My Familiar

Drip, drip. The sound of rain falling on the side of our car. Drip, drip. The feeling of blood falling across my busted arms. The pain is unbearable and the scent of death is falling around me. I hear a distant shrill like the roar of a beast. It gets louder and closer to my burning ears as the screech halts in front of us. Then suddenly they are all around, the throb in my ears becoming overwhelming. Surrounding the vehicle like a pack of starving wolves ready to pounce on the perishing sheep, I see figures like shadows moving towards us. What intent do the sprites have? This remains unclear as I fade out of consciousness and into a world soaked in a watery darkness. As my vision starts to blur the last thing I remember is the feeling that I was flying.

That was roughly thirteen years ago, the night a four-year-old me lost my father and –nearly- my mother as well. I don’t know how much time I have to recall all of this so please bare with me. A few decades ago I was having yet another reoccurring nightmare, the same one I just described to you. I don’t recall what happened between the time I was air lifted to the hospital and waking up. I always snap awake before I can even catch a glimpse of what the inside of the helicopter even looked like and I never saw my father again after that night. Well unless you can count the phantoms of him in my very broken dreams. I go by many names as I have changed it within the past years so maybe people can forget my story. Sorry I'm getting a little off track here since it is night and I'm unable to contain what lives inside of me. On that particular morning after I

awoke at the same exact time as usual it was a normal day as any other day. I got dressed as normal, oh I guess I should mention its early March and the grass was just starting to peak out of the last snow. I made the trudge up to my bus stop and went to my High school the same as everyone else. I didn’t have many friends except those who pretended to be out of pity for me. I stayed within myself and I did not like crowds very much. I only had one true friend, Isla was her name but I will get to her later.

I make the long voyage from the bus stop to my house, which is easily three and a half miles. I never thought about the length much because it felt secluded and I could be myself out there. The last of the snow that was hanging on the banks was just beginning to melt into a thin layer of ice below. There was a hill right before you make a left into my driveway. This hill was known for being icy specifically this time of year when the population actually could leave their houses to test it. I have always been especially clumsy when it came to walking on my own two feet. As I was lost in my thoughts I must had forgotten where I was supposed to step to avoid the icy collection of concrete. I slipped and fell all the way down the hill into the other side of our driveway. The only injury I obtained was a scrapped knee that colored the surrounding snow crimson. I spat out a leaf and blade of grass and glanced around me. To the right of me, a now overgrown trail led into the forest. The forest was a place of safety for me when I was little, the path shimmered gold in the fall and lush green in the beginning of April. I had a lot of trouble with post traumatic stress and when the therapy sessions stopped working I sought out my own help. Often times when the weather was fair and just the right temperature Rosa and I would camp out here under the groves of laurels.

There was something slightly amiss with the trail because I could have sworn I was looking at strewn cloth scattered upon the middle. I looked to the left of me and was about to ignore it. However, I felt slightly territorial of the path since up until now I was the only one who used it except for Isla and she never approached it without me. She considered it 'cursed' feeling uneasy whenever she went by herself. Starting the trail I focused on finding the culprit or culprits of all this litter dotting the grass and snow. I walked for what felt like an hour, really closer to a half hour. There was no humans to be found, no voices to be heard in the distance, and the only item that could be found were the cloth pieces. Eventually halfway through the path I picked up the cloth pieces and headed back to my house. Our house wasn’t very large but for the three of us it was decently sized. Three bedrooms, two upstairs one at the bottom, a guest bedroom with attached bath, one attached bath between my sister's room and my own, a living room, and kitchen. I sat against the backboard of my bed against the far side of my room against the window so I can listen to the chorus of coyotes, owls, and the occasional deer passing by. I studied the pieces that I had come across, some were stained tan and seemed quite worn out by now. I decided that maybe I could find better answers from Isla’s father, who happened to be the County Sheriff at the time. I walked the short path between our houses and knocked on the door. I had no need to call her beforehand, she expects me every day. As if on cue, Isla strode to the door opening it.

“Hey Emerald,” she said sleepily “What do you have there?” I exclaimed “I found them on my trail, and I want to find out who they belong too.” Long story short, the stains were of course blood from an exceedingly long year ago belonging to a miner at

the time of Unions. This of course did not make any sense as I have never seen these scraps of cloth before and since they seemed to lead even further back into the path, I wanted to see where these torn memories would take me.

