A Life of Dreams, A Man of Souls:
The Little People[1]
By a wilde wildernesse and by a wode
side;
Blisse of the briddes abide me made,
And under lynde upon a launde lened I a
stounde
To lythe the layes that the lovely foweles
made
Murthe of hire mouthes made me ther to
slepe;
The merveillouseste metels mette me
thanne
That ever wight dremed in world, as I
wene
-Langland,
Piers Plowman Passus VIII, ll. 63-69
To introduce a café or a bar would be the normal pursuit of a normal adventure story; unfortunately, to start such a normative story would set a common, false pretense. This story, though both adventures and mystical, is neither a normal, falsely penned artifice, or some hallucinogenically induced rabbit hole. I know, good reader, that such a claim must be taken on face value, since neither the story (thus far as you are concerned) nor the writer have proven themselves fantastical or mythical in proportion. Others of you may find yourself asking for specific characteristics of being and landscape. Remember, every vision has concrete elements and others ethereal vagaries. This is such a vision; so, without further apology, let me begin.
I
traveled to
Without
much real opinion of Irish culture or literature, I traveled to the country far
more interested in the company of my young, American girlfriend then the
company of the Irish denizens. No specific insult towards them, in general,
only that I had no real patience for their company over the amorous intentions
I had towards my distance beauty. Regardless, as luck would have it, I found
myself standing in the middle of a lost country with an anachronism before me
and the Gaelic winds in my ears. While the landscape itself wore an air of
ancient, pastoral regality, a bulbous lesion poured from the green hills. The anachronism
—or should I say, displaced construct—was a hotel of gratuitous nature, sprawling
lazy in the cooling day. To American standards, it was a little motel, perhaps
found in small cities such as Uniontown or Connellsville in the backward pools
of
Realizing the current condition of my demeanor, my girlfriend—Though, given her feminist nature, I should introduce her hence forth as K—quickly haggled the goodly manager down to the reasonable sum we had originally agreed to pay, neither a Euro more or less. After paying, the man turned from a casual shade of gray mucus into that of a gentle pale. Obviously, the money had eased some bile lodged in his gizzard. With this flush of flesh, a chipper nature overwhelmed him: “You’re from the states?” I nodded since K___ seemed more interested in the bags than in conversation. “Well, I’ve been all over them. What part you from?”
I
blinked, “
In
his rush to complete my nominative structure, he concluded, “
With
a steady disgust, I thought of telling him how the Pennsylvanians had
farcically tossed the
He
grew quiet, “These are ruins near
“Oh,”
I said rather disappointed, “I had looked forwarded to seeing some of the
castles and towers of
Again, he interrupted me, “The ruins are far from here. Good day,” he turned to the cigs in his hand, and abandoned me to my rather dumbfounded starring. Thankfully, K___ came up gently beside me, scooping my arm betwixt hers.
With beautiful countenance, she blinked eagerly at me and, in a false British accent, asked, “Would you join me for a cup o’ tea?” With many teeth recently polished, I smiled brightly and pet her on the head; she nuzzled into my neck, recognizing my playful bestial appreciation. Warmly, long missed sensation welcomed me deeply.
With a burs, I said, “Make it Coffee, and I’m in!” I exclaimed. K___ lead me to our room and the evening was spent in general, innocent conversation about the landscape surrounding our hotel, the beautiful ruins I would not see, and the wonderful population that didn’t seem to think I made good conversation.
K___ woke me with a start. Cold sweat had recently encompassed our bed, and the wind outside roared its approach. Distantly, the muffled sounds of scratching came as branches and bushes scratched forcibly against the superstructure. Being of rather fleshy nature, I sat awkwardly forward. “What’s the matter?” I asked, a decent tone above what I had been going for, “Are you sick?”
“Something’s outside, Jeff!” she was in a panic, uncommon for her personality, but not uncommon for her nature; I shook my head, “I’m not lying, please, just go look,” she was already standing with shorts and T-shirt safely covering any sexual aspects of her being. Oddly, these concerns overrode her fear and the continual anxiety, which kept me from expressing a dissatisfaction with her current attire. “Please?” she begged in true fright.
“Okay, okay,” I stood rubbing my eyes, though they both were awake enough to complain. “How do you know something’s outside,” I peered bravely outside, though whatever invader has spooked my good natured girlfriend—Or should I say, ‘good natured K___—must have spooked from her quick shriek. “Well, what did you see?”
She began a stammering story. In the midst of setting the rather conventional coffee pot to brew for the morning, she had walked to the window to check a rather annoying draft only to encounter two deeply crimson orbs. “Seconds had past,” she exclaimed urgently, “before I realized they were eyes! Eyes, Jeff! Dark Red Ones!” apathetically, I rubbed my eyes again, spawning further concern. “Jeff, there was a guy lookin’ in the room!” K___, lithe frame a quiver of fear, urged truth through physical disquiet.
Immediately, I took to action. Digging through my clothing to find a pair of tighter jeans and a t-shirt, I draped my traveling vest over my shoulders and made for the front door. In my room, K___ begged I waited until she was ready, but I shouted over my shoulder to “await my return”.
As I approached the front door, I noticed the innkeeper was not within his small room. Curious as it seems now, I felt more relived with his absences. The sensation about his character had not been a pleasant one. Likewise, the outside the hotel was a nightmare of tempest. The sky had turned a pitch black, the leaves a tornado about the hotel. The atmospheres of the skies roared a general, cliché discomforted. Inside, The front door was barred shut, despite my best efforts to release the latch, and only the dull quiet shouted.
