The Incident at Blackgrove

Epilogue

This story is the memory that haunts me to this day.  Sometimes, I still can't look at a mannequin without thinking about her, about Blackgrove.  It was a period of just a few days, but the trauma has lasted a lifetime.  I don't expect you to understand what I went through.  My own family didn't for the longest time.

Yes, I kept my promise.  I settled down in Salem, Oregon.  Made friends.  Got a stable job.  Got married, even had kids.  It's been 15 years since the Incident at Blackgrove, and I still haven't forgotten Willa.  I never stopped looking for her, for Blackgrove.  I may have slowed down, I may have suppressed some memories for a while, but I haven't stopped. 

For a while, I told everyone that I could about the Incident.  I told reporters, friends, strangers, passersby.  I told anyone that would listen.  No one ever believed me.  When I first met my wife, Cadence, I told her about the incident, but she didn't believe me either.  My kids never believed me either.  But then, one night when I was talking about the Incident again (and testing my family's patience), I remembered something. 

After the Incident, when I had finally found my first apartment, I stuck my backpack and a lot of its contents into a storage box and never took it out.  That storage box followed me everywhere I went, but I never opened it, for it was too painful.

10 years after the Incident, my wife told me that I should "see someone.  Get some help." 

"When I first moved here," I told her, "I did see a therapist.  We tried all kinds of things, like hypnosis.  We suppressed some memories and came up with some coping mechanisms, but in the end nothing worked.  I still have nightmares to this day."

"Babe, I wanna believe you, but this town, Blackgrove...it doesn't even exist!"

"I know that you're tired of hearing this, and I'm so thankful that you're always willing to listen to me, but I swear it happened.  I wouldn't have all of this trauma, all of these nightmares, if it didn't.  I swear, I'm telling the truth."  She sighed.  I could tell she was getting tired of always having this conversation with me.

"If only you had something from Blackgrove or something of hers."  When she said that, I suddenly remembered something that I had long forgotten.  Willa's library card.  On the night of the festival, I never gave it back to her.  I should still have it, I thought.

"Wait here!" I said to her as I rushed to the attic.  "Um, okay!" she called out to me, confused.

I rummaged through that attic for several minutes, frantically.  I could hear my wife talking to our kids downstairs.  After looking for a while, I finally found it.  The storage box that had my backpack in it.  I opened the box, grabbed the backpack and headed downstairs. 

Waiting for me was Cadence and our two kids.  "What's that?" asked my five-year-old, Bram.  Our seven-year-old, Christie, came running over to me to look inside the backpack.

"What is that?" asked Cadence.

"This is the backpack I wore when I was traveling the country.  All of my important stuff, everything that mattered to me or was necessary, I kept in here."

Christie and Bram fought to look into the backpack.  "Quit shoving!" yelled Christie.  Cadence called them and motioned to them to give me space.  I felt around for the secret pocket on the inside and I found it.  There was something in it.  My heart was beating fast in anticipation.  My family looked at me, anxiously.  I unzipped the pocket, grabbed a plastic card from within, pulled it out, and there it was.  Willa's library card.  It had her name on it, the words "Blackgrove Public Library," and even a picture of her.

I fell to my knees and sobbed.  My wife came over to me and saw the card and gasped.  I looked at her and tears were forming in her eyes.  "Is this...?"  I nodded.  She hugged me tight, followed by our kids.  That was it.  The proof I needed was with me the whole time and I never realized it.  "Who's that?  She's pretty!" said Christie. 

"That's my friend I was talking about," I answered.  The picture showed a very happy Willa, with a wide smile and her long blonde hair cascading down her shoulders.  Her bright eyes made her feel so alive, even in that small picture.

"She was real?" asked Christie, and I answered "yes.  She was."  My wife smiled at me sadly.  Finally, her memory could live on in other people's minds, not just mine.  Finally, someone believed me.

"The last thing she told me," I said, holding back tears, "was that she wanted me to remember her."

"Then we'll remember her together," said Cadence.  From that day on, the nightmares lessened, although they never left.  The pain lessened, although it still hurt.  I still haven't found another trace nor mention of Sikhs, although I have been able to find some things here and there about old gods, like the ones Sikhs had talked about.  

My family remains supportive of me.  Ever since I discovered that library card, I haven't had the urge to tell anyone about the Incident or seek support from anyone else.  My family's support is enough.  I'm slowly recovering from the trauma of that Incident and although it still affects me, my life as of late has been pretty good.  What should have ended me ended up setting me on the path towards a better life.   Everything is almost normal now and I owe a great deal of that to Willa, to Blackgrove, and, oddly enough, to Sikhs the trickster god.  Sometimes, to make a positive change in one's life, you have to do something hard first.  I hope that I'm making Willa proud, wherever she may be.  

I want to thank any of you that may be reading this for giving me a chance to tell my story and for helping me to keep Willa's memory alive.  It means more to me than you might ever know. 

Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you.

- Dakota