The Journal of the Walk, Thursday, May 1st
As the sun rose to its highest peak, I found myself in the most beautiful garden. It had hickories, oaks, and pines; ferns, horsetails, and mosses; orchids, tulips, and carnations; and the birds! I cannot recall the last time I saw and heard so many birds at once! There were so many that I struggled to pick out any one in particular, but I do distinctly recall the faint coo of a mourning dove coming to me on a gentle breeze. I would recognize that lovely sound anywhere, of course.
Being myself, I navigated the garden quite leisurely, taking as much time as I pleased to drink in its sights, smells, and sounds. I found no signage to direct me, but there was a reasonably clear grass path that wound through the flora, and I followed that for a long while, taking a great many detours to admire the life around me. If night crossed my path before I found a place to rest, I reasoned, I could always find a particularly generous tree to give me temporary shelter. As I proceeded, it seemed increasingly likely that such a scenario would indeed come to pass, for the garden was very large, stretching as far as I could see in every direction, and the sun made quite some headway toward its own place of rest while I was ambling about. However, it seemed that further good fortune (on top of the tremendous fortune of happening upon the garden in the first place) came to me when, just as the sun was beginning to set, throwing a deep orange onto the leaves and petals, I happened upon a house in the center of a clearing.
It was a large house, and (based on my limited knowledge of such things) it seemed to be made of high-quality wood — I imagined that, some time ago, it had been the abode of the individual responsible for the garden, for it would take a sizeable fortune to procure the materials necessary for a garden of that size — but I surmised that it had been abandoned for some time. The wood was showing signs of rot in places; the area was so overgrown with weeds that I found my navigation repeatedly obstructed as I surveyed it; and a great many eight-legged friends had evidently made homes of nooks and crannies that had not been scrutinized in a long while. It was the perfect shelter for the night, I decided.
Although I was fairly certain that the house was unoccupied, I am not in the habit of disrespecting homes by intruding unannounced, and I figured it was better to be safe than sorry, so I made my way to the front door (with some difficulty) and gave it a few assertive knocks.
"Hello? Is anyone there?" Out of habit, I took a step back from the door and peered at the walls around it, though there were no windows for me to look into. In fact, there were only two windows on the entire house, two tiny square things on the very topmost floor, which led me to believe that whoever had it built was something of a shut-in. Perhaps, I began to absentmindedly speculate after knocking a second time and receiving no response again, they were actually quite gregarious, but they were among those creatures that cannot be in the sunlight, and those windows were for guest chambers. I imagined them slinking out on a clear, moonless night, walking among their garden in the cool quiet.
Having heard nothing back after multiple knocks, I resolved to let myself in. After announcing my intention, I grabbed the doorknob and gingerly pushed the door open to reveal exactly what I expected: an entryway that, while clearly meant to be fancy, was in a state of advanced neglect. Large, ornately-framed paintings that were surely quite the treat for the eyes in the house's heyday were so thoroughly coated in dust that I could hardly make out anything about them, especially with the late light trickling through the doorway as my only source of vision — I quickly realized that the lack of windows was going to present significant problems for me. Despite this, I could not help but be polite, so I closed the door behind me and plunged myself into near-total darkness before continuing. Fortunately, the entryway was a straight hallway that I had minimal trouble navigating with my hands in front of me.
Eventually, I came to another door, and after a humiliating amount of time spent fumbling in the dark, I found the knob and pushed it open. Having made it that far into the house without encountering signs of life, I felt certain that it was empty, but I was surprised to find a source of dim light shining into this new room from somewhere on my right. It was not much, but it was enough to avoid bumping into furniture (I had stepped, I gathered, into an exceedingly spacious foyer) as I navigated the room. As I approached the light, I began to hear some sort of scratching noise coming from it, though it was so faint that I struggled to discern what it was, even in the stillness and silence of that house.
When I got closer to the light, I saw that it was coming from an open doorway, and I looked inside. In a study lit by a few dim candles, with books and loose papers scattered haphazardly all over, I saw a large, many-limbed, black-feathered creature hunched over a wooden desk. A few of its multi-jointed, spindly limbs were moving frantically around said desk; most were still at its sides, save for the occasional twitch. I tiptoed into the room, stepping on the occasional paper as I did so, but if the creature took notice of me, it did not acknowledge my presence, though I am sure that I was as poor at concealing my presence as I always am.
