The Madman's Guide to Miracles

Three days remained.

Once again, I woke up before the house did. I wasn’t sure when this became a habit. Maybe I simply lost trust in sleep.

First, I examined the wardrobe. Nothing seemed different. I stared at it for a few moments before looking away, because if anything inside had moved, I would have noticed.

"Ah... so this is what paranoia is..."

I sat on the edge of the bed and went over the plan one more time.

Moss.

Thorn.

Mother.

Moss was the easier one. He was barely present most days, always lost in his own head. Getting close to him wouldn’t be difficult.

Thorn was the issue.

She paid attention.

She noticed when people changed their routines, when someone avoided a question, when something didn’t belong.

If Moss disappeared and she followed after, she’d understand there was a connection. She might not know the answer, but she would start searching.

I couldn’t let that happen.

Both had to happen quickly.

Moss first.

Then Thorn.

The timing mattered.

Mother was coming home that day.

I wanted her to see what she had left behind.

Not an empty house.

Not a family waiting for her.

Something that had already moved forward without her.

I left the room and headed downstairs.

I kept my expression normal.

That part was easy.

People were always looking for something obvious. A shaking hand. A nervous glance. A wrong word.

Most of them never noticed the things that actually mattered.

Thorn was waiting in the hallway.

I knew before I saw her.

"Morning."

She didn’t respond.

"Bramble."

The way she said his name immediately told me this wasn’t casual.

"What happened?"

"He’s not at his post."

I paused.

"He’s not?"

Her eyes narrowed.

"Don’t."

I looked at her.

"Don’t what?"

"Act like you don’t know what I’m talking about."

Interesting.

She was already suspicious.

"Last time I saw him, he said he had somewhere to go. I assumed Mother gave him something before leaving."

"She didn’t tell me anything."

"She doesn’t tell you everything."

The silence after that lasted a little longer than it should have.

I observed her face. There it was—a small crack, indicating frustration, possibly anger, or something more primal.

"He hasn’t slept in his room for two nights."

That was new information. I stored it at the edge of my mind for later.

"Maybe he’s avoiding you."

Her expression tightened.

"You think that’s funny?"

I paused contemplating

"No."

I shrugged.

"Just possible."

She stepped closer.

Not enough to threaten me.

Enough to examine me.

"You’ve changed since he arrived."

I said nothing.

"Petal thinks it’s harmless. I don’t."

"You’ve never really liked me."

"No."

The answer came instantly.

Almost automatic.

For some reason, that made me want to laugh.

I didn’t.

"He’ll return."

I turned toward the stairs.

"He always does."

"Everyone does things for the first time."

I kept walking.

I sensed her gaze fixed on me. She was uncertain about what was wrong, which was okay. Questions were easy to handle. I wasn’t going to give a proper one. She had three days, while I only had until tonight.

I waited until she finally stopped watching me, moving only after her gaze was gone. Over the past few days, my senses had sharpened—distinguishing distant footsteps, noticing subtle movements effortlessly, and catching details I had previously missed. My body felt different too: stronger, faster, as if every part were being pulled toward something else. It must be because I was gradually becoming one of them or because of what happened after I ate Bramble and absorbed his Ether. Since then, my body has been changing, and I couldn’t tell whether it was just adapting to me or whether I was beginning to lose more of what made me human.

Finally, after I made sure I lost her trail, I headed straight back to the broodmother room. There was something I needed to check.

And then my mind drifted back to something I had seen.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

A worn diary sat on the edge of the desk, its cover faded and its pages slightly damaged from

Age.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

I finally reached the room. I opened the door and stepped inside.

It didn’t take long to find what I was looking for.

The diary was already worn by the time I picked it up.

I sat on the edge of the desk and opened it.

A single name was written beneath the first date.

Serel.

The handwriting was neat. Careful. It looked nothing like the woman I’d met.

Entry — Early

Harvest was poor again.

Tomas blames the soil, mentioning we’ve been planting too much in the same fields. It’s interesting how he only brings this up when it’s just the two of us. As soon as the priest passes by, he shifts the blame to the gods.

Walked up to the old shrine today. Haven’t bothered in years, but almost everyone in the village was there. They’ve started leaving offerings now. Bread, flowers, little wooden carvings... one woman even left her wedding ring.

It’s just an old statue. If it could have helped us, I believe it would have done so by now.

Petra had her baby today.

The poor little thing came out crying loudly. She’s not particularly attractive, but I couldn’t stop holding her. Petra kept laughing because every time she reached for her, I found another excuse to keep her a bit longer. I told Tomas I wanted one. He said we’d wait until the harvest is better. I asked him what would happen if life doesn’t wait for us. He didn’t reply.

I skimmed through several pages. Mostly, it was routine—descriptions of a wedding, a summer with poor crop yields, and too many pages mourning an old dog.

Entry

People are changing.

Not their faces.

