Dzunukwa

"Most likely I will never leave, albeit I don't want to. As far as I know this is the best place I can be. The perimeter, secured by electrified fences crowned with serpentine wire and the fortress-like structure makes it impossible to escape, or to trespass. Here I am safe... I feel safe... She will never make it to this place."

"Who?" The man sitting on the brown upholstered leather couch, his legs crossed, eyes peeping above the thin lens gently resting on his nose, staring at me with special attention, waiting for my reply.

"The Dark One." I muttered, for the first time in a non-emotional whisper.

"How are you so sure she, the dark one, would never get here? To you, or to us? What makes this place so special?" He asked, scribbling notes on a fancy professional notebook.

Standing behind the tall arched window pane, I took a deep breath and gazed into the distance. My eyes skipped over the coniferous forests that extended to where they delimited with Vancouver's Pacific Coast, and placed right where the foggy skies met the horizon's purple line. Certainly it was not the first time I had been interviewed on the matter, however it was the first time I was asked that question.

"This is not an appealing place to her. She would only starve here. Dzunukwa feeds only on pure innocent children's souls. Here, in the asylum, those who still have a soul to cling to have it wrecked, lost, disrupted. We are nothing but human carcasses, walking because it's primeval and less denigrating to find a place to defecate other than our own pants, and hunger instinct forces us to stand on a row to eat... Ha! She would never come to this place."

"Right... Now, can you tell me about that day? The day your brother, Tony, disappeared... Was that the first day you saw... the Dzunukwa?

"You mean the day he was butchered? No, that was not the first day..." Moving from the window I turned to face the man for the first time. I've never trusted psychologists. They think they know it all, yet they know nothing. But they are clever, yes, always twisting your words to their own convenience, or maybe their limited understanding of how the real world -the world hidden beneath the veils of time, of life and death as we know it; the realm of the unknown and the invisible- works out. But I've been smarter and used all this in my favor, granting a permanent residence for me in the sanatorium, out of the reach of her skeleton claws. "...Can I sit here?" I asked, my hand placed on the back of the armchair.

The man only nodded.

"It was Canada Day, twelve years from now. We were reunited in the backyard, BBQ steaming... my mouth still waters to the smell of grilled hamburgers and salmon fillets on the grill. It was maybe three past noon when mother, food plate in hand searched all the house for little Tony. But she never found him... neither did the police during the week the investigation lasted. Only his and the other two kids' bikes they rode when they ventured into the woods that day were located by the shallow creek in the woods... I was the oldest daughter, thirteen years back then, he was only eight. I should have gone with him, with them."

"There was nothing you could..."

"Yes it was!" I slapped hard on the chair's arm, making the bulky nurse, until that moment staring from a corner in the office, to react, giving a few steps forward. The psychologist raised up his palm open telling him to wait. I stretched my back and tensed my lips. Getting doped after a crisis wasn't funny for me anymore. I've got only nightmares that brought Tony back... that brought her back. "I'm certain of only one thing, Doctor Stohls, that is if I had been there, they've wouldn't got so deep into the forest, to the lands cursed by the Kwakwakas. They were so young, they didn't know the legend as I did."

"When you lost someone at such a young age,  it can be traumatizing. That if we add guilt... Guilt is a heavy burden to be carried on shoulders by a thirteen years old girl. No one blamed you back then and no one does it now... And sometimes we give a name, a face to a trauma, to guilt... To a killer, a kidnapper, but these names are so to be forgotten, buried with that tragical memory after time goes by. Cameron, nothing will bring back Tony to us. It's time to let him go, to rest in peace. There's no Dark One, or Dzunukwas out there, only mean people who do bad things and that is something you can not change. If you had been there with Tony, Eddie and Reese, you would be dead. But you're not. You're alive, young and filled with life, a life that urges to be retaken out of this place."

Seven years later...

Being back home was harder than I thought. When I first got to the house, no one was there to receive me. No hugs or kisses or joyful tears. Mom and Dad passed away seven years after Tony's disappearance, ten years now. Remorseful and a no-ending grief was a straight-pass to the graveyard. That day, almost twenty years ago, they lost not only one, but their two children. With Tony dead and me in the asylum, life lost all meaning, all color for them. Their hearts didn't bear the pain, therefore one year after the other, both died and this only worsen my already decayed emotional condition.

