The short life of a dream

In this short story you'll read about the adventures of a woman who tries to fulfill her long-held desire to buy a house in the mountains and encounters supernatural beings in the native forest that surrounds the house. Will the realization of this dream make her happy?

There are desires that we don't know where they came from or whether they are good for us. Are they the fruit of our maturing tastes and the experiences we've had in life? Can they be easily discarded? There was a Brazilian car advertisement that said “Uno, you'll still have one”. The Uno, I remember well, was an ugly little car and certainly Fiat didn't believe that it could be the consumer dream of an entire generation. That Uno advertisement was more like a curse that the marketing team was putting on us. It didn't acknowledge our free will. It seemed to believe that our desires didn't belong to us, that they could be molded as they pleased.

When I hit the road this weekend to pursue my desires, I had forgotten all about that Uno advertisement. I was driving up the winding mountain road in my car, my mind occupied by the dream of buying a little house in the middle of the forest. I had already chosen the house on the internet's real estate buying and selling apps and made a reservation to stay there for a weekend, as it was currently available to rent on the Airbnb platform. Over the next two days, I would make sure it was the house of my dreams.

I noticed that the property was located in an old allotment, with cobbled streets and houses partially hidden by preserved native forest, all with a wild and peaceful aspect. After a few minutes, I found the neighborhood security company, where I asked them to turn off the alarm and give me the key to the house.

When I arrived in front of the gate to the plot, I noticed the house peacefully surrounded by a forest of bromeliads, red camboatã and pitangueira trees. On the neighboring plot, which was still unoccupied, I spotted a canela-sassafras tree that stood tall next to the fence, reminding me of the fragrant cachaças from my university days. Despite the coolness of the day, the house was warmed by the sunlight that filtered through the leaves of the trees and flooded into the living room through the large windows. The house seemed like a magical nook suspended in time and space.

I dumped my suitcases in the bedroom and immediately began to survey its facilities. What luck that it was the day of the summer solstice, the longest day of the year! I would have plenty of time to check every nook and cranny. After a few hours, I concluded that the house was perfect: there were no damp patches, the water flowed abundantly through the pipes, the wood was free of termites and woodworm. The furniture was tasteful and the whole house showed signs of belonging to a careful owner. “You must be the one in the pictures hanging on the wall,” I said softly, as I approached to admire the portraits decorating the corner of the living room. In one of them, a middle-aged couple posed for a photo dressed in typical 19th-century clothing from the Black Forest region of Germany. I noticed the quality of the clothes, which looked like perfect replicas of those on display in a museum: the wide-brimmed straw hat with wool tassels that adorned the woman's head, the man's black felt hat, the heavy cloth clothes decorated with ribbons and the white socks that completely covered their legs. You're probably wondering how on earth I know the typical costumes of the Alto Baden region, aren't you? But that's a long story that I can tell you another time.

I only realized how much time had passed when darkness invaded the house and the cars of the residents of the plots up the hill began to parade in front of the gate. It was time for everyone to return home. I decided to dress warmly, prepare some pasta, open a bottle of wine and light the fire. Everything was ready for the first night in style in my future home. I was halfway through my glass when I noticed a swarm of little lights flying around the courtyard. “My God! It's been decades since I've seen fireflies!” I exclaimed excitedly, abandoning my meal and going out to walk around the grounds. It was a dark night, one of those nights when the woods whisper their secrets to attentive ears. Although I was incapable of understanding the language of nature, the chirping of birds, the crickets and the croaking of frogs lulled me into a state of relaxation that I hadn't experienced for a long time.

As I wandered around the grounds, I dreamed with my eyes open about the small changes I would make. Surely I would have to hang a hammock between two trees, but which ones? My eyes were roaming the area in search of the ideal spot when they bumped into a fleeting figure walking half-concealed in the bushes. She was wearing a straw hat with a high, hard crown surrounded by large black pompons. Every now and then she stopped and looked at me, as if expecting me to follow. I decided to follow in her footsteps and ended up wandering into the dense forest that bordered the land. I can't tell you how long I walked. But I remember crossing a stream and passing a series of giant araucaria trees. I soon realized that I was lost. I was beginning to despair when I heard music and laughter coming from nearby. It was a wedding party, where all the guests were dressed like the woman I had been following. A veritable tide of black and colorful pompoms was waving to the sound of German music.

Although I had studied a little German at school, I could hardly understand a word they were saying. It sounded more like a dialect. I noticed that only the woman I had been chasing and her companion seemed to have noticed me. They both reciprocated my interest by gesturing for me to come closer, but my limbs felt as heavy as if I had a hangover. As I turned my head, I felt a passing vibration in my ears accompanied by an interference in the image before my eyes, as if someone was turning the antenna of existence in search of tuning. I spent a few minutes moving slowly through that mysterious energy field, trying to understand what was going on. Was it the effect of the wine?

Suddenly, I felt the woman's clawed fingers dig into my forearm. I turned my face to face her, but her avid eyes seemed to be busy searching for some sign on my neck. I struggled to find someone who could help me out of the situation, but I had the distinct impression that the others couldn't see me. It was then that my tormentor started shouting “Hochstapler!”* with a choleric expression. I decided to gather what strength I had left to escape and return home.

I wandered around the silent forest until I finally found its sounds and the cloud of fireflies. From then on, it was easy to find my way home. As soon as I arrived, I locked all the doors and windows and turned on the alarm. Although the vibration in my ears and the blurred vision had disappeared and everything seemed normal, when I thought about a possible reunion with that couple... It was only when I drank the last drop of wine that I felt my body and mind relax again and I was able to fall asleep.

The next day I woke up very early with a tremendous hangover. I quickly put all my belongings in my suitcase and took out the trash. As I put the luggage in the trunk of the car, I had a moment of indecision. I retraced my steps and headed for the sofa in the living room, where the family portraits were hanging. I took the portrait of the couple in traditional dress out of its frame and read the dedication in Gothic German written on the back:

As I stopped by the security company to hand over the keys, the employee explained that he had the owner of the house on the phone and that she wanted to speak to me. She kindly asked if everything had gone well with my stay and if the house was to my liking. Despite her politeness, my reply was laconic. However, I took the opportunity to ask who the couple in the photo were. She explained that they were her husband's great-great-grandfather and great-great-grandmother, who lived on the fringes of the Black Forest. The poor things, she said, had fallen ill and died before her granddaughter was born, but they had left a photo to be given to her when she turned 20. However, all the female descendants had died in infancy. The only one to become an adult was her daughter. However, she had also died in an accident on the eve of her 20th birthday. “Yesterday would have been her birthday,” said the owner, her voice choked with tears.

I took to the road with my mind in a whirl. Had I come through a portal to another dimension in the woods? Had I traveled back in time to the 19th century and met the great-great-grandmother of the owner of the house? Supernatural stories like this are part of the mysticism that surrounds the Black Forest and its solitary wanderers. But was I interested in having other terrifying experiences like the one I'd just had?

When I got home, I found my mother sorting out warm clothes and blankets to take to our future house in the mountains. She anxiously asked me what I thought of the house and if I'd already closed the deal. “No, I've discovered that I prefer a beach house,” I replied brusquely and locked myself in my room before she could demand further explanations. Through the door I heard her cursing - “I don't know what I did to deserve such a fickle daughter” - before turning on the TV at full volume to cover up her crying.

*Obs: Hochstapler means impostor in German

Translated with DeepL.com (free version)

Tags: BollenhutBlack Forestmountain housedesire