Dire's Call

Dire's Call

“It is a call that lured you to the depths it rang,

cross the bridge that was forbidden to step upon.”

It was a mere fragment of an old nursery rhyme that gave Ambrose Island a slight desire to be visited by interested tourists from the Mainland. This line from the song was the only words that seemed to have been kept around, as the rest of it was lost to hundreds of years of ignorance. Any chance of trying to find the rest of the song was considered a waste, as no one seemed interested enough to care. Instead, the people held onto what was left and tried to make the most of it, sometimes even exaggerating it, to keep tourists entertained.

Birdie was slouched over the counter during work. A plain wood board with an aerial view of the island was stuck in Birdie’s vision as it was the only thing to look at with any kind of detail within the gift shop. It was the end of the summer and tourist season. The signs outside showed it as the sky was gloomy and leaves were shredded from branches as winter made its way through.

She still didn’t understand why she had to be here, the owner should have closed the shop early as everyone else has. But the man rather be open all through the winter just to catch that stray tourist or two just to make a mere ten-dollar sale all winter long.

He spent more than earned. Birdie couldn’t complain though, it was a steady job even as it drove her mildly insane. The only reason he employed her was that she was so willing to watch the store all season while he spent his winter days on the Mainland with the rest of his family. It was better there than here. No one wanted to live on Ambrose Island if there was a chance of escape. The only people to stay here were the ones that couldn’t leave whether it be finances, family, or jobs.

Why not close early? Birdie couldn’t, not with cameras all around keeping an eye on her. She’s tried closing before and the owner called her up and cussed her out since then she would wait till the clock struck six before closing the shop for the day, every day, except Sundays.

Her eyes wandered back to the wood board of Ambrose Island. The detail was too perfect compared to the large photo that it was taken from, which now resides at the museum next to the town hall down the street. Up close you could identify every leaf on every tree, as some may say just to interest the tourists. Got to keep them entertained, one way or another.

Usually, once you have mentioned the leaves, you may say something about the North side of the Island, separated by the mountains also known as Gallinari’s Peaks, named after some man who went off to travel to the top when the island was first discovered. Then you would go on to mention the river that snailed its way past the base of the mountains and it was there that Gallinari found an old stone bridge, looking as though it was carved from one block, sitting over the river. Gallinari and his men knew that something was wrong after finding this bridge on an undiscovered island. At first most were uneasy about crossing it, but Gallinari was more worried about climbing the peaks. So, he crossed the eyesore, only to be taken away by the Woodsmen.

Woodsmen were putting them lightly when really, they were better suited as wild creatures. But yes, Gallinari was believed to be taken by these creatures and never seen again, according to the last surviving few of his climbing crew. Since then, the story had erupted, resulting in what was left today.

Birdie’s brain would go on autopilot when she would go on about the story to the dim tourists. They would ask about the bridge then and Birdie would tell them that she didn’t know where it was. They would take it as though they were shrouding it in mystery when really, she didn’t know or care. She dreamt of the day where she would be able to be free of Ambrose Island and find herself on the Mainland. After five years of year-round commitment to the shop, she was close to having what she needed to finally be free. Maybe one more year and she would be ready. Just one more year.

The bell above the door rang.

Birdie’s heart sprang into action giving her life again as she turned her view to the tall manly figure that just entered the tiny store. He stood high with broad shoulders and could not be any short then six-foot-five. His face was chiseled and tanned, peaks of dark brown hair were in view, eyes were a sharp silver, and his lips slightly chapped as they held a slight frown. He wore a large black carpenters jacket with the hood up, jeans dressed his legs and then his work boots looked as though they haven’t ever been cleaned. Manly, you could say, was an understatement to what this man bared. The air that he brought with him reeked of raw testosterone, masculinity, and virility. Birdie’s insides shook with dread and pleasure.

The dread was more dominate then the pleasure. Something about this man screamed for Birdie to tell him that she was closing shop early so that she could get the heck out of there. Another told her that she was overreacting. He was mixed signals to her, what was she to do? If she closed now, her boss could fire her and then she would have to risk finding another job. If she let him in, she didn’t feel safe.

