The elementary school two blocks behind the apartment was buzzing with kids' voices. Tarik held Buğra's hand tightly as they walked through the crowd of children towards the school building. He had come to the school with the residence certificate he got from the local municipal office to register Buğra. At the door, he asked the student on duty, "Where's the principal's office?" The student, dressed in a green vest over a cream-colored shirt and gray pants, gave Tarik and Buğra a quick up and down glance. Messing with his short-cut sandy hair, he pointed and said, "Go down that way, it’s at the end of the corridor."
"Thanks," Tarik replied and headed down the corridor indicated. He knocked on the door labeled "Principal's Office."
"Come in!" came a commanding voice. As he opened the door, there sat the principal, his bone-framed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, hair graying at the temples but thinning on top, cleanly shaven, with a thick mustache as if trying to compensate for the hair he was losing on his head. His piercing eyes turned to the door.
"Come in, young man," he said.
"I’m here to register my brother for school," Tarik said, not letting go of Buğra's hand as he closed the door behind them and walked toward the principal.
"So, you're here to register. Why are you late? Let’s see if we even have a space; take a seat there.”
The principal waved his hand towards the leather chairs lined up in front of his desk and opened a navy-covered ledger, which was nearly full. He found a page towards the end, traced the entries with his finger, paused, and said, "Luckily, we have one spot left in Class 'C'. Hand me your brother’s ID, what’s your name, little man?"
He smiled at Buğra over his glasses. Buğra shyly muttered, "Buğra, sir," his voice barely above a whisper. Tarik handed over the ID to the principal. While the principal entered the details into both the ledger and the computer, he said, "Not many people write in ledgers anymore, but old habits die hard, and considering tech can fail, I record everything in this ledger."
Tarik listened quietly, while Buğra could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears from excitement.
"There, it’s done. Welcome aboard, young man. Buğra is now our student."
Tarik shifted in his seat slightly, "So, sir, what about the school hours, is he morning or afternoon?"
"He can be in the morning group; no space in the afternoon."
"Okay, sir, what all do we need to buy?"
"Get the uniform first, the teacher will provide a list of other needed items."
"Alright, sir, I’ll bring him over tomorrow. Have a good day, take it easy."
As Tarik stood up, the principal did as well, they shook hands and parted ways. Buğra was now officially a student.
*********
When they got home, it was almost evening. They had been out all day, shopping for sports gear, a backpack, a water bottle, a lunchbox, shoes, and Buğra even got a haircut. They walked into the house with their hands full of stuff. Tarık helped Buğra take a bath and even cut his nails. Buğra could cut the nails on his left hand, but he still couldn't manage the right ones. By the time Buğra was all ready, it was dinner time.
Tarık opened the fridge. The veggies in the drawer looked super tempting. "What should I cook?" he wondered. There was green beans, but he had no clue how to cook them. "Not that," he thought out loud. His eyes drifted to the eggplants, "what part of it should I cook?" He was totally blanking, his forehead wrinkling. "Thinking what to cook is so hard," he muttered, and just as he was about to close the fridge, he went, "Duh! Why am I even thinking when I can make yummy menemen?" and he quickly opened the fridge again with determination.
He grabbed three super red tomatoes, one hot and one sweet green pepper, then shut the fridge. From a cramped drawer unit next to it, he took a small dry onion. He pulled out the frying pan without opening the drawer and placed it on the stove. He finely chopped the onion on a cutting board, dumped it into the pan. He also chopped the peppers into tiny bits and added them to the onion. After peeling the tomatoes, he added a little oil to the pan and turned on the stove. While the pan heated up and the onions and peppers were sautéing, he chopped the tomatoes. When he added the tomatoes to the sautéed onions, the scent that rose was divine. As the tomatoes cooked, he tidied up the counter, threw away the peels, and washed up the mess. Occasionally stirring the tomatoes, when they were done, he grabbed two eggs from the fridge and cracked them in. He sprinkled some chili flakes over the top. Just as he remembered to add salt, slapping his forehead as Buğra giggled watching him. He had no choice but to mix in the salt he had just added. The eggs were a bit scrambled, but hey, it tasted delicious anyway.
He served the menemen straight in the pan on the table. Took out some yogurt, put it in a bowl. Olives, cheese... whatever was there for breakfast, he put on the table. Just as they were sitting down to eat, the doorbell rang. Buğra was about to run to the door when Tarık was like, "Don't open it without asking who it is!" Buğra nodded up and down in agreement.
"Who's there?" he asked while waiting by the door.
"It's me, son, Muhsin."
