Chapter Text
It's nice in the winter forest. Gerry runs between the trees, laughing and rolling in the snow. He does anything but eats this snow. At least, Mary hopes so. Eric runs along with him, playing with his son and having fun too. They are all already in the snow, and Gerry's hat is soaked through, as are his pants, but his cheeks are flushed, and his eyes sparkle with a cheerful gleam. Eric's scarf is crooked, and his shoes have probably piled up a lot of snow, but he still plays with his son, obviously enjoying the walk.
Mary allows them to do this. For them, this is just an ordinary walk. For her, it's reconnaissance. Or, more accurately, an excursion to her native places. She walks through the Schwarzwald, trying to see her past.
This is the place where once upon a time, several centuries ago, her ancestor Wilhelm von Closen lived. Now there aren't even any ruins of the estate left here. No wonder, more than a hundred years have passed. But Mary didn't come here for the estate, she came here for the books.
She smiles slightly as she continues to walk toward the edge of the glade. In her life, everything always happens because of books.
Behind her, Gerry throws a snowball at Eric. They both laugh as Eric chases after the overly cheeky little boy, threatening to tickle him. Gerry laughs as he runs away from him, and it seems they've forgotten all about her. At another time, Mary would probably be offended and maybe even a little upset, but now she doesn't have time for that. Maybe it's even better that Gerry and Eric are too busy to notice that she's gone somewhere.
Mary carefully makes her way to the edge of the glade. She tries to move as quickly as possible before anyone notices her absence. Eric won't approve this, and Gerry, not understanding anything, will decide that his mum doesn't want to play with them and will be upset.
The centuries-old trees reach up into the sky. Their crowns block the sunlight, plunging the winter forest into a pleasant twilight. The wide trunks, completely black from the frost, crackle slightly in the cold. The pure white snow crunches slightly under her feet, and the high snowdrifts seem completely untouched. No human foot has stepped here for many, many years.
Mary moves slowly into the thicket. Sometimes she stops, listening, not understanding why she is doing this. It seems to her that something is leading her into the forest, calling her into the thicket. Mary carefully leans against the tree trunk and steps right into a snowdrift. She falls through, and the hem of her long skirt instantly gets wet. Mary sighs, but takes another step, and then another and another. She is slightly out of breath because it's difficult to go through the snowdrifts, but Mary stubbornly continues to walk. She can't stop. Not now, when she has felt this call.
The laughter of her husband and son gradually dies down. Now she is surrounded only by the age-old silence of the forest, heavy as a sheet of snow that reliably covers the ground. Mary walks carefully, listening in the hope of hearing at least some sounds — a bird singing, an animal crying. But the forest is quiet and calm. It seems to be watching her, but Mary isn't afraid. She just wraps herself better in her scarf and continues walking.
And suddenly she comes out to a small glade. It's obvious that the glade was created artificially, obviously for some purpose, but now it's impossible to understand for what purpose. At the other end there is some incomprehensible and strange building. Taking a closer look, Mary realizes that it’s a mausoleum. Apparently, there was a cemetery here, but the gravestones have long since collapsed under the influence of time, and the remains were buried under a thick layer of snow. She comes a little closer and looks at the gloomy mausoleum, so alien in this age-old forest. The stone walls are slightly destroyed by time, but are still strong, resisting the time with all their might. The doors are slightly open, as if inviting her in. Mary accepts the invitation and cautiously peers into the mausoleum.
There are no coffins or anything that should be in such a place. The mausoleum is completely empty. Only in the middle of the room is a heavy marble slab, reminiscent of an altar or a place for a coffin. Mary goes to examine it and realizes that the slab is a cover for steps that go deep underground. She cautiously peers down.
The old steps, covered in thick moss and mold, stretch downwards as far as the light can reach. They look eerie and cause a feeling of vague anxiety. From below comes dampness and something else, something strange and dangerous. It is like a warning that she shouldn't go down, that this will be the last descent in her life.
"Let's play Johann's Steps!"
"Come on! You first! Go down before they see you!"
"One, two! Johann will take you!"
"Three, four! Try to reach the floor!"
"Five, six! There’re eyes on the bricks!"
"Seven, eight!.."
"Aaaaa!!!"
Mary can almost hear the voices of the children who played here almost two centuries ago. It's a danger signal, a warning. She shouldn't go down, she shouldn't be here at all.
She might be seen.
Mary doesn't listen to the warning, inhales the scent and smells the dusty pages. It's very faint, but so inviting. There are definitely books down there. So many books are buried there.
The word makes her shudder, and she takes a step back, shaking off the call of the mausoleum. No, she won't let the Buried take her. Mary once encountered an artifact associated with this Entity, the Coffin. She almost fell into it, but managed to get out by some real miracle. She won’t risk again.