The man moved about. Each footstep seemed to shake Birdie senseless. She couldn’t even open her mouth to greet the customer. Customer? He seemed more like a criminal to her eyes. Why come here? Birdie had only fifteen dollars in the register, besides that the only thing worth anything was the tarnished silver jewelry in the display case. It wasn’t worth the energy to rob her.

Her fingered gripped the edge of the counter harshly. Oh, how she wished that someone was here with her, but she was always alone. She always has been. Now that he was in her comfort zone, she didn’t know how to react.

His feet stopped in the back, for a few seconds he stood there with his head down. She couldn’t understand what he was doing. Then he moved again, this time he came up to her at the register. She couldn’t breathe in his presences, he was sucking the air right out of her. She couldn’t move because his gaze was keeping her glued to this spot. She was ready for him to pull out a weapon and threaten her to open the register so to steal the little money she could have. Time didn’t seem to move as she felt his gaze stab her in every visible part of her body.

His arm moved, slowly he sat an item on the counter.

“Here,” his voice emanated raw authority in that one word. Birdie was shaking at his voice as her throat swelled up making it impossible to speak back to the man. She could only nod to him as she grabbed the item without looking at it and rung it up as fast as she could. Once she punched some buttons on the register she looked back up to the man.

But he was gone. Not even the sound of one of his thunderous footsteps, air rushing out of his nose, or harshly beating heart told her that he moved. Without a whisper, without a peep, and without a shuffle that could have signaled his movement so to tell her that he left. It was as though he vanished with the air.

She looked down at the box in her hand, it was for a Christmas ornament, a replica of the mythical bridge that Gallinari was taken from. It was just a replica, no one knew what the bridge truly looked like because no one has ever found it. It was just known to be carved from one stone and cursed. Birdie didn’t like the presence that the man left her with. The air was thick with worry and fear. She felt like she couldn’t stand another moment in the store after he had tainted the story by just being here.

She closed the store early and expected the consequences tomorrow morning.

Birdie surely got what she was begging for because early the next morning she got her ear chewed out for closing the store early. The owner had conveniently logged into the system while Birdie was shutting everything down sometime around five-thirty and didn’t listen to her argument that she felt threatened by the disappearing man. Apparently, there was no man in the store according to the owner. Birdie didn’t know whether to be afraid or mad. Afraid because she now doesn’t know what she saw or mad because that just means the owner didn’t bother to look through the video feed.

After arguing, she spent the next week in peace. There were three visits, all from locals looking to buy cheap gifts to send to families they barely see or care for. The store made a total of one hundred seven dollars but lost five times more than profited by staying open and employing her. Still, Birdie couldn’t complain, at least she was getting paid.

In just that week the air became ten degrees cooler and ten times harsher. It was miserable trying to walk from the store to her shabby little apartment at the edge of town. When she got home she needed to take a steaming shower to just keep herself from freezing her fingertips off. Then afterward she would huddle over the stove, the oven turned on to the highest temperature, just to keep herself warm in her, lack of better terms, igloo as she made herself something to eat. By then the place could be bearable and she would leave the oven door open to keep the place heating as she spent the rest of the night on her couch either watching shows from her cracked TV or reading a book borrowed from the library. Then when it was time for bed she’d turn the oven off and curl up in bed till work in the morning.

Birdie knew she wasn’t well off, it was better than nothing though, and it allowed her to save as much as she could. She could have a better apartment, but that would mean less in her savings and longer time spent here. She couldn’t do that.

As Birdie once again found herself staring off into the wood board’s art of Ambrose Island, the door rung open just thirty-five minutes to close. She hit the back counter when she saw the disappearing man standing at the doorway again. She didn’t know how to react but with deep terror. He wore the same attire and walked the same path to the back of the store before coming up to her at the register. If it was possible, Birdie believed that her heart was going to explode from the forceful beating against her ribcage.

She wouldn’t remove herself from the back counter, she found herself staring him down. He returned with a penetrating gaze that seemed to read the deep recesses of her mind. She felt naked in front of him. His silver eyes never seem to leave hers.

