That Red String Around Your Neck

*Mention of light physical violence and/or suicide*

“The horse raised its front two legs and let out a hellish scream. The fighting spirit seemed to return; a peculiar gleam shining in the eyes of the previous hopeless soldiers. They all watched as the man atop the horse gazed at what was left of the ally soldiers. It was as if they were afraid of his gaze, but trustful at the same time. Even as their numbers dwindled and the casualties increased, measly bandaged limbs and bloody wounds would not stop these seemingly ordinary soldiers.

“Commander Jarein!” said Youk, his right-hand man. If anyone had known Jarein the most, it would be Vice Captain Youk. Yet even he was wary. Galloping to Jarein on his own horse, he kept at a distance. Meeting Commander Jarein’s eyes he said, “Your Grace, The enemy fled, leaving their backs towards us. You also see the state of our soldiers. I suggest we-”

Vice Captain Youk felt something in the air change. The Commander turned his eyes and looked at the horizon where the enemies fled.

Everybody momentarily forgot why this man was referred to as, ‘Stillblade’. A man not even his soldiers trust, except in his own strength. He commands with his gaze, inspires hope in his advance, yet leaves a trace of blood wherever he walks.

As soon as Vice Captain Youk saw the Commander unsheath his sword, he cried out to the soldiers, "Prepare for battle!”

Like a predator chasing its prey, Stillblade caught eyes with an enemy soldier. As Doom overwhelmed the fatigued soldier, like a deer caught in headlights, suddenly he could not keep up. The horse galloped over the grainy sand as his feet sank into it, heavy with despair. Behind Stillblade, the ringing battle cry of the soldiers of men continuously sounded. The enemy soldier whispered, voice cracking, “Didn’t they give up too?” Stillblade-”

“I mean, come on. Seriously?” Editor Jack Wills responded. The crisp sound of papers hitting the table sounded. “Do you think people wanna hear about this- this- what was his name again, StoolBlade?”

“Jack. You literally just said to me the other day that you wanted me to write about struggle in a battlefield! Is this not it?”

“That I did. But not this bed talk where this Stoolblade guy is in love with his horse. He’s not even talking too. He could at the bare minimum speak, Jena!”

Author Jena Saharda felt this would be a long evening. She called one of the waiters over and ordered black coffee. “His nickname is Stillblade, mind you. And what you don’t understand is that this is a story woven with not just struggle, but with redemption, Jack. Don’t people want that nowadays?” Jena said, widening her eyes.

“Look. I’m not here to call this bad writing because you are a remarkable writer, Jena. But what people want right now are fast-paced, visually engaging stories. And spoiler alert, they want dialogue!" Flashing all ten fingers in her face, every expression of his dripping with sarcasm.

Sipping her black coffee, with absolutely no sugar, Jena said, “So what do you suggest then?” “Well, if you choose to move with this story, we’re gonna need some more touch on him. Give him a mouth please. Maybe add a love interest or two. And for the love of God, change that Godforsaken name.”

Jena sighed. She genuinely wanted this story to be published, but she had no intention to make those suggested changes. She had never felt so much love for characters that she created before this. And yet, her towering bills and the familiar starvation would return to her all too soon.

“Alright. At least give me like two weeks to do that.” “Yeah sure. Anything to do away with Stoolblade.” He just had to throw in something… sigh..

Jena couldn’t stay at the cafe any longer. She quickly said her farewells and retired to her cramped, yet still homey apartment.

She hoped as she slept again to an empty stomach that was filled with dark, bitter coffee. Her last few thoughts before she let the tiredness take her lingered on her set of characters in the world of Anafrost.

Jena had a strange dream that night. She dreamed of Stillblade meeting his death from falling from a cliff. He was being chased by something even she could not describe. She looked down at its feet and slowly looked up until she noticed that the thing had no head. Right as she noticed a red string tied on its neck, the headless being met her eyes.

Gasp.

The tiredness left her in the awake of fear creeping in her bones. Suddenly her small apartment seemed bigger. She darted her eyes from left to right, trying to find some evidence that maybe she was still asleep.

Her eyes stung from looking at her phone’s screen. That was enough of a reminder.

