My name is Arthur Pournelle. I'm forty-five years old and I have a doctorate in theology. I'm a man of average height with dark hair flecked with gray. I teach at the Universite Pierre Mendes, France. I was a happy man. I had a normal life, a job, a beautiful wife who loved me. I had many wonderful memories. I lacked nothing... nothing except children.
We haven't been able to have children since the day Susan underwent a complicated operation. She was in critical condition, having been brutally raped and beaten by her own students on the way home from university. She still cries from time to time. We were so helpless.
I don't really know why I'm writing this. But writing makes me feel better. Old Man Jung would probably say I'm trying to create a fetish in which I want to encapsulate all the traumas that plague me. And the nightmares. But it's not like that. I don't have any neuroses or hysteria. I'm not looking for a testimony either... No one believes him. They covered everything up. And I've become a madman.
I don't care about anything. I just want to occupy my hands. Force my brain to function, harness my thoughts, maintain consciousness. Don't fall asleep.
Dreams... Always so strange, incomprehensible. Metaphors, analogies, allegories. Clusters of thoughts, words, and images. If one were to assume that human consciousness is a collection of rooms, through which various figures move, representing our thoughts, fears, and dreams, sometimes talking to each other, sometimes fighting, then during sleep, my sleep, it seems to me that I'm making my way through dark, empty corridors. I bump into figures, their faces materializing for a moment in the dim light of my flashlight, then, terrified, I regain my balance and flee. It wasn't always this way. No, I used to be a happy man.
***
Blood. It stinks. The sweetish smell of death.
Arthur.
Think of yourself. Ignore them. Question them.
Arthur!
Susan.
Arthur! Turn it off!
-Arthur.
-Excuse me?
"You fell asleep in front of the TV again.
Indeed. I'm sitting on the couch, across from the small, black-and-white TV. I can feel an unpleasant taste in my mouth.
"Can't you just lie down?" Susan took the remote from my hand and turned down the volume. "It's one o'clock. You're going to college first thing tomorrow. You have to focus."
"I know, I'm sorry." I stood up and kissed her. She was beautiful. And so sad. "Go, I'll go to bed soon." "
It doesn't bother me, it's just... You've been staying up really late lately." She kissed my lips and slowly, sleepily, walked away to the bedroom.
I sat on the couch for a few more minutes. I flicked through the channels, but the hypnotizing, gray-blue glow of the screen was already starting to strain my eyes and bore me
.
"An hour ago, a series of explosions occurred near the village of Mayenne. Police and bomb squads, who arrived at the scene just twenty minutes ago, are searching the area. So far, no traces of explosives have been found. Police suspect that secret Satanist meetings may be taking place in the forests around Mayenne. If true, this would be the second time Satanist activity has been recorded in the Mayenne area. However, so far, it has never happened..."
***
The day at university was long and tiring. I had a very stressful presentation on the customs of Slavic pagans. A representative of the Institute was watching the lecture, but from what I understand, he wasn't particularly impressed. No wonder. I've never had a talent for showing off in front of important people. And I was a good two hours late. I did call Susan, but I knew she would be nervous anyway. Just in case, I bought a flower.
The door finally opened, and a smiling face appeared, the sight of which instantly made me forget my muscle pain and fatigue.
"Hello, handsome."
As I took off my coat, I caught the sweet, pungent scent of marijuana. A noticeable haze still lingered in the kitchen, despite the cracked window.
"Smoking that again?
" "What?" she asked, laughing. Her laugh sounded like a happy chirp. Her eyes were red and puffy.
"You can't cure depression by smoking that stuff." I glared at her, but when she snuggled closer, I softened. "
My friend said some people cure themselves this way," she said naively, accepting the flower. "
Jaquellin's a junkie. You shouldn't talk to her.
" "You talk like an old fart."
"I'm forty-five."
Laughter. We sat down in the kitchen, and she handed me a pipe.
"Dinner. No buts. Get lost," she laughed, and I accepted the joint and inhaled deeply.
"Did she tell you about bad trips?"
*** "
You know what, Arthur? I think I've already had those bad trips.
" "What do you mean?" I asked, worried. "
I had a dream yesterday. Remember that news report? About Satanists in Mayenne?
" "They were some cultists. Signs and symbols of the Descent were found there. Satanists and skinheads are too stupid to know them." "
I dreamed our son was there.
That's when I realized I shouldn't have let her smoke."
"Stop it, Susan. You shouldn't have dug it up."
"I mean, that place... Mayenne. I dreamed. He was there. That was your son too."
"Stop it."
I felt like I was about to explode. The memories started to return. The dark thoughts came more readily the more I tried to get rid of them.
"At least you know. I don't even know what they did to me. Why won't anyone tell me?"
"Susan, stop it. You had a miscarriage. "
A moment of silence, despite which I feel my head buzzing.
"I'm sorry. In that dream. He was just so...
"Real?"
"Exactly.
" ***
Last night I had a terrible dream. I dreamed I was in a landfill. I was facing the setting sun. On one side were dunes made of garbage. Huge piles of junk, one emerging from behind the other, stretching all the way to the horizon. On the other side was a lake. Although I never expected a lake of this size could exist. It stretched to the horizon. And I knew there was nothing more. Just the lake, the landfill, and me, facing the sun, which was setting again and again. I sat on the shore and started skipping little ducks across the lake with the pebbles I'd found. Time seemed to pass by; I thought I'd be here forever. But suddenly something else appeared. Singing. Children's singing, irritatingly cheerful, yet somehow terrifying. It echoed from everywhere, growing ever clearer. After a moment, I could make out individual words.
