Category: Aetet 2

When Darkness Fell

On May 4, 2023

Word Count: 5,051

It was a cool, spring Louisiana night and the early season cotton was well on its way to blooming. On this particular day, in April of 1991, my large family came together for an old-fashioned crawfish boil. Many of my uncles raised rice, and during early spring they pulled hundreds of pounds of crawfish from the rice paddies a day. Every member of my family was there. All of my aunts, uncles and cousins showed up to the family event.

As the crimson sun set, painting the distant clouds a beautiful orange on their underside, the mosquitos came out to feed. My cousin Ricky Ray and I decided to go for a drive. Lifting our cooler full of beer, the two of us walked to Ricky’s pick-up truck. I was checking my pocket for cigarettes when we heard my youngest brother, Justin Paul, calling out our names. I didn’t particularly want him coming with us, but Ricky Ray waved his hand for J.P. to catch up. Making J.P. sit in the middle, we climbed into the truck and headed along the dirt road.

We headed East. There was a good swimming hole twenty or so miles from here at a bend in the bayou. My oldest brother – who was now away to college – tied a thick hemp rope to a tree overhanging the water. It was a popular spot and there was a good chance we would run into some of our friends there. We saw three trucks already present when we arrived. One belonged to my buddy, Mark Staton. The second truck we did not recognize but the third truck belonged to the Whitten boys.

My family and the Whittens have carried on a cold-feud for several generations. No one could say for sure what caused the tension between our families. Only two fights between the families occurred over the last decade, but there was the ever-present tension among the clans. We didn’t really want to go swimming with the Whittens, but we were not going to let them keep us from our fun. I hoped they would leave when we showed up.

I pulled off my socks and shoes immediately after exiting the truck, as did Ricky Ray. The ground was sandy and I always ended up with my shoes filled. The only sounds we heard were the crickets and the wind blowing through the tall grass. In that near silence, J.P’s flip-flops sounded like someone smacking water with an oar.

“Why don’t you take them damn things off,” Ricky Ray griped at J.P. “People can hear us coming from a mile away.”

Normally J.P. would have come back with a snappy comment, but because there were Whittens out here he did what Ricky Ray said. Even though there were only a couple of physical altercations between the families in years, we always expected one at any time. If the Whittens did decide to cause trouble tonight, there was no point in announcing our arrival.

The old oak tree overhanging the water was visible in the near distance. The trunk of the venerable tree was more than four feet thick. It was a sapling long before the bayou ever cut its way through the flat landscape. Mark Sutton and his two younger brothers were playing on the swing when we broke the tall grass and into view. Two other fellows, a couple of strangers I’d never seen before, were standing near a fire.

I knew the two weren’t from around here because they repetitively swatted at the relentless mosquitos. Everyone around here was used to the Louisiana blood hawks, very rarely even noticing them. The older folks in these parts said that mosquitos get used to the same old meal every night, so it’s like a buffet when new blood comes to visit.

I learned that the new guys moved into Jep’s old farmhouse just a few miles South of here. Jep passed on some six or seven years ago and had nobody to which to leave his land. Old Jep was a devoted Christian man who likely never neglected a Sunday of church in his life. He put it in his last will and testament that the property was to be sold and the proceeds go to the church. I suppose Reverend Loftus was finally able to unload the unused land.

I saw no trace of the Whittens and didn’t really care to inquire as to their whereabouts. Instead, we said hey to our old friends and introduced ourselves to our new ones. Come to find out, the new boys moved here from Austin, Texas. They were used to the dry heat of that city and were finding the humidity here to be unequivocally miserable. Setting aside their complaints about the mosquitos and humidity, these boys seemed alright.

One of them asked me about the Whitten boys; he asked if we were friends. I shrugged my head, lightly shook my head and said, “Naw.”

“Good,” the younger of the two elaborated. “They seem like a bunch of assholes.”

“Then we got somethin’ in common,” Rick Ray chuckled as he offered them each a beer.

These new fellows, Ken and Terry Greyson, brought some dark beer I was not familiar with. Terry offered us each a bottle. It was profoundly terrible, tasting almost burnt. I wanted to be polite, so I complemented the taste and finished it as quickly as I could. If I’m going to sip on a beer, it’s going to be one I like.

It was Terry who first noticed the darkness. A spot in the sky was completly devoid of stars, and I was not sure if it was always that way or not. We all watched it and it appeared to be drifting slowly. I did not know if the motion was a result of the earth moving, the stars moving or the darkness itself moving.

Our attention turned from the stars to the nearby forest. Someone just exited the forest and we could see the beam of a flashlight. Before long, Billy Whitten and two of his cousins emerged from the tall grass. Insults were exchanged then the Whitten boys hopped in their truck and left.

As soon as their taillights faded from view, J.P. sprung with excitement and said “They were fuckin’ stoned man.”

“You sure?” Ricky Ray asked with a new rising hope.

“Shit yea. Didn’t you see how bloodshot their eyes were,” he said with enthusiasm. “That little Whitten was carrying a paper sack.”

“We gotta go raid their crops man,” the youngest Sutton insisted.

I was relieved to see that the Greyson boys had the same positive reaction to this news as we did.

Someone had to stay with the trucks, so J.P., Terry and the youngest Sutton padded of into the grass. It was easy for them to follow the path beaten by the Whittens as the tall stalks broke easily and left no doubt someone recently passed through. The remaining five of us turned our attention back to that mysterious black spot in the sky. We weren’t sure if it moved, but it was doubtlessly larger than before. Chills ran through me as I noticed the edges of the darkness moving with a shifting fluidic motion.

Half an hour later it was obvious to us that, whatever it was, it was falling toward the earth and it was falling slowly. A meteorite was immediately ruled out. Falling stars produce bright flames, not fluid darkness. We thought it might be a hot air balloon but that would produce an illuminating fire as well.

The darkness altered course and now appeared to be descending at an angle. It was apparent that it was decelerating, like a man with a parachute. I attempted to convince myself that was the explanation, but I knew it was a lie. A parachute would block out the stars and produce no illumination of its own, but that theory went out the window as the darkness grew larger and larger. It was falling into the forest, falling toward my baby brother and the others. Clenching my eyes shut, I prayed it was no more than a figment of my imagination. My skin stung with chill bumps as it drew closer, emitting the sound of a thousand tortured screams.

As if some force suddenly bore its grip upon us, all we did was remain petrified as the thing descended into the forest. In such a state of horror, I did not notice the bottle that fell from my hand. Cold beer soaked my feet, but I did not notice that either. As the bottle gurgled out its contents, all I could think of was that obscurity that fell to the earth.

A muffled boom was faintly audible when the darkness landed. We tried to rationalize it as a man with a parachute, but the intense feeling of terror that chilled us to the bone told us otherwise. My heart welled up into my throat and I couldn’t breathe. My baby brother was out there somewhere in the forest with that terror from the sky.

“What the fuck was that?” Mark asked in a whimpering tone.

No one had an answer for him.

Turning to Ricky Ray, I could see that he was petrified with the same horror we all felt. Brown beer splashed out of the bottle Ken had in his hand. He grasped the bottle so tightly in his hands, his fingers turned white. I was surprised the glass did not shatter under the pressure of his grip.

Mark slid out of the truck and struck the ground with a soft thud. Balled up in the fetal position, tears streamed down his contorted face but he made no sounds of crying. Ken tried to help him up, but Ken wasn’t in much better shape than his brother.

“T-tell me that was something normal,” Ken said in a wavering voice. “Tell me that’s like swamp gas or some shit like that.”

None of us spoke a word. We were all mortified; none of us had any rational answers for why we were drowning in a quagmire of fear. I can’t say how long we stood there, too terrified to function. When a person is dredged in such terror, time has a way of ceasing to exist.

Eventually I mustered the courage from deep within me and took a look at my watch. J.P. and the others left more than an hour ago. They should have been back from raiding the Whitten’s plants by now. Looking back to Ricky Ray, I could tell by the countenance of his face that he was thinking the same thing as me. Despite the horror that gripped my throat, I began to call out for my little brother and the others

Ricky grabbed me by the arm and pressed his index finger against his lips. “Shh, listen,” he whispered.

Initially I did not hear a thing. There were no insects, no frogs nor any of the myriad of nocturnal noisemakers. The creatures of the night were silent. The only thing I could hear was the light rustling of the leaves and tall grass as the wind pushed its way through the meadow. After a few moments I knew what Ricky Ray was telling me. I became aware of a strange wailing coming from the direction of the forest. The ghastly cries came from the same direction in which the darkness fell, from the same direction my baby brother went.

It sounded like a choir of people crying out in agony. I felt a chill in my very bones. I knew, deep down inside, the sounds emanated from something not of this earth.

Mark then insisted that, as a group, we go into the forest to look for our missing kin-folk. God knows that I did not want to go. Everything within me told me to flee, to get as far away from this tainted place as quickly as I could. I could not abandon my little brother though. I had to go find him.

Mark grabbed the two shotguns from the rack on the back window of his pickup. Handing one of the weapons to Terry, Mark asked him if he knew how to use it.

“I’m from Texas,” Terry replied. “Of course I know how to use it.”

Mark grabbed a box of ammunition from under the seat of his vehicle. Fumbling the shells with their shaky hands, the two managed to load six shells into each weapon. A while back we modified them so they would hold more ammunition. It was illegal, but right now I was so glad that we modified the guns. I would take a cannon right now if I could get one.

I took the hunting rifle from the rack of my truck and handed Ricky Ray the .22 caliber pistol I kept in the glove box. We all made sure our weapons were fully loaded then filled our pockets with the rest of the ammo. Unfortunately, there were not enough firearms for everyone, so Mark’s brother was left carrying nothing but a hunting knife.

Mark and I were the biggest of the group, so we had the honor of taking the lead. We put Terry in the back and kept Ricky Ray and Mark’s brother in the center. Despite our desperate urge to flee, we managed to draw courage from one another. With our weapons in hand, we headed off toward the forest.

The woodland was gloomier than it should be, even if it was a moonless night. The smell of the fallen pine needles filled the air, but an underlying odor stung my nostrils. The fallen needles and leaves formed a soft cushion over the sandy ground, which helped to muffle our steps. It felt like a beautiful night, but something intangible filled the five of us with intense trepidation.

The screams seemed to fade into the night until we could hear nothing but our own footfalls. My mind struggled to form a rational explanation for the screams and for the lack of any other noises. We froze, petrified like statues when the unnerving wailing resumed. The screams did not sound to be coming closer; rather, the atrocious wailing appeared to be moving further away. When the cries of torturous agony subsided, there was nothing but silence. There were no birds, no crickets chirping; there was nothing but deafening reticence.

So far, we could see nothing, but we knew we were close to where that demonic blackness fell from the sky. In the absolute silence, we were all too terrified to call out for our missing kin. Something hellish enough to quiet the calls of the nocturnal animals densely populating the forest lurked about in the night, and it made me sick to think we might draw its attention. I steadied my hand as I mustered up the guts to flip the plastic switch of my flashlight. I was not ready for what we found.

Everything was dead. All of the heavy vegetation that once filled this area was gone. The once vibrant section of forest was now no more than a perimeter of death. As I shone my light about the area, it was obvious that we found the epicenter of the landing. In the center of the large opening there was nothing. Where we stood, the vegetation was dead, but it still remained. The closer to the center the plants were, the further along they were in their state of rapid decay. Even the skeletons of small animals that littered the area appeared bleached from years in the sun. It was as if something lurched time forward here, aging anything that lived a thousand years.

On the far side of the impact side, I caught sight of something small glimmering under the light of my LED torch. Motioning with my free hand, I pointed out to the others what looked to be a polished metallic-shine. I apprehensively held my tongue, still too terrified to make a sound. My throat was dry and lips felt swollen. All I could manage was to aim my flashlight at the sparkling gleam and point with a shaky finger. Leading away from us in that same direction was what appeared to be a pipeline clearing. The long stretch of clearing shot out before us. Like an ominous invitation into the bowels of the most horrific, blasphemous abomination ever to be put on this earth, the wide pathway began on the other side of the circular epicenter of decay.

I did not know if we stood there for seconds or hours. None of that seemed to have any meaning. It was as if the laws of time and space were changing around us. Eventually Ricky Ray bumped my shoulder with his muscular forearm nearly causing me to jump straight out of my own skin. My thoughts were coursing through my head so fast I thought my brain was going to hemorrhage. Snapping my head back, I saw that my cousin was motioning for me to stay at the edge of what was still forest. He indicated that he wanted us to go around, avoiding the center of the ring of decay, to follow the straight pathway on the opposite side.

