A confused soul

by Vigdis Dammyr

I cried. The blood on my hands was still fresh and warm. The body had been so fragile, so beautiful, and even now it looked like it was just sleeping in a red blanked of blood. But the open eyes – frozen in disbelief – told otherwise. A voice in my head told me to run, to get away from the soon frozen body of the young girl. But I could not move away; my arms wrapped around the small body, hugging her to me, comforting her and drying away her cold tears.

Snow had started once again to fall from the sky, covering the old of its kin in a new white cape; covering old tracks and blood. The voice tore at me like the icy wind that had come, nagging in my mind; demanding me to get up and run before someone found me. But I could not make myself let go of the girl, trying to give warmth into her frozen body. As time went by, I could feel the cold touch me, and I knew that if I stayed, I would die. Slowly I lowered the blood soaked body to the ground, making sure she lay comfortable in the snow. Soon she would be covered with new, fresh snow; a white beautiful blanked. I turned and walked away without looking back, my footprints swiftly being covered by the icy wind and fresh snow.

---------------------------------------------------

She was found the next morning by a group of hunters; covered with a soft blanket of snow. The body was full of blood from the many cuts she had suffered; her eyes still open in frozen disbelief.

I got the news from a young man, just a few years older than myself. He knocked gently at my door early in the morning, saying that he had some terrible news about my wife. I asked him to come inside and sit, and then poured two cups of tea from the kettle over the fire. The man sat uncomfortable before me, the warm cup in his hands. He licked his lips nervously, then opened his mouth and spoke.

“I am sorry to inform you that your wife has been found murdered in the snow; stabbed to death with a knife until there was no life left in her.” He sat still, waiting for my reaction. I sat motionless, staring at the man. He had clear blue eyes, I noticed. Just as the girl in the snow. After a minute in silence, the man looked down into his teacup.

“I am sorry,” he said in a low voice, reading my silence as a shock.

“I heard that you wed just recently. It must be terrible to lose her so early, and in such a horrible way.” I still said nothing, just stared at the man, as if waiting for him to finish.

“We’re searching for the murderer now,” he continued, “but I am afraid there’s little hope in finding him. The wind and snow has covered all tracks. But I will make sure everything is done to find the guilty one, trust me.” The man slowly rose, placing the teacup on the table.

“I am sorry, but I must leave now.” I looked up at him.

“Yes,” was all I could come to say as I stood. The man paused in the doorway.

“I am sorry,” he said again.

“Thank you,” I whispered, then closed the door behind him.

---------------------------------------------------

Visitors came from the village to my house for several days after, saying how sorry they were for my wife’s death. I greeted them all, inviting them inside and offering them a cup of tea. Most left after only a few minutes, seeming nervous in my company. I could not understand this, as I always smiled and was nice and polite to them. When someone asked me how I felt, I smiled and told them I was just fine, though I would feel even better if the winter weather wouldn’t be so harsh this year. Most people looked at me very strangely when I said this, and it confused me. But I kept smiling and was as polite as I could be.

Some weeks after, my house was again as still as it used to be. No visitors, except those who occasionally came by to sell their meat or other supplies. The winter had truly kicked in now, and the wind howled around my house most of the time. Like I often did in the coldest of winter days, I spent my time before the fire with a good book. But as time went by, I suddenly felt very lonely. It was as if something, or someone, was missing. I couldn’t remember it always being this quiet.

One afternoon – after all day in the uncomfortable silence inside – I found myself pulling on my coat and opening the front door, the hunting knife in my belt. Stepping outside, the silence was replaced by the icy wind that tore at my clothes and body. Reluctant I found my way through the snow, somewhat glad to be away from the house for once, even though the wind threatened to swallow me in its might.

---------------------------------------------------

I looked down in disbelief – pain surging through my body – not remembering what had just happened. All I did know was the knife in my chest and the incredible pain it caused. The wind that howled around me – thick with snow – was a far away memory. I couldn’t even feel the snow soaking into my clothes as I sat on my knees.

A voice in my head screamed at me, yelling how stupid I was. I could not understand why. But the increasing pain, and the drained feeling coming from the loss of blood, held my attention. I did not know what had happened, but when I looked at the blood on my hands, it somehow seemed so very familiar. The pain spread through my body, and small dots danced before my eyes. I felt the soft snow as I fell to the side, everything getting darker until it was all gone.

---------------------------------------------------

The wind and snow had finally settled by the morning, and men who had for several days been kept inside by the weather now found their hunting weapons and walked out into the new clear day. The snow lay thick, and it was an effort to walk through it, but this didn’t stop the ones who had been trapped inside in the gloomy darkness.

When one of the young boys in one of the hunting groups stumbled over something in the snow and fell face first into the cold powder, he and his comrades laughed; the joy of finally being free reflecting in their smiles. But the laughter came to an abrupt end when they discovered what lay beneath the snow. Frozen, eyes half closed and with a hunting knife stabbed through his heart, lay a young man. Removing the snow, it was soon found out who he was, and that it could be little else than suicide. There were, however, several different thoughts about his death. Many thought that it was because of the loss of his wife; that the grief had made him mad enough to take his own life. Others thought that he was just a lunatic, and yet others that it really was not a suicide at all.

But the truth will never be found, for not even the man who died knew what was really going on.

The End