Dead Dear Deer

Our town has an established old custom:

when a child is born, the parents must go to the deer park to choose a fawn as the child's guardian spirit. When I was three, I fell seriously ill. My parents sought out the most respected shaman in town, who performed rituals on my fawn. I recovered soon after, but the fawn fell ill.

It was a rainy day when I carried the dying fawn, following my parents and the shaman to the mountain peak to bury it. My mother said the fawn had died in my place and was happy to do so.

I didn't quite believe it, because when the wet soil covered it, its half-open eyes looked at me with resentment.

"Mom, it's not dead yet."

I felt scared.

"It's dead, Raven." My mother held me tightly. "Don't be afraid."

"But its eyes are open."

"It's dead, just didn't close its eyes."

My mother touched my cheek, her rain-soaked hand as cold as ice. I hid in her arms, covering my ears to block out the sharp scraping sound of the shovel.

My father dug, shovelful after shovelful, burying the dead fawn little by little with the rain-soaked soil.

"Done."

My father put the shovel back into the trunk.

"It's okay, stop crying," my mother said, holding my cheeks.

After the burial ceremony, we went home. I didn't fall ill for a long time afterward. I was grateful to the fawn for enduring the pain of death for me but also guilty for indirectly causing its death. The following year, my parents chose another fawn for me. But this one was strange; it was cold and distant. Unlike the first fawn, it would turn its head away whenever I approached it.

When my friends visited and learned that the fawn and I were not close, they gave me meaningful looks. I later found out that for the people in town, a deer is a person's guardian spirit. If one is not close to their spirit, it means there is something evil within them.

Gradually, my classmates and friends started to distance themselves from me.

"Dooly doesn't like me."

One day, I returned home alone and told my mother.

"Let's go to the foot of the mountain tomorrow," my mother said,"and ask the shaman what's going on."

Dooly didn't want to be led, so we had to put him in the trunk. But he was very unruly, constantly banging around in the trunk. My father, unable to bear it, gave him a sedative.

"Will Dooly die?"

I was worried. Dooly lay on his side in the trunk, reminding me of the first fawn, Budan, struggling in the soil three years ago.

"No," my father said,"he's just asleep."

The shaman's house was on a small hill to the west of town, where the deer park was also located. I, my parents, and Dooly made our way to the shaman's house. I kept looking back, worried about Dooly's condition.

"Mom, has this ever happened before?"

"What do you mean?"

"My situation." I felt uneasy. "My friends say their deer are all close to people, but Dooly..."

"Maybe Dooly's personality is just like that," my mother comforted me. "It's not your fault, dear."

"Mom and Dad, what about your deer?"

"Ours? Our deer were released back into the mountains on our eighteenth birthday."

"I wish I could grow up quickly."

I whispered. I thought Dooly might like the forest, rather than being confined to the backyard stable every day.

My father turned back and smiled at me, but his expression was not good. "Don't worry, soon we will..."

Before he finished speaking, a deer suddenly dashed out in front of us. My father slammed on the brakes. I clearly saw the deer hit the front of the car with a loud bang, then disappear under the car, followed by two bumps as if we ran over it.

In that instant, the three of us seemed frozen, pausing for several seconds.

I felt cold all over, stiffly turning my head to see the mangled body of the deer lying five meters behind the car.

"Dad..."

I called out to him shakily.

My parents were calmer than me. They parked the car, got out, and checked the deer, now just a mess of flesh. I stayed in the car, too afraid to get out, only daring to watch through the rearview mirror.

They stood by the deer, discussing for a few minutes, then made a phone call before returning to the car.

"Is it?"

"Could it be a mistake?"

"But I remember it was..."

My parents discussed in low voices, looking puzzled and serious.

I carefully asked, "What's wrong?"

My mother touched my head. "Nothing."

My father said nothing, his expression darker than before. He restarted the car. I watched the deer's body recede in the rearview mirror until it disappeared at the end of the road.

Dooly was still sound asleep in the trunk.

"Mom, what just happened?"

I hugged my mother's neck and whispered in her ear.

She smiled at me, as if to brush me off. "It's nothing, dear."