Bellimare: Old Things Have Strange Hungers

I’m stranded, there’s only one road, and I haven’t seen another car in hours. These trees, I swear, they are watching me while I pass. The forest is so vast, it’s my only company here. I was on my way to an archaeological gig I was blessed to finally get; work has been so hard to get postgrad. It’s a couple of states over, a day and a half drive if I take back roads.

My shovel lay idle in my trunk, the rest of my gear strewn across my backseat, messy like this situation. My journal and my water bottle were secured in my passenger seat, my iPod sitting in my cup holder. The sun is sitting high, I’ve got time to figure something out or try to at least. So I pan around, a sigh escaping me, expecting nothing.

I see a sign up ahead, perhaps a mile or so. I’ve never been so relieved. I slide my knife into my pocket; it never hurts to be prepared. I triple-check that my car is secure before I step away from it, trying to psyche myself up. It felt like the closer I got to this sign, the day deepened faster, and the paranoia was sinking in.

I panned around. There’s a deer in the woods to the left of me, standing, frozen. It felt like it was mocking me, setting me as a target of a fight I’m not aware of yet. It made me notice how silent it is, despite the slight breeze I’ve been chasing with open windows. How could I have not heard it? I’m snapped out of my spiraling thoughts, as the deer runs off after an unnerving amount of eye contact, so I embolden myself and continue my steps forward.

There’s a town 4 miles away named Bellimare.

I feel something behind me as I mouth the name. I close my eyes for a moment, breathe, and turn. I have to face it to get my belongings from my car, running on the hope they’ll have a mechanic in town. Nothing is standing there, but something is sitting on the roof of my car. There’s a heavy gasp that leaves me like my soul escaping from witnessing the sight.

I take the walk back at an even pace, my hand wrapping anxiously around my knife. A slight ease to my shoulders, feeling the familiar weight in my hand. Adrenaline pounds in my ears, the only sound occupying my focus.

I slide the item off the roof, ease it onto my hood; it’s a book wrapped in cloth, the weight is unexpected. Heavy and reeks of the earth. The cloth is stained and dirty, and I can make out fingerprints on it. I unwrap it, idiotic perhaps, but my curiosity is piqued. What if I can use it for research? Something to get my name back into rotation. It’s written in a language I’m not familiar with, and scribblings are strewn across the pages in dark ink. There’s a moth on the front.

I grab it and unlock my car, scrambling to feel the minimizing of the silence around me as my door swings shut and locks. The book swings into my passenger seat, atop my disregarded sweater. It’s like I can breathe fully for a moment. Enclosed in familiarity and warmth, I sit for a moment. I’m making a mental list of what I’m taking with me, and a crow lands on my hood on top of the cloth.

A soft thud resonates as it shuffles, looking left and right. I pay it no mind, and I begin to shuffle around. I pull my duffle from my backseat, stuff my travel blanket back in. My eyes search the floor on my passenger side, opting to switch into my hiking shoes. I lean over to grab them, and when I come back up, the crow is gone from my hood, along with the cloth.

I’m not sure if it's a blessing or a curse.