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Description
Keep Quiet

A soft snow drifted from the impenetrable clouds of the sky and built upon the window ledge of the manor. In the dim light of day a small gas lamp stood burning upon an oaken desk beside the figure gazing out at the grounds. The man in question could be found watching the distant barren maples, groaning as the weight of winter hung from their bows. A silence loomed over the asylum as the general hush of the natural world covered all in its chill. For a moment, the man’s fingers twitched at his sides as he raised them to lay against the frozen glass, leaving small imprints from the tips.

The door to the room opened with a sharp creak, startling the man from his reverie.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Iver. I am Doctor Jonathan Blackwood, as I am sure you know, but introductions are never harmful.” The doctor gave a wan smile as he attempted to ease into the situation. “Please have a seat. Can I offer you a drink before we begin?”

The man, Iver, gave a small shake of his head.

“No? Very well. Is it alright if we commence, Mr. Iver?” Blackwood inquired as he took a seat behind the oaken desk. Iver nodded as he followed suit. The doctor took a few minutes to pull out his file and shuffle through it. “Yes,” he hummed. “Very good. Mr. Iver, do you know why you are here?”

Iver, again, shook his head.

“We, here, at the manor think it best to begin these therapeutic sessions to facilitate the improvement of your mental stability. You have experienced quite the traumatic event, but have been showing much improvement.”

Blood on the ice. A finger pressed to too frozen lips. Keep quiet, they’ll hear.

Iver blinked back at the doctor in response.

Blackwood sighed, supposing this may be more difficult than he had suspected.

“Let’s begin, shall we? Mr. Iver I will be asking you a series of questions regarding that night and please do your best to answer what you felt or saw. If a question disturbs you, you may say ‘pass’ and we shall leave it lie. There is a dual effort involved in these sessions, Mr. Iver, so please do not be afraid to speak up. I am here to help.” Sincerity shown in the doctor’s eyes as he cleared his throat. “What do you remember about that night, first of all, Mr. Iver?”

Blood on the ice. A finger pressed to too frozen lips. Keep quiet, they’ll hear.

Iver was silent for a long moment. When Blackwood’s patience threatened to run out, Iver spoke.

“It didn’t begin that night,” Iver whispered.

“What?” Blackwood asked, startled at this response.

“It began long before that night.” There was a dismal smile plastered onto Iver’s scruffy face. His eyes were deep pools of loss. One could almost drown in the painstaking emotion they conveyed.

“You mean to say this was prepared? This death prearranged?”

Iver took another moment before leaning forward in his chair, fingers laced together.

“Not at all,” he breathed.

The clock on the mantle clicked, adding continued monotony to the room.

“Her death was not intended. None of us could foresee the consequences. But she did not die at the beginning. She died at the end. And if I am going to explain what happened I am going to start at the beginning and not the end,” Iver announced, straightening in his seat.

Blackwood, for a moment, was too stunned to take notes. Where this authoritative man had been for the past couple of weeks, he could not fathom. All Blackwood knew was that his questions were about to be answered.

“Very well, Mr. Iver. Tell me when this all started,” the doctor cleared his throat and leaned forward in his seat. Iver closed his eyes.

“I was a journalist at the time. Funny how even now I’m the only one left to report what happened. I met her through a relative of mine who I was staying with. The Midwest was not my home. I had grown up in New York but had taken a trip to visit my distant cousin to -” Here Iver halted.

“To do what, Mr. Iver?” Blackwood asked, his pen hesitating above the paper.

“As a vacation,” Iver gave a wobbly smile. Blackwood wasn’t convinced but he let it slide. “I was vacationing last fall and had planned to stay only until the end of October when I was...delayed.”

“Delayed?”

“I was granted an opportunity for a story in Northern Minnesota and, naturally, I took the offer. I suspected it would be healthy for my mind to find peace in the north woods. I had been around cities all my life and I had assumed the atmosphere was draining my ambitions.”

“So you took this...story in the northern woods? What exactly was the story about? How did it come to be that she came with?”

Iver suddenly was still, his eyes faraway. His breathing became more labored as a minute ticked by. Blackwood tensed, prepared to call in a nurse as the man rocked back and forth in his seat, running his hands over his face.

“It was my fault,” he moaned. “I did it. I killed her. I let it all happen. I -”

“What did you let happen? How did you kill her, Mr. Iver?”

Iver looked up at last, his eyes bloodshot. He pressed a finger to his mouth.

“Shh,” he whispered. “Let me start from the beginning. When I first heard the words.”

“What words?” Blackwood demanded. Iver let the suspense build until at last his lips parted.

“Keep quiet. They’ll hear.”

