#outlastmarta

"Nha ha!"

horizan for @outlastmarta

Outlast 2 fanfic "Tample Gate before"

First of all, thanks for the waiting. I had some problems with the story, which is why it took me so long. And secondly, like in the last chapter, don't be shy about letting me know if there are any mistakes. This time, I didn't use Google to translate, but a site recommended to me, which I hope provided a more accurate translation.

Thank you and enjoy!!!

It was pouring rain that day, which people in certain parts of Arizona would consider a rare occurrence, but not those who lived in Temple Gate. The reservation had many water resources to choose from, and rain was just one of them.

The rain on that particular day had been falling for hours and showed no sign of stopping, so the inhabitants preferred to stay sheltered in their homes or in the taverns, which only men were allowed to frequent.

Few habitants were outside at that moment, among them was a woman who was very different from everyone else: Marta. The tall, skeletal woman in dark clothes, her black hair mostly hidden by a cloth, moved like a ghost through the muddy streets marked by the wheels of carts.

Unlike many citizens who stayed holed up indoors, the woman loved to go out during the refreshing spring rains to run some of her errands and meet Knoth for a cup of tea. Now she was heading to the market where she knew she would find the meat she wanted for her stew and the strawberry seeds she had requested earlier. On the way, she met some people who greeted her warmly, and the judge returned their greeting without saying a word.

Once, as she was walking along, some careless children ended up bumping into her while chasing each other. She gave them such a stern look that they screamed and ran away. It was nothing new that Marta, with her unusual appearance and gloomy demeanor, frightened children. Over time, they had turned her into a kind of bogeyman to bring up in horror stories. The brats sometimes even had competitions to see who could get closest to her house. Whenever they were caught, the mortified parents punished their children and gave her something as an apology. This had often embarrassed her at first, but she soon got used to it.

Marta arrived early at her destination. The market was a series of stalls in the center of the square where bartering was the norm. Giant tarps covered all the stalls from the whims of the weather and connected them to each other, allowing shoppers to stay dry. The woman could already see how the square would look on the day of the festival, colorful, full of life, and lively. Of course, nothing was in place yet; not a single decoration had been hung.

She quickly spotted the stall she was interested in and approached it, slipping her tall figure between the few villagers who had come to exchange goods.

The girl, barely fifteen years old, greeted the woman nervously. Her father had instructed her on what to do if Marta showed up at that time. Although she had felt confident and determined at the time, the young girl felt a certain fear when faced with her. Since she was a child, she had heard stories about the judge of Tample Gate, how she was nothing more than a witch who had cast powerful spells on Papa Knoth to subjugate him and be elevated in his eyes. Obviously, these were all children's stories, although the girl admitted that the woman had a certain macabre charm. In any case, the teenager, recovering for a moment from her appearance, parroted the phrase her father had taught her the night before.

“Madam Judge, how nice to see you. If I'm not mistaken, you're here for the seeds, am I right?”

Marta stared at her with her icy eyes. “And for the chicken.”

“Of course!” The girl hurriedly took out two bags of seeds and then took a plump chicken from one of the hooks, which her father had specifically told her to give to the woman if she came in.

She wrapped it up and placed it next to the seeds, then turned back to look at her customer.

Marta took out a gray bag from her belt and pulled out a wooden comb. The judge placed it on the table.

The young woman did not believe she had ever seen such a detailed object in her life, except for the stone sculptures of the Madonna and the thousands of depictions of saints in the church. She covered her mouth with her hand in amazement. Where had the judge got such an object? Something like this could not have been made by human hands. This is what she was thinking while Marta, tired of waiting for the girl to stop talking, tapped her finger on the table. It was necessary to distract her attention from the comb.

“Have you accepted it?” said the judge curtly.

“Yes, yes, sorry...” she hurried to say.

After paying and hiding the things she had come for in her clothes, she walked between the stalls towards a house, that of her childhood friend Knoth. The girl breathed a sigh of relief when she saw her disappear from view.

The rain was still drumming down, and Sullivan, who had stayed indoors all morning writing his will, waited impatiently for his friend to arrive. For him, Tuesday was the best day of the week because Marta was coming to visit.

The knock at his door made him jump, and without hesitation he got up from his chair and rushed to open it.

“Marta,” he said to the tall woman on his doorstep. “Please come in, I was expecting you.”

The fat man stepped aside to let her in.

“Sully, are you still working on your will?” She couldn't help but notice the work on the desk.

“Yes, I haven't been able to get anywhere all morning. I even tried meditating, listening to what the Lord wants to tell me, but nothing concrete has come of it. I even reviewed some previous chapters and am starting to think that I misinterpreted some things.”

Knoth was a very reserved man when it came to certain things, but he had always made an exception for Marta.

“Don't be discouraged, my friend, I'm sure you'll find a way to sort it out. You always manage to get through difficult situations, and in the end, the Lord always gives you an answer, even if it's symbolic.”

“I'm sure you're right. Have a seat, I'll make some tea.” Knoth pulled the chair away from the table, inviting her to sit down before turning on the stove.

Marta sat down.

“So, the usual errands?”

“Yes. I picked up some things for tonight's stew.”

“How's your grandson?”

“He could be better.”

“Is he still having those dreams?”

“Yes, unfortunately, but he never tells me about them. I hear him screaming at night and it breaks my heart. I go to see him even though it's awful to see him in that condition.” Marta kept her eyes fixed on the floor.

“I understand that it's difficult, my dear. You're a good person and you take such good care of your nephew even though months have passed and you see no improvement.”