Four bright digits came in her view. Not even an hour had passed before she fell asleep. She rubbed her temples, refusing to let exhaustion blur the lines of reality and her dreams.

She prepared some coffee, no longer intending to sleep. Dragging herself to the desk in the middle of her apartment, she reached for her laptop, a medium to channel her pain into.

That’s when she saw it. A headline titled, “‘Sucide and the Red String Mystery’”

Huh?

Jena was not one to notice even the flashiest of headlines, but this one cut into her gut like ice.

Jena would not have never realized that she would regret reading this article in the coming years.

The article read, “There have been a number of unsettling cases in the small town of Univera, but nothing as unsettling as this case.” The article went on to mention a number of bodies being found at the bottom of the cliff and a red string tied to the neck of each body.

Red string? Suddenly, the image of the indescribable being flashed in her head. Goosebumps rose over both of her arms. “What the hell…”

Yet, the Journalist did not believe these deaths to be suicide, as the public had labeled it. Piecing together details of the victims that seemed to match up– missing time, erratic behavior, dreams recorded in journals–he proposed a chilling theory: They had all been lead to this cliff before their death. ”One of the bodies was discovered clutching a torn page from somewhere. Only one thing was barely readable at the top, The name ‘Anafrost’.”

She slammed the laptop shit. Her coffee mug rattled.

With a shaking voice, Jena said barely audible, “How? How did they know about Anafrost? No. That’s not the right question. The question is… Why was a page of Anafrost in that.. person’s hand?”

That’s when it hit her. She wrote about this…somewhere… somehow! She went to a stack of notebooks and binders at the corner of her apartment. She opened her most recent notebook. She found a scribbled out sentence that caused her to lose strength in her knees.

It read, “Something told him to look behind, even if every cell in his body was telling him to not. Only– there was nothing to meet eyes with. A thin, red string tied on the neck of a dark, empty face. He had fallen into despair then. This small act of carelessness caused him to fall down an abyss that seemed to have no end.”

For a moment, time was still. The air became heavy as the silence became deafening.

Rippppp.

The sudden sound of pages being torn up was heard.

Jena did not want to shoulder the responsibility of the death of four people. She did not want to say she wrote their deaths away. She did not–

Wait.

In that moment, a small sliver of hope seemed to rise in her overwhelmed heart. “If I had to do with these people’s death, then couldn’t I do something to keep someone alive?” Jena contemplated.

In that same notebook, using the same pen, Jena wrote.

The sun came up before she knew it. Jena kept refreshing her feed. Anything to let her know that she could’ve saved anyone.

Nothing.

Exactly 7 days and 23 hours had passed. Bloodshot eyes and the smell of black coffee were present in her apartment. All she had been surviving off were nuts, water and coffee. She had hardly slept. With the death of four people on her shoulders, it seemed like a sin to sleep.

On the midnight of the 8th day, Jena couldn’t believe her squinting eyes.

“‘Univeran Man Hospitalized In a Mental Hospital After Being Chased by a Ghost– Survived by Only Two Words.’"

She felt her fingers trembling. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry– but it seemed as though she did both, while she herself did not realize. Her laughter seemed like a sigh of relief and her tears fell from the pressure of the past week that passed in agony.

To her, reading the article was not enough. She needed to go see the Univeran man.

She put her best suit on and went to go confront him. She visited the mental hospital, and soon enough she saw him sitting on a chair facing the window. He seemed lost in thought.

Jena knocked on the door, politely asking, “May I come in?” The man snapped back to reality and nodded to Jena.

The first thing Jena noticed after she sat down was the distinct line on the throat of the person. Confused, she asked, “Are you Ethan Kroger?”

With a weary voice Ethan responded, “Yes. How can I help you?”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Kroger. My name is Jena Saharda. I’ve seen an article about how you survived an accident. Is it okay if I ask you about that night?” Something in his eyes read that he was afraid. Ethan did not speak and took a while to respond.

Truly getting the chance to look at his face, she had noticed a considerably exhausted face. Wrinkles that did not come with old age, small, distinct grey hairs at his hairline. It was as if he had aged in one night. Ethan was still not even 30 years old. What had happened that night?

“Well, unlike that journalist, you are much more patient. Okay. I’ll tell you what happened. But you have to promise me something. You cannot tell anyone what I tell you.”