Suddenly, to mock my perceptions, a loud crash of metal on metal echoed behind me. Though overweight and slow, I rounded on the noise only to see K____ covering her mouth, a cast iron pan laying discarded on the floor. “What’s the matter with you,” I hollered angrily at her, “You want to give me a heart attack?”
“Can’t get out the door? The innkeeper said it was locked at night.” She informed me.
“Well, where’s the manager at?” I asked, sensing quickly things were moving more rapidly towards dangerous.
“He lives off grounds, I’m sure.” She informed me.
“Well that’s the stupid! What happens if there’s a fire?” I turned back to work on the door, but from the sounds behind me, K___ was searching for a key. “They’re not going to leave a key laying around, especially to the front door.” There was a gasp of breath, the universal sound of interest or fear. “What? What’s the matter,” I turned to see her raising a pistol out of the desk.
“I found…a gun?” from the tone of her voice, it was rather inquiry as opposed to declarity which ruled her discovery. “I think that guns are illegal…”
“Put that back” I hollered through meshed teeth. “Hun, you don’t touch handguns like that! Who knows what that’s been used for!” I quickly rushed over, but she had already thrown the pistol back into its former housing.
“Don’t yell at me!” she hollered. I was sure, given the circumstances, her eyes were generally much more dazzled than normal. “I’m scared!”
Summoning what little courage I had, despite my original predisposition towards stupid-bravery, I put my arm around her and squeezed tight. “I know, but the storm is getting worse. Maybe we should brave the night in our room, and ask ‘bout tomorrow?”. While speaking, I guided the distraught girl back to our room angry I had inadvertently involving her in the search.
The room was not made to function as a safehouse, but I was able to keep a hesitant eye on the massive glass pane next to our bed. Though it proved to be the weak link in our already frayed chain, I was reassured by the general view of the outside chaos. Whatever evil crept about the night, it would find a very weary opponent awaiting its intrusion.
K___, though her fright her perceptions, found sleep quickly enough once tucked in the bed. To say the least, one of us got a rather tentative night’s sleep.
The morning was spent in investigation. Daftly, the innkeeper appeared in the morning with some variation of a pastry. When confronted about the night prowler, he seemed to change from a state of vegetation to one of agitation. “It would be best to remain in your rooms at night. Prowling about the grounds could prove dangerous.” From the obvious distraction within his gaze, I was certain this night prowler was a rather recent, through repeating, patron. Further provocation only resulted in a rise in daftness; he eventually, when questioned about the Police—Gaurda, as K___ would later inform me—offered me a seat on the patio for fresh air and a pastry/donut. I took this as a general dismissal and went back to the room.
K___, determined to salvage her studies, urged me to allow her departure. In fact, no mention of the past experiences was heard. Regardless, my defensive nature, she argued, was paranoia and my permission a formality; I refused to allow it. “K___, this island has been home to mysteries for countless years!”
“You are being superstitious and,” with a gentle smile characteristic to her sex, “silly”.
With a much practice speech, I argued, “Silly as it seems, I would have no idea where to find you should a nefarious islander decided he wished to collect a young American for his dungeon trophy room”
Whatever jovial nature still danced within her smiled blended away, and K____ grew agitated by my paranoia, as founded as it was. “As founded as your paranoia seems, I have lived her for 5 months now and,” She took on a faux formality, “though occasional distrust should happen upon me, found the general nation to be rather accepting!” Her mock articulation of my propensity towards formal speech, made speaking with her difficult. “And, despite your opinion, I seriously doubt anyone has the money set aside for a dungeon anymore!”
“Enough,” I punctuated by stamping my boot, “If you must go lurking about the town, at least take me along”
“I don’t need you lurking either!” She cooled, adopting some parental tone, “There are things you can look at around the hotel. Why don’t you investigate the ruins on the hill about a quarter mile to the west? They say they’re haunted, you know” she said with some guileful play about her. “Besides, not everyone adores your Yankee cowboy impersonation. I will meet you back here around 4, and I promise you I’ll stay within town.”
K___ actually continued to speak about the town and where to contact her if I needed, but I was still thinking of the ruins to the west. Were these the ruins portrayed on the innkeeper’s wall? My doubts about the innkeeper grew rapidly and two things became clear. One, I would need to investigate these haunted ruins for signs of a night prowler; and two, I would need to interrogate the innkeeper furthermore.
Setting myself about the foremost goal, I hurriedly dressed in outwear. Despite the slouching day outside, I decided a coat maybe prove useful against the Irish winds. With this in mind, the day and I went on a walk.
Generally, my sense of direction could be characterized as poor, but a rather aged farmer pointed me in the general direction of the ruins. When questioned about their name, he shrugged his weathered shoulder and said something about ruins, which was both nonsensical and unimportant enough for me to ignore. I thanked the elder for his time, and started off on the hike.
A quarter-mile, by Irish/K___ish definitions, is roughly 2 miles of uphill climb. Given my propensity to over sleep and over eat, I found the haul not really worth the trek and was honestly relieved when the heather opened before my eyes. There, former society bent to the engrossing, horrid wilderness, and something in me found Conrad all to appropriate. With thoughts of some pretentious quote to utter, I entered into the dark skeletal fragments.
Conquered by time, these ruins blended nicely into oblivion. Though readily acknowledge, I felt that I was the only investigator of their fallen magnitude within many epoch. Time was not as friendly as I, fore the ground had cracked and the tower’s face caved. Whatever sentries were buried within its walls, they had failed to stave the onslaught. One is reminded of Yeats’, for his Irish towers could not hold back whatever ill force laid timid siege to his gyrating defense. The tower, bent as it was, bore its crown just beneath the brim of the grass, and whatever remained of the many murder holes resembled weathered, weeping sores. I could not hide an innocent sorrow towards the fallen artifice; it too seemed sorrowful enough. With whatever could be passed as emotion, I gazed notionless periods until sleep found a prostrated man, and conquered him.