When I got to be standing right behind the creature, it took me a few moments to find it in myself to interrupt it.
"Hello?"
It jumped and quickly turned to face me, revealing a beaked face and black, beady eyes that widened when it laid them on me; I took a step back.
"What? Who are you? How did you get in my house?"
I took another step back and raised both hands. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to intrude. It's just that I need somewhere to stay for the night, and the door was open, and I thought this house was empty…"
Its eyes narrowed. "You thought it was empty? Why would you think that?"
"Well, it didn't look like there was anyone living here. There are weeds and cobwebs everywhere outside."
"What?!"
"Again, I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to disturb you."
"Well, at least you let me know that I have a weed problem while you were here. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have important things to attend to. I can take care of those things later."
"What about what I asked you earlier? About sheltering here for the night?"
"What about it?"
"Well, can I? It's getting to be awfully dark out there…"
It took a moment to answer, closing its eyes and sighing as if in exasperation. "Very well. You may stay here for the night, but I expect you to be right out the door come sunrise! There are guest chambers upstairs; you may have one of my lights for finding your way there."
"Thank you so much." I bowed in appreciation. "I promise that I won't be here for longer than I have to."
It grunted and turned away from me. "Now, I absolutely must get back to work. Be gone."
I tilted my head in an effort to get a look at the desk. "What are you doing, if you don't mind my asking?"
It groaned. "If it will get you to go away faster, then I suppose I can tell you. I'm writing."
"Really? What are you writing?"
"Stories."
"What kinds of stories?"
"All kinds. What does it matter to you?"
"I'm just curious."
"Well, now you know."
"Are you writing them for anyone?"
"Yes."
"Who?"
At this, it turned back to me and narrowed its eyes. "What? Do you mean to tell me that you can't see them?"
I shook my head. "No? What are you…"
It turned to face the wall on my left, and I followed suit: Other than the same scattered books and papers that filled the rest of the room, there seemed to be nothing there of note. "They're right there. You can't see them?"
I glanced at it, looked back at the wall, and shook my head. "It just looks like a wall to me."
"How strange… Well, I write for them, whether you can see them or not."
"I see. Why do you write for 'them'?"
"Why? Well… because I want them to enjoy it, of course! Why does one make anything for anyone?"
"Fair enough. Will anything happen if they don't enjoy it?"
"If they don't enjoy it?" It laughed. "What a silly notion! They have never not enjoyed it!"
"Well, that's good, I suppose, but say that they didn't like something you wrote. Say that you had an off day, or you tried something new, and they didn't like it. What would happen?"
"Well…" It turned to face my direction again, but rather than looking at me, it seemed to be looking past me, though I saw nothing but darkness when I turned around, of course. "I've… never thought about it, I suppose. It's never happened, after all."
There was silence for a time while I struggled to think of a follow-up question. Before I could get something out, it began vigorously shaking its head. "No! I must not be so idle! I have to get back to work! Be gone!"
It was quickly back to the desk, limbs much more active than before. I knew that it would be wise for me to leave and find the guest room, but something still did not sit right with me, and we must be who we are. "…How long have you been doing this for?"
It grumbled in irritation. "I don't know, and it doesn't matter. Go away."
"Well, it's just that there's a really lovely garden out there, and I thought you were the one maintaining it."
It briefly paused. "There's a what?" Before I could get another word in, it shook off its apparent confusion. "No, no more distractions from you. You're not going to pull me away again. I have to get back to work right this instant. With how much of my time you've stolen, I'm sure they're on the verge of walking out on me, and what would I do then? Perish the thought! Away with you!"
It resumed its frantic working, and I knew that further pressing would probably result in negative consequences for me, so I took one of the candles farthest from it, made it a few steps out of the room, and stopped. After some deliberation, I crept back in, gingerly returned the candle to its place (it did not seem to notice, though it may also have just been ignoring me), and made my way back down the entryway and out of the house. It was a warm enough night, and the cricket song was there for company; I decided to sleep outside and find a way out of the garden the next morning.