From the remained letters of her ancestor to a certain Jonah Magnus, it's clear that the mausoleum, the steps and the basement they lead to are more associated with the Eye. Mary knows this because even now she feels a strange feeling as if she is being watched. The feeling makes the hair on her head stand on end.
But fear is an abstract and very elastic concept. Where is the line between the fear of being in a confined space and the fear that someone else will be there too?
Mary takes a few steps back, and the unpleasant feeling of being watched disappears. She needs to study Albrecht von Closen's letters more closely and figure out how he managed to get down there. She can go down too. She still has a week of their vacation.
Turning around, Mary hurries to leave. It seems to her that the open doors of the mausoleum are reaching out to her with their dark shadows, and she hurries to hide in the thicket of trees so that they can't catch her and drag her away.
Night falls on the forest too quickly. Just ten minutes ago, Mary saw her tracks, but now the darkness has descended and firmly settled between the centuries-old trees, caught on their trunks and settled in a dense cloud. Mary makes her way through it, trying to find her way back. She is cold, she is shaking, but not from the frost. There is simply something in this mausoleum that makes people freeze in place and tremble.
from horror
She makes her way through the snowdrifts, sometimes falling through. At these moments she has to grab onto trees and get out. Mary goes through the thicket, trying her best to make it before the darkness becomes impenetrable. Her breathing is ragged, her lungs are on fire because of it, and the darkness covers her eyes, preventing her from seeing the road.
Her legs sink too deep, and Mary falls into the snow. The cold burns her face, and she freezes in amazement and pain. For a while, Mary lies there, looking into the darkness of the snow, and feels how slowly but surely her face freezes and her clothes get wet, how the snow begins to press on her, pushing her deeper and deeper. Suddenly she realizes that if she doesn't start moving now, she will probably never be able to get out of here, she will be stuck here forever and will die of cold.
The first snowfall will bury her body.
Mary shudders with sudden realization. There shouldn't be the Buried here. She hadn't expected to encounter it. But all the signs are there: a closed space that came out of nowhere, and a senseless attempt to get out of it. The snow is closing in around her, tighter and tighter, and she can no longer see or hear anything except the noise of her own blood in her ears.
Mary shakes her head as much as she can to shake off the fear, and begins to get out. She desperately fights for her life, crawls out from under the snowdrift. There is nothing to brace her hands against, there is an endless mass of snow beneath her, and she tries to crawl back to solid ground, but she can't. It's strange. She just fell, she didn't even sink into the snow. But now there is only snow around her. It's under her and above her, it's everywhere around her. The whole world is made of snow, she is deeply stuck in it, loose and pliable. Gasping for breath, Mary tries to find something to grab onto, but there is nothing around. And the more she struggles, the deeper she sinks into the snow.
The Buried is going to take her.
Mary doesnt give up, she continues to try with all her might to get out. Her hands are freezing, there is snow in her eyes, and it's everywhere — in her ears, in her nose, in her mouth. Mary tries to spit it out, but it doesn't work. As soon as she opens her mouth, the snow packs in again. The snow presses on her, literally drives her into the ground, and Mary can't resist it. The snow, so nice and soft before, now becomes a large mass, pressing her tightly to the ground. A mass that is ready to simply crush her.
Mary has already lost where is up and where is down. Where to dig? Where should she dig to get out? She doesn't remember whether she turned over or was face down all the time. Or maybe she was looking up from start? She tries to breathe, desperately tries to catch some air, but there is only snow around her. Endless, dense snow, ready to become her grave.
She can't die here, she can't. She must get out at any cost. She must return to her husband and son.
An anchor. Exactly. That's what allows to fight the Buried. Mary freezes for a moment from the sudden realization and falls a couple of inches deeper. The thought that she must move flashes. She must move towards her anchor.
This thought makes her climb out even more desperately. Mary opens her mouth with difficulty, overcoming the resistance of the snow, and spits. The saliva falls somewhere down. So she must move up.
Mary tries to find support to stand up. Her legs are slipping, her arms are falling as the surface area is too small. But she stubbornly searches for something she can physically grab onto. The thought of her anchors supports her, makes the Buried retreat. Mary can already feel it getting ready to let go. She clenches her teeth, feeling the icy snow melt in her mouth, and continues to struggle.
Her hand suddenly finds a tree trunk, and Mary grabs onto it, ignoring the pain. Her frozen skin rubs against the cold and hard like a stone bark of the tree, but Mary doesn't think about it. She leans against the tree, finds it with her other hand, and practically crawls up. She climbs out of the snow, reaching for the surface with all her might, thinking about her anchors.
Gerry, her son, her boy. A part of her, her blood and flesh. He's there, waiting for her, he needs her! She has to get out, she has to do that for him!
As the frosty air enters her lungs, stinging as if she's inhaled a million snowflakes, Mary can't help but cough. She wraps her arms around the trunk of the tree that saved her and bends slightly, still coughing. The melted snow gushes out of her throat like a stream of water, irritating it, but Mary continues to cough with difficulty. She hates the idea of having a part of the Buried inside her.
