The Mansion

The Mansion

The Mansion.

In the muggy, eerie swamp you step softly. Your senses alive with everything around you. The slithering of a snake through the Spanish moss in a tree overhead, the squish of your feet in the damp earth with each step. A mournful sound of a loon as it calls out, seeming lost, just as you are. Your fingers touch the bark of an old cypress tree, a joy to your nerve endings. The feeling rough and warm, inviting. Your nose is full of the heady scent of rotting debris. Leaves and wood, even once living things mingle within it.
Your hand moves in front of your face to pull aside the curtain of gray/silver moss that hangs before it. The ground has become firmer, as you look to your feet for guidance. There is a path you somehow managed to stumble on, following it unconsciously. As you look up toward the thinning canopy, your eyes catch a glimpse of something in the distance. Something big, hidden by overgrowth and years of forgotten memories, something that seems to beckon to you.
The way is easier now, the path having opened to a clearing in the middle of forever. A moments hesitation as you look around, feeling surreal. So tired, it seems you could sleep on your feet. Is this real? Is what you see really there, or is it an illusion brought on by weariness and hunger? You don't care. You start walking again, trying to get to it.
You stand before the massive structure and gaze upward to the highest peak. It could have been grand in it's day. Three, possibly four stories high, the building is solid. Bringing to mind the stories told of plantations and rich living. The structure is embraced with vines and moss, blending in like a chameleon. The windows, those intact and otherwise, are dark. Eyeless sockets that haven't wept a tear in an age.
The steps leading to the mansion seem sturdy, though a few boards are cracked or pitted. The front porch area is walled in from growth, leaving the skeleton of the banisters hidden from view. The hum of Katydids lulls you as the ache in your legs and back becomes almost unbearable. You walk up the steps.
The porch boards creak softly, not screaming in much protest at the weight it feels after what must be a very long time. Your eyes scan the area, catching a glimpse of a black rabbit scurrying for cover under a thick bramble of vine in the far corner of the porch. Your stomach growls as you are reminded of your hunger. Stepping to the front door, you turn the knob. It opens easily enough, the hinges screaming more loudly in protest than the porch boards did.
As you stand on the threshold, immediately your nose senses the change as your eyes adjust to the difference in light. The air that meets you is cool and smells of old wood, paint and water. You listen for sounds of something, anything, that would signify you are not alone here. Only the insects and the soft wind moaning through the old place answers your silent call.
Taking a breath, you step in. You walk down the opening foyer as you listen to your footsteps. You scan for snakes or rodents, then come to the end of the hall. In front of you is a large area. It could have been used as a formal living room. To your right, there is a door that is closed. The paint has peeled and the wood has cracked from age and dampness but it looks solid enough. Your hand reaches out and takes the knob, but you do not open it.


To your left, there is another door. This one is slightly ajar. You peek through the opening, then push the door open. It creaks softly. The room is large with another door at the other side, toward the front of the mansion. It stands open and your curiosity compels you to wander over to it. Somehow, though old and empty, the place feels comfortable as you explore.
Somewhere between the center of the room and the opposite door, you think you hear a voice, as if far away. You stand, awaiting the sound again. Hope against hope that someone has found you. An eternity passes and the voice does not come again. A sigh from you, as you lick your parched lips and continue to the open door. You turn the corner and look in to a kitchen.
The area is again large, given the facts thus far, you figure every room in the place must be so. The windows in here don't have as much covering and light comes in from the outside. You walk in and step over plaster and wood, looking upward. It seems a part of the ceiling has given way in here at some point in time. Being careful, you get to the old, cast iron stove and stand looking at it. You can imagine the sound of someone moving the front plate to coax the coals beneath. You can smell bacon and eggs, coffee, tea. You moan. Your hunger is painful and the reminder of it makes you feel light headed.
A pantry door is close by and you look inside. It is very dark and musty smelling. You won't step in there for fear of snakes. Besides, like the rest of the rooms you have seen so far, save for the kitchen with the stove, you assume it, too, is empty. Nothing to sate hunger nor thirst. Then you hear a voice again, far away. Your imagination? Wishful thinking? You wait again. Again, the voice does not return.
You walk to the wall beside the stove and lean against it. A switch, old and rusty, taunts you. Out of the desire to try, you switch it down, then up again. As expected, nothing happens. You allow yourself to slide down the wall and settle to the floor. Seeing another door opening with steps almost across from you, you decide you are too tired to venture further. Leaning over, your head rests to the cool metal of the stove. You are so exhausted. Your eyes slowly close, your breathing becomes even and ...