As we drew closer the reflections from our flashlights revealed a surface that could have been a long sheet of tinfoil. The gleam was smooth and stretched on as far as our torches could illuminate. When we reached it, we realized it was something entirely different. It was not the shine of metal. Instead, it appeared that something covered the pathway with a thick, viscous liquid resembling overused motor oil. Without a word spoken, the five of us began to follow along the ooze covered pathway. We took great care to stay far away from the trail of death, but in the blackness of the night it became difficult to see. There was no choice but to stay within six or seven feet of the nightmarish route.

The stuff bore the nauseating stench of rotten fish, and it appeared that anything that black discharge touched instantly commenced to decomposing. Even at the edge of the contamination, the plants withered swiftly. So much so, it was visibly perceptible. We trudged onward, doing our best to continue to remain as far away from the trail of putrefied, fetid remains of what was very recently forest. I dared not even consider what the ooze would do if it were to make contact with one of us.

Thorns tore at our clothes and skin like a thousand talons. Ken quietly murmured several complaints about the shrubbery tearing his arms, but none of us replied. His whispered voice seemed to echo in the silence of this abysmal night. Ken was the first to notice; the only foliage the ghastly substance appeared to spare were the thorns. As everything else decayed right before our eyes, the briars remained unchanged. I asked myself why the putrid goo only spared the thorns. It made no sense.

What nightmarish thing created this path of decomposition?

A glimpsed of relief filled me when I spied with my flashlight someone up ahead leaning against a tree. Ricky Ray softly called out several times, but whoever it was did not answer. Mark vociferously shoved his way through the merciless undergrowth, reaching the silent person before the rest of us. My long-time friend rounded the large pine and froze, his face contorted in absolute panic.

“Who is it?” Ricky Ray asked.

Mark was paralyzed in sheer terror and made absolutely no response. I motioned for the others to stay in place and drudged my way through the ripping thorns so that I could see what was going on. I could swear that most of the damnable briars only recently appeared. The pain was unbearable and I could feel the blood trickling down my arms, legs, and torso. A dense thicket prevented me from walking directly to the tree, so I poked whoever it was with the tip of my shotgun. With that little push, the body propped against the tree fell to the sandy ground. It was the youngest Sutton boy, or at least what was left of him.

No visible wounds were apparent on the body. There were no cuts, no tears from the briars, no damage what-so-ever. I prayed that I was caught in the midst of a cruel nightmare. I could not understand how God could let something like this happen to a person. What I saw was more gruesome, more repugnant than anything I could create in my own imagination. The head on the Sutton boy’s body was gone. His head was not cut off; there was no blood and no stump where his neck should be. It was like there was never a head on the body in the first place. There was nothing but undamaged flesh stretched from shoulder to shoulder.

The body of the youngest Sutton boy laid there on the ground, its chest heaving up and down as with panicked breaths. Mark fell over the body and cried. I grabbed the boy’s right wrist and found that the headless body still had a pulse. I never heard of any such blasphemous thing in my life, and neither had any of the others. I was past the point of fear, or terror and of shock. Everything around me became a haze as I glared down at the atrocious thing that lay before us. It seemed impossible, but Mark’s headless youngest brother was still alive.

Mark must have seen something. Waves of terror coursed through me as I heard my friend fire off two shots. In the dead silence of this unbearable night, the blasts from his shotgun caused my straining ears to ring. Fire was clearly visible in the unnatural darkness that surrounded us. He screamed in uncontrollable anger as he sprinted across the clearing. As soon as that poor boy touched the viscous blackness it climbed up his body and engulfed him in less than a second. Terry fell to the ground retching and Ricky Ray averted his eyes. Right before me I watched as Mark’s flesh melted off the bones like hot wax. He tried to call out, to beg for help, but only scarlet blood mixed with thick ooze emanated from his mouth.

The scene continued on for an eternity; although, it only took thirty seconds for the boy’s body to melt. There was no doubt that he felt every bit of it. I staggered and fell as the skeletal remains of my friend clattered to the ground like a pile of dry sticks. The atrocious death of that poor kid ran through my mind over and over, playing like a skipping CD. The darkness that fell from the sky consumed the soft tissues of that boy’s body and made him suffer through it all. It must be the end. God set the devil loose on us.

Ken must have seen something because he fired off two shots then ran along the side of the trail with astounding speed. I could not see what it was, but my new friend spotted something. I did not know what to do. I just watched the ooze consume Mark Sutton, and the other Sutton lay before me with no head atop the body. Ricky Ray, unable to stay at this appalling site, set off after Ken. I resolved to the fact there was nothing I could do here and followed the others. Ignoring the searing pain, I followed Mark for around a hundred yards or so and the demonic trail ended. Whatever created it, it took a sharp left toward the direction from which it came. Ken already rounded the bend and with incredible speed, disappeared into the night.

Ricky Ray and I tried to keep up with the Austin boy, but he was moving too fast for us. I could no longer ignore the tears that covered my flesh; trickles of blood dripped from every part of my body. Cautiously, we moved further away from that putrid trail and found that the thorns thinned to virtually nothing. The trail was no longer visible, but we could clearly see the wall of thorns that ripped at our flesh.

Ten minutes or so later we could hear something thrashing in the briars. A foreboding thickness filled the air as we warily approached the sound. It was Ken, or what was left of him. Like the youngest Sutton brother, Ken had no head. My friend suffered even worse of a fate than the Suttons. Not only was he missing his head, both of his hands were gone along with his right leg. What remained thrashed in the thorns, no blood dripping from tears in his flesh.

The stillness of the night suddenly rang out with the agonizing cries of hundreds of wailing voices. I knew that hell itself came to claim us when I saw the thing. Having the shape of a giant slug, the surface of the abomination was coated in a dark leathery flesh. It was pocked with the twisted faces of countless people, calling out in agony and begging for death.

The horror pushed its massive body by means of a series of legs. Like a centipede, this thing of the nether reaches of existence pushed its way along using a series of appendages lining both sides of its horrendous body. The appendages were not legs, not in any normal sense of the word. Some were human arms, only with feet. Some were human legs ending in a random assortment of hands and feet. Scared beyond all rational thought, all we could do was stand there.

The demon from the sky reached Ricky Ray first. A mass of faces screamed in unison as they stretched and twisted, creating a long pseudopod. Ken’s tortured face was at the tip, which widened large enough to engulf my cousin’s head. Falling to the ground, the head from his body was gone. Another mass of damned faces reached out and consumed both of his legs.

Suddenly the thing froze, the voices falling to weeps and sobs. A grouping of faces screamed out in pain as they began to stretch apart. Pushing its way into the thick hide of the nightmarish thing was my cousin’s face. New legs sprouted out from each side of the thing and it again moved forward. I fired all six of my rounds at the monstrosity approaching me, but all it seemed to do was cause the assimilated heads of countless people additional pain.

I heard this behind me because I turned and ran. My gun and flashlight were gone. I aimlessly ran away from the trail of that ungodly entity. I ran until I was exhausted and my body burned with fatigue, then I ran some more. The sun broke the horizon and I collapsed. My skin stung all over from the talon-like claws of the briars, my muscles ached from being pushed beyond the point of exhaustion.

The glorious rays of the sun shone down upon me like a blessing from the angels. For over an hour, I laid there basking in the holy warmth. When the pain subsided enough that I could move, I climbed back to my feet. For hours I wandered without any idea of where I was. The sounds of the frogs, crickets and other insects began to sound, and I found the simple songs of the forest to be the most beautiful thing I heard in my life.

Eventually I again found the wide trail that abysmal thing left in its wake. The ooze was dried and flaking away in the morning breeze. I located the mutilated bodies of everyone but J.P. I even found the stacked remains of that poor Sutton’s skeleton. Some force drove me to gather the bodies of Ricky Ray, Ken, and Mark together. It may have been my own will, but that was something I would never learn.

I could not allow them to remain in such a condition. Retrieving one of the shotguns from nearby, I loaded its empty chamber with six shells. The first I fired directly into the chest of the Austin boy. The smoke cleared and no wound appeared on the body. The aberration that lay before me thrashed and lurched. All I did was cause it additional pain. My soul went cold as I fired another shot into Ken’s torso, only to repeat the same results. That thing from the darkness that consumed their body parts would not let them die.

By the time I reached my truck, it was already close to nightfall. Using the pathway the horror from beyond created as it pushed its unholy form through the forest; I drove my truck to where the three bodies were stashed. Along the way I picked up the jerking, kicking body of the youngest Sutton. I removed a shovel from the bed of my pickup and began to dig. Deep into the late hours of the night I forced my wary body to dig a pit in the sandy ground large enough to accommodate the four bodies. After tossing the living remains of Ricky Ray and those other three boys, I threw the sand back over them until I could see no more motion underneath.

Throwing my shovel to the side, I drove my truck and stopped it directly over the buried remains of those undying bodies. In the bed of my truck was a large plastic gas can that was used primarily for my boat. I removed it and emptied its contents into the sandy ground, making sure to splash plenty in and on my truck. I almost passed out from the dense fumes when I climbed into the cab of my old Ford. My eyes and nostrils stung, but I was already in so much pain I barely noticed.

Word of this cannot get out, I thought to myself as I placed a cigarette between my lips. No one can know what happened, which included me. As I struck the flint on my lighter and the flames engulfed me, I said to myself, ‘No one can know of the night when darkness fell.’

The Bone Yard

By Mychal Wilson

On April 14, 2023

In Aetet 2, Fourth Triad, Vastness of Reality

Word Count: 6,612

I truly loved to spend time reveling in the magnificent beauty of nature. Being social was a skill I possessed in very small quantities, and for me making friends was far from being an effortless task. Sequestering myself in the wilderness to go fishing, hiking or camping were the things that gave my otherwise hollow life meaning.

Since I worked four days at ten hours a day, I almost always had a three-day weekend. This gave me a lot of time to spend engaging in the things I so loved. On this particular occasion I decided to go for a hike in a rather familiar area of the Smoky Mountains

I brought my fishing rod and reel along with a small tackle box containing the basic items I may need. Along the path I chose on which I was going to take my hike, I knew I would pass several streams. The streams meandered around the forest, and I knew where I would pass several of the crystal-clear waterways. Because of the way the streams twisted around the terrain; I would pass some of them multiple times. I planned to visit some places of which I knew that were great fishing holes.

Waiting until late morning to leave on my hike, I knew the sun would likely be down by the time I was ready to return home. I brought with me a flashlight and a large lamplight. I also had a smaller back-up flashlight that stayed in my tackle box. My familiarity with the terrain was not an issue. I knew my trails well enough to navigate them under the dim moonlight. The function of the large flashlight was to watch for snakes and other wild animals native to the area.

I reached a bend in the closest stream and was dismayed to find nothing but a small trickle in an otherwise empty waterway. Dead fish lay scattered in the mucky stream bed which indicated the water-flow stopped abruptly. The poor fish did not have time to escape downstream with the last of the water. Since the fish were not fully dry, I knew it also happened recently. Hopefully, it was nothing more than a dam of logs, sticks and leaves I could possibly dislodge on my own.

There was obviously no point in stopping here, so I continued my walk. I hoped to find the clog in the stream and jar it loose. I reached the second elbow along my path, and the stream was empty here as well. I wondered how far up the way the clog occurred. At the end of a trail branching from the main path was another stream in which I liked to sit underneath the cool shade of the large trees to fish.

I decided to head down this path and go to fish in that stream. Even though I still could not yet see this stream because of the trees and a slight hill, I was able to hear the rushing water. The closer I got, the louder the churning water grew. What I heard sounded much more like a river than it did a stream. I was shocked when I finally saw my auxiliary fishing spot.

Normally, the stream was twelve or so feet wide and ran in a three-foot rut the water dug into the ground over the years. Now this stream filled the rut, overflowed from there and now spread thirty to forty feet wide, so much water forced its way down-stream, it looked more like something for rough river rafting. Fishing here was pointless.

It became quite obvious to me the clog in the first stream diverted the flow of water to this one. If I wanted to find a place to fish, I had to continue on until I was above whatever caused the dam. I would not find any water deep or tame enough in which to enjoy one of my favorite outdoor activities here.

It was a beautiful day. The walk was scenic, but I was still in the mood for some fishing. I hoped I would not have to hike too much further before I found stiller water. I could not fish in an empty stream like the first or in a torrential river like the second.

