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What Lies Inside

Let the darkness engulf you

By Mariam SheikhPublished 3 years ago 10 min read
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What Lies Inside
Photo by James Kemp on Unsplash

There it was, the cursed cave. And to Hera’s surprise, the cliff that housed it was eerily captivating. From the entrance, it seemed like a harmless cavity and a decent place for her to take shelter from the pouring rain. She had heard tales about this cave because the ones who entered were never seen again. It was apparent that the locals were fearful of it. Still, she needed to escape the rain to avoid contracting a cold because that would prolong her journey to the village.

She made haste to enter and instantly felt the hair on the back of her neck stand when the murkiness of the cave engulfed her. Hera glanced over her shoulder at the entrance and noted the sudden absence of sound. Despite the foreboding silence, she continued, in search of dry ground. The emptiness of the cave’s depths turned her hurried steps into cautious ones. But when a small spark ignited in the distance, she stopped dead in her tracks.

She held her breath as the blinding spark began to spread at an alarming rate with high-pitched ringing echoing off the walls. In utter panic, she clamped her eyes shut. Her hands pressed into her ears in an attempt to block out the ringing. Like a fleeting gust of wind, her surroundings fell back into silence. She warily opened her eyes and was met with an oddly familiar environment. With her brows furrowed, she scanned the cozily lit room before her eyes fell on the haggard face of a certain man.

“D-dad?” Hera stuttered.

When she moved, her feet gave out which caused her to drop onto all fours. Not once did her teary eyes leave the man’s face. There was no doubt in her mind that that man was her father. Despite having never met him, she knew his face. Hera called out to him again, but the man who was slouched in his chair did not lift his face to look in her direction. His somber gaze remained on his fingers, which were interlaced in his lap. Almost like he was silently praying. She stumbled to her feet and inched closer to him. Her face glistened with the tears that rolled down her face.

Her shaky hands reached out to touch him, but stilled when they traveled through his shoulder. Distraught, Hera repeatedly called out to her father and tried to touch him. Her hands continued to go right through his body. When he suddenly jumped to his feet, her hysteria was cut short. His eyes widened in fear as his hands curled into fists. She followed his line of sight and caught another man who stood at the door. The man’s armor reflected the flickering candles in the room while he spoke to her father.

She watched as her father’s eyes welled up and his lips quivered at the man’s words. She studied the side of his face, taking in every dip and wrinkle. Immersed in thought, she missed when he had shifted to balance his weight on his knees. He slowly craned his neck back and his despondent gaze landed on the ceiling before he closed them completely. A blade was suddenly placed on his adam’s apple. But before she could process what was unfolding, the blade pierced through the thin flesh of his neck.

Shock-ridden, she stumbled and fell with her hips hitting the floorboard at the same time as her father’s body. With one hand over her thumping heart and the other over her mouth, her panicked eyes followed the man out the door. But there was an abrupt flash and Hera found herself staring at her father, slouched in his chair. His posture and eyes the same as earlier with no traces of a laceration or blood on his throat. Almost like the clock had reversed. Alike before, the man in the armor stood at the door.

Hera anxiously watched him speak to her father but his words sounded like hushed gibberish. When he approached her kneeling father with his sword, she profusely yelled at him to stop. But the scene ended the same, with her father bleeding out on the floorboard. And when the man crossed the doorframe, the scene restarted once again.

“NO!” Hera cried out, her face buried in her hands.

“Please make stop!” her voice cracked, unable to witness the murder of her father for the third time.

His absence from her life had pained her enough, and to witness his murder repeatedly was absolute torment. She could not even touch him, nor could she fathom the words that they exchanged. Perhaps this was the curse of the cave. The ones who entered got trapped in a loop, forced to relive an unbearable event. However, what she witnessed was precisely how her father was described to have passed. This meant the curse trapped Hera in her father’s last memory. His last moments alive.

She remained on the floor because her mind was muddled with anguish. Legs pressed to her chest, forehead on her knees, and her eyes numb from the tears she had wept. All the while the loop continued to play over and over again. Finally, she understood why the locals called it the people-eating cave. It had eaten her. She had become another victim of the cursed cave.

Would she slowly die while watching her dad get murdered?

Numerous questions drowned her anguish and Hera was finally able to lift her head. She had lost count of how many times the loop had restarted. If she was to guess, it had passed thirty. She reluctantly opened her eyes and there the two men were. One listened and the other spoke. When her father silently got on his knees, tears escaped her dry eyes and trickled down her cheeks. She could not fathom why he seemed to welcome death. For a man with a pregnant wife, he made no effort to resist. Like he believed he deserved to be killed.

