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Jon had the cab pull to a stop at the beginning of a winding dirt road. There was no way the vehicle could make it, but moreover he doesn’t need another stranger getting hurt on his account. So he walks.
According to the information he’d gotten from the rambling statement left for him indicated that the dirt road would take him through the woods, seemingly on a neverending trek. When he finally felt as though his legs would give out and his body could take no more, there he would find the lone cabin.
He hadn’t been given a name for this particular avatar. All he knew was that they liked to be alone to the point that when people came hiking and found their cabin they would often disappear. The statement giver, a Miss Amelie Caver, lost her fiance to them. If that wasn’t enough to go hunting them down for answers then Jon wasn’t sure what was.
A fine mist gathered at his feet the further into the trees he tread. He could feel his heart pounding in his ears and he had to swallow down a creeping dread.
Jon walked on.
In the distance after what felt like hours alone in that misty wood, a clearing seemed to appear from nothing. The roof of a small cabin rose into view as Jon crested the hill. In front of the cabin, waiting for him, stood a figure. He took a moment to start recording before he approached.
“Archivist.”
The voice was light and sweet with a tinge of sadness that tugged at Jon’s heart. He sucked in a breath. The Lonely’s presence was incredibly strong in this place .
“I’m afraid I don’t know you,” he responded, coming to a stop a few feet away from the stranger. It was a young man, he couldn’t have been older than Jon himself. His eyes looked hazy, but dry, despite how distressing he sounded. “What is your name?”
The young man took a sharp breath as he was compelled to give Jon the information his patron sought.
“Martin Blackwood.”
Jon gave a small nod. His feet shifted over the loose earth, circling around the figure. He couldn’t chance getting too close, he’d spent the last few months being poked and prodded by monsters as it was. “Martin,” he repeated, softly.
“Were you drawn here, Archivist?” Martin asked, cocking his head.
“Not drawn. Sent.”
“To kill me?”
The query wasn’t accusatory or even angry. Martin asked it as though he were asking Jon if he preferred milk in his tea. Jon let it settle before shaking his head. “No… No, I’m here to ask you some questions.”
“You wish to stop the Unknowing, correct?” Martin gave a small, sad quirk of his lips in a weak smile. “I’m afraid I don’t know anything useful.”
Jon’s expression was set as he paused, facing Martin head on. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
“No need to compel me, Archivist,” Martin replied. “I’m happy to tell my story to you… On one condition.”
After the last conditions he’d been faced with Jon was hesitant. “What’s that?”
“I ask only that you leave me be.”
“You’ve taken people, Martin. I can’t just ignore that.”
Martin let out a small sigh. “Is peace so much to ask for? My patron requires me to live my life in solitude. When uninvited guests come to my door, I cannot turn a blind eye.”
Jon gritted his teeth. “It’s your fault they come to your cabin at all.”
“I’m afraid we don’t all have the luxury of the Lukas fortune to buy a boat and simply sail away from it all.”
At the mention of Peter Lukas, Jon’s attention was caught. “Have you met him, then..?”
“That, Archivist, is part of my tale. If you’d still like to hear it.” Martin paused. “My condition..?”
Jon sighed. “Yes, alright. I’ll leave just as soon as I’ve gotten your statement.” He cleared his throat, pulling the tape recorder from his jacket pocket. Martin didn’t look surprised by the item. “Statement of Martin Blackwood, concerning his relationship with Peter Lukas. Statement taken direct from subject, 19th of May, 2017. Original recording by Jonathan Sims. Statement begins.”
The meaningful pause he left for Martin to begin speaking stretched far longer than he felt it should. The young man was looking at the sky, lost in thought before he finally looked back at Jon. Slowly, he spoke.
“Once, not so long ago, there was a boy,” he began. “The boy had very little but his sickly mother who hated him and the disgusting little flat they shared. He’d cared for her since his father cast them aside, yet his affections meant little to her. And so, the boy was lonely.
“Loneliness digs into the heart and nests there. It pools and seeps into places you would never imagine. A single leaf at the end of an autumn-dead tree, though it cannot feel lonely, it gives the aura of loneliness. As does a teacup sat on a window sill, contents untouched. Or a notebook with pages and pages of poetry no one will ever read.
“One day the boy had had enough of his loneliness and he ventured into the city. There were people pressing in around him and still, he was lonely. He felt as though no one in the world could see him at all. In desperation, the boy reached for someone, but he found their gaze sternly faced forward. He reached for another. And another. A sea of faces and not one of them would look at him. No matter where he went or how loud he screamed, the boy was completely, utterly alone.”
Jon’s heart began to hammer against his ribcage as he listened. That would be hellish for anyone to experience, a feeling of loss and loneliness where it seemed everyone was just there but so far out of reach. He gave Martin a small nod to continue.