It is there again.
The voice.
Closer.
You open your eyes and can't yell out in surprise. Your throat and mouth are parched from thirst. There is a woman looking over you with a light about her head. An angel. You are dead. The swamp and lack of sustenance has taken it's toll. As the angel moves closer, her features become clearer. You see the halo is no more than the shine of the over head light behind her. As she reaches for your face, your senses are bombarded with what shouldn't be here. You are dreaming. You must be dreaming because she smells like bacon and eggs.
The sound of a frightened animal comes from somewhere. You realize you have found your voice as you try desperately to come to your feet. Unfortunately your legs seem to have been severed for you still sit against the wall, by a stove that is now very warm. Glancing around, your eyes see a large dinning table and chairs, a refrigerator and a light coming from the open pantry door.




The woman stops leaning so close to you, but doesn't move far. She calls out. "Huston! We have a major problem in here!" In her hand she holds a spatula and she reaches for the stove, picking up a large, cast iron skillet with the other. Looking like she means business, you search for a way out of your little corner.
%u201CLord and Lady." You look to the right, where the stairwell opening is across from you and behind the woman with the skillet. You see another woman enter the room. It is then you notice they are transparent. The second woman comes closer as a man steps up behind her. He is tall and thin, also transparent. "What are you going to do with that skillet, Jamie?" His voice is soft as he watches you. "I don't think you can do much damage to an apparition."
He removes his glasses and cleans them while still peering at you. "Husband, this is no apparition." The second woman speaks as the first woman sets the skillet back to the stove. The man replaces his glasses. This, you assume, is the second woman's husband. "This poor soul is trapped betwixt." Just then, yet another being comes in. This one makes you wish you were dreaming. There is little that looks human about him, save for his stance and the fact that he has what seems to be hands. You instinctively try to sink further in to the wall behind you.
"I thought I smelled a stranger close by." The creature speaks in a gruff voice. "Should have known this would happen, or worse." He leans closer to you, trying to have a better look. "Could have made it all the way across." The second woman looks perturbed at the creature. "Grinch, that is no way to speak about our guest." There is no reply and you watch the creature turn and walk back out. "Sarah, what do we do now?" The woman called Jamie asks the second woman. Sarah must be the name of Husband's wife.
Sarah squats down, bending at the knees and looks you in the eye. She smiles. For the first time, you are spoken to instead of about. "There is nothing to be frightened of. You are safe here and we can help you." Husband shakes his head and walks out of the kitchen. You close your eyes, covering your mouth as your empty stomach tries hard to purge it's very lining. %u201CGo tell Bran to bring his crystals. We have to see if we can help this poor wretch.%u201D You almost laugh. Wretch, you? Insane is more like it. You open your eyes and know you have lost your mind because...
They are gone.
You feel the sweat upon your brow trickle down the side of your face. The feeling is welcome. It is real, something tangible for your mind to grasp hold of. Your hand moves from your mouth to your eyes and you rub them. You are crying. No wonder and no surprise. You are going mad. It is okay to cry because of this. A quiet sob as you gather your composure, then you fight with your numb legs to stand. As you rise, you look to the old stove.
It is as it was when you first sat beside it. You turn looking toward the door, your eyes seeing the plaster and wood still upon the floor. There is no table, nor chairs. There is no light from the fixture above, nor is there heat from the stove. There are no ghosts looking at you. A movement of the door and your heart leaps to your throat. A shadow at it's base moves. The black rabbit from the porch has made it's way inside and uncannily ended up in the kitchen with you. You must not have closed the front door. It's nose twitches, it's ears move, it's eyes seem to stare at you. As you watch, your ears hear the sound of water.


Water! You hear it inside the mansion. You turn quickly around, looking for a sink. The rabbit is startled and moves back out the door from whence it entered the kitchen. The old basin is cracked and the faucets rusted and very dry. You loose the sound of water from the rush of blood in your ears. You force your heart to slow in your excitement so that you can focus. It is coming from the stairway across from you. All else forgotten, you head for the stairs.
You try not to hurry as safety is the rule. No use falling and hurting yourself or killing yourself. You made it this far, though it seems to have cost you your sanity. The stairwell is dark and wide. The wooden banister is thick and still smooth. A light trail of dust pushes ahead of your hand as you keep it to the wood. You look upward every now and then, seeking the end of the climb as you also watch your foot to each step. Some of the steps creak under your weight. Others are silent and as sturdy as the day they were raised. Suddenly you are there. At the top of the stairs and facing a long hallway with many doors. Some are open, one is off it's hinges and lying on the floor. You count each as you listen for where the sound of the dripping water is coming from.
