Water of the Sundown

Short story split in three parts.
This tale was originally in spanish, my native language, which i have translated.
Please, excuse the possible weaknesses derived from that fact.
This story tries to covey feelings of nostalgia and loneliness, monotony and unease, and how the dark stages of life have important things to tell to us.

Summary:
You decided to go to spend some time living alone in an old house. The previous host is retiring, so he will receive you and tell you the rules of the place. You may expect a reward for your stay in the house, your spirit has something to accomplish in such solitude.

Part 1/3

I arrived at six and a half past afternoon. After a long walk along an old path, and finally glimpsing an old wooden house, I approached it, sensing with clearance that this was my place of destination. The house was in the middle of the glade of a dense forest with very tall pine trees, which was lying atop of a recondite hill which all footpaths seemed to ignore. As soon as I glimpsed the old house I could see one man standing in the middle of the balcony, gazing ahead with serenity, surely expecting for my arrival.

The house seemed very old, I don't know with certainty, but I believe that that antique wooden building was more than two centuries old. The facade looked elegant and grand, but its surface was quite ruined by the passage of time, darkened and dusty. The white painting was now yellowish, fractured, now almost shattered and the wood so aged and harsh, that the house looked like a sad place and abandoned by the time. The thin and tall windows were dirty, and thick grey curtains blocked any insight of the interior. Apparently, it had three floors, but only the top floor had a balcony. There stood that man, a mister with a friendly semblance, who after watching me, greeted raising his hand, smiled, and went inside, since he should be in charge of receiving me.

— Good afternoon— He kindly said after opening the main entrance door and inviting me to pass.
Inside, the sunlight managed to pass through the curtains with much struggle, so much so that the interior of the house, barely enlightened, seemed completely gray, although close to the curtains diminutive dust particles could still be spotted, roaming slowly. The house was paralyzed or dead, according to my impression. The old wooden furniture was all empty and covered by dust, as if they had lied there for decades, absolutely abandoned. There was not any trace of activity, not even stains, garbage or dirt that would give proof of any inhabitant time behind. I walked around some minutes, glancing through the stances, a kitchen with an old oven of wood, a long dining room decorated with dusty antiquated vases, a very badly illuminated parlor, a couple of isolated and shadowy bathrooms, narrow halls, empty furniture here and there, and a thorough stillness, that flooded every corner.

— Well, accompany me upstairs, I'll show you the room — he said, he was an adult man, five or six years older than me I guessed— . Excuse me for not introducing myself. I'm Rupert. I'm glad that you have arrived, I've been tired of being here for a long time now.

Rupert walked and talked with a slowness that fitted very well with the calmness that could be breathed in that place, he didn't seem irritated for the weariness nor hurried, his attitude rather conveyed a peaceful inner joy, as relieved after long years of waiting.

When we got to the second floor, he stopped and walked around a bit, as if tacitly inviting me to view the rooms and halls by myself, that just like in the floor below, seemed to have had gotten static forever in oblivion. I meandered a bit so as to know the four bedrooms, hall and bathrooms, with their respective empty furniture and layers of dust. The only something worth contemplating was the forest out there through the small windows. The sundown would soon arrive, as it was being told by the shadows of the pine trees, that were lengthening too much already, slowly and menacing.

— Well, let's get to the third floor — Rupert said.

On the third floor there was only a small hall leading to a closed door. Rupert guided me there, opened the door with an antiquated key and we entered. It was a mid sized room, even ample for my part. There lied some smallish furniture, a window and the door to the balcony, and also a bathroom, although small compared to those of downstairs. This room seemed more comforting, it wasn't like the rest of the house. The curtain was drawn so the last wave of sunlight of the day could enter through the window. The furniture was not dusty and some personal belongings were still lying on a chest, those were the remnants of Rupert's life in there.

— The daily life in this house could become slow and heavy — he told me with his usual serenity— , it's not a very cheerful place , but in the end, getting here is a voluntary choice, isn't it?

»Well, I will tell you what you surely already know, but it is always good to leave all the matters clear. In the first place, shall this house not be perturbed in any way, you should not make noises nor move anything from its place, and if possible, do not touch anything, or touch the least possible. Try to walk slowly and softly, even avoiding to remove the dust that builds up on the floor. Do not utilize the house's furniture, tables, chairs, dressers, drawers, and the rest, and neither do you close the doors of the rooms, simply leave it all as it is. You can walk around wherever you want, but don't forget to touch the least possible and avoid making noise. Only within this very room you're free to use or move around whatever you wish and lay as comfortable as you deem convenient, but avoid hitting or causing loud rumbles that would extend to the rest of the house.

