Outwithye Olde, an Inn with a View

Scenery perfectly captured by Ian Schneider

The gentle winds blew rhythmically from the ocean onto the coast, stroking the soft blades of grass that covered almost the entirety of the land's surface. It carried with it the mellow sound of the rustling turf, which resonated tirelessly across the rolling hills. Dauntless waves pounded furiously against the rocky shoreline, but couldn't overcome the sheer height of the cliff face. The granite and basalt found near the top remained only slightly moist, if not completely dry, as opposed to the waterlogged bottom half, that had eroded and, over the years, have been slowly merging with sea.

The body of a man, who was unhurriedly regaining consciousness, revealed itself whenever the breeze forced the grass to part. He shakily opened his eyes, as he stretched his limbs and let out a long-drawn-out yawn. The color of the sky didn't help him at all with determining what time of day it was, as it shifted into different shades every time he blinked. He sniffled and rubbed his nose before he finally decided what time it was. It was time to get up.

The man's memory was fuzzy upon waking, and he hadn't fully remembered it, but his closest friends and enemies had affectionately called him Deux. It wasn't a sobriquet, nor did it have a marvelous backstory behind it, even though he often imagined that there was. "Deux" was simply the name given to him by the people that have birthed him into existence. He coughed, as he pressed his forearms against the ground to push himself up.

The patch of land that he found himself in was a complete mystery to him. Even though he had twirled around many times, surveying every aspect of his surroundings with each turn, the terrain remained unfamiliar. He squinted his eyes, trying to recall how he got there, but to no avail. Scratching his head didn't help one bit. He steadied his breathing, and decided to roam around.

There were no signs of life; no birds in the sky, not even insects hiding in between the blades of grass. Deux felt completely alone, and, in a matter of minutes, he had almost confirmed his hypothesis. He spaced out from time to time, trying to recall the events that lead him there. The memories rushed back like a raging stream, so he tried to grab onto the ones that was pertinent to his current situation.

Deux was garbed in a dirty, loose-fitting, white shirt and brown khaki pants, whose cuffs were worse for wear. He didn't have any footwear on, and he struggled to recall the reason why. The back of his neck ached, probably because of prolonged lying on the ground, and his right eye twitched every so often. He dusted himself off as he continued to walk around. It was only then when he remembered what his full name was. The other details still eluded him.

As he was straddling near the edge of the cliff, he caught a glimpse of a quaint homestead that stood dangerously close to the brink. He ran as fast as his barefeet allowed, panting heavily with every step he took. His sweat dripped down the side of his face and his back, and his heart raced with panicked fervor. There were no assurances that there was anyone in the house, but he had to try. The house seemed to move further as he felt himself getting nearer, so he let out a desperate sigh and picked up his pace.

As he neared the house, he caught a glimpse of a strange group of structures just beyond the horizon. The clouds above it seemed to be perpetually dark, no matter how many times he blinked, and lightning routinely arced high above it. He struggled to comprehend the geometry of the structures, but was completely fine in chalking it up as a hallucination, since there was no way he would ever make contact with it.

From a distance, he heard a rooster crow. The sky above, at the time, was tinted with a bright shade of blue, so he wondered if it was, in fact, the crack of dawn. He remembered that roosters had a tendency to do that, but more importantly, he remembered what a rooster was. If there was no one else living in the house, he would at least have the rooster as company, he thought. That is, until he becomes famished, of course. He wondered if the rooster had a hint of its impending doom. Deux thought that it was best to hold off on screaming lest he risked scaring off the fowl.

He stopped running as soon as he had a clear view of the rooster. It was perched upon a short wooden stick that had a T-shaped end, which seemed to form a cross, standing just in front of the wooden house. Deux labored his breathing while he stood in front of the door. The rooster shot a piercing side-glance at the strange man as it cocked its head back and forth, but refused to move from its post. He placed his palm against the door, contemplating whether he should knock or just open the door without warning. The rooster, in turn, belted out a defeaning shriek, which startled the man and forced his recovering heart to beat furiously anew.

The door opened behind him, and he was welcomed by a bearded, old man. Surprised by each other's presence, there was a moment of silence before any of the pair spoke.

"Hello," the old man greeted. "How ... How long have you been standing there?"

"N-Not ... long," Deux replied, still trying to catch his breath. "Hi. Hello!"

"Is something the matter?," the old man queried, looking visibly worried.

"N-No, it's ... I'm fine," Deux reassured. "Everything's ... Everything's fine."

"That's good to hear then," the old man followed, as he flashed a relieved smile. "Come inside, I'll fix you some tea."

"Is this ... Is this y-your house?" Deux asked, before he accepted the invitation to enter. The whole time he walked around the plains, he didn't spot even the faintest hint of any trees. He remembered that the wood the house was made out of would've come from trees. There were a lot of questions that flooded his mind, and he doubted that tea or stepping inside would provide him with answers.

"This is, in fact, not my house — you see, this place is called the Outwithye Olde," the old man answered, pointing at the worn out sign out front. "I'm just its innkeeper."

