By Philip-Gianni Gaspari
As twilight set upon a nameless village, the child moved through the forest treeline, returning home at a brisk pace. They were late, and some scolding from the older villagers, along with their parents, was in order. Since they were young it was emphasized not to wander by the trees after the sun dipped low. dol kalikesh, as they called it, was supposedly out when the sun was not. The child was raised with the frightening tales of dol kalikesh, and the travellers often spoke of something strange in the woods this far east. The innkeeper’s daughter, a friend of the child, had gone missing in the forest a few years ago, without a trace. For the child, the fear surrounding the tales gave way to curiosity. Numerous times they were chastised for returning late and not respecting the agelong rules. Despite the many stories, not much was known about dol kalikesh by the folk of the forest. The phrase meant nothing in their dialect, yet all knew what it was. Some believed it to be an evil entity that corrupted the soul of the trees, that was why life was so scarce in the woods. Others believed it to be the punishment set upon the villages by the forest spirits because of transgressions generations ago. The child wondered if the odd-looking triangular wards made of sticks surrounding their village could actually stop such an old and feared being. Last winter, while standing along the edge of the village perimeter, long after the sun had set, the child witnessed the manifestation of strange purple lights deep in the forest; staring at the unnatural sight, the child hadn’t realized how much time had passed, and they received a beating from Papa when they finally returned home. The beatings and scolding from the others never deterred the child. No, they were relentless with their curiosity, fearlesss towards the mystery about dol kalikesh.
The child worked at the village inn, doing simple and difficult chores. They kept their ears open for the tales of the travelers whilst cleaning the floors, serving food, or washing clothes. There were many stories that passed through the inn doors. Once, the child inquired about dol kalikesh directly – to a wandering merchant who had mentioned he had seen strange lights in the forest before entering town. Speaking in their unusual dialect, the child asked if the lights had been a purple color, and moved in a slow fashion; they made a motion with their washcloth to help the man remember. The wide-eyed merchant said nothing, staring at the child while they waited for a reply. The only answer the child received was a heavy slap behind their head from the innkeeper and an early dismissal in the form of humiliating insults.
Less than a week later, an older girl returned early from one of the neighboring villages; she had been sent to trade for some necessary supplies. Crashing through the inn’s large wooden door, she made little sense while she tried to speak. The words came too fast. Her eyes were wide, her skin pale. Strangely, she returned with the same goods she had left with. The innkeeper offered some drink, and it was a moment before she settled down. Still, it took a few more moments before she made an effort to slow her speech, and repeat what she had experienced. The girl explained that the neighboring town was deserted, that it was incredibly quiet with not a soul to be heard or seen. There were no tracks in the dirt – the only thing she could see was one of the village’s wards placed in the center of the village. Inside the ward was a strange light. The girl said that it seemed that all sound ceased to be as she gazed upon it, and that it vanished just as quickly as she had spotted it. As she finished her tale, the girl began to weep, with deep and heavy sobs, to which the innkeeper replied by comforting her with soothing words. She confessed that she had never felt such fear. The child seemed about to ask something, when the innkeeper looked up to shoot a menacing glance at them. The child left promptly, back home with their head full of possibilities, their curiosity of dol kalikesh deepening.
The next few months were uneventful, but incredibly difficult for the village. Fewer travelers, little trade, and food had become the norm. In addition to those hardships, a sickness began to plague some of the villagers, the child included. A strange fever took the curious child, and left them bedridden. The town medicine women had given them a unique and powerful herb from the forest to help induce sleep so the child could find rest; they dreamed, big, and wild in their fevered state. In one such dream – no, a vision – they had awoken from a bed of leaves in the middle of the forest at night, surrounded by wards. A purple light shone nearby, not unlike the one they had seen, what now felt like so long ago, the child moved towards it, eventually forced into following. They trailed the light through the forest for what seemed like an eternity, till it brought them to their village. The place seemed deserted, all except for the hooded figure by the inn’s door. The light flew into the inn, yet the child was afraid to continue after it, as the hooded figure was looming by the door. The child could not tell who or what it was. After their hesitation, the darkness of the hood slowly gazed upon the child, and they heard a sharp whisper escape from the figure. The child awoke from the dream in a panic; gripped with fear, they began repeating hysterically what had been spoken: Your fear is like a fire.
