The green bench
It was a late 90’s winter in this small Slavic town. White snow everywhere.
Ayoung woman left her house in a rush. It was a cozy white house with four front windows and a polished red door. There was a small staircase and concrete pavement leading to a white, pretty fence. She popped out of her front yard, without even lockingup, crossed the road, and entered the nearby parkland.
It was around 8 in the evening. She pierced her way through the snow in cinnamon timberlands and a humble jacket. The snow was beautiful. It sparkled, reflecting the colors of the sky and nearby streetlights.
Thegrovekeptgettingdarkeranddarker,andthereweremoreandmore trees. Vanya moved faster. She clutched her jacket.
As she got closer to her destination, she felt secure. It was a small clearing with a little hill and a green wooden bench on top. The hill was as tall as a car and only big enough to hold the bench.
Around it – nothing. Peace. Snow. A few tall stalks of grass peeking through. Warm light coming from a lamp.
She looked at the bench, looked up at the sky, and took a breath. She wanted to feel tiny, wet snowflakes on her cheeks. It somehow made her feel alive.
Then,ratherquickly,shepulledoutsomethingfromherjacket,herdiary to be exact, left it on the bench and went back.
She kept looking at the ground on the way back, thinking about her decision. Considering regret. But she knew that the precipitation would render it illegible. The pages would fall apart very soon. Just as they should.
From the top of her eyes, she saw a pair of human feet with shiny black leather shoes. Levitating. At first glance they belonged to a man, because of the shoe design and the pants. She looked up and saw that he had been hanged.
It took only a second to see everything. She saw his short, wet brown hair and lifeless face which she instantly recognized. She saw the rope. The untouched suit.
Vanya screamed and ran back to her house as fast as she could.
She was hyperventilating. Shaking. The corpse wasn’t there 20 minutes ago, when she was walking towards the bench.
She violently opened her fence, ran into her house. It was dark. She turned on the light. Locked up behind herself. She leaned on the door. Her chest expanded quickly, like a rabbit’s.
After a few seconds, when she was calmer, she turned to her open-floor kitchen. To her horror, the diary which she had left on the bench was there, laying on the counter.Water was dripping from it. Vanya couldn’t scream. She was swallowed by internal fear. She didn’t know what to do first. She wanted to close all the blinds, but then she wouldn’t be able to see who’s out there, trying to hurt her.
But she couldn’t bear having them open either and seeing a terrifying figure in her front yard. She was scared to even look. She closed them anyway. Locked everything. Double checked.
The upstairs was still dark. Her heart was beating a hundred miles per hour. Someone had been inside the house. Maybe they still are.
But she had to check, her life depended on it. She took a big rusty pipe from underneath the kitchen sink and like ripping a band-aid off, ran upstairs with a flashlight.
There was no one in the hallway. There was no one in the bathroom. There was no one in her bedroom. Expect the window was open, letting in gusts of cold air. The wind brought in a faint smell of smoke. She closed it. Then checked the floor a few more times, rusty pipe firmly in grip.
She then checked downstairs again too - had to be sure that the perpetrator wasn’t hiding somewhere.
Even after checking everything several times, she still didn’t feel safe. But she could temporarily breathe normally. She could sit down and think. She sat at the kitchen table, curled up, still in her dusty pink jacket. Her choppy, ash-brown hair framed her face.
She didn’t hear sirens by now. No one else probably found him. That night, Vanya couldn’t sleep.
Morning arrived with her still downstairs. The diary was staring at her. She made something to eat. An omelette. But she wouldn’t dare leave the house. Everything was still locked. Shutters closed. Still, sunlight made its way through.
Her eyes were really starting to hurt. Her head as well. In a panic, she found a blind spot in the corner of her living room and put blankets and pillows in it.
As she was stuffing it with comforters, she glanced at the closest window. Through the shutters, she could see him. She saw a figure. It was him. Definitely. She started hyperventilating again and tears were flowing down her cheek. The crying had to stop or else he would find her. She instantly got down. Crawled to the hiding place. It was tight but she lay there, under the coffee table and between two sofas so she couldn’t be found. Finally, she closed her eyes.
But only a few seconds later, they opened again. She was scared that he maybe saw her through the blinds moving to the spot. Maybe he got closer. Maybe he is watching her through them. Maybe he is watching the hiding place. Not only did she design the spot so that an insider couldn’t see it, she also couldn’t see from it. She couldn’t know if he got inside, if he approached her hiding spot.
Her heartbeat was rapid again. She cried harder but did so quietly. She wanted everything to stop. She wanted to scream but couldn’t. She had to do something, but in her mind any decision could be fatal.