Buğra looked back at his brother asking with his eyes, 'should I open it?' Tarık had already gotten up and was by the door. He gently pulled Buğra aside and opened it. Muhsin was there, smiling, holding a plate.
"I brought you some food, hope you haven't eaten yet."
"Thanks, Uncle Muhsin, you shouldn't have, we were just sitting down. Won't you come in?" Tarık said, opening the door a bit wider to invite him in. Though he didn't really want him to come in, he didn't want to be rude either.
"I don't want to disturb you, son, enjoy your meal. I'll come over for tea another day," Muhsin said, smiling at Buğra who was quietly standing by. Tarık took the plate and as the man walked away, he closed the door. On the plate was fresh green beans.
While Buğra turned on the TV and was watching "The Lion Guard," completely absorbed by the colorful animations and adventures of the animals, Tarık finished washing up the few dishes. Then he sat next to his brother. The only sound in the house was the TV. Tarık watched a bit of the cartoon but was getting bored. He went to his room and picked up one of his unread books. He was drawn to novels about horror, mystery, thriller, crime, and books that made you think. He had bought a book by an author he hadn't heard of before and decided to start reading it next to Buğra in the living room.
"The Forest of Lost Souls" — the title and the blurb on the back cover had caught his interest. He had read a few pages when a noise from outside made him jump. He was so into the book's suspense that the sound actually scared him. He put the book aside.
"Who writes a book like this?" he grumbled as he closed the balcony door. Buğra, who was still watching the show, looked up at him with sleepy eyes.
"Go to bed," Tarık told him, and Buğra sluggishly got up and headed to his room. Tarık turned off the TV and waited for Buğra to change and use the bathroom. After he had tucked him into bed, Tarık turned off the kitchen light and went to his own room. He changed, used the bathroom, brushed his teeth. He thought about reading some more, but he was really sleepy. "Forget it, I'll read later," he said and went to bed. He thought about texting Figen for a moment but decided against it. They had talked several times during the day. Silence ruled inside the house, the darkness mingling with the turned-off lights. A light breeze from the slightly open window made the curtain flutter. The light in the hallway cast a shadow into Tarık's room.
Tap, tap, tap...
Between sleep and wakefulness, he heard the sound of footsteps again. Tap, tap, tap... He ignored it, but the possibility of hearing it every night made him restless. When a cold draft from between the fluttering curtain touched his body, he pulled the blanket over himself. He opened his eyes slightly, his breath visible in the dark. He pulled the blanket over his head. The thought of closing the window crossed his mind, but his body resisted. As he began to warm up from his own breath, his eyes closed again. He was about to fall asleep. The sound of footsteps continued at regular intervals, tap, tap, tap...
"Turn off the lights!"
Startled by the whisper, he opened his eyes. Under the blanket, he listened to his own breathing. His heart was pounding. He wouldn't pay attention; the same had happened the night before. He swallowed; "hide under the bed!" He threw off the blanket and jumped up. The light in the hallway suddenly went out, the sound of footsteps still audible. Tak, tak, tak... As the light went out, his eyes, now accustomed to the pitch darkness, fixed on a dark shadow. "Who's there?" he said. His breath fogged up in the dark, his heart thumping, his whole body shivering from the cold. "Shh, don't make a sound!" His mind fled the scene as he heard the whisper one last time without being able to cover his ears. "The warden is coming!"
He squeezed his eyes shut, grabbing his head with his hands. He took deep breaths, biting his lip to keep from screaming. The shadow moved back and forth. The curtain fluttered, the sound of footsteps audible. Tak, tak, tak... The sound of footsteps was now mixed with a door creaking. He forced his eyes open. The shadow had now split in two. They appeared and disappeared in waves in the darkness. He wanted to stand up, turn on the light. His entire body felt numb, unable to follow his brain's command. He huddled down where he was, his large body curling up until it felt tiny. When his hands wrapped around his knees felt wet, he realized he was crying. A deep sadness settled in his heart. A door creaked open. The shadow whispered, "Don't come out! It's here."
He cautiously raised his head from his knee. He opened his eyes, his gaze shifting to the door. A monstrous figure stood at the door. He could only see the shoes; he didn't have the courage to look up at the man's face. The shadow sobbed, "Please go,"
The shoes began to walk. Tak, tak, tak...
His room changed, the bed turned into a bunk bed. The floor tiles were replaced by concrete. Instead of the white-painted wooden door, a rusty, steel door stood. The faceless man was approaching.
Tak, tak, tak...
"Enough!"
