presence

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Who are you? I do not see nor hear you, yet I can somehow feel your presence. It’s hard to describe, but it’s almost like the fact that you are here is as obvious to me as my own consciousness. It is like you are standing right behind me—or beside me—close by, yet out of reach. Do you understand what I mean? I think you do. You are here; you are here with me, that much I know. You can hear my thoughts, can’t you? That feels obvious to me as well. But you do not speak; you only listen. Or perhaps you only choose to be silent. I suppose that’s all right.

What are you? A shade, or spirit? Might as well be, right? I guess I will believe anything at this point. Why are you here anyway? Do you live in this valley? Why do you make yourself known now after I have been wandering here aimlessly for so long? I’m sorry, don’t take this the wrong way. In fact, I am very grateful for your company, even if it is only in spirit. I have been very lonely these past few… days? Weeks? I’m not sure. Time doesn’t seem to retain any meaning in this grey place. But now that you are here, I finally feel some semblance of safety, and I am a little less afraid. So please, don’t go. I was actually hoping you could be my confidant. Ever since coming to this place, I have been overwhelmed with an inexplicable urge to confess.

I have been reliving memories, you see. Mostly involuntarily. The indication this gives me as to the true nature of this place fills me with a nameless dread. I hope my suspicions are wrong. I don’t want to think about it. Wandering around, I have inevitably stumbled upon some familiar locations, schools, homes, parks, streets, and the like. In each one, I have picked up pieces of my memories, some that I had once forgotten, and I can now recall them with great detail. I would like to share them with you if you don’t mind. The time before I came here is mostly lost to me, and I hope that in retracing my steps I might retrieve more lost memories along the way and ultimately come to learn the truth about my predicament. With you, I have a feeling it will be easier than if I were to do this alone. Your presence is strangely comforting, even though I sense that you may not think very highly of me. At this moment, I don’t mind. I only ask for your time.

My name is Jane Doe*, but I have a feeling you already know that. Either way, I’m a high school student. Or I was, at least. Somewhere along the line, I found myself in a rowboat being ferried through the densest fog I have ever seen. There was no sound save for the rhythmic splashing of the oars and the creaking of wood, and there was no one else there but me and the mysterious ferryman sitting in front of me. Have you seen him? He was a menacingly tall and burly old man, and he wore a dark leather smock and a black, wide-brimmed hat like some old fisherman, and he had a black scarf that covered the lower half of his face. He didn’t say anything during the voyage, and never answered any of my questions. He only sat there and rowed in silence, even as we finally pierced through the fog wall and I saw the island, this island, for the first time. The imposing shape of its central mountain loomed far inland like the wide shoulders of a headless giant, and soon I could see huts and other signs of humanity strewed along the coast. But there were no lights there or any other signs of habitation.

When we were close enough to the coast, the man leaped overboard into the knee-deep water and, with tremendous strength, hauled the boat onto the sand. I sat still—frozen, even—and clung tightly to both sides of the boat. I demanded that he tell me where he had taken me, but once more there was no answer. He circled back around to where I sat in the boat, his shadowy visage staring down at me.
His eyes pierced mine. My face was stern, but my voice was tremulous. I mustered the courage to speak up, “I’m not moving until you tell me right now who you are and where I am!”

For a second, he seemed to tilt his great brow, as if I had told him something which he did not expect or did not understand. Then without warning, he reached his hands inside the boat, grabbed my waist, and lifted me into the air like a man lifting his bride. I yelped and kicked, and clawed at his hands, but to no avail. I was completely powerless. He held me with such ease and apathy that it felt like I was no more than some wailing infant in his hands. Then he carried me above him away from the boat and further inland. I kept struggling the whole time, but when he reached the part of the beach where the sand was sufficiently dry, he abruptly plopped me down on my feet with the same grace as a sailor moves cargo. As I was catching my breath, in a moment of confusion I was caught off-guard when I heard him speak in a low and gravelly voice. “Wait here,” he told me.

I stared up at him, astonished that he would rudely make demands of me when he had so often refused to even deign me with a response. But before I could say anything, he coldly turned around and started back to the boat.

It took a while, but I eventually realized the true meaning of his words as I watched him push the boat back into the sea. My heart sank, and I chased after him. Even being stuck on a skiff with a rude ferryman was preferable to being abandoned and alone on some deserted island. I called out to him and told him to wait. Predictably, he ignored me. He was getting up in the boat by the time I felt the waves wash over my feet and fill my shoes with seawater. I called again, screaming, “DON’T LEAVE ME HERE!”
I kept running until I was up to my waist in water and had to wade through it. Already, he had started carelessly rowing away. I was just about to start swimming after him when I was struck with a peculiar horror that stopped me dead in my tracks and made me reconsider. I cannot explain it, but there was something ominous about the water. Something in my mind told me to stay away from it. As the horror magnified, I recoiled and hurriedly scrambled back to shore as fast as I could, almost falling over in the process. The boat was far gone by the time I reached dry sand. Behind me rose the island’s grassy interior. Ahead of me spanned the sea, made gray by this perpetual overcast. I shivered and brought my hands to my shoulders. Was it the chill of the wind nipping at my skin? Or was it fear taking hold? I’m not sure, but I stood there on the beach by myself, soaking wet, and helplessly watched the ferryman’s boat disappear into the fog

That is more or less how I ended up here. I know it doesn’t explain much—believe me, I’m still trying to make sense of it all—but as I said, much is lost to me. How it is that I ended up in that boat, I cannot say. But that is what I hope to eventually discover with you. In any case, it was not this memory that I wanted to share with you, but my older ones; the better ones. The ones from before, long before I came here. I just feel that I owed you some context, and besides, it helps me segue better into my story. So, what do you say? Will you walk with me down this overgrown path of memories? Please stay! If you do, I will forever be your friend…
Thank you.