“I wish God wouldn't punish him so harshly. He wasn't the only one who hurt people. I often find myself wishing I could share some of his suffering, have nightmares every night, and bear the same mark he has on his face.”

“Marta.” Knoth approached her and took her hands. “Your soul is noble, but the punishment he bears is something God has decided to give him, and He always has a plan for all of us, even if we cannot see it. I am sure that in the paradise that has been promised to us, he will find peace.”

“But Sully, he wasn't baptized...” A whistle pierced the air, ending the conversation, and Knoth immediately went to put out the fire.

“So, tell me what you bought to make the stew, dear?”

Marta fell silent for a moment at the change of subject.

“I already had the rest of the ingredients, I just needed the chicken, and I also bought some strawberry seeds again. This year I'll manage to grow at least one of those damn plants!”

“I'm sure you will.” Knoth smiled.

He poured her some tea and took two butter cookies from a box he kept for special occasions, and Marta's visit was definitely one of those.

“But enough about my problems, tell me about yourself. What's this about you commissioning a deer sculpture for the equinox celebration?” asked the woman, reaching for the plate of cookies.

“Oh, did they tell you?”

“Yes, Val has a big mouth, and Nick showed me the plans for the sculpture.”

“I see, so he's the carpenter who was given the project.”

“It seems so.”

It had stopped raining, Samantha had finished putting away the unsold goods and everything she had earned in a separate box. After that, she went to get her mule and hitched her father's old cart to it.

They usually went together, but unfortunately the man had a commitment to fulfill at his cousin's house, so she found herself alone that morning.

She didn't hate the market; in fact, she liked it, but recently she couldn't wait for the afternoon to come so she could go home. Because every time she could walk along a road that led to a farm and a small field, where a boy she had a crush on worked and lived.

She still didn't know how to approach him. She had always been told that boys should make the first move, but she was impatient. She wondered if he had noticed her and if he liked her. Not that they had spoken yet, even though every time they saw each other she could feel a passion rising in her chest and butterflies fluttering in her stomach. Could it be that the Lord was trying to tell her something? Maybe he was the love of her life, the one every woman hopes to meet.

Nevertheless, she was afraid of what her parents would think. He wasn't a bad boy; she had seen him several times in church and during ceremonies. He was certainly a member of the chosen people, he believed in God, and he worked like all men. But her parents had always warned her to be careful with boys and not to spend too much time with them.

She ordered the mule to turn, and finally reached the corner where the farm lay, and there she saw him. He was her age, with long hair, and wore green work clothes.

He raised his head when he heard the cart approaching.

She smiled and covered her face without taking her eyes off him. The boy greeted her and then something happened that she never would have believed would happen: he walked towards her.

“Hey.”

Surprised, Samantha returned his greeting.

“Sorry, I couldn't help but stare at you. I wanted to ask your name.”

The boy was as red in the face as she was.

“Samantha,” she replied with a gasp.

“Samantha.” He repeated it as if to memorize it. “I'm Stan.”

Her excitement at discovering the name of her crush grew even stronger. Her head was spinning and she felt dizzy. Neither Stan nor Samantha said anything else for at least a few minutes. In the distance, cows mooed and the clouds had cleared slightly, allowing one of the rays of sunset light to shine through.

“Listen, I wanted to ask you if you'd like to go out sometime?” Stan finally said, breaking the silence.

“I'd love to.”

“Great, so how about Friday in the second cornfield?”

“I'll be there!”

After saying goodbye to Stan, the girl started the cart again and drove it onto the muddy road.

When she returned home, Samantha was over the moon. She parked the mule in the stable, humming, and unloaded the contents of the wheelbarrow with the help of her father, who had already been back for half an hour.

“You're in a great mood today. Did you trade something at the market?”

Samantha began a long list of things, pretending to be happy for that reason.

“Yes, I got two pairs of ribs from Phill Perrigam in exchange for the Belgian, a sack of carrots from Mrs. Barb in exchange for a set of cutlery and plates, and a comb from...”

She stopped when she mentioned the item the judge had given her that afternoon. Her father looked at her, puzzled by his daughter's change of mood.

“Did the judge come today?” he asked.

The girl nodded. “I gave her the chicken you told me about and the strawberry seeds she asked for.”

“Ah, good, did you do as I told you?”

“Yes, Dad.”

“What did he give you in exchange?”

“A comb.” Anna rummaged in her pocket, where she had put the comb for fear that it might break in the bag with the rest of the exchanges, and showed it to her father. His reaction to the object was similar to the one he had had that morning.

“It's wonderful,” he said. “Even though you didn't bring back much today, I have to say that all in all, it wasn't bad. I'll put these things in the refrigerator.”

The man took the bag containing the food and returned the comb to his daughter. “Why don't you keep it?”

“I thought you'd be angry that I gave away the goods for a comb.”

“Don't be silly, it was the judge who gave you this beautiful heirloom, and besides, you needed a new comb, if I'm not mistaken.”

Her father went back into the house, and she stayed outside for a while longer, turning the object over in her hands. She didn't know why, but the image of the tall woman had returned to her mind, and for some reason she felt the same fear and awe she had felt that afternoon when she had stood before her. But then the image of her love, to whom she had finally spoken, and their date drove the witch from her mind.

She went back inside, this time with a different kind of fear when she saw her father setting the table and her mother cutting the bread. A question arose in her mind:

what do I do now?

Phoenix: blown out candles, satin dresses, legs draped overthe arm of a couch, city lights twinkling in the distance