I dreamt of visions and odd sheep, men in black clocks, creatures and clouds, and all those things which plague the sleeping.
Night had fallen on the sleeping tower, drowning the vegetation. Vengefully, the grassed prodded my skin. Obviously, I had over-slept my welcome and the grass begged a release; though, I could hardly agree with its tactics. To obligate its innocent requests, I rose. Strange quiet had found me sleeping as well. Though I could say I was acquainted to the American Countryside, I could not possible have prepared myself for the utter stillness of the fallen tower. Strangely, the weathered stones blended subtly into the landscape, and only the contrast of the grass spoke of a fallen architecture.
Despite this brief bit of sentimental pondering, I found that I could not remain. Already, even while the ghost of introspection was upon me, I felt a creeping fear gripping the base of my spine. Slowly, this suspicion crawled rigidly along my vertebrate to dig into the hypothalamus, the severe primordial brain. While energies were in the frontal lobe, something vile crept along the base of the tower. There, in the distance, some distant calling urged my feet to flight. In seconds, the world of science personifying my consciousness was confronted by mysticism and its dark avatar of Oblivion.
Greatly it rose, far from humanoid and yet walking on two feet. Gently, it prodded forward with a sniffing noise, searching for me. I don’t know if it was blind, but the dark crimsons eyes blurred as it stepped close to me. Roughly 10 feet from my presences, it began to make a calling, a slow and guttural noise more closely resembling crushing rocks than a feral chorus. The venality of the orbs bled forward, a vomitous light best reserved for subterranean dwellers or Amazonian mushrooms; yet, before me some industrial creature birthed from the dead world clawed the ground in hunger.
“Fear
imagined or fear realized,” I thought, “is fear none the less.” There, inner
voice and inner strategy, the gift of man over beast, awoke me to my present
predicament. It would not take the creature long to smell the cheap cologne
sprayed upon my person, and even less time to consume the soft flesh of barely
worked American hands… yet, inner solace rose up inside the bowels of my being.
I must not be consumed for fear of the small, lithe girl I left in her room.
This bravado I often found overwhelming in jest and jovial times, welled up my
being. As primitive man fought and died to protect his jagged lair, so too
would civilized modernity rise up and strike down the beast of darkness. “If I
must die,” I emblazoned my spirits, “than I will die with both hands about the
larynx of the Horror, the horror that
Cataloging
the inventory of my possessions, I found myself lacking. Unfortunately, had
this been the epoch of my tower friend, I might find solace with a claymore
upon my back. Though, if those times occurred, I’d be lost in
The beast stood barely five feet off my side when it finally raised its deformed head. Small tentacles, resembling the slippery nature of a slug’s foot, breezed gently in the wind; beneath them, emanated the guttural sniffing noise of a muffled hog. Closer and closer it snuffled until, just within a few feet of my righte side, it stood to its utmost height. Some foot above my head, the beast gurgled and wagged its head, I suppose presuming me asleep standing. Seductively, its tentacle caressed air above my shoulders. There, lowering, it sought to consume the conscious visions of a dreaming fool…
…the inner warrior within my psyche forced the feral nature of my hand and I was upon the beast’s neck with all the voracity of a ravenous tiger.
II
“I Am a Raven that has no home; I am a boat going from wave to wave;I am a
ship that has lots its rudder; I am the apple left on the tree; it is little I
thought of falling from it; grief and sorrow will be with me from this time.”
-Lady
Gregory, The Only Son of Aoife
I awoke prostate amidst death. The beast I had rend in the night lay broken, its throat torn with surgical grace. With the morning hues, I knew the world differently. There, the beast came into premonition, and I saw it was no creature, but a man. The beast had vanished, leaving only the tracheotomy gone askew. I knew a new fear entirely. What had the ruins brought upon me? Was this careless delirium a product of the tower, or had I gone forever mad? I cursed the island for a land of infamy and danger, and wished to salt the earth in my vengeance. Standing, the world roared at my profanities; I toppled to the ground.
It seemed then that I had received my own death in the battle. My shoulder was completely engulfed in dried blood. What was left of the scapula and clavicle were now property of the distance nightmare’s gullet. What would the police think of my crime when they found both us dead, and a murder weapon in my possession. Could I have willed this wound, some form of psych personification? Or had these visions been real? Again, I struggled to stand, but the realm spun and ushered me back to the ground. It seemed, to this newly bleeding narrator, that I was not long for the world. What gods of war and fire had heard my prayer last night had obviously accepted my plea, and granted me my death, fore I swore I’d pay them life for life.
“Wh’t ya layin’ der for!” a strange accent called from behind me. Twisting my neck brought only a new pain to bear. “Get’d up and he’p me move ‘em ‘for da guarda git her’!” crawling up the hill behind me, the voice slowly came forward. “ya still layin’ der!”
I could not yet turn to see him, so I called out, “I’m bleeding!” this seemed to give the voice pause, since it no longer called out as urgently. Then, within seconds, I could hear the footfalls, “I’m sorry, I don’t’ know what happen!” ever conscious of my prostate legality, I worried I would seem guilty of some crime I had committed unintentionally! “It wasn’t my fault, I swear”…and I fell back on clichés.