"Outwithye Olde? Isn't it supposed to be Ye Olde Outwith or Olde Outwithye, if the name's ... y'know, not negotiable?"

The innkeeper stroked his beard as he chuckled. "The name's a bit ... strange, isn't it? I had told the fella who suggested the latest change that, but he was very insistent. You see, I'm very open to suggestions, that's why the inn's name has changed ... I don't know how many times already. I'm an old man, and my memory's not sharp as it used to be."

"And, the owner doesn't mind that you're changing it without his permission?"

"I'm sure he does, but he hasn't even bothered to check the inn for quite some time now," The innkeeper retreated inside to fulfill his earlier promise. He lit the stove and proceeded to boil some water in a decrepit kettle. "Are you coming in or not?"

"Yeah, well ... Okay, so about the inn. How did ... How was this built? There isn't a tree for miles. Was this a lush forest that had been razed in order to construct this inn?"

"Ahh the questioning type. It's alright. Come inside, drink some tea, and I shall answer all of your questions."

"W-Why are you so persistent in making me drink tea? D-Did you ... Did you drug it? I mean, I'm a complete stranger, and I don't have the faintest clue who you are. I hope you're not offended but ... Trust issues, y'know?"

"I get it. No, yeah. Would you believe me that this isn't the first time I've been asked that? Now that I think about it, I have been asked that quite a lot. Must be something with my approach. Too creepy?"

"Uh, yeah ... a bit."

"Okay, so, my name is Peter. I don't have any intention of killing or harming you, and I don't really care if you have ill intentions toward me. I'm an innkeeper. I deal with strangers for a living. Heck, I've dealt with far worse people than you, I'm sure of it. Now come inside before the tea becomes cold."

The innkeeper poured him a cup, and sat down on a wooden recliner. Deux obliged with Peter's request, and did the same. They talked for hours, with the same pattern of Deux asking and the innkeeper answering. The innkeeper indulged his guests wondering mind with aplomb. With every clear answer, more and more questions popped up in Deux's head.

The more memories he recalled, the clearer and muddier his understanding of his situation became. It was a rather odd mix, as if he was stuck in a stalemate in a battle between learning and losing knowledge. He chalked it up to exhaustion, and since he had yet to fully remember where he was going or where he came from, he asked if he could stay in the inn until it was time for him to move on. With no money to his name, they decided that Deux would pay for his stay by helping out with chores. And, because of trust issues, he introduced himself as "Mil."

Days turned into weeks, and weeks seemingly turned to months, until Deux had lost track of time. There wasn't a clock anywhere in the house, and the color of the sky turned to night after several blinks. By that time, many of his memories had already returned, but none of the ones that he had any actual use of.

Of the endless questions that Deux had asked, the innkeeper always had a clear answer, even for questions that he shouldn't have had any knowledge of. He found it very strange, but thought about it second only to the fact that there haven't been any other guests that have checked in ever since he arrived. Deux had canvassed the entire island where the inn stood, but had found no other signs of life — only him, the innkeeper and his rooster.

Losing patience, he mustered up enough courage to ask about curiosities that he dared not mention before.

"Oh, h-hey, s-so," he stammered.

"Yes?" the old man inquired, as he was wiping a ceramic plate. "What is it you wanted to ask this time?"

"W-What makes you so sure that I was going to ask a question?"

"Because ever since you arrived, that's all you've ever done. Even the last thing you said was a question."

"Yeah, well ... Honestly, I actually don't remember how I got here, or where I was intending to go to. I was asking all those questions in hopes of jogging my memory."

"I figured. No one ever stays this long in an inn."

"I-I ... I'm at a loss here. I've ... I managed to remember, you know, quite a lot about my life, but I ... I still don't know where I'm supposed to go, or what I'm supposed to do."

"Things like that simply can't be forced. It just comes to you. Trust that it will."

"Maybe I'm supposed to go to that island," Deux said, pointing at the strange construct just beyond the horizon. "I mean, that's the only place I haven't gone to yet."

"Island?" the old man wondered, as he peered out the window. "What island?"

"What? Are you serious? It's right there. That island," Deux's voice started to rise out of frustration. From a distance, the constructs seemed like they were born out of nightmares. They stuck out from the sea like a festering pus, reaching for the sky with its otherworldly shapes that seemed to bend the laws of Physics. It had a menacing air about it, that gave Deux a sense of foreboding doom every time he caught eye of it. Fortunately for him, the island wasn't ever-present, and popped out only from time to time. "Don't you see?"

"It doesn't look like anything to me."

"Doesn't ... Describe to me what you see when you look at the horizon."

"All I see is different shades of blue. An undulating, darker one from the sea, and a calm, lighter one from the sky."

"Nothing else? Nothing out of the ordinary? Like tall structures that reach high above the sky?!"

"You must be tired, Deux. Get some rest. I'll finish up—"

"Wait, what? What did you just say?"

