Child of memories

Some secrets stay buried, but sometimes all it takes is an oak tree.

  When I was a child I grew up in a small secluded town where people traded milk for butter and corn for bread. Only in the big cities coin was used, and very few ever went there, and no one ever moved there. I was an orphan, my parents both dead in a fire before I had turned one. I now lived together with my uncle, a harsh man who often beat me while my aunt pretended not to notice. They didn’t have any children of their own, and sometimes at night I could hear her cry. That is when I longed for my parents the most.

  A couple of days a week I went to town school, an old house that was very cold in the winter. The teaching was strict, and most of the time was spent memorizing lessons from the bible. Due to my stuttering, I was considered a slow learner and was often subjected to the switch and paddle to the enjoyment of the others. I had no friends and often talked to myself, thus worsening my situation making people think I was not quite right in the head. On top of that I was left handed. To be left handed was considered an illness, and something that must be cured.

  “Come now child, it’s not that hard”, old Mrs. Brooks would always complain. But it just seemed impossible, despite how hard I tried and despite how much she threatened me. It was not uncommon that I left class with aching fingers due to Mrs. Brooks own kind of disciplinary actions. It was not long before I was the only one left in after school correction, the few others like me, almost immediately adopting to the treatment and soon dismissed as cured. That made me the soule focus of the other kids teasing, even more so as I had no real parents and was considered easy pray. On Sundays we attended church to pray and listen to Gods teachings, and from what I understood about hell, my life couldn’t be that much worse.
Seemingly endless days of ridicule passed and the days grew shorter only in daylight. Then one day in autumn, after school, I heard that old Mrs. Brooks had passed on. “to a better world”, they said, leaving nothing behind but some jewelry and some old photographs of unknown relatives. She had had no children and her burial was attended by few, mostly sympathetic teachers and locals that knew her vaguely.

  I wouldn’t say I felt happy she had died, although, I felt a small glimpse of hope as I was not called upon to attend any correctional hours in that small, worn down side chamber, where my failures to becoming a normal child still seemed far away. It didn’t last long though before I was appointed a new teacher. He was not so much a teacher of school children, but a teacher of the word. The priest was a tall and skinny man who looked very strict in his appearance, and I thought, maybe, that is why he also was the one that had the final saying in local disputes and the one who had the power to assemble a court when such was necessary. There had been a few cases where people had been found guilty of manslaughter and so had been condemned to death. The man seemed to enjoy his power over life and death and I had seen grownups begging for mercy on their bare knees in front of him. Yes, everyone seemed afraid of this man, and I, I was terrified.
As I entered the study room I had a bad feeling in my stomach. “My son, ”, was the first thing he said, “do you believe in the devil?” at first his eyes were not upon me but upon the pages of the bible he had brought with him. He wore old looking spectacles, and as he was about to turn a yellowing page his glance shot towards me.

That was not what I had expected, and I got so baffled by the question I couldn’t find any words.

  “Did you know”, he continued calmly, “that  Devil is left handed?” , he gave a queer smile and his eyes, again, fell towards the book and its writings, “The right hand of the Lord doeth valiantly, the right hand of the Lord is exalted… Then He will also say to those on His left, ‘Depart from Me, accursed ones, into the eternal fire which has been prepared for the devil and his angels.”, he again looked at me, behind his glasses, “What do you think that means?”
  I was stupefied. What was happening, what did this man want from me? I had never felt so afraid and small in my whole life and I wouldn’t dare open my mouth. The man just continued, not waiting, nor expecting, any reply, “I hear Mrs. Brooks, may she rest eternally, was in charge of you this past year.”, his voice became harder, “I hear that you stubbornly keep using your left hand in spite of what you are told, and that your efforts have been all but satisfying.”, he slapped the book shut, “I fear that if this goes on much longer, the rumors that I hear may be more than just rumors.”. I couldn’t breathe, I literally couldn’t breathe, my heart was pounding so hard I was afraid it would tear its way through my chest. He had been sitting down on one of the wooden chairs and now he stood up, his full length towering above me. “The rumors that claim that Satan himself has taken an interest in you and that you secretly worship him and his followers.” This last he almost screamed.
Absolute terror and panic shot through me, and before I knew it my legs had brought me out the door, through the narrow corridor and outside. I remember running. It wasn’t me , I was merely an outside observer. It wasn’t before I had crossed the meadow leading down to the river that I slowly regained control of my body. I was breathing hard, and my chest hurt something fiercely.  It wasn’t until I reached the place where the river splits in two that I slowed down into a fast walking pace. The only thing I knew was that I had to get far away, as far away as possible from that man.

