Entry 6

Harlan had said nothing all this time, but I began to sense these people were not all strangers.

August 10

Three days have passed since I last wrote. There are things I noticed at the retreat that I’ve put off recording because they seemed so fantastical. This includes my retreat mates, if they can be called that. At least it’s how I saw them at first, until things began to change.

Remy had said little about himself. The look, and a slight South Asian accent, made him stand out from the others. I would guess India, or Pakistan, but he never verified it.

After dinner, but before Phillip’s tall tale by the fireplace, several of us were sitting outside in the cool air. The lodge had a large wraparound porch with a half dozenwicker rocking chairs in a line along the front wall. I was sitting between Remy and Harlan, with Claire to Harlan’s left. The others had all gone to wash up or change their clothes while we sat listening to nature’s orchestra, fullest at night.

Remy turned to me and said, “Trust is a choice.”

I’d asked the others on the porch if they were comfortable with this experience, believing I couldn’t be alone in my trepidation.

“What is it we’re supposed to trust?” I said.

“Beneficence,” said Harlan. “Whoever invited us all here surely has our best interests at heart.”

I looked at Claire, with her yellow pallor under the porch lights. She shrugged.

“We still don’t know who that is,” I said, referring to the stranger who’d placed the item online and who maintained their anonymity, even going so far as to provide a dinner they did not attend.

“I doubt we’ll be buried in the woods,” Claire offered. “There are too many of us!”

“Yet we have no idea how many of them there are,” I replied. And it was true. It was unlikely that one person had gotten the lodge and cabins ready, and preparing a dinner for seven, let alone setting it up, was not a job for a single individual. At least that’s how it seemed to me as I kept mulling it all.

I glanced over and saw that Remy was wearing a ring on his right hand, its metal smooth from wear. He saw me looking at it and began twisting it with his free hand, as if my attention to it was unwelcome.

“That’s an interesting design,” I said.

He stopped fidgeting and showed it to me. It looked like some sort of hieroglyph. Two characters etched in onyx, set in a large gold band with scratches on it, no doubt from having been on his finger for years.

“Celtic,” he said.

“Pardon me?”

“It’s pre-Celtic, actually.”

I cocked my head, examining him. “You don’t look Irish.”

Claire laughed, a reaction I hadn’t expected.

“I’m not,” Remy said. And that was all. No other explanation, nothing forthcoming about the ring or its design.

Harlan had said nothing all this time, but I began to sense these people were not all strangers.

“Have you met each other before?” I asked.

I detected a very slight reaction from Claire, despite her smile when she said, “Not until today.”

“Do we seem acquainted?” Harlan asked.

“You seem like neither friends nor complete strangers.”

“I’ve never met these lovely people before,” Remy said, with a tone or protestation.

“I didn’t mean to imply—”

“Deceit?” said Claire.

“Not at all.”

Just then the others came walking toward us from the darkness. The cabins could be seen in the distance, their lights on.

Phillip came out of the lodge. I’d forgotten he was still inside.

“Come,” he said.  “Let’s gather round the fireplace. I’ve got a story to tell.”

And that is how it circles back, how it began. Had I known how it ended, I would have fled on foot if I’d had to.

– Anonymous