Unfortunately, you would not be able to get outdoors, except through there —he said pointing with his finger to the little balcony

»When the night falls, you must stay in this room and not go anywhere else in the rest of the house. I recommend you to lock this door and do not cause loud sounds, as I've said. Here inside you'll get candles to illuminate the room, but when you light them on, close the shutters well and roll out the curtain, so their light could not be seen from outside, this was mostly a personal tip, but I believe i'm doing good telling you. There is no electricity in here, and the water pressure is very weak, so in consequence personal hygiene usually takes more than expected, but it'd be worse if there was no water at all, don't you think?

I agreed

— And regarding the supplies and food —he followed—, you'll always have the enough and necessary, but not in the house's pantry nor in the kitchen, but you will find them each morning very early on the balcony wrapped with cloths, which you shall leave right in the same place once you have unwrapped the food. I know it may seem so strange, and the truth is that I couldn't tell who is in charge of bringing and picking the things. Although...

Rupert seemed to want to leave his sentence unfinished, but I looked him in his eyes inquisitively, and he after a few seconds in silence, could't avoid giving in and finally telling me.

—Although —he said at last—, on one occasion, oh because of pure curiosity, I woke up at dawn and stood here waiting, sitting by the window. Since everything was still silent I could sense some slight noises out there right on the balcony. The shutter was closed blind and with utmost subtlety I opened it a bit. Then I saw a little sparrow, a squirrel, a turtle, and also a mouse I think, close together, only visible thanks to the first glances of light of the daybreak.

—He stood in silence for a couple of seconds, until he continued—. I think I recall thereupon, the sparrow noticed my stare and fled at once, not only him, the others as well, including the turtle. They vanished so quickly that I didn't even have time to pull my hand away from the shutter. I don't want to suggest that they're the ones who bring the food, perhaps it had nothing to do with anything, and simply were animals standing there by chance... Or who knows, maybe it simply was something that imagined or dreamed given my state of somnolence at that early time in the morning.

The sunset had arrived and the sunlight was retreating at a high pace. Rupert gathered the last belongings that were in the room and stowed them in his suitcase. I went downstairs with him to the main door.

—Night is about to fall —he said—. I hope you get used to your life here well enough. In all honesty, I believe that I've stayed for too little time. The former host told me that he managed to live here for ten years and a half, I have barely stayed in for seven... But the boredom has been killing me lately, so i leave now, although as you know, the reward will double or triple for each year that you spend here, or that is what is said.

Rupert handed me all the keys, and after a warm shake of hands, he opened the door and got out, walking serenely until disappearing within the heavy shadow of the forest, without looking behind.

Part 2/3

I closed and locked the door, aware that I wouldn't be opening it again in a long time. «The longer, the better», I thought to myself. The house was already quite gloomy, the night was to fall soon with all its weight, so following the instructions I went upstairs to the room and closed the door. I opened my small suitcase and settled my belongings. I gazed through the window for the last time that day, and the light finally faded from the air before my quiet stare. The time of closing curtains and shutters was arriving, so I could light a couple of candles with tranquility.

In a corner lied a small table and a chair. I placed the candles and had my dinner. Bread, some beef and grape juice. After finishing, I took my notes and papers and I sat beside a side table close to the window, where i read and wrote for a couple of hours. The tiny table clock that I had carried indicated ten and a half of the evening, so I decided it was time to put out the candles and go to sleep.

The next day I woke and got up calmly. I lifted the curtains and opened the shutter, then I opened the door to the little balcony. Just as Rupert had told, there at my feet were some supplies wrapped in old, but very clean white cloth, along with small glass bottles with milk and juice. For breakfast I had some cookies, bread, milk and fruits. I saved the eggs, cereals, greens and juices for the later meals. I returned the cloth and bottles to the balcony as Rupert taught me.

A bit later, I went downstairs. I spent the whole day walking quietly, roaming around every room. The sun was strong outside and despite the thick dusty curtains, the sunlight broke inside easily, letting me examine every corner of that place. The windows should not be opened, so all the interior stayed in complete silence, I could merely hear the steps that I was giving myself, which produced a very dim echo within the house. After a while there wasn't anything left for me to see, all that rested was silence, the time went on slowly, without a trace of activity or life. I already knew the furniture and the old ornaments, empty jars and vases, dusty mirrors where I was displeased of halting to watch my own reflection. I wondered how long since nobody lived in such a house... Or perhaps no one had ever lived there?

