Marksview Place

If I only could, I would plant myself, toes deep in the dampened soil, mine & the tree’s fingertips brushing together. There’s something special here, something that can’t be described or placed. It’s in the way the green of leaf after leaf, held together by wind and branches, overlay to become one pigment across the sky, and generate a soft glow, obstructing the horizon. It’s this general obstruction and glow, which gives leave to a certain placelessness, a meandering sensation, which leaves me breathlessly healed, and insatiably striving to solve some great unknown mystery deep within the core of the place.

This was precisely how I was whisked away, and my money whisked just the same, when I purchased Marksview Lane, and the subsequent property, Marksview Place. Tucked away and secluded, winding and escaping, Marksview was to be my solitary hideaway, my dream lair. The “lane” was a lengthy, untrodden path, which curved at what would seem purposefully disjointed patterns. No car could pass through on the narrow, tree root ridden hike, and my car had to be parked at the end of an hour walk between civilized road and my new home. The walk could only be taken during daytime, of course, as the trees looked down over your head, monitoring your steps, and blocking out the sunlight. To journey here by moonlight alone would be completely treacherous. And yet, these aspects of the place wooed me just the same. I was happy to not leave my house often, even happier to be given incentive for physical activity, and happiest to know that no neighbors would be seeing me without my fully planned intention of coming to the public.

And when I came to view the very visage of my new home, absolutely nothing could contain me. Marksview Place was unbelievably full of character. With well-worn dark wood trimmings, and painted a homely slate gray, it was completely quaint! I had turned to the realtor, who was shaken up by the uneven climb to the house, and exclaimed:

“I’ll have it, at any price, as soon as humanly possible.” With a pained expression, she nodded, caught her breath, then remembered to create a polite smile.

“Let’s have a look at the interior then, shall we?”

I had always enjoyed the beautiful silence that lack of company provides. As a small child, I once ran away from home completely. It was a murky, rainy day, with clouds thick enough to entirely disappear inside. I left through the back gate, tucked away in a muddy corner of the yard, where no grass grew, and no footprints could be found. My feet squelched through the thick clay-like mud, but nothing would be heard over the rain. I was freezing, soaking wet, and terrified. I was more exhilarated than ever.

To just stop it all– the awkward pauses, the long stares and unsure responses, the socially woven spider web. It’s so impossible. Every typical remark, “The weather’s nice today,” or “How’s your day been?” met with perplexing disinterest. Alright, well, then the unusual topics, “Last night I dreamt the top half of my body was riddled with leprosy, and the bottom half made of fish,” or “I’m taking up bobbin lacing as a new goal to preserve endangered handicrafts,” –completely the same reaction. Every conversation feels like being stuck at a bus stop with a stranger who is telling you their life story, and blocking your view of the corner the bus will come through. Or, in worse conversations, you feel that you’re that stranger. In any case, I always do.

To run away was a cardinal action, the first one on my behalf, to jump the social cow pen. It was the happiest moment of my life ‘till that point.

An adult can’t exactly run away in some spur-of-the-moment, stormy escape. As an adult, I must run away responsibly. So, I became the tax-paying homeowner of my route. Now, here I reside, perfectly blissful, perfectly alone. I sit now, my cup of tea in hand, one teabag sitting limply inside. Warm, comfortable. Comforting– of course. It’s a warmer, lighter day out, as light as it can get with the forest cover overhead. Today, I’ll go exploring my land. I’ve walked a little here and there, but not far.

I pack a small bag of a few hike essentials– an insulated water bottle, a knife, a couple slices of bread, a chapstick. I turn out all the lights, lock the door, and I’m off.

The woods begin by welcoming me with open arms. The tree branches stretch out wide, encompassing me with each step, that intriguing green glow curled like a sleeping cat on top. We are all warmed by the distant risen sun, the forest and myself, and the weather provides a kindness. The longer I walk, the more my legs tingle, weary. The birds are beginning to quiet down, and the lack of commotion makes my mind all the more determined to feel my legs’ fatigue.

I stop. The silence surrounds, encompassing more than a few bird’s abandonment. The forest lies extremely quiet, extremely–

Not still. No, I remark, not still at all: my legs are tingling, sure, but not of their own volition. The entire forest, from the soft green blended treetops, to the soil and plants through which I craft my path, is in vibration. And the closer I pay attention, the more the buzzing becomes audible. And then, the more audible, the more it resembles a human hum, deep and resonant. It’s as If I have my ear pressed against a man’s chest as he hums the lowest note within his vocal register. It’s definitely quiet, surely, but feels louder than anything. Suddenly, the green sky begins to climb away, replaced with deep shadows crawling in from overhead. It’s pulling away the light quickly– the forest is– and my instinctual fears get the better of me. I turn and run, attempting to retrace my steps. I’m falling and flailing with each little brush and vine at my knees and ankles. Something slaps across my cheek, and I can feel the hot blood trembling down my face. Finally, my one home stands tall before me, and I crawl back inside in animalistic desperation.