It’s simply in the way they speak. The priest has been informing everyone that the Old Father is awakening and claiming He’s finally prepared to surpass His previous self. I inquired about the meaning of that. He only smiled at me and didn’t respond. Occasionally, I believe he derives pleasure from people’s attention.

A year ago I would’ve laughed all the way home.

Now...

I’m not sure. Something happened over the ridge last night—the sky seemed to fold in on itself, just for a moment. I nearly told Tomas, but the words stuck in my throat.

I. I didn’t want to frighten him.

Entry

It rained black over the eastern fields.

Maybe an hour.

When it ended, everyone went outside expecting to see dead crops, but nothing had died.

The wheat’s growing too fast now. The fruit feels warm after sunset, and when I picked one up yesterday I could’ve sworn it pulsed in my hand.

I discarded it. I returned this morning to find it missing. The priest says we have been blessed.

I’m unsure why everyone keeps referring to wounds as blessings. Perhaps they’re convincing themselves, or maybe I’m resisting that idea. Sometimes I wonder if the Old Father has truly stopped waking up, or if He’s trying to die. Maybe something this vast simply takes a long time to change.

Entry

Tomas is sick.

It started with a cough.

Now dark lines are spreading beneath his skin, extending a bit more each morning. He insists he hears singing whenever the house falls silent. I remain awake, listening alongside him, but I’ve never heard anything.

Last night he apologized to me.

Again.

I asked him what for.

He kept saying he was sorry. Today I looked into his eyes and froze — they’re still his, I know they are. But they don’t look back at me the way they used to. He reached for my hand and told me not to be afraid, so I squeezed it anyway. I don’t think either of us believed I wasn’t afraid.

Entry

They’re calling it the Blight now.

Nobody agrees where it came from anymore.

Some say it fell from the sky.

Others swear it spilled out of the Old Father when He realized He’d never become what He wanted.

Maybe.

Maybe not.

I don’t think it matters now.

Petra’s little girl would’ve turned eleven this year.

I still remember how small her hand was.

Funny.

I remember that.

Can’t remember what color Petra’s eyes were.

Tried all morning.

Nothing.

Entry — No Date

Found a cave.

No...

I found the path.

I think.

I don’t remember leaving the village.

I only remember standing there.

There’s something inside.

Not moving.

Just...

waiting.

I know it’s His heart.

Don’t know why I know.

Didn’t go inside.

I wanted to.

I wanted to very badly.

I came home instead.

My boots were muddy.

Don’t remember the walk back either.

Entry

Tomas is gone.

Not dead.

Dead.

Gone.

I keep writing the wrong word.

He’s still somewhere.

I think.

I heard someone knocking last night.

Opened the door.

Nobody.

There were footprints though.

Bare feet.

Leading away from the house.

I almost followed them.

I don’t remember deciding not to.

Entry

Another child today.

Then another.

The villagers don’t even knock anymore.

They leave them outside.

Some won’t look at me when I answer the door.

Some cry.

Some look relieved.

One father smiled.

Smiled.

I wanted to ask how he could smile.

I forgot.

The little boy was cold.

Didn’t complain.

He hasn’t blinked once.

Maybe he’s sleeping with his eyes open.

Children are strange.

Entry

One of them asked me why flowers don’t scream when you pick them.

...

I laughed.

Don’t know why.

It wasn’t funny.

His name...

D...

B...

I wrote it down somewhere.

Didn’t I?

I can’t find it now.

He’s asleep beside the others.

They’re quieter than normal children.

Makes the house feel...

peaceful.

Entry

Something keeps growing outside.

Thought it was vines.

Not vines.

Roots.

No...

Flowers.

I think.

They’re pretty.

Don’t remember planting them.

One of the children said they started blooming after I came home.

Maybe they were always there.

I’ve stopped checking.

Entry

My handwriting looks different today.

It must be tiring. The ink keeps bleeding, or perhaps my hand won’t cease trembling. It’s hard to tell. The children keep begging me to sing, but I don’t know that song. ...I really shouldn’t know that song.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

i left.

i know i left.

i remember walking home.

i remember locking the door.

so why won’t it stop?

why is it still here?

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

too loud.

too loud.

TOO LOUD.

i can’t hear the birds anymore.

i can’t hear the children.

i can’t hear myself.

just the heart.

always the heart.

it’s beautiful

go back

NO.

i’m not going back.

i’m not.

i’m not.

...i already did, didn’t i?

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

please stop.

please stop.

please stop.

i can’t sleep.

every time i close my eyes it’s louder.

every time i wake up it’s closer.

it’s under the house.

no.

it’s under the village.

no.

it’s under me.

no no no no no no no no no

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

i put my hands over my ears.

it didn’t help.

i screamed.

i couldn’t hear it.

i bit my tongue until i tasted blood.

i still couldn’t hear anything except it.

i don’t know if i’m hearing the heart anymore.

i don’t know if the heart is hearing me.

Entry

One of the little ones wandered too close to the fireplace today.

I looked away for a second.

He cried out before I could pull him back.

The flame barely touched his hand, but the skin split open like wet paper.

