Don’t Forget Me

Tom Maekawa

Beauty in the Sting – Sierra Kish

Don’t forget me.  

[7/11/2008]

I shot out of bed in a cold sweat. I don’t know why. It’s been like this for months now, waking up in a cold sweat every time it rains. I can’t seem to recall when it started however. Perhaps it was when I moved into this house. I don’t really remember. Perhaps it’s always been like this.  

I live far away from other people. The nearest city is a few miles away, and my closest neighbor is the old man that lives in the cabin a mile down. I’ve never really been a fan of crowds or places with many people, and have always been trying to get away from the commotion in cities. Even the small rural communities bothered me, with their close-knit cult-like communities always trying to get me involved. Eventually, I decided that I had enough of having to live with other people in close proximity, and moved out here, right on the side of a mountain.  

The house wasn’t bad. It was a bit of a difficult drive, but a fairly easy walk, and I was used to hiking and running long distances to get away from it all in the places I used to live.  

The real estate agent was skeptical as to whether I really wanted to buy this house out of all of the ones available; It was far away from any semblance of civilization, and the previous owners were eager to get it out of their hands.  It was for these exact reasons, however, that made it exactly what I needed.   

The house was cheap, and I could live here on my own.  I work from home anyway, so that wasn’t an issue.  I couldn’t really recall the last time I ever saw another person apart from my biweekly stops to get food, and I was happy with that.  I could go hiking, look at the lakes and rivers, and look at the black birds that could often be seen dotting the landscape.  It was fun to watch the little birds up to their antics.  

Funny little birds.  

When I was in town the other day buying light bulbs, I saw a poster of a building that supposedly was on the mountain I lived on.  I thought it was curious; I did not recall any roads other than the dilapidated dirt and gravel one that I used, and I didn’t see any signs of construction or development occurring anywhere near the mountain.  I didn’t know who to ask about it though.  I’m seldom seen in town, and they’d probably ask me what my name was and where I came from and they wouldn’t even know the answer anyway.  

On my way out of the store, though, my curiosity got the best of me, and I asked a clerk if he knew anything.  He seemed confused and asked me where I got the sign.  It seemed that no one could recall it ever being built.  I wonder if I read it wrong or if it was just a mistake.  It was probably just something that was planned that never actually got built.  

I was a bit bored one day, and as I opened up my email, I saw that an old friend of mine had sent me a message:

Hey, I know it’s been a while.  You want to go hiking together for a few days? 

I suppose I had started to get bored of going on walks up and down the mountain myself and it wouldn’t hurt to see one person for a day or two.  

Sure.  I live right by a mountain so you could just come right over

I was going to tell him where I lived but as I was about to do so, I realized there was an utter lack of information describing it.  The mountain wasn’t on any maps, and I didnt have an address- not even a mailbox.  I tried searching for the mountain I lived on online, but it seemed that all of the people who compiled the lists of big geographical landmarks had all missed it.  Instead, I just told him the directions he would need to take to get here from the nearest town over, and we could try to get to the peak together.  

The next few days were relatively uneventful.  After all, there wasn’t that much to do out here.  Most of my days were spent either wandering the woods, working, or reading.  There isn’t even cell reception here, and I have to go back into town every few weeks in order to get food, because I’m not entirely self sufficient.  I dread having to do so, but I dont think I’ll be able to have a sustainable source of food up and running here anytime soon.  

Even though Roy wouldn’t be here till 10, on the day of, I got up early as I usually did.  My favorite part of being up here is, after all, dawn.  It’s a wonderful thing to watch the sun rise over the peaks like a giant, waking from his slumber.  

The sun still wasn’t up yet however. It was obscured by clouds from last night’s rain, which had yet to clear up.  Instead, I poured myself coffee, packed my bags, and then went outside to wait for him.  I finally saw a car, which I presumed to be his, driving up the road.  Sure enough, it was Roy, and we began walking up to the summit.  

We didn’t talk much; I was never one for many words, and neither was Roy, so we kept walking, with the only noises audible being the crunching of the gravel beneath our feet.  

After a while, the sun had finally broken free of the clouds. It pierced through the mist, creating fractals upon the ground.  The woods were quiet, and any sound we made was dampened by the thick fog that always sets in during the nighttime. The trail and undergrowth were still wet, glistening with the early morning dew.  

