Remember The Erased

November 27.

“Bright light. Everything is blurry. The only thing I can make out is a swing. An empty swing. I’m standing behind it, pushing the empty swing. Children’s laughter is the only sound I can catch. I felt so happy.”

A strange dream. Why do I keep seeing the same strange dream over and over?

Okay. Put the book back on the shelf. Get out of bed. Turn off the second alarm before it starts blaring again. A few stretches—just enough to pretend I’m being healthy. Brush teeth. Deodorant. Razor. Morning routine before breakfast is done.

Still in my pajamas, I walk to the kitchen. There’s a fruit bowl on the table. Or rather, a bowl with no fruit. Weird. I’m pretty sure I put some there yesterday. Doesn’t matter. Fill the kettle. Set it to boil. Take an egg from the fridge. Pan, butter, egg. While the egg is frying, slice some bread and drop it in the toaster. Fridge—half an avocado, one full tomato. Slice the vegetables. Or is avocado not a vegetable? Whatever. Grab a plate from the shelf above the stove. Forgot salt and pepper for the egg. Add the spices. The toast pops. Plate. Rinse the cutting board and knife. Eggs are done. Assemble the sandwich. Kettle boils. Instant coffee from the lower shelf. Mug. Make coffee. Add milk from the fridge. Sit down. Little sugar pot. Two spoons of sugar into the coffee.

Coffee and a sandwich. Nice breakfast. But I don’t even like coffee that much. For some reason, though, it tastes so warm. So familiar. Why, I wonder?

The eggs are a bit too salty.

There’s a note on the table. How did I miss that? I don’t remember leaving it.

“NAQ. Fill the fruit bowl. VERY IMPORTANT. Out loud.”

“Out loud?” I ask the empty room.

The note is in my handwriting. If I wrote “out loud,” I should say it out loud. Especially with “NAQ.” When did I leave this note? And why? Or did someone come over?

“Did someone come to visit me?” I say to no one. “Doesn’t seem like it.”

Whatever. I’ve got work. Following the note’s will, I keep thinking out loud.

“So, it’s 7:23. I’ll have just enough time to get dressed and… Why did I forget?”

Fridge. Grab fruit. Two apples, a banana, and a pear. There are berries too. Strawberries and raspberries.

“We’re almost out of fruit,” I say out loud, remembering the note. “But there are enough berries.”

I fill the bowl with fruit and berries, then head to the living room.

“The bed’s cooled down a bit,” I say into the air again. “I can start cleaning. So, what to wear? I think I’ve only worn these pants a couple of times. Same for the shirt. Doesn’t smell. Looks only a little wrinkled. Good enough.”

“Bye,” I say to no one in particular as I leave the apartment.

Outside. Crisp air. First snow. Refreshing.

What’s with the note? That was clearly me. My handwriting. No one but me knows what “No—Any—Questions” means. I wrote it. Why? I don’t remember doing it. How? Am I losing it? Do I have dementia? Why would I write “fill the bowl”? “VERY IMPORTANT”? What is going on?

I get to the office.

“Hey, Winter,” Marvin greets me.

“Morning, Marvin,” I answer with a smile. Marvin is one of the few people here I actually want to smile at when I see him.

“So, what’s with the sudden snowstorm?” Marvin jokes, grinning. “You know I nearly froze my hands off scraping the car. You could’ve at least warned me.”

“Same thing every year,” I say, giving him a fake smile as I head for the office coffee machine. “Try something original.”

“Nah.” Marvin waves it off. “It’s tradition. Gotta respect traditions.”

“Uh-huh,” I agree, then sit down at my desk, sipping coffee.

6:00 p.m. Easy day. The real hell starts in a month, at quarter’s end. I step outside. The air feels nice.

What was bugging me this morning?

The note. The fruit.

I duck into a store. Apples, pears, kiwis. Why am I getting pears? I don’t even like them that much. Are they cheap? Yeah, that’s why.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Henderson,” I say, putting the fruit on the counter.

“Hello, dear.” The old lady smiles sweetly and starts weighing the fruit. “What a good boy. Buying fruit again! Healthy eating is the key to health, believe me.”