“What do you mean, you killed one of them dark devils,” curiously, the voice took on a familiar American form, “They come up here at night and lurk around, then in the morning they disappear, but for years they consumed and feasted on the innocent travelers of the land.” Then, appearing before me, the voice took form.
Recognition came into my mind, and I knew the voice as the Irish farmer down the road. “You’re the one who gave me directions! Why didn’t you warn me!” again, efforts to stand up were met in vain.
“Well,” he leaned down and look at my wound, “how was I to know you’d sleep up here!” his American accent was so American, it could have been southern, though without the inconstant annoyances of faux innocence and naiveté! “No one is fool enough for that! But, your girlfriend has already called the Police and they too will be showing up shortly to investigate your disappearance. Quickly, grab that arm and help me drag this creature behind the walls!”
Gravity, it seemed, was not on our side. “I can’t, my arm…”
The old man, obviously tired of hearing of my arm, removed a small vile from his coat, and poured the contents over the bite. “now, get up and help me”
Immediately the pain had left me, “Magic!” I cried in excitement, “ my arm feels completely anew!” though, it felt numb as all get up, it was, to say the least, dead. I could not move my left shoulder nor rotate the arm.
“Not magic, just a numbing agent. You’re not gonna die anyway, just took out some of the muscle. I wouldn’t put you down for any games or dancing, but you’ll live.” He had already began to drag the dead human around the wall.
In amazement, I was able to stand. Numb or not, the arm felt anew. Only moments passed, and I was again able to move it completely. “Are you sure, look at this, I can move it and everything!”
Impatiently, his old muscles pulled the dead weight down the hill. “Pull, boy-o!” he called. I complied. Shortly, we approached what looked like an old well. “Years ago, this well was a lifeline,” he grew distant, “years ago…”
“No longer,” I assured him, “It looks good.” I should have probably used ‘convenient,’ since I have no knowledge then or now about water tables or wells. On the other hand, I had no desires during either period to see the inside of an Irish prison. “Let’s dump this fool.” The old man struggled briefly, before I put my boot into the dead man’s chest. Violently, I shoved the man down the well.
Last to follow, his open eyes rolled crimson and dead. It was with these fallen orbs that I encounter my first moral crisis of the night. Confiding in my accomplice, I experience a sense of loathing for my recent criminal activities. “I didn’t mean to kill him.” I thought of muttering some form of eulogy, but, knowing nothing of the man or his religion, I adopted a quiet, morning disposition.
The old man, obviously unconcerned with my faux sentiments, brought his gaze to bare on my sober face. “Oh, you meant to kill him. It was kill him or he would have killed you.”
“But I’ve never met this,” I gestured towards his open-faced grave, “man in my life!”
“And yet you confess your crime?”
“I spoke the truth,” I argued, “I bare the murder weapon within my pocket.”
“Show
me, boy-o. Show me the blade which slew
“I was a Boy Scout,” I frowned, “but back on subject. The creature I saw last night, the one that attacked me?”
“An ancient race of man foreign, by today’s standards, in both appearance and civilization. Where man today abhors war, these beings seek it out. They are demons and consume anything loved. During the day they take human form, but by night, they are creatures of dismal natures. Once vanquished by modernity, they have recently crept out of their caves for revenge. Slowly, they’re numbers have been growing. I fear, if not checked, they will again seek to challenge innocence on equal terms again.” He concluded by touched my healed shoulder, “You have done a good deed today, boy-o”
“Are these creatures everywhere?” I asked, imploring him in earnest.
“At the moment, they lurk only in the grounds of their former kingdom. With the encroaching of the Germanic tribes, then the Romans, Time has dealt them the cruel fate of obscurity; yet, they withered and wormed their way into the very heart of society. Slowly, they seek to poison all that is good. I fear, boy-o, soon they will have even taken your noble homeland,” he again wore a rather sober face.
“They will find many like me there, more eager to find something wholeheartedly evil to crusade against, than the mismatched hatred we currently hold for different cultures and corporal designs.” I did not mention the American tendency to reserved their judgment until 3 years past they have been injured; nor did I feel it right to explain how we’re continually divided when being united is the safest route.
“Enough talk,” he urged, “you must return to the hotel and ready yourself for the night. They will be coming to exact their revenge!” He began to walk away, “Ready yourself, young brave, for the waves are on their way!” I expected for him to vanish, as perhaps an anachronistic apparition should, but he, like the tower, slowly awaited eternity with head bowed.
III
All Fled, All Done
So lift me on the pyre.
The feast is over
And the lamps expire.
- Robert E. Howard, Suicide Note
I found K___ weeping silent sobs into a pillow. Upon seeing her lost boyfriend, she responded violently. With barely muffled sobs, she attempted to bash my chest repeatedly, but with gentle force I held her fists. Within moments, I had allayed her fears for my safety only to provoke more. Repeatedly, I tried to put words to the recent revelations; yet, K___, a modern woman of science and logic, troubled my arguments with irrational reason. Even when I told her of my torn shoulder, she asked to see proof of this wound. Not without compassion, but with an air of distrust. Astonishing it may seem to the reader, I had suspected the wound on my arm healed completely; therefore, it was unsurprising that, upon inspection, K___ found the wound healed. Her natural good nature prevented her complete apathy. She asked if the wound was “in the muscle or just sore?”. Admonished, I took a hesitant seat and prepared myself for an interrogation as to my where abouts. Surprisingly, K___ had another form of inquiry in which to heckle me.