It occurred to me that I should probably say something; it was the first time that Roy and I had seen each other in what seemed to have been years since I had last been in a large group of people.  I racked my brain for any phrase, greeting or salutations I could throw at them, but came up short.  It seems that time in these woods had robbed me of my ability to speak, my tongue slow and awkward from disuse.  

“So…  how’s life been?”

His face contorted into a puzzled look and then burst out laughing

“Seems like you haven’t gotten any better at making small talk in all these years”

“Well… 

I…Uh… I’m sorry, it’s just been a while since I’ve had to talk to anyone”

“Nah, it’s all good.  I haven’t been any good at that myself”

It occurred to me that I hadn’t spoken to him in God knows how long.  Years maybe?  I don’t remember.  

“So, how’s it been going for you?”

“I don’t know.  Not much I suppose.  Working in the city gets dull sometimes and I wanted to check in on you, but it seems like you’re doing pretty all right for yourself here.  ”

“Well yeah.  ”

“Does it ever get lonely out here?”

I had never really thought about it until now.  I’ve never longed to have people around me.  I hadn’t sought them out.  I thought It was because I didn’t want people around when I moved here.  But maybe it was that I was lonely, that I didn’t have anyone, that I left.  The people around me after all, seemed to have little substance and constantly meld into one another.  

“A little. ” I admitted.

We didn’t talk much after that.  I was ok with that, content to watch the shadows change over me.

I realized that the peak of the mountain was further than I expected, and this entire mountain range was much bigger than I initially thought.  The constant mist and the thick tree coverage allowed the mountain to hide its true size and grandeur from us, but now that we had some altitude, we could finally grasp its sheer magnitude.  It would take a few days for us to get to the top.  That said, I had tents, and Roy had brought food.  We had packed accordingly, so it was of no concern to us.  We set up camp for the night, and off to sleep we went.  

Please don’t forget about us

Remember who we were

REMEMBER US

REMEMBER US

I shot out of my sleeping bag, thinking I was in danger yet all the only thing that greeted me was the light pitter patter of rain on the cover of my tent.  It was raining again.  I tried to remember what it was that jolted me awake.  A dream?  Yes, a dream.  Voices, screaming at me.  Something, telling me to remember them.  I don’t know what it was.  At first I thought I should tell Roy, but he’d probably just tell me I was a lunatic.  

Once again, we began.  The topography of the mountain was a twisted mess, filled with strange features dotting the landscape, with rocks and outcroppings, as well as a mess of trees.  The mist only made things worse, with its only blessing being that near the base of the mountain, it would dissipate upon the emergence of the sun.  All of this made it difficult to gauge where we were on our way to our goal, and we often had to take detours and make large looping turns to avoid obstacles we couldn’t climb over.  

We spent hours trudging through thick shrubbery, crawling and hoisting ourselves over rocks, and finding our path impeded by slippery slopes, tangled thorns, and a slew of other impediments.  Finally after several hours of trekking, we began considering setting up camp for the night.  

At this point, though, clouds had begun to gather above us.  The tree branches bent and gave way as the wind began flowing through between the trees like a raging river, with leaves weaving between them.  The skies which had been growing darker since noon, were now an abyss of whirling and churning clouds, without a single ray of light breaking through.  It was as if some god got blackout curtains, and draped them over the entire mountain range.  The wind seemed to howl and scream at us as if it were angry.  We struggled to find something to shelter us from the incoming rain.  The entire mountainside was covered in trees, and yet none of them were at the right angle nor did any have foliage thick enough to shelter us.  We tried to put up our tents but they were tangled and attached to each other, and we struggled to untie them. 

When things couldn’t get any worse, it began raining.  Not your typical rain, mind you.  The rain was slick and oily, as dark as the woods were at this point and a stark departure from anything I’d ever seen before.  It clung to everything; our hands, our boots, and our tents, whose odds of ever becoming untangled were quickly becoming dashed.  It seeped through all it came into contact with, plastering our marinated clothes onto our backs.  It was starting to feel sticker by the second, with the terrain becoming dodgier with every step we took towards something, anything, to shelter us from the monsoon that had manifested.  As we finally struggled up and under a ledge to find a semblance of shelter, I lit a match.  Or tried to, anyway.  The disgustingly oily rain had seeped even into the box where we kept our matches, and thickened, causing them to be nearly impossible to light.  After struggling with them for what felt like an eternity, it finally lit, and we could see what we and the entire forest was being drenched in.  

This was also when I realized that the liquid that was falling from the sky was not rain.

