Insanely Serene

*TW: violence towards women and sexual assault

It sat atop the sand dunes lost and forgotten, but still appeared to have some semblance of maintenance. There were shutters that needed repair and many areas on the exterior begging a fresh coat of paint. It had been whipped by the salty sea air for ages and with the right touch and some elbow grease, she could be the ultimate getaway cottage.

Annie had already made up her mind that this was home before ever entering the house. It was as if something was pulling her there and her impulsive nature told her to just go for it. All of her life she had met trauma after trauma, bad luck at jobs, sucked at relationships of all kind. The mood swings alone would be enough to scare off the strongest-willed and determined friends/ boyfriends/ girlfriends.

She didn’t understand why she couldn’t just wake up and be happy. Just be normal for a change. At 35 years old, she couldn’t wrap her mind around why she was plagued with intrusive thoughts 24/7. The anxiety of giving 100% of herself and realizing her 100% was not the same as others who claimed to give their 100%. How frustrating her life had been up until this point. She felt she had no real talents or skills and was just mediocre when she wanted to be the best at something. Anything. And yet, she was the best at nothing. The anxiety and soul-crushing mediocrity of her personality was beginning to take her mental health into a severe decline. 

  In truth, she needed to get away from it all and try to figure out who she really is. How can she possibly make herself happy if she feels like an empty shell with no contents aside from broken dreams and shards of self-worth? There was a time in her naive youthfulness that she could’ve been a veterinarian like her grandfather and carry on the practice. She could’ve been a book editor. Hell, she could’ve went into politics and helped raise issues that she’s always felt passionate about and really gave back to the world something substantial. But, in classic “Annie fashion”, she killed her chances slowly over time. She chose drinking with fake friends just to feel like she belonged somewhere. These same friends took her to a bar on her birthday and when Annie went to the bathroom, the “friends” had left. No cell phones back then. No Uber. No car keys or money or ID because she foolishly trusted one of the others to hold onto her valuables while she danced the night away. When she discovered she had been abandoned, a guy who had been a “special friend with benefits” to one of the girls who left her came upon Annie crying on the curb, birthday tiara in hand and sash thrown in a dumpster. He offered her a ride and was purely a gentleman.     Unfortunately, the “friend” involved with him was promptly alerted that he was taking some other girl home. Once she discovered it was Annie, she smeared the poor young girls name all over and regardless of how innocent the situation was, Annie was the home-wrecking villain. But everyone seemed to forget that had she not been abandoned without her wallet on her birthday of all days, none of it would have transpired. She lost all of her friends that night and the depression coupled with crippling betrayal led her down a path of alcoholism and drug abuse. This inevitably led to missing classes and eventually dropping out of college. Three different times.

No college education meant that she had to prove herself a mighty worker. Her problem is that she would give so much of herself at work and be consumed by it and get burnt out on it just a few years in. She would have some kind of mental breakdown and relapse into the bad habits again.

All she wants is a fresh start in a new place that she can call her own. Maybe get a dog or a cat for company, meditate and look inward to discover who she really is and what she really wants in life. Which is why this has to work. She poured her life savings into it and signed the papers without ever setting foot inside.

As she walked up the pebbled driveway leading to the front porch, she lifted her head high and took a deep breath in. The salty sea air mixed with a crisp coolness like little soft and salty dew drops on her face. It wasn’t until she reached the front door that she realized her face was streaming with warm tears coupled with the delicate dew drops down her cheeks and neck. It was the first time she ever felt instant peace.

The moving truck would arrive the following day but she had her camping equipment just in case the power had not been turned on. She turned the cold doorknob as she unlocked it with an old-fashioned iron key. She had always loved vintage and unique items like that. When she carefully pushed the door in (for fear of possible termite damage or something like that), the scene before her was nothing she could’ve expected.

