What you are about to read may be my last words.

 

I live on the outskirts of the city.  The surroundings serve to calm my nerves, something of which the doctor prescribed for my poor health.  In cooperation with the doctor’s suggestions, I would take walks around the perimeter of my property.  The air is crisper away from the center of the city and instead of the honking of cars, I can hear the sounds of nature: the steps of wild animals on newly fallen orange leaves, and the quiet whispers of the bubbling rivers tempting me to take a dip despite the blowing wind.

 

I had encountered a clearing on one of my walks a week ago.  The open area was brightly lit due to the sunlight shining through the canopy of the trees.  The expanse of grass was disturbed by a campfire, with smoke floating from the recently burned out charred wood.  Curious about the campfire’s origins, I explored the area about the clearing until I peered down a nearby ravine to find the plausible source of the fire.  Sitting at the bottom of the gorge was a man, who looked as if he was in his early thirties, staring aimlessly into empty space.

 

“You there,” I yelled, “Are you in need of assistance?”  The man slowly turned his head upwards and looked me straight in the eye, as if he was not surprised to suddenly hear a voice calling out to him.

 

“Why yes,” he called back, “Would you be so kind as to help me out of this predicament?  I seem to be trapped.”  I swear he was grinning when he asked me for help, but there is no way to be sure, as I was nearly eighteen feet above him, much too far to properly make out his facial features, nonetheless his facial expressions.

 

    I told him I would be back in a short amount of time after bringing rope from my house to help him climb up.  By the time I had returned to the ravine, the man was once again staring into nothingness.  Now that I reflect back on the scene, he did not seem at all bothered about being trapped in the ravine sans supplies or proper shelter.  I tied my rope to a branch of a tree slightly overhanging the gap and threw down the loose end.  The rope unravelled as it travelled towards the stranger and stopped just short of the rocky ground.

 

The man swiftly climbed up the rope; his arms pulled himself up while his legs walked up the ravine wall.  Just as he reached the edge, the branch snapped and he began to fall.  As quick as I could, I reached out to grab his hand.  I succeeded but he was too heavy for my arm to support and the stranger fell, inadvertently pulling me along with him back to where he had started.

 

I sat up with a groan at the bottom of the ravine.  It was dark by then; nearly three hours had passed since I began my therapeutic walk which turned out to be anything but.  I could feel a throbbing pain in my right ankle and wrist, most likely from landing on them on the way down.

 

The man was next to me seemingly unscathed.  We sat there in silence for a moment.  He was staring at where the rope used to hang while I tried my hardest to suppress any moans of pain.

 

“You’re injured,” he stated.  I was surprised that he had noticed.  I thought I did a good job of hiding the injuries.

 

“Indeed I am,” I replied, “What shall we do now?  I am unable to climb back up, and even if I could, the rope is of no more use.”

 

“We wait.”

 

“We wait?”

 

He replied with a nod of his head.

 

“Waiting is awfully boring.  We might be here for a while too, I own most of the land here and don’t get many visitors.”   I sighed.  I could only imagine when, or if, help would arrive.  “I know! Why don’t you tell a story to pass the time?”

 

He hummed in thought of my suggestion and began his tale.

 

 

---

 

 

There once was a boy called Jim.  Jim was smart and his family loved him.  He had an older sister, a mother, and a father.  The mother and father worked all day, while the sister stayed home to take care of Jim.  The family was poor so they were unable to send Jim or his sister to school.

 

Jim loved his sister the most out of all his family members.  It was only logical as he spent the most time with her.  They would see their parents off in the mornings and eat breakfast together.  Jim and his sister would read books all afternoon and then head to the park so Jim could play with the kids that were there after school.  Jim would run off with the other children while his sister continued to read on a nearby park bench.

 

    One day, as Jim was playing tag with his friends, he glanced at his sister to see the most appalling sight.  She was playing with another child.  Her book was left abandoned on the bench and she was braiding a girl’s hair, happily chatting with her about god knows what.