An hour later I finally saw what stopped one stream and directed the water to the second. I was not near enough to see the clog yet, but I could see the cause. An incredible mass of rock and dirt fell from the almost mountainous hillside. The mudslide covered one stream for hundreds of feet.

A moderately sized pond formed where the slowing water shifted to merge with the torrential stream. There was no way I would ever unclog it; the course and speed of these two streams changed forever. I hoped the newly formed pond would make a good fishing spot. Walking for an hour and a half to get here each time might get tedious after a while though.

Getting myself across the flume turned out to be much more difficult than I anticipated. My feet sank in the thick dark-red mud, and some sections still shifted when disturbed. Several times I fell and almost broke the rod and reel in my hand. I slipped on the loose mud at one point and dropped my tackle box. The latch holding the box closed unsnapped, and the contents spilled out all over the soft dirt. This was obviously a very recent mudslide as the debris appeared not to have settled at all yet. Disappointed, I decided my best course of action was to pick up the spilled contents of my tackle box and turn back.

As I gathered my scattered tackle, I glanced up to see the mudslide exposed a rocky opening to what appeared to be a cavern. I lived my whole life here and explored virtually all of the terrain within a day or two’s walk from my house. I knew of some small cavern networks, but I knew of none near my current location. I wondered as to where, if anywhere, the open aperture might lead.

Once I finished gathering my tackle, I very carefully made my way off of the mudslide and back to solid ground. It took me longer to get back than it did for me to get where I took my spill as I was now being very cautious. I did not want to fall again and dump out my tackle, or even worse break my expensive fishing rod.

I found a good spot to stash my fishing gear, made sure I had my flashlights and two large spools of fishing line, then began to climb my way up the mountain. Living in the mountains my entire life and spending so much time exploring the wilderness, I became a rather skilled climber. As long as I was not trying to scale a cliff, if the slope was seventy degrees or less, I could make it without the use of climbing gear.

I chose a climbing spot several hundred feet from the obvious edge of the mudslide. The earthen cavity was not too high up the small mountain, and it only took me about twenty-five minutes to reach it. Scattered stones rose from the grass and moss covering much of the hill which made the climbing much easier.

When I peeked my head into the cavern and gave my eyes a moment to adjust to the dark, I thought I could make out a very dim glow emanating from inside. I thought it might simply be the sunlight illuminating a cloud of mist or dust. Perhaps it was a bio-luminescent mold or bacterial growth in the damp cave walls.

I checked my flashlights to make sure I did not damage them when I fell. The bulbs shined brightly in each one, so I felt confident I would be fine. Turning the lights back off, I stepped a little deeper into the cave and further away from the warming rays of the sun. As my eyes progressively adjusted to the dimmer light, I steadily made my way in a bit deeper.

I did indeed see a dim yellowish glow coming from deeper inside the cavern. The tunnel was natural, and very irregular in shape, so it was not possible for me to see the source of the strange light. I heard of luminescent plants, fungi and even some deep-sea animals producing their own light, but this appeared much too bright for something like that.

Before I lost sight of the daylight, I tied the end of my fishing line to a small rock outcropping. If my lights failed, or if I got turned around the wrong way, I could use the line to find my way back out of the ground. I learned this life saving lesson the first time I went into a small cavern with so many branches, twists and turns I found myself lost. Luckily that time I found my exit before the battery in my flashlight was exhausted.

I slid the red filter over the bulb of the lamplight, adjusted the dial to the dimmest possible setting then closing my eyes tightly, I turned on the lamplight. Confident I had it on the lowest setting, I slowly opened my eyes. I was cautious not to blind myself before exploring any deeper, and with the light on dim the batteries would last longer. The red filter would allow my eyes to stay adjusted to the very low level of light.

Some places in this crude passageway were tall and wide enough so as not to cause me any problems. Most of it though was short and narrow. In these places I had to crawl or even shuffle forward on my stomach to get through. I felt relieved any time I found a larger opening. In these places I knew I could turn myself around. It was very comforting to know, if I hit a dead end, I would not have to back myself up all the way to the surface.

Progress was slow, but that was to be expected. In such small passages of jagged rocks and rugged ground, I needed to take a lot of care to avoid seriously injuring myself. Almost half an hour into my trek, I stopped to rest for a moment. In order to preserve my light’s battery, I turned it off as I set there to rest.

It was not so obvious with the light on, but with my light off that slightly green tinted, yellow glow appeared to be getting brighter. I was not sure if it was because I was in absolute darkness or if it was brighter than it was when I was still near the entrance. I sat there for five or ten minutes. Glancing further into the cave, I tried to find a source. Too many twists and turns remained ahead of me to get a clear look.

After climbing, walking and crawling through the bowels of the earth for nearly two hours, the small capillary in which I traveled spread into a larger cave. Unfortunately, a fifteen-foot rock facing separated me from the opening. I had to climb up the damp rock to continue my journey.

I turned my light off and sure enough I found the strange glow to be even brighter here. It was even bright enough to allow me to climb without the use of my flashlight. First, I tugged and shook on the stones of the wall to make sure they were good and stable before I began my ascent.

At the top of the rock face, the ground leveled out into a large grotto. I crawled into the large space and quickly brought myself to my feet. Finally, I found the astounding source of the strange light. I could not wrap my mind around what I saw. The grotto was only a niche in a much-much larger cave.

Covering the walls and ceiling were hundreds of thousands of insects twice the size of a man. The creatures crawled about, and the whole place seemed to sparkle as the giant bugs turned on and off luminescent bulbs at the end of their abdomen. They produced a yellow light, but occasionally and very briefly some of their wings flashed a bright green.

Fear wrapped its strangling fingers around my throat for a moment. I could not breathe. Seeing such massive insects shook me and left me unable to move. I did not know what these things ate, but I certainly did not want to be on their menu. The giant insects clung to the ceiling and walls, crawling around the stone and over each other. When I finally decided it appeared the massive bugs had no interest in me, I continued to move forward.

The grotto in which I stood was far above the floor of the giant cavern, so I was unable to see what was below. I slowly moved forward until I could see what was at the bottom. I was most assuredly afraid, but I believed I made an astonishing discovery. In the luminous cave, I found something no other human in recorded history ever set eyes on.

Illuminated by the swarm of insects above I saw mushrooms the size of trees covering much of the cavern floor, and giant stalagmites rose into the air. I heard of fossils of mushrooms this size being found, but no reports in modern times of any live fungi this large were ever made. None of the insects appeared to be on the ground. Apparently, they stayed on the walls and ceiling. I thought perhaps they consumed the mushrooms, and I wanted to get down there so I could take a better look.

Something of a ramp ran along the wall connecting the grotto to the lower level. Some of the bugs crawled on and around the ramp, but this appeared to be the only way down. If I wanted to explore the bottom, I had to get through the giant beetles. This was something I definitely did not want to do, but I had no choice if I wanted to see more.

Very slowly, I began to take one tiny step after another. To my relief, the enormous insects stayed safely away from me. Whenever I approached one, it would slowly scurry out of my way. They seemed to be leery of me, but not afraid.

The ramp was long, and moving as slowly as I did, it took me nearly an hour before I could better see what was below. Here and there I saw the beetles feeding on the top of the mushrooms. An amazingly large variety of mushrooms grew in this strange place, but the creatures appeared to be particular in what they ate. Displaying none of their bioluminescence, the beetles chewed the tops off what look like morels.

The bugs quietly descended from the walls or ceiling landing on these thirty-foot-tall mushrooms. They did not fly down; it was more like they were gliding as if to make no sound. For only minutes at a time the giant insects fed. As they abandoned their eating spot, they ascended quickly into the air. Fluttering about for several minutes, the beetles then found a landing place on the ceiling or walls.

A ridge varying in height from a foot to fifteen feet tall stood between me and what was beyond in the cave. Initially I thought it was some natural rock formation. Upon closer inspection, I found the ridge to be composed of feces. The massive lightening bugs crawled on the walls and released their droppings from there. I started to worry a massive dropping from one of the huge things from that height might kill me. I found the shortest place and as quickly as I possibly could I jumped across.

I still landed at the edge of the fecal ridge and almost lost my balance. When my feet shifted slightly under me, I came close to falling backward into the pile of insect dung. It did not stink that much at even a short distance, but the discards held a deeply pungent odor up close. I nearly vomited at the thought of almost falling into it.

My first spool of fishing line exhausted shortly after I reached the grotto. I looked for a good place to tie off my second spool, but I changed my mind. With the yellow lights crawling about, the ramp was obvious and visible. I decided to hang on to it for later use.

The fungi forest was comprised of mushrooms varying from an inch to thirty feet in height. Feeling the stalks, I found them to be at least as hard as wood. Some mushrooms grew in tight clusters, reaching a height of only six feet or so with much smaller caps and tender stalks.

Because of the size of the mushrooms and their caps, seeing into the fungal forest was nearly impossible. Only specks of light from above found its way between the caps and onto the cavern floor. Given the near absolute darkness of the forest, I found a narrow, five-foot-tall stalk to which I could attach my fishing line.

I had to use my flashlight if I was going to go any further. I made sure I still had the red filter in my powerful lamplight. Keeping the power adjusted to the dimmest setting, I turned it on and allowed my eyes to acclimate to the darkness. Using a bright white light would keep me blinded to everything on which I was not shining it.

An amazing number of different mushrooms filled the area. Some of them resembled mushrooms with which I was familiar, but many more were much stranger. In this subterranean world, plants did not have the necessary sunlight to develop. The fungus here was allowed to evolve and grew much more so than on the surface.

I tied off my line, and after scanning the area for a good five minutes, I slowly and cautiously began to enter the mushroom forest. Fecal material from the insects dripped off the caps here and there, but not too frequently. When I looked at some of the shorter stalks, I saw many of the round caps were concave and not convex. It appeared these mushrooms evolved to absorb nutrients from the top rather than what was on the ground and below the slick, thin soil.

Slowly I scanned the area with my flashlight and then began cautiously moving into the fungi forest. Thus far I saw no forms of animal life beside myself with the obvious exception of the giant insects. I was sure I would see rodents and possibly common insects, but there was nothing but the colossal mushrooms.

I had to be careful to watch my step. The cave was probably at one-hundred percent humidity, and although the ground was mostly rocky, it was very slick. I did not know if it was fungi, a sort of algae or simply the dampness, but I almost slipped on the slimy surface several times. The last thing I needed was to injure myself and be unable to get back out.

At one point, the ground began to slope. It only dropped gradually at first, but the floor became steeper and steeper. I tried to find a way around it, but the slope seemed to cover the whole ground area. With the rocks so slippery, I almost turned back. Right before I turned to go, I noticed the sloping ground turned into what appeared to be another ramp leading even deeper into the earth.

I decided to proceed and see where this new ramp led. Something suddenly dawned on me and left my head spinning. It became obvious to me this was not a natural ramp. Clear tool marks scoured the wall and floor. I would think perhaps it was carved by primitive man a long time ago, but there was a dry trail leading right through the middle. Something used this ramp often enough and maintain a worn path.

I would think the narrow trail worn through the slime on the floor to be made by some animal, but the tool marks proved otherwise. At this point I really thought about turning around and running back to the exit. This was quite terrifying, but it was also exhilarating. I was probably about to discover an intelligent species no human ever encountered. I could only hope they were a benevolent race.

They did seem to be completely isolated from the rest of the world, so it was very possible they never encountered someone from the human race in the past. There was a possibility that could make me seem very frightening to them.

I carefully made my way to the ramp. With the steady drop of the slope, I still feared the danger of slipping and falling. I made it about twenty feet down the ramp when I heard a loud hissing sort of screech far behind me. I could hear the frantic fluttering of wings. It suddenly occurred to me, the reason the giant insects descended quietly, fed for only a few minutes, then fluttered loudly back to the upper section of the chamber. They were avoiding and warning the others of a predator.

Now I did not know what to do. I wondered if I walked past or right under whatever just attacked that giant bug. If I did encounter something, I had no idea what to expect. If I did pass one, why did it not attack me?

Then it dawned on me. The reason I saw no other animal life here on the ground was because everything was overhunted to the point of extinction. There was nothing at the ground level for these predators to eat except for the occasional unfortunate insect. Terror washed over me as I realized I may be their next meal.

Horror coursed through every nerve in my body making me shiver with fright. Standing there at the top of this ramp, I realized I would assuredly become food if one of those predators found me. I was not sure if I would be safer in a clearing so I could better see something coming, or if I should go back into the forest of mushrooms. There I may be more concealed, but so would anything out there hunting me. I now deeply regretted my decision to explore this wondrous world on my own.

