Peter and Rosanna had travelled to Poland to celebrate their third wedding anniversary, and to see the land of Peter's forefathers. His family had emigrated from Poland to New York in the 1890s to start new lives, and Peter had always wanted to visit the old country and see the village where his family came from. He could speak a little Polish and read some too, and as he loved cycling, he and his wife were riding their bicycles through the picturesque countryside to go and see the village.
The small lanes
through the forest were very confusing as there were no signs. They
stopped and looked at their map.
'This map is wrong, it doesn't make
sense.' Rosanna complained.
'I know. This road isn't on the map at
all', Peter agreed, 'but I have a feeling it's the right
way to the village. Let's keep
going.'
'Okay, but I'm not happy, I think we're completely lost,' concluded
Rosanna. She didn't really enjoy cycling, and she definitely didn't
enjoy being lost.
'Trust me
darling. Let's follow
the road. It must go somewhere, and I think we are very close to the
village.'
As they cycled, the sunshine came through the trees. It was a
beautiful day, but gradually the forest became denser
and darker. The light was being blocked
out by the thick canopy
of branches and leaves above them. But they continued on, seeing no
one, hearing no sound, the air was very still,
until in the distance they saw a light. It was coming from a small,
wooden cabin. 'We can ask the way at that cabin,' suggested Peter.
'It's so dark!" exclaimed
Rosanna. 'Look! You can see the stars through the trees above
us. It's
like night. But my watch says it's only three-thirty!'
'My watch says the same. That's so weird.'
Peter agreed.
They rode up to the cabin,
feeling very confused. There was a warm glow
coming from inside, and the rich smell of a wood fire. Peter knocked twice on the
door.
After a few moments, the door opened. They were greeted by the
beautiful face
of a young woman. 'You have come back to me,' she said.
'Sorry, we don't know you, we're on holiday', Peter said in his simple
Polish, 'and we are lost. Can you tell us the way to the village?'
'You have come back to me Peter. I am so happy. I've been waiting for
you for so long. Waiting such a long time.'
Rosanna felt very uneasy.
The air was becoming cold. There was ice on the window. 'Peter, let's
go....Peter...I want to go....Peter?'
But Peter was staring
at the girl, her beauty, her deep sad eyes. He thought he recognized her, but
from where?
from when?
The girl held out her hand, and took his. "Peter my love, I have been
waiting, and now you are mine again. I will never let you go."
In a flash,
Rosanna grabbed
the
girl's arm and pulled it away from her husband. Her skin was cold, as
cold as ice, as cold as death. 'Let's get out of here!... now
Peter!.... Peter?.... Please!' But her husband kept staring into the
girls eyes, as if in a trance.
Rosanna shouted, 'PETER...WAKE UP...WE ARE LEAVING... NOW!' She dragged him to their
bicycles,
and soon they were riding away as quickly as they could. After some
time, the trees became less thick, and again the sun started to shine
again in the summer sky.
'What just happened?' Peter asked.
'I don't know, and I don't want to know.' his wife replied, 'Maybe we
should try to forget it?'
And they did forget it. Within ten minutes neither of them could
remember what happened. The memory disappeared. They found the village,
they enjoyed their vacation, and after one week returned to New York.
Three years later, Peter was looking through a box of very old photographs that his great-great-grandfather had brought to America one hundred years before. In one old, yellow, faded photo he saw a young man who looked just like himself. The young man was standing outside a wooden cabin in a forest. He was standing by a new grave, looking sad. Peter closed the box and never opened it again.