“Again?” I ask.

I haven’t bought fruit in a while… When did I last buy fruit? And the berries?

“Dear, did you say something?” The old lady looks up. Her hearing isn’t what it used to be.

“It’s nothing.”

I hand her my card and head home.

Home. Chilly. Turn on the heat. Kitchen. Fruit bowl. I reach for a banana.

The bowl is empty.

Wait. How? I put fruit in it this morning. Or I thought I did. Right… The fridge was out of fruit, so I didn’t fill it.

No. I definitely filled it.

…Or not?

What is happening?

Breathe. Just breathe. In, out, repeat. Probably, like always, I thought I did it but actually forgot. Fine. Not the first time. I fill the bowl.

Living room. I take off my clothes. Shirt into the hamper. I sit at the desk and reach for the laptop. My journal? Is that supposed to be here?

Whatever. I should write down the day anyway.

I open it.

“November 26. Really strange note. Soon plays Liverpool.”

Stop. Today is Friday. Yesterday was Thursday.

Soon?

And the sixth word, too.

Could it be my code? Why?

I read the entries from other days. Liverpool is the sixth word everywhere. I need to look at the entries from match days.

“Liverpool… Centre backs… Uhm…”

What nonsense. Complete garbage. Everything about Liverpool is wrong. Number 10 played terribly. It’s garbage.

…No.

It’s a cipher. My cipher.

Six. Every sixth letter? Random nonsense. First letter of the sixth word? No. Sixth letter of the sixth word of each sentence.

Something legible comes out:

“YOU FORGOT.”

New paragraph.

“DREAM.”

And if I write “start” or “end” as the sixth word of a sentence, the whole word goes into the cipher.

“You forgot who. Dream over.”

I’m scared. What the hell? Nightmare. I’m losing my mind. Why would I leave myself a message like that? Why don’t I remember?

Aaaaah!

Breathe. Just breathe. In, out, repeat.

Okay. I left myself a note, but I don’t remember it. The note says I forgot someone. Who? I think I—

“Dream over” probably means that when I sleep, I forget that person.

Who?

Why did I stop thinking about it?

Wh—

I’m hungry. I order food. Friday. A new episode of my favorite show is out. “Favorite” is a strong word. It’s just the best show that drops weekly. Damn. The delivery won’t be here soon. I’ll have to wait and watch the episode. Maybe a snack.

Oh, the fruit bowl. Hm. Don’t forget to put it back in the fridge.

I open the fridge. Where the bowl usually goes—top shelf—there are three eggs. Set apart from the others.

Three.

“Really strange note”—that’s what the journal said.

The third word, every time.

Note.

NOTE.

I sprint to the desk. Grab paper and write:

“NAQ. Fill the fruit bowl. VERY IMPORTANT. Out loud.”

I place it beside the fruit bowl.

The food arrives. I thank the courier. He was quicker than I expected. I should add a tip in the app. I put on my show.

Solid episode.

November 28.

“No dreams.”

Today is quiet. 9:30 a.m. I’m still sleepy. But there’s a match today.

I hate time zones. Get out of bed. Turn off the second alarm before it starts ringing again. A few self-deceiving exercises—just enough to feel like I’m doing something. Brush teeth. Deodorant. Razor. Morning ritual complete.

I open the fridge. Take a yogurt. Turn on the match. Alexis—number 10—isn’t in the starting lineup today.

Well, he played badly las—

The journal.

Right.

I grab the notebook quickly. I wrote that Alexis played well, but why? He was awful. He’s not even starting today. Why did I choose him, of all players, to write about?

I check the other match entries.

Same text. Every time. The only difference is the player’s name.

November 22 — Alexis.

November 14 — Darwin.

November 8 — Dominik.

November 1 — Luis.

I read through all of them.

September 20 — Becker.

Goalkeeper. Number one.

The jersey numbers go up in order. Alexis is number 10.

That means today…

I start writing the match summary before it even begins. One change only—Mohamed instead of Alexis.

Eleven weeks.

