Hey, everybody sorry for the huge lag in uploads. Life is life as the Laibach song goes. My schedule is all topsy turvy, night is day, day is night, and I’m still in a bloody hotel.
Whinging aside I’m rather happy to bring you a story I wrote earlier this morning.
As for the video it’s a “creepypasta” style narration with some stock footage in case you chance to glance at the screen and need to see something pretty while you listen.
All the music that really brings this story to life is provided via the creative commons license by the wonderful Kevin McLeod. You’ll find an attribution to the songs used in order of appearance at the bottom of this description.
Thanks so much for listening and best wishes.
There aren’t too many frontiers. If you gaze up you see the stars. That’s one of three scratched off the list. The other is in your head. It is the impenetrable virgin wilderness called consciousness. Which will remain forever chaste.
The heavens do not worry about our fiery visits. Blinking silent bemusement as ape children hop with naive sophomoric zeal, remaining flightless, as Mother Earth calls them back to nest.
The third frontier will bury you.
Miles of sand and water hold revelations beneath their cloak. But if you can stand the choking depths. If you can hold at bay the smothering grip in which cold and pressure have wrapped their secrets. Then there you have your greatest chance to be Columbus.
It was an odd sensation to slip beneath the black current without the wet ghost of a single drop.
Jack looked down. Between his headlamp and the light strewn ocean floor, there was a sizeable thick inky darkness.
Whole phalanxes of monsters could parade in that gap. Though it was not monsters he feared.
A tear in the drysuit, or too long of a tarry, or a rapid ascent all these spelled death more painful than the jaws of any demon.
A small dark shape flitted amongst the grid of lights, pausing every so often, at this or that quadrant.
Leslie looked very much like a shade at the lowest circle of hell. A strange high tech shade with a pert ass hidden somewhere under all that obfuscating gear.
Jack smirked behind his mask.
She’d been the one to lead him on this wild goose chase. Tenured professors weren’t known for humoring the whims of their students. But every man had a weakness and his happened to be women.
His smile turned into a grimace as he remembered that his daughter at twenty-two was just a year younger than…he thought of Alice his wife…
He realized that this was no time to feel guilty as Arnaud’s midwesternesque staccato demands broke his reverie.
“You ok Doc. Ya just been. Hanging there. Forever now. Something wrong with the equipment.”
“Everything’s pitch-perfect Arnie. Just had to get my head straight. This is my first real dive in over a year.”
“Copy.”
Jack dove.
‘I’m going to hell for a piece of ass.’
Well…I really, REALLY, wanted to have something completely written by today. Unfortunately, it wasn’t until a few hours ago that I actually sat down to write. Then came the old research spiral. So all I can offer is this teaser.
Hey, at least I sexed it up for Valentine’s Day. Much love to all my subscribers.
I’m not going to engage in my old shitty habit of posting snippets. I hope to have this story ready to publish right here by next Friday.
I hope you enjoy this brief little episode.
XOXO
Platonically
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The cottage seemed even emptier than before. Luckadoo’s party had pressing matters across the pond. They did not tarry long.
It was annoying. Everything was always open ended. Just left there laying vague and cryptic.
It felt like trying to get a direct answer from a Sunday School class.
Jim pushed an empty tumbler across the wooden floor with his boot. Watching as geometry and gravity drew it along in a lazy semi-circle.
It was just so.
Drawn along by necessity.
Jim did not like the idea of fate. His heart sank as he meditated on the inevitable sound of glass on wood.
It was a thought that made the twilight even gloomier.
He stopped the arc.
Slowly but surely it dawned on him. Slowly but surely his mood brightened.
He wasn’t just so.
The arc had stopped. It had stopped not by some mechanical necessity but by something wispy and wild. It was a variable. A very peculiar one. One that had neither weight, shape, nor volume, but occupied all those dimensions on a whim. It was the ultimate unknown.
The thing, the x, was will, and it belonged to him. It empowered him to solve, to balance the equation.
Ok, so he had pep. But he didn’t know what to do with it.
The gloom returned.
Again the thought of the tumbler depressed him, how it was drawn along by whims as cryptic as his uncles ravings.
But it did roll…didn’t it…
That’s all it could do given the situation…but it did something…
‘Maybe that’s all I can do…just roll with it.’
