The missing village

It has been four years, since leaving Danca Warrie, a small unknown village in the middle of nowhere. I grew up there and spend most of my days in the opening. Since going to New York, I have been adapting to city-life, wondering what it would feel like heading home. Losing contact with my family and friends for more than four years made me more and more intrude.

Buying a plane ticket and arriving in Estonia was the easy part. Next would be catching the shuttle-bus that would be able to drive us to Danca Warrie, a cottage amongst the valley. The air was fresh like before; the scent of aromatic mixed with burnt onions. As we drove closer to home, I could hear the tweeting from the parrots and the sensation of warmness. Residents were nowhere to be seen, with the passengers on the bus all dropped off as shuttle-bus arrived at the summit of mountain. Most of the passengers were tourisms, heading to the sites and taking photos. Whereas for me, I was heading home at last. I felt the desperation to touch my parents' arms again.

The view was just as it was before, my childhood aesthetical view. The creek down at the bottom of the valley, with the small cottage just below. Normally the residents would be busy moving around. Children running around screaming and laughing at each other. However, it was much quieter than before; too quiet for me to realize what was deeply wrong. The residents were unusually quiet, nowhere to be seen. The cottage was completely shut, with the doors locked and the buildings in place. I was mesmerized and shocked just how gloomy these people can live their life. That was before I noticed there was a shrouding mist that seems to be absorbing the village.

No not absorbing, the cottage was sublimating into thin air. Buildings and streets all seems to be sublimating at the same time. There was no residents that I could see or their sounds. No screams came from that shocking scene. I could not even scream or shout, just stood there was stiff as a rock. After a nanosecond, ran straight to the terrain where the cottage was before. My breathing slowed down, and my chest felt like it was lit on ignition.

"No, it can't be," I repeated to myself. "How is that even possible."

As I ran to the spot where the village was once allocated, I found myself all alone. The buildings were gone, along with the streets and the cars, just like what I saw on the summit. Except my chest excruciated so much I found it hard to breathe. The terrain was deserted, no voices were ever heard.

"Hello Stella," came a cold but familiar voice.

I turned around and found myself face to face with Penelope Freshway. Penelope was one of my childhood classmates, except we never got along as kids. Mainly because she was proficient in bullying other kids, but I liked to stop her.

"Penelope," I found it hard to speak. "What are you doing here?"

"Um.....I was always here," she replied, bemused but calm. "What are you here for?"

"Do you know what happened to our village?" I asked trying to keep my voice steady. "I might have been lost."

Penelope looks as if she was about to reveal something abominable. However, she tried to conceal her thoughts and acted as if she did not know what I was talking about. Her long, white-blonde hair flipped as she looked up at me.

"I don't know. Maybe it was some sort of evacuation," she said. "The residents were here this morning."

She sounded sure, nevertheless I could tell she was hiding something. Like she was the one who made the entire cottage disappear.