Why would anyone want to live where I live? I look out my frosted window, to the completely frozen landscape outside. I live surrounded by mountains. Mountains of ice and snow. This winter is unforgiving, I settle deeper into my armchair near the roaring fire. Why am I even here? Where is here?
I don’t know what was going through my head when I up and left my comfortable beach house in Los Angeles. Maybe I wanted some solitude from my nosy neighbours. Or maybe I wanted solitude from my own raging thoughts. If they think me a complete madwoman, they wouldn’t be wrong. My eyes catch the corner of a diary peeking through my unzipped backpack. I hadn’t even brought the old diary with me! In fact I’d left it on purpose… How was it here?
I pick up the diary that I was supposed to have left in LA. I look at the pages of entries when my eyes catch the last one. The entry that made me leave my life and flee to the middle of nowhere. Did I write it? I certainly couldn’t remember myself writing it, though the handwriting was my own. Yet the words felt like mine. I pick the diary up and start reading:
Dear Reader,
Why don’t you do as I tell you? I’ve already told you to get out your map, pick somewhere and just run. Don’t you know? I love giving chase. Especially when it’s you.
You know how they say every soul has a mate? Well, I don’t know about mates…But I do know that without me you are soulless. That’s because I’m your soul. You know that too don’t you? You’re just too scared of embracing yourself.
Don’t fight it.
Your Dark Soul.
Everytime I read it my hands start shaking. Those words are tattooed in black ink across my heart. I can feel someone watching me even now. Running away didn’t really help, even here. In this story it looks like the big bad wolf will feast on Little Red Riding Hood in her little red house.
(I’ll watch. As long as it takes, I’ll watch. Look at her sitting in my armchair, cosy and warm. I think it’s time to write her a little letter.)
As I sit in my armchair staring at the diary, it flips open to a new page. I pick up a pen and start writing.
I don’t know for how long I’ve been writing, but it feels like hours. Strangely I don’t even know what I just wrote about. Dread building in my stomach, I sigh and start reading the new entry that I supposedly wrote.
Dear Reader,
You took my advice. Good…finally you did one thing right. I’m actually quite overjoyed by your choice of dwelling. Poor you… How could you possibly know? Isolation and cold breeds terror. And terror breeds darkness. Darkness breeds…well… me.
Rude of you to show up unannounced…But I’m a graceful hostess. Or did you really know all along that you’d find me here? Don’t you know what they say?
Like calls to like.
Your Dark Soul.
The diary drops from my shaking hands. There is no way I wrote that. Yet black ink soaks my own fingers, looking darker than blood. I should have known it wasn’t a coincidence this house was here. Perfectly furnished, in prime condition. At least in Little Red Riding Hood's story she didn’t walk straight into the den of the big bad wolf.
(It’s only a matter of time before she realises that me and her…. We’re the same. Until then…I’ll wait and watch)
If I wasn’t a madwoman before, I definitely am now. Diary entries that I seemingly wrote are haunting me. It’s crazy, why would I call myself “Dark Soul”? A shiver runs down my spine just thinking that word. My mind traces back to the previous entry the Dark Soul left for me. How it said that I felt soulless. In hindsight I actually understand. I very well know that feeling of hollowness, not belonging, feeling exhausted for no reason. I also recall how it said that it was my soul. Truly I’ve felt the most alive when I wrote those entries.
Yet it can’t be…The Dark Soul couldn’t actually be my soul. Could it?
Even if it was my soul, I certainly wasn’t housing it. Every soul needs a body…If it wasn’t in mine, then whose body was the Dark Soul residing in? Shivers having nothing to do with the cold went down my spine. I decided it was enough of mind games for today and went to bed. I slept with the night lamp turned on.
(Look at her peacefully sleeping…I could use a little rest too. It is - after all - my bed)
When I woke up in the morning, I certainly wasn’t hoping to see the diary left open beside me.
Dear Reader,
Did you have a good night’s sleep? I was up all night helping you write this letter. I think I’ve been an incredible hostess. How about you decide to return the favour? You know what I’m talking about.
Don’t make me ask again,
Your Dark Soul.
I jumped off the bed, shaking. This was becoming too much to handle. But I know how to stop this madness. I will stop this, if it’s the last thing I do.
I go about my day as normal, making breakfast, cleaning, fetching water from the outside pond. The entire day my heart beats erratically in anticipation of what’s to come tonight.
I watch the sunset through my frozen window panes, my face set in grim lines. I sit down in the armchair near the fire.
Sitting down, I pull the diary closer to me. I open the page of the latest entry, and take hold of the corner of the page. With all my pent up anticipation I pull the page, trying to tear it. The page holds firm, not a crease on it. I tug even harder. But it seems the Dark Soul has made a mere book this strong with just its presence.
I stare at it in horror. I can feel the Dark Soul cackling with triumph. Yet if there’s one thing the Dark Soul has taught me, it’s that though you can’t tear one page out of your life, you can certainly burn the entire book, or freeze it in my case.
I viciously grab the book and throw it into the fireplace. It burns brightly, and I breathe a sigh of relief seeing it go up in flames.
I honestly didn’t think it would be that easy getting rid of the Dark Soul. Though I had won I didn't exactly feel victorious. I went about my days surrounded by winter and snowfall. The days felt long and empty, and I myself felt hollow and mindless. Or should I say soulless. I refuse to let myself miss the Dark Soul, but I will admit I miss the thrill of horror. Waking up everyday to a new haunting game. Though I could have of course shifted back to Los Angeles by now, for some unfathomable reason I wanted to stay. What am I waiting for? I have no idea.
I thought back to how the Dark Soul had strengthened that old diary. I wondered if it could have made me just as strong and powerful had I housed it. Was I missing the Dark Soul because it truly was my soul?
I don’t think I have gotten rid of the Dark Soul, I’m always thinking about it in the recesses of my mind. I don’t think I could return to my old life in LA even if I wanted to. At least not until I can get this place out of my mind.
Thinking perhaps a drink of water could calm me. I get up and walk to the glacial pool outside my house.
Kneeling next to the pond I look in and see my reflection. Except it looks different, the reflection smirks even though I am not. Realisation dawns and before I can think twice I dive into the cold pool, doing just as the Dark Soul had once asked of me - embracing myself.
( Finally she embraces me. Finally she embraces herself. Finally she understands that every soul needs a body and every body needs a soul.)
-Aisha Iqbal