The Keeper of the Forgotten20:48 Dec 20 2024
Times Read: 26
The village nestled at the foot of the mountain had long whispered tales of the forest that clung to its slopes. They spoke of shadows that moved when no light fell upon them, of voices that carried on the wind though no speaker could be found. But the heart of their warnings was always the same: Do not seek the old chapel.
I had no choice but to seek it.
The forest closed around me, ancient trees arching overhead like cathedral spires. The air was heavy, damp with decay, and the only sound was the crunch of my boots on the mossy ground. They had told me the chapel lay at the forest’s heart, but no one had dared describe what I would find there.
I had come searching for something stolen. Not gold, nor a trinket, but the memory of someone I had loved—a memory snatched from my mind like a thief plucking jewels. All I could recall was the ache left in its place and the faintest echo of her laughter, just out of reach.
The chapel revealed itself suddenly, a ruin wrapped in ivy and shadow. Its once-proud steeple jutted skyward like a broken blade, and its doors, though half-rotted, stood slightly ajar, inviting—or warning—me to enter.
Inside, the air was colder. Rows of empty pews stretched toward an altar draped in cobwebs. Candles burned, though no hand had lit them, their light casting trembling shadows on the walls. At the center of the room stood a figure cloaked in darkness.
“I knew you would come,” it said, its voice a low, resonant hum that seemed to echo within my chest.
“Who are you?” I demanded, though my voice faltered. “What have you done with her?”
The figure tilted its head, and for a moment, I thought I saw eyes glinting like distant stars beneath its hood. “I am the Keeper,” it replied. “The memories you seek were given freely. Why do you now desire their return?”
My fists clenched. “I don’t remember giving anything to you.”
“No,” it agreed, stepping closer. “You do not remember, because that is the cost of forgetting pain. You came to me long ago, broken by sorrow. You begged to be freed from its weight, and I granted your wish. But now you return, craving what you once sought to discard.”
The truth of its words hit me like a blow. Flashes of a face, of soft hands and a voice that sang to me in the quiet hours, surfaced and then sank beneath the tide of my fragmented memory. I had traded her, traded us, to escape the agony of her loss.
“Can I undo it?” I whispered, the question almost too heavy to speak.
The Keeper was silent for a long moment. “You may reclaim what was given. But know this: the pain you sought to escape will return with it. The weight of your grief will be as sharp and fresh as the day you first came to me.”
I hesitated, staring at the faint glow of the candles, their flames flickering as though uncertain. Could I bear it again? The ache, the sorrow, the nights spent drowning in my own tears?
“Yes,” I said finally, the word falling from my lips like a stone. “I would rather suffer every moment of it than live without knowing her.”
The Keeper raised a hand, its shadowed form impossibly vast, and reached into the air as though plucking something unseen. In that moment, a torrent of images, sounds, and emotions flooded my mind. Her face. Her voice. Her laughter. And with them came the grief, crashing down like an unrelenting wave.
When I opened my eyes, the Keeper was gone, and the chapel was silent. But I remembered her. I remembered everything.
And for the first time in years, I felt whole.
- Shadomoses
COMMENTS
-
Cadrewolf2
21:39 Dec 20 2024
You have a way with words
ShadoMoses
22:12 Dec 20 2024
My sincerest gratitude for taking the time to delve into my journal. Knowing that my words have found a thoughtful reader is a gift beyond measure. May the shadows that cradle my thoughts offer you inspiration and solace in equal measure. Thank you, truly.