Moving very slowly, controlling my breathing, and otherwise trying to remain silent, I used my fishing line to lead me back to my original location. I maybe made it a hundred feet when I felt a forceful tug pull on the plastic line. Nothing else happened for a few minutes, then I felt the fishing line begin to twitch and vibrate.

Whatever the thing was, it was following the line and could be making its way to me. Now I was faced with one of the greatest challenges yet. I could keep following my line and hope whatever held it would let it go, or I could move deeper into the haunting, fungi forest and take the chance of becoming hopelessly lost.

I could hear nothing. Whatever was following my line made no sound I could hear. The tugging on the string told me whatever it was, it was getting closer. I resolved to the fact I had to let go and hide amongst the giant fungal stalks.

It was not possible for me to turn off my light. Without it, I would do nothing but stumble around in the darkness. I kept it dim and left the red filter in place. I hoped, since whatever this was lived in a subterranean world, it would have very poor eyesight at the least.

If this thing did have poor or no eyesight, it had to rely on other senses. At that moment I noticed how loud my breathing seemed to be in the silence of the cap covered forest. Each step I took now sounded to me like a bolder hitting the ground.

I tried to calm myself and ease my breath and took great care in keeping my footfalls silent. Slowly I moved away from my lifeline and stepped further into the fungi forest. I did not know what was coming toward me, but this was its world. If I did not keep quiet, this thing was sure to follow me.

If one of these creatures was near, it only made sense to reason that more of them would be stalking about. I could be surrounded by these predators and not even know it. I truly wished I never came to this subterrainian world, especially not alone. No one else knew I was here. If something was to happen to me, my body would probably never be recovered.

I stood with my back against one of the giant fungi stalks and watched for whatever followed my line. Finally, something came into view. It was like no creature I ever saw or heard of. It appeared somewhat human, but its features were grotesquely distorted. Its arms and legs stretched a foot or two longer than a normal person. It crawled on all fours, plucking at the line as it went. The torso was short, and its neck was afixed to the back of its head instead of below the jaw, making it face straight forward in a terrifyingly distorted way.

Suddenly it stopped at the point where I let go of the line and stepped deeper into the forest. Sniffing the ground, it began to follow my scent toward my current position. With it coming toward me, I got a better look at the hideous face. Its eyes appeared a milky white giving it the appearance of a corpse. Its nose was long and sharp, which it used to track me. The ears were massively oversized, which told me it could hear very well.

I tried stepping backwards, but I could not watch it and where I was going at the same time. I turned and began to walk away, but it obviously heard me. It scuttled along the ground with rapid motions and would be upon me very soon. I tried getting away as fast as I could, but my feet were not made for this terrain. This thing obviously was. It was on me in no time.

The creature sprung through the air from twenty feet away to crash down right on top of me. I felt its talons dig into my skin as it knocked me to the ground. The pain was absolutely excruciating. I did not know if it had venom in its talons or if it was simply the bacteria and grime under its nails. Whatever it was, it stung immensely, like lye poured into a wound.

I wrestled with the beast as it tried to pin me solidly against the ground. The creature evolved for this underground world, but it was not built for fighting something like me. It had a very poor range of motion in its neck, and it could barely lower its head toward me, which put me at somewhat of an advantage. I struggled against this thing, then I managed to reach my shin and remove the fishing knife I kept tucked in my boot.

In our struggle, I almost dropped the knife several times. Finally, I obtained a solid grip on the handle and plunged the blade straight into its chest. When the metal pierced its sickly pale flesh, it let out a piercing scream. It squealed so loudly, the volume caused my ears to throb. With it distracted from the pain, I managed to free myself from its grasp, and I plunged the knife into it over and over. Ichor so dark red it was almost black spilled out of its wounds. It covered my shirt, arms and face. The stench was so intense I almost began to vomit.

Finally, the thing stopped its screaming and struggling and fell limp on top of me. As I fought to roll the beast off of me, I heard the screams of others in the distance. Others heard its piercing screech and were no doubt coming to its aid.

It was difficult in this mushroom forest for me to determine the direction from which the other screams came. I could not tell if it was an echo effect or if the things were surrounding me. I put the deceased creature to my back and began to run as fast as the slick ground allowed. In our struggle, I lost my sense of direction and could only pray I was not running back to the ramp descending deeper into the earth. If I was to survive this ordeal, I needed to find a way back to the sunlit world. Going further down would surely mean my demise.

Here and there I could see a bit of light coming from the ceiling crawling insects. I looked for some sign as to which direction my exit might be, but I could only make out small portions of the ceiling at a time. I could not see the walls of the giant cavern at all. My only hope was to keep in the direction I was headed.

I heard these things screeching softly and knew they were closing in on me quick. I picked up my pace and made no more effort trying to be quiet. These encroaching creatures followed my scent, so noise really did not matter at this point. Even as adept as these creatures were to this terrain, I could hear their taloned digits scuffling toward me.

I turned back as I was running in an attempt to see my pursuers. I only turned for a very brief moment, but that was far too long. I should not have looked back, because as soon as I did, I slid on a cone of insect dung and plunged face first into a six-foot-tall pile of guano fallen between some of the giant mushroom caps. What came next was the last thing I would expect. The grotesque abomination ran right past me. It continued another fifty feet or so, and then screeched so loudly, it echoed through the forest.

Four more of these abominations of what might have once been humans arrived at my location. They screeched back and forth, talking I guess. Fanning out, they sniffed the ground and mushroom stalks in the immediate area. On two occasions, the creatures moved right around me.

It was the dung. Apparently, these things relied mostly on their sense of smell. As disgusting as it was, sinking into the pile of insect feces saved my life. The smell of the guano was much stronger than my own scent, so I was now invisible to them.

They continued to scan the area, following the scent of my trail which led me here. I could not really say how long they searched for me as time felt meaningless. Eventually, they gave up and all five ran off in the direction I believed the descending ramp to be. I waited for a long time. I waited to see if I could hear any of them before I moved.

I tried to clean the lens of my flashlight, but I could not get it to produce enough illumination to be useful. Feces smeared on the lens blinded the glow. There was one option available to me, I could remove the dung smeared filter and shine it in its normal brightness. I was entirely certain these creatures were blind, so I did not worry about the glow of my electric lamp drawing any of their attention.

Now I could see the slick ground and the large stalks clearly. It was an amazing sight, were I not terrified beyond comprehension. All that mattered now was getting out of here.

Slowly and quietly I rose to a standing position. I tucked my pants into my boots and filled my jeans with the dung. I filled my pants pockets. I tucked my shirt into my pants and filled that as well. I caked it on the outside of my jeans. The smell was ghastly and the fumes stung my nose and caused my eyes to burn. Struggling not to vomit, I caked as much of the material on my body as would stick.

Once I felt comfortable my scent was sufficiently masked, I began to walk toe to heel very slowly. Very quietly I moved forward scanning the area with my large flashlight. It was hard to say how long I walked, but my heart raced with excitement when my lamp shined upon a wall of stone. I reached the side of the cavern.

I moved along the wall watching the lightening bugs above. I was trying to find some indication as to where my ramp to the outside was. I thought it would be easy to locate, but from this angle, it was really difficult to tell. Eventually I reached a rather large patch devoid of the massive mushrooms.

Scanning the walls, I finally located the ramp by which I entered. It was on the far side of the cavern. I went the wrong direction and was now the furthest from my exit as I could possibly be. Tears ran from my eyes, not from the horribly pungent odor covering my body, but because of the fact I knew I would never leave this place.

My lips began to tremble as I fell to my knees. As hard as I was trying to escape this dungeon, all I did was get myself even deeper into the nightmare. It seemed all hope was lost until I looked upward. A light shined into the cavern from above. I thought it no more than an illusion, a figment of my terrified mind desperate for escape, but after a few moments I was sure it was real.

It was probably one hundred feet or so up a steep incline. Regaining my composure, I rose to my feet and started making my way along the base of the wall. The wall was steep, but it was also very craggy. The rocks provided plenty of hand and footholds. It was well within my ability to climb. I just had to make sure I did not let myself slip on the slick rocks at the bottom.

I wiped the drying dung from my hands. I could not hold onto my flashlight and climb at the same time, so I undid part of my belt, slipped it through the handle then re-buckled it. I would not be able to direct my light very well at all, but it did allow me to see the stone wall immediately in front of me.

Carefully and quietly, I began my ascent. The craggy wall was slick at the bottom but became drier and coarser as I moved upward. It was a long climb. I wanted to go as fast as I could, but I had to continue to be as quiet as I could be. I was very careful to make sure each stone was firmly in place before putting any weight on it. I did not want to kick a rock loose or anything else to alert the abominations in the fungi forest as to my current location.

When I was almost two thirds of the way to my escape, my left foot slipped underneath me. I managed to keep my grip, but I smashed my leg against the stone. My shin scraped against the rock, and from sheer instinct I almost cried out in pain. I was able to restrain myself and did not shout as my instincts told me to do.

Planting my feet once again on the stone jutting out below me, I continued my climb to the glorious light of the sun shining through the small hole. As I approached the exit, I saw the carapace of some of the lightening bugs here and there. It looked like perhaps the insects died, fell down the wall and wedged into the rocks.

My heart raced and my ears rang as my blood pressure increased. Anxiety, fear and joy caused my head and knees to shake. I had to be careful. I was too close to my escape, and I was not going to let this opportunity slip away from me. It was a blessing to find this opening after I journeyed so far from my original entrance.

Determining the size of the opening when I was at the floor of the cavern was difficult, but as I got closer and closer, I could see the opening was plenty large enough for me to crawl out. It was fortunate for me as I worried I may have to jar stones loose to widen the opening.

An unbelievable sense of relief washed over me when the warm light began to shine on my face. The rays of the sun never looked so beautiful. I grabbed onto the outer edge of the hole and pulled myself out. I nearly let loose when I saw what covered the slope outside.

Spread across the ground I saw hundreds or possibly thousands of the chitinous shells of lightening bugs. That was not what terrified me so much. When I looked around, I saw the bones of cattle, deer and all sorts of wild animals. That meant either the poor animals somehow wandered into the cavern, which seemed unlikely, or the more logical answer was these monsters hunted outside of their subterranean world.

A wave of nausea, numbness and horror washed over me when I saw the skulls and bones around me. Among all the animal bones and insect carapace, I saw the skulls of several human beings. I did not know how they ended up being a part of this field of bones. Perhaps these creatures were responsible for the occasional unfortunate missing hiker in the mountains over the years.

As I started to pull myself the rest of the way out of the darkness, I felt something grab hold of my legs. I screamed in agony as something sharp pierced my flesh. The pain was so intense I could not breathe, and it burned, like lye.

My heart was still beating as I felt those subterranean terrors rip the flesh from my legs. Here I was so close to escaping back into my world, and the underground humanoids located me. Their sharp talons tore into my abdomen, and I could no longer hold myself out of the hole.

I did not realize my excitement to reach the surface increased my blood pressure which caused the abrasion on my shin to bleed. I covered myself in guano to hide from them, and they located me over the scent of the blood from a small scrape on my leg.

The deformed beasts pulled me into the hole as they ripped the organs from my body. Right there, they feasted on my flesh. Helplessly I watched them tearing me apart; then suddenly everything got cold. The darkness of death finally took me.

I was so close. I reached the warm, welcoming sunlight and thought I was safe. I was dead wrong, literally. I was momentarily back in my world and those abominations drug me back into theirs. Soon, after they were done feasting on my soft flesh, I would return to the surface take my place as part of the bone yard.

Photo by Dwight Tracy from Freerange Stock

Sea of Light

By Mychal Wilson

On December 22, 2019

In Aetet 2, Sixth triad

Word Count: 3,298

I needed some time alone, some time away from the everyday stress of the busy city. I traveled to a vacation home I owned on the beach in an attempt to get away from the rigors of life, even if it was only for a short while. The sky betrayed the fact that a storm front was pushing into the area. By the time I reached the beach, the sky far over the water was dark and gray, but there were no signs of high winds or even a sheet of rain.

My father taught me to sail before I was even a teenager. We spent more time during the summers on the water than on land. Now I enjoyed getting out on the water with nothing but me, the sea, and the thoughts in my head.

My father passed away only days before my eighteenth birthday and left me the beach house and his three sailboats in his will. I spent as much time as I could sailing the ocean. When I was out there, it felt like I was one with the sea.