In the afternoon I went upstairs to my balcony, at least there I could listen to the soft forest buzz and distant bird chants. When it started darkening, I decided to take a last walk of the day around the house. Everything was already gray, the sun trays were vanishing, and everything was as silent as always, or even more, I thought. I stepped beside the window in the dining room, where some black chairs surrounded a table with an empty candle holder on it. I stood there standing, gazing at the outside through the thick curtain, lost in my meditations. Quite late I realized that the night had arrived. I turned and looked back inside, where I still could glimpse the shapes thanks to the last light remnants, but the shadows were already too dense. «Long ago I had to return to my room», I thought. I knew it was not time to be there, I felt a cold shiver running through my body and fearful I walked immediately to my room, not hurrying my steps, but instead with much more slowness, since my steps had to cause the least possible rumble. When I finally got to my room, I carefully closed the door and dined with some haste. I wrote my notes for a short time and shortly after I went to bed and slept.

The next day I woke up unhurriedly, and spent the day the same way I had done the previous day, although using less time in going down and walking around the house. Despite the lack of distractions, and even when I pondered if the house kept some secrets in some hidden corner, I was not willing to touch anything, just as it had been indicated to me. Curiosity should never take me too far, it was not even a good idea to move the chairs, let alone opening drawers nor searching anything inside of the furniture. That day, at nightfall, I returned to my room on time. I didn't want to repeat what had happened the night before.

The ensuing days I reduced the time that i spent walking in the house, it was better to stay in my room, at least there i didn't have to worry about not touching anything. I distracted myself by looking from the balcony, meditating, writing and re-reading many stacks of notes. Days passed by that way, until one day I realized that I had lost count. I checked my small calendar but I did not know which day I was on. Then I recalled that before departing, Rupert had stored in his bag a bunch of tiny notes with handwritten numbers, without doubt those were calendars crafted by himself, since surely it happened to him the same that was happening to me. Thereupon I cared about making my own. I corrected them a couple of times, guided by the direction of the sun and the stations, which passed time and time again, just as the days, one after another. My daily habits were invariant at that point, and I thought to myself that I resembled one of those spectres of a haunted house from the tales, condemned to repeat the same routine, for hundreds and hundreds of years.

I knew well that I'd been there for a long time, some years without a doubt. I wouldn't dare to make a day's recount, and I kept the calendar sheets in a drawer that I sought not to revise often. One day, the batteries of my little table top clock ran out. I crafted a tiny sundial with paper and a toothpick, that I placed everyday on the balcony, although I started losing that habit, until I simply renounced keeping track of the hours.

One day I decided to walk around the house, as I hadn't gone downstairs for a long time. Not sure if it was because I had been getting way too bored or because I didn't understand what wrong could happen, but I dared to snoop in the drawers, something I'd been told never to attempt. I opened and closed a few drawers at the drawing room, the main hall and a couple of bed rooms, and after finding nothing, I stopped insisting. Almost immediately, a subtle but piercing feeling of guilt invaded me. I regretted that I had to unnecessarily disturb the funereal stillness of the house. That night, after dining and writing my final notes of the day, I went to bed. I blew out the little candle on the side table and closed my eyes. Although I kept certain regret for what had happened, I sought to be calm and not to think about the subject anymore, so slowly and serenely, I started falling asleep. But terribly and suddenly I heard something that seemed like soft slaps against the door. I opened my eyes straight away, and paralyzed, i got terrified, i perfectly knew what i had done wrong. I did not dare to move a single finger, and I tried to breathe slowly despite the fear. There were two or three hits, set apart by a bit less than a minute. Moments later, it sounded as if someone tried to turn the knob to open the door, but I had closed and locked, as I always used to. Then a Pow! was heard, a last loud and hard blow, that I perceived as a clear warning. After that, I heard nothing else.

The following days, that incident greatly obsessed and frightened me. Now I didn't even want to go downstairs. I didn't want that to be repeated in any sort of way. But, what had that been? Was there someone else in the house? Someone who arrived every night and left every daybreak?

Part 3/3

For many many days, I simply sought to forget that mysterious incident. I let the time go by with tranquility and followed my daily routine, resigning myself to think of that as a warning, about which i shouldn't dig anymore. Nonetheless, as the days went on, I decided to sketch in my mind the plans of a small act of curiosity. So one day, a long time after the night of the hits on the door, my fear had stepped back enough for my curiosity to impose again. That day I carried out my usual daily routine. By night I dined well, I wrote a bit and put out the candle, but I didn't go to bed, but instead I got close to the door prepared to listen, perhaps all night if necessary, to the arrival of those who apparently occupied the house during the hours in which I usually slept. So I put my ear close to the door and waited patiently. But I never heard the house's main door opening downstairs, but rather I noted how slowly, bit by bit, the unmistakable sound of footsteps with that familiar attenuated echo became clearer, there on the lower floors. I also heard slight murmurs, they sounded like dry, gray voices, without timbre, but they said things that I was unable to recognize. There was no trace of light through the crack of the door. Scared, I went back to bed and slowly I lied down.