He shouted, his patience had run out. Whoever these shadows were, they would be held accountable for their actions. With a crazy courage filling him, he stood up. The floor seemed to shift under his feet. He ran towards the door. The shoe-wearing man had disappeared. The shadow was right in front of him; he stopped. He shook his head; it couldn't be real. He walked, a cold breeze touched his body, his fingers reached for the switch, to end this nightmare. He tried once, twice... The light should have lit up the room properly. Without looking back, he ran to Buğra's room. In the darkness, he saw a shadow looking out the window. He yelled! "Leave my brother alone!" The shadow turned to him quietly. It had no face, just a black silhouette. It whispered;
"It's too late!" and then disappeared. When the light reflected behind him, he turned around in fear, the light in his previously unlit room was now on. Buğra, oblivious to everything, was sleeping peacefully. He walked quietly to the window. He stood where the shadow had stood and
watched the street. Two empty swings moved back and forth, the squeak from their worn chains reaching the room. A cat was searching for food in a trash can. The street lamps were on.
As he turned away from the window, he felt something was off. Something wasn't right on the street. There was a lack or an excess. He covered Buğra's bare shoulders with a blanket while he remembered. There were no swings there. "I'm going crazy," he said. Yes, that was it. There was no other explanation. He went back to the window, looked out at the street. The swings had disappeared. "Oh God!" he said, "am I becoming like him?" His lips turned pale at the thought. He looked at Buğra, "What if I become like him and hurt him?" His breath stopped as if a knife had been stabbed into his heart. This shouldn't happen, he wouldn't allow it no matter what. He rushed out of the room, when he entered his own room, he saw the blanket on the floor. His room had returned to its original state. No trace of the bunk bed or the steel door. The curtain was fluttering. The room was empty, the shadows were gone. He picked up the blanket and spread it over the bed.
He took the Quran from among his books and placed it at his headboard. If they were coming, it would keep them away. He took out the amulet his mother had hung around his neck when he was a child, which he kept as a memento after he grew up, and hung it around his neck. He was scared; terribly scared. Most of all, he was afraid of becoming like him, of being like him... He got into bed without turning off the light. He was trembling, unable to find a logical explanation. It definitely had to be them, but why? Why were they obsessed with him, haunting him? He had been cursed while searching for treasure. Tarık never messed with them.
"God help us, protect us!" he said as his eyes sank into the carefree depths of sleep.
Buğra, excited for his first day of school, had woken up early and came to wake up his brother. When he noticed the fluorescent light on, he reached for the switch and turned off the light. Tarık's face was tense and sweaty. Buğra touched his brother's shoulder. "Bro, wake up."
Tarık, "Stay away from us!" he yelled, jumping up as Buğra recoiled in fright. "Bro, did you have a nightmare?" Tarık took deep breaths, wiping the sweat from his forehead. He blinked his eyes a few times, realizing it was morning, and forced a smile. "Yes, little bro, I had a nightmare, but it's gone now. I saw you, and it's gone." He spread his arms wide, waiting for Buğra to come to him. Buğra ran into his brother's arms, leaving all his fear behind. They hugged, Tarık smelled and kissed his brother's blonde hair. Just then, the phone rang, separating them. Tarık reached for the phone while Buğra headed to the bathroom.
"Good morning, love," he replied to Figen's morning greeting.
"It doesn't seem like morning for you, Mr. Tarık?"
"I just woke up, Buğra woke me up."
"Oh, bless him! How are you going to get ready and make it to class on time, my dear? Set your alarm."
"I hadn't thought of that, I'll set it tonight."
"Are you alright, darling?" Figen was suspicious from the way Tarık spoke.
"I'm fine, darling, just woke up, that's all."
"Let's hope so. By the way, Ayhan will pick up Buğra after school. We girls are going to the market today."
"That's fine, darling, no problem, I can't pick him up two days a week anyway, I finish class early the other days."
"I know, darling, I just wanted to let you know in advance; anyway, I'm off, see you later."
"See you, love."
Figen hadn't hung up when she added, "Hurry up and get ready."
Tarık put down the phone and went to the kitchen. There wasn't much time and he couldn't send Buğra to school hungry. He quickly heated some milk. He cooked eggs with sausage. There was bread from the night before. Buğra had washed his face and was waiting for breakfast. "You eat your breakfast, bro, I'll get ready," Buğra swallowed his bites quickly while Tarık quickly put on jeans and a green shirt that matched his eye color. He headed to the bathroom to style his hair, telling Buğra who said, "I'm full," "then change your clothes, I'm coming." Racing against time, he finished dressing
Buğra, and they left the house without bothering to clear the table. They ran down the stairs two at a time and saw Muhsin. After a brief greeting, they exited the heavy, iron door of the apartment building. On the road behind the building, Tarık urged, "Hurry, bro, hurry!" pulling Buğra along. As they passed the trash can, Tarık remembered the events of the night. He swore he had seen a swing there. His steps slowed, he stopped where he thought he saw the swing. While Buğra didn't understand why he had stopped, Tarık looked up at his apartment window and swallowed in fear. He quickly pulled Buğra along, continuing to walk. Inside, he repeated, "This isn't real, this isn't real, there was no one at the window."