The home was warm with lots of natural lighting. Decorations adorning the entire house like she had never seen before. She hurriedly shut the big front door not wanting to lose the warmth on the brisk December afternoon. The very second she closed the door, an immediate silence filled the room with such intensity it almost made Annie’s ears ache. Shaking it off, she moved thoughtfully through every square inch noticing the details in the fireplaces, the dining room table, the intricate molding on the staircase. It seemed as if someone still lived there and for a moment was afraid she’d had another round of bad luck. She thought for sure she had broken into someone’s home and they were going to attack her as an intruder.

“Wait. I’m an idiot. I used the key to unlock the door. Christ on a cracker, Annie get it together” she thought to herself. She was curious as to why the previous owners had left all of these antique belongings when they moved out. Surely some of these must be treasured heirlooms. Just as she was running her fingers along the top of the mantle, a shiver went down her spine. She could sense what felt like someone or something staring at her and breathing down her neck. She turned slowly and noticed the mail slot on the front door had been stuck open and the breeze was coming in. Smiling to herself about being paranoid and realizing she must have missed in it her excitement to get inside the house, she ventured over to try find a solution to keep the flap closed.

Sitting on her knees to get an idea of what needs to be done to repair it and still smiling about her slight overreaction, Annie dropped down to eye level and just as she was about to tinker with the slot, she saw rapid movement out of the corner of her eye in the direction of the wooded area that wrapped around the side and back of her house and extended for miles. Part of the allure of this location was how far away it was from everyone and everything. Chalking it up to new house jitters, and maybe an eye floater, she studied the mail slot and decided to stuff a scarf into the opening until she could get her tool bag when she unloaded her possessions when the truck got there tomorrow. 

With that bandaid of a fix, she decided to take a walk on the beach near the woods and just breathe in the cool, salty air. She slipped her winter boots back on (she took them off initially to not stage dirt and debris into her new home) and turned the door knob. The moment she opened the front door every sound from seagulls to waves crashing to the wind rustling the dead leaves in the dried trees just washed over her with an intensity she was wholly unprepared for. Taking her by surprise at how loud it was outside, Annie took a moment to collect herself and stabilize her breath that had felt as if it were knocked out of her lungs. Zipping up her coat and pulling the fleece hood up, she ventured forth into the afternoon air. Before she had a chance take the first step forward, she felt her head pulled back by her long brown hair as she was surged back into the house where the door had been reopened and then suddenly slammed  without making a single sound as if the door frame was made of pillows and she was thrown to the floor of the foyer. Bewildered, she knew she hadn’t imagined closing that big, heavy door behind her but knew she didn’t hear it open again. How did she feel her hair pulled when the hood of her jacket was still on her head? As she shakily stood up she noticed the house was quiet again. How odd it seemed that her new home was so quiet that it actually hurt her ears. Looking all around her for a person who could’ve yanked her backwards, she realized even her steps seemed soft and soundless. She didn’t notice before because, she assumed, she had taken her heavy winter boots off at the door and had been perusing the house in her wool socks. But this. This was definitely not normal. She stomped on the old hardwood floors and heard nothing. Beginning to panic, she screamed and screamed but was met with resounding silence. 

Running back to the door to retrieve her cellphone she dropped while being pulled back, she realized the door had been locked tightly, rendering her unable to open it. She ripped her scarf from the mail slot to try and slide her hand through it in hopes of blindly grabbing it. Unfortunately, the slot was only about an inch and the attempt would be fruitless. Tears streaming down her face and snot running from her nose, she continued trying to scream in vain. 

After exhausting herself, she finally gathered herself up and began looking for a radio or anything to communicate with the outside world. Inside an antique roll top desk, buried under mounds of dust and old paperwork she located a leather-bound book. Opening it, she discovered poorly written diary entries dated 3 years ago. The first page read: “I have discovered the secret to the silence. If you’re reading this, it’s too late. Once the house chooses you, you can never leave. The witch who built the house will come to you if and when she deems you worthy. Take the deal. Or die fighting.” 

Even more confused, Annie flipped through the pages and saw crude drawings and symbols she had never seen. What appeared to be a different language was how the diary continued. The final page contained two words scrawled in blood that said “I’m sorry”. 

