Shrine

They say parents make up all kinds of rules, just to keep their children safe. Don’t climb on the couch, don’t walk around with your muddy shoes on, close the closet door tight shut before going to bed… Normal stuff really, as if you or I needed to be reminded that. Some families, however, go as far as calling their rules “traditions”. See, breaking a rule is easy. You’ll get punished for it with your mother’s cooking being placed on the table louder than usual, or your father’s disappointed gaze, maybe auntie will tell you to clean the attic all by yourself or they all will leave you out of a family trip... 

Nothing comes close to breaking a family tradition. Upon hearing the news the air in the kitchen suddenly gets tainted and stale. You see a small bead of sweat roll down auntie’s temple as she nearly drops her knife off the table all together. Mother’s face became almost distorted with rage and dread, as father slammed his fist on the table:

‘How dare you?! I told you! I told you not to-’

A good son listens to what his parents tell him and does so as they want. He cleans the house and takes care of his little brother if his parents are away. He is polite and never lies. He never lies to his mother and father. A picture perfect son fit for a picture perfect family. 

Our family has ties to all that’s weird, from way back the middle ages. Over the years there were all kinds of people in the family, from all kinds of backgrounds and with all kinds of jobs; but they all abided by the same rule. 

The entire family visits the shrine at least once during their life, however, when they do, they must leave before nightfall. It’s as specific as it gets, we all know almost instinctively, as just like this knowledge was passed down to us, it was passed down to our parents and our grandparents. 

Having seen many faces after our moving here, the shrine was old and run down. It was a miracle how that tiny wooden building still stood its ground, atop of a hill out of all places. Since father decided to visit more than once just to be safe, I saw that shabby building up close many times, to the point that it seemed like it was sneering at our efforts. 

You didn’t believe it of course. Rolling your eyes as mother rushed us along the steep stairs, you mumbled something about how weird it all was. You clasped your hands together with us, but I saw that mischievous glint in your eyes that day. 

‘Haven’t you ever wondered what’s inside it?’ your voice was a harsh whisper as you carefully closed the closet door that night.

‘Old ornaments maybe’ I said, weighing my words carefully. If your imagination was to run wild, I knew, there would be trouble for us both. ‘Incense? I’m not too sure what they put into shrines back then’.

‘Incense? Maybe. But… why do they never speak of that god? What kind of god doesn’t have a name?’

‘Old one’ I snapped back. ‘Our family has been praying to it for generations, after all’. You let out a breathy laugh at that and leaned in closer, your face terrifyingly calm, eyes unblinking. I scuffled backwards in discomfort. Unnerving people was like breathing to you. Were we both just the products of our messed up environment back then? I wish I knew the answers to anything at this point. 

‘What are we even praying for?’ 

You were taunting me, I knew that clear as day, but I couldn’t hold back.

‘Tradition doesn’t always have logic behind. Don’t get us into trouble’ I managed to utter through unwilling lips. You were smirking then, but unlike any semblance of a smile I’ve ever seen. It was cold and as sharp as ice. 

‘What are you talking about? I was planning to look, sure, but not like you’d join me...’

A trap. My mind was screaming at me at how sly you were. Smothering the strings in honey-ed words and droplets of questions that were a surefire way to enhance my already growing and dangerous curiosity. Unfair from your position, as you knew well that I would’ve followed you anywhere back then.

The night was quiet and I was almost relieved to feel the chill air brush past my face with every step. I needed to be calm, I couldn’t show my fear to you. Mother and father’s words were echoing in my mind, warnings of nightfall, the shrine and monsters in the closet. Traditions are to be followed, auntie once said in a shaky voice and an even shakier smile. What were they all so afraid of? What kind of skeletons were looming in their closets as they peered in, ignoring the demons on top of them?

‘You hold the torch. I’ll hold onto the knife’ you said matter of factly upon seeing the crooked roof of the small building.’Whatever’s inside doesn’t hold a chance against my knife skills!’ 

I held back a nervous chuckle when you decided to knock on the small door out of all possible things. Oh yes, whatever’s inside will answer with a warm cup of tea and a kind smile to offer to two late travelers.

Suddenly the light went out.

‘What the-’ I was too late. 

A shriek resounded through the forest and my entire body. I dropped the now flickering torch. I couldn’t have moved even if I wanted to, but I could’ve chosen my last words to you a bit more carefully. Speak with consideration, mother said.

What could have I said that night? I’m sorry you tricked me into agreeing to go with you. I’m sorry I got curious. I’m sorry, I truly am.

It happened in a flash. Like a scene from an old time horror show or the horrors auntie liked to spook us before bed with. Headless riders, ghosts that shriek upon being seen, hands that grab you by the ankles if you’re not careful... Slowly...Ever so slowly, like a beating heart...Flicker, flicker out, flicker, flicker out… One moment it was pitch black, and the next I saw you. 

Your body was stuck at a weird angle. Awfully crooked at the spine, limbs spasming by your sides uselessly. And sharp black spikes piercing various organs, your throat and your eyes, leaving nothing behind but a bloody mess. They were beckoning me. Come now, child, come take a look. Closer, ever so closer... I didn’t understand. I couldn’t. What were they? Coming from the deepest shadows of that run down old shrine like some ruthless security mechanism. I couldn’t move a muscle, do anything, but stare at how they slowly dragged you towards the entrance, completely ignoring the muffled cry you desperately tried making with nothing to make it with still in your body. Would our ancestors be angry by the blood seeping into their beloved stone floor or would they be delighted? I want to throw up. 

The torch finally breathed its last with a hissing sizzle. I raised my head slowly and peered closely into the darkness. Not even the full moon could illuminate whatever that was inside. I shook my leg slightly, relieving the tension, needing to move forward. I need to. I want to. I want to see. Just a step. Just one. My leg twitches mid step and I halt, the blood in my veins feels as if it’s freezing over. A thousand eyes peer into mine from behind the darkness, impatiently waiting for that single step closer.

I ran like never before in my life. I bursted into my parent’s room, ignoring any and all acts of politeness or thoughtfulness. I dragged them all out to the kitchen and babbled on and on about you. The shrine ate you I said, the shrine ate you and I ran. The shrine ate you, I spat out into my enraged father’s face, as mother wept. He just sent me to bed then, looking defeated, he said he’d punish me later. Neither mother nor auntie raised their heads. Through their hands I could see their glistening tears. 

I waited for morning. When the first rays of light hit our room, I snuck out. Slowly and carefully I dug around the garage until I had everything I needed. Throwing my backpack filled with half of my life in it over my shoulder, I dragged the can of gasoline up the mountain. I’d be lying if I said the matchbox in my hand wasn’t rattling all the way to the top. However, I didn’t feel any kind of tension or fear. That old shrine sneered at me and this time I sneered back.

No matter how much time has passed since that day, I never was able to wash off the smell of smoke, wood, and burning flesh off of me.