After Tony's death, I used to have nightmares, every night... Every time the same horrendous dream. The front door being knocked on and I opened it. My little brother, his ragged clothes covered in mud, fingers dripping blood, coming in running. "Please hide Cameron!" He held my face in his hands, his eyes wide open, dilated pupils the color of crimson. "She's coming after you! Dzunukwa... The Dark One!"

The recurrence in those dreams in the nights, hallucinations in the day, the lack of appetite and the emotional breakdown I suffered granted me a reclusion in the Vancouver's Sanatorium, for ten years. It took a decade of therapies, conventional and bizarre, of taking pills day after day to keep the dark-skinned masked, eating children she-monster away, out of my head and to realize that my brother and his friends only were victims of a unfortunate and dreadful event and nothing had to do with me... or with any kind of urban legend.

At age twenty five I was finally released. I came back home, got my high school diploma studying in the nights, and worked at the town's supermarket until I met and married the most wonderful and understanding man in the world, Peter Robinson.  After my parent's house was sold, my husband and I moved northern Vancouver, and bought the coziest cottage at Winter Harbour Village. Far away from my somber past, we began a new life, a life a million times better than I've ever wished for. Peter, well, Sargent Robinson was transferred to the county's maritime guard and three years ago we became parents of the loveliest baby girl, Angelique.

A too perfect life to be true, I'd rather said. I believed the worst times in my life were gone and that I had everything I've dreamt, when back in those days I was able to, when ghosts and dark creatures weren't lurking in the shadows, crawling up to my bed to torment me. I thought myself free and entirely happy... but ghosts are stubborn fellows and sometimes persist to stay, to follow you to the end of the world if needed, for good or for evil.

It was Canada Day, last summer. Peter left to work early in the morning having to double shifts on the coast guard. Sometimes locals got too drunk and still they sailed off shore causing trouble and accidents by the sea. I stayed home with little Angelique.

That morning I was doing the dishes, staring out the over-the-sink window to the back patio. It was a beautiful day outside. The sun shone above the clouds and the sea breeze playfully shook the shrubs and trees, bringing the smell of blooming flowers, but also of burning charcoal and firewood. BBQ's and grills were to be set up for the festivities in the neighbor's house.

In the shed, the door swung opened. "How many times do I have to tell Pete to lock that shed?" I shrugged and walked out the house to close it.

As I got closer to the boat's shack, an odd smell of moistened soil filled the air and the breeze blew harder, making the cedars to howl a not-pleasant lullaby that gave me goosebumps. Standing at the shed's doorway, I had this odd and creepy feeling of being observed. I gave it a thought and scanned the hut up and down before I walked in, then I clicked the lights off and closed the door in a hurry.

Back in the kitchen, I was about to open the fridge's door, ready to prepare my girl's breakfast when I heard a knock on the front door. First it was a three-times gentle knocking, and I thought it was the neighbor, but when I made it to the living room, a few steps from the door, there was a second tapping, this one a bit more energetic and louder. The hair on my spine stood on its ends, my hands cold and sweaty. I hesitated first, but I turned the knob and opened the door.

My worst nightmare became real. I felt the world crumbling to my feet when I saw him stepping inside. Covered in soot and dirt from head to toes,  smelling like rotting wood and moss and barely dressed in tattered clothes, there was my brother Tony. Just like I remembered him, still an eight years old boy, but his arms and legs grew longer and thinner, and his hair was gray and scarce.

"No... please no... go away Tony! You... you are dead!" I moaned, walking backwards crying tears of fright.

He advanced forwards leaving muddy footprints on the wooden floor. His lifeless eyes stabbing me at me as he spoke in a hoarse and raspy voice. "She's after you now Cameron... The Dark one is here, you can't hide anymore."

"No! Go! You're not real... She can't be after me... I'm not a girl anymore!" I yelled at him and pushed him back. He stumbled on his own feet, a sharp screech escaped from his mouth when his bones cracked after hitting floor. In the distance I heard a baby cry. "No! Angelique!" Terrified, I stared down at Tony who looked back at me, his mouth crooking up evilly.