There are seven doors including the one on the floor and the end of the hall seems to turn in another direction. Huge bay windows at the end let in shaded light. The tone is richer, darker. It must be getting on in the day. The sound of the water is still faint but definitely there. Which door? Where is life flowing? You step from the head of the stairs and advance slowly down the center of the hallway. You want desperately to hurry, licking your parched lips. The first door is on your left. It is shut. You go to it and lean your ear close, your hand resting on the door handle. No. The sound is not coming from behind this door. Your hand drops and you move back to the center of the hall. You advance again, listening to the steady drip and the sound of the wind moving through the old place. You can feel the air moving ever so softly about you, making your hairs prickle as it kisses the sweat on your skin.
The next door, on the right. The pattern seems to set a door between a door as the hall is crossed. This one is open all the way, the room bare before your eyes. The large windows are missing some of their panes of glass and those remaining are dirty. Cobwebs float softly on the ceiling and walls as the air brushes past them. The floor is wood with a gray cast from ages of dust. There are also a few dried cypress leaves in a corner. The trail left in the dust hap hazard as they gathered there. An open closet door shows deep darkness at the left side of the room. There is no water in here. You turn from the doorway and step back to the center of the hall.
To the third doorway your feet move. Hesitantly you look over your shoulder behind you. The memory of the kitchen making your chest tight. Ghosts indeed. You step to the door on the floor and look to the left. There, dead center of the back wall of the room is an old porcelain sink. On that sink sits an old fashioned ivory handled faucet. From the faucet drips the life you desperately sought. Suddenly your mouth is dryer than you thought. Your throat thick with musty swamp air and dirt. Your feet thud on to the fallen door as you move to the dripping life. You lean over the sink, ready to place your lips to the faucet as your hand reaches for the handle. You freeze. The copperhead is very upset that you have bothered it's soaking within the sink and twines tight, lifting it's head. Ready to strike, you ease your way back from the sink, slower than molasses in January.
Not realizing how far you have moved, your heels hit the fallen door and you trip, tumbling backward to fall solidly on your tail bone and elbows. The sharp pain makes you cry out in the silent mansion and your voice echoes. The sound eerie and discomforting. You sit up, rubbing your elbows and shifting on your buttocks. Angrily you look back at the sink. No snake is going to keep you from the water. You would be damned first. You look around for something to use against the serpent. Other than the door you sit upon, there is nothing in the hallway.


You stand up and peek back in the room, looking around the corner. To the right sits an old lion's claw bath tub. You look up but there is no curtain rod. That is because there is no shower head. You laugh. Your hand comes up and covers your mouth. Instinct. You didn't like the echo of your previous sounds. The small window over the tub is broken and a tree is close to it, but not close enough to get at a branch. The toilet lid is down, but the idea, no matter how thirsty you are, isn't desperate enough to see if it will flush.
You lean away, looking up and down the hall again. %u201CWhat are you doing?%u201D You ignore the question that comes from behind you. You pretend you didn't hear it. You don't turn around either. You dare not. There is no such thing as ghosts, so if you don't hear or see them, they don't exist. You take off a shoe and throw it at the sink. It hits the back, then bounces off and falls to the floor. You remove the other and step just inside the room. Again, you aim, you fire and you score! The shoe lands inside the basin and the snake comes out. It's tongue moving rapidly as it sways over the edge of the basin and then drops to the floor. You can see the markings twisting on the skin as it moves toward the tub. %u201CDoes anyone know who this is?%u201D The woman's voice is different from the ones you heard earlier.
You are human after all. You must see who is talking behind you. You turn about and there is no one there. You have decided that once you get a drink and, perhaps, luck willing, catch that rabbit, you might come back to your senses. Stepping gingerly so as not to alarm the snake further with the vibrations of your movements, you re-enter the bathroom. You keep a watch on the floor by the tub as you reach the sink. Taking your hand, you slip it under the dripping water then move it to your parched lips. Licking your fingers, the taste of the water is sweet, inviting. This time you laugh and don't stop yourself. You gently turn the tap and the water seems to stop. As you hold your breath, a groan from deep inside the mansion works it's way upward. The faucet sputters, kicking out deep rusty water and air. You pray. Please let the water come. Please let the water come. Please let...and then it flows in a brown torrent.