They gleamed in an unusual and foreign way. Birdie didn’t want to believe what she just saw in this person, maybe it was just her eyes playing tricks. After what he has done on their first encounter, she was still trying to find a reason that would make it understandable.

He placed an item on the counter, which was the same box with the bridge ornament.

“Here,” he spoke again this time there was demand and strength. It caused the blood in Birdie to stop flowing and she felt her face pale in distress. He wanted her to ring up the same item again? There were only thirty-two dollars in the register and that was only because someone bought a box of expensive chocolates earlier today. Still not worth robbing.

She peeled herself off the back counter and grabbed the box. She kept her eyes on him this time as she rang up the item. She kept an eye on his torso as she punched the buttons in, then she raised her head to look him in the eyes. Though in that one motion of changing where her eyes were keeping looks on him, he was gone again. This time right before her eyes. Her head felt heavy, she wanted to scream with terror, and she wanted to cry also. What was going on? How was he just disappearing like this? She’s never seen him before ever in her life, why now?

She put the box back where it belonged on the shelf.

Maybe it’s a spirit?

The idea of the disappearing man being a spirit didn’t sit well with Birdie. She couldn’t sleep later the night or for the next two but when the man, or thing, didn’t return she began to relax a little. She only began to worry again when a week had passed, and it became to be thirty-five minutes until closing. Her eyes were glued to the door this time. She was ready for him. If he came through that door she was going to yell at him, scream at him, throw something at him. Do whatever to keep him out of the store or he needed to explain himself. Why was he doing this to her? She didn’t need to stress or creepiness.

The door opened and once again that same man stepped in. Birdie wasn’t afraid this time, she was ready for him. Birdie opened her mouth but was surprised herself when she couldn’t speak, it was like all the air had left her. Her heart was racing again, a terror-filled her being as she watched the man once again take the same path around the store and up to her. He had the same box.

“Here.” His voice was harsh, bitter, and sharp. It cut through her like a giant knife. She was able to break free from her terror-stricken composure and speak to him.

“Who are you?” She forced it out as it choked her throat. The man never replied. He kept her eyes on her and they did the strange glimmer thing that Birdie had seen just a week before. This time she noticed the change but still she couldn’t put her finger on what the heck had just happened. She didn’t move to grab the box either. The man grew inpatient and slid the box to her, displaying the side with the picture of the ornament. The bridge.

Was he trying to hint towards something?

When Birdie took her eyes away from the box’s picture he was gone again.

She wasn’t mad anymore, more like frustrated.

Two months passed, the cold every week got unimaginably worse. Birdie even considered getting a mini heater just to keep in her bedroom for the night, even if that meant a few extra dollars on the electric bill. Though the cold was the least of her worries, as that man kept returning every week at the same time. The fourth time around he came in and his voice became begging and crying. Then angry and frustrated. Then calm and reassuring. Each time it was a different reaction and it went in cycles. Birdie just grew confused, she didn’t understand what he wanted in her. Was this sick joke to someone, just so she could go crazy or was this man truly a spirit and was taking the same path because it knew no better. Nothing made sense. She was afraid to go to someone with the fear they would think of her as crazy and the cops wouldn’t do anything about it. The owner keeps swearing there isn’t any man. What was happening and what did he want?

He kept giving her the bridge ornament.

She considered putting those ornaments in the back, but she didn’t want the owner catching her putting merchandise away when it could possibly be sold. So, she was stuck keeping them out on the shelf along with every other holiday decoration for every season. She felt stuck. It was an endless cycle of confusion, fright, and frustration.

When the night came for the man to come back through the door and threaten her with the bridge ornament, Birdie was content with a crossword book that she bought from the grocery store. You could say she had grown used to the disappearing man, even as he did frighten her so concluded that he had to be nothing more than a spirit.

When the clock struck six behind her, Birdie realized that nothing had happened.

