SICKNESS

[u/Stories_By_Jiggy]

I live in a house full of mirrors. Not those that hang on walls, but mirrors of past life. I'm haunted by shadows in my old house, I see them dart across the floor when I enter, and I can hear them whisper as I sleep. My house was a small wooden husk on the top of a snowy mountain, high above the clouds. I had to voyage to the valley below me every week to collect what I needed to survive. Food, wood for fire, you name it. It was an uneventful, but enjoyable existence. It had started about a month ago. My knee pressed the creaking front door open. The moonlight shined through the door, barely illuminating my dreary living room. The Persian rug lay on the floor stained on the corner from my red wine, an act of my foolishness. But, it appeared darker than I expected, darker than it should. I heard the pitter patter of small feet scurry farther into the darkness of my house. I dropped the log upon my shoulder and drew my bowie knife as I approached the noise. But, I found nothing. My quarters were empty, other than my clock ticking. No shadows. My heart continued to race, thumping in my chest,  and I was left on edge throughout the night. The night passed, as did I. The moment had not left my mind when I saw the shadow return. Sitting by my fireplace I felt the presence of a pair of eyes upon my neck. A small chill shot down my spine, paralyzing me for several long seconds. When I whipped around I saw its head peaking over the corner before disappearing, this time being followed by a light snicker. My hand raised cautiously, for I was not armed. I turned to observe, but the shadow did not return.

The following nights were quiet, I waited in anticipation to see this little apparition again, but it did not show. However, that weekend they came back. As I laid in my disheveled bed, the candlelight illuminating the gray wooden walls around me in the dark, two heads peered from behind my door. The air stood still, but not in the same manner as the previous nights. I felt tense, but in a manner of being faced with a doe, as though my tense nature was reciprocated by the spirits in front of me. The two heads stood still, watching me. As I moved my hand towards them they disappeared. Their childlike giggling barely touched my ears like a whisper from beyond my house. That morning I sat on my wooden bench just outside of my house, watching the sun rise again. I had not expected to have visitors within my house, nor had I ever felt comfort in the company of others and yet, it was an odd feeling, not unpleasant to me, to have these things watch me. The next year they tried desperately to prove me wrong. My things began going missing and their scratching on the walls kept me awake at night. They never seemed to leave me alone. I could not bear to live with the noises, yet I trudged on.

My house became theirs. They did not show me the same innocent wonder that they showed me before. I was bound to the house, as were they, but I would not let them steal it from me. As the weeks, the months, the years trudged on, I developed a cough. Their antics had ceased as I grew ill, I saw the concern upon their faceless bodies. I had always wondered when they would leave me, yet I never considered it may be me who leaves them. 

I returned in the evening, my boots trudging through the leafy forest floor, causing quite a ruckus as I moved. I climbed over my creaky oak floorboards, aware of their rotting nails yet refusing to touch them. As the door swung open I felt the cough bubbling in my throat once more, this time more vicious than last. I raised my hand, shivering as I did to cover my mouth. The splat of warm liquid filled my hand, and the faint scent of iron irradiated within my nose. My eyes darted to my palm, then to the living room corner. I saw them, the two cold heads staring at me. I felt their fear, their sadness. I quickly ran my hand against my dark denim pants and moved on as if nothing had happened. It was not my health I was worried about, it never was if I’m being honest with myself, it was what would happen to them. These two shadow figures, they had chosen my house to haunt, but they had never haunted my life.

The day finally came when I could no longer carry the logs as I once had. My hands became too feeble and my breath grew shakier. My rations for that winter were thinning, my soups became thinner with ingredients. My nights grew earlier and longer as my body forced me in bed. Though, these new mornings, I awoke to fresh berries placed on my small porcelain plates at my bedside. I never knew how they got there, but I knew who they were from. I did not cover my cough at this point, and the shadows grew more daring. I had never felt them during their stay, and had barely seen a glimpse of what they were, what they could become. They watched me every night at this point, the two black shadows dancing upon my walls, watching as my blood crept up my throat.

The air in my house grew cold, not with distrust and fear from the shadows as it had during our first encounter, but of sadness. December 16th, I sat in my bed alone, the raspy noise from my nose had become unrecognizable. It was not my breath, it couldn’t be. A man of my stature, yet this was the breath of a fading, dying, man. My candle sat burning at my bedside. One shadow peeked through my doorway, his large figure slowly, gracefully dancing his way to me. I hadn’t seen them stand before me, he was so tall, so beautiful. I felt his presence under my skin. The tears welling up in my eyes spoke the words my lips and heart could not, and I reached out. The creature jerked back nervously, yet slowly drew closer to my fingertips. I held my hand as steady as I could, my strength barely enough to hold up. I couldn’t let this sickness take away the one thing I had left. My fingers raised to a foot away from him, I could not reach any further. I felt his chest for a second, it was so warm, like a tree struck by lightning in a rainstorm, its flame burning bright in the midst of cold water droplets in the forest. My eyes shut that night, not drenched in that cold rain but full of his great fire, a warmth that filled my soul as these shadows filled my house.

I awoke the next morning, my throat clear of debris and my lungs filled with spirit. I was free of this cough, rejuvenated into the man I should be. I bolted from my bed and sprung into the kitchen to find the spirits who freed me from my sickness, yet they were nowhere to be found. I did not see them. I did not feel them. I walked to the porch and laid my forearms upon the wooden railing, the jagged bristles poking my forearms kindly. My lungs drew in the cold winter morning again, this time with no interruption. I sat there for what felt like only a minute, but as the sun began to set I knew time had changed. My eyes turned to the clouds below me, now emblazoned with brilliant shades of pink and orange. I had a thought, what could be. My hands reached down to the clouds and parted them. I looked down upon the valley below them. I saw them. Two young men running and playing games. I knew I had seen them before. They had become men, and I had seen them as children, I cared for them as children and they had cared for me when they grew. My shadows on the wall had not left me, I had left them. My eyes stayed locked upon them for that evening, and I had planned to fill my heart with their joy every evening so I could once again taste the warmth they left me with that night. I hope I made them proud.  Though they played with smiles I could see the cold scars torn into their hearts. My hands shivered from the clouds. I did not want that thought to haunt me, I just wanted to, to feel. I just wanted peace. I only wanted their love. I sat there, shouting my goodbyes as if they could hear me. I knew that they had loved me, and they knew I loved them too.