Self control is hard to keep. Your body screams for the water as your ears and eyes tease your mouth with the knowledge that it is there. You wait impatiently, then you are rewarded as the water starts to clear. The pressure has become more steady as the air has been moved from the piping. You lower your head down and take a small sip, then another and another. You have to be careful. Not too much or it will be for naught and you will vomit it back up. As you lift your head, you hear a rustling behind you and turn in time to see the snake fly out the window and a very large man standing near and inside the entrance way of the bathroom.
%u201CThat was a bit close, friend.%u201D He holds up his hands, turned palms toward you. The gesture is of harmless means. In brown sued boots, he also wears blue jeans and a faded flannel shirt of green and white. His eyes are a strange color. It's as if they can't make up their mind to be blue or green, with a purple tint. His bearded face matches the dark, somewhat unruly hair on his head. He smiles at you. %u201CI'm going to reach around the corner, here.%u201D You open your mouth to reply, then close it again. He is watching you carefully and then starts to move. You can't play in to your illusions or you will never come back from the brink of madness. So you remain silent. As you watch, he bends over as he turns slightly and lifts something from beside the outside of the door way. A zippered satchel. He squats down and sets it to the floor before him and unzips it. His large hands bring out two canteens and a light blue linen bundle tied with string. He pulls the string and it opens, showing sandwiches, an apple and some brick cheese.



You turn your back and look at the water flowing from the faucet. It has started to wane, the flow now almost to a trickle. Your heart beats faster and you close your eyes. You must make yourself come out of this. You must keep your sanity so you can get out of here and that God forsaken swamp. The time since your arrival here flashes through your mind. You take a deep breath and open your eyes. It can't be. You turn around and see he is still as he was, so is what he seems to have brought with him.
The big difference is, you can't see through him! Dare you speak? Dare you trust anything you experience now? You lick your lips and ask. %u201CAre you real?%u201D He nods, his expression serious. %u201CI am. I am as real as you are, my friend. Come and eat something and drink. Then we shall see about getting you back where you came from.%u201D
As you sit on the floor, stuffing in a turkey sandwich and drinking the coolest, sweetest tasting water you have ever had, he looks up from where he sits. His eyes watch the faucet as it stops dripping. %u201CMade it just in time. I wasn't sure how long it would last.%u201D You fight to swallow a bite that is a little too large, taking another drink, before you look up at the sink. A sound and you turn. He has taken out a flashlight and set it to the floor. He puts his hand back in the satchel and looks at you again. %u201CAre you hurt?%u201D You shake your head no. %u201CJust tired.%u201D You pick up the apple. %u201CWho are you and where did you come from? I didn't hear you come up here...%u201D You take a bite of the apple, wiping your chin with the back of your hand as you wait for him to answer. %u201CMy name is Bran. Have some of that cheese. It's cheddar and goes damn good with apples.%u201D You smile and take up a piece, then bite into it, mixing the tang of the cheese with the juice of the apple. Nodding in approval as he seems intent on watching your actions.
%u201CI live around these parts. Noticed the front door open when I was passing by. Took a chance someone was in here.%u201D He smiles again. %u201CWe got word there was someone lost in the swamp. I take it that be you.%u201D Nodding again, you swallow quickly, trying to answer and about choke. Once clearing your airway after a fit of coughing, you tell him how you and your friends came on a walk and you wandered too far away. Before you knew what had happened, you were lost. It seemed you had been walking in circles for hours, then when night fell, you sat under a tree.
Explaining you didn't sleep as every bug in the swamp seemed to know where you were, you then tell him how you tried to back track in the morning, once the light was good enough to see by. You speak of almost giving up. There was no way you could drink the swamp water. You came to the conclusion it would kill you outright or make your demise faster if you had. You had no food with you and nothing to make a fire with, had you caught something.
All seemed lost when you came upon a path that led you to the house. Staying quiet about your impending insanity, the story of hearing the water unfolds. He nods every now and again, letting you know he is listening. %u201CI saw a rabbit.%u201D You say with a little enthusiasm. Telling him your thoughts about having a bite to eat, raw or not, after getting a drink makes him stare at you. Then he laughs. The sound is warm and full of humor. %u201CI don't suppose Bunny would have liked that one bit.%u201D He shakes his head and motions to the food. %u201CAbout ready to get back?%u201D You nod and stand, finishing the bit of cheese and running your teeth about the core of the apple before tossing it out the window. He stands with you after placing the cloth back in to the satchel and zippering it. Taking the flashlight and sticking it in his back pocket, you put your shoes back on and he heads out the door.




