I slept well. At least, that was the first thought that came to my mind when I woke up, even though it wasn't entirely true. I had a nightmare at first—a really bad one. I saw my family suffering at the hands of that entity. It wasn't clear, not fully, and I couldn't make out exact details, but the feeling of helplessness was sharp enough to stay with me even after waking up, like something that refused to fade completely. There was nothing I could do in that dream, no way to move, no way to stop it, and that helplessness lingered longer than the images themselves. But then, suddenly, something else appeared—a warm light. It didn't arrive slowly or quietly; it simply appeared, covering everything, as if shielding me from that nightmare and pushing it away without effort. It felt close, not distant, and strangely familiar, though I couldn't understand why. I don't know what it was, but it felt… safe, in a way that didn't need explanation. In the end, I guess it turned into a good dream, or maybe it just stopped being a bad one, which is not exactly the same thing. Either way, I slept well, but the memory of that warmth stayed with me longer than the fear itself, and that, more than anything else, felt unusual.
Arthur was still dozing off when I woke up. I turned on the light and pulled the curtains open, and the sunlight rushed in immediately, filling the room as if it had been waiting outside the entire time. It was already morning, the kind that feels fresh without trying, quiet and simple in a way that makes everything seem normal again, as if nothing strange had happened the day before. For a moment, I just stood there, looking at the light spreading across the room, and it felt almost reassuring, like everything was back where it was supposed to be.
I didn't want to disturb him. His school starts at 8 a.m., and the current time was 7:20, which meant he still had some time, but knowing Arthur, "some time" meant nothing unless someone forced him to acknowledge it. Time, for him, only became real when it was almost gone, and by then it was usually too late.
I walked over to him and called out, "Arthur, Arthur! Wake up, buddy. It's time to get ready."
He moved slightly, but only enough to turn to the other side, as if that small movement could delay everything for a few more minutes. That was his usual response, predictable in a way that made it almost automatic for me to react. I grabbed him and started shaking him.
"Huh!? What—?" he mumbled, barely opening his eyes, still caught somewhere between sleep and reality.
"You have school in half an hour. If you don't get up, you'll be late, and they won't let you in."
He sat there for a moment, not fully understanding what I had said, then rubbed his eyes and let out a long yawn, as if even waking up required effort. I left him there and went to the bathroom to freshen up, knowing that he would eventually get up, even if it took longer than it should.
When I came back, I started preparing breakfast. It was the same as before—an omelette, bread with peanut butter and jam, and a glass of milk. It just couldn't get better than this. Simple, familiar, and enough. There was something comforting about doing the same thing again without thinking too much about it, like a routine that didn't require effort or decision. I prepared two servings, one for Arthur and one for myself, moving through the motions almost automatically.
While waiting, I looked out the window. A few people were already moving around, some heading toward the city for work, though the number was small. Most of the villagers were farmers, and they had likely already left for the fields by now. People here wake up early, usually around six, and go to work while the day is still quiet, then return early as well. Life here moves on a rhythm that doesn't change much, steady and predictable, almost untouched by anything outside of it. I guess except for people my age, we tend to stay up a bit late, mostly because of the internet, which is probably the only thing that connects this place to something beyond itself.
Little kids were already outside, playing with their friends, their voices carrying faintly through the air in a way that felt light and careless. It felt normal. Everything felt normal. And maybe that was what made it strange, how easily everything returned to normal after what I experienced yesterday, as if nothing had happened at all.
My phone started ringing, pulling me out of that thought. It was the neighbor's aunt. She said she would bring lunch by 12:30. I thanked her and hung up. Her voice was calm and casual, completely ordinary, and there was no hint of anything unusual, as if the world itself had decided that whatever happened yesterday didn't matter enough to leave a trace.
I should have been getting ready for school too, but I decided to take a break today. Tomorrow, my mother would be back, so I could resume everything then. One day wouldn't make much difference, or at least, that was what I told myself, even though a small part of me wasn't entirely convinced. It felt less like a decision and more like avoidance, though I didn't want to think about what exactly I was avoiding.
As I started eating, Arthur came downstairs and sat across from me. I passed him his plate, watching as he started eating slowly, as if he had more time than he actually did.
"Arthur, you only have twenty minutes left. You should hurry," I said.
Our school is in the nearby city, about fifteen minutes away by cycle, which meant he didn't have much time to waste if he wanted to make it on time.
He started eating faster, but then choked slightly.
"Hey, not that fast," I said quickly. "I mean, eat fast, but steady."
I paused after saying that, realizing it didn't make much sense, but I didn't bother fixing it. Sometimes words just come out without thinking, and there's no point in trying to take them back.
Arthur gave me an annoyed glance but didn't say anything. He finished his food, grabbed his backpack, and rushed out of the house.
"Bye! Cycle safely. You still have time. Don't rush too much," I called out.
"Yeah, bye!" he replied as he pushed his bicycle forward.
He left in a hurry, and as the door closed behind him, the house felt quieter than it actually was, as if something small but noticeable had been removed from it.
I finished my breakfast and thought maybe I should study a little. Exams were coming closer, and I had barely studied anything. The thought stayed with me longer than usual, as if it was trying to remind me of something I kept ignoring, though I wasn't sure if it was really about exams.