On this particular occasion, my wife asked me not to go. She said she had a feeling something bad was going to happen. I did not listen to her though. Her premonitions did not worry me. I wanted to forget the stress of work and the congested life in the city, so I decided to go off on another one of my trips.

Although all my training told me not to, I sailed beyond the sight of land. I could see the weather front pushing in fast. Lightening flashed out of the sky to strike the foamy waves, but no rain or wind accompanied it. I knew I had to get back to shore, so I turned sail and tried to head on back. The light wind filled the sail and pushed me back toward home. I began to worry when I realized the water was pulling me out faster than the wind was pushing me in. I never caught sight of land before the furious storm reached me and my small boat.

Waves crashed against my small craft and tossed me about. Lightning struck the water every few seconds, but there was still nothing but a light breeze in the air. I took the sail down anyway and tried to ride the waves using the rudder. Crest after crest pushed the stern of the boat into the air which then slapped hard back down onto the water.

I knew what to do in this situation, but I never actually did it before. I tried to remember the survival tips my father taught me when I was young. Opening a deck panel, I retrieved four large jugs. I tied each to the boat with a rope, filled them with water, and dropped them over the four sides of the boat. These water anchors kept the boat more stable in the writhing waves.

Pellets of rain began falling and struck me with such force that it stung my skin. Between this combined with a sudden rush of cold air, I felt like I was on fire. Even with the help of the anchors, the boat thrashed up and down. I strained with the rudder trying to keep myself facing into the waves, but the force of the water was too much. The helm snapped and the boat turned sideways into the wake. There was nothing more I could do. Within minutes the boat capsized.

The angry sea tossed and threw me about. It was difficult to determine which way was up, and I choked on the salty water as I tried to breathe. The sea churned me about for more than an hour before its wrath finally passed me by on its way to land. When the storm ended exactly, I did not know, but when peace came to the water, I found myself lying on the hull of my overturned craft.

The rain and wind were gone, but the icy cold remained. My soaking wet clothes clung to my body and chilled me to the bone. One of my legs still hung in the frigid water. It was very numb, and I found it incredibly difficult to pull it back onto the boat. I did finally manage it. I guess I was paying too much attention to my struggle because I did not see the dense fog roll in.

In air this cold there should not be any fog. I did not give that too much thought as I strained my eyes in an attempt to peer through the heavy mist. Rather than being a single mass of fog, the mist appeared to be layered horizontally like curtains. Each layer of the fog was about a foot thick and rose higher than I could possibly see. The curtains of eerie fog had about two or three inches of clear air in between them.

It was the strangest fog I ever saw in my life. I heard of such a thing from old sea farer’s stories kept alive from generation to generation through song, poetry, and story. I could only figure that the change in air pressure caused the odd strata in the mist. That must be it. Perhaps it was due to fluctuations in temperature. Whatever caused it, there must be a rational explanation for it. Even so, it scared me to no end.

A disconcerting stillness lay across the seas surface; the calm after the storm. My heart skipped a beat when I heard a thump against the side of the boat. I struggled to turn myself over and saw that it was a foam buoy bearing the name of my vessel.

My wife was always on my back about keeping important items in foam floats in the case of occasions such as this. It was not easy, but I managed to grip the strap of the buoy and pulled it out of the water. The sea may have damned me, but something must have been looking out for me. At the end of the strap was a clear plastic bag. The protective pouch contained a box of waterproof matches, a bottle of lighter fluid, and best of all, my flare gun.

Dripping some of the fluid onto the hull of the boat, I struck one of the wax coated matches and started a small fire. Adding only a few drops at a time, I slowly managed to warm my hands to bring some color back to them. Keeping the fire small, the lighter fluid burned, but the hull did not.

I knew I would run out of the lighter fluid soon, so I had to figure out something else I could burn. My boots did me no good on my feet. Cold seawater filled them both. With my hands warm enough to function, I removed on of the boots from my feet. Dripping the flammable fluid onto the sole of the boot, I burned the rubber to produce heat. The rubber burned slowly, consuming the sole downward much more so than outward. This just might work. Maybe, just maybe I could keep myself from freezing to death before I was rescued.

I continued to warm my hands. I did not want to take the chance of dropping the flare gun into the water, so I did not remove it until I regained all feeling to my hands. As my fingers warmed and sensation returned, my knuckles throbbed with agonizing pain.

I had four flares, one in the chamber and three in the bag. Once I made sure the gun was loaded, I fired a glowing flare into the air. The burning red sphere produced a hellish rainbow effect amongst the layers of fog. I imagined the gateway to hell appeared much the same way. Red, yellow and orange light moved through the misty curtains with a hypnotic fluidity.

A chill filled my soul and I found myself with my eyes closed tightly as I prayed for the light to fade. When I could hear the sizzling of the flare no more, I fought through my terror and opened my eyes. The red light of the flare was gone, but now the fog seemed to be glowing on its own. The illumination it produced shone with a beautiful, bluish hue. I was not sure if that was some chemical reaction with the flare or if I was only now noticing it.

I was not sure how long I floated there, but I was sure that the sun should have already risen. I was positive I was out here for hours, at least that is what I thought. The fog did not dissipate at all; it actually seemed thicker. Sunlight should burn away the fog, but the sun did not rise. I floated there for a couple of more hours and decided to launch another flare into the air. Surely there would have to be someone within sight of my beacon.

I saw something that spared me with the first flare. I squeezed my eyes shut like a frightened child. I knew what I just saw was no more than a figment of my imagination. Perhaps the delusion was caused by the cold. When my flare lit up the dark sky, I saw a ghostly specter hovering in the fog. I found myself reciting the Lord’s Prayer as the ethereal image stared at me with strong intent.

There was something strikingly familiar about the phantom being I watched drifting weightlessly in the curtains of fog. There was something about it that seemed to scare me more than death itself. Trembling from horror and stabbing cold, I thought the wraith in the mist was trying to reach out to me. It wanted to pull me in.

The flare burned itself out, and the ghastly rainbow of the hell spawned colors slowly faded. Eventually, when the flare was gone, I again found myself surrounded by the glowing blue fog. I could see the apparition no more. It faded away along with the light of the flare.

I thought it had to be a product of my imagination. I was a reasonable man, and the most reasonable explanation for what I just saw was that I was delusional. The cold, the fear of death, and the anomalous fog combined in my head making me see things that simply were not there. No other explanation made sense. I knew that, to survive, I had to keep my senses about me.

Clear mucus dripped from my nostrils, and I realized I was crying. I did not feel this much terror when I thought the sea was going to swallow me to a drowning death. I tried to stifle my tears, but try as I might all I could do was tremble and sob.

In an instant, my hopes were renewed. Someone must have seen my flare because I could hear a light splashing far out of my range. The sound was one I knew very well. I was listening to oars as they trod their way through the haunting stillness. My head swam with excitement and my heart felt as if it would jump right out of my chest. With my back against the boat, I forced my stiff body up until I was resting on my elbows. Although I still could not see anything, I easily determined the direction of the welcomed noise.

I parted my stiff lips and tried to scream. My parched throat burned, and I could not produce anything but a faint grunt. Frantically I rubbed my throat with my free hand trying to warm it enough to call for help. At the same time, I brushed my tongue up and down the bottom of my mouth trying to work up enough saliva to lubricate my burning vocal cords.

The vessel drew closer, but it was not coming toward me. Whoever it was, they were going to pass right by me. A new horror took over my thoughts. I was only inches from rescue, and they were not going to find me.

I fell to my back, and the impact made a hollow thud against the hull of the boat. That gave me an idea. I removed the hand from my throat and began to pound against the overturned craft. Three short, three long and then three short thumps against the boat. I could not remember much of the Morse code I was taught as I learned to sail. There was the one signal no sailor ever forgot. Three short, three long, three short. S-O-S.

I paused to listen but did not hear anything. Again, I repeated the pattern three times. For several minutes the silence continued. I thought the captain of the other boat must be trying to figure out where in the fog I was. Someone should call out for me. I know they heard my plea for help.

To my relief, I heard the oars resume their work. The echo off of the water made it sound like a multitude of oars splashing in perfect synchronization. It brought to mind the Viking ships of centuries past. I would welcome it if they would pull me out of the water. Whatever kind of craft it was, I could hear that their trajectory now pointed them toward me.

I was sure the ship was just about within my sight. The sound of the oars grew louder and a strange, acoustic echo became apparent. It struck that the odd chorus of oars may only be a product of my convulsively shivering body. My burning hope temporarily distracted my weary mind from the unforgiving cold.

I pounded the S-O-S one more time on the hull of the boat then focused my energy on getting myself back onto my elbows. The sudden rush of blood made my ears roar with a high-pitched scream as I strained my cold stiffened body upward. It took me several minutes, but I finally mustered up enough will to lift my pruned body up from the hull. I tried to focus, tried to listen through the pain and my ringing ears so I could hear my approaching rescuers.

When the deafening ring faded enough, I could hear the oars splashing in the water once again. I was sure it would be in sight any second. The next moment, my hopes were dashed. The rowing stopped. I tried to be patient. I must have been in the water for twenty-four hours now, so a few more seconds would not kill me. The crew of the other boat was probably only trying to make sure that they did not ram me.

That would be a cruel irony, to survive this long in the piercing cold only to be plowed into the water by the very ship attempting to rescue me. When the oars once again resumed, I involuntarily began to chuckle. My throat stung in agony as my dry vocal cords tried to form that universal sign of joy called laughter. It was okay, I tried to tell myself. Soon I would be pulled from the sea and given fresh water to soothe my mouth and throat.

My hope came to a peak when it occurred to me that something sounded different about the approaching ship. The tone of the splashing…. Oh God in Heaven, the ship was now rowing away from me. Again, I tried to force a scream through my burning throat but coughed up blood instead. Even now the idea of using the flare gun gripped me with fear. That was my only hope. I could not call out, and my potential rescuers were going in the wrong direction.

Never having left my hand, I raised the flare gun up once again and reluctantly pulled the trigger. I felt no relief when the fog again shimmered and pulsed with lights as red as blood. The grim ghost of the mist was there to greet me and the smell of burning sulfur from the flare stung my nose. I considered throwing myself into the water to drown. I thought that was what the apparition wanted though. It wanted me to die. It wanted to take me through that mist to the hell from which it came.

Despite my terror, I stared directly at my tormentor until the flare burned away. When only the peaceful blue glow in the fog remained, I could still faintly see the specter of the mist. I knew there was something very familiar about the vision in the fog, but I could not put my finger on it.

Could I have dreamed it, and the terror of my situation brought it back to mind? Was I hallucinating or was the spirit in the mist real?

Lost in my thoughts of the haunting wraith, I failed to pay attention to the sound of the other boat. The rowing continued to grow fainter as the ship moved off into the distance. I knew they could not have missed that flare. It illuminated the fog as far as I could see. Why were they not coming back for me?

Tears trickled down my face dripping into my ears. The other vessel was gone. My rescuer was gone and my nose stung from the smell of burning sulfur.

A thud sounded against my boat, and I strained to turn my head. I prayed it was another one of my buoys. I pleaded to everything in heaven that it contained my bottled water. Instead of finding lifesaving gear, I turned to look at a bloated dead tuna floating in the water. Its clouded eyes sunk into the head, and soon I saw more lifeless fish. The water was full of them.

I long ago lost the feeling in my feet. I peered at them and it was just as I feared. My toes were all a dark purple and my toenails were black. I was going to lose my feet. Frostbite damage to my feet was too great. I was going to survive this. I had to. Now I could only hope that I would not lose anymore limbs.

I pulled the bag containing the matches and lighter fluid up to my side. With a fumbling hand, I first tried to pull out the lighter fluid. As I dug for the matches, I heard a scraping and then a plop. The lighter fluid slid off the hull and into the water.

That was it. I was ready to give up. I could not take this merciless torture any longer. I let go of the matches and let them fall into the water as well. I was just going to lay there until the cold air showed the warmth of my breath no more. I dropped my hands to my side and allowed the pistol to slip from my grip and into the water.

My right arm was resting on something. With ever increasing difficulty, I pulled the plastic bag up to my chest. Inside were three flares. I never reloaded the gun. I fired the damn thing three times, but I never reloaded it once. How did I fire one flare three times?

The ghastly image manifested in the glow of the heavenly blue light and I realized why it seemed so familiar. A surge of warmth washed over me like a wave. I lay there staring at the face of my father. That meant, that meant I must be, I was….