"I said ... get some rest, and I'll finish up—"

"No, no. Before that. W-What—"

"You must be tired?"

"Yeah, and then—"

"Get some rest. I'll finish up—"

"No, no. You called me 'Deux'."

"Yes, well, that is your name, isn't it?"

"I-I ... I never told you that."

"You didn't have to."

Those four words sent chills up and down Deux's spine. Memories intermingled with assumptions, thoughts collided with fears. How could the old man have known so much about him, and yet he seemed like a complete stranger? Deux's eyebrows furrowed out of frustration, fear, and every other emotion he had yet to remember the name of.

"W-Wha— ... How could ... Who the hell are you?!"

"I told you who I am from the very start. I'm Peter."

"That ... I don't ... That doesn't make any sense to me."

"You've asked a lot of questions, and yet you failed to ask the correct ones."

"W-What ... What do you want from me? Why am I here? Where am I going?"

"I don't want anything from you. I'm just here to help you grow, and to realize your true purpose. As for the other questions, it is for you to decide."

"Purpose? What purpose? Where the hell are we?"

"Some people have called it that, but I guess it's for you to decide."

A deluge of memories flooded Deux's mind in that instant, and the sheer amount of information brought him to his knees. The realization made it hard for him to breathe. He planted his palms to the ground, as he gasped for air. He had known the truth all along, but couldn't muster enough courage to admit it.

"Am I," said Deux, softly. "Am I dead?"

"Yes," the old man answered sternly. "Yes, you are."

"But ... Why? Why didn't you tell me?"

"It wasn't my place to say."

"H-How did ... How did I die?"

"I think you already know the answer to that question."

"This ... This all seems so familiar. All those memories that I've been having. Those weren't mine, were they?"

"As a matter of fact, it's all yours," the old man clarified. He helped Deux to his feet, and wiped the young man's cheeks. "Every single one of them. Do you remember now?"

"I-I ... I'm not ... I'm not sure what's real anymore."

"Everything is real. Every thought, every realization. This conversation seems familiar because we've had it more times than you can ever imagine."

"H-How .. How is that possible?"

"You've asked that to me 487,394,125,043 times now, which is quite remarkable, considering we've had this conversation exponentially more times than that."

"Who ... Who are you?"

"I told you before. This time, my name is Peter. You're still not asking the right question."

"Who ... am I?"

The old man smiled, and he placed his hands on Deux's shoulders. "If you don't know the answer, then you still have a lot of growing up to do."

"How do I do that? How do I grow up?"

"Well, put simply, you go back, and try again."

"You mean ... I come back alive? Is this all just some weird dream from a near death experience?"

"Not this life though. This one's done. You get to live your next one. Then we get to have this conversation again after six of your years. Oops! Spoiler alert!"

"Six? No, wait what? Next one? You mean ... reincarnation?"

"Now you're getting it! I swear, I'm still surprised how long you get it. Sometimes it takes an hour or so, sometimes it takes years."

"But, when does it end? How would I ... How would I know the answer if you wipe my memory every time I get re-born?"

"It ends, when you've lived all the lives that have ever been lived and will ever be lived. As for your memory, you'll understand when the time comes."

"You mean, I'm ... I'm my mother?"

"And your father?"

"I'm Abraham Lincoln?"

"And all the slaves he had freed."

"I-I ... I'm Vishala?"

"And all of the people she had tortured and killed."

"I'm ... all of humanity?"

"Why ... Yes, of course. This whole universe was built specifically to help you grow."

"Grow? And ... become what?"

"To become just like me."

"Are you ... Are you God?"

"Me? Well, no. I'm just here to guide you to become who you're meant to be."

Deux stayed silent. For the first time in a long time, he had ran out of questions to ask. There were more knowledge gaps that needed filling, but he had yet to possess the experiences that was needed. A strange calm came with the defeaning silence.

"Do you understand now?" the innkeeper asked. "Do you understand what you need to do?"

"I ... think I do," Deux answered confidently. He took one last glance out the window before he walked slowly towards the door. "Your name isn't Peter, is it?"

Deux turned towards the innkeeper but saw a Hispanic looking woman, who looked roughly his age, standing where the old man stood.

"And your name isn't Deux Mil Dekses either," the innkeeper replied. "Not anymore, at least."

They smirked as they bid each other farewell. Deux opened the door to find a black cat with gold streaks standing where the rooster used to be. He walked out of the inn and closed the door behind him.

A few moments went by before the wooden door received several tiny knocks.

"¡Hola!" the innkeeper greeted, as she unlocked the ligneous portal.

---

I hope you enjoyed my literary recap of 2016. Suffice to say, this is an original piece written specifically for Steemit. What a year, huh? This is probably my last post of the year, so I hope it performs better than my previous one. Hopefully 2017 starts out great. The story was inspired by the idiom "Out with the old, and in with the new," which I think is symbolic of what I tried to convey with the post. I know it was a long one, so I appreciate you taking the time to read it (and hopefully voting and commenting). Have a happy new year!