The Secrets Of The Old Tomb

Music was on, noises everywhere. That may be the last time I heard of pop-rock music, or any music genre at all, and the thrilling laughter of my friends. It may also be the last day I was in my home city, or in my apartment, or in the university, or in the restaurant–where I work as a waitress to survive with my little, beautiful sister every of each day from hunger. Or last winter might be the last time I was in my favourite museum, watching hanged, enormous paintings, historical pots, thousands-of-year-old artefacts, reading different cultures, and other enticing forms of artistry. We were on the dull, tedious bus, not the public one. Borrowed from his dad, where he had a great deal of cleaning their filthy and fetid backyard for a week because of uninvited pests that came merely to bring vexation, Jarv, one of my male and most trusted best friends, was driving it. I was back of the bus, not really at the back, more like before the end seats, sitting hushedly, humming the music that Jarv was currently playing for all of us, for entertainment while on the road. Under my arms, which I couldn’t take my eyes off from, was the only reason why my parental love exists–though I have not yet undergone parturition–my only terribly gorgeous sister and the smartest kid in the world, Mary. She was leaning relaxedly, eyes closed in her, with all certain, another enchanting daydream–sometimes, horrifying. The blue ribbon around her neckline perfectly suited her much-loved floral dress and straight, smooth golden blonde hair. Her pink, round cheeks, that mother used to kiss with smush and sound, hope they were all doing well in the afterlife, were starting to gather droplets of tears running from her asleep eyes. I wondered what was going on in her imaginative head. I couldn’t ask her this time. I’ll wait ‘till she wakes up and says it if she desires to. Down to her closed knees, covered with her dress, was a mason jar filled with white and grey pebbles that almost look different in colour because of the bluish water and a single fake green kelp, few tiny seashells and two as gold as her hair fishes: named as Gol and Den. It’s actually hard to point out which among the two fishes were Gol and Den, as they share the same size, same fin, tail, and, evidently, colour. Even my sister herself had a hard time differentiating her two identical fishes. These two fishes played an important role for my sister. Sometimes, it reminiscence her of our late mother and father, and sometimes, Mila and little Michael. Mila was the second born of the Stewart’s–me being the firstborn, Mary followed, and Michael was the youngest among four of us and was only the male. Our family was complete, happy, no problems to think of daily than getting along with the wails and thunderous cries of little Michael until that night happened. Immense fire. That might occurred years already, but everything was still detailed to me. And I think to my little sister too. But, as days went on with my sister, I did my ultimate best to let that traumatic memory live in the past. It’s for the best. I caught a glimpse outside from the closed window of the bus, beside her, wishing I could open it for fresh air. But Mary would shut it back–says she hated the noises outside like she always did in her boring school bus. She was missing so much on this trip–tall trees, blooming flowers, wet and fresh grasses from the icy snows. I hope she woke up from the noises of my friends, who were singing along with the music, which was where I turned my attention to subsequent checking on my sister. As said before, the bus was full of their singing noises–Andrea’s voice, the extrovert and a close friend of mine since my freshman year, was the loudest. Every so often, it was paired up with the uproaring wave of laughter from the men–probably, it was one of Jonathan’s silly and dirty jokes again. I didn’t know how he charmed me with those. All I knew was that I fell, he caught me, and, suddenly, we were caring for each other. Things, of course, occasionally, were not well for both of us, as we lived in an imperfect and separate world. His months of absents due to his military classes abroad affected us so much to the point I nearly lost myself from overthinking, lacking communication with each other. Yet, I am lucky to have him today. The end of this trip was in nowhere. Not unknown. There was an old tower in the woods. I noticed it a week ago when my boyfriend and I passed this road after a little journey alone. And now, while it seemed so old and mysterious, I wanted to take a look around it. Originally, me, my sister and Addie, another best friend of mine, having an opposite personality from Andrea, were should be on this long road and visit the inexplicable tower. Everyone only joined out of their interest, curiosity and boredom. I shouldn’t have told Jonathan about visiting the tower. It was the reason why everyone knew about my plan. It’s not that I did not want to be with them, yet just, there were particular occasions or circumstances that should have turned well but turned the other way around whenever with them. And I wanted this day to be different from one of those. I propelled myself while rising from the backrest with my arms and hands on support in the front chair, peering on the bus’s front