And so he burst forth from the cabin, in the direction of the caves, to do something till something…somethinged…
Of course he didn’t get far.
‘I’m not a fucking tumbler.’
He plopped down into the tall grass by the border of the wood. The uneven prickly surface and cool air quickly reminding him of his limitations.
He’d have to wing it. But he needed wings.
As sense returned he trudged towards the cottage to read, gather a pack, and nap.
Jim was stuck again by the shift in atmosphere. With all these bodies luxuriating by the firelight it was indeed downright homey. The warmth was pleasant.
But it was also naseuting. Jim did not trust these fine feelings. He did not want comradarie with these soft strangers.
“I’ve heard you call these things the El more than once. What is that…?”
“It is an emanation of the Most High or rather an echo. Whose seal is Saturn.”
“I thought they were from Saggitarius.”
“The manifestation on this plane is mediated through the sixth planet from the sun.”
“Huh?”
“What do you suppose it means to be cast down?”
“Uh…”
“Which fate is grimmest for an angel?”
Jim rolled his eyes.
“To be clothed in limit. Girded in restricting loins of flesh. Mind you it is possible to be immeasurably powerful despite such division. They are clever and it was they that taught us to forge the rawness of the earth into sword and iron.”
“So gremlins…are aliens…who are angels….because….reasons?”
The old man chuckled hollowly.
It did make a certain sense. All these various takes on a single phenomenon. Strange little introductions in a history that only appeared in snippets to the attentive. But so what? That’s the thing that Jim didn’t undestand. That he never understood about all this religious sort of stuff. So what?
Fine people perished along with the wicked. And of what consequence is it that they dwelt in grand eternities?
Of what consequence is a principilaity of imps in a thing like eternity? A thing that nullifies. Time the great healer, the great eraser, stretched limitless across the canvas of forever…whatever its mechanism…so what?
“Just be mindful that they don’t entrace you. There is cause. I see their poison dancing in your eyes.”
Jim gulped. He was still indeed between worlds.
“Can’t knock me down.” He insisted.
“At this late hour, they are a part of us all.”
“I have no parts.”
Elsa giggled.
“You are as fragmented as a mosaic. This is the lot of man. To gahter himself tile by tile, till he beholds his place in the firmament, and his connexion to the Godhead.”
“Right on man.” Jim mocked.
“Listen boy, it is at great cost that I and those here assembled have gathered enough of ourselves to see you through.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. As they seperate the spirit from the flesh so must you seperate their flesh from their spirit. They must not be allowed to cross the threshold as corporeal till the appointed season.”
“I don’t get it.”
“You don’t have to. No one expects a rotten tapestery to herald truth. You must follow for each faithful step will be be rewarded by increased sight.”
With this the adept clapped his hands and the cottage went dark.
Jim could barely sit up. There had been gravy….with a side of gravy…dipped in venison and lard. He had to go outside with a mug of coffee to keep from falling asleep. The cool evening and the swaying trees were bracing. And each sip of the bold black liquid helped restore his verve.
Elsa and Germain were in the center of the meadow. The elder was gesturing heavenward with his arms in a slow methodical sort of way. Though he couldn’t hear them and they were blanketed in darkness Jim thought he saw Elsa nodding along.
His curiosity sufficiently peaked, he set off in their direction. The odd pair were further than he had guessed, and he was winded by the time he reached them. Neither turned as the old man continued pointing and speaking in a low accented voice.
Elsa was indeed nodding along as she asked questions in what Jim guessed to be French. Now that he was close he followed the elder’s pointing up to the target.
A chill ran down his spine.
It was the very same cluster of stars he’d seen that night he got paralyzed on the granite. Though he didn’t know the name he’d remembered his boyhood visits to the cottage. Visits where Hant would point at this ‘the archer’ the ‘town hall of the galaxy.’
Jim was frightfully curious now. Both as to why everybody was so fixated with this southern cluster and as to how exactly Elsa had gotten that wheelchair so far over all this thick tall grass.
“Stargazing?” He inquired.
She turned round lightly and blew him a kiss. “Yes, izn’t eet wanderful!”
