Here it is:
I was approaching the house. I could see it from the long look on the people’s faces, hastening away. It was a dim evening and for Tallinn, this place was strangely abandoned. I shouldn’t be surprised, but I’m always shocked by the contrast between the old town and this area in the centre of it. I had to be careful to not let my thoughts drift away. With every step I took, the tension was increasing, I could feel it with all my senses. The agony was slowly starting to take over me. Even though it happens every single time, I’m always new to this. The worst part is that I couldn't do anything about it, I had to go there. As unexpected as always, the footsteps struck me from out of nowhere. My conscious had drifted away, and so did my thoughts. Why can’t I do anything about it? Why does it have to come?
He is here. The footsteps are loud and clear. I can feel the sweat on my palms and suddenly my breathing is getting louder. So did the desperate scream inside me, looking for a way out. My heart pounding against cloth. I knew I had to get inside. NOW. I couldn’t see him, but the incensed him is too dreadful to not hurry up. I could already see the house, peaking from the corner of that narrow street that I knew so well. It wasn’t ominous because of the lack of people, as I saw none, but because how one could distinguish the house from others. It isn’t about the way it looks, as it’s as usual medieval merchant house as any other, but it’s the way it takes your energy away. It just draws your attention to it and suddenly you are enchanted. You are enchanted , but at the same time you want to keep away from it. You have a hunch that it’s not the right place to be. Not even close.
I was now running towards the house. He was so close, I could almost feel his breath against my neck. The door that only needed a light push, seemed to take ages to open. I closed it behind me as fast as I could and ran upstairs. My old room was as dim as ever and then it struck me. Out of no-where. I forgot to lock the door... but it’s too late and it wouldn't stop him anyway. At best, it would have slowed him down and given me more time to think. At least the footsteps are slower and I can feel how he is dragging himself. He is struggling to get in. I took my notebook out and started counting the days once again. Just to be sure that this is the last night. The only light in my life left. I have no idea how I have been able to pass those 6 days, without anything happening, but the last 3 hours I have left, might as well be my last. I have to keep him away from me. I can’t let him take me with him. Those three hours can be fatal. Everything will be fine afterwards and I can continue in a way I have until now.
I was trying to hold on to the thought of the morning even, but as always, the agony was slowly taking over. He wanted me to feel it, he uses it to keep on going. It makes him feel good, revengeful. Even before he mentioned it I knew he wants to take me with him, he wants me to experience the same as him, to be just a haunting shadow. He is inside now. My heart beating faster and faster, I felt breathless. I held my notebook close to me and hoped for the best. Maybe he won’t hear me? Maybe he decides to leave me alone for once? Those naive prayers were vain. I knew it’s him, I knew he is getting closer. It was only the matter of seconds until he reached the door. My hope was going further and further into the darkness and I couldn't feel anything. My senses didn't seem to work and my limbs weren’t functioning. I was sitting in the corner with tears pouring from the corner of my eyes.
Suddenly my hearing was back, it was sharper than ever and I heard the dreadful three knocks on the door. He didn't come in. I have to be the one to let him in. My feelings were contradicting each other. I knew I must not open the door, even when just in a few seconds he will start calling my name. Putting my hands on my ears wouldn't help. I wanted to open the door. I was absolutely anguished and I just wanted it to be over. His previously dreadful voice had a soft edge to it and suddenly I could only think of him. I didn't understand why I shouldn't open the door. There was a voice in my head calling a warning from a distance. A warning about what? He is here once again. It was all my fault and now I can finally go with him. Those 2,5 hours left. I don't have to suffer that long anymore. He is here with me and I can leave with him. He doesn't have anyone else. Our mother is too dear to both of us, to let her go.
He started speaking. He didn't say much, but that threw me back to reality. He told me to stop resisting and go with him. Sometimes the easiest way is the best one. His accusing voice told me how I’m the only family left for him. He was almost pleading. I couldn't listen to him anymore, it hurt too much. I started murmuring to myself. I have no idea how long I had done it, but he was getting incensed. It was probably almost the morning. I shrieked as his wrath could be almost felt. I hid my face to the palms of my hand and tears just didn't stop. His anger frightened me, just as in childhood. He was always threatening me and now, when he should be long gone, he doesn't stop. Will it ever stop? Is it really going to end tomorrow?
No more banging on the door. I have no idea how long I had lied in that corner, but my conscious was clear now. I could see the sun peaking from the window and I had to hurry. I had no idea what time it was, but I had to make it home before the midday. I couldn't believe I had made it. I made it through the last night. Now I just have to get dressed and let it all go away. Everything will eventually fall into place. Every step I took away from the house, was accompanied by a feeling of relief. It’s done now and there’s no need to feel guilty. Even the old town seemed brighter than ever. It was the first time I came home and I could look into my mother’s eyes without any guilt. It was an important day for her. It was important for both of us. I put on my fanciest Sunday dress and waited until Mother was ready. She had a photo of her son, my brother, with her. The resemblance between us is remarkable. I had forgotten about that. Although I’d been hearing him talk to me for 7 nights in a row, but it had only been his haunting voice. His footsteps.
I asked mother if she was ready and then helped her get going. The cemetery wasn't far away, but as the day all of a sudden wasn't that bright, the usual 20 minute walk seemed to take forever. Mother didn't talk much. She has stopped asking questions about my morning arrivals. She thinks I’m just devastated by his death. She is quite right, although I’m actually just exhausted by trying to save myself joining him. We approached the grave and everything went numb. I couldn't feel or hear anything. He was next to me. His shadow was approaching me. Surprisingly it wasn't accusing. It didn't want any harm. My mother’s face didn't relieve anything, she was either a good pretender or didn’t see him. She placed the picture next to the tombstone and started sobbing. Her tears falling like a waterfall that didn't seem to end. At the same time, I was trying to figure out what he was trying to tell me. His expression had changed, the calm face was falling apart.
I should have known. I should have realised that he doesn't forgive. He doesn't leave without taking me with him. A person like him just doesn't let his murderer go. He deserved it and I will not regret it. I could hear my mother’s shriek full of despair when I collapsed. Her voice breaking when she screamed for help. The hopeless scream, which achieved nothing. She had now lost her son and daughter. I felt sorry for her, but I had to leave. My staying would have made her sorrow worse. He took my hand and guided me to the light with him.