You follow, looking around you as you both head back towards the stairs. The mansion doesn't seem so spooky with someone else around and you pray that your episodes of visual and audio illusions are over. The hallway is gloomier now as the sun is no longer directly in front of the place. Darkness will come again soon. %u201CDo you think we will make it back to the others before nightfall?%u201D Your voice seems too loud in this place again. As if the walls shout it back at you in protest. The large shoulders of your companion shrug slightly. %u201CEven if we don't, they will be there waiting for us.%u201D
Much more quickly than when by yourself, you journey back down the hallway. He chuckles in front of you and comes to a stop a few feet before the staircase. Sitting just at the top step is the black rabbit. %u201CNosy, aren't you?%u201D Bran's voice is full of humor. The rabbit turns about, sniffing the air, then heads down the stairs. Bran takes the flashlight from his back pocket and clicks it on, advancing to the stair top. %u201CDoes that thing live here or something?%u201D You ask as you smile. You're feeling better for having eaten and had something to drink. Bran's voice seems to fade away as he speaks down the staircase, the light shining to the steps as he grabs the banister. %u201CPossibly. Lots of things make their way in to the mansion.%u201D You remember the thing from your imagination. The thing you somehow named Grinch and you shudder involuntarily. %u201CSo, are you like the caretaker or something?%u201D You speak to the back of his head. Each step is taken quickly, the sound of your footsteps echoing lightly.
%u201CWell, you might say that. I don't come to this particular place too often. I tend to stay to the home range but occasionally I make my way to this side to have a look around.%u201D You both make it to the bottom and step in to the kitchen. The rabbit is nowhere to be seen, but you do see it's tracks, along with your own. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Where are the man's footprints? Suddenly your mouth goes dry. %u201CHey? You okay?%u201D He asks in a worried voice. He looks at where you were looking. For a moment there is deadened silence. He looks back at you, his oddly colored eyes shining in the fading light of the kitchen. %u201CThere is a back door to this place. I came in that way and up the back staircase. When we get outside, I can show it to you.%u201D He smiles. %u201CI'm not a ghost, though people say this place is full of them.%u201D He starts toward the doorway from the kitchen, stepping around the fallen debris and you breath a little easier, but not much.
There is just enough light to make it through the lower part of the mansion, retracing the steps you took through it. Stepping outside, the air is still muggy and warmer than inside, but it is brighter. Bran clicks off the flashlight and sticks it in his back pocket again. You both turn as the sound of rustling leaves floats across from the corner of the porch. You see the thick vine leaves moving. %u201CThat rabbit must have made it back out too.%u201D Your voice is quiet. Your thoughts racing. He said he had noticed the front door open. As if on cue, Bran pulls it closed. If he saw it open, why walk around to another door to come in? %u201CMake sure he doesn't go back in. He'll starve if he gets caught inside.%u201D Bran's tone is light and he shifts the satchel in his large hand. %u201CYou know, you aren't too far away from your friends. It's a wonder they didn't find you earlier today.%u201D He walks down the porch steps and you follow, staying behind him so you can see him. Something feels very wrong here.
He starts walking toward the right side of the mansion. %u201CI came here by the path over there.%u201D You point toward the end of what might be the front yard. He looks over and nods. %u201CAiy, but if we take the trail that leads past the back shed, we can circle around the bog and make better time in getting you back.%u201D You hesitate. He seems to know where he is at and how to get around the place, but you are uncomfortable with heading off in yet another direction from where you have been.



Taking a deep breath, you survey the area, then look up. The sky is getting darker, the sun now low, almost behind the tree tops. The buzzing of the insects and the smell of the muggy swamp area are loud and strong. You turn and start to follow the man again. What choice do you have, other than to stay here and wait. Wait for what? Rescue? Wasn't that what he was doing? As you get closer to him, he turns and continues around the house.
The yard seems huge. There is an old, busted up gazebo off center and an area that looks like it was a flower garden or some such at one time. Closer to the tree line, there sits an old shack. As you get closer, you realize this must be the shed Bran was talking about. The building is solid and gray in color. Areas of paint still stick to the wood but they have been weathered and it is hard to tell what color it was. The small window is intact, showing four pains of small glass. Just then you yell out and stumble backward. Bran turns, the flashlight out of his back pocket and ready as use for a weapon. He looks around quickly, hurrying over to you. You have become pale and your eyes are wide. Bran looks very worried as he again looks around. You point to the shed window, to the black squares that stare back. %u201CWhat?! What is it?!%u201D Bran asks in a hurried voice, almost whispering. %u201CThere! There was a thing! That thing from the kitchen!%u201D Looking confused, Bran looks back at you. %u201CWhat thing in the kitchen?%u201D He asks.
