Transylvanian Stars

Summer night, stars, crisp air, nostalgia. Transylvania. A farmhouse lay in the heart of Hargita, where once-cherished memories had been born.

A grey figure rushed toward the building in the darkness. With his deep breaths and the sound of snapping twigs under his feet, he disturbed the silent peace of the night.

Not much has changed since I was last here, he thought, then stepped over the thistles and arrived at the gate. He looked around; it had been 15 years since he had last seen this piece of his childhood. Then he walked in and lay down on the grass. After all these years, he finally inhaled the sweet smell of the Teleki flowers, which meant only one thing to him: Transylvania.

He shut his eyes and relived his memories.

I missed everything. The grass, the sky, the landscape, the silence.

He looked up and got lost in the stars shining as bright as hundreds and hundreds of small diamonds on a jeweller’s table.

Ursa major, Cassiopeia, Orion. It was like yesterday that Grandpa showed them to me.

He turned his head, and his eyes met with the old barn. 

Is Lenke still alive?

Quietly, he slipped inside and approached the animal. He wove his fingers into her mane, gently stroked her side. Lenke peacefully leaned into his palms.

I haven’t seen you in a while. I hoped that we would meet again. Look, I brought you something.

Lenke accepted the apple. He sat down next to the horse and softly began to tell her about the past years. The animal listened to him for many minutes.

I have to go now. Dawn is coming soon.

He stood up and headed toward the farmhouse. The door creaked open. In the hallway, he smiled when he saw the embroidered wall hanging still adorning the walls.

He mouthed the words on the wall hanging: Wherever my fate takes me, I long for my quiet little village.

In the kitchen, he sat at the table and looked around. A cupboard, a plate rack, a brick stove, a three-legged stool. He walked over to the cupboard and opened it. He recognized the old dishes, the ones he had eaten from: sometimes stew, sometimes soup. Next, he looked into the pantry. He was surprised to notice the rows of jam jars.

Is Grandma still making jam? He opened a jar. He took a deep breath of the sweet scent.

If only I could take just a jar of this. I miss the taste.

He continued reminiscing in the living room. The tulip-painted chest caught his eye. He lifted its heavy lid, and what he found inside brought out his memories of childhood. His old toys were preserved. The stuffed animal he had always slept with, his wooden blocks and toy cars. At the bottom of the chest were board games and books. 

Sorrow tightened his chest because he could still vividly remember the last time his grandparents had read him a tale. A tear rolled down his cheek, and he wiped it away. And now the last corner of the house. He was afraid to step in because he might wake Grandma and Grandpa. 

In the dark, he couldn’t see their faces well, but he could sense their peace. 

A deep sigh left his mouth, and then he departed the house to pay a visit to the spring nearby. He had often played there with the neighboring children. With slow, deliberate steps, he approached the spring, knowing that many forest animals roamed there before dawn. Then he crouched down and washed his hands and face in the cold water. The sound of birds chirping urged him to leave, but he wanted to see one more thing, so he hurried to the cemetery. As he neared one particular headstone, a knot tightened in his throat. He finally arrived and looked at the headstone and the fresh flowers.

And that monster still hasn’t been caught. He ran his fingers over his name carved in the stone. Then he disappeared.