“Meh, I guess,” Jim responded. “But, if I’m being completely honest I’ve kinda had it with stars out here. There’s too many and they seem too bright, too close. It’s like being stuck up heaven’s asshole.”
Elsa laughed good-naturedly.
German could not turn his wheelchair and opted to instead mutter something in French.
“I thought you were a kraut broad?”
“Dee French border iz not far frohm Hesse.”
“Don’t you Eurodorks know that the only language worth talkin’ is God’s own English.”
Elsa stuck out her tongue.
“I can speak the language of dogs perfectly.” The oldster retorted in cut-glass poshness. “I’d simply prefer not to contort such a noble instrument as the human tongue into such barbaric positions.”
“Another feisty Boomer?” Jim rolled his eyes.
“No, you arrogant little Anglo fool, I may well have sired your grandfather.”
“…uh…so we’re related?”
Elsa laughed. “Nein, at least I don’t dink so…” she said turning Germain’s chair to face them. “The doktor has been leeving very long and is very wize. You must heer heem. He will helf you.”
“Ok, so what’s up with these stars Doc? Hant was crazy about ’em.”
Germain nodded. “That is Saggitarius.”
“Afraid I don’t take much stock in that astrology shit.”
“This is astronomy you mealy-brained Paddy. Astronomy that will be your undoing unless you learn it.”
“Rather be a Mick than a Frog.”
Elsa shook her head.
“I’m about to let you on something that won’t be revealed for several decades. I have every right to tease you.”
“Fine by me, so long as I get to tease back.”
The elder ignored this repartee.
“Saggitarius is located near the center of our galaxy. Near the border of Saggitarius and Scorpius there is a black hole.”
“Ok. That’s pretty sci-fi.”
“The cliche is true. Fact is stranger than fiction. This currently theoretical construct is the highway by which your little friends travel. Or rather the mechanism…”
“Neat, so how does all this work and uh…more importantly what the fuck are they…?”
“That is a very long story and I am very cold. So we’ll have to continue this indoors.”
Elsa got behind the wheelchair-bound elder and began to push him effortlessly over the uneven ground.
Jim grabbed the back of the chair. “Hold on. How the hell…”
“Elsa get this baboon off my damned throne.”
He was completely disarmed by the sensation of soft fingers tickling his kneck and warm whispers caressing his ears. “Heel tell you soon…just letuz got noaw.”
“I’ll tell him now!” The old man exploded. “You have to dumb things down for his lot so it won’t take long. It’s coated in a polymer…o wait that’s a bit too difficult…I’m sorry….it’s magic WD-40!”
“See, that’s all I wanted.” Jim responded.
“Yes, now that this bog breathing alleycats base curiosity is sated CAN WE PLEASE GO INSIDE..”
The fire was already blazing. Its warmth and the presence of people gave the austere cottage a homey feel. Jim was surprised by the party that had gathered. There were four guests. Which to his accustomed isolation qualified as a crowd.
Elsa was stoking the flame in front of the wheelchair bound cipher he’d glimpsed the other evening. The elder was as still and silent as before. Jim was annoyed by the familiarity with which Luckadoo folded his unwieldy frame into a recliner as Lizzy disappeared into the kitchen.
“So, should I get used to surprise parties?” He queried ruefully.
“You’re gonna start to miss us real soon.” Jonas replied.
“I’ve never been much of a social butterfly…”
“Good news is that you can go back to being an introvert. Since, we’re going to be leaving the valley in a matter of days. The bad news is you’re going to continue to have company.”
“As long as they knock…I’m not bothered.”
Jonas gave a low chuckle.
“I think you already know that your new friends aren’t much accustomed to such niceties.”
Jim was tempted to make a joke at Lizzy’s expense but he was cut off by the unpleasant recollection of those eyes.
There was a brief moment of uneasy silence. It felt like Jonas was letting the fear set in.
“Well, if you don’t mind, I’m gonna get myself a drink.”
Luckadoo spread his arms in an expansive motion. It was annoying. Jim got the impression that he was being invited to his own home. He crossed the floor to the mantel with as masterful an air as he could muster and poured a tumbler full of Johnny Walker Red.
Plopping on the couch he shot his legs up on the coffee table. “So, ya got somethin’ to tell me?”
Jonas nodded.
“Well…?”