Another month had passed. Winter was getting to its end and all those weeks the disappearing man had simply stopped coming to the store. Not seeing him made her worry for him. But what was she to worry about such a thing? All he has ever spoken was one word, all he has ever done was threaten, scream, cry, plead, and demand and all he’s ever grabbed was that stupid box before disappearing before her eyes. After, of course, his eyes would do that weird thing she still could not lay a finger of understanding on.

He just left her confused. Never has she ever felt the need to leave the island more than ever, yet also she wanted to know why this disappearing man was being so.

On the night that the man should have shown up, Birdie went over to the ornaments and grabbed the box that he would always grab. Weirdly enough it was a bit worn from his care and the bottom of the box was blackened from the rubbing on the cheaply painted countertops. She looked at the bridge in the picture.

Why this item? Birdie looked about the store trying to figure out some understanding of what had been going on with him. Even in the empty store she spoke out loud hoping that maybe her speaking to him, wherever he is, would provoke his presence and she could get more than one word out of him. Though no matter how much she questioned, it all went up into the air like nothing.

Why the ornament? What makes it so important? Was it the item itself, did you want the item, but you couldn’t have it? Why hand the box over before disappearing? Birdie didn’t get it, she needed a bigger hint, she’s asked him what he wanted and even then, he gave no more. This was all he was going to give her. This stupid replica of a bridge.

It clicked.

Birdie rushed to close the store, she didn’t care the owner was possibly going to fire her tomorrow. She finally understood what the disappearing man was telling her, and she needed to know that she was correct. She needed to know, it has been clawing at her insides for months and she couldn’t take it anymore. She wanted answers and if he wanted to be tough about it then so be it.

She bundled up then took the exit out of the back of the shop. As usual, she would have made a right turn to make her way to the sidewalks out front but this time she was looking out in front of her into the woods that went directly north. She could be wrong, and she could get lost but something deep within her screamed that she had to be right. There was no other answer besides the one she was about to take. She trekked the woods, never taking any twists or turns.

She went straight hoping once she was deep enough she would be able to find what she was looking for. Yes, the bridge. It may be stupid of her to think that it could be here. Everyone knew that the story was faked just to create a tourist attraction. But that man spoke something else to her. It had to be real, why else would he grab the only thing in the shop that was a bridge and tell her, ‘here’. He wanted her to go to the bridge. He wanted to meet her there.

Birdie emerged from the woods and found herself less than a yard away from the river’s edge. The water ran slow, yet it ran just fast enough to not freeze over. Birdie swung her head around and couldn’t believe it when she spotted a strange formation over the river as white as the snow on the ground. She found herself practically running to the bridge with excitement. No one has ever mentioned seeing the bridge, it was supposed to be fake, yet here it was. All because she finally understood what the man finally meant.

Her breath was gone when she finally reached the edge of the bridge and to her excitement she found the man standing there. He wore his carpenter jacket, jeans, and boots. He looked no different than from when she had first seen him. Something within her welted up in excitement towards a closure. This meant that finally there will be an answer. Why he did what he did and then she can go and live the rest of her days on the Mainland once finally getting there.

She stepped onto the bridge noting how it did look as though it was carved from one stone that was as white as the snow surrounding it. She made her way to the middle and found herself standing eye to eye with the handsome, yet scary, man that has been coming through her store for months.

“I’m here,” Birdie gave him a clever reply. His lip twitched in the corner, a smirk came about. Birdie couldn’t stop staring at him, especially his eyes hoping that they would do that thing that they would do before he would disappear. She bubbled up with pride, feeling quite proud she figured out his riddle. The disappearing man took a step closer to her and reached out to tuck a piece of hair behind Birdie’s ear. She was frozen by his touch.

His eyes did that thing, though this time the gleamed stayed and Birdie was staring into deep crimson that seemed to swirl itself with the silver as the man’s smirk fell and his hand snaked around Birdie’s neck, so to get a grip on the back of her skull.

“They call me Dire and I called you here to murder.”

With one swift twist, the snow-white bridge was stained with innocence.

Moral:

I may indication and communicate a joyful conclusion, even so

never depend on or presume me to write a ‘fairytale or myth’

when also defined as ‘a story meant to mislead and fib’.