Description
Keep Quiet

A soft snow drifted from the impenetrable clouds of the sky and built upon the window ledge of the manor. In the dim light of day a small gas lamp stood burning upon an oaken desk beside the figure gazing out at the grounds. The man in question could be found watching the distant barren maples, groaning as the weight of winter hung from their bows. A silence loomed over the asylum as the general hush of the natural world covered all in its chill. For a moment, the man’s fingers twitched at his sides as he raised them to lay against the frozen glass, leaving small imprints from the tips.

The door to the room opened with a sharp creak, startling the man from his reverie.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Iver. I am Doctor Jonathan Blackwood, as I am sure you know, but introductions are never harmful.” The doctor gave a wan smile as he attempted to ease into the situation. “Please have a seat. Can I offer you a drink before we begin?”

The man, Iver, gave a small shake of his head.

“No? Very well. Is it alright if we commence, Mr. Iver?” Blackwood inquired as he took a seat behind the oaken desk. Iver nodded as he followed suit. The doctor took a few minutes to pull out his file and shuffle through it. “Yes,” he hummed. “Very good. Mr. Iver, do you know why you are here?”

Iver, again, shook his head.

“We, here, at the manor think it best to begin these therapeutic sessions to facilitate the improvement of your mental stability. You have experienced quite the traumatic event, but have been showing much improvement.”

Blood on the ice. A finger pressed to too frozen lips. Keep quiet, they’ll hear.

Iver blinked back at the doctor in response.

Blackwood sighed, supposing this may be more difficult than he had suspected.

“Let’s begin, shall we? Mr. Iver I will be asking you a series of questions regarding that night and please do your best to answer what you felt or saw. If a question disturbs you, you may say ‘pass’ and we shall leave it lie. There is a dual effort involved in these sessions, Mr. Iver, so please do not be afraid to speak up. I am here to help.” Sincerity shown in the doctor’s eyes as he cleared his throat. “What do you remember about that night, first of all, Mr. Iver?”

Blood on the ice. A finger pressed to too frozen lips. Keep quiet, they’ll hear.

Iver was silent for a long moment. When Blackwood’s patience threatened to run out, Iver spoke.

“It didn’t begin that night,” Iver whispered.

“What?” Blackwood asked, startled at this response.

“It began long before that night.” There was a dismal smile plastered onto Iver’s scruffy face. His eyes were deep pools of loss. One could almost drown in the painstaking emotion they conveyed.

“You mean to say this was prepared? This death prearranged?”

Iver took another moment before leaning forward in his chair, fingers laced together.

“Not at all,” he breathed.

The clock on the mantle clicked, adding continued monotony to the room.

“Her death was not intended. None of us could foresee the consequences. But she did not die at the beginning. She died at the end. And if I am going to explain what happened I am going to start at the beginning and not the end,” Iver announced, straightening in his seat.

Blackwood, for a moment, was too stunned to take notes. Where this authoritative man had been for the past couple of weeks, he could not fathom. All Blackwood knew was that his questions were about to be answered.

“Very well, Mr. Iver. Tell me when this all started,” the doctor cleared his throat and leaned forward in his seat. Iver closed his eyes.

“I was a journalist at the time. Funny how even now I’m the only one left to report what happened. I met her through a relative of mine who I was staying with. The Midwest was not my home. I had grown up in New York but had taken a trip to visit my distant cousin to -” Here Iver halted.

“To do what, Mr. Iver?” Blackwood asked, his pen hesitating above the paper.

“As a vacation,” Iver gave a wobbly smile. Blackwood wasn’t convinced but he let it slide. “I was vacationing last fall and had planned to stay only until the end of October when I was...delayed.”

“Delayed?”

“I was granted an opportunity for a story in Northern Minnesota and, naturally, I took the offer. I suspected it would be healthy for my mind to find peace in the north woods. I had been around cities all my life and I had assumed the atmosphere was draining my ambitions.”

“So you took this...story in the northern woods? What exactly was the story about? How did it come to be that she came with?”

Iver suddenly was still, his eyes faraway. His breathing became more labored as a minute ticked by. Blackwood tensed, prepared to call in a nurse as the man rocked back and forth in his seat, running his hands over his face.

“It was my fault,” he moaned. “I did it. I killed her. I let it all happen. I -”

“What did you let happen? How did you kill her, Mr. Iver?”

Iver looked up at last, his eyes bloodshot. He pressed a finger to his mouth.

“Shh,” he whispered. “Let me start from the beginning. When I first heard the words.”

“What words?” Blackwood demanded. Iver let the suspense build until at last his lips parted.

“Keep quiet. They’ll hear.”