If she wanted it to stop, she would have to do something about it. She would definitely have to do something about it eventually, or be stuck in the house forever, in fear. And unfortunately, that ‘’eventually’’was
now. She thought about it. The telephone was hanging on the wall very close to her hideout. She was going to make it. Quickly call the police. Hide somewhere upstairs. She would have time. They were going to save her. Or at least help her go outside.
After a few failed attempts she finally quickly wiggled out of her hideout, with such haste and fear that one of the sofas was pushed. It all depended on seconds. Life or death. Breathe. Run. Run. Run!
In a split-second decision, she realized she couldn’t make the call. Now she had nothing to do but escape.As quickly as she could she turned the doorknob, left her house and ran, ran, and ran as fast as she could, along the main road, toward the town center.
She didn’t have time to get dressed and it was freezing outside. She was running through snow and dirty slush in pajamas and thin cotton socks which very soon ripped. Running was painful and her soles were freezing, but she had to do it. She was crying. Not looking back. The early morning sun was blinding her.
She entered the first public place she saw, which was a pub. Luckily the door was opened, and she slammed it on the way in, but was not greeted with kindness. Since it was so early, there were no townies in the pub, only the owner who was cleaning. He looked at her displeased. He failed to recognize that she was in danger.
She looked at him and tried to speak, but it was hard to verbalize through the tears and the shaking. Her socks were drenched. She was so cold.
She hid a bit in the back and pointed at the window. The owner, a man in his late 40s, looked through the window confused.
There he is, she tried to convince him. Her crying got more intense. Vanya saw him, she saw the hanged man, who was now looking at her blankly through the pub window.
But he couldn’t see anyone.
She had had enough at this point and couldn’t take it anymore. She couldn’t calm down. She didn’t know a way out. On the bar counter there were some trays with clean glasses on them. She took a heavy whiskey glass and hit herself on the head.
TWO DAYS LATER
Vanya woke up in a hospital room. She was no longer cold but instead tucked into a simple white quilted blanket embroidered with a little golden cross. She touched her forehead with her fingers and could feel the stitches. Her hair was not a mess. The nurses must’ve brushed it.
She was in a loose hospital gown, in a dim-lit warm room, and at that precious, isolated moment she felt safe. She laid her head on the pillow, took in the warmth, and breathed softly. She turned to her side and fell asleep.
Alas, the story does not end there. Her fear did not end there. In fact, very soon, it came back.
She knew that this short vacation under the watchful eyes of medical professionals wouldn’t last forever. As soon as she left the hospital he wouldbethere. Maybeshewouldsee him, standingonthesidelines and watching while they rolled her out on a cart for the ambulance to drive her home.
She got up. It wasn’t easy. Took a few steps. She felt like she needed to regain control of her body. She took a deep breath.Took out her IV.And then walked out of the hospital.
As expected, he was there. She only noticed him with the corner of her eye, feeling nothing. She didn’t turn her head. Walked slowly.
A nurse ran after her and yelled at her to come back, but Vanya did not respond. She kept walking. Barefoot. Even though her walk was slow, she kept at it. Step by step. Turned left and went down the main road. It was nearing noon and most of the snow had melted. Some passersby looked at her with concern, but she looked right through them.
The whole way there, the man was walking behind her. He had an emotionless expression on his face, and a neutral gait.
And she knew that.
She passed by her house and took one quick glance at it.
The girl then turned to the grove, same way she went that faithful night. She could still feel the hanged man’s presence behind her. And of course, the body wasn’t there where she saw it hanging.
The trees got thicker, and snow turned to liquid. The green of grass was peering through. Crystalline drops of water were falling from branches. Her legs were very cold in the hospital gown, and she got goosebumps. She kept going, until she saw the clearing and the green bench. Then, she stopped.
She was static for a moment, took a good look at the sky, and then turned around.
She saw him and his terrifying, dead face. He stood as well. Looking at her like a zombie.
Vanya got down on her knees and lowered her head to the grass. She closed her eyes. She expected the worst but felt very calm and serene. Her heartbeat was steady.
First, she felt nothing. Then, she felt the gentle touch of a very light, gaunt hand on her shoulder. Nothing about that touch felt negative. It was so delicate, soft, innocent. She felt warmth coming from him.
‘’I don’t blame you.’’said his voice, but it sounded like an ethereal gust of wind almost.
She slowly looked up and the man turned dark grey and disintegrated into ashes, which were then blown away by the wind. She almost wanted his hand to stay on her shoulder longer and comfort her, but he was gone. She felt relief and sorrow.
The warmth in her persisted and sunlight filled the grove. She looked around at all the grass and birch trees. There were mud prints on her palms, and clovers around her knees.
Vanya took a breath and felt calmly alive.
Birds were chirping, declaring the coming of spring.