“I have to go meet a professor and M_____ and S____ tonight for dinner at The King’s Head. Since you’re okay…”
“I
don’t know, K___. The guy said those things were gonna be comin’ for me. Maybe
we out to just head for
My tired eyes opened to yet more darkness. Whatever dream world I had fallen to in desperation had vanished, but the skies still seemed dreary in resolution. In a sense of delirium, I called urgently to K____, who had a talent with dealing with medical crises. She did not answer. Again, louder and with yet more urgency, I called her name. She did not come. Fear encroached again on my psyche, and I called, but she did not come.
The muscles in my legs swung subconsciously over the bedspread, the upper torso following suit. Pulling on the worn work pants I had bought for the occasional incident, I hurried about the room. Frantic I sought but with not direct purpose in mind. Had they gotten her? Had the creatures, that ancient race, mystically creped into the room and taken her? With renewed zeal, I tore from the room.
Unsurprisingly, the innkeeper was missing and the front door barred. I could not pursue K___ until the morning. Yet, more questions flooded into my mind as I tested the door. Other than the mundane deadbolt unyielding two nights past, there seemed to be an extra strength to the door, as if an unseen bar held it tightly. Upon further inspection, I pinpointed the strength to a certain section of the door about 2’x 5’ or so. Obviously, an additional restraint held tight the door; curiously though, the restraint could only be removed from the outside. Realization, it seems, came quickly enough, and I backed away from the door. Trapped within the Irish building, I was as good as consumed. As if to punctuated the dire situation, nails scrapped an approach on the outside path. They were on there way.
Though my first encounter was met with a primeval fear, some deep down passion emblazoned the sophisticated need for survival, and the civilized desire to protect others. The speak of cornered animlals, wolves protecting their young, and cat’s protecting infant kittens, that would die to protect their young; Man, unlike animals, would willing find and murder to protect their love. Man, cornered or free, would stop at nothing to live for others. If I did not escape this tomb, I could not aid K____ in her escape. There, made conscious, I knew my plight held double importance. Born the son of a resilient man and an intellectual mother, and educated in the ways of nefarious arts, I knew where I stood against these monolithic monster. Quickly, I dashed towards the pistol stowed within the desk. Thankfully, fate has deemed it unnecessarily discovered early, fore now it was most necessary to employ.
The door rattled as the beast attempted to lock their nailed claws about the bar. Shuddering, the door felt the weight of the beasts’ pressing urgently against it. Why, if the door was sealed from the outside, was there a dead bolt holding them out? Perhaps the innkeeper was only a greedy addition to these monstrosities, not inhuman in avarice; perhaps he feared betrayal? Regardless, of the internal doubts, my quest was finally accomplished and I found man’s most powerful defense against his’ species’ handicap. Though the bestial size was much more prominent, man had developed the great equalizer, and it was materialized by the.38 special coolly clamped in my hand. Quickly, I tallied the ammo and found I was adequately supplied for a nasty war against the creatures. I gently loaded the weapon, sliding each hollow point gently into the revolver and slapping the cylinder closed. With the means of reckoning well in hand, I backed against the wall, away from the small window leading outside, and awaited the beasts. They frantically clawed the door. Fear, on both sides, poured about in a stench as thick as the oaken floors, the tiled ceiling, and all the space in between. Then, in a turmoil of shattering prefabricated wood, the door exploded inward.
Darkness rolled through the door as dense as fabric; the artificial light bulbs above hardly broke the mystic horror emblazing through the doorway. Only silence dare move about the hotel, and for many heartbeats nothing but stillness accompanied the chaos; yet, evil permeated the doorway with each passing tick. I waited, finger just above the guard, controlled explosion bottled. I had never felt so utterly calm in my life. I had lost all sense of time, all sense of character. This was, to say the least, a battle of supplanted introversion. Whatever feelings I may have found myself experiencing before, or after, were simply void. The darkness was within, and I waited to find what would come of our mix. The beasts played its game well enough, I thought, for I grew eager for its appearance. Some deeper, inner void found solace in this thought. Should I supplant the guile and personality of modernity with vulgar blood and primordial death? “Let it begin,” I thought, “for I grow weary of thinking.” …and my Humanity broke down to the moment.
I was vivid with weapon, a fire of chemically induced movements. My enemy bore its claws through the doorway. We squared off. The mass of darkness rose to its fullest height, a towering monolith of some past, dead age. I gazed into the crimson eyes. We stood for seconds, unblinking. These were subtle, precarious times. The bestial figure could no longer rely on its terrific nature, fore long ago had my mind forgotten fear. Now, it knew only survival, and the mechanical aspects of battle: We breathed; We Waited; We hungered.
Suddenly, a violent burst of language spewed from its tentacled maw. If the beast had attempted to communicate some form of sympathy, I met it with a mismatched bullet in the brain. The hair trigger squeezed to tight and burst its brains on the back wall. Shocked, the dead wight fell backwards and time rushed to catch me. The windows exploded and the door flooded with personified darkness. There, in the void, I found the violence long staved. Creatures enveloped the mass about me, space its very enemy. With hesitation—the long enemy of the warrior—I answered their yearn with lead, and soon the pistol had grown dry. It too became a product of my violence, for I used the handle to crush the skull of anything with my grasp. Darkness rose from the very ground, and my knees were lost to its abyssal pull.
