Page 4 of Traithorn

Skies crying their ugly tears from the darkening clouds, I clutch the rose even tighter, the thorns pricking my finger. A quiet hiss escapes me before I eventually reach the one single headstone I haven’t dared visit since their passing three years ago.

I settle onto the snow-dusted ground, not caring about the cold that forces its way into my woolen tights and skirt.

“Hello, Mom and Dad,” I say into the silence, my voice barely a whisper against the increasing wind.

I close my eyes, fighting for that breath of air I need. It’s too much, seeing their gravestone right in front of me. Their death is a heavy burden on my consciousness, filtering and rooting inside my soul like thorns and veins that’ll never let go.

Clenching my teeth, I finally leave the rose on their headstone.

Here lies Ann & Klaus Duskvik

I suck in a sharp breath, tears stinging like salt on a wound behind my eyelids. The wind continues to pick up its pace, trying to pull me away from the gravestone. As if it believes I have no right to visit them, and perhaps I don’t.

I’m undeserving of being here after all that has happened; after the involvementIhad in their deaths.

My fists clench until my nails press into my palms, crescent forms in a way that feels euphoric. It distracts me from my mental exhaustion.

And then, as if by an unknown force, I feel that prickling sensation at the nape of my neck.

I look around the graveyard, but I’m the only one among the corpses. A faint whisper can be heard between the graves, sending an icy chill through my body that makes my breath hitch.

The wind howls around me, fierce and cold, but it’s the stiffness in my joints and the crunch of footsteps in the snow that truly chills me.

A suddendingfrom my phone startles me. I retrieve the device from my pocket but almost drop it onto the ground because the cold has made my fingers stiff and red.

The organ inside my chest feels as if it’s shredded into pieces,sinking so low it could be buried under the soil, as I read the six-word sentence from my boyfriend, Casper.

CASPER

They found a body this morning.’

I stare at the screen, gradually blurring with the relentless snowflakes. Blood rushes in my ears, pounding with an incoming headache. Another message comes through.

CASPER

You’d better get here.

Gripping the phone tightly, I realize I have no choice. I can’t say no to him, the deputy chief.

Why does he want me there?

Pushing to my feet, finally escaping the damp ground that ultimately numbed my body, the graveyard feels more alive than before.

My footsteps crunch in the snow, but there’s something else there—a sound, faint and distant, like an echo of a movement. But no one’s there.

Hastily hurrying back to my car and the warmth beckoning me closer, something catches my eye, and I freeze mid-step. The unease clings to me like a shadow out to hurt me, heavier than the lingering fog.

An object lies half-buried under drifts of snow, glinting faintly in the moonlight, aligning with what looks to be a silver stamp on a dark envelope. I should keep moving to my car, but something pulls me in—be it my curiosity or whatnot—but I physically can’t ignore it.

It’s an invisible tug on my heart.

The envelope is dry, not wet as it would’ve been if it had been here for a while, meaning that someone must have recently placed it there.

There’s no sender or receiver, but there’s a symbol ofsomething forgotten glinting back at me.

A silvery crow.

My heart lodges in my throat like a sore lump about to make me sick as I carefully open the envelope, not sure who it’s intended for.

---