Eventually she calms down and stands there for a while, silently looking up. She can't look down, the Buried is there. Mary stands, looking at the dark sky, covered by black tree branches, and thinks about how she got out. She escaped from another Entity.
She now has the Buried mark. And she already has marks of eleven more of the fourteen Entities. It's best to avoid the Vast and the Slaughter.
Mary reluctantly lets go of the tree and immediately runs towards the glade where they were walking. She constantly feels like she's about to fall through the snow again, but nothing happens. Apparently, the Buried decided to leave her alone. It's for the best. Mary isn't sure it'll let her go so easily the second time.
"Mary!"
"Mum!"
Mary hurries towards these saving voices. She runs out into the glade where they were walking, and immediately sees Eric holding Gerry's hand. Noticing her, her son rushes to her, pulling his dad along with him.
"Mum!"
He cuddles up to her, and Mary absentmindedly hugs him. Her heart squeezes when she feels her son's warmth. It's him, her blood and flesh, he’s here, next to her. She presses him to herself with one hand, trying to calm her frantic pulse. She got out. Everything is fine.
A thought flashes through her mind that she must calm down right now. She can't let Eric and Gerry see anything. She can't let the Buried scare them too. Mary takes a deep breath and forces herself to push the memory of the snow grave she'd been in out of her head. She won't think about it now. She'll think about it later. She must be calm for her husband and son.
Once Mary's calmed down enough, she notices Eric coming up to her too, looking at her worriedly. Mary, with the practiced eye of a wife and mother, notes that Eric's and Gerry's noses are red, both are soaking wet, Eric's scarf is untied, and Gerry's hat is slightly askew.
"Where did you go?" Eric asks. "Why are you all wet?"
"I took a little walk and fell in a snowdrift," Mary lies, so as not to worry him. She glances down at her clothes and notices that she is indeed soaking wet. She doesn't want to get sick and attract the Corruption again. Mary tries not to think about it and changes the subject. "How are you?"
"Gerry played enough, and now he's hungry. Right, little one?" Eric smiles at his son, who is still snuggled up to his mother.
"Yeah!" the satisfied child raises his head and looks at his mother with a mischievous smile. "I beat daddy in a snowball fight!"
"I have no doubt you did," Mary mutters.
She bends down, trying to catch the boy's nose. Gerry immediately begins to dodge, realizing where this is going, but in the end Mary still catches it. The boy's nose is ice-cold, and she sighs. No, she's going to come here alone again. Eric and Gerry can walk the city streets or sit in the room.
Mary almost chuckles when she realizes that even the encounter with the Buried hasn't changed her intentions. She will definitely return here to explore the mausoleum. But more on that later. Right now she needs to deal with her husband and son.
"We have to go home," Mary says, letting go of her son's nose and starting to straighten his hat.
The naughty child immediately begins to desperately resist as he doesn't want to wear a hat normally at all. However, his dad is holding one of his hands, and his mom is trying to pull the hat on him, and in general, it's clear that he’s doomed to lose in this battle. But Gerry still stubbornly and diligently dodges, until Mary's patience finally runs out. She catches her son by the other hand and, turning him slightly, spanks him several times.
"Mary!" Eric exclaims reproachfully, never approving of such methods of upbringing.
Mary generally agrees with him, but sometimes only a couple of slaps will do the trick on their insufferable son. And now Gerry indeed stops fidgeting and only slightly puffs out his cheeks, showing that he is displeased. Mary pays no attention to her pouting son or her husband, who is looking at her reproachfully. She only finally pulls her son's hat down, wearily saying:
"Stay still, Gerry."
"I want to walk more!" Gerry announces, rubbing the place where he was slapped and, in general, being not even offended. Probably because his dad stood up for him. At least he tried.
"I think we've had enough of a walk, buddy," Eric chuckles, picking up the boy in his arms and hugging him comfortingly. "Let's go. We need to change into warm clothes and eat."
Mary decides that before going anywhere, she needs to straighten Eric's scarf, so she gets down to it, although she sees her husband frowning and also trying to dodge. His reason is probably something like "I'm already a grown and independent man!", but at this moment he looks the same as Gerry. Like father and son, as they say.
Gerry at this time opens his mouth to object, but then closes his eyes and sneezes. Mary, stubbornly tying Eric's scarf and trying to wrap it up as best she can, immediately looks menacingly at her son:
"Don't you dare to get sick."
Gerry's eyes widen and he covers his mouth with his hands with such a comically frightened expression that Eric can't help but laugh. He throws the end of the scarf behind his back, gets a better grip on Gerry, gently takes Mary's hand and walks towards the city. Watching her husband laugh and her son relax and start laughing too, Mary can't help but smile a little.
At the edge of the forest, she turns around for a moment and looks into the darkness. She can still smell the damp old books from that mysterious mausoleum.