 

    ‘This can’t be,’ Jim thought, ‘Why would she be playing with someone that isn’t me?  She is mine.  And only mine.’  Jim was furious.  He marched over to his sister, ready to yank her hands out of the girl’s hair and drag her back home.  Then he stopped.  ‘I must punish the girl for thinking she could play with sister.’

 

    He slowed his gait and approached the pair with a smile.  The smile was fake.  He asked the girl if she wanted to play tag with him.  She glanced at his sister as if asking for approval.  Jim’s smile became more strained.  His sister nodded her head and finished off the braid before the girl stood up to join Jim’s game.  He tapped the girl’s shoulder, smile still stretched on his face, and called out, “You’re it.”

 

    Jim ran towards the dense forest that surrounded the edge of the park.  He could hear the girl giggling from behind him, yelling “I’m going to catch you!” and then giggling again.  He felt like vomiting at the sound of her voice.  Jim entered the forest and hid behind a tree.  The girl entered a couple of seconds after him and looked around.  The forest was dark despite the sun shining high in the sky.  The girl could not see more than a couple of feet in front of her and the air was deathly still except for the sound of her pants.  She had passed the tree Jim was hiding behind as she looked for him.  “Where are you?  Where are you?  I’m going to get you!”  She called into the silence.  He walked silently towards her, avoiding stepping on leaves and twigs.  She continued to glance around.  Jim was only a stride away.  She turned and her eyes glinted with glee as she spotted him. “Tag! You’re i-”  He pushed, hard.

 

    The girl staggered off her feet and her head hit a protruding tree root with a loud “thud.”  The forest was silent again.

 

    Jim stepped out of the trees into the park with a proud look on his face.  He waved at his sister and motioned that he wanted to go home.  She joined him and they walked hand in hand back to their house.

 

“What happened to the girl you were playing with?”

 

“She had to go.”

 

 

---

 

 

I stared at the stranger with a mix of awe and terror, my heart was racing in my chest.  “What happened to the girl?”

 

“I do not know.”

 

“How do you not know?  What if she was seriously injured?  Or worse, killed?”  How dreadful.  The thought of hurting another human being, a child nonetheless.  How terribly dreadful.

 

“Now, do not worry dear landowner; the story was nothing but pure fiction.”

 

“Indeed.  I am sorry.  I suppose your story telling skills are a tad too life-like for me to handle.  Right, it was only fiction.”  The silence of the night blanketed us.

 

“Would you like me to tell another?”

 

“No, no, I am fine.”  A cold sweat dripped down my back.  “Why don’t we get some rest.  Hopefully someone will come patrol the woods in the morning.”

 

The man shrugged his shoulders in agreement, “If you say so.”

 

I lay down, facing away from the storyteller.  I could hear him shifting to ready himself for sleep.  After a few moments, his breathing evened out and I took one last glance at the man I was trapped with before falling into a deep sleep myself.

 

    The next morning, I woke up, alone in the ravine, to the sound of voices.  There were policemen scattered about in the clearing above me.  I yelled for help and they looked alarmed when they saw me, as if they were expecting to see someone else.  They dropped down ropes, more securely placed than mine, and brought me to a hospital for my wrist and ankle.

 

    While waiting for the doctor, a nurse informed me of the reason for the policemen’s sudden appearance.  Two days prior, a house in the poorer part of the city was burnt to the ground.  There were three deaths.  A mother, a father, and a daughter.  The police had tracked down the alleged arsonist and murderer to the edge of the city where my property began.

 

    I left the hospital a couple of days later with braces around my wrist and ankle, and a bottle of painkillers.  I entered my home, and bid the officers who escorted me back a goodbye from my front window.

 

    Now I am glancing out that same window as I write these very words in fear that I will pass off all that has happened as nothing but a twisted dream.  And as I peer at the fallen leaves dancing chaotically in the wind as trees shakily loom over the scene, I notice, standing in the middle of it all, a man with a smile on his face, and a book in his hand.