“Tired and afraid, the boy sat on a bench in a park and wept. Would his mother look to him when he returned? Would she ignore him, too? Would anyone see him again, or was he doomed to wander this world where even when he begged to be noticed no one would see him. After a while, a man approached. The man said he felt that the boy was a kindred spirit, that he understood what it truly meant to be lonely. He invited the boy to learn from him, to harness his loneliness and to become one with the fear that it poured into his very soul.
“At first, the boy took him for a lark. Certainly he was lonely but he was not lonely enough to be tempted by such a bizarre offer. He asked him firmly to please go away . This seemed to please the stranger, and he did as he was bid.”
Martin closed his eyes, sucking in a deep breath. Jon was enraptured by his statement, waiting patiently and listening to the spooling of the tape as it ran.
“Soon enough the boy was brought back to the world. He was found, he was taken home. And that was that. It was the last he knew of that desolate world of loneliness for a very long time.
“Eventually,” Martin continued, “The boy’s mother asked that she be moved away. She didn’t want to live with her son anymore. And the boy, wanting nothing more than to care for his mother even if it meant being apart from her, let her go. But the little flat was far more empty without her.
“Some people fear loneliness because they seek validation from others. They feed off of conversations and the meaningless trivialities of everyday interactions. But being alone is not scary only because you have no one to speak to. You could speak to anything; the sky, a plant, a rock. No… What’s really frightening is what happens in the silence.
“People go mad when isolated. Humans are not built to be alone. The boy was alone, on his own in that little flat, away from his mother, his father long gone, no friends, nothing at all. Just his poetry and four walls and silence for days and days. In those days he recalled what it was to be in that parody of life that day in the city, where he’d been spirited away in broad daylight. He’d go to the laundromat where others would look right through him and feel that familiar pang of fear that he had when he was a child. He’d stand in line at the shops where the checkout girl would look at him as if he did not exist and he was afraid . And then… The stranger came to call.
“He introduced himself properly as Peter Lukas, a name which meant nothing to the boy but means everything to him now. He promised again that he could show him how wonderfully the Lonely could feel. Desperate, tired, lost, the boy agreed.”
Jon could feel a tightness growing in his chest. This man had been groomed for the Lonely. It was almost like he’d been wrapped up with a neat bow just for Lukas’s sick game.
Martin’s eyes bored into him as he gave a small smile. “It wasn’t long before the boy was able to do more than he’d ever imagined. He could disappear from view while still standing in a room. He could make things go away, only small things at first like bugs and mice. But one day a man bumped into him too hard on the tube. And the next second the man was gone. And the boy felt nothing at the sudden loss.
“But loneliness cannot simply be sustained on its own. Without people around to realize you’re alone, what good is being lonely? So the boy took regular trips into the city. It was there that he… Met someone.
“Love is a… funny thing.” The mention of love nearly startled Jon, but he didn’t interrupt. “Love itself makes one fearful. Love and loneliness are so close together; rejection leads to loneliness in love, after all.” A pause, a sigh. “The boy… I... Fell in love, Archivist. I never spoke to him. I merely… Watched him.
“I would make myself slip between Here and the Lonely and follow him. I would watch him go about his life and wish I could be a part of it. I applied for a job at his place of work. But I was rejected. And my loneliness grew with every passing day.
“As my love grew and I realized more and more that I could never ever tell him, so did my power. Eventually, I met with no one at all. I would walk the streets of the city to revel in my loneliness but I would not allow myself to be accosted by those who’d given themselves over to their need for affection or friendship or… yes, even love.”
Martin suddenly took a step closer. Jon stepped back. At that, Martin stood still and watched him carefully. “Do you know why I moved out here, Archivist?”
Swallowing, Jon answered, “No. Tell me.”
“Because I almost made him disappear.” He gave a sad laugh. “It hurt so much to see him day in and day out, never knowing who I was or that I loved him more than anything. But the fear of rejection, of diving into my loneliness even more kept me from severing the tie completely. There was also a fear that he may take me up on my offer, and I would be betraying my God by accepting. I thought, wouldn’t it be so easy to make him go away?” Martin paused again, studying something on the ground with a concentrated frown on his face.
“And did you?” Jon asked. “Make him go away…”
That sad smile… Jon had never seen a more heartbreaking look on someone’s face before. Martin couldn’t seem to meet his gaze. “Oh, Archivist… No. I could never bring myself to do it. And by the time I really thought I should he was too far beyond my reach.”
Confused, Jon began to ask a followup question but Martin interrupted, letting out a mirthless laugh.
“I’m not sure why I expected you to recognize my story. After all, you never saw me. Not once. Not in all the times I came to visit in your little archives.”
“Came to…”
A wind picked up, jostling the trees. The smell of pine caressed them as Jonathan Sims stared down the loneliest man he’d ever had the misfortune to meet. A man who’d grown up without a father, with a mother who hated him, who’d learned to stay lonely from Peter Lukas.
And who loved him desperately.