You stumble back a pace or two, then breath deeply. The windows are blank. There is no creature with brown fur and red eyes staring out at you. You close your eyes for a moment, gathering your thoughts and calming your heart. %u201CI'm sorry. I'm sorry I startled you.%u201D You rub your eyes before opening them, looking to the man. %u201CI guess I am over tired and hallucinating. When I was in the kitchen earlier, I saw...%u201D You don't want to finish what you are saying but Bran keeps looking at you, listening to you. %u201CI thought I saw people in there and a ...thing.%u201D Bran's look is open, calm. %u201CA thing?%u201D He shifts the satchel and turns the flashlight around, slipping it back into his pocket. %u201CWhat thing?%u201D You shake your head. %u201CIt was nothing. Like I said, I must have been hallucinating.%u201D He nods, placing a large hand on your shoulder and gently squeezing. %u201CIt's okay. I believe you.%u201D You look doubtfully at him as he turns around. %u201CThere are things in this world that are hard to explain. I told you, some say the old place is haunted. I'm no one to judge weather that is true or not.%u201D He starts walking again and this time you walk beside him.
%u201CThat place is old. It was there before my grandfather. Who is to say what memories it has kept.%u201D He steps over vines and then you see you are on another path. %u201CYeah, but what I think I saw wasn't human.%u201D You move some moss away from your face and continue on the path. It is hardly visible and the further you walk, the darker it gets. The sun has now gone down behind the trees and the temperature has dropped to where you can breath without feeling the air cling to your lungs in humidity. He doesn't reply to this and you say nothing more about it. You think back over your time spent in the kitchen. It is very possible you were dreaming. You had sat down and your eyes had closed. You had a nightmare, a vivid nightmare. Somehow Bigfoot was incorporated into it.
After walking for an hour, he stops and opens the satchel, removing a canteen. He opens it and offers it to you. Gladly you take it, drinking but not too deeply. You hand it back and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, thinking it lucky the canteens were already filled. You remember he had said he got there in time. The water in the mansion had stopped running. His words come back to you, clear and loud. He had said he wasn't sure how long it would last. Thinking nothing of it at the time, your thoughts more on the food and water he had with him, now you think it odd. %u201CDon't you think we should use that flashlight?%u201D You find yourself almost squinting to see him in the deep thickness of dusk. You can't be sure if his expression is one of irritation or surprise. Perhaps both, perhaps nothing but your imagination due to lack of light.
%u201CI forget my eyesight is so good.%u201D He reaches around and pulls out the flashlight, clicking the switch. The halogen light opens up a path brightly as he shines it about. %u201CSorry about that.%u201D His slightly humored voice does nothing to quell your rising tension. You lick your lips. %u201CWhen you found me, back there,%u201D You start to follow him again as he moves forward, shining the light ahead. %u201C...you said you got there just in time. You know, when the water stopped running in the sink?%u201D He keeps moving, pushing back moss that looks like thick, black webbing. %u201CYou said you didn't know how long it would last.%u201D You grasp the moss as he holds it back, allowing him to move onward. %u201CWhat did you mean?%u201D His hand sways as he moves the beam of light a little off track and he stops. %u201CDon't move!%u201D His voice is firm and demanding enough to shock you in to stillness, one foot lifted to advance. He drops the satchel and reaches around his back.
You see his hand lift his shirt and take out a buoy knife, unmistakable even in this light. Your breath catches. This is it. The water was a trap he set. He was a deranged serial killer and he was going to... What was that? The noise is low and eerie, almost like the sound of a baby crying. To your left you hear something moving in the undergrowth of the swamp. You can't tell how far away it is but it is coming in your general direction. The eerie quiet as everything about you stops makes your skin ripple with goose flesh. It seems even the frogs and insects await in silent expectation for the sound to return. Then a scream so loud and bare tears through the silence like nails to a chalk board. It comes from in front of you, off to the right of the path. %u201COh my God.%u201D You barely whisper as your blood runs cold. Could it be the thing you imagined in the mansion and in the shed? Was it Bigfoot? Are there more than one?
Your heart beats quickly and you are reminded of the kitchen again, when you thought you heard the sound of water dripping. Then, too, you tried to slow the beat of your pulse so you could stop the rushing sound of blood in your ears. This time you don't believe you will be able to pull it off. Your mouth is dryer now than you have ever experienced. You would be soaked with sweat if fear had not gripped you so profoundly. Panic is very close and then he speaks. His voice deep, low and calm. %u201CDon't move, no matter what happens. Do not move.%u201D Your eyes dart from side to side, searching for whatever is lurking. It is then you realize you are standing on one foot.
