Curiosity

Flames licked up the wood paneling of the house, sending black smoke spiralling into the night air. Muffled screams could be heard from inside its walls, as the cottage at the edge of the woods collapsed. The fire spat into the night, cackling as it feasted on the ruins of the house. Finally, the flames ceased, leaving only smoldering remains behind. The only noise that broke the silence was the sound of sirens in the distance, as an unnaturally dark shadow slipped away, unnoticed.

*          *          *

I groaned as I got out of bed, cracking my stiff back. I swear Logan; you’re getting older by the second. I said to myself. As I slipped on a pair of grey sweatpants and a hoodie that I had gotten from my university, my chocolate lab, Mars, bounded in to greet me. At least someone seems to be having a good morning. I slumped out of my bedroom, and sat down at my small, wooden table. I live in a pet-friendly apartment, so I only have three rooms: my bedroom, bathroom, and every other room in a typical house rolled into one, as well as a door leading outside, to ground level, and one leading to the hallway. The place could use some work, but it’s liveable.

I open my laptop and wait for it to boot up as I pour myself a cup of tea. As my super slow laptop acts like it has all the time in the world to turn on, I pour food in Mars’ food bowl, and he starts scarfing it down. It’d be nice to be a dog sometimes. I think. No worries about food, shelter, money… I’m snapped out of my reverie by an urgent beeping from my laptop. I turn towards it, but unfortunately, a chair magically got in my way and tripped me. Making my way back to my laptop, nursing my newly-bruised shin and cursing under my breath on the way, I sort through my emails, hoping one of them may actually be important.

“Spam, spam, spam, advertisement, spam, oh look! One from my family! Oh wait, that’s from March 13^th… last year.” I sigh, and take a sip of my tea. It seems that they forgot my 25^th birthday. As if sensing my sorrow, Mars sets his head on my lap.

“At least you still love me.” I smile, scratching him behind the ears. Mars gives my hand a lick, and then trots off to curl up in a corner. Turning back to my laptop, I go job searching in today’s newspaper.

“So much for having a chemistry major.” I grumble, clicking through pages of political opinions, famous people, and random bits of advice.  Finally, I stumble upon something that seems remotely interesting. It’s an ad that says “Volunteers needed for the clean-up of a burnt down house.” … or something like that. As long as it gives good money, is legal, and adds the tiniest bit of interest to my life, I’ll take the job. I take a second look at the ad. That’s funny, isn’t that the house that burnt down about a month ago? Didn’t the police say it was arson? I push that thought aside. I need all the money I can get if I want to keep my apartment. I perk up at the prospect of making some money today, call the organizer of the clean-up, and make my way to the bathroom to get ready.

“Heh, I’m looking good today.”  I say as I assess my scruffy, unkempt appearance in the mirror. I brush my short brown hair out of my blue eyes, just enough to make myself look presentable. After brushing my teeth, slipping on a pair of old jeans and taking care to make sure that Mars would be okay when I was gone, I took the bus to the outskirts of town, where the old cottage once stood.

I come up to the yard of the house. It is a large, open yard, almost completely surrounded by a forest, with the only road in being the only road out as well. I look up at the clouds in the overcast sky, thankful that it’s not raining. Once I arrive, a man carrying a clipboard that looks to be about in his mid-thirties walks up to me.

“Are you a volunteer? Please state your name.” Wow. Formal enough. Of course, I keep that thought to myself.

“Yes, I am a volunteer. My surname is Matthews.” I say in the most polite and professional voice I can manage.

“Ah, Logan, is it?” He says as he checks his clipboard “Thank you for volunteering. Please collect your gloves and tools from that pile over there.” He points to a pile at the edge of the yard.

As I make my way over to the pile of shovels, buckets, and gloves, I look over at the ruins, trying to picture the house as it once was. That’s weird. There are no scorch marks in the grass around the edge of the house. In fact, the edge of the ruins were a perfect rectangle; no mess anywhere outside the foundations of the cottage, and the grass seemed to be growing as healthy as ever. A faint ominous feeling began to creep into my chest, but I ignored it, telling myself that I came here to work, not to get scared and run away without any money. I quickly grab my tools, and head towards the group of volunteers that have gathered. Our instructions are given to us, and we all get to work.

As I shovel heavy, gray ash into my bucket, I notice a worn, wooden tube about six inches long poking out of the rubble. I quickly bend down and pick it up, analyzing its possible purpose. This shouldn’t be here. I thought. This should have burned in the fire along with the house. Suddenly, a chill runs down my spine. I look to see if anyone is watching me, and catch a glimpse of a dark shadow standing at the edge of the forest out of the corner of my eye. I turn quickly to check if someone actually is there, but there isn’t. Looking back at the tube, my curiosity gets the better of me, and I make a quick decision to take it home and see if I can open it later on.

After many hours of shoveling ash, the work is finished and I get my pay. The other volunteers and I put our tools away, and begin to leave the yard. I walk down the road, looking for my cell phone as I go, so I can call a cab.

“Damn it. I left my phone at home.” I mutter as I pat my pockets. “I guess I’ll have to wait for the bus then.” I resign myself to the task of waiting for the bus to drive by, when suddenly; a weak vibrating is emitted by my pocket. That’s weird. I don’t have my phone with me. I pull out the mysterious tube, which, lone behold, seems to be the cause of the vibrating. I stare at the tube, transfixed, when words suddenly appear on it. The words seem to be written with different characters than the typical Latin ones, so I can’t tell what they say; however, they have an ancient, ominous feel.

Shivering, my feet start to move back into the yard of the cottage, carrying my unwilling self deeper into the yard, and into the woods surrounding the house. I, meaning my feet, continue on through the forest until I come to a clearing. By this time, night has fallen, but I’m still able to see a dark figure in front of me. Everything is silent. I regain control over my own body, and it begins to shake with fear. Slowly, I turn and take in my surroundings. There is little light, but enough to be able to tell the difference between hanging bodies and tree branches.

I freeze, as fear overloads all coherent thought. I see a dark figure materializing from the shadows of the trees. It glides to where I stand, paralyzed with terror. Run… I beg myself. C’mon, run…RUN, DAMN IT, RUN! I jolt myself into action, running away from the clearing as fast as humanly possible. I make my way out through the yard and up the road. Shadows flit at the edges of my vision, as a voice in my head echoes something ancient and incomprehensible, but still terrifies me all the same.

Once I feel that I have gotten enough distance between the yard and myself, I tear the wooden tube from my pocket and throw it on the ground. Rummaging through my pockets, I find a matchbook. With a shaking hand, I strike one match and throw it onto the tube. Then I strike another, and another, until the matchbook is used up and the tube is blazing with fire. Backing away, I begin to run home, not bothering to wait for a bus, or for the tube to be destroyed.