  It was cool outside, but not so cold as to make my breath turn misty. The leaves had all but fallen off the nearby trees, and the sun was hanging low, glowing tiredly through the many branches. Suddenly I noticed a big old oak not far in front of me and I made my way towards it. As I reached it I tripped over a root and almost fell head first into its rough bark. My left hand saved me, and I slumped to the ground my back coming to a rest towards its massive bulk. My head was spinning, and it took me several minutes before my breathing became some what calm. Time past and the sun finally disappeared behind the horizon, leaving the surrounding gray and stale. Over and over again I asked myself why this was happening. What had I done wrong. Why was I tormented in this way. No mother, no father, no friends. No one. I gazed upon my left hand.
“Are you happy now”, I screamed to it as tears poured down my cheeks, “Is this what you wanted!” I cursed it. I slapped it hard against the coarse surface of the oak. The pain was immediate, but I didn’t care. Again and again I punched it, until the skin broke and bruised.
“Why don’t you answer me!” I kept on beating my hand into a pulp, knuckles beginning to realign, blood coloring a small patch of the large oak tree. “It’s all your fault!” I felt my wrist break and then a great numbness took hold and I couldn’t feel my left hand. It was as if it had detached from my body. My knees shook and buckled, my mind felt as numb as my hand, “why don’t you answer me” I mumbled weakly.
That’s when I became aware of another presence. Someone was standing behind me. At that moment every fiber in my body literally froze to ice. I knew it had to be the priest. He had finally caught up, and now he was going to punish me, maybe even kill me. I sat quietly, waiting for the unavoidable, waiting for him to grab me by the throat or… My dread and thoughts were interrupted by an unimaginable deep and wheezy voice. It sounded more like that of far away thunder than anything human.

  “W h a t i s  i t  t h a t  y o u  s e e k…” it spoke almost unrecognizable. I sat frozen, unable to move or comprehend what was happening. “W h a t i s  i t  t h a t  y o u  s e e k…” it repeated, a cold gust of wind following in the wake of its rumbling words, “W h a t i s  i t  t h a t  y o u  s e e k… C h i l d  o f  Ἑ κ α τ η”

  That is when my memories became one with the oak. A flood of memories stretching back more than a thousand years. Ancient memories that made my own few years of accumulated memories seem like a grain of sand in a vast desert. The first memories were those of happiness to be alive, to grow and to flourish in the earths soil, the first sprouts, the first leaves. No river was beside it and no field but a shimmering forest. Overwhelming feelings of solitude and tranquility overcame me as the warmth of the sun and the falling of the rain caressed my body, my being, my entity. Memories of rain turned into snow that covered me in a blanket of warmth and love. Animals live and die around me. Their bodies absolve into me and their nourishment make me change. I become more aware of the animals and I learn their desires and needs. For a long time this is everything, and always, I grow harder and stronger. Then trees disappear around me and I am alone. New animals walk beneath me, but I don’t understand them. The earth is shaking, the ground is breaking, water is everywhere. One animal dies close to me and through its decay gives me nourishment and strength. Somehow it also makes me change as an entity. I ponder these changes for a long time, and I learn that these new animals are humans. I do not understand their desires nor do I understand their needs. A new forest is growing and the old animals return. Close to me runs a small creek. I am the oldest and the largest tree. For along time I grow; we all grow. Then the trees around me are disappearing again, and I know it has to do with the human animal. I can feel the touch of burnt essence, what once was wood. A fire. But I am untouched. The soil around me is different. The animals flock around me, then they disappear and a new forest surrounds me. The humans are back and again the trees around me are gone. I feel a great burden on my being, my branches are heavy, but not from snow, for that burden I know. This burden cuts into me and I am aware of birds; they are always close by now. More nourishment of these creatures finds its way to me and I gain more understanding. I understand that what weighs heavy on my branches are made out of vegetation and chokes my skin, leaving scars. Soon I understand that humans are hung by other humans upon these strings of vegetation and that they sometimes give me nourish when they fall down and rot. My memories are becoming strange, as if those animals are penetrating my being, changing my core. They become whispers like the wind, ever stronger. Everything is happening very fast. Their whispers translate what is happening around me, and they tell of many things. I learn to accept these gifts and I flourish in them. I feel as if before I was asleep and now I am waking up. Faster,  always faster. Some of the humans that gather around me are called priests, and the ones that burden me and whisper to me they call witches, thieves and murderers. I can feel something powerful growing inside me and I am excited. I am told that a great change is coming, something that will change everything, forever, and I embrace it.

“W h a t i s  i t  t h a t  y o u  s e e k… C h i l d  o f  Ἑ κ α τ η”

  I no longer tremble, but feel comforted and relaxed. Calmly I turn towards the voice and what ever being awaits my answer. Hundreds upon hundreds of men, women and animals stand before me, looking at me without looking, for their sockets are eyeless, their shape as sculpted out of ash, grey and wavering in the breeze. They are many but they are one, a unity brought together through the oaks presence. They express nothing, but I feel their eagerness, I feel their hopes, their longings, their needs and most of all I feel their hate. These were the souls of all those that had been convicted and damned to hang, their lives essence gratefully absorbed by the tree. Together they have become a tidal wave of power and energy, accumulated through centuries.

  “I want justice.” I say without a stutter or without my voice even trembling.
A deep growling sigh like a dying mans final breath before eternal relief, went like a thunder through the rows of gray beings. A strong wind began tugging at my clothes. The wind became a storm, ever stronger and soon I was standing inside a roaring tornado. Then suddenly I felt an immense pressure inside my head. I screamed in agony and pain as my being was torn asunder and the world as I knew it went black and ended.
I woke up the next morning, on a day that would later be known as Halloween. I gazed upon my left hand which was completely healed, and I didn't think it strange. My eyes focused on the small town that clustered behind the meadow. It looked so fragile. So vulnerable. And as I started my slow walk towards it, I knew that I wasn’t alone anymore. No, I was a millennia worth of collected memories, knowledge and accumulated power. And these memories... These memories wanted revenge.