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Something happened today. Or yesterday maybe, I don’t know. My mind’s been foggy since, and all I can remember is what comes to me at the moment. Then, it flees, as if it was a wild rabbit running from a fox. I do remember other things though, like my love for gardening and animals. I live in a cozy cottage in the middle of nowhere. Or, that's what I believe. I’ve had no reason to go outside the forest, so why should I? It’s nice here. Comforting. There are no disruptions. Only me, my plants, and the forest creatures.
One day, I remember, I went to go water the plants. But, I realized there wasn’t any water in my pail. So I went to the well in the forest. I remembered the leaves crunching beneath my feet. It’s an interesting sound, to be sure. Eventually, I reached the well. I looked into the water to see a blurry reflection of my face staring at me. I don’t remember why, but my instinct always tells me to not look at it. So, I trusted my mind and didn't look at it. I filled up my water pail and walked back to my house. I watered the plants and went back inside.
That was an interesting memory that came to me right now. I believe there’s more to my story, but I get the feeling I shouldn’t know it. Plus, it would probably distract me from taking care of my plants.
I sigh and get up from the armchair I had lost myself in. I stretch and reclaim the moment by scanning the room. There’s an unlit fireplace in front of me made of red brick that rose up into the roof. The floor is made of dark brown planks similar to the color of milk chocolate. There’s another armchair of the same light brown color I was sitting in just a moment before, and below it is a red rectangle carpet with gold accents. Beside the fireplace to my right is a large bookshelf of the same color as the floor filled to the brim with encyclopedias, cook books, how to books, and others. On the other side of the fireplace was a square window divided into four segments.
Connected to the living room is the open kitchen. It has an island with a metal sink and cream colored stone countertops. On the countertops are some scattered dirty dishes that I plan to wash later today. There are some more countertops in an L shape along the walls. At the shorter end is a steep staircase against the wall that leads to the attic. Beside the staircase is the small bathroom.
I still don’t feel fully right, so I decide to go to the bathroom to splash my face with water. I walk into the bathroom and turn on the water. I cup my hands and splash my face. My vision is watery and I’m taken aback. Something in the mirror starts to move. It’s not my figure. My breath quickens. A misshapen thing forms behind me. I’ve seen it before. My eyes widen. It comes closer. I can’t move. The sink overflows. The thing comes out of the mirror. It reaches for me. Everything goes out of focus.
I’m on the floor. My back is to the cold tile, and it hurts. Like I collapsed. There’s some glass shards on the floor, and my hand is bleeding. The floor is covered in water that overflowed from the sink. I carefully get up, trying not to touch the glass, and shut off the water. There goes my week’s supply of water, I guess.
The mirror is shattered in one focal point, about the same size as my fist. I must’ve punched it, but I can’t remember it. What happened?
I shake my head and splash my hand in the water. I clean all the blood off, turning the water red. I immediately pull the tab off the drain and the water gets sucked in, trembling. I stare at the sink for a moment. My eyes go unfocused, and I lose my breath. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and get the mop from the bucket in the corner of the room. I proceed to mop up all the water, picking up the shards carefully and tossing them in the trash in the other corner of the room. My hand still stings, so I go to the kitchen to grab some bandages. I open up one of the cabinets to grab the bandages and wrap my hand.
After bandaging, I feel my clothes grabbing onto me like a frog does, so I decide to chop some firewood. I grab the hatchet from beside the fireplace and go outside. I step out, and I’m greeted by the fresh air. Normally it would be pleasant, but I can't enjoy it now. I walk across the prickly grass and to the more dense side of the forest. These trees were smaller and thinner than the ones near the well; perfect for firewood. I feel out the right one and get to work.
I raise the hatchet and bring it down. What I heard wasn’t the chopping of a tree, though. It was the crunch of a carrot. My hand shakes and I drop the hatchet. What was that?
I blink to clear my head and pick up the hatchet with my bandaged hand since my other hand is shaky. I swing again, hearing the sound again, but louder and accompanied by another sound. An otherworldly, bubbly shriek. I drop the hatchet on my foot, cutting a hole in my boot. I scramble backwards, my eyes darting around the forest to find the source. It can’t have been the tree. It can’t.