“I’m almost certain you’re hungry.”
It was true. Jim was hungry. It kept him from exploding in rage at the commandeering of his kitchen.
“Don’t worry,” Luckadoo grinned wryly. “Lizzy’s portions are heartier than Charlotte’s.”
“Well, good.” Was the pithy reply as Jim downed the whiskey and poured himself a second in a single motion.
In his efforts to establish dominance he hadn’t noticed that Elsa and the old man had taken their leave.
“So, who’s the old timer?”
Jonas exhaled smoke and allowed for a moment of silence.
“He’s an uncle of mine. Though I’m not sure he’s actually blood. His name is Germain and he is a Norman.”
“Ok…”
“I think that you’re going to be very interested in what he has to say.”
“He doesn’t seem to have very much to say at all.”
Jonas laughed. “As far as I understood that’s a habit he’s had since youth. He’s always been taciturn. It’s part of the reason you’re going to find his speech especially useful. Germain focuses most of his energies on inner work and thus is quite the adept at dealing with the El.”
“Now when you say the El…you mean those goblin things?”
“Yes…after a manner…that is to say…they are a manifestation of the El.”
“Uh…huh…” Jim’s eyes glazed over.
Jonas decided not to dignify that particular bit of snark with a response.
“So…since everybody and their uncle seems to know so much more about all this weird ass voodoo bullshit how come it’s all my fuckin’ responsibility.”
“You are bound by blood.”
“Well, that’s not very fucking fair is it. Had no part in any of these shenanigans.”
“If you understood it…which I’m hoping you very shortly will…you’d realize that it was indeed fair. You didn’t spring out of a vacuum Jimmy boy, none of this did.” The giant said outsretching his arms again to indicate the world.
“Ok…”
But, Jim didn’t have time for a witty repartee as Lizzy’s piercing voice penetrated every wall of the cottage. “Dinners reddy…kom n git it!”
It took awhile for Jim to regain his senses. The dusk had settled. There was nothing left to do but head for shelter. The thought that terrified him most was that anything was possible.
He kept feeling himself pulled along by strange tides. All those insane suggestions he’d just drunk from a firehose, were threatening to hypnotize him, to leave him tethered gawking and exposed in the strange wilderness.
It was odd how quickly the pleasure of the mountains turned to terror. The fear that Jim felt was not corporeal. Bodily harm was the least of his troubles.
The thing that worried him was that there was no safety. There were no absolutes. The only reality was flux, self-referential, unoriginate, and eternal. He bit his lip.
This steadied him somewhat. Awareness shifted from yawning abysses to the delightfully familiar cicada song. The approaching evening was cool. The change in temperature helped orient him to reality and he trudged homeward.
Something seemed amiss upon approach. Caution seeped into his limbs as the anomaly was slowly drawn from his subconscious.
The door was slightly ajar. All traces of wonder vanished in an instant as the sobering caution of self-preservation took hold. Jim’s footfalls became stealthy as his ears grew keen.
While memory proved foggy the probability that he’d left the cottage permeable was low. The reptile brain had complete mastery now, and he treated the situation like one of his burglaries. Flanking the wall, he soon found his suspicion well founded.
Audible but unintelligible, faint traces of conversation reached his ears. There was also an odor. A familiar odor. The odor of a peculiar cigar.
Broad footfalls resounded as the door swung inward and a giant with a hot cherry emerged.
“For Gods sake, boy, would you get inside. You just walked across several thousand yards of open meadow. And now you think you’re Seal Team Ten.”
The voice was as unmistakable as the commanding height from which it came.
The sardonic profile of Jonas Luckadoo was revealed by the waxing glow of a cigar puff. Jim was too astonished to speak.
But not for long.
Annoyance found his tongue for him. “How the hell did ya get in my house?”
“Is that any way to greet a friend?”
“Friends don’t usually break into friend’s houses.”
Jim shook his head and grimaced his displeasure with the banter.
Just as he was about to speak another body, comically small in contrast to that of Luckadoo, energetically crossed the threshold.
“If it isn’t the fool.” Came another unmistakable voice.
Lizzy seemed to have made a full recovery. He could feel the strange wizened energy that radiated from the crane-necked crone even at a distance.