Isn't it strange how when a situation arises, warranting a certain action to be done or not, Murphy's law comes in to effect? In slow motion you feel your body off center and lean. You try in vane to stop what is inevitable. Just as your foot comes down, you feel an impact, not unlike a tackle in football. You fly through the air and land on your back, half embraced by another body as hot air is blown in your face. The air leaves your lungs in a rush and with a grunt. There is sharp pain to your chest. All you can see is a shadow lurking close to your head and the off shine of incisors ready to tear your face off. Then a roar and those teeth turn away from you to look from where the sound came from. The puma backs off of you, screaming once in that direction. You watch the great cat, strangely calm in the situation you find yourself. The animal is strong. Muscles rippled and tense, it looks like a giant house cat with a tan coat, ready to pounce on a toy. The difference in looks, besides the size, are it's eyes. They are clear and full of anger and fear.
You turn your head and see what it sees, a great black bear standing on it's hind legs. It's paws reach in the air, it's head turns sideways and it roars again, lips curling about it's own huge teeth. The cat hunkers down, unwilling to give up it's prey just yet. It leaps and is caught in the great arms of the bear, both toppling over. You sit up as they roll, then stand and face each other. The puma screaming in rage again as the bear lowers it's head, swinging it from side to side. It's shoulders lift, hackles of hair rise in defiance, to the great cat. The bear stands again and the puma turns, bolting back through the trees and deep into the swamplands. You hear it crashing through the underbrush as it's departure is not as stealthy as it's arrival had been.


The bear watches as you do, then both of you look at each other. It lowers down to all fours. You start to think a prayer as it watches you. Then, without a sound, it turns and also departs in to the tree line ahead of you. Somehow you manage to take a breath. You forgot to breath during the encounter and now your lungs sigh in relief. Bran! Where is he? You look around quickly, then stand, wincing as you feel the sharp pain in your chest again. As quickly as you can, you get to the nearest tree and try to climb it. You remember something about climbing a tree to get away from bears but you can't get a grip on the trunk or reach a lower branch. All you seem to be able to succeed in doing is tearing down the thick moss. Your hands grab something smooth and cool. Perhaps a snake, you don't know. Again you are close to panic. You have to get off this path and to safety. So afraid are you that you never see the knife or satchel sitting on the ground close by.
You scream, it is as natural as breathing, as a pressure squeezes your shoulder. Your body is paralyzed with fear. You await the bear to chomp down on you as it grabs you from behind. It pulls you from the grasp you have on the tree trunk and your body is turned. You scream out again. Blind with terror, you lift up your hands and start to beat it in the chest. Your scream becomes a roar of your own as your fear turns to rage. You are not ready to die. Not yet. It raises another paw and slaps you in the face. Your roar turns to sobs as you realize what is happening.
All Bran can do is hold on to you to give some comfort.
Once calmed somewhat, he lets go of you, as you pull away. %u201CStand right here.%u201D He walks away from you, retrieving the flashlight. His other hand is holding the dropped knife. The satchel sits beside you on the ground. Bran must have picked it up along with the knife. The light clicks on and is as bright as ever. He walks back to you, shining it to your chest. The shirt is soaked with blood and has four torn slices on each side of the front. It is where the puma's claws dug in. Bran frowns. %u201CWe will have to get those taken care of. He shines the flashlight around and you both walk to a side of the path that has a great overhang of moss. Settling under the natural lean-to, he gives you the flashlight to hold. %u201CShine this here so I can see?%u201D You do as asked and he gets to work.