I found myself crushed beneath the growing weight of death. Each hand moved in autonomy to pull my drowning frame from their weight. “Desk, To the desk,” I command the torso being drug. Sluggishly at first, I made my way to the spare ammo. “Release, empty, load, close” I command. So complex thoughts were lost on the moment, but yet my corporeal warrior complied. Surreal, the landscape gave way to targeted explosions. No sooner had I empty the cylinder, was I loading and unloading. No matter, the flood rolled onward. In seconds, not even the beasts could move unencumbered. We struggled over top the dead and dying; until, mercilessly, I was rolled violently backwards onto the hardwood floor. The flesh of my head avoided the heated muzzle, and I found myself barrel rolled to a prone position. There, before me, was a monstrosity amongst monstrosities.
It stood in the doorway, beckoning its massive claws towards two lesser creatures, the remaining troops in its army. I, lone man, awaited its decision. Epochs thundered in my ears, and I found speech again, “No more,” I called before me to their leader, “Let us be done with this. I don’t know what you are…”
It interrupted me with a grand, arcane voice, “I have not met your like in many eons, good warrior.” Surprised could not express the flush of emotions I felt. “A creature as worthless as yourself slaying so many of my family!” he melodramatically rubbed his organic weapons together, “my father and my mother both slain by your frail hands. Are you a soldier, human, or perhaps a noble amongst your people?” He rested his massive girth with the door jam. The building itself groaned from the crushing encounter.
I stood slack jawed, consciously looking down at my bloodied form. Past memories of inferiority found me. “I am nothing, beast. I am nothing at all.”
“Do you seek to fill me with deeper disgrace
with your lies! No human has ever slain a member of my family. Not since we
fled before the invading hordes to this
“Where’s the girl, beast!” I rose to my feet, forcing the revolver before me. “Where is K____!” blood and saliva flew onto the forged weapon.
“Your mate has been taken to the Tower. She is being readied for,” he paused, “she is being readied.”
“Readied for what, creature! Tell me or I swear to Christ I’ll lay you down with the rest!”
He hissed violently, “Do not presumed to threaten me!” There was a determination beneath his withering mandible, “for I am far greater a threat than you could possibly imagine!”
“Fear imagined, beast.” And I placed a round solid into its left eye. There was a moment where the beast wondered if I spoke the truth or not. Its muscular form wavered, an injured oak in the winds. “Now, do the world a favor and die,” and the .38 special erupted again.
Night everlasting had taken ahold of the world and the better angels of light slumbered afar. It was the times of physical life, of corporeal versus ethereal. It was man yet another light in the universal darkness, one star amongst many striving to outshine their nova. What grand spider wove these social inventions, the great event horizon consuming starlight, the industrial machine suffocating oxygen? No longer, civilization, no longer. Frozen, it was reality versus obscurity, knowledge versus oblivion, man versus nature. It was the thematic artifice known as life.
Wet grass fell beneath my rushing feet. I had lost myself within the onslaught. Only concern for K___ kept me breathing. Somehow, the wounds on my person bled without incident, and I ignored them. Trust me, reader, when I warn you that something inside my very being broke. Only now, upon reiterating the narrative, do I feel the wounds. Man is only memories, fragile chemically stored memories, and his person only incidents awaiting inscription. As I fled the Irish hotel, I felt something bleeding away from me. Each step took me further from those burnt memories, and, even now, I feel as if they were only a dream best erased. True horror, it seems, lied ahead of me. Each punctuation of my heart brought me dozens of feet towards my lost girlfriend. It was within the proceeding times that I found that life itself was a mystery to all those that have never experienced it. As foreign as it seems, I was brought to the brink of humanity, of society, of all things that make us what we are. Then, I was emotion. I was fear and concern and all the love that could be pumped through a stressed heart. I was obesity climbing the hill, and a man acquainted with pistols. I was all these things, but I was an animal on the hunt, and a human fleeing terror. Perceptions were nothing, are nothing, and still pertain little to this story. My dear reader, I found the horrors of existence.
I crested the hill. Everything was the same. The tower laid broken on its side and the grass, slick with dew, contrasted the dark stone. Distantly, I saw the well, and I saw open landscape. But, in the midst, I sensed a darkness. There was a warping behind the tower, a place where the light ached to flee. It was within, that I headed.
Proceeding carefully, I checked the pistol silently. Three rounds rested within the cylinder. Three bullets separated me from base brutality, but it was fixed. I could not very well return to the Hotel, not with the turmoil so far behind me. I had come too far for such irrational options. I had to see K___ safely unharmed, no matter my outcome.
The tower was silent, its walls as hushed as before. I crawled against its dead form. I gently crepted. Sidling, I grew closer. I crouched. Timidly, the tower yielded its circumference, yet I found myself before them. There, in the distance, I thought I saw movement. Pushing the pistol into my belt, I pressed forward. Was it motion? Imagined shadows wormed about, each imagined form a farce under the moonlit stage. No noise, no sight, only the perceptions of movement. I listened so intently, I swore I could hear the crushing of grass blades. Was it coming closer? Was it here? Briefly, I thought I felt a stir of heat, or of wind, maybe motion?
And the withering mass was upon me, snapping sharp teeth at my face. Somehow, in the instance, I had fallen backwards. It snapped again, and my arm was engulfed by the beast’s yearning maw. Pain, engulfing pain, filled my eyes. Instinctively, the barrel leapt against the creatures chest and I fired. Leathery skin parted, warm liquid spewed forth in mass. Incisors slid again, and the sharp rows of teeth were consuming my being. Gun forced from my feeble fingers, I struck the beast with my free fist. Again, and again, and again. Creaks echoed against the wall, and I pummeled the beast skull soft, and yet it held its grip. Sinking to my knees, I felt the warmth in my eyes fading. What little strength I had, I pushed towards the decimated limb, with which I gripped the beast uvula, and pulled. It squealed; yet, I persisted. Slowly, I felt the teeth pulling out of my flesh, and I seized ever harder until I could feel it giving way. The tension gave, and I pulled the fleshy blob from its throat. Whatever vile fight had remained in the beast expired as it yielded.
