I should have died at 38, actually sooner, that's what the doctors didn't say directly, but I saw it in their eyes. The tumors had spread like spider webs across my liver. As always, these people who treat terminal patients in healthcare gave me deadlines in soft words like palliative, comfort, make the most of your time.
These are actually scarier words than saying them directly and harshly. I wasn't ready to die. I was only 35.
No children, no family, no legacy, and something more selfish than that. I wanted more time to live my life. I wanted it desperately.
When my grandmother passed away at 101, I took over her house. There was no argument. She was always a little strange in ways I never fully understood.
I was her only grandson. She treated me like I was precious, like I was the last of something important. My grandmother was obsessed with strange things.
Dring roots of herbs hung from the rafters. She would burn them at dusk. Sometimes when I was in her house, there would be whispers through a cracked door in languages I didn't know.
Amulets of feathers, bones and stones. Always they hung around her neck gently stroking her as she walked she had a way of looking right through people her gaze heavy as iron making the person being stared at feel as if they were naked stranger than all that were her books always untitled and unmarked all bound in leather it didn't seem strange at first until the day i passed behind her chair as she read the pages were filled with jagged and shaggy symbols interspersed with old latin and english that i could barely decipher those books were never returned to their shelves only one reappeared and i found it in the attic a month after she passed the attic smelled of dust and something faintly metallic like old coins left too long in the rain pale light barely reached the corners of the attic where shadows crouched thick when i lifted the pillow she had made herself a breath of air escaped cold as a breath underneath was a small cedar box its hinges dark with age inside old papers were bound in cracked leather the edges yellowed and curled it smelled of smoke but not by fire it was something much older the ink on the pages was darker than black shining wet though they were dry and when I stared long at the symbols they twisted and curled like ashes in an invisible breeze on the third page words I could read appeared it said the ritual of the cord the contents inside told of a simple ritual 10 knots each tied tightly each knot an extra year of life for whoever did it stolen from the hungry mouth of death the price a small sacrifice the first knot didn't require much just a drop of harmless blood but the sacrifice got more expensive the more years you took making the knots the more you had to give away memories essence parts of yourself not long after my doctor's appointments I remembered my grandmother's old book I picked it up I didn't hesitate after all I was dying the first knot was easy one drop of blood the next day I felt better not just better but alive strong the pain for a moment disappeared the yellow left my eyes I called my doctors they were shocked spontaneous remission of the tumor they said but I knew I knew what I had done the reason I was better so I kept going Tying the knots each knot basically gave me an extra year of life so one per year always on the same night each year I would tie a little more the second knot I had to tie a hair I pulled out of that annoying white hair of mine it never grew back not that I needed it anyway my chemotherapy processes had already finished almost everything the third knot a nail it came out easily as if the knot itself had loosened it the fourth knot I had to tie a tooth the same thing I pulled it out without pain I felt invincible I had reached 38 years old the fifth knot I had to tie an important memory I couldn't remember exactly which memory but when I thought about my grandmother's death something seemed missing I remember being very disturbed by it so I moved on the sixth knot I tied my reflection no one seemed to notice maybe it only affected me when I looked in the mirrors all I saw was a blurred absence a ripple in the glass on the seventh knot I gave my shadow strange yes but every year after 38 was a gift even if I wasn't whole shadow wouldn't be a problem on the eighth knot I gave a hope an ambition it was at that moment I knew I wouldn't last past the tenth knot that night as I tied it I realized my hopes for the future were gone I couldn't even imagine a tomorrow on the knot I stopped dreaming or maybe the dreams weren't mine anymore shadows pressed close to me in my sleep whispers crept beneath the surface when I woke I could still hear them calling faint and distant like voices rising from deep water and then came the tenth knot the price wasn't a piece of me this time the book demanded something I loved and the only thing I had left was Lili my pet cat she was old and frail always curling up next to me and bumping into walls she had been with me through everything I tied the tenth knot whispered my kitty's name and I carried her gently to her bed She didn't wake the next morning But I didn't die Not at that moment That's when I thought I had won I thought I had cheated death Bought more time Like always That's how it goes To this day I was standing in the doorway of my room Staring down the hallway When I saw a man or something like him Standing motionless in the shadows I couldn't see his face Just the weight of his presence pressing down on the air He wasn't standing in the dark He was the dark itself The shadows curled toward him Sucking like smoke Into his form When I moved He stood still When I spoke He didn't answer And then He raised a finger And pointed slowly Deliberately Down the hallway Over my shoulder To the drawer beside my bed My heart sank The ritual cord Was coiled inside In the direction He pointed The tenth knot Unraveled Before my eyes A meow sounded from below Lily was resurrected And then Soft bare footsteps Approaching An hour later The ninth knot Unraveled The man Stepped forward As the sixth knot Unraveled I saw myself in the mirror my reflection was back but i didn't recognize it my hair had thinned my skin bruised with sickly yellows and grays parts of me were peeling away crumbling like old parchment i was rotting the man was at the door now the fifth knot had just come loose and now i remember my memory my grandmother on her deathbed frail sunk into the mattress pointing a shaking finger to the corner of the hospital room her voice hoarse with terror saying "tell him to go away.