I reached my hand up to meet the grip of the specter. The pain was gone; my fear was gone. His strong loving arms pulled me from the agony of the icy water and into that sea of light.

Cabin in the Woods

By Mychal Wilson

On October 29, 2019

In Aetet 2, Fifth Triad

Word Count: 2,121

When I was a child, I spent most of my autumn season with my family in the forest cutting firewood deep in the Alabama forests. My father made a meager living working as a cobbler fixing the soles of cowboy boots and dress shoes. I remember hearing my mother saying once that she was ashamed of him because people walk all over his work. Sure, he worked on shoes, so people obviously walked on his work. It always upset me to hear her say that.

We did not have the financial means to use the furnace to keep the house warm throughout the winter months. Instead, we warmed our home through the use of our fireplace. The cold season this far south did not last as long as it did when we lived in Virginia, but it still grew very cold. If we did not collect enough wood to stack to the height of the privacy fence in our back yard, we would likely die from hypothermia or frostbite.

I resented not having the opportunity to spend the weekends playing with my school friends, but I still managed to have plenty of fun playing out in the woods exploring and dreaming up imaginary settings. Some days I would pretend I was on an alien planet and others I was in an ancient forest contending with demons, dragons and the like.

My teacher praised me for my ability to come up with some of the most creative stories she said she saw from other children my age. I could compose some of the most intriguing and imaginative stories even adults found to be interesting reads.

With school on fall break, I spent less time writing and more time in the woods hauling firewood to the truck. For my father, carrying a large armload of the split wood was not a problem, but at my age even two pieces was almost too much to carry.

Dad did not make me work the entire time. He knew kids needed time to play. After performing my part of the task, a local boy and I would run off into the seemingly endless forest to play.

I felt kind of bad for my friend. His family was poorer and more necessitous than I thought a family could be. His dad was a terrible alcoholic and never worked.

Their meager home did not even have running water. The only light inside the house radiated from the fireplace or from kerosene lamps; they had no electricity.

Typically, Hubert and I followed the same basic path through the woods and came to know some of the landmarks quite well. Looking back, I wish we stayed on the regular path this time, but instead we decided to follow a trail we never explored thus far.

This pathway led into a thick part of the forest. The canopy cover was so thick it almost looked like night time under the massive trees. Something about this place spooked me, but I blew it off as my active imagination. I trotted along behind Hubert as we progressed along the unusually worn path. I did not know if animals or people wore the trail, but it seemed worn more than any animal trail should be.

Ten minutes or so along the path, Hubert climbed onto the lower branches of one of the trees to see if he could see anything up ahead. As he scanned the horizon, he pointed deeper into the woods and informed me he could see a clearing way up ahead. Hubert did not think it was much farther than we already traveled, so we decided to proceed on.

My friend underestimated the distance, and it took us nearly thirty more minutes to reach our destination. I suggested turning back, but Hubert insisted we walk until we found it. He lived in this region his entire life and never once saw this place. He just had to get a closer look at the small building.

In the center of the clearing sat an old cabin, which looked like it was built sometime in the late 19th century. The horizontal logs making up the sides of the cabins displayed deep gaps between each of the hand cut sections of wall. On the top side of many logs, I noticed were notches cut into the wood to create strategic areas from which to fire rifles and other fire arms. I did not know if they were shooting at Indians or if they were fighting in the Civil War.

There was a darkness about this place, and a deep sense of dread washed over me. I really wanted to turn back and find where my parents continued to cut firewood. I tried to play it cool and told Hubert we were gone from the others for a while, and maybe we should get back.

Hubert was curious and excited. He lived in this area all his life and this is the first time he ever visited this place. He wanted to go inside the cabin and see what it was like there. I tried telling Hubert the wood might not be stable and the building might easily fall over. Again, I tried to make the statement in a way that did not display my fear.

That was not going to stop my friend and he quickly approached the building. My trepidation told me to stop. I desperately wanted to turn and run, but I was not going to run away and leave my friend in this haunting place alone.

Hubert froze as he reached the doorless entrance. I think he must have felt the same fear I did, but when he turned around a look of adventure gleamed from his eyes. He appeared to have the excitement of someone discovering a new land for the first time.

Although it was nothing more than a small, old building, it seemed to him much more of a major discovery. Waving his hand, he beckoned me to approach the building as well. For a moment I found my feet refused to budge. My natural instinct and perception told me this was a place where I should not be. It took a lot of willpower to finally start my feet moving one in front of the other.

My head spun as if I had a few beers in me, but we were unable to sneak any bottles out of either family’s ice chests before bounding deeper into the forest. A wave of nausea passed over me as I grew closer and closer to the building. My breathing increased and my shoulders and neck began to tremble as if I were shivering from the cold.

Again, I tried to tell Hubert we should not enter the centuries old dwelling. This time I used the excuse the floor of the structure would not support us and give out causing one or both of us injury. It appeared nothing was going to deter my friend from entering the hand-cut log building.

I was perhaps ten or twelve feet away when he stepped inside. He was immediately enveloped in darkness. Light should shine through the gaps in the walls, but I could not see him at all. The clearing was large enough to allow plenty of sunshine to highlight the old building, but for some reason did not seem to illuminate the inside of the log cabin.

My heart beat so hard I thought it would burst out of my chest. I approached the point of absolute terror. I could not see Hubert at all, and I was sure some malevolent force drug him to hell or worse. I turned and was just about to run when I heard his voice call to me from inside.

It took everything I had in me, but I turned back to the cabin and slowly and cautiously approached the building. Once I stood at the open doorway, I was able to faintly see inside. Hubert stood near the center of the one room dwelling. He appeared as almost nothing but a faint shadow, and I was not able to make out anything else in the room.

Hubert beckoned once again, and despite all of my fear, my logic and my instincts, I stepped through the darkening entrance.

Even now I was also in the shade of the home, I could see my friend no better than before. I thought the drop in direct sunlight would make the illumination from between the old cedar logs more intense. Instead, it seemed to grow even darker, if that were possible.

I called out his name in a loud whisper. Hubert replied to my call, but it sounded as if he were far in the distance. We could not be more than twenty feet from one another, yet it felt like we were a mile apart.

A sensation of insignificance washed over me as I suddenly felt as if I were comparing myself to the entirety of the universe. In the darkness of the dwelling, it was as if no walls existed, only endless space.

Although I could see nothing but a vague image of my friend, I thought I saw the darkness in the room move and take on a tangible form. I could not see anything, but I somehow knew it was there.

Intense reluctance prevented me from running, but I knew I would have to flee this place if I wanted to continue to live. I was not sure if it was something holding me there or if it was my own intense fear keeping me from running.

In the virtually absolute darkness, I was not really sure what I saw inside the age-old structure. I knew it had to be nothing but my imagination, but I thought I could see more than just my friend inside. The unnatural darkness inside the old home prevented me from gaining a clear view or even a vague view of anything inside.

A shrieking scream pierced the darkness with a reverbing echo, giving me the sensation of being deep in a dark cavern. When the scream came again, I realized it emanated from the lips of my friend. Hubert called out to me for help. He shouted that the thing, whatever it may be, was trying to consume his very soul.

The cold ash-filled chimney suddenly burst into a blaze. The initial ignition caused a concussive force that almost knocked me to my feet. The flash blinded me for a moment as my eyes were struggling to see in the darkness when the fire erupted. An amorphous red blob filled my vision, but I still thought I could see more than my friend in the one room dwelling.

I do not know if there was anything I could have done. There was nothing I could offer into the situation that could fend off the thing consuming my friend. All I could do at this point was run. I turned to the open doorway, and it appeared to be far off in the distance. I ran until I passed out of the darkness and into the light. I did not stop running until I made it back to our familiar pathway.

My legs collapsed as my lungs nearly gave out. It was still a time when children played outside, but I was not an athlete by any means. I fell to my knees and dug my palms into the dirt and rock. Rolling to one shoulder, I saw my hands bleeding and caked in dirt. Finally, I fell to my back and looked into the direction from which I came.

I saw nothing but a mass of weeds and a dense cluster of ancient trees. No pathway, no trail to the open circle remained in the forest giving any evidence of where I just was. There was nothing there.

Hubert told me once of a legend of a family living in this forest during the time of the Civil War. It was said that this family, in order to save their land, called upon things of darkness to destroy their enemies. Their plot succeeded, but at a terrible price.

The forest itself consumed the family and their home once the enemy was vanquished from the area. It isolated the family from the rest of the world and the story said they were never heard from again.

I cannot say exactly what I heard coming from inside the structure, but I realized the family was heard from again. I heard the terror of my friend along with that unholy howling. I heard the demonic wailing of beings born of vengeance and evil. I found that rumored cabin in the woods.

Simple Shapes

By Mychal Wilson

On October 15, 2019

In Aetet 2, Fifth Triad

Word Count: 4,072

It was quite amazing how often things remained invisible to one’s eyes until given a reason to notice them.

After concluding some business in downtown Murfreesboro Tennessee, I browsed some of the shops lining Main Street. One particular establishment was a purveyor of fancy and precious stone objects in addition to incense and spiritual text. Never the superstitious sort, I paid no attention to the tarot cards and the tomes on spiritual healing. Instead, my attention focused on the polished stone artifacts concealed in illuminated glass cases. The items were simple but magnificent.

Spheres, pyramids and obelisks appeared to be the dominant shapes, but there were other things as well. One particular object, a 3-foot-tall obelisk formed from a single piece of clear quartz, seemed to pull my attention to it. Nearly five inches on each side of the base, the artifact displayed absolutely no flaws. I had the perfect display case in the corner my office, and I just knew I had to have it.

I inquired of the young lady running the shop as to the price of the item. The price she quoted nearly made me faint. I suppose I should expect such a perfect crystal object would be incredibly expensive, but the number still shocked me. Budgeting for the next few months would be tight, but I did have them means to purchase the spectacular quartz creation.

As the shopkeeper protectively packed my new decoration, two more items caught my attention. Both of them cut in the shape of pyramids. While I waited for the box containing the obelisk, I browsed over the rest of the encased objects. Of them all, these two-to-three-inch sided pyramids struck me as remarkable. The prices were displayed along with these items, and these were well within my financial reach.

One possessed an amazing visual effect. The object appeared clear, slightly milky, but clear. As I looked at it from different angles, it produced a laser hologram type of effect. The second was multicolored and emitted a beautiful glow when exposed to a florescent light.

Within only minutes of leaving the shop, I began to notice the shapes everywhere. Large concrete obelisks towered over the entrance to the University. At the head of the grass median set a granite pyramid surrounded by perennials.

As I approached home, I passed by a large cemetery. More tombstones than not either incorporated the pyramid or the obelisk into its form. Over the next few weeks, it seemed like there was nowhere I could look without seeing one of the two shapes. The big question that consumed my thoughts was why.

Why were these two shapes so dominant in the construction of the area?

I saw them in TV sitcom neighborhoods. I saw them decorating the living room sets of drama programs. I even saw them in cartoons my children enjoy.

Why? What made these particular forms so popular?

As a documentary film director, I had to find an answer to this question. My research began with Egypt, but I quickly discovered a staggering quantity of ancient cultures which utilize the pyramid and the obelisk in nearly every aspect of their architecture.

My curiosity deepened as I learned more, and the more I learn the more I had to know. The need to construct such objects either big or small seemed to be as built into the human mind as the need to find a “true” religion. These seemed to be woven into the fabric of the human mind. Something in our nature compelled us to replicate the structures over and over, from one civilization to the next.

I found it next to impossible to think the monumental pyramids were constructed to house the mummified remains of a pharaoh or even the royal bloodline. One of the undeniable flaws in this logic was simple. No one ever found bodies, burial chambers or catacombs inside the structures. Such mausoleums were found in smaller rectangular buildings buried in the surrounding sands, but never any inside the pyramids themselves.

Different prehistoric nations throughout the world utilized figures from their mythology to create constellation maps of the stars. The three stars on Orion’s belt were viewed as symbols of various mythological deities and pyramidal representation of these stars could be found all over the world. This could not be a mere coincidence.

An alien conspiracy documentary colleague I once dismissed as fanciful and superstitious became someone with whom I worked ever more often. My wife worried for the credibility of my career if I were to continue with my associate, with Dr. Nebbins, but I paid her no mind. I imagine she cared more of what her superficial friends thought than my prestige.

Some mainstream archaeologists thought perhaps the pyramids were the ancient’s way of keeping track of annual weather cycles, but Nebbins held not even a fleeting doubt these were only secondary functions. What he believed to be their primary purpose seem to defy all rational logic. Nebbins believe the pyramid and obelisks structures of the past were to connect us with the gods.