Only warmth and pain told the story of my hand. Caressing the chasms, it was obvious the poor relic was destroyed, its final bout wrought. With some effort, I bound my arm with strips from my shirt, and tied a tunicate about the bicep to prevent my death. Even with my bare medical attention, I found the world liquid. Regardless, I could hear the creatures rushing their once silent activity. I hurried to discover my equalizer. As luck would have it, the discard pistol was quickly recovered, and I made my way towards the ceremony. No longer concerned with concealing my assault, I pushed frantically forward.
The ceremony lay just behind a mystical veil of darkness. Though I could not see behind the curtain, I heard the guttural incantations of some lost spell. The dead language broke the silence with a horrid sonata, each note breaking my psyche. Sensual depredation stove to conquer my breast, and I knew my time was limited. Stooping, I collected a large rock and hurled it through the veil. A ripple formed, slow fabricesque motions; yet, the wall did not fall. Determined, I was about to leap heedlessly through, when a voice halted my course.
“Boy-o!” a familiar voice echoed, “If you part that veil, you will be lost! Stay for a moment, and I will aid you!” I turned and beheld a majestic apparition. Not the old Irish farmer I had once seen, but a tall, shimmering Druid. A regal man, his gentle disposition told me more than his accent ever could.
I watched in awe, uncertain of an acceptable utterance. The druid placed a cool hand upon my wounded elbow, “Boy-o, you have down well in these past hours. I have watched gently from afar, but not without great anxiety. Many at times we wondered the outcome of your conflict, and yet you conquered. Now, do you have the courage for one last feat?” His ethereal form wafted my bloodied arm. “Your girlfriend is in dire need, my friend, for the ceremony nears completion. Should you fail, she will be lost to the ancient worms!” Even as he spoke, the strength returned to my wounded limb, and I felt a vigor foreign even during my most vivid consciousness. “We have faith you will succeed!”
“Thanks?” I flexed the left bicep, and could feel the marrow filling its interior.
No reply was granted, and the spirit floated forward and touched the veil. Deep within his bowels, a rumbling began, but slowly changed into an airy tune not unsimilar to a lark’s nightly sonnet. The darkness wavered and the sound of breaking glass erupted so authentically, that I hid my mortal eyes from their shards. Slowly they opened and I beheld the tortured landscape within.
Three large beasts stood about a sunken pit. Within the small pit, was a sight I had often beheld in waking hours and before soft slumber. The small, lithe frame of my loved one lay quaking in fear as the three abominations past down invocations of dark gods in their ghoul tongue. Hovering high above the sight, was a withering mass of sinister vines, veins of some fallen deity seeking transplantation. Gradually, the blighted cords loomed ever closer K___ cage, and urgency betook my eyes.
Stepping forward, the druid touched my shoulder. “Be careful, Boy-o. These are not like the others. They will not easily be felled,” and he pressed on me a small hand axe, “use this when you need it.” He took a step away from me, whispering gently a final warning. “Remember, do not fall back into their ways. Be mindful of who you are, and what you allow yourself to fold!” with a brief flash, he was gone into the darkness, never to be seen again.
Presently, I ready myself for the battle. The calm of the battle before, the complacency turned feral, and the mysterious of the Druid’s warning all were lost in my mind. Only one thing mattered: the small shoulders hunched in the cage.
With a sense of any in my position, I strove forward and pronounced myself. “Hey, Beasts! Hey!” I hollered into the darkness; yet, there concentration was beyond audible breaking. Of course, I was not without other means. Taking practiced aim, I put a round into the head of the nearest creature. Sluggishly, the creature toppled over in death, its final words a prayer to the withering mass.
Again, I aimed and a reaction was seen. The beast on the left turned it’s slug-footed mouth just in time to catch a round into its chest. It too toppled over in death. However, the ramifications of its untimely death were catastrophic. Even before the gunclap began to lull, the spell broke and the withering mass erupted in chaos. It’s large tentacles were sent twisting as if in agony. Suddenly, one large vein struck the remaining creature and it roared violently, falling onto a broken stone behind it.
Perceiving some new danger, I rushed forward and leapt heedlessly into the pit. K___ began to scream inhuman curses, thrashing against the catch in attempts to flee. Animallike, she kicked and whipped her hair. I was lost and bent down to the catch. “K___, K____, Its Jeff” she slowed her bestial rage, and starred cloudy eyes at me. “Stay calm, I’m going to get you out of her.” Then, with all the grace of a falling leaf, she collapsed against the cage wall.
Thrashing echoed above and filled my haste to release her. I quickly found the locking device and struck it one timid swing. Whatever smith had designed the axe would be thanked in my prayers, for no sooner had the blade touched its rival metal, then the lock was torn asunder! K____, unconscious as she was, still proved hardly any weight for my newly recovered strength and I nimbly exited the pit, only to be barred by the head priest.
I did not originally perceive the religious nature of these creatures, but the burly humanoid bore crossed symbols and arcane religious relics. It bore a small golden mace with a red bishop hat lofty set atop its head. Then, more shocking of all, it spoke in a eloquence best befitting a religious monk. “Oh, you naïve man! What has your passion done! These intercessions! This obstinate warfare!” he flailed his fingered hands about in an overbearing arc. “We must complete the ritual or all is lost!” he stepped forward and I turned the slumbering girl away from him, “Foolish mortal! We have but moments before all is lost! Place the child back in the circle!” He took another step.