windshield to see where we were already. But most of my friends, or should I rephrased, all men, were on the front of the bus, discussing with Jarv and the others, making it hard for me to see whatever was on the road. I gazed right, to our opposite seats, spotted Adie reading a novel, ears carefully covered with her black headphone, lips were moving silently, surely because of every word written on her book, then looked through the window beside her. I recognized the formations of the tree’s branches. “Jarv! Jarv, if you see a road sign, that’s where we stop,” I exclaimed not totally loud, carefully not to wake my sister with my voice. Jarv, at my first call of his name, instantly dropped the music’s volume down. Everyone, except Adie and Mel, who was on the conductor’s seat, moved their heads to me as if I said something horrible out of a sudden. After a short confused face to them, I return to my sister. It was time to wake her up. Her tears were still running down. No doubt that she was having a daytime nightmare instead of comforting daydream. The mason jar, which she secured on top on her knees, was slowly slipping away from her two tiny palms. Gol and Den felt their nearest danger if the jar fell, moving around inside the tiny space they have with their small, pleasing fins. Knowing that it would cause intense heartache and agony to my little sister, I caught it, protecting her palms with mine. I discern a slight and brief quiver on her hands, looking at her sad, closed eyes. With my right hand, left was still securing her hands and the fishes, using my right thumb, I wiped another drop of tears that came fresh from her eyes. Unaccompanied by my first word to wake her up, her eyebrows gradually began to move until two green eyes appeared on my sight. I smiled at her, firstly, in lieu talking. Then, one second later, she instantaneously thrust herself, wrapping her arms around my neck while holding her mason jar with her conscious. From that, as her hug gets tighter and warmer, I knew Mary had a bad dream. I did not have to ask about it. She spoke on my ears as silent as she could, trying to resist her sobs, pouring more of her salty liquid from her bright eyes. This moment wasn’t new to me. We slept in one bed, and whenever she had a nightmare, she would shake me, crying, then came on hugging that last longer than an hour. Often, she would dream of how our family was taken from us so helplessly, mercilessly by the roaring fire. The trauma wouldn’t want to leave us alone. It’s permanent, I thought. I have always hoped that we could get over with it. Despite being the smartest in all of her classes, she received ungrateful comments from her classmates. None were incapable of understading herself about how peaceful it was to ignore such neglible talks. The more my sister took no notice from those, the more of her classmates, sometimes schoolmates, threw gossips on her. We tried reaching out the headmaster of the school, but she ended up attending another school–as no good progress was seen on the insignificant students. “I saw us… dying.” Unexpected. She never said nor dreamed about us that abominable. I was perplexed, asking myself. Why us? Mary set my neck free from her trembling arms, gathered force to speak once more while her face was wholly wet by her tears. She was wiping her own with her fingers. “All of us. Killing each other –” “Shh, shh, stop crying. It won’t happen. We wouldn’t kill each other. It won’t happen,” I attempted to put her in state of calmness by hugging her again, convincing that what she had recently seen in her dream wasn’t real and that it was only a dream. I wondered again why would she dream of us atrociously. Now, I couldn’t let it go out of my head. I felt the stillness of the bus–it decelerated already, plus everyone’s absence of their noises. Everyone hopped out of the bus, excited to see the old tower as much as I did, while bewildered from my sister’s words. I let go of my arms on her, took her hands, especially the one where her beautiful mason jar was, lifted it enough so the two fishes would catch the sunlight outside, talking as I tried myself to smile positively and feverishly in order for her to forget whatever she just saw. “Look, Gol and Den will be sad too if you keep on crying. You wouldn’t want them to be, right? And they are waiting to check the place here either. Were here, sweetie. And I know we’ll be alright–even Gol and Den know it too. I promise.” After taking the backpack I prepared for this day, and after Mary troubled herself no more by her unwanted dreams, we stood up from our seats and found Jonathan, the most pretty man, on the chair in front of us, watching us with a smile on his face. I returned a smile to him, saying nothing for no words wanted to come out to me with anyone. I was still processing how my sister got that dream when I did not have to. Dreams come and go. And they’re unreal. But, without seeing clearly what Mary had seen, I felt worried that it might happen anytime. I wished I could leave my worriedness so easily, but it sounded serious. And while it ran in my head, I recalled the fire. Big, furiously firing fire. Coming out from the bus, hand in hand with my sister, I took a deep breath from the time of rebirth. Spring was where flowers come to life again–everything on earth, in