenly. I stop as I see the sight before me. A ring fire blazes and the campers sit around together, kites at their feet while they roast marshmallows handed out by non-other than Liraz.

As if hearing my mental anguish she stills from her deliveries and looks at me, my back to the dark.

I see her lean in to observe if I was real or a campfire ghost story. She says something and the other campers turn to look at me. Suddenly I feel exposed.

“Huh?! Mom?!”

I recognize Birch’s voice immediately as he stands from the log on the side. Leave it to him to identify me against obscurity.

“Mrs. Strep?” Liraz stalks up to me. “What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here? What are you doing? Do you know what time it is? I certainly haven’t been keeping track, which means it’s very late.”

Birch catches up to Liraz after denying something stated by other campers. “Yeah, so you should be asleep, mom. Where’s dad?”

“Me asleep? That’s the first. But how about you, mister? Seriously what is going on? And your dad’s back at the hotel.”

“I’d like to know as well, come we’ll chat inside.” Liraz says as she moves toward the administration cabin located on the left side. She gestures for the others to stay there as we walk away from the orange flaking fire.

Two logs slanted into a triangle stood before the short staircase and branch framed photo’s covered the outside wall of the administration cabin; campers come and gone are depicted within them.

The light comes on, and the organs expose. The first section has a couple of benches under the side windows and an office takes up the parallel half. The second section is walled off with dividers, I guess there are beds on the other side. Liraz takes off her hat, strands of her short orange hair following after the hat as she sits in a wheeled chair. Birch sits on one of the benches, his arms crossed. I could tell he is upset with me.

I plop down beside him, but he shifts over.

“So did something come up? I hope you aren’t disatisfied with our program now.” Liraz asks, finally gazing at me.

I clear my throat as I notice a painting of hamsters hanging above us. “Um, well…there is something I heard that worried me. I know a mother shouldn’t freak about a mere rumour but…”

“No, its because you’re a mother that you do.” Liraz replies, placing her elbows onto her knees.”Go on, Mrs. Strep.”

Briefly, I glanced over to Birch, catching his eyes that had wandered over to me, flicking away quickly. Is it right to scare him into coming home? I mean, my mind isn’t yet made up, but revealing the rumour might end up that way. I decide to fill the empty space after the = sign in my mind. “I heard that two campers drowned in the lake and that the counsellors were MIA.” I fold my hands onto my lap, lightly tapping a thumb.

The oxygen hides under a rug, the grim topic contrasting the fairy lights and butterflies in frozen flight in the cabin.

Liraz turns to look at the camper administration papers, where all the names of the children under her care were. She turns back to me. “That is true, sadly.”

Birch and I jolt up. In anxiety? In relief? Why would I feel relieved? I feel ill at the roots of my being. Sick at myself. My eyes shoot up at the painting again. ‘Why am I relieved? Why am I relieved?’

“Kids really have died here?!” Birch suddenly blurts out, the bench screeching against the wood as he rises.

I take hold of his arm to calm him, gesturing for him to sit back down.

Liraz nods, gripping her hat in her hands. “It was 20 years ago. I wasn’t a counsellor then, but I was told of the incident when I became one last year. Poor kids and their parents.”

I take in a breath, and my hand crinkles in. “So it is true.”

“I assure you, Mrs. Strep, that no child is left unsupervised. Since the tragedy, we have kept a watchful eye on everything that happens.”

“Then could you explain to me why there are children flying kites now?” I ask firmly.

Liraz and Birch look at me bewildered.

“There are no children flying kites.”

I stand up from the bench. “B-but I saw them they were-”

“Mom. Just stop.” Birch suddenly springs up. “If you want me to leave so bad then just say it. Don’t pull a boy who cried wolf on me.” Then he leaves the cabin as I stand speechless and Liraz flinches as the door slams.

“Mrs. Strep, if you want to take your son I can’t do anything to stop you…but just take this into consideration. Experiences help a person grow, so I hope you let him move from the socialization period into the juvenile one.”

Liraz invites me to sleep in the unused cabin on the right of the burgundy mulch path. Apparently, the camper who was scheduled in it backed out suddenly for unclear reasons. They had spoken so hysterically over the phone that someone might’ve mistaken them for being a lunatic. Only the bleeping of a dead phone line indicated termination of the contract.

I can’t sleep while I blink away every attempt to slumber. My mind goes back to Birch and how he opposed the idea of leaving with me. Is it so bad to be snatched by your mother in the dead of night? I’m not a stranger, yet the way he walked out on me made me feel like one.

By the time the sun rose the birds were busy chatting up a tempest. I get out of the camp cot and look over into the empty one. Liraz must be off early with counsellor responsibilities I think as I slip my shoes on and go outside.

I find everyone in the eating area, suited up and ready for the day's activities. Birch is far over in the corner, turned away from me. I guess he’s still mad.

Liraz notices me as I walk further into the field of picnic tables.

“Mornin’ Mrs. Strep.” She says as she hands me a plate of pancakes.

The smell of licorice fills my nose, and I back away from it. “Is there licorice in that?”

Liraz looks at the plate. “Uh, yes. It grows in the wild around here. Although let me guess, allergies?”

“Does Birch know?” I almost shout.

Liraz waves her hands, trading the plate for another. “Oh of course, I made sure every camper knew its ingredients.”

She handed me the other with not a hint of the indicating scent.

“Thank goodness.” I say as I glance at my son who doesn’t acknowledge my presence. Other campers consume every bit on their plate like hamsters with niblets.

“These are famous pancakes, you know.” Liraz says as she cuts off a piece with a red plastic knife.

I eat my catered breakfast grimly as she goes on.