They turned the corner and entered the street leading to the school when the shadow at the window quietly retreated. The one standing next to it whispered, "They're gone."
The other shadow, pulling the smaller one close, reassured, "Don't worry, they'll come back."
As Tarık walked onto the campus road, the shadow at the window was on his mind. He walked on the sidewalk, but he wasn't watching where he was stepping. His foot stumbled into a gap where a stone had come loose from the sidewalk.
"Be careful, young man, you almost fell," the voice behind him said. The elderly woman, over sixty, stood holding a market bag. "Okay, auntie, I was just lost in thought," he felt as if he had to explain himself.
"You young people are like that, always rushing through life, not seeing the good or beautiful things right in front of you, nor the obstacles or evils. Learn to look carefully, son, things are not always as they appear."
Tarık took a few steps to continue walking, but a pang of guilt filled him. He felt as if he had been disrespectful to the elderly woman. "I'm in a hurry, auntie," he turned back as he spoke, but his sentence hung in the air. The elderly woman was gone. He looked around, hoping to see her; there was neither a road to follow nor a house to enter. He was horrified. Where had the woman disappeared to?
Questions spun in his head all day. He hadn't understood anything from the classes he attended. Figen had different class times that day. Ayhan, studying agricultural engineering in another department, had already finished his classes. As he was about to enter his last class, he remembered the silhouette in the window that morning. The possibility that it might be real haunted him. Ayhan would pick up Buğra and go home, and he would stay with him until Tarık arrived. He hadn't told Ayhan about the incident. He didn't want to disturb his friend's peace or confuse him. He stopped at the classroom door, a heaviness settling in his heart. He felt uneasy, and a feeling that something was about to happen was thumping in his chest. He decided not to enter the class and turned around, bumping into a girl he couldn't remember having seen before. He shouted, "Sorry!" as he ran. He had to get home as soon as possible. He knew, he felt something was going to happen. The shadows were real.
Dodging students wandering around the campus, trying to get to their classes, he stumbled and finally made it outside the campus. He was running, drenched in sweat. It was as if not running would mean he couldn't stop what was going to happen, whatever it was. Not knowing what it was, however, was the irony. But the feeling had occurred in his heart once. Tarık felt it. When he reached the street of the apartment, his knees were weak. Sweat ran down his back. His hair was disheveled, his books and notebooks seemed about to fall. He turned the corner, the iron gate of the apartment came into view. His fear multiplied by ten. What was the reason for this gnawing fear? When he reached the gate, his whole body was shaking, he felt like he might collapse at any moment. He passed through the gate, his steps as if not his own, heavy and slow. His heart was screaming to run, but his legs were disobedient. "Tarık!" Ayhan's surprised voice made him turn around. Ayhan, holding two loaves of bread, looked at him in astonishment. "Where's Buğra?" he asked. His lips were dry. He braced himself for bad news from Ayhan.
"He's at home, I just picked him up. We were going to eat, but there was no bread, I went out to get some."
Tarık felt a moment of relief, but then remembered the shadows. Without saying anything to Ayhan, he started climbing the stairs at a run. Ayhan, worried by Tarık's pale face,
climbed the stairs after him. Tarık, his hands shaking, managed to open the door, "Abi, what's going on, what's all this rush?" Ayhan said, but Tarık didn't listen. "Buğra!" he shouted. No response. He ran to his room, the door was open, his bag and uniform were thrown on the bed. His heart trembled. He ran to his own room, it was as he had left it in the morning. He checked the bathroom, it was empty. Ayhan, unwilling to accept what was happening, looked at him with incomprehension. Tarık went to the balcony he had found empty, looked down, expecting to see his brother's body crushed on the ground. There were a few children passing by on the road, no one else. He was crying; where had his brother gone? Ayhan was filled with both guilt and a sense of blame.
"I didn't delay at all, I went to the bakery and came back. At most ten minutes," Tarık turned his tearful eyes to Ayhan, who had placed his hand on his shoulder. His lips trembling, he managed to say, "Call the police." What followed was darkness for him, a nightmare seen awake for Ayhan.