“To what do I owe this displeasure?” Jim inquired as he realized how Luckadoo had gained access to the cottage.
“We thought you could use some company.”
“Couldn’t you wait on the porch like normal people?”
“This is my house.” Lizzy answered defiantly.
“Then how come I live here?”
“Cause you got the blood. But I’m tellin’ ya, I got the deed.”
“Well, there does seem to be a reason I’m here. So as far as I see it I live here. And while I live here I’d appreciate it if you didn’t just traipse through my living room.”
“Don’t you have questions?”
“Yeah…I already asked them.”
“So, you want to know why we’re here?”
Jim nodded.
“After all that you’ve seen, the question you have to ask is why your friends popped round? You’re an odd sort aren’t you?”
Jim nodded again.
“Well, I just don kir whether you’re curious or not. Fools gotta be forcefed at times.” Lizzy said as she shot down the stairs and dragged Jim inside by the ear.
“It is a science as mercurial as whimsy. The tides that pool between the stars are arranged like shifting sands. It is not a thing for the mind of man. That is the reason for intermediaries. A Hessian may master English but neither the English or German or any of the nations fathom the speech of Nu. As is so often the case in diplomacy, the first order of business is procuring a translator.
For this purpose you have the tablets contained herein. But beware, you must first rid the void of interference. You must massage the will of those who detest mankind. For it was from the beginning that they desired to cut us off from conversation with the Most High, considering us a mistake.”
Jim tossed the letter aside taking a shot of whiskey. He still didn’t get it. Though subtle suggestions made themselves apparent like glimmerings of distant stars.
He sighed at the pedantic madness of all that he’d been instructed to do. Place this here, build this there, invoke such and so, on and on it went.
Thinking about it made his head hurt. So, he decided on a stroll.
He walked westward across the meadow. It was late afternoon and characteristically pleasant. Even with the bizarre rings it was so easy to forget esoteric madness in the mellow mountain sunshine. Everything here was pleasant and straightforward. The dreams the ancient landscape engendered were hearty and wholesome.
So, Jim daydreamed. Wondering how different his life would have been had he known these trees more intimately than subways. But, his reverie was not meant to last.
For there, carried unmistakably by the prosaic air, was the blasted eldritch chirping.
Jim rolled his eyes annoyed at the interruption. But his annoyance soon gave way to curiosity. There was something different about it, two things in fact.
It was but one voice. This was not the disorienting call and response chorus he was accustomed to hearing. And it wasn’t intermittent but rather rapid and fevered as if something were in distress.
He gazed in the direction of the noise and his eyes fell on the stump. It took mere milliseconds for a devilish smirk to spread across his boozy cheeks. The trap had worked. The disturbed grass and broken branches were such a satisfying confirmation, that he actually clapped his hands in glee.
This feeling did not last.
Joy was joined by apprehension, and caution followed in their wake. The cries were pleading and insistent. How long had it been there? And how soon before its fellows came to its aid?
Jim shrugged. He was already exposed, and he may as well satisfy his curiosity. He paused one last time at the lip of his trap. What if it was armed? Or poison? Despite all the reading he’d done he still had no idea about the practical characteristics of these things. He cursed his uncle’s mysticism.
‘Fuck it.’ He shrugged again. ‘Somethings you gotta figure out for yourself.’
Peering cautiously into the pit he could at first see nothing but darkness. The bright daylight made it difficult to discern the strange thing among the shadows.
Jim gasped. He gasped because there was a greater darkness in the black. Twin orbs, inky black, threatened to pull his spirit from its coil. Like a pair of collapsed stars the sentient voids swallowed light and something subtler still.
It was speaking to him. Speaking in books rather than words, drowning him in oceans of experience. He clasped his hand over his eyes and again heard its fevered chirping. But he had been stung. He wanted to know more. And so again he looked upon it.
His arm shot down involuntarily and cool smooth fingers closed over his hand. Before the sensation had a chance to produce panic the thing had clambered up his arm and leapt clear of the pit. Jim was too stunned by the novel panoramas of existence he’d just witnessed to be amazed at the feat of acrobatics.
He did not give chase as the imp disappeared chittering into the vast woodland.
Three loud knocks raised him. Groggy and cursing Jim trudged past the glare of midday windows. The rude awakening nullified caution and he swung wide the door.