“The licorice around here has a distinctive palate and has reigned in campers and counsellors from all over.”

I perk a little, my stomach finding her story more appetizing. “Really why is that?”

Liraz shrugs. “Beats me, but I ain’t complaining.” She sticks the piece into her awaiting mouth, solid flat cake, to mush, to nothing.

I wonder if they are as famous as she says as I notice the only other chatter in the picnic area was from forks then mouths.

Birch’s eyes focus on winding through the thick trees. He doesn’t utter a word while preparing a canoe with another camper, I hear him call her Cherry. She was an average-sized girl with dyed hair of her namesake. They both walk away from my seated figure as I call Reed. With Birch rooted to Pripyat, I think it's best that I leave him here. Reed and Liraz are right. He needs independence.

I must back off from over-mothering him.

The line rings. “Hi, Reed…I’m fine…yeah…I’ll be back tonight. Huh, really? Is he okay…he did seem bothered…huh, you thought so too. Well, I’ll be seeing you, dear…yes…take care.”

My phone screen goes black and I now notice the paper plates in the trash can, aggressively scarred at the bottom by starving men.

I turn the key and the car revs, but the full power of the engine eludes the rest of its structure. My head lands on the wheel. I don’t curse because I’m a mom, but if I didn’t have Birch I would of. A knock raises me from my slump and I open the door.

Liraz’s eyebrows furrow. “No juice?”

“I don’t know.” I sigh, my head meeting the cushion this time. I stare at the dustless gravel in front and fail to ingest the full twisted curve of Liraz’s face. I glance over when it disappears.

“That is a problem.” She says, leaning her face on her fist. “I’ll take a look if you want. My dad was a mechanic.”

“Oh really, thank you so much. Sorry about this.” I shake my head as I step out, shutting the door.

“Oh, its no problem Mrs. Strep. Thank you.” She hums, turning away to lick her lips.

I shudder a little at the lilt in her voice, as if she is happy about the news. I find it a quick and strange change in character, but shake it off. Maybe she is just excited to test her know-how.

A haze goes by and I notice Birch observe me more than once, just waiting for me to leave I think.

He is with the same girl, Cherry, though she looks slightly chubbier than she did when I first saw her.

The hours are getting to me, irritating my eyes, making to hungry to just collapse into my own bed, and eat ice cream to cool the burn from my son’s rejection.

I think about those kids I saw last night, dragging colourful kites that would not fly. I could not understand Liraz’s denial. They stood still in my headlights, not evaporating within them.

I close my eyes, and the smell of smoke catches my nose through the heavy coating of pine and wilderness. I get off the bench and walk down the natural path. The trees tighten and I notice a plant at the foot, teardrop-shaped leaves and a pinecone lavender flower poking out from the ground. I catch a sudden draft as the scent enters my senses. Licorice. I move into the North American cactus and quickly walk passed the plant. Liraz had said it grew naturally in the area.

A large body of water flooded the near horizon, the lake gleamingly prettily with pearly whites. My throat sinks. My imagination flooding with the image of two other floating bodies in the large one. I shake my head, but my feet still move toward it. I end up on an old bench overlooking the lake. a small bunch of weeds crawl from the dirt at my feet.

It is then that a call comes through on my phone. I take it out of my shirt pocket and swipe to answer. Before I can say hello a voice takes the initiative.

“Are you and Birch alright?!”

“Reed? What’s the matter? Of course, we are.”

“Leave immediately, drag Birch if you have to. The anxiety will eat me alive if you stay any longer.”

I remove the device from my ear, check to see if I’m not being pranked, then speak. “Okay, but first, tell me where this is coming from. You were encouraging of Birch before and chastised ME for it, but now you what me to mother bear him?”

It is silent for a breath and I hear a sigh. “Listen, the hotel manager…he started sprouting weeds like a crazy man. Over and over he said you and Birch would lose your souls while hugging the photo frames from the wall. Even the paramedics couldn’t comment on his sudden erratic behaviour. The threat doesn’t have a seat in my stable mind. So please, just take Birch and leave. I don’t know, from what I’ve seen…I have a bad feeling.”

I go quiet as I remember the frames of those kids hanging on the wall. Could it be-

“Alright, alright. I hear you, dear. I’ll get Birch and…” I also remember my car trouble and curse.

“Oh no, don’t tell me.”

“Car trouble. I couldn’t get it to start before.” I slump on the bench, feeling trapped.

I hear shuffling on the other side.

“Reed?”

“...I’ll come to you. Stay safe until I get there…” There’s a desperation in his voice like he was on a raft surrounded by water with no paddle.

“Wait, Reed-!” The line goes dead.

The screen goes dark as I get up and head back to camp. I’ll do what a mother can.

I take the same route as before as it is the surest way back through the dense surrounding brush. I weave through the prickling pine trees again, but this time I notice something off. I look down to the foot to see a disturbed spot of soil, the licorice root all but savagely torn from the ground. Bits of the purple pinecone scatter about in a frantic hurry. I wonder what happens now. The next moment my ears pick up on conjoined voices and I walk away, drawn to the sound.

The blend of voices grows and there is something…dangerous behind the conjoined tones. I don’t see a single child outside though the sun is perfect for outside activities. A row of cabins lays silently, windows dark. I stop for a moment and direct my head to the source. In the middle of Camp Pripyat is where I had breakfast that morning, and there was also a large inside dining hall for ill weather.

I cut across the grass to the large, lone building, the voices radiating off its logs. I realize it is singing and wonder if it's some traditional camp song. The windows and underneath the doors burn bright in red and I feel my eyes shrink in puzzlement. My feet quiet like a hamster as I snoop into the nearest window. What I see makes me feel sorry for my allergy.

To be continued~