A mirror and wet rag reveal a five inch long gash, the likely culprit being a branch across my path. Later, I sit before my fireplace, watching the flames tongue each other. I feel that I’ve already disappointed the forest. Surely I heard and saw nothing but my own fears, which I then allowed to control me completely. I have likely offended the forest, who had been so hospitable to me before. I sit there in my home, alone amongst the orange, flickering lighting, and lovely man-made warmth. Wind makes a howling sound near my window as I lull to sleep.

It’s been two weeks since the incident, and I’ve kept myself busy as I healed. I tried to start a garden, but the tree roots wove right up to my foundation, blocking all my attempts to dig. They had looked like snakes, climbing over and under each other in the darkened soil. I fancied myself an archaeologist, carefully exposing them in my search for arable land. In the end, I had to give in, and I’ve decided to drag myself to town in search of flower pots for my garden.

So I’ve fetched my hiking bag, and and I’m on that long, shadowed trail to retrieve my car. It worked out exactly as I’d hoped; I didn’t hike, but the nature of my house’s placement has forced me into physical activity. It’s dark, sure, but it’s nice, it rests the eyes.

It’s just so very long. My legs are growing sore, and I’m getting exhausted. I stop to rest, but noting the darkness, wonder if my clock had been off when I left the house. It looks late.

I can hear movement, somewhere in front of where I’ve stopped, behind the thick trees. I pause, excited. Certainly it must be a deer, or bunny, or even wolf, some thrilling animal sighting to have so up close.

The humming begins again, all around me. Now, I realize the source of it- of course, my anxiety in such a dark place is causing it. Only, it’s getting very dark, and very loud. But I won’t run away this time, I’m not going to be foolish and rude. I’ll be polite, and finish my quick rest before moving on.

Except– the darkness, it’s consuming my vision, as if the trees in front of me are falling gently backward into a black pool, an endless one. And the blackness, it’s absorbing the trees in a very odd way, pulling away those directly in front of me, and leaving any to the right and left, even farther away, untouched. Like an inkblot, growing before me. And I can’t help but stare deep into it, as if the shadow were pulling ropes taut from my eyes. I stand up, and all of my view is encompassed with shadow. But, just barely, rising out of the water-like darkness, I might see something. As if it were drawn in a slate gray pencil, I see lines in the air before me, so vague I can’t be sure they exist at all. But a slight clarity begins to arrive– long, grayish hair, pointing every which way into the air. All of it, on one great big head nearly my size, lingering in the darkness. He blends in so well, I can hardly be sure I see him at all.

I reach out a hand. I can hardly help it, it all feels suddenly so… romantic, and he is so charming, or he will be, of course, once I can see him. I smile politely. My heart is racing– it’s been a long time since I got attention like this.

The vibrating is growing louder, stronger. It’s hard to stay on my feet. Perhaps he’ll catch me, he seems such a gentleman. I put my hands out, losing my balance, and let out a gasp as I fall—

I’m running away through the darkness at Marksview lane, as fast as I can. Someone must be chasing me– I am so afraid. I run full force, legs pumping harder than ever, away away away. I reach a large, sunny clearing. It’s so beautiful, I see a couple of bees pass by, and the grass below is so vividly green. There’s even a pond, or a swimming pool, and it’s so very blue. Just across, in the distance, I see a table with people at it! I wonder if it’s them I was running from…

No, no, I was running away from behind me, and they’re in front of me, of course, just enjoying an afternoon at the lake. Would they mind if I joined them? Could I, would it be allowed?

I walk towards their table. It’s such a long way, and as I get closer, it becomes clear to me that they’re all looking away from me, towards something else together. I can’t see anything at all behind them. It’s odd, the way they’re looking, all so stiff and awkward. None of them is moving an inch, just staring. Are they afraid? Or was that me that was afraid..

I arrive at the table, and ask them all a simple, “What is it?”

They don’t move at all. Just when I’m about to call out a ‘Hello,’ they all whip their heads around simultaneously, staring right at me, all with the exact same face. I yelp out.

Here I am, lying on the forest floor. Everything’s quiet now. I can hardly breathe, and and each labored breath lets out an awful, ragged noise. Did I fall asleep when I fell? I’m so tired, and in so much pain across my body. I can’t stand my hunger, deep and digging, and I weakly fumble for my bag. My hands are so weak, and when I look at them, they’re thin and translucent as rice paper. The bones in my wrists jut out at a sharp angle. I can hardly move, hardly even lift them. Eventually, after a difficult struggle, I manage to pull the baggie of bread slices out. But oh.. I forgot to replace them with fresh ones before, and they’re molded all over by now.

I can’t get up at all. I try to scream for help, but my voice is feeble. I try again, and again, and again, but I’ve perfectly isolated myself.

It is perfect. Just as I’ve always wanted. I am isolated. I close my eyes. I am alone. I smile softly. I’ve finally done it. I got away.