I ran outside, hustling across the yard the fastest I could into the woodlands. I heard Tony's laughter, chasing after me. "Angelique! Angelique!" I called my baby girl's name and looked everywhere. My heart raced inside my chest, hammering frantically to the point the throbbing pulse echoed in my ear-drums almost deafening, making me lost the balance for times.

The deeper I got into the forest, my brother's wicked cracking faded away in the distance only to be replaced with the sound of drums marking the rhythm of tribal music. "Oh, no my Angelique!" Wailing and panting, I slowed my pace down to hear better from where the music came from. Desperation overpowered me and my whole body shook, fear growing a knot in my throat chocking me, yet I had to stay focused and calmed. This time I was there to make it for my girl, to save her. I was not going to let her disappear, not my baby. "To the right", I told myself and headed east.

As I ran, the nightmares revived in my head... The woods, the anguish, the fright. Images flashed in my head like an old eight millimeter movie: three bikes left on the forest ground, blood droplets splattered everywhere and no kids nearby. Then the grotto by the creek and fading drums in the background. Wicker baskets filled with raw meat and children's limbs on the forest ground by the cave's entrance when the Dzunukwa stepped out, grinning, sharp canines, protruding and dripping with the blood of her last victims, one of them, my brother. Her appearance was like of an old monstrous lady, black in colour, with long pendulous breasts dropping to reach a pair of skeleton legs.

Everything around me was a green blur. Feeling dizzy, too exhausted for running only God knows for how long, I was forced to stop and to rest my back on the stem of a spruce. I gasped for air, staring up at the dense canopy of the forest above that blocked the sky, the sun, an any trace of hope for me. "Angelique", I sobbed. "Where are you?" Impotent, I dropped to my knees. I had never been a runner. Adrenaline pumped in my veins bus it wasn't enough for me to keep up. Fighting with my tears back and wiping them off I scanned the place throughly only to find myself lost. I had no clue where I was and the music, the only reference point I got, ceased completely. In the background I heard the murmur of a nearby creek and the birds chirping perched on the surrounding tree branches. "I must go now." I told myself, getting up on my feet. "Angelique!" I called her name the louder I could.

"Mommy!" A child's voice replied in the back... The sweetest child's voice I've ever heard. A voice I knew well.

Spinning on my heels, I turned back in the instant and saw Angelique, smiling, holding hands with a man dressed in the way the local native tribes did. I ran towards them and grabbed my baby in arms.

"I found the little girl stranded in the woods. She's very smart and told me where does she live at", the man explained in a gentle voice sounding sincere.

I felt so relieved, so happy to have my girl in arms. "Thank you", it was my only reply to the gentleman as I kissed my daughter repeatedly.

"No problem... but remember to keep an eye on her, at all times. These woods are not a safe place, this is her territory, the lands of the Dzunukwa. You've been lucky She's not hungry this summer, but her wicker basket lies empty after twenty years now... Who knows, maybe next summer she claims her offering."

The End

2.3k words
This story has been created and is participating in the Art of Madness writing contest hosted by Nyhterides
I hope you enjoy it.

A/N

Dzunukwa came from the death after being summoned during the Kwakwaka'wakw potlatch, an ancient rite celebrated by the natives. The spirit of the dark one took the form of a dark-skinned creature that after snatching little kids she carried them in her basket, and ate them

She is an ancestor of the Namgis clan through her son, Tsilwalagame. She is venerated as a bringer of wealth, but is also greatly feared by children, because she is also known as an ogress who steals children and carries them home in her basket to eat.

Her appearance is that of a naked, black in colour, old monster with long pendulous breasts.[1] She is also described as having bedraggled hair.[2] In masks and totem pole images she is shown with bright red pursed lips because she is said to give off the call "Hu!" It is often told to children that the sound of the wind blowing through the cedar trees is actually the call of Dzunuḵ̓wa. Some myths say that she is able to bring herself back from the dead (an ability which she uses in some myths to revive her children) and regenerate any wound. She has limited eyesight, and can be easily avoided because she can barely see. She is also said to be rather drowsy and dim-witted. She possesses great wealth and will bestow it upon those who are able to get control of her child.