Days and days passed, perhaps I had already stayed there for many years. I thought maybe it was time to depart and leave that to someone else. But I was incapable of finally deciding, routine had petrified me and that lonely inertia was the only thing for which I thought I had energy. I felt like submerged in a circle of monotony and loneliness from which I did not have the courage to leave, furthermore, in the deepest caverns of my thoughts, the unease about the mysterious events of the house was something that kept me tied there, and I couldn't feel liberated until knew what was occurring there.

One certain day, a long time later, once I'd already lost all count, and each step had turned into a gray and slow habit, I decided that it was time to find a definitive answer to what that place was hiding. My writing sheets had run out, I had no clock, no calendar, nor anything that would allow me to focus my thoughts on something other than the enigma of the lower floors at night. It was night and as I'd done on that already old bygone occasion, I stepped by the room's door to wait for the time when the noises appeared. I waited nervously, until finally those vague sounds began to reach my ear. As I had planned, I prepared to open the door to get out quietly and see once and for all what or who was originating the footsteps and voices.

I managed to turn the handle in perfect silence, I pushed the door a few millimetres until a space opened through which I could look at the corridor and the staircase. Everything was blackness but the sounds, those sounds came to me more neatly, I was sure, I could feel it. I decided to get out at last, and as I pushed the door further, the hinges and wood clattered sharply, emitting a noise that seemed to have echoed all throughout the house. The voices suddenly ceased, the footsteps too. I thought that those who were emitting the voices or whoever they were, were nearby downstairs, and that they had heard the noise. Almost paralyzed with anguish, I managed to step back, closed the door as softly as I could, slid the latch, and went immediately to my bed, full of terror. I clogged my ears with the wax that I could grab from the extinguished candle and closed my eyes tightly, until by fortune, I fell asleep.

The mere idea of repeating that bitter experience terrified me. But I was sure I wasn't going to leave until I found an answer, whatever it was. Once again days and days went by. Although I had no way of knowing the exact time, I knew with certainty that I had surpassed the record of Rupert, also that of the inhabitant before him, and by far, there was no doubt.

The days passed and passed again, without answers, without desires, without courage and without any more curiosity to seek for the answers. My life there had become dark, rigid, slow, silent, as silent as the days that passed me by. I rarely even opened the window anymore, limiting myself to the essential activities. Sometimes I dreamed at night, they were not nightmares or threatening dreams, but just anodyne dreams, which didn't even seem to let themselves be remembered. Except for one occasion, which came as a sign, one night when I dreamed that I was thirsty, and that I wanted to go out, go out and drink fresh water.

After that night, I noticed how a tiny point of light, a diminutive ember in my heart, reappeared, one that hadn't been extinguished and that all the dust that my soul had accumulated in that house hadn't been able to suffocate. It was a last breath of will in me, a last wind of courage that little by little, slowly, reached a substantial volume, and I didn't want to lose it. So after some days devising a new plan in my mind and mustering strength, I was finally about to decide to undertake a last resolution to my sojourn in that place.

One day at last I dared to remember that very, very distant first day in the house, when the night took me by surprise there on the lower floors. Yes, it was that, just that, the way, I thought. Thus, when the time came, after having had dinner a little earlier than usual, I went down around sunset, got to the dining room and looked outside at the forest through the same window through which I had done it the first time, waiting for the night to come to me, prepared to face all the specters or ghostly frights that arose, determined to wait undaunted until the dawn. Meanwhile, I meditated and brought to mind the memories that I had kept of those long years in the house. Weren't they so few, and so many at the same time? Suddenly, when I noticed that the last fragments of light faded away, I looked into my soul, was there already fear in it?

*****

The door shut behind me. Twelve years later, I walked outside of the house. I left with my little luggage in the forest direction, towards the same footpath by which I had come, which now seemed so blurred that it was almost impossible to distinguish. The orange sky gave the signal that the sun was approaching its set once again. Then I turned back to contemplate the facade one last time. On the balcony was already him, the new inhabitant, who upon watching me waved his arm in farewell while smiling, I returned him the smile and the goodbye.

«As personal advice, —I had said just before leaving—, I will tell you that it is worth it to abide here for several years, the more the merrier. You may get bored after a while, but if you endure the tedium, the reward will be enormous.»

I went along the path until I got through crossing the forest, down the slope. I was already moving away from the place, when the flight of a little bird made me want to look back one last time. The thick veil of the forest made it now utterly impossible to see the house. But near a stream that flowed through there, tiny rodents ran around, while a placid turtle drank the crystal clear and fresh water of the sundown.

END

-EJB