Watch Your Step

T̸w̸i̸t̸c̸h̸ [ep. 5]

The sun pokes through the leaves of the trees over the road. Alongside it, all the houses are bewilderingly alike to their own house. It felt like they had watching eyes, only it was their windows. At the far end of the street, the trees stretch long until he notices an old man standing by a light post. Rod can only see half of him because he's facing west. He is wearing a black suit and a bowler hat, a bit hot for the weather. Perhaps he's waiting for a cab. However, what really caught Rod's eye was the old man holding an open umbrella when it's not raining. And there's something strange about his mouth—it was as if he's smiling.

Therefore, Rod took the right path, the direction where he would walk in front of the old house. A desolated moor is beyond it where only yellow grass grows and not a single tree is standing. As he passes by the house, he neglects to look at it for it seems like it's really watching him. He lets out a huge breath after which he wonders where the other neighbors are. He didn't take much time to think about it, maybe they're just hiding or sleeping—or dead.

He walks and walks, backward and front and backward, surveying the gravel road along the moor, when one of his shoes slips from his foot. Although it's supposed to be for hiking, it's still quite big for him.

"This isn't fun," he says to himself then something piques his attention. Off to his left, in the middle of the road, he sees a dead frog, as flat as a sheet of paper, and ants are trailing around it.

Instead of wearing the shoe, he removes the other one and walks barefoot. Nearer and nearer to the rotting frog until he's almost stepping over it. He let some of the ants crawl to his feet, and bite 'his skin—till he felt some pain—before wearing his second-handed shoe.

The sun hid behind the clouds, a minute later, as he continued strolling on the gravel path—almost skipping now. Before long, he reaches a short stone bridge which rather serves as a crown between two cliffs.

He can see the forest and a lake in the distance. The bridge's riprap is just below his knee and when he climbs over, his eyes widen as he sees how high it is. It isn't really that high, but to Rod, it felt like he was on the edge of a twenty-meter diving board and it seemed so high to him that he thought he might have seen wreaths of clouds down the river below. His hand slithers to his pocket and there is still the puzzle. Almost completely broken. Four pieces are out of the puzzle, making it less than half than it was before.

Maybe it was already broken when we were still at the house, he thought.

Rummaging deeper into his pocket, he reaches for the detached pieces expecting he could easily latch it back. However, a wisp of fog seems to cover the bridge and as he tries to fix the puzzle, a voice breathes on his nape that made his blood freeze. If someone sees him, they'd think he's a monument standing on a precipice. But to Rod, it was as though he was on the pole of the tallest building as the omnipotent voice became clearer to his ears.

It was inviting him by saying, "Jump! Jump!" Almost cheering him with delight. Another said, "It's your fault," echoing louder, "your fault."

He staggers back but he daredn't get down the riprap for the bridge was now densely clouded. He holds his breath inside the white mist as hot tears creep into his eyes and soon crawl onto his waxy-pale face. The voice became worse and louder when he bent over. "YOU'RE THE ONE WHO KILLED HIM!!!"

Then it booms everywhere: YOU KILLED YOUR OWN FATHER!!!!

"NO!" Rod shouts as his body jolts to life, he loses grip on the puzzle inside his handicapped hand. Then he tried to catch it back with his left but it wasn't long before it came tumbling down the running water.

He now realized that what he thought was fog had a smell of cigarette burning. The smell he hates the most. It has stuffed his lungs and smoldered his throat. One more second of it and he would rather just jump on the bridge. So he runs as fast as he can, testing how he can hold his breath longer than possible. The bridge deliberately got lengthier and wider until finally, he got out of the haze of smoke.