An actor's dreams and doubts: Advent Calendar - December 3

An actor's dreams and doubts Advent Calender presents - December 3 - Vanja Miljak, a Croatian of German nationality. A woman who lets her heart take the lead. The word is her's.

A Dark Tale Before Christmas

It is cold on this December night in my little attic studio in Zagreb. With a blanket on my shoulders I stand on my balcony overlooking the main square. A lighted cigarette in one hand, with the other gripping on tightly to the blanket. What I see is a statue of ban Jelačić from the back raising his knife high into the sky while passers by dangle their H&M and Zara shopping bags on their way to the tram stop. My home country Croatia hasnt been free of gloom in the 90s, but as this post-war society transitions into a Croatia of the EU, what interests me, as an aspiring writer and director, are not so much the recent or any war time stories, but a darkness that stems from a place further away from reality. Inspiration for tales about spirits, ghosts and monsters are lurking around every corner of Croatia's capital. Be it that I walk on the Bloody Bridge (Krvavi Most) or take a look at the ornamentfully curved secessionist street lights above the cobble stone, Zagreb's streets at night are like long fingured creatures leaning towards you to whisper eerie stories into your ear. It is one such little story that I would like to share with you:

Her mother had passed away this year. She died in her arms, grasping for air one last time before she closed her eyes. Beside her on the wall was a splatter of blood. A thin line that touched the hard wood floor at its end. Every time Manda took a look at this now clotted line, the memory came back to her. She heard her mothers voice in that room every time she entered it. A cry for help. The house they had lived in together for the past 7 years was old already, but the squeeking doors and half-broken windows had never bothered mother and daughter while they had each other. It was a cute little two story building in Potok street in the neighborhood of Vrapče where the insane asylum of Zagreb is situated. A little stream ran beside the street, with little concrete bridges leading to each of the fenced entrances of the family owned houses. Only now with her mom's cries ringing through the hallways, Manda couldn't stand it.

It was already dusk and Manda was in the back of the house feeding the cats. Her breath was visible in the cold air and as she tried to warm her hands with her breath, a creature rushed by behind her. Then one more time. Hush. Now it was standing by the old willow tree in the back yard. At first, Manda was not able to recognize who it was, though she had dreamt of this face every night since her mother's death. It was her. She was wearing her fancily embroidered white shirt, waving at her daughter, who stood there unmoving as the cats cried for more food. Her mother's favorite golden pendant with the picture of blinded "Justitia" reflected the moonlight so brightly into Manda's eyes that she couldn't supress a blink. A physical reaction that she wasn't able to control. When she opened up her eyes again, her mother was gone. Since that night Manda didn't hear her mother's cries anymore and all crying that was left was that of the cats yearning for her to feed them.

“It’s often said that we’re haunted by memories. Sometimes I think it’s the other way around: we’re the ones who do the haunting.” - Will Boast