fact, surviving from the harshness of the winter. And flowers were my favourite thing on earth, especially any colours of carnations. The air was cool, and the atmosphere was fine. It helped me forget about us dying in any sort of way in my imagination. I could not help myself. “Aren’t there any roads to get there quicker?” Jarv asked as he made his way to me. He was not being lazy about walking to where the tower was. He was worried about leaving his dad’s tourist bus alone in the middle of the road. Narrow, one wayed road. Then came Mel, his friend, who always had untidy hair and positive mood that sometimes could be extremely irritating to Jonathan for no reason at all–or he wanted to keep it himself–saying, “Relax. This road is wiped out from any of the map. Nobody will see or will try nicking this bus. And after all, we won’t be long inside, right Molly?” I hate what I just heard.                                                                                         My name was Molly Stewart, yet I preferred to be called by the nickname my father had given me, Mol. Almost everyone were using it to address me. I had no idea why Mel loved to call me by my full name. It sounded like another person to me. I was not used to it. Yet what he said to Jarv had a point. This road, indeed, did not existed on any maps anymore, even the maps most everyone used on their mobile devices. The end of this road was nothing but forest. Anyone who had constructed this project, as this road appeared still under construction at the end, might had found a better place to rebuild a new path to another country. And could be the workers had already seen the old tower? Jarv, I know with his still uneasiness, agreed to leave the bus. The others, including Adie, who only rarely stayed beside with the others, were gathering in front of the road sign, where I told Jarv to stop. Their heads, as the wet and partly old wooden signage board was nailed around ten feet high from the ground, were all facing upward, reading on whatever carved or printed on it. I have not read it when Jonathan and I came here. Mary, Jonathan, Mel, Jarv and I approached them where. My sister was skidding, by her utmost excitement, and Jonathan was right beside me. Something urged had told me to go back to the city when I read the everything on the sign, particularly, under the words, “Dead End”. It was bothering, and it was me now that was shaking in a sudden hit of fear. I couldn’t set my eyes off from reading the sign, interpreting no deep meaning while remembering again my sister’s dream. It wasn’t a scary word at all, but a warning–I thought. “Careful.” “Guys, I think we should head back.” I told everyone, who were all ready to dive into the deep, misty forest, notwithstanding the bright of the afternoon sunlight. All eyed me in wholly befuddlement. Even my sister did. My heartbeat was running nervously, yet I did not want anyone to sense it. I tried to stand and appear calm as possible. “What? Mol, come on, is this a joke? We didn’t all come here to hear you we should head back. The place have things or artefacts from before,” it was Andrea who talked halfly annoyed by me and imitated my last words. She made her point, but my instinct had never been like this after reading the sign. I felt anxious for everyone’s life. I am uncertain why it was happening to me. But when every one of them, except my sister, disagreed to my idea of going back to the city, I was pressured by wasting their time to came her. It was their fault, not mines. If anyone would have the right to complain, it must be Addie and my sister. They were the only ones that I was with at the moment. Them – Andrea and other five – were uninvited to come at this place. I hoped they could understand the feeling I had when I read the words on the sign. Anyhow, we continued to go inside the forest. There were pathways that easily leads us to the old tower. I am even worried that there was. It gave me a thought that someone was living here, or at least around here. Someone means strangers–and I really had a hard time adjusting my trust to them. They are unknown. I was taught not to have a word with them. I am holding my sister’s hands very tightly, thinking of her safty more than everyone else’s. I knew it was wrong to brought her at this kind of place, but what choices do I have to keept her around my sight? I also knew that it was best if we just stayed instead inside the bus, but we would be alone. Someone might attacked us, and maybe seriously harmed us before any help from my friends comes. Or worst, like what my sister had dreamed about and that one word on the road sign, dead. As much as I desired, I did not want to think of any negative about this place. Although, I was not a big fan of fortune-telling, there might be a chance that it would happen to us. Minutes by minutes had passed already, after breathtaking views of the tall trees and the rays of sunlight, in spite of the fretness inside me, we had come to the foot of the tower. Mysterious, for there was a cross at the top of the doorless way to its inside. This was not just a tower. It was more like an abandoned church. Unsure what exactly. But, even so, it did give me more chills, regretting that I should not have let my mind decide to visit this place, especially having my sister on my side.