It’s been eleven weeks since I started seeing strange notes.

No… since I began keeping the journal.

What is happening to me? I’m losing my mind. Why am I writing in codes? Who am I hiding from—myself? Someone else? Did someone come into my house?

No. No one.

I live alone.

A whole year since I moved out from my parents’ house.

Aaaaaaaaah.

The match ends. Liverpool won. Good game.

A day off. What should I do? Maybe go outside. Yeah.

Before leaving, I want an apple. Weird. I could’ve sworn I put some there yesterday. Doesn’t matter. I open the fridge and take one. Bite. Cold.

There’s a note on the table. How did I not see it? I don’t remember leaving it.

“NAQ. Fill the fruit bowl. VERY IMPORTANT. Out loud.”

“Alright,” I say aloud, obeying the note. “Damn. The fridge door’s stuck.”

Fine. I’ll wait.

“Dancing bears, painted wings… Things I almost remeeember…”

I hum a few lines from the song. It opens.

Of course it does.

Here’s the fruit. I fill the bowl and start dressing. Yesterday was chilly. Sweater, then. Should I take a jacket? Yeah, take it.

Outside. Snow again. Beautiful. I love snow. It reminds me of my birthday. I used to love spending it with…

With who?

What was I thinking about?

I walk to the park. It’s around one in the afternoon, but the sun is nowhere to be seen. I don’t like the sun anyway.

I’ve forgotten something. What was it?

There was a match today. The team played poorly but still won. Wait. I wrote in the journal that they played well. What did I write, exactly? Some kind of cipher, right? Why?

My head hurts.

Eleven weeks. I’ve forgotten something. No—someone. How? Are the notes connected to this? I hate it. My head…

Focus.

Okay. Let’s think.

According to the notes, I forget someone every time I sleep. The notes—I definitely wrote them. My handwriting. My cipher. Everything ties to six. Winter—six letters. That’s why the cipher works that way.

Who am I hiding from? Someone is reading my journal… or crawling inside my head.

Horrible. Terrifying.

Breathe. Just breathe. In. Out. Repeat.

Who could I have forgotten? Today I read the dream journal. The empty swings. The deserted playground. A child? Or someone from childhood?

My head is splitting open.

People are staring at me like I’m insane.

Let them.

WHO. DID. I. FORGET.

Childhood? A child? Mom and Dad would know. I have to go to them.

“Dancing bears, painted wings… Things I almost remeeember…”

I walk home. Longer than I thought. I didn’t go that far, did I? I was thinking about something important in the park.

Parents.

I need to see my parents.

Why? No, don’t forget.

I text Mom and Dad: “I’ll visit tomorrow.”

I’ll figure out why later. Just don’t forget.

November 29.

“Home. Fireplace. Warmth. Mom and Dad cooking in the kitchen. I’m laughing hard. I’m playing on the console. Everything is blurry. Only the old TV screen is clear. My favorite fighting game. For some reason, I keep glancing to the side. Sometimes I run off somewhere, then come back to play again. I felt so happy.”

The suburbs are thirty minutes from the city.

I step out of the taxi. Fence. “John Wood.” Nostalgia.

Memories flood over me. Damn, my head hurts. It’s been hurting more and more lately. Maybe I should see a doctor.

No. I don’t have the money anyway.

Knock on the door. Mom and Dad come out to greet me. Hugs. A few scoldings about my health.

I go inside. The table is set. I head to the bathroom to wash my hands. While I’m washing them, I glance at the mirror above the sink.

Heh. No wonder Mom worries.

Why do I look like this? Why did I come home again? Something is bothering me.

What was it?

Dinner. Meat roll. Delicious. Just like in childhood. I used to beg Mom to make it for dinner. But it was the most hated dish of—

I put the box away in the cabinet.

Can’t remember why. The journal told me to. “NAQ.” I couldn’t disobey.

I step outside. Dad is smoking. I don’t smoke. I hate the smell of cigarettes.

“Son,” Dad says, exhaling smoke. “I’m glad you came. But… did something happen? You don’t usually visit without a reason.”