Jena raised an eyebrow. “Did you not mention everything to the journalist?” “If I did, that thing would move to the people next.”

“Then why are you telling me?” “I truly do not know. I get this feeling that the thing won’t come to you.”

Huh? That doesn’t make sense. “And what is this thing you keep mentioning?”

“I only said a Ghost to the Journalist.” Ethan said, his voice beginning to tremble. “...But, by God, that was no ghost. It was… a being that had legs but made no sound. You could feel its stare but there were no eyes. The most disturbing thing about it was its smirk. It had no head but you could feel it laughing at you.”

Jena's confusion was not clearing up.

“It first started as a dream. A dream of that thing running after this one man– he looked more like a warrior than a man. It was not all around but you could see very clearly the man’s distress and fear in his eyes as he continuously ran.”

That was Stillblade! “And then?” “Then, he fell off the cliff.” “Just like that?” “Just like that.” It was exactly like Jena's dream.

“Once he fell off, I remember scanning this beast. Right then-” “You felt it looking at you and then you woke up.”

“How.. how did you know?” Ethan was shocked. Millions of thoughts were through Ethan’s mind, trying to think of reasons as why she knew.

“Did it also have a red string tied on its neck?”

“...Y-yes…”

“I’ve had the same dream.”

Clack!

Ethan fell out of his chair. His trembling finger pointed at Jena. “H-how… How are you alive?”

“Was I supposed to die?”

“...Within a day of getting this dream, your fate is sealed. That very night I got this strong feeling that I was being watched. And, strangely, I kept getting visions that no matter what I would do, I would die by something. Getting hit by a car, getting shot- Anything. Anything this thing wanted me to do to get me outside my house. In this paranoia, I’ve come to the conclusion to go somewhere in the forest- anywhere where there is no one. That’s how you fall into its trap.”

“To lead you in the forest one way or the other?”

“It needed you to be alone– to approach you in the darkness. Soon after, once I felt like the being watched feeling went away, an even stronger doom fell on you. Every cell in you was telling you to run. It didn’t matter where. You just had to run. Soon, a cliff was in your way. It had hit me then. The dream, the luring, the running, all for this moment.”

Jena kept quiet. Watching his expressions and gestures.

“I looked behind once and saw it finally. The thing was watching me from a distance. I looked to see if there was another path to escape. My second glance– and it was merely only 12 feet away from me. My trembling eyes kept on it. It had waited for me to look away.”

“So you could reach you? What do you think it wanted-”

Ethan interrupted Jena. “Yet the nature of it was that it was a losing game. You keeping your stare made you unaware of your backing steps towards the cliff. Right when my foot was unable to land on any ground, I darted my eyes to look at the deep abyss under me. That’s when I realized– I no longer was looking at it. I slowly looked back up at it and it was not even there. It was right then that I felt a burning sensation on my throat. I touched my throat and found a thin, red thread. My hand followed the thread and I found that it went down the cliff.”

For a moment, Ethan went quiet.

“It felt like I would die. The thread pulled at my throat and slowly and surely I would fall. I knew the thing was at the end of the other thread pulling me down. Just thinking about it was terrifying.” Ethan looked at his hands, his eyes squinting.

“I’m so sorry. If you want me to give you a moment to yourself, let me know.”

“Jena. Have you ever thought about the feeling of hope after a long despair? Because within the next moment, I heard a woman’s voice. ‘Not yet.’ She said, and the burning sensation cooled. The thread became undone, and there was no pulling motion anymore. Even now, I have no explanation for it. Still, I took my chance and booked it.”

“So you suddenly just felt the thread undo, and you ran?” “Yes.”

“The red string around the neck of the next victim had been undone at the sudden calling out of a Jena Saharda’s voice. ‘Not yet’. And the fearful being vanished, no longer having power over them.”

Jena still couldn’t believe it. Her writing changed his fate. She tried to be as vague as possible, using the dream as a blueprint. She wrote out multiple endings to save the person’s life. She was glad, though, at least one managed to change the fate. The only thing is, she didn’t know which of her writings had the power to do so.

Jena thanked Ethan and went home. She contemplate,d but to no avail. Did she save someone or did she just prolong it?