Not quite knowing what to do with everything that had transpired in the hour since she first walked through the door, she sat as still as possible. Every thought racing through her mind trying to piece together what the hell just happened and what was going to happen next. Why did she have to be so impulsive when she had a manic episode? Who in their right mind would purchase a house without researching it or even going inside at the very least? Why was she like this? With no more tears left to cry, she stood up with shaking legs and hands and began looking through the house for a way out, a weapon, a clue, a sound. Literally anything. 

 As she was standing in the kitchen, lost and confused in a daze, she saw a woman about her age standing just outside the kitchen window smiling at her. The attire she was in couldn’t have been meant for the brisk weather. Clad in a simple long-sleeved black dress that touched the ground, she simply stared and smiled as if it were a perfectly lovely day filled with warmth. If it were a perfect day in the 1600s, that is. Was she the thing Annie saw in her peripheral vision? 

Annie stared back with a determination not to let this stranger intimidate her. Within a split second, the woman was in the kitchen standing beside Annie, still smiling. Before Annie could react, the woman placed one finger against her lips and the other hand reached delicately to Annie’s temple. Immediately Annie saw in her mind a memory of the woman bound and gagged and surrounded by screaming men. They tossed her into a pit of snakes and spiders, still bound and gagged, so that she couldn’t fight back. The animals hissing in her ears, slithering and climbing all over her while the men cheered and yelled and cried for justice against the evil witch. In the woman’s mind, Annie could feel her pleas to make it stop. Yet the men continued to jeer and taunt relentlessly. After 2 full days of being left in the pit with the creatures and men assigned to watch her 24 hours and instructed to continue the screaming and torture, they finallly lifted her body out. Covered in bites and tears and filth, she was barely clinging to life. The men who were torturing her tied her to a rock that jutted out into the sea and ripped (not cut) her tongue from her mouth. The man who ripped it out proclaimed “Let’s see you cast your evil spells now you bitch witch!” To which he received roaring laughter and applause. 

Annie could hear and feel her thoughts in her head that showed the poor woman was merely a white witch who used her powers by calling on nature to attend the sick or injured and occasionally assisted with fertility and childbirth. However, when she refused the advances of another woman’s husband, he became violent and took her for himself against her will. The same night, he gathered townspeople and told of how he saw her in union with a horned beast in exchange for his magic to control the men of their town. They then decided to brutalize her further with violent torture. 

Finally, with the tide coming in, she felt the sweet relief of death and welcomed to cold, salt water of the sea to fill her lungs. She ignored the searing pain of the salt in the water crashing over her wounds and into her raw mouth lapping into the gaping hole where her tongue once was. All she ever wanted was a quiet, solitary life and to help others where she could. As the waves rolled over her, beating her against the rock she was tied to, she used what was left of her strength to curse the men to live the rest of their lives deaf, dumb, blind, and impotent. She vowed her soul would forever rest in her quiet domain where no sound could disturb her eternal slumber. 

Being released from the woman’s touch, Annie came out of her trance with an overwhelming sensation of sadness and understanding. She looked into the woman’s eyes and nodded her head. Even though their situations were wildly different, she felt drawn to her and decided this is what her purpose was. She had no idea how she knew what needed to be done, but she slowly walked to where a butter knife was lying on the table she hadn’t noticed before. Picking it up gingerly, she looked back to the woman and silently mouthed “I am with you, sister.” She then proceeded to slowly insert the knife into her ear until she had carefully punctured her eardrum. With a sigh of relief as the pressure escaped, she lifted it to the opposite ear and did the same thing. 

Standing in the kitchen, blood pouring from her ears, the woman smiled again and whispered within their mental connection “Welcome, sister. My name is Marienne. I’ve been waiting for you for a long time. We have many things to discuss and do. Come, Annie, my true sister.”  She couldn’t explain why, but she felt more at home with Marienne than anyone she’d ever met. 

Annie slowly took Marienne’s hand, blood trickling down her earlobes and neck, and walked silently up the stairs to begin.