A Dark Night's Adventure

A Dark Night's Adventure
The village was cold and rainy. The air was damp and moist. It was established in the shallow area in the middle of a concentric line of tall mountains. The mountains were covered with tall and old trees and the houses were built within the jungle, so green was everywhere. The sound of the tumult of the large river passing along the village would run among the houses and be present, so present that it almost took liquid form. On a normal day, the chirping of the raindrops hitting the aluminum pitched roof was the sound of life. It is true, sometimes it would make things seem a bit routine and boring, especially in the quiet atmosphere of a village hidden far away within the mountain, but as some say; no news is good news.
I have spent much time in the village. I remember running on the wooden balustrade and making the sound of a car engine with my mouth while turning a plate, pretending it to be the wheel of the car I never had, and I was about six years old then. I remember how excited I would get every time I saw my grandfather's horse. She was a brown horse with a tall tail and large shiny eyes. She was old and my brother and I would ride her fast on the stone covered alleyways of the village. I remember my grandmother staying up all night to make the dough, and then early in the morning, taking it to the old-handmade oven while carrying the tray on her head. The memories of me talking to her while I ran around in the hut and she put the dough in the oven and took them out once they were done will always be so sweet and will never leave me, especially now when itâs a long time since she is gone forever.
On the way to the village, the first thing one sees is the village cemetery. It is placed on a very low hill at the very beginning, when the houses are not even visible yet, and before that is sad little hut where the dead are washed clean before the burial. There are high pensive trees in the cemetery. This is the cemetery that holds both my grandparents, including the aforementioned grandmother. At night and in the old village, with only one gloomy lamp to light up the main road, the cemetery is at its most frightful shape. Right in the middle of the lot, there is a fairly large sanctuary with weak green lights on the outer walls. Supposedly, there is a great religious person buried there.
The handmade heater (which acted as both a heater and a stove) ate chops and chops of wood and exuded heat as well as smoke. Consequently, the walls had turned light brown and the wooden ceiling was dark black. Breathing would be alright if you got used to the smoke. My father and my grandfather were busy talking about something, I never understood what. The same thing was going on between my mother and my grandmother. They would fill up tea cups and give them to my father and grandfather as they themselves drank their share. My brother and my cousin were out on the balustrade, having fun I suppose. I wasn't with them because I was seven years younger and I wouldn't quite fit in.
I looked outside the window. It was a dark night and it was slightly raining. The little lamps of the house barely lit anything. I sat by the window and drank my tea. It was boring. I was so alone. I didnât exactly feel good about sleeping. They would put more and more chops of wood in the heater to burn through the night and then go under layers and layers of blankets and I was left to stay awake all through the night either burning from the heat or being choked by the smoke. All that seemed like a very good reason for me to cling to the idea of going with my brother and my cousin to my other grandparent's house, and that I did.
Now I was standing on the balustrade wearing layers and layers of clothes. It was way too dark to see anything. The river was present, its high roars and wholesome rages could not be seen, but heard. It was as if it ran everywhere. The tall mountains had turned into tall-scary shadows that stood beside us; so close and so scary. Its presence could be felt like a person, always watching us. We left. It was way too muddy for anyone to pass easily. I was careful about where I put my feet down on the alley. Just a few feet away from the house it was total darkness. The rain continued and the only source of light was my brotherâs flashlight. We passed dark alleys and tricky turns. One slip was enough to be soaked in the mud.
In the main road, we stood under the one lamp which lit only a few feet around. The green lamps of the sanctuary in the cemetery could be seen from the distance. The cemetery looked horrifying in the night.
- "I bet you can't go to the cemetery, walk around the sanctuary, and come back." My brother told my cousin. They had been talking all along the way.
He, looking to keep his pride, estimated the way, the cemetery, and the sanctuary and went on, "I'm gonna do it and you'll owe me lunch tomorrow".
A deal was made. The cemetery was calm, as if it accepted the term. He walked toward the cemetery and soon he disappeared in the dark. My brother and I stood in silence. We both had our eyes on the sanctuary so that we could see him in the green light. It felt strange and frightening, but we were safe in the haven under the lamp. My layers weren't enough and I was getting wet. There was still no sign of him. I had heard stories about the sanctuary and it made me frightened. My eyes were sewn to the sanctuary. Suddenly, the rain started pouring. It was heavier than most times. It seemed that dark clouds had conspired against us in the shallow pit. I never knew rain could be so aggressive. I saw a pair of lights approaching us and in a few moments, a car pulled up in front of us. The driver knew us (it wasn't surprising as we lived in a small village), and offered to take us away to a sound and dry place. My brother looked at me. I was soaking wet, so he decided to accept the offer. I got in and immediately turned around to look at the sanctuary. Still, there was no sign of him as the car drove away and the sanctuary disappeared behind a turn.
A few hours passed and yet my cousin had not come. Everyone lay down in their beds, and so did I. They were not worried. They thought that he had probably gone to a relative's house. In my bed, I laid awake thinking, not about the sanctuary, but the graves that slept quietly in the dark.