The Silence of The Dead Wind

It was 8 p.m. in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. Sitting alone at the old, long, wooden dining table, Marie waited for her husband and daughter to arrive from the women’s baseball game. The table was covered with the family’s favorite dishes, and in the background, the TV was playing quietly, but you still could very clearly recognize what was on the evening commercials on the local channel. Marie heard keys entering the door lock as she stood up and headed toward the front door. The man who opened the door looked shabby, though his clothes were perfectly fitted, his tie was neat, and his pants were perfectly straight, without a single unnecessary crease. Beneath his brown, slightly narrow eyes were small bags that showed tiredness and sleepiness. Behind him stood a little girl with a pink backpack in her hands. She had distinctly dark brown curls, and her eyes were a similar shade but with elements of swarthy gold.

“You have no idea how hungry we are. I’m sorry, the game ran late, and we really wanted to see who will win,” said a handsome man in perfectly sleek clothes, kissing his wife.

The whole family sat down at the table and started eating dinner while sharing the latest updates. Every day was no different; something monotonous always happened at work; someone got into a fight at school; something broke in the house; and so on.

“Honey, could you pass me the salt?” said the same man sitting in the opposite corner of the table.

Marie handed salt to her husband and began to rub her fork uneasily across her plate, trying to finish the last piece of steak simultaneously.

After finishing the rest of the meat, she put the utensils on the plate and said, “I’m thinking of going away for a couple of days. My aunt Rose has been asking me to visit for a long time, and I’d like to see how things have changed.”

“Honey, are you sure?” Her husband asked her, apparently surprised, “We can go as a family when I get a vacation. I’m sure Emily would love to see where her mother spent most of her childhood.”

Marie insisted on going alone because who knows what could happen during those months of anticipation? Something inside her kept telling her that she had to go right now, that she was obligated. Therefore, the next day, in the early morning, she was already packing a small suitcase for a short trip. It was nearing the end of spring, so Marie didn’t need a lot of warm clothes—just a couple of T-shirts and jeans. After giving her husband and daughter a goodbye kiss, she ran to the closest bus.

She had been waiting for more than an hour, but it was only a little while before she was there. She could feel the warm air coming through the windows of the bus. Behind the clear glass, Marie could already see welcome signs and gas station signboards, reminding her that they were only a couple of kilometers away. And then, a few minutes later, she arrived.

After getting out of the bus, Marie straightened her long dress, which was a little crumpled in the sleeves, threw her bag on her shoulder, and headed in the direction of the village where her aunt lived. The village itself was a couple of minutes’ walk from the bus stop, near a thick, dark forest. It protected many houses from the sun, giving them shade and an escape from the heat. All the houses were light-colored with red roofs. Some had cows and goats grazing somewhere in the fields, and some had no cattle at all.

The house of Marie’s aunt was almost in the center of the village, not far from the forest but not so close as to capture its shade. The house itself was small, and next to it was an old barn of about the same size. The garden, which had shrunk by half since Marie had graduated from high school, was quite far from the house itself. Marie had never understood why her aunt couldn’t just let it grow grass because it was excruciating to drag yourself up the hill several times a day. But she liked the fact that it gave her a clear view of most of the village.

Marie knocked once on the door, but no one answered. The second time - silence. The girl sat down on the porch and began waiting. Marie thought her aunt was either visiting a neighbor’s house or had gone to the city. Rising from the porch, she shook off her dress, which had managed to get a little dust on the edges of the skirt. She turned around and saw an old woman, but she couldn’t recognize her.

“Honey, are you looking for someone?” asked a calm, high-pitched female voice.

"’Actually, yes,” Marie answered, “I’ve come to see my aunt, her name is Rose. That’s her house right there.” Pointing to the house, the younger woman smiled.

“Oh, if memory serves me correctly, she’s gone to the city. Do you know what time it is, by any chance?”“Five o’clock,” Marie replied, glancing at the watch confusedly, “five p.m., of course.”

After chuckling at Marie’s confusion, the older woman said, “It means she should be here any minute.” Marie expressed her gratitude to her acquaintance and waited for aunt Rose. The young woman decided to walk around, looking at her familiar village. It was surprisingly quiet. You could hear birds, cattle stomping, and the sound of the wind, but not people. Apart from that woman, Marie hadn’t seen a soul since her arrival. But the number of people in the village did not bother her, because the main purpose was to visit her beloved relative.

The houses and the village itself didn’t seem to have changed since the last time Marie had been there, though it had been almost twenty years. The paths around the houses converged into a broad one that went all the way to the highway. The benches between the houses seemed to be stuck in time; the timber was not aging and was just as smooth, with no bits of wood sticking out. “You can’t get a splinter here even if you try,” thought Marie. Dropping her bag on one of the benches, Marie walked further down the path. It ended almost at the entrance to the forest. In the forest itself, the woman had never gone alone; she had heard many bad stories about it. That’s why the fear of entering and not going back was there, even in her adult years. She remembered how her aunt always told stories about the forest and its mysteries. Marie thought she was exaggerating so that she wouldn’t go into the woods alone. But even this time, she decided not to risk it and went back. Her legs were already shaky, and her head was burning, so Marie tiredly walked home. The woman sat down on the porch and began waiting, waiting for her aunt to arrive and finally let her in the house. She had already anticipated an hour-long conversation about each other’s lives and a delicious, rustic dinner. But these thoughts were interrupted by sleepiness and tiredness, and slowly, leaning against the wall, Marie began to fall asleep.

Two officers, a man and a woman, were standing near the body lying on the warm grass. The sun was about to set, and it was getting late in the evening. Next to the woman, lying in a light, delicate dress on the ground, was a bag filled with personal belongings and clothes. There was nothing around her besides the bag. She rested in an empty field overgrown with grass. The dark forest was not far away, and it was beginning to look more and more creepy. There were no bruises or any other marks on the woman; she was just lying there. She was lying there, motionless. The police stood over her, unable to understand what had happened, and called for help. There were no beatings or blood; there was a rare heartbeat, but it was there. But at the voice of a strictly male, the lying woman did not respond. This whole situation was just too strange. “Everything here is weird,” pronounced the uniformed man, “even the weather and the wind. It scares me when it’s silent, but we’re close to the forest.”The young, black-haired woman looked at him and added, “The smell of flesh scares me more.”