These gods, he theorized, were no less than one or more extraterrestrial species. He was certain the secret to reaching the stellar beings was somehow encoded on the pyramids throughout the world. Nebbins believed these were clues left behind for us to discover.

This last part of his theory made no sense to me. Why would aliens come to earth, engineer the construction of tens of thousands of pyramids known worldwide, and then leave them falling into ruins. If anything, the buildings lived out their usefulness, and whatever created them left Earth for a new destination.

Then I learned something shocking. An engineer and defense contractor built seven steel and fiberglass pyramids much steeper than most of those from ancient times. The inside of the structure contained very little, really nothing more than the underside of the outside walls. He believed shape alone created an energy field of unknown origin.

Plants left to grow in these modern pyramids showed a 30% increase in their normal production. Antibiotic microbes allowed to remain in the center of these pyramids for a single lunar cycle showed hundreds or even thousands of times the potency of those kept in traditional conditions. People frequenting the fiberglass structured showed a marked decrease in heart disease and some types of cancer.

In 2010 two Russian jet fighters on training routines reported encountering a strange electromagnetic anomaly as they passed over one of the structures. Initial reports were that the jets were attacked by some form of new energy weapon. This I chalked up to being nothing but publicity propaganda intended to draw more tourists to the locations. I read the first-hand studies that showed unequivocally how some organisms did show measurable results, but electromagnetic field 10 miles high above the structures seemed a bit too much to believe.

I learned of a man in Bolivia, an outcast and the scientific community, who theorized a series of four-sided hills in his native country were pyramids. He believed, due to their sheer size, they had too have been covered intentionally. Loose rock and sediment could never work its way to that height. If this archaeological pariah was indeed correct, the largest of the Bolivian pyramids exceeded the largest pyramid in Egypt by more than twice the height and six times the mass. Not only that, samples from road like structures sent to six independent labs yielded the same astonishing results. The concrete was without a doubt artificial, it was at least 10,000 years old, and the quality at this age was still three times that of anything produced in this century.

My wife, a churchgoing woman, began to see my obsession with the pyramids as an obsession with the occult. She thought Dr. Nebbins to be nothing more than a dreamer and a laughingstock in the world of documentary film. As I spent more time in this archaeological research, she became increasingly cold and distant.

Devastation overwhelmed my one-track mind when I returned home late to find my wife and the children gone. At first, I assumed she took the children to a neighbor or friend, then I noticed many other things missing. I ran into the hall and a frantic rush of fear. In my mind, my family was kidnapped.

I thought perhaps my research was coming too close to someone, or something which wanted to stay secret, but the beige envelope propped up on the gaudy table froze me in my tracks. It was the dreaded dear John letter.

My wife of 15 years took my three children and moved to her mother’s in California. She thought I lost my grip on reality, her reality, and worried for her eternal soul and the souls of our children.

I called her multiple times over the next three days. She never answered her mobile phone and no one ever picked up at her mother’s. I again began to fear something tragic befell them until the sheriff deputy arrived at my door. Once verifying my identity, he served me with a restraining order preventing me from calling or visiting my wife and mother-in-law.

I sank into a deep depression. Alcohol, something for which I never cared, became my best friend. Not leaving my house for over three months, I survived on fattening delivery foods as I had no desire to cook. I had no desire to cook, and I did not have any food to cook even if I did.

I ignored my phones. Eventually my home phone and my mobile phone could hold no more messages, yet I continue to ignore them. A producer of mine wanted me to direct a film on the fact are fiction of man-made global climate change. This assignment would reinstate my credibility and fix my mounting financial difficulties, but I never answered or returned any of his calls.

By three months my insurance lapped, my utilities were all disconnected, and the same deputy sheriff arrived on my doorstep with a foreclosure notice. I lost my wife, I lost my children, and now I lost my home. My crazy obsession with two simple geometric shapes ruined my life, but I still could not stop fascinating over them.

I packed my ever-growing collection of stone objects and moved it into a small, one bedroom apartment. I took very little furniture as the confines of my new home allowed for close to nothing. Foremost I made sure to allow room for my stained mahogany display case, then I never worried about space for anything else. What I could not take I commissioned a lecherous company built on preying on the unfortunate to sell my remaining possessions.

I saw very little money from the liquidation. Eight months after my wife took my children and left my life for good, I got my first stroke of good luck. Someone knocked hard on my door and jarred me for my drunken sleep. Rolling off of the fabric couch, I knocked several mostly empty bottles of beer to the floor. As the amber bottles slurped the remainder of their stale contents onto my stained carpet, I staggered sluggishly to the door.

At the door stood a well-dressed man. The tailored suit and Italian shoes were like those that once adorned my body. Now I stood in a flannel shirt and my off-white briefs. I recognize the man. He worked for the bank. Without any thought I began to berate the man with every curse and swear that my hung-over mind could articulate.

When I finally let up on the poor man, he informed me my home sold for more than the remainder of my mortgage. All I had to do was go to the bank and sign for the excess of $100,000 that awaited me.

At the time I was much too inebriated to drive to the bank, and I passed out shortly after the man left. When I finally came to, a sunbeam glaring into the east window struck me blind. The hangover left from the previous night already gave my cranium the sensation of exploding. The yellow orange rays of the morning sun made me think my skull would implode at the same time.

On the end table of my couch sat a bottle of beautiful brown whiskey. There must’ve been two or more shots left in the uncapped container. Like a helpless sea turtle on the wet sands of the beach, I awkwardly pushed and shoved my way out of the accursed sunlight. This only mildly relieved the headache echoing inside the bones of my skull. Fighting back the intent nausea that begged me to empty my stomach contents on the floor, I pulled myself up to my knees.

I stretched my arm until I heard the rush of blood in my ears. Catching it with only my middle and index finger, I nearly pulled the bottle of glorious brew onto the floor. My reflexes triumphed over the shakes and I managed to catch the bottle right before I lost my magical elixir.

Moving through instinct rather than thought, I lifted the smooth glass opening to my lips and let the bitter fluid pour straight down my throat. The vaporous fumes permeated my sinuses bringing me a few steps closer to consciousness. Once the hair of the dog did its thing, I staggered to the cluttered bathroom to take a shower.

None of the towels were clean, so I found the least musty smelling one and dried my body with it. I knew I still stank of alcohol, the very smell seeped from the pores of my skin. I overcompensated with use of an excessive amount of antiperspirant. I hoped the two would fight an even enough of a battle to render me presentable.

Coincidently, the only clothes in my house not in desperate need of washing were my dress clothes. I mostly only wore suits to church, and there was not much need for them of late. My expensive loafers still remained in the box from the last time I sent them to be professionally polished. That was two weeks before my wife took the kids and left.

I arrived at the bank at precisely 10:32 AM. A year ago, I would’ve called that late morning. In the drunken haze I was in the last few months of my life I consider this to be extremely early. In my regularly inebriated state, I slept as late as my intoxicated brain allowed me.

The formalities frustrated me to the brink of releasing the reins on my anger. The man at the bank insisted on several forms of identification, and ask me multiple questions about my recent home address. There for a short time I thought he would ask me for a drop of my blood.

This bank took my house and sold it at auction for a fraction of its value. After deducting any charges and fees they wanted, I got what little remained. $100,000 was a lot of money, but it paled in comparison to the value of my home. I wanted this jerk to give me my money so I could get up and leave.

A pocket full of cash made me feel alive again. When I returned to my apartment and saw the deplorable conditions in which I was living, I realized I hit rock bottom. Easily fifty beer cans, seven or eight liquor bottles, and a dozen pizza boxes made up the landfill that my life became.

I cleaned my apartment, cut my shaggy hair, and cut off the Grizzly Adams beard whose primary function was to store potato chip crumbs. Once I had the look and confidence of a respectable man, I sought out my old friend Dr. Nebbins. To my dismay, I found he passed away during my drunken isolation.

He must have known I would eventually resume my research because he left several file boxes for me to examine. Much of the information stored in the plastic boxes he told me about, we worked on it together, or it was rather common archaeological, knowledge. The old scientist did leave me a few breadcrumbs to follow.

Tucked in a stiff folder bound with rubber bands, I found a loose collection of materials. Among them I found maps, a collection of his final notes kept together with a paper clasp and a large envelope. I set the envelope off to the side until I had time to go through Nebbins notes.

Shortly after my breakdown and I fell off the professional map, Nebbins came by a physicist with some radical theories about the pyramids even I thought to be ridiculous. I came to believe the pyramids all over the world to be markers for extraterrestrial visitors. Perhaps they were used to assist with the navigation of aerial vehicles. Perhaps their configuration around the world mark Earth for identification, a sort of nametag if you will. What Nebbins came to believe in his final days made my idea seem practical.

This physicist, a man from Hamburg Germany, theorized the pyramids were in reality energy generators. Made from cut stone with no movable parts to create power, this idea was absolutely absurd. The only documented report of unusual energy associated with the pyramids was the report made by the Russian air force pilots concerning the fiberglass structure built only decades ago, but no confirmation was ever made.

Nebbins made it very clear in his journal this was the truth behind the mystery of the pyramids. Nebbins could be rather eccentric in his line of thinking, but he always seemed to be a rational man. He believed many ideas to possess some validity, but in his final entries Nebbins stated he found the true purpose of the ancient structures.

Abandoning all other ideas, Nebbins focused his remaining wealth on unlocking this ancient secret. This physicist convinced Nebbins some simple trick would cause the buildings to once again produce energy from the very ground upon which they stood. Perhaps his age made him easy prey for the unnamed German, for the scientist goaded Nebbins on with the promise of eternity. To his dying breath, Nebbins felt this to be the absolute truth to the mystery of the pyramids.

Guilt washed over me, and I broke out in a cold sweat. Had I not been so wrapped up in my own well of depression, I may have prevented Nebbins from selling everything he had to fund expeditions all over the world. My old friend thought he was paying to send teams to key places in the world. He thought the trick to turning the power plants on was to do so in a specific sequence coordinated through hundreds of individual structures. He thought this physicist was using the money to achieve this goal, but I suspected the German saw an old man desperate to learn the knowledge he made his life’s work to find. I think he preyed on Nebbins in those final days to suck the man dry of his worldly possessions before my colleague left this life.

When I reached the last scribed page in the journal, I found it addressed to me directly. It seemed Nebbins was sure I would get the few things he still had left and used his last entry to give me a message. I wondered if my friend had gone insane, for the word scribed on the page made no sense.

“Mark my friend, before I leave, there is something I must tell you. We did not know what the ground looked like until we took to the air. We did not see the earth until we were able to escape its atmosphere. The only way to truly understand the universe is to step outside of it and look back in.

“Humankind is absolutely deluded into thinking our narrowly focused senses could even begin to perceive the truths of all that is. Arrogant with our technology and knowledge, we knew no more of reality than the hermit crab in the tide-pool understands the orbit of the planets.

“The Big Bang that created this universe was no more than a brief spark of light. Black holes in this universe continually create more, but this universe resides in the black hole of in another universe. In turn, that universe is no more than a disembodied particle in this universe.

“We call the circular existences impossibilities, paradoxes because our infinitely narrow way of thinking. In truth, they are really embarrassingly simple. One simply has to be ready to accept everything they know to be wrong. All of our science is flawed because we limit it with our intelligence.

“We think we are smarter now because we develop ever increasingly complex technologies. The truth is, people 10,000 years ago understood this universe much more than we as they understood our universe was only a very small part of the infinite whole.

“Alien visitors were not from different parts of this galaxy or any other galaxy. They were from Earth, just not this one. The laws of their universe followed different laws of physics, if anything can really be called a law. As I said, you must accept everything you know to be wrong.

“The simple geometry of the pyramid generates a nearly endless supply of energy. This energy feeds another version of reality inside the web of all that is and is not. Except the simplicity and it will begin to make sense.”

That was the end of the journal. Obviously Nebbins was suffering from dementia before his death. He spoke in circular sentences and logical nonsense. A universe was made by the universe it created? That was a bit too much.

Exhausted, I started to my bedroom. In the hall stood the case holding that obelisk I bought several years back. Before I turned off the light, I thought I saw a crack in the beautiful quartz construct. Possibly no more than a trick of light, I decided to check on the obelisk that cost me a small fortune.