I went to my room, took out my books, and started studying, but after about thirty minutes, the words in front of me started losing meaning, and I found myself reading the same lines again and again without actually understanding them. Eventually, I gave up, stood up, and went to the kitchen to eat something, not because I was hungry, but because I needed a break from something I couldn't focus on anymore.
While I was returning, I heard a knock on the door, and I stopped instinctively.
"Is that the neighbor's aunt? Why did she come so early?" I said, glancing at the clock and noticing it was still far from 12:30.
I opened the door, expecting to see her.
But it wasn't her.
It was a young girl, a little younger than Arthur. I recognized her immediately. She was the great-granddaughter of our village head.
"Winston, Great Grandpa is calling you. You received a letter. You should come and collect it."
"A letter?" I frowned, the word itself feeling out of place. "Who would send me a letter?"
And if it was for me, why didn't they just send it with her?
"If you knew it was for me, why didn't you bring it here?" I asked.
She started fidgeting slightly, clearly unsure how to respond.
"I don't know… Great Grandpa said he wants to talk to you about it."
That made it slightly more serious, enough for me to stop questioning it further.
"Alright. Let's go."
She smiled and grabbed my hand, pulling me along as she started running, and I followed, slightly caught off guard by how quickly she moved.
She and Arthur used to play together a lot, though not as much anymore. I guess they're not little kids anymore, and things change without you really noticing when it happens.
Arthur used to enjoy her company quite a lot.
The thought passed quickly.
But the letter stayed in my mind.
Who still sends letters these days? Everyone uses email now. I guess there are still old people who rely on letters, but even then, it felt strange.
Our village doesn't even have a post office. We have to go to the nearby city to send or receive one.
By the time I finished thinking about it, we had already reached the village head's house.
She led me inside without hesitation.
Sitting on an old wooden chair was the village head, a man in his nineties, completely bald, both head and face. He stood up slowly and walked toward me, his body shaking slightly with each step, as if even standing required effort.
He smiled and spoke, but the words came out distorted and unclear.
I couldn't understand a word.
He hasn't been able to speak properly for a long time. He was an ex-serviceman who retired due to injuries to his lungs and neck, which affected his vocal cords. The army tried to treat him but failed, and they compensated him before sending him back home. He tried to find treatment afterward, going to big cities with the help of his family and friends, but by then it was already too late. The damage had become permanent.
My grandfather once told me that after hearing that, he stopped trying completely. Instead, he used the money to expand his land and his house, and he became the first person to bring farming machinery into this village.
That was half a century ago.
His condition has only worsened with age.
Only a few people can understand him now.
I looked at the girl.
She understood.
She quickly said, "Grandpa said, 'Winston, look at you. In the time I haven't seen you, you've grown so much. It's good to see young people doing well.'"
I nodded slightly. "It's good to see you too. Yeah, I guess I've grown. My mother's cooking helps a lot." I paused. "You said I got a letter?"
He nodded and spoke again.
She translated, "Yes. I got a letter for you about an hour ago. It wasn't delivered by a mailman. A man came asking for you and gave it to me. I told him to wait so he could give it to you personally, but he said he was busy and left."
That felt… off.
She handed me the letter.
I took it and looked at it.
It had my name.
My full name.
Winston Nestor Peregrine.
My eyes paused there for a moment, as if seeing it written like that made it feel heavier than usual.
Then I looked at the address.
Something felt wrong.
It wasn't the name of my village.
At least… not the one we use now.
I read it again.
"Lindenwald."
The word felt unfamiliar and familiar at the same time, like something I had heard before but never truly noticed.
I repeated it quietly, "Lindenwald…"
The old man spoke again.
She translated, "It's been a long time since I heard that name. That's what I wanted to ask you about."
"You know about this?" I asked. "Can you tell me?"
He smiled slightly, but his eyes… they looked different. Not just old. Something else. Something that carried weight.
He spoke.
She translated.
"This name was used long ago. When our land was under German control. We lost. Our village came under Nazi rule."
I went still.
He continued.
"When a local officer came to inspect the village, he brought nazi soldiers with them. They were looking for Jews. Our village head at the time said there were none."
His hands trembled slightly.
"They didn't believe it. They started roaming around in the village. Inspecting."
The room felt quieter.
"They chose a random family. Newly married. They took the wife, saying she needed to be inspected. She might be a Jew. The husband tried to stop them. They beat him. He didn't stop. He fought back."
I felt my throat tighten.
"They shot him."
Silence filled the space.
"They took the wife. She never returned."
I swallowed.
He continued, his voice weaker now, but still steady.
"They were my parents."
The words stayed in the air.
"I was just born that year. I knew nothing. I was told later… before I joined the army."
He sat down slowly and took a sip of water.
"After that, the name of the village was changed. Officially. It became… Lindenwald."
I stood there, listening.
"There were still people who remembered. Some still do."
I didn't know what to say. There was nothing to say. "I see," I replied quietly, but even as I said it, it didn't feel like enough, and the letter in my hand suddenly felt heavier than it should have.