"And who saw Dziub Dziuba?
Where is Dziub Dziub hiding?
Who will finally manage
to answer like a note?"
It grew cold. I felt my blood run cold. The sun set, leaving me alone with the singing in the utter, startling darkness. I stood and turned around, but saw nothing but the endless landscape of the garbage dump. I began to look around. It became truly freezing. After a moment, I could see my every breath as rising steam. I threw aside some dented sheet metal and peered into the old refrigerator. I don't remember what happened for the next five minutes, but then, with zeal and a glint of madness in my eyes, I dug through the mounds of filth. I was looking for something. Something I didn't want to find.
"Does it fly or does it fly
? Does it have a beak or a bill?
Has anyone seen Dziub Dziuba,
where Dziub Dziuba is hiding?"
Everything stopped as quickly as it had begun, and I, sweating and pale, listened to my heartbeat and the echo of that disturbing, childish melody echoing in my mind. And it... It was behind me. I knew it, but I didn't want to turn around. I didn't want to see its disfigured face or touch its cold hand.
I woke up drenched in sweat
.
I found Susan in the kitchen. She must have been crying all night, because her eyes were dark with tears. She'd hanged herself with a belt tied to the doorknob. An hour later, the police arrived. They took the body and found the marijuana. I felt something inside me break when I saw her there. Somewhere deep inside my head, something groaned briefly and died. I prayed that this was a dream, that I would wake up next to her and that... that nothing would happen.
***
After a dozen or so hours in the hospital, they gave me a sedative and I fell asleep.
I dreamed I was back in Mayenne. I was running from something. I ran into the forest. The trees weren't where I'd seen them, and as a result, I kept bumping into them. I slid through the softened leaves and mud. Deep in the forest, I noticed a shape resembling a house, which a moment later vanished in a way impossible to describe. As if it were just a momentary illusion, the arrangement of branches and leaves at that moment.
He was standing next to me. How could I have missed him? Home.
"We all know all sorts of birds,
there are tits and sorrels,
they keep asking her questions,
and at school, woodpeckers are carving..."
A moment later, I was inside. I'd never felt such fear. The hallway was quiet and empty. Old paintings hung on the walls, portraits of people I didn't know. The door opposite was ajar. In an instant, I recalled similar scenes from horror movies. According to the script, I should have opened the door, and then...
The hated melody began to seep from the room before me again. I could have sworn the walls of the hallway were slowly swaying to its rhythm. The moon had disappeared behind thick clouds, and impenetrable darkness had descended. I took a few cautious steps and pushed open the door, which gave way with a loud creak.
It was chilly inside. With each breath, clouds of steam emerged from my mouth. The shadowy shape of a cupboard loomed darkly in the darkness. I reached it when I heard a loud bang. I flung open the door. Nothing. Empty. Just musty-smelling, folded sheets. But out of the corner of my eye, I caught movement near the bed. I froze.
Fear gripped my stomach and tightened my throat, preventing me from breathing. I felt physical pain as I tried to swallow. Overcoming a strange muscular weakness, I moved as quietly as I could toward the door. Step by step, I retreated.
"Dad! It's me, Dziub Dziub!"
It's somewhere here. I furiously threw back the covers, but found nothing beneath. Slowly, I lay down on the ground. I stared into the darkness beneath the bed. It was so dark I couldn't see anything. Black, only black. I breathed very slowly, and my heart began to ache. The blood throbbed in my temples as if it were about to burst. Suddenly, I noticed something strange in the darkness. Something that didn't fit with the rest. Something small, bright, and triangular.
I once saw a program on television about jumping spiders. These spiders, with their excellent eyesight, hunt in a very interesting way. When they spot prey, they don't charge at it mindlessly. They stare at it for a long time, standing motionless on eight hairy legs, memorizing the entire surroundings. They retreat and circle around the victim from behind. They remember this long journey perfectly. Once the jumping spider is close enough to the mouse to attack, nothing can save it. These animals leap incredibly fast at their prey and kill it. It looks like a frame skip in some poor-quality movie. Incredibly fast. When the spider freezes for a moment before jumping, the mouse can turn and look into its gigantic eyes.
In that moment, I felt like one. I stared into a pair of gleaming eyes and couldn't breathe. It seemed as if my heart had stopped beating for a moment. Adrenaline began to mix with my blood in incredible quantities. I lay on the floor, my face inches from his, regretting that I'd ever been born.
"Hi, Dad," he said in a childish voice. I could feel his cold, rotten breath on my face. "Don't be scared. I look a little funny."
The moon peeked out from behind the clouds and briefly illuminated the space under the bed, and I woke up screaming like a maniac.
***
It was night. I slipped out of the hospital. I called Josh, one of my students. I trusted him. He checked the house and said the police weren't there yet. Everything was just taped off.
When I got there and got through the police seals, I traded in my hospital gown for a suit. I took the money and most of my valuables. Susan's jewelry too. Josh put me in touch with the dealer.
Now I'm sitting here, at the station, writing this nonsense. I wonder if all this really happened. A few friends of mine walked past me, but they didn't recognize me. I've changed a bit. I haven't slept in a week. I'm taking more and more amphetamines. I have a long beard. Honestly, I look like a homeless person. A very sick homeless person. You're probably wondering why I don't just end it all? Well... I have a feeling that's when the worst would begin. He's just waiting for that.
For now, I'm making paper figures. Origami. Birds are my best. Cranes, swans.
Sometimes I just think I hear... that melody again.
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