It was blood.  

I didn’t even know where to start.  After all, where does one start, what does one ask or think, when they see blood, not even raining, but downright pouring from the sky?  Whose blood was this ? Why was it falling from the sky and where did it come from?  What twisted curse, malevolent god, or trick of the imagination was this?  

My mind raced through the possibilities.  We had enough water, and had been hydrating throughout the day.  Furthermore it was late fall, so any chances it was dehydration were hardly even worth considering.  Perhaps not quantity but quality?  In that case the waters have been filtered, the filters have been working without fail without any reason to suspect a recent failure so contamination was ruled out.  Neither of us had a history of hallucinations.  Both of us had gotten adequate sleep the day before, and neither of us did drugs.  

Which meant that this was reality.  We were drenched in what was quickly coagulating blood, and if we didn’t get it washed off fast, we could easily get poisoned or infected.  Not to mention hypothermia which was already setting in.  

Thankfully, the rain subsided and we were able to get over the shock of blood falling from the sky.  After it ended, it seemed actual rain had come to wash whatever it was before all away, but we were both still caked in blood.  We tried to get as much of it out of our tents and gear as we could, before setting up camp for the night.  Before we went to sleep however, we debated continuing to the peak.  

I woke up with my heart pounding and my arms shaking.  I saw something.  I tried to remember the details, but they kept slipping from me.  It was akin to trying to keep water in the cups of your hands.  

It was like looking through memories that weren’t mine- ones that belonged to someone else, or multiple people.  

What was the dream even about?  Calm down.  You haven’t lost your mind just yet.  

I was driving up to a building at the peak. Yes.  That much I am sure of.  

I walked up and handed them a card and looked into a camera looking thing.  I wasn’t sure what it was.  

And then I was suddenly somewhere else.  Same building probably.  I opened a door and I saw a chasm.  With something at the bottom.  

No matter how hard I tried I couldn’t visualize it anymore.  Whatever that dream was- a hallucination, a nightmare, a memory, it had escaped me.  What was even more important however was the building.  It was tall, white and gray.  

A building I could have sworn I had seen before.  

On the poster I saw in town.  

I know Roy likely had second thoughts on continuing up the mountain.  I know I certainly did.  Still though, it would be a waste to come all this way and make it up to the peak.  I felt that I just had to get up to the peak, to at least see if it, or at least something was there.  To show I wasn’t insane just yet.  Perhaps it was spite.  Perhaps it was curiosity.  Regardless of the intention, we went on.  

Further up the mountain the mist and fog thickened.  It was faint at first, snaking and slithering between the trees, slowly settling in like silt at the bottom of a pond.  I kept hearing faint whispers, the wind and the fog sliding them into my ears, but I couldn’t make them out.  They grew louder as we kept going up, and the fog around us soon covered made it difficult to see even a few meters ahead of us.  That’s when Roy stopped.  “Hey, have you been hearing voices in your head?”

“What?”

“Voices.  Telling me to keep going.  Telling me to not forget them”

I hesitated.  I didn’t want to admit to him I had been hearing them as well, out of fear he would want us to turn back.  

“You’re insane,” I replied.  

“It’s probably just me hearing things, with the wind and the fog boring me out of my mind, that’s all”.

Our path through the forest soon narrowed, as the landscape around us veered away from us on both sides.  It was hard to maintain balance, with the mist only exacerbating the already difficult to navigate terrain.  The roots and the fog taunted us, goading us to make a wrong move and trip.  This only made me all the more determined to reach the top of this godforsaken place.  The voices in my head only pushed me forward.  These thoughts distracted me from dodging the roots and I tripped.  I would have caught myself.  Unfortunately Roy tried to catch me when his footing wasn’t great himself and we both slid right down the mountain slope, our limbs catching on branches and our faces running right through the thicket.  In the mess, we both lost our backpacks, which held our tents, our food, and all of our supplies.  

Then it began raining again.  Of course it did.  That’s all that ever happens on a mountain like this, with so much fog and mist.  At least it wasn’t blood this time, but the rain kept coming, blowing right into our eyes.  Our boots sank into the now rapidly dampening ground.  The rain came in such large volumes it carved and irrigated paths through the soft soil, and we were reduced to a slow struggling crawl.  To avoid sinking into the mud, we changed our routes, walking alongside a rocky outcropping on our path to the peak.  The worst was still yet to come.  Struggling against the torrential downpour had dulled my senses and my awareness of my surroundings, but soon It was too loud to ignore.  In the background I could hear what seemed to be cawing and screeching.  As they grew louder, my dread followed.  Before long it was deafening.  My survival instincts finally kicked in and I began running as fast as my exhausted legs could take me.  Roy had beaten me to the punch and was sprinting as fast as he could.  Not fast enough unfortunately, as the birds caught up to us.  