The artifact looked shattered, but remained in one piece. Angry, I opened the case to look at my worthless decoration. Gazing into it’s form, I witnessed the impossible. Light refracted in layers similar to cracks, but the layers of faint rainbows were in a state of flux.

What is, is not and what is not is. The words and my friend came back to my mind. I have to except everything I know is wrong. Worlds, stranger than anything I ever imagine appeared in the quarts structure of the obelisk. Although it stood there in the case in front of me, I look from the inside out. The simplicity of the object was extraordinary, extraordinary but more complex in its mathematics than ever considered in this day and age.

I knew all matter consisted of pure energy, but only now could I see it. See is a misused term. What I perceived extended beyond my five senses. Energies invisible to my eyes played in beautiful colors and indescribable entities surrounded and even passed right through me.

The slow degradation of my energy became perceivable. I knew, when I died, the energy would take on a new form without the burden of my consciousness. The cohesion that made me me would one day end then I would cease to be.

My soul extended to encompass the galaxy, but it existed inside the galaxy. The universe did not exist but there it was right in front of me. Reality became a sponge of holes, strands, and intersections. As confusing as it should be, the simple shapes explained the complexity of the multi-verse.

If my mind and my energy went separate ways, my life truly meant nothing at all. I know why kings, pharaohs and emperors thought they would become gods. They utilized the pyramid to compress their limited energy to create a singularity of infinite heat and density. The final amount of their lives gave birth to a new universe. In a way, they did become gods.

As my last will, I released myself in the maelstrom of the shifting chaos that formed the logic of the absolute truth. In billions of years, marked in the laws of its new universe, the first life forms would arise. My life ended and a new reality began due to the influence of simple shapes.

Boarded Up House

By Mychal Wilson

On October 10, 2019

In Aetet 2, Fourth Triad, Vastness of Reality

Word Count: 2,671

I awoke lying on the damp ground and surrounded by hardwood trees. Smooth gray clouds covered the dim sky, and a slightly chilling drizzle made its way to me from between the leafy treetops. It was difficult to think. My mind was nothing but a haze.

I am not sure what happened. The last thing I can recall was driving my lovely wife and two children through a high-end residential area. We were headed to the home of a long-time work friend. He was having a huge barbeque party and invited my family and me to join in on the food and festivities.

I drove us into the large gated community, greeting the familiar guard as we entered. We were almost to my friend’s house, and then I recall seeing a blinding light. Sometime later I woke up lying in the woods with a pounding headache.

Immediately my palms began to tremble with anxiety and my knees shook with terror. I could feel my legs buckling beneath me. My heart pounded rapidly in my chest, and I began to hyperventilate as I went into a full panic. My first thought was we were in a car accident. The accident must have thrown me free, and I landed here.

When I saw a street light glowing in the night several hundred feet through the obscuring trees, I knew that could not be the case. It is not possible that a car accident could throw me this far through the woods. I would have hit a tree and stopped long before I could make here.

The second thought to cross my mind was I must have hit my head and wondered away in a daze. Strenuously I raised myself to my feet and began to sprint toward the light. Either I was not injured, or I was too worried about my family to notice the pain.

My head on the other hand beat like and African drum. My eyes blurred from the excruciating pain and I could hear the roaring rush of blood in my ears. Despite the hindrance, I struggled to run out of these woods as quickly as I could.

I guess I reached my threshold because only twenty or thirty feet from the street light, my knees buckled under me. I plunged face first onto the ground again falling into unconsciousness. When I next awoke, the sun was out. By the looks of it, it was still early morning.

Not far away at all I saw cars passing by. Forcing myself back to my feet, I staggered through the remainder of the forest. When I made it to the clearing and onto a sidewalk, I had no idea where I was. Frantically I looked around for something familiar.

As I attempted to discern my location; I also looked for any signs of an accident. I saw no wreckage, no tire marks or any broken glass. If I was indeed in an accident, I must have wandered far away. Perhaps the road on which the accident occurred was on the other side of the forest.

I staggered along the light-gray concrete sidewalk for ten minutes or so and finally I spotted my friend’s car. It was parked in the driveway of the ranch-style house next to his blue-gray Tudor, but I knew without a doubt the car was his. I thought perhaps his neighbors allowed him to park in their driveway so those attending the party last night could park on his property.

I did not know why he parked there, and I did not care. As fast as I could force my weary body to move, I headed directly for his house. Two times I tripped and fell on his lawn before I made it to his front porch.

In my frantic state, I beat hard on the door while simultaneously ringing the doorbell over and over. I allowed a few seconds to pass and resumed pounding on the door as I screamed for help. I heard someone call out from the house next door.

“They’re out of town for a few days,” the man from the neighboring house yelled. “Is there something I can help you with?”

Propping my exhausted body against the door frame, I turned to look at the man addressing me. It was my friend. He was wearing a bath robe and it appeared he was out getting his morning paper when he heard the commotion and observed me beating on the hardwood door.

I was sure this was his house. I thought perhaps in my panicked state, I got the houses wrong. I never visited his home before, but I knew this area. It seemed like the directions he gave me on Friday sent me to this house, but obviously I was wrong. I did not care. I was relieved to at least know where I was.

As I did my best to run toward my colleague, I yelled out, “Something happened. I think I was in and accident and I don’t know where Susan and the girls are.”

He beaconed me with a repeated wave of his hand. When I reached him, he took me by the shoulders to help steady my trembling body. Looking at me with an unfamiliar gaze, he tried to calm me.

“Slow down sir,” he said. “Tell me what happened.”

I quickly explained to him the last thing I remembered was going to his house for the cookout, then the next thing I knew I woke up in a large patch of woods. He looked at me with a face filled with confusion. Right then his young wife came to the door and asked if everything was okay.

“You’d better call the police,” he told her in a tone somehow sounding both calm and distressed.

My friend helped me to the porch swing and instructed me to sit down. As I caught my breath, I explained to him Susan, the girls and I got ready and were headed for his house for the barbeque. I explained to him that we were driving, and were almost here, when I think we had an accident. I told him I did not know where my wife and daughters were, and I was terrified something happened to them.

He looked at me like he was even more confused. I started to wonder if we did make it to the party and something happened on the way home. Perhaps that is what he found so confusing. I did not know what happened. All I cared about at the moment was where my family was and if they were alright.

“I am sure the police will be able to help you sir,” my friend and longtime co-worker said.

That was several times he used the word sir to address me. I did not know why. It was not like I was his boss or anything. I did not have the time to speculate on why he spoke to me in such a way, so I flatly asked him why he kept calling me sir.

With a quizzical look on his face, he shook his head gently and said, “Well, I don’t know your name, and you did not introduce yourself.”

I stood to face my good friend and angrily poked him several times hard in the chest. He backed away but did not look like he planned to strike back. He seemed to be trying hard to remain calm, but I could see fear growing in his eyes.

“That is not funny,” I snapped at him as I jabbed his ribs with my finger. “Please, for the love of God, if you know where Susan and my girls are, tell me. This is no time to joke.”

Now seemingly incredibly perplexed, the man in front of me tried to explain he had no party last night. He did not know me and he insisted he did not know my wife or our girls.

“Come on,” I pleaded, growing close to shedding tears. “We’ve worked together at the same firm for ten years.”

Again, softly shaking his head, the man with whom I was so familiar said to me, “Sir, I don’t work at any firm. I am an engineer at the railroad.”

By this time I had enough. I was terrified. I did not need my friend pranking me. Shaking him by the shoulders, I demanded he stop this foolishness and tell me what happened. He tried to pull away from my grip, but his back was already against the wall.

I began to shout and almost immediately heard someone call out from the street.

“Sir, I need you to let go of that other gentleman and take a few steps back,” a uniformed police officer said.

Some sense of relief washed over me when I saw the two officers and their patrol car. If anyone could help me figure out what happened and where my family was, it would be them. In my brief moment of zeal, I ran, or rather scrambled toward the officers.

“Sir, you need to stop where you are right now,” the officer nearest me ordered in a stern tone. Both officers placed their hands on their sidearm. In my current frame of mind, I did not think of how the police would consider me charging toward them a threat.

I froze in my tracks. Tears welled up in my eyes.

“Please help me, you have to help me,” I begged. “I can’t remember last night, and now I have no idea what happened to my family.”

“Please!” I cried.

The officers approached me and asked me to explain the situation.

As I tried to piece things together so I could explain it to the police, the second officer asked me if I had any identification. Not even thinking, I pulled my wallet out of my back pocket and removed my driver’s license. Without interrupting my explanation to the first officer, I handed the second my ID.

Once I told him everything, he instructed me to stay where I was and approached the scared and confused couple standing on the front porch of the smaller house. I could see by my friend’s demeanor as he told the policeman he did not know me. I almost ran over there to ask him why he was doing this to me, but I knew that would not be a smart thing to do.

My friend and his wife went back into their house, and the officer headed over to me again. Before he reached me, the other law-enforcement officer beckoned him over with a nod of his head. The two stood closely. Their backs turned away from me just enough that I could not attempt to read their lips. It was probably only one or two minutes, but it felt like they talked for hours before finally coming back over to me.

“Can you verify your name for me sir?” the first officer inquired.

I answered the question, and then he had me verify my address and finally my driver’s license number. As I answered each question I grew more and more frustrated. We were wasting time that we could spend trying to find my family. I had enough and in an angered tone I asked them why they were not helping me.

“It appears sir that this driver’s license is fake,” the second officer said. “Our system does not have your name, the DL number is not valid, and no one registered with the department of motor vehicles lives at that address.”

My head spun as I listened to his words. I nearly passed out. I could not remember last night. Could I have sustained a head injury bad enough to make me this delusional?

I began to sob as my knees buckled underneath me. One of the officers grabbed a hold of me before I crumpled to the ground. Helping me remain erect, the two officers assisted me to the patrol car.

“Let’s get you over here so you can sit down. Then we can try to figure out what is going on,” one of them said as they led me to be back seat of the patrol car.

“Now, tell me again what happened,” the first officer instructed.

“I already explained it,” I said quite loudly with an obvious tone of anger to my voice.

“Sir please,” the second officer said. “You need to calm down.”

“Look, I told you my wife, daughters and I were going to a barbeque,” I reiterated. I went through the details of what I could remember once again.

“And you were going to this man’s house for the barbeque,” the second officer continued. “The problem sir is they said they had no barbeque yesterday and neither of them knows who you are.”

“Okay,” I said. “I thought that was his house,” I explained as I pointed at the larger domicile. “Once I realized he lived in that smaller house, I wondered why he did not have this gathering at the pa-park over….”

I did not finish my sentence. When I pointed to the park, I instead found myself looking at the forest I recently staggered out of. There was no park. I knew without a doubt a park once existed there. On more than one occasion Susan, the girls and I went there for a picnic, to fly kites and so forth.

Was I going insane or was I insane already? How could so many of the details I remembered so well be so wrong. For a moment I thought I was dreaming, but I ruled that out quickly. This was too vivid.

“Ok sir,” the first officer said. “We are going to bring you to the address on your license.”

“If it is a fake, it is a very-very good one,” I heard the second officer whisper to the first.

They did not handcuff me, but they did close me in the back seat of the car. I suppose they had to, but this enclosure almost sent me into a whole new level of panic. I tried not to think about being confined and focused my attention out the window.

As we reached my neighborhood, it shocked me when I noticed the conditions of some of the lawns. They had brown spots, a major sign of grubs. The trees along the road on which I lived were mostly gone. The remaining trees appeared to be quite sickly.

I recognized the houses, but they looked like no one performed any upkeep on them for years. Car parts and furniture littered some of the yards. Lawns were allowed to grow deep in some areas. I did not understand. The homeowners’ association would never allow these conditions to exist.

Finally we reached my address. My head swirled and I became very disoriented. I did not panic this time. I believe I was in too much of a state of shock and felt little else.

This could not be possible. My friend did not know me. My driver’s license number did not exist. The park my family and I frequented was gone as if it were never built. The finely manicured neighborhood in which I lived for twenty years was quite dilapidated and run down.

Perhaps I could believe some of that, but what I saw at the moment made me question my existence. Looking at the beautiful home in which Susan and I raised our children I saw it was in serious disrepair. A small portion of the roof looked like it collapsed some time ago. I was looking at my home, my once beautiful home. Instead of seeing the house I remembered, I looked at an old, dilapidated building.

In the front seat, one officer said, “Why are we wasting our time sitting here.”

“I don’t know,” the other replied as he glanced at the empty back seat.

“Well drive somewhere. I don’t know why we are sitting here in front of this boarded up house.”