After taking a pouch from around his neck and removing the blue linen from the satchel, Bran lays the linen in front of his legs and empties the pouch on to it. There are more wrapped items. He opens them and a smell of different herbs wafts softly to your nose. Taking some up, he then mixes a few in a large palm, crushing them with his fingers. A drop of water from a canteen completes the concoction and he offers it to you. %u201CPlace this on those scratches. They're pretty deep and need to be seen by a doctor as soon as we can get you back.%u201D Propping the flashlight to the satchel, you scoop the thick, pasty mixture onto your own palm and start to apply it to the puma wounds on your chest. The smell is somewhat musty and although it stings a little, the after effect is soothing, taking the pain away. You watch Bran wash his hands with a little of the water while you work. Once he has finished, he re-wraps the remaining herbs and places them back in the pouch. Tucking the linen back in the satchel, you notice his shirt is different. You lift the light up and shine it on his chest, making sure you aren't imagining it. He returns the pouch about his neck and looks at you. %u201CWhat?%u201D
%u201CI thought you were wearing a green plaid shirt.%u201D You move the light away and wince, accidentally having hit your chest with the end of the flashlight. He nods. %u201CYup. Had to change it when that bear pushed me aside. Tore it down the back, so he did.%u201D You look at him with an expression of surprise. %u201CIt pushed you out of the way?%u201D Bran sits looking to the ground, as if in deep thought and nods in reply. %u201CDamnedest thing I ever did see.%u201D He offers the other canteen to you as the first is spent. You reach for it, feeling stiffness in your chest and sigh. This has been the strangest day of your life. You open it and take a drink, as he reaches in to the satchel again and brings out gauze and medical tape. You laugh, dripping water down your chin. %u201CYou certainly seemed prepared for anything.%u201D He smiles. %u201CPays to, when you live here.%u201D He hands them to you, along with the knife to use and then stands up. %u201CI just want to have a look around. I'll leave the light here, so I don't draw attention to myself. Stay quiet.%u201D You nod and he leaves the lean-to, slipping around the side and disappears.
You wash your hands and your face, return the canteen to the satchel and zipper it closed. Taking up the gauze and tape, you lean against the tree and close your eyes. You are exhausted. You listen to the quiet of the swamp, the insects are buzzing a lullaby. The gauze and tape slip from your fingers. Your body is too tired and so is your mind. Before you can think of anything else, you sleep.
You open your eyes and blink. The sun has come up and you feel it's warmth along with the thickening air of the swamp, but that is not what awoke you. You hear voices. They are calling your name. Your heart leaps in your chest and you scramble from your place under the tree. You yell back in answer and then there is the sound of crashing underbrush and more voices yelling. The others have found you. A strange chopping noise fills the air and you look up. Between the overhanging branches and moss you see a helicopter fly over. %u201CLooks like you're saved.%u201D Bran's voice is close and you turn to look up at him. He has a big smile and you grasp his hand and shake it firmly. %u201CThank you. For everything.%u201D He nods and you look back as you hear a familiar voice, one of your friends, calling out and then see them come through the trees just to the other side of the path.
The meeting is joyous and as others gather around you, your mind forgets the company you have been keeping until someone points out the blood on your shirt. Medics are arriving as your location has been radioed in. You give a quick account of the puma and the bear and turn to look at Bran, but he is gone. You search the faces, as do your other companions and rescuers. He is nowhere to be seen. Over the course of the next hour, you tell a short version of your experiences to your friends as the medics check you over. Confusion muddles your mind as the puma scratches are almost healed over. They look no more important that a brier scratch. The medics assume they are such and give disbelieving looks to your story. They wipe the mud you have applied to yourself from the wounds. No matter how much you insist, they ignore what you say to them.
The local sheriff asks you a few questions for his report. You describe the mansion and Bran, but the sheriff assures you there is no such mansion around these parts. Not for thirty or so miles, he says to you. You get angry. You know he was real. The things that you saw within the mansion might have been imagination but you could feel it and you could see and feel Bran too. You tell them to follow the path in the other direction and they will see what you are talking about. It was only a few hours back. The sheriff dispatches a few men to go search, hoping they haven't got another lost soul to find in the swamps. You are carted off in the ambulance.










Epilogue.

The curse is soft. Grabbing a paper towel, you wipe up the coffee you spilled on the counter. After tossing it to the garbage, you make your way back to the chair and sit down, looking at the clutter on the desk with determination. The red lines and graphs across the land and water areas are methodical. Well defined and well documented in your little notebook. You take up the compass and mark off another circular area you have yet to cover. The star is where you found the little book, the blue square is where you believe the mansion was when you were in it. The marks are close by each other, giving no more than thirty one yards and three and one half inches from the outside wall of the mansion to where the book was found. You will continue searching for there was no mansion found, no shed, no anything, by the sheriff%u2019s department.
The compass resting to the map, you lean back in the chair and sip your coffee. Reflection has become a major part of your life now. You go over every detail of your time in the swamp when you were lost. You remember everything. Every sound, every smell, every physical feeling and the hardest, the emotional as well. Once you regained better clarity and stamina, you went in search yourself and have been doing so ever since. You could not find any trace of it either. You have no more friends. Not in your eyes at any rate. They think you crazy, obsessed with a mere delusion caused by fear and weakness from being without food and water.
But you know better. Your proof is in the little blue diary.

Written by Lupinia Sprowe ©2006