Chapter 8: The First Stone to Fall from Silence
Morning in the village did not begin with its usual order.
Ishak, son of Ahmet Ağa, was nowhere to be seen at the threshing ground. Not at home, not in the fields, not even on the winding paths of the village. His shoes were left by the door, the door itself slightly ajar. His mother had called him after the morning prayer — she received no answer, but at first, no one was alarmed. He's young, they said, perhaps he's gone to the mountains, or by the river... But when noon came and still no trace of him appeared, even the warmth of the sun fell over the village with a shade of unease.
Aytekin and Bayram had last seen Ishak on the road to Burgaz. It was near sunset, and he had paused upon the rocks, calling out to them:
"I saw a light beyond the mountain," he had said, "like fire. Maybe a nomad camp has returned."
But the light was gone now. And so was Ishak.
As Aytekin remembered those words, a heaviness settled in his chest. The boy had not returned from the path he took. That was not normal for this village. Here, one did not remain out after dark. Here, one walked with the permission of shadows.
---
A few men gathered in the village square, speaking in hushed unease.
"This is the second," said one. "The first, we forgot in the winter. Remember the shepherd? No trace of him either. But it was winter — we said the wolves took him, the snow covered the rest."
"But it's spring now," said Yusuf Usta. "And there is no snow. Then what — did steam carry the boy away?"
Dervish Mehmet scooped a handful of earth and stared at it in silence.
"Even the ground falls silent like a man," he said. "But that silence is often the breath before a scream."
---
Aytekin and Bayram walked the Burgaz road once more. This time, the silence was heavier. No birds sang. The bushes did not rustle. Even the stones beneath their feet seemed harder somehow.
Near the place Ishak had pointed, they found a piece of cloth. Ash clung to it. Burn marks. Aytekin crouched and brought it to his nose. It was the scent of a fire that no longer burned — the ghost of something that had already turned to smoke.
"This looks like Ishak's tunic," Bayram said, his voice faint.
"Yes," said Aytekin. But he said no more.
---
That night, fires were lit in the village, but none gave warmth. Even within their own homes, people found no peace. Mothers kept their children inside. Men took turns keeping watch through the dark. But the darkness did not knock — it entered without asking.
And Aytekin, that night, dreamed of a door. Not one from their home — a door from a place that had never stood in the village. Behind it stood a man without eyes — yet somehow, he was watching Aytekin. His hands were soaked in blood. But he made no sound. He only waited.
Aytekin woke drenched in sweat. There was no moon. The stars had vanished once again.