Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 126547 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126547 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Adam swallowed hard. “It’s them.”
“Who?”
“My parents. They’re my parents. Wearing wreaths, holding horns with mead, the whole deal. Mom’s not even wearing her cross. She always wears her cross.”
Emil frowned, uneasy about this discovery. “I guess they didn’t tell you everything.”
Adam wheezed and his fingertip moved to a veiled person in the back of a picture. It was a nun.
The room started spinning around Emil when Adam hurriedly paged through the collages from earlier years. The nun was in each one. The same nun. Emil’s brain boiled, and he pushed Adam’s hand away, returning to the very first year recorded, and yes—it was the same woman, unchanged, wearing the same robes. A chill went down Emil’s spine.
Adam scrambled to his knees and pushed his head through the window. “Oh, God… Emil, my mom always did everything so I couldn’t come to this region. Blocked every trip I planned, even the school one.”
Emil swallowed, staring down at the photo of the happy couple and the nun. They seemed to be the only people present at the festivities that year, other than all the members of Emil’s family. Creepy as fuck. “I hate to be the one to say it, but I’m sure you’re thinking it. They might have done something here they’re not proud of.”
Adam sat by the window, slowly catching his breath as he studied Emil with his mouth wide. “I was conceived here. And then, I was born with a tail. This can’t be a coincidence!” he said, grabbing his knees to keep his hands from trembling, but it was a futile attempt.
Emil smiled. “Oh, my God! I wondered what that scar on your tailbone was.” Adam’s miserable expression dampened Emil’s enthusiasm. “Sorry, I know, awful. It could still be a crazy coincidence.”
Emil wasn’t sure if he should even show Adam the next year’s photos. He got goosebumps at the sight of eight people standing with their backs to the camera, dressed in white robes and facing the lake as they held hands.
There was an emptiness to these, no bonfire, no dancing. And the nun wasn’t there either.
Emil was a single child among adults. It was the year of his parents’ death in the fire. His memories of that day were vague, but he’d gotten a lot of honeyed nuts, and his grandmother had dipped him into the lake.
“I’m not sure of anything anymore,” Adam mumbled, looking on as Emil browsed through pictures, which stopped after Grandmom’s death. But there was something else on the next page, an envelope addressed to… him.
He swallowed, and stared back at Adam, his heart beating like mad. “Adam, I’m suddenly feeling the urge to pray. Is that normal?”
For Emil, the envelope stated, Do not open before June 23rd, 2011.
That was eight freaking years ago—his twenty-first birthday.
Adam squeezed his shoulder, leaning forward with a soft glance. “I think you should do what feels right. Do you want me to pray?”
Emil nodded. Had grandma committed suicide and no one ever told him? His heart ached when he thought what suffering she must have gone through after losing her only daughter and a son-in-law. All because of him.
Emil opened the letter with trembling fingers. “Is it okay if I read it out loud?” He craved for someone to be with him, to not be alone with whatever awaited in there.
When Adam nodded, Emil cleared his throat and read.
“My beloved Emil,
I need you to know that everything I ever did, was for you. You’re my heart, and my joy. If you are reading this after June 23rd, 2011, it means that we have failed. You should leave Dybukowo at once and never come back.
Take the horse with you, and kill it, but only on Forefathers’ Eve of the year when you read this.
Yours,
Grandma.”
In the silence that followed, Emil could hear the insects outside, but his heart gradually beat faster and louder, until even Adam’s voice sounded muted.
“Why would she tell you to leave?”
Emil could barely swallow. “My granddad died the year before this date. Maybe he was supposed to give it to me. This is… unsettling. Maybe she was getting dementia? She’d been through traumatic events.”
Emil couldn’t stop staring at the letter, unable to comprehend what it implied.
Adam leaned in, offering Emil a gentle hug. His warm breath tickled Emil’s neck, but there was nothing sexual about it. It was comfort. “You think there’s a chance one of those other boxes could reveal more? Old doctor’s notes maybe?”
Emil nodded and squeezed Adam’s wrist. “Let’s check. I just…” He couldn’t scratch the itch that had been at the back of his brain since reading the letter, but it finally hit him. “It makes no sense. The letter’s dated a week before she disappeared, and my grandad only brought Jinx to me on the night after she disappeared. How could she know about him? Granddad said he found the foal in the woods, and he made me promise to always care for it.”