“Guess that makes me a bad son,” I say with a faint smile.

Sad that he’s immediately on alert.

“But yeah. I’ve got a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Dad, did I ever have… someone like a brother? Or a childhood friend?”

“Huh?” Dad looks genuinely surprised. “Well, there’s Marvin.”

“No.” I sigh heavily. “Lately I feel like I’ve forgotten someone. From childhood. Someone I spent a lot of time with, and then they left, or something.”

“Haaa… no, no one—”

Dad freezes mid-sentence. Drops his cigarette. His face clouds over, expression shifting into something unreadable.

“No. No one.”

“…Alright.”

Strange. Very strange.

“Thanks anyway. I’ll go help Mom with the cleaning.”

“Hmm.”

Dad’s face looks empty, like the life has drained out of it.

The cleaning is done. Feels good to help Mom. I should visit more often. I’m tired. I sit on the couch. Mom sits beside me. We turn on the TV. Some weird show. She’s been watching it since I moved out. Whatever, I’ll watch with her.

Hmm.

There was a photo. A family photo from my graduation.

Where is it?

“Mom, where’s the picture?”

“What picture?” she asks, surprised. “You mean your childhood photos?”

“…”

Strange.

“Yeah.”

“They’re in the closet in your old room. Top shelf.”

“I’ll go look,” I say, standing up while she keeps watching the show.

There it is. A box. Photos. And here—the graduation photo.

Weird. I remember it differently.

Wasn’t there supposed to be—

Aha, here’s one with Marvin and me.

Hmm. Where’s the photo from our mountain trip? We had those printed, I remember. Where are they? What’s goi—

When I get home, I grab my things and order a taxi. I say goodbye to my parents.

Strange.

The bag feels lighter.

Did I forget something?

***

“November 30…” I say after waking up.

Why? Why did I say the date out loud?

I think I need to do something. By habit, my hand tries to grab something from the shelf.

Nothing.

Okay. Must have been a weird dream or something.

Bed, stretches, wash up, breakfast. An empty fruit bowl. Strange. I thought I put some in there yesterday. Fine. I put the bowl in the dishwasher.

A note.

Strange.

I wash the bowl myself and fill it with fruit.

Office. A normal day. The boss lets us leave early—a reward for good work. Great. Although I don’t really know what to do with the time.

December 29.

“No dreams.”

It’s been weeks since I had those nightmares. A good morning. Liverpool plays today. I head to the kitchen. Make tea, grab some cookies. Turn on the match on my laptop. Open the fridge. A full bowl of fruit. Take a kiwi.

I love kiwis.

The match ends. Good game. I should write in the journ—

Wait. Write in what?

What was I thinking?

Closet. I need to pack for an entire week. I should—

What’s this?

A note?

And… what the hell?

Evening. I stand in front of the gate for a minute. My head hurts again.

Finally, Dad opens the door. As usual, I’ll spend New Year’s with him and Mom.

Dinner. Meat rolls. For some reason, both Mom and Dad are silent.

They know.

“You’re not going to tell me?” I ask into the silence.

“W-what?” Mom asks. She looks more nervous than confused.

“Why are you keeping that from me?” I ask.

I think I raise my voice.

“Winter, my boy…”

“Just tell me!” I hit the table without meaning to. A few glasses fall to the floor.

“We don’t know what you’re talking about!” Dad stands up.

“So you just happened to steal my journal!”

I pull the thick notebook out of my pocket. The notebook I found in Dad’s safe.

“If you’re not going to tell me now, I-I…”

What?

I found the journal thanks to that note. I remembered some things thanks to that note.

But the last step…

Can I?

“Winter, it’s for your own good,” Mom says, her eyes filling with tears.

“So, no…”

I reach into another pocket of my jacket. I pull out the gun. I aim it at my head.

“Winter!”

Dad and Mom almost leap toward me.

Time.

Almost like time has stopped.

Shoot! What? Don’t wait. Shoot! Who is that? Trust me. You must follow the note. Is that my voice? It’s not me. Who is this? SHOOT. You must. I must.

I pull the trigger.

I remember.