“What the fuck do you want?” He demanded of the strange mustachioed face that greeted him.
“Are you always this charming?” A soft midwestern accent questioned in return.
The guy was middle-aged and looked like a lineman turned high school principal.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“Sir Luckadoo informed us that you may be having some trouble.”
“Sir…? What is this renaissance fair shit?”
“Well, I suppose he is a bit too modest to have informed you of his knighthood.”
“Look…buddy…I’m getting’ real tired of this goblin, knight, wizard bullshit. I’d love nothing more than to send those little fuckers straight to hell with the rest of ya. Why can’t everybody just leave me the fuck alone?”
“Still an adolescent I see.”
Jim slammed the door in his face.
The three knocks again resounded.
“Fuck off.”
“I’m afraid that’s not an option.”
“I’m armed asshole.”
“Threatening a federal agent is a bad idea, son.”
Jim swung open the door.
“A fuckin’ fed…thank Christ…I was wondering when you guys would bust these assholes.”
The strangers face was blank.
“I think you’re confused.”
“You bet.”
“What is it that you think is going on here, son?”
“A drug ring…ain’t it obvious.”
The principal shook his head.
“Well…what then?”
“You are responsible for the Western gate.”
“Pfft…more of this hick gibberish…you’re not a fed…” Jim said backing his way towards the Mossberg.
The stranger flashed a badge.
“I’m special Agent Thornton.”
“You’re special alright.”
“Come on kid. Don’t be stupid. I know what went on here the past couple of nights.”
“O yea…cause I certainly don’t.”
“Well, that’s your own doing.”
“Are ya fuckin’ kidding me? I’m supposed to make sense of this voodoo shit?”
“Well, you were given a manual.” Thornton shot a thick finger at Hant’s letter.
“Can’t make heads or tails of that shit. Waste of time…”
“Yes…I’m afraid you have wasted a lot of time.”
Jim rolled his eyes.
“So why are you here again?”
“To inform you that distracting them can only work for so long.”
Jim felt a chill. So, he really was being observed, if they knew about his recent deployment of Dutch’s trick…what else did they know?
“O?”
“Yes, you have to pass the threshold.”
“The threshold?”
“Of perception.”
Jim laughed. “You mean like the fucking Doors?”
Thornton smirked. “Something like that.”
“Well…uh…alrighty then…and how exactly do I do that.”
Thornton sighed. “Unfortunately, you have to work that out on your own. Though I can point you in the right direction.”
“Uh-huh…?”
“Do you suppose the sky is filled with nothing but death?”
“I have no idea. Nor do I care. I can barely find a reason for living down here much less guess at otherworldly horseshit.” Jim said lighting a cigarette.
Thornton sighed again. “Well, unfortunately otherworldly horseshit is your job.”
“O?”
“Yes. I know you’re very much inculcated in the new fashion. That you chose your path. That your profession is something that you can pick from a menu. I’m afraid that it isn’t so.”
“Hmm…my ma warned me about you protestants…”
Thornton chuckled.
“I don’t believe in a thing old man. Much less Calvinist horseshit.”
“I don’t think belief is necessary after all that you have witnessed.”
“See, there it is. That Baptist talk…witnessed…I’m tellin’ you I don’t buy it. And if I did, I’d go to the true Church like Ma wanted.”
“Well, my one task here is to leave you with a suggestion, with a key.”
“Uh-huh…”
“All men return to the earth from which they sprang. But the earth from which they sprang is full of wisdom. For it was not a folly that the Most High fashioned us from her dust. The light of stars spiritual and physical far beyond the Gnostic lie of duality. Matter is spirit, and spirit is matter, and any confusion about this is a trick of the devil. His armies have many tactics the chief of which is to trap spirit within matter through illusion. It is this that the El sell to Kings in exchange for temporal power. But this is a will-o-the-wisp. One that you must surpass to guard the gate aright. To stay the division till the appointed day when its revelation will strain the wheat from the chaff.”
“Jesus Christ dude.”
“Christ helps those who help themselves.” Thornton said and turned to go.
The first sensation was confusion. The second was thirst. Jim had never been that thirsty. He was ungainly on his feet and had to grip the closet door to keep from