Page 2 of Buried Souls
A heart wrenching wail of agony erupts forth from me, and I cradle her close as I endlessly rock back and forth, my pained screams intensifying with each cursed breath that I take. My nails dig into her back and shoulders as I desperately try to cling on to her—as if clinging on to sanity itself. The cold from her body seeps into my very bones, but I’m numb to it all.
“This can’t be happening,” I chant over and over again into her icy neck, her straw like hair drenching me. “This—this isn’t real. I’m—I’m dreaming. I must be. This—This—KARINA!” I shake her limp form. “Karina, wake up!!”
The temperature plummets to unbearable levels. Vines emerge from the shadows of the woods, creeping along the ground and towards where I remain, kneeling and now shaking from shock. Their long spindly tendrils slither and crawl over the damp earth, reaching for the lifeless form in my arms, and I kick at them even as more appear and cover my legs, shredding to strips the ones that coil around Karina’s tiny limbs, but new ones arise almost instantly, taking their place.
Then, a different kind of cold brushes against the back of my neck, one that is unnatural. Wrong. An abomination not meant to exist in the world of man, and I freeze, sudden realization dawning on me.
“You,” I manage through gritted teeth, my grief and hysteria replaced with rage unlike I’ve ever felt before. “Youdid this.”
Chills sweep over me and intense horror engulfs me when I feel chapped lips against the shell of my ear. “I did,” the voice from my worst nightmares cackles gleefully, just as the forest finally swallows us whole. “I hope you like my present, my love.”
CHAPTER 1
“Bears and Crows”
The rain splatters across the window, the countless tiny droplets beading together, forming narrow streams of water that cascade down the glass and disappear out of sight.
I sit, observing one such translucent speck of rain, my blue eyes open wide, unblinking, as if in a trance.
A bolt of lightning flashes across the gloomy sky, illuminating the barely lit train cubicle and the densely forested landscape of Eastern Europe that’s flying by. I jolt as thunder booms all around me, its threatening sound causing my heart to race.
“The storm frightens you.”
I turn towards the speaker, thankful for the distraction. “Oh, no. No, it just took me by surprise, that’s all.” A feeble smile graces my lips as I hopelessly attempt to placate the elderly woman frowning at me.
“Don’t worry dear, it’ll be over soon. Where are you headed to?” she asks in curiosity. “I haven’t seen you before, you must not be from around here.”
My gaze drifts back to the glass and the storm that’s making its appearance across the darkening sky, my insides turning from apprehension as more oddly shaped clouds roll in.
“I’m from Barbora.” The words stick on my tongue, my eyes unable to turn away from the sinister display of nature unfolding before me.
“Ah, the Institute! What is a historian doing this far away from home?”
Another bright flash cuts the air, causing me to jump in my seat. My skin prickles, as if charged with a hundred volts.
“I’m doing research for my dissertation,” I mutter low while gripping the burgundy travel bag in my lap, fingers clutching the leather material.
I hate storms.
It was storming the night I lost my mother.
A sudden thought hits me. My attention snaps to the gray haired woman sitting across from me, the very same one whose keen gaze is already on me, as if absorbing my every move.“You’re from around here, aren’t you?” She nods. “Maybe you can help me.”
Her body shifts, as if uneasy with my request, but she adds, nonetheless, “I will try my best, my dear. What is it that you need help with?”
I swallow hard, as an ominous face appears to take shape amongst the ebony clouds, and an eerie chill runs through me. “I—I’m writing a thesis on old abandoned buildings, mostly family heirlooms and cultural landmarks with rich, age long history. I was told that this area of the country was saturated with such architectural wonders, ones which not only have an enchanting outward appearance but a deeply rooted mythos to go along with it, as well.”
Clasping my hands in front of me, I internally shake myself, then scoot closer to the petite woman. The scent of cinnamon and vanilla and something strange and very foreign yet oddly familiar, as if I’ve smelt it before, enters my lungs as I inhale. “Do you know of any such pieces of property?”
The cabin falls silent as we sit staring at each other, neither one of us moving. The high pitched squeaks of the train wheels mix in with the sonorous thunder resonating all around, making my skin crawl as the harrowing melody washes over me.
“There are many, but surely, you’re not interested in—”
“Please,” I cut her off, grabbing the woman’s tiny hands in my own as my fingers wrap firmly around them. “I’m so close to finishing it.” I’m struck by how soft they are, and I quickly glance down, noting the lack of wrinkles despite her obvious age.
How very odd.
My eyes dart back up, desperation leaking from my pores, and I suck in a lungful of air, holding my breath and praying that, for once in my life, I would have it easy.