“Martin,” Jon breathed.
“I couldn’t bring myself to do it,” Martin interrupted. “And the thought of hurting you, while it would have brought me closer to my God, I just couldn’t go through with it. So I moved here. I don’t visit the city. I don’t see anyone anymore. I can barely feel the Lonely without the contrast of people to keep my fear of being alone. I’m just… Here.”
Jon could feel his heart constricting in his chest. “But the people… The people who’ve come up the walk to your cabin.”
“I’m afraid that there is some part of this forest that’s been taken over by the Spiral. Sorry… I would have told you earlier but I was afraid you wouldn’t have listened to me.”
The men stood facing down one another for a moment. The tape was still running, its squealing spool amplified by the silence around them. Jon recovered first.
“You moved yourself here where you couldn’t serve your god any more, is that correct?”
“Yes,” Martin said. “Loneliness is dulled the less you interact with strangers.
Jon took a breath. “For me..? But you don’t know me. And I’m…”
“The Archivist,” Martin finished for him, another smile playing at his lips. “You would be surprised how closely knit the Lonely and the Eye are. You need the knowledge to understand just how lonely you are before the fear can really eat away at you.” Martin couldn’t help but notice the tape was still running.
“Are you going to kill me, Archivist?”
“What..?”
“I wouldn’t mind it, really. It’s poetic in a way, dying at the hand of the one you love. And I’ve always loved poetry.”
“No,” Jon said. “No, I’m not going to kill you.”
Sighing, Martin looked away. “Pity…”
Taking a step forward, Jon began, “Is there any way that I could perhaps sever your ties to the Lonely?”
Martin’s gaze quickly returned to Jon. His expression looked less cloudy than it had a moment ago, more alert, as his eyebrows rose in surprise. “And why would you want to do that?”
“Because you don’t seem that bad a fellow. I don’t think it’s fair to leave you here alone on my account. Not if I can help you.”
If Jon didn’t know any better he’d have thought Martin’s lip was quivering.
“I think… The only person who could sever my tie would be… You, Jon.”
The name felt oddly comforting and familiar in comparison to ‘Archivist.’ Jon gave a small nod, taking another step closer. “Just tell me what you’d like me to try, Martin. I want to help you. I can bring you back to the--... I can uh… Find you a place to stay. Near me. We can work together.”
Jon managed to get closer as Martin studied his face, considering. Soon they were close enough that Jon could touch him. A constellation of stars brushed the bridge of Martin’s nose, something he hadn’t seen from his spot further back. His eyes held the story of a thousand lonely nights, of heartbreak after heartbreak, and Jon wanted nothing more than to soothe that ache and bring this man back from the Lonely’s touch.
“If… You’re alright with it,” Martin began, slowly. “I think… If you kissed me, it may help.”
“Almost sounds like a fairy tale,” Jon answered with a shy smile.
Biting his lip, Martin murmured, “You don’t have to…”
“I don’t,” Jon agreed. “But… I promised I would try.”
He took that last step. They were nearly chest to chest now. Jon slipped the tape recorder back into his pocket and reached his hands up, placing them on Martin’s cheeks. He was so cold , it startled Jon at first. The slight touch from his hands caused a surprised sound to leave Martin and he closed his eyes.
Swallowing, Jon brushed a thumb over a few freckles on Martin’s cheek. Already the touch was beginning to warm the skin under his hands. He could see a bit more color in that face as he leaned in. Martin was trembling. Jon’s heart pounded in his ears. He closed his eyes.
Air. He was grasping at air.
Jon’s eyes shot open. Martin was nowhere to be seen. Alarmed, he whipped around.
“Martin? Martin ?!”
“Dear me.”
Jon spun to face the new voice, opening his mouth in surprise at the stranger standing just a few feet away.
“You really didn’t think I would let you take away one of my best projects so easily, did you, Archivist?” Peter Lukas smirked at him from the dark as a cold wind rustled the trees again.
“You… What did you do with him?”
“I merely sent him away. But worry not, Archivist, I’m sure you’ll see him again. And next time the fear of losing you just as he’s got you right where he wants you will be more palpable than ever before.”
“Bring him back! He doesn’t want to be with you, Lukas!” Jon snarled.
“Oh… But how would you know? Before today you didn’t even know his name.” Before Jon could argue again, Lukas turned away. “Farewell, Archivist.”
A moment later, he was gone.
---
Far away in that place where loneliness thrives, Martin Blackwood sat on the shore and stared tiredly out into the waves. How close had he been to breaking free of this nightmare? A millimetre, maybe more? The coldness of the Lonely sunk into him deeper and deeper as he brought his knees to his chest.
Of course. Why did he ever think he’d have a chance to escape? After all, he was born to be here. A sad smile spread over his face as he rested his chin on his knees. It was cold. It was so, so cold, and once again, for the last time he hoped, he was absolutely and utterly alone.