Hera’s gaze rose to read the murderer’s face and it held no emotion. His eyes were blank but his movement was meticulous. The nonchalance in his demeanor enraged her. Only a monster could be this composed. Her eyes darkened with hatred. When the loop reset, she balanced on her feet and walked to him. She brought her hands up to his neck. She could not fight the urge to strangle him. If only she could touch him.

She dropped her hands to her side when he was done speaking. He strode through her to make his way to her father. Hera pressed her eyes shut knowing what would unfold behind her. But her eyes shot open when her finger scraped against something on the man. She turned on her heels. Wide eyes frantically studying his attire. What was she able to touch? It was not him so-? Hera swallowed the lump in her throat when he unsheathed his sword.

The sword?

She leaped forward to grasp the blade when it sat on her father’s neck. But to her dismay, her fingers traveled through it. Hera let out a frustrated wail. She needed to find out what her finger brushed past. Thus, when the scene began she went to the door and waited for him to enter. And soon he did. Short on time, she haphazardly skimmed her hands over him and paused when the back of her hand collided with the sword’s pommel. She hesitated for a split second but then wrapped her fingers around the hilt.

She gave the man, who was still speaking, a cautious glance before she unsheathed the weapon. With one hand on the grip, she tried to feel its edge. She could only touch the hilt and the crossguard. The lack of movement in her surrounding pulled her out of her reverie. Both her father and the man were frozen. Even the flickering candles had stilled. She glanced down at the weapon in her hand when the realization hit. This sword could be the key. She heaved in a deep breath with her hand tightened around the grip.

With the sword pointed at the man, she pushed it through his chest. A blinding flash resonated through the room and the memory reset to the beginning. Hera stood there by the door completely perplexed. Her father was back in his chair. She faced the door and there he was again. Disappointed, her eyes fell back on the sword that had returned to its owner. She stepped forward and pulled the sword out of its scabbard and everything around her paused. She took the time to think hard about the sword’s significance.

Other than herself the only solid thing there was the sword. If killing that man was not the answer then what was? What if she needed to slice his throat instead? Hera decided on testing that theory and held up the weapon to his neck. The second the weapon touched his neck the loop restarted. Was that not the answer?

Hera lost track of time as she tested every logic that crossed her mind, yet nothing worked. She even stabbed herself and that too resulted in the resetting of the scene. Following each attempt, she felt her stamina drain. When she ran out of options, she dropped the sword and fell to the floor. Her labored breathing ringing in her head. Her resolve had faltered and her eyes welled up again. Was there even a way out? Exhausted, she rested her temple on the floor.

The scene had begun again and she helplessly watched. She curled her arms in front of her chest in an attempt to comfort herself. Through silent tears, she wondered what her father’s last thoughts were? Did he think of her? Perhaps if he resisted, Hera would not have lived such a cruel life. When her father’s trembling body fell opposite where she lay, her heart broke. She was only witnessing his murder. He was the one being killed. It pained her to watch him experience death repeatedly.

Blood pooled by his head but his pupils were still moving. She wished that she could somehow end his suffering. That said desire induced a culmination. One that had not crossed her mind. It could possibly be her way out. In a final and desperate attempt, Hera took a hold of the sword. If this failed, she would accept death. She turned to face her father with the pointed end of the blade inches from his chest. She gripped the sword with both hands to steady the weapon. With her eyes clamped shut, she drove the edge through him.

A hand rested on hers which caused her eyes to flutter open. She blinked at her smiling father.

“You finally forgave me,” he mouthed, “Thank you, my child.”.

The flash returned and her surroundings reverted to the gray walls of the cave. Her watery eyes fell on the human bones her feet were buried in. She screamed and jumped back. And that’s when she noticed that the sword was no longer in her clasp. Instead a little black notebook. She flipped through its crisp pages. They detailed the curse and what it had been placed to protect. Hera looked at the furthest end of the cave and there it sat. An innocent box of twenty thousand in gold coins. The scripture began to fade till all the pages became blank. When she closed the notebook, her name had appeared on its black cover.

The sun welcomed her when she stumbled out of the cave. With the black notebook and the box in her arms, her knees met the warm sand beneath her. Hera threw her head back and permitted the sunlight to envelop around frigid skin. Ironically, she felt like she had broken free from much more than just the curse.

trauma
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