Chapter 24: Forgotten Corners
The village had grown quieter over the past few days, a strange, almost oppressive silence settling over it like a blanket. Even the whispers from the void had faded, leaving only the faint rustle of the wind and the occasional creak of wooden structures. Yet, the unease had not lifted. If anything, it had deepened.
It started subtly. A chair that should have been in one place was found in another. A path that led to the fields seemed to twist in ways it hadn't before. At first, the villagers dismissed these changes as mistakes of memory, mere lapses in judgment brought on by stress. But as the distortions became more frequent, it became clear that something far more sinister was at work.
---
Damien wandered through the marketplace, his steps slow and deliberate. The stalls were sparsely filled, their goods haphazardly arranged. He passed by a table where a basket of apples sat, their bright red skin a rare splash of color in the otherwise muted surroundings.
But as he glanced back, the basket was gone.
He paused, frowning slightly. Had someone moved it? He hadn't seen anyone near the table. He looked around, but there was no sign of the apples, nor of the vendor who had been tending the stall.
It wasn't the first time he'd noticed something like this. Over the past few days, objects seemed to vanish without explanation, only to reappear later in places they didn't belong.
---
At the edge of the village, two men stood arguing over a stone marker.
"This was the border," one of them insisted, pointing to the marker. "It's always been here."
"No," the other argued, shaking his head. "It was closer to the woods. I'm sure of it."
They both turned to a third man, an elder who had lived in the village for decades.
"What do you remember?" the first man asked.
The elder hesitated, his brows furrowing deeply. "I... I don't know," he admitted. "I thought it was here, but now I'm not so sure."
The argument fizzled out, the uncertainty spreading like a contagion.
---
Damien watched these events unfold with the same detachment he always carried. But as the days passed, he began to notice something unsettling within himself.
He couldn't remember the names of certain villagers. Faces blurred together, their features indistinct. Even those he had spoken to recently seemed to fade from his mind, their voices growing faint and distant.
At first, he dismissed it as unimportant. He had never been one to keep track of others, after all. But as the erasure grew more pronounced, he began to realize that it wasn't just a matter of forgetting. The memories were being taken.
---
One afternoon, Damien found himself walking through a part of the village he rarely visited. The houses here were smaller, their walls worn and weathered by time. He stopped in front of one, staring at the door.
Something about it tugged at his memory, a faint echo of familiarity. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't remember who had lived there.
He knocked on the door, but there was no answer. Pushing it open, he stepped inside.
The room was empty, the furniture covered in a thin layer of dust. It was clear no one had been there for some time. Yet, Damien felt as though someone should have been there.
He walked through the small house, his footsteps echoing in the silence. On the table, he noticed a single item left behind: a worn book with no title. He picked it up, flipping through the pages, but they were blank.
He left the house with the book in hand, the unease growing within him.
---
That evening, the villagers gathered in the square once more. The council had called for another meeting, though few had the energy to attend.
"The distortions are getting worse," one council member said, his voice strained. "We've received reports of entire paths disappearing, objects vanishing, and even buildings shifting locations."
"We can't trust our own memories anymore," another added. "It's as though the village itself is unraveling."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd, but it was laced with fear and confusion.
"What about the people we've lost?" someone called out. "Are they part of this? Have they been... erased completely?"
No one had an answer.
---
Damien stood at the edge of the crowd, the blank book clutched in his hands. He thought about the house he had visited, the sense of absence that had permeated it. He thought about the faces he could no longer recall, the names that slipped away like water through his fingers.
The erasure was absolute.
It wasn't just the people who had disappeared. It was as though they had never existed at all.
And yet, Damien felt no fear. No anger. No sorrow.
Only a strange, hollow curiosity.
---
As the meeting ended and the villagers dispersed, Damien remained where he was, staring up at the haunting sky. The stars seemed dimmer than before, their light struggling to pierce the darkness.
He thought about the void beneath the village, the whispers that had faded into silence. He thought about the distortions, the forgotten names, the blank book in his hands.
The world was unraveling, piece by piece.
And for the first time, Damien wondered if there would be anything left when it was done.