It wasn’t a bad burn.

It just...

didn’t seem to belong on him.

The others wouldn’t go near the fire after that.

Thought maybe they’d frightened themselves.

Now they all sit as far away from it as they can.

Strange children.

Entry

Tried making soup tonight.

None of them would come inside until I’d put the fire out.

I thought they were being stubborn.

One of the older boys stood in the doorway staring at the hearth.

He looked frightened.

Not of me.

Of the flames.

I carried his bowl outside instead.

He smiled.

They’re eating better now.

Not much.

Just...

different things.

Less bread.

Less meat.

They seem happier with whatever they find growing in the forest.

I’m probably worrying too much.

Entry

The flowers keep spreading.

The children know all their names.

I don’t remember teaching them.

One of the girls picked a flower I’d never seen before and asked if I’d planted it.

I told her no.

She looked confused.

"But they only grow where you walk."

Funny thing for a child to say.

Entry

Another family left today.

They didn’t say goodbye.

Just packed what they could carry and walked east before sunrise.

One of the children asked if they’d come back.

I almost said yes.

Instead I watched the forest close behind them.

I don’t think there’ll be a road there tomorrow.

Entry

One of the boys hugged me today.

He stopped halfway.

Looked at my arms.

Asked why my skin felt cold.

I laughed and told him my hands had always been cold.

Hadn’t they?

...

I can’t remember.

Entry

The children now sleep through the night, but I don’t. Occasionally, I wake up outside the house standing, sometimes with muddy feet or flowers in my hair. I probably need to stop walking in my sleep, as I don’t recall learning the forest path so clearly.

E..N...T...R.Y

The children were waiting for me when I came back.

I don’t remember telling them I was leaving.

I don’t remember leaving.

They just... knew.

The smallest one ran up and hugged my legs. His skin felt colder than usual.

Or maybe my hands are warmer now.

I can’t tell anymore.

One of the girls asked if I finally heard Him.

I asked what she meant.

She looked confused.

"The heartbeat."

...

I don’t remember answering.

The flowers have reached the house.

They’re growing through the floorboards now. I should probably pull them out.

I tried.

They bled.

One of the boys laughed and asked why I was hurting them.

I said flowers don’t bleed.

He looked at me for a long time.

Then he asked,

"Don’t you remember making them?"

...

No.

I don’t remember that.

I don’t remember planting anything.

I don’t remember when the forest started following me.

I don’t remember why the birds stopped singing.

I don’t remember when the villagers stopped looking me in the eyes.

I don’t remember...

...

The children sleep easier when I sing.

I don’t know where I learned the song.

I only know the heartbeat gets quieter while I’m singing.

Maybe that’s why they sleep.

Maybe that’s why they keep finding me.

Maybe...

No.

That doesn’t sound right.

...

Someone knocked on the door tonight.

I opened it.

Nobody was there.

Just another child.

He didn’t say a word.

He simply walked past me like he’d always lived here.

The others smiled when they saw him.

"Another sibling."

...

Sibling?

I asked them whose.

They all looked at me.

Nobody answered.

I don’t know why I started crying.

The tears wouldn’t stop.

Where they landed...

Flowers bloomed.

...

If anyone finds this diary...

Please...

Take the children somewhere far away from me.

I think...

I think they’ve started calling me...

Mother.

Miss Serel.

Caretaker.

...

I don’t remember telling them my name.

I don’t remember my name.

...

But the heartbeat does.

It never forgot.

THUMP.

THUMP.

THUMP.

I closed the diary and let out a slow breath.

THUMP.

Every thought in my head disappeared.

What...?

My fingers tightened around the diary. My body froze before my mind could catch up. A cold chill crawled up my spine, and every instinct I had screamed the same thing.

Run.

THUMP.

What the fuck was that?

My heartbeat?

No.

It couldn’t be.

It was too slow. Too heavy. Each beat felt like it was echoing through my chest instead of coming from it. I tried to steady my breathing.

Calm down.

You’re getting carried away.

It’s just a diary.

Just a story.

Then why does it feel so real?

Why does it feel like something is... there?

I stayed like that for what felt like forever until the sound slowly faded. My breathing settled. The tightness in my chest eased.

"I’m imagining things."

I had to be.

There was no heartbeat.

The diary had just gotten under my skin.

I rubbed my face, looked down at the diary one last time, and forced myself to move on.

Alright.

Overall, this was worth it.

I’d learned something useful.

Her offspring feared fire.

Fire itself.

They avoided it instinctively. Even the smallest flame was enough to keep them away. Whether it burned them more easily or simply triggered something buried deep inside them didn’t really matter.

It was a weakness.

That was all I needed.

As for the plan...

I’d deal with Moss and Thorn first. Taking them out separately was asking for trouble. If one found out what happened to the other, everything would fall apart.

Petal...

I...

She wasn’t a threat yet.

That’s all.

It made more sense to leave her until the end.

Besides...

She’d never really...

...

Yeah.

Last.

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