I take a deep breath and decide that should be it for the day. It’s getting late, and I should get to bed. I walk through the forest back home and walk in, shutting the door behind me. I take off my boots and put them in the shoe cubby. I’ll repair them some other day.
I go up the stairs to my bedroom in the attic. The flooring is the same as the first floor, but there's a yellow star rug. On top of the rug is my bed in the middle of my room. It has purple comforters with a white dot pattern. Next to my bed is a light brown bookshelf barely taller than the bed. It contains various books, all the same as the ones downstairs. On top of the bookshelf is a lamp. A simple one, but it works. There’s nothing else in the room besides two small square windows on both sides of the room and a closet. I tuck myself into the bed and fall asleep.
I wake up, and I feel a gaping hole in my stomach. I choke it down to hunger. I get up from my bed and go downstairs to the kitchen. I have to wash the dishes first, so I pick up a plate and begin washing. I bring it over to the sink and turn on the faucet, watching the water fill up. In the reflection, I see myself. My mind is screaming at me to look away, but I can't.
A faint yowling sound comes from outside. My head whips to the direction of it, and it stops. I slowly look back to the sink, which is slowly dripping water due to the tank running out earlier. Staring back at me is the thing. It’s clearer now. My heart beats faster as I recognize it. It’s someone I know. I can’t remember who, but I loved her.
Her expression is the same scared expression as mine. Her features morph in the water with each passing ripple. I can hear her voice. She is speaking to me. No, she’s screaming at me. She sounds like she’s drowning. I begin to shake and breathe faster.
She stops, and a blink later, it’s back to me. Like it was just me staring at myself all along. The yowling sound comes back. It’s the same creature. I take a breath, but I’m still shaking. I have to help it.
I put on my boots, still scuffed up from yesterday, and follow the yowling. It leads me down the same path as yesterday when I went to cut the firewood. As I grow closer, it becomes a wail. I speed up my walking and a wave of deja vu flows over me.
I reach the creature. It’s a fox. It’s bleeding from its paw. Beside it is the hatchet I left. It must’ve tripped over it. I decide to take it to the nearby river to clean it up, so I pick up the fox and walk to the river.
Once we reach the river, I set the fox in the deeper part of the water and begin to wash its paw. A sudden wave of emotions floods my brain. Regret. Fear. Guilt. I’m nauseous. I can’t be here. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be by the river. I run. The fox is writhing, screaming out to me. I can’t be there. I run faster, but the hole in my boot gets caught in a snag. I fall over. The fox’s yowling is overtaken by a watery scream. I look behind me. There she is. She stops screaming, and the fox’s yowling whimpers away into silence. She gets out of the water, drenched from head to toe, and motions her four fingered hand to the fox. She looks at me. She warbled something to me, something that sounded like someone was trying to speak while submerged in water. I couldn’t hear her, but I know what she said.
“You’re right,” I mumble, “I shouldn’t have left the fox there.”
I don’t move. She doesn’t move. The fox doesn’t move.
“I shouldn’t have left the fox there,” I repeat, shakier than before.
I look down, my vision clouding. “You shouldn’t have left the fox there.”
My eyes fill with water. My throat quivers.
A heartfelt screech escapes me, and my eyes shut tight.
“You shouldn’t have left her there!”
I open my eyes. I’m sitting on the soft forest floor, by a calm river. What am I doing here? I don’t know. My mind is foggy, and all I can remember is what comes to me. Then, it would flee like a wild rabbit running from a fox. But, nothing’s come to me yet, so how do I know that?
I shouldn’t think about that. What I do remember, though, is my love for gardening. I remember I live in a cozy cottage in the middle of nowhere, or that’s what I believe. I don’t know what’s outside the forest, and I shouldn’t. I should leave the river. I feel uneasy here.
So, I get my foot out of the snag and walk away. It’s a nice day out, and I’d stay out here longer if my stomach weren’t clawing at me. I think I’ll go home and have a nice picnic by the well.