The child did not emerge from the vision with innocence. In fact, they grew quickly despite still being young. They became bitter easily. They despised such a life in the village: the rules, the curfew, always listening to someone else. The fear from their dream dissipated into curiosity once more. Was dol kalikesh communicating with them? They wanted to discover what the mystery was all about and understand why things were as they were. Times were still hard, and the child became harder; the rims under their eyes suggested the child was always with a lack of sleep. They minded their business now, and no longer did not bother anybody with questions. But their mind still drifted with thoughts of what could be going on beyond the village wards after dark. When the child closed their eyes to sleep, there was always a purple hue instead of darkness.
Occasionally, there would be a whisper that came, in a tongue they did not comprehend – they had grown used to this.
The child was a little older now, but they still thought of their dream. The phrase from the vision crossed their thoughts daily. Times had gotten easier for the village, yet the child grew frustrated. The dreams felt so real, the pull from the forest, constant. The child’s curiosity turned into ambition, and they began to devise a plan to venture into the forest. They had packed provisions, and practiced the survival skills Papa had taught them. However, the child made a grave error when trying to smuggle an empty bottle from the inn, they had not counted on the innkeeper stalking behind them. The innkeeper savagely grabbed the child by the neck and brought them to look into his eyes which were filled with hatred. The innkeeper expressed his beliefs that the child’s misguided obsession in dol kalikesh was why all the sadness and evil that had transpired in recent years, the reason that his daughter had gone missing for so many years. He blamed the missing village, the fever, the famine, everything bad was because of the child’s curiosity. He had watched the child grow, and that the child had always stepped where they should not go. The innkeeper’s grip tightened around the child’s neck, and the thought of throttling the child had become a reality. By some stroke of luck, the entrance to the inn blew open, and a dark hooded figure moved slowly through the doorway. The innkeeper quickly composed himself, dropping the child and moving to greet the traveler. As the child’s breath returned, their eyes remained fixed on the hooded figure – entranced in a state of disbelief: this was the same figure from their vision.
The innkeeper yelled for the child to fetch some hot tea for the hooded traveler. They were quick to lower their head and turn towards the kitchen. They heard the audible thumping of the wanderer’s boots as the innkeeper continued to greet their customer. The child was incredibly anxious, their hands shaking profusely. It was a wonder they had not spilled or dropped anything on their return to the table. A high pitched ringing filled their ears, and their heart thudded loudly in their chest as if it wanted to escape. Yet the child managed to remain composed, and continued to move out from the kitchen. Turning the corner, the innkeeper moved past the child towards the kitchen, his sinister glare fixating them in the brief moment. Once the now seated hooded figure came into the child’s view, the ringing subsided. The wanderer seemed to be staring at the child. However, they could not tell; they continued to remain calm despite their fear, as they approached the table with the tray. Time seemed to slow as they deposited the tray on the wooden table, their hand was shaking as it moved for the teapot and cup; sound seemed non-existent. Like the lash from a whip, one of the wanderer’s hands shot from under the robe and snagged the child’s forearm, a chilling grasp. Terror literally gripped the child, their face whitened as their eyes fixed on the hand of the wanderer. An elegant yet sinewy specimen with some infernal tattoos that could only symbolize a sinister purpose – the tattoos pulsated purple after every heartbeat the child heard in their skull. It was only a moment, yet it lasted forever, the wanderer’s voice came like the chill winter breeze in the child’s ear.
Do you wish to learn? he asked in their dialect, his voice rasp and cold.
The child now glanced at the hood, searching for a face in the darkness. The grip tightened, and the child chilled. Something in them changed, the warmth leaving their heart, their face became resolute, and they nodded.
Say it. the wanderer spoke harshly now.
The child yelled now, that they wished to learn. To learn everything, no matter what they would see or the cost. That was the last thing the innkeeper heard before running back into the dining hall, just in time to see an empty seat and hot tea with a wisp of purple flame dissipating into the air.
End
The Gianni Catalogue 
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