About a week or so later after Isla’s dad discovered the owner of the clothing, the police did a brief search of the trail. Or at least as far as they could go before getting light headed or nauseas. The twists and turns of the laurel grove has this effect on those who have not yet brushed the edge of death itself. Isla and I sat by the window discussing Spring Break, you know the usual chatter of teenagers. I took the initiative to bring up what Isla was probably too scared to bring up. “We should go all the way into the trail, see where it leads.” This fantasy of course has been tugging at me, like the vines and branches have been calling to me. Isla was actually truly excited about the idea of an adventure however some factors troubled her. “But what if we get sick or lost?” I waved the worries away “The forest has never gotten me lost.”

That next Saturday morning we set out on the trail packing food and water for an all day hike. The hike was beautiful, crossing through a small meadow full of sprouting daffodils and early dandelions. The stream ran past as quietly as ever, and the forest was beginning to finally awaken from its long winters rest. We walked for what seemed like hours, and just as we were about to reach the end of the path the clouds started to come in. I did not plan for rain, and I definitely did not plan for the snow storm that evening just as the sun kissed the horizon goodbye. Isla and I searched for any cover we could, eventually making it to the main road heading into Town. Half frozen and mostly numb, the hotels light brightened the darkness. After checking into the cheapest

room, we could we laid down to rest and plan. Our plans were cut short by a conversation in the adjacent room. The walls in this hotel were so thin you could hear the slightest rustle of a blanket cover. The two were talking about the haunted path that circled the town. This path was once a coal camp, and when Unions took over the entire camp was burned to the ground. War among miners and guards was fueled, many perished. Isla and I decided we would finish the trail path first thing at dawn. Oh, our curiosity would get the better of us eventually

We dawn finally greeted us we dressed, ate, and hiked the last half of the trail. The last half took the better part of the day, leaving very few hours of daylight to spare. What was at the end of this curiosity? An old Coal company cabin, still intact considering the years it had been sitting there. The strips of cloth ended right on the front step of the cabin. Isla and I decided, without any way to get anywhere else, to spend the night at this cabin. If there were spirits, they must love me then! While Isla was asleep around 10pm, I was just getting off the phone with my mother. I was just about to doze off when I heard the ear-splitting ring of gunfire. It sounded like it was coming from inside the cabin itself. I jumped up grabbing a flashlight as my only weapon at the time looking around. By the time I found what was making the gunfire sounds, the sickening darkness consumes me. I was aroused at around 4am that morning for what felt like instinct. I got up without another thought and wandered along a path that I do not remember to this day. The path was long and cold however my body kept on walking. It was immune and zombified to the bitter cold outside. I ended up in an outcropping in the side of the mountain. Without an recollection of how I got there, the

part of what I remember is going into what was probably part of the old mine and walking deep within the cavern.

Isla awoke at exactly 7am that morning seeing in the cabin it was too cold to sleep any longer. She glanced around her, and noticed Emerald was gone. She never left Isla without a note of some kind. She was gone without a trace or even a hair left behind. Fearing she had been kidnapped, she did not bother getting dressed fully. After throwing on a thick coat she headed into the snow following footprints. How I wish I could have told her to go the other way, but all I could do was watch from afar within the depths of my contaminated dreamscape. The ice was particularly thick in one part of the trail before it dips into the rocks below. As if she were pushed by something, or someone, she slipped on the ice. Somewhat comically falling down the dipped cliff straight into the rocky bottom below. She passed instantly.

I could not tell you how long I was in the cavern, all I could tell you is that it was a long time. I had no more sense of time, and my only light was a small hole in the roof of the cave. I became a prisoner to this mine, and anytime I regained even a slice of sanity it was swiftly taken over once again by the shadows. That’s what I liked to call them at the beginning of my trials, shadows. Now I call them familiars. They’re restless and tainted spirits of those who refuse to accept death or moving on. They have no shape, no name, and no morality. They become the definition of life and death and good and evil. Familiars take root into any soul they prove to be worthy enough. They become familiar to your body and you get to know them. Their struggles, interests in life, and even their deaths. I stayed in this cavern because I would not allow myself the chance

to cause others harm. These beings inside you can do whatever they want however they understand limits. I have never forgiven them for Isla’s death. The images still haunt me to this day. She was able to move on however, which is a rarity on this side of the mountain. This mountain claims lives of those curious enough to try and tamper it. Sadly, I must end our conversation here, I'm sorry If I have left any questions unanswered. If I talk to you any longer the familiars may be attracted to your life. Go, before the path of unrest steals the precious life. I will stay, dreaming of someday when I can join you on the trail home.

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