All I could hear was the uproar and the cacophony from the birds, as they descended upon us like a plague.  The tempest was unbearable, their beaks and feathers covering every inch of the sky.  I could hardly tell where I was going, only driven by the fact that the birds were shredding through my jacket, and soon they would get to the skin underneath.  The birds subsided just as we made it past the treeline. I could only tell, because as soon as we crossed it, we were met with a blast of cold air, and a sheer drop.  

I opened my eyes.  My ears were ringing.  On some level, I had a sense I had fallen off the cliff face.  I couldn’t tell if I had broken anything.  I couldn’t quite feel my limbs, and while the adrenaline was starting to wear off, the cold hadn’t.  

I lifted my arms out of what seemed like sand.  In front of me was a large lake.  I could tell I was out for a while; the rain had already begun to subside and Roy was already up, staring at it.  Without even turning to look at me, he said, “come over here, look.”

Inside the lake, was what appeared to be the sunken remains of a building.  The borders of the body of water seemed to be crumbling into it.  What I had seen in the poster was real.  There was something up here, and something happened to it.  For whatever reason, everyone had forgotten it.  This was something that shouldn’t have been here, and It felt like we had seen something not meant for our eyes.  

“We were up here before, right?”

“What?”  

I stood up, bewildered.  We had obviously never been up here before.  That building was far older than we were; it would have been impossible for whatever happened here to have been within our lifetimes.  

“We can’t let them be forgotten.”

“What are you talking about, Roy?”

“Their names, their faces, their lives.  We can’t just leave them, Murphy.  We have to remember them.  They’re our friends, remember?”

I was at a loss for words.  What was he talking about?  

And then he turned back to me, with a look in his eyes I couldn’t get out of my mind.  His eyes were glassy, unfocused, like a thousand yard stare but  much worse.  He seemed fixated, mesmerized by something.  The voices came rushing back, growing into a dull roar.  They were screaming, pushing me, pulling me towards the pool.  Down to where all the answers were.  Where something important was.  Where there was something I left behind.  

Without a word, Roy stepped and sank into the pool.  The ripples soon faded, and the pool was now in a sterile, perverse tranquility.

I never went back up into the mountains ever again.  

My journey down went without a hitch.  The only thing slowing me down, was my urge to return to the peak, to go back to the hell I was once so desperate to get to, and some sense that somehow everyone and everything was still there.  

Everyone that I had left behind.  Yes, that’s what’s in the pool.  Or at least maybe that’s what it or whatever is happening is trying to make me think.  I can’t get it out of my mind.  I keep seeing faces, new and old, and voices that I could have sworn I’ve heard before.  I want to go back.  I need to go back, just to be sure all of these are real.  I don’t know if any of these faces or voices were ever real.  Was any of this real?  How can I forget all of this?  I have to go back I have to go back I havetogobackIhavetogobackIhavetogobackIhavetogoback.  

I don’t want to be alone anymore.  I have to make sure that the people I know are real.  I have to be sure that everything is as I remember it.  I have to be able to remember.  I can’t ever go back to that mountain.  I don’t want to end up gone, forgotten just like whatever happened over there.  

I called Roy’s friends and family and no one could recall who he was.  Come to think of it, I can’t really remember him myself.  I can’t just let all of this be forgotten.  I can’t let them be forgotten.  They’re calling for me, from the bottom of that lake.  

[8/15/2009]

I don’t want to see them anymore.  I don’t want to hear them anymore.  I can’t remember any faces or voices or people anymore.  All I can think about are those people left up there.  

What we saw there never should have been there

I can see why no one lives on the mountain

Why there were no records of it existing.  

Something has happened and we all want to forget but we don’t want to be forgotten.  I don’t want to be forgotten.  They don’t want to be forgotten.  I’ve left them up there.  How could I have done this?  I have to go back.  

I have to go back up there, they’re waiting for me up there. 

[9/17/2009]

I don’t want to be forgotten

Please

Try to remember.  

Don’t forget about me

Please

Remember…  us