“Never!” I side-stepped, “Whatever cult you have going here is done! One more step, creature, and—”
“Boy-o, the world is ending,” he leaned closer to me, “and this alone will save it! You have backed the wrong horse for, though we look barbaric and bestial in form, we are attempting to save the universe from the destruction you foolish beings are inflicting upon her! The sleeping gods wish, no beg, for your help for you alone hold the key to their return.” His slug like face bore what, by human standards, looked like an honest grimace. “Please, place the child back in the circle! If you don’t, oh dread, if you do not help, then the world and human nature are doomed!”
I could not say I wasn’t briefly swayed, “What are you going to do to her?” I gazed down on her sleeping form. Then her being began to weigh on my arms, slowly she began to sink to the earth. I had no choice but to rest her on a worn knee.
“There are martyrs,” he said subtly, “martyrs and heroes. She will be scarified, but spoken on the lips of every being on the planet for an eternity! When they speak of salvation, they will utter her name in reverence as the mother of their souls!” he took another assured step forward. “Boy-o, the goods of the many outweigh the goods of the few.”
I could not say I cried, for I do not believe I had the energy for it, but I did sob quietly. I felt a soft hand on my shoulder, and I looked up to see the humanoid being caressing my once wounded arm. He spoke longer, but I could not hear him. I gaze quietly on her, for she was all that mattered to my soul. I did not care for the world’s damnation or salvation. I saw the damned hair and soft lips I had often kissed. What warm nights I had spent between her innocent arms, what dreams had I had of her delicate hands as they worked paints and clays! What was Jeff if not for K____, what was the world without her! When again I looked down, she was no longer on my bloody knees.
The beast had bent down and scooped her up from my grasp. I had no strength to resist, my fragile form shaking in exhaustion. I couldn’t even blink, just sob. It plodded its broken stagger towards the pit. Gazing skyward, the heavens were again a mass of withering blight, and I worried for I was losing my soul.
Gritting my teeth, I struggle to regain my footing, “No! Beast, NO!” I screamed what little air my lungs would allow. “Release her! To hell with your sleeping gods, To hell with your slumberesque nature!” I screamed, the blood of my throat ached as my larynx vibrated, “Death to all dreams,” I stood, the small hand axe wavering in my grip.
Unheedingly, the priest knelt into the cage and gently laid the sleeping child beneath the mass. Leisurely, he slithered through the mud and appeared below the mass. I heard him calling in English to his dark deity. “Come, Gods, come! Awaken and take this flesh into your mouth! Drink and find your longevity! Long have your slumber, long have you dreamed, but awake and find your conscious kingdom prepared!” he rose his claws high into the air, “Come, consume innocence, consume loyalty, consume all morality!” he cried, “And usher in this epoch of infidelities, depravation, and debauchery! Come Bacchius, Come Mammon, Come Dark Entities!” He cried, zealous lust pouring from his vile form. Darkness ebbed into the light, and the shadow tendrils’ arched in an almost orgasmic yearn.
Yet, above the withering mass, a lone star rose. Dismal next to the darkness, it struggled closer. Lustration increased with every rising foot, the energy of its approach built. There, there, I saw it brighten. Delicately it grew to a fire, a divine inferno of pure fidelity! Each decimal it grew, the darkness grew grayer. With one fiery flicker, lightening struck the grounds.
Vigor found me and I rose. What was this dream? What was this illusion? I struggled, both internally vexed and pained externally, I took a step forward. The world was wrought with pain and turmoil, each step a lesson in sorrow. I felt the molars in my mouth chip as I stove forward. A muscle in my leg throb as it tore from tension. My back twisted and creaked. Something in my equilibrium capsized, and my breath came in short cropped bursts. Yet, I built salted tears in my eyes.
The abomination rose its hands above its head; I rose the small hand axe. It began to mutter one final invocation when I drove the axe blade deep into his spine. With whatever air it had remaining, it gurgled away its desperation. As it slipped to its knees, I knew it watched with horror while the blighted vines withered. Lightening stuck down on the elevated worms until nothing but burnt odor remained of them. With one, final blow, I struck the very head off the beast’s shoulders, a final and victorious moment; somewhere, high above, the moon appeared from behind a cloud and the stars began to shine anew.
When K____ awoke in the morning, she swore she had the most wretched dream, a combination of the Guinness she just had to drink at the bar, and one too many discussions of linguistics. When I did not immediately respond, she shook me violently, demanding we go to breakfast to clear her mind. Playfully, she tugged at my shoulder, only to exclaim that I had to hold onto her at night, for she must have thrashed me admirably in her slumber. With a long missed kiss, she hastened to the shower to clean the bad dreams from her eyes.
I think at the time, I felt dead. The world had passed me in rotation, and I knew neither sleep nor comfort that night. The long trip back to the Hotel left me drained and worried. I expected to find blood boiling over the walls, and dark beasts harrying our trek, but neither occurred. The sky appeared as mundane as ever, the hotel as boring as could be. When I approached the front desk, my clothes torn and K___ asleep in my burning arms, the innkeeper—who should not have been there, given his past absences— demanded I clean the mud from my boots before I entered. I gazed at him, refreshingly annoyed, and asked if anything had been stolen during the night. He too now wore and annoyed expression and told me that there had never been a robbery in his establishment, especially upon the account of the deadbolt. I assured him I spoke in jest, and retired to the room unadulterated. When both K___ and I touched the mattress, slumber immediately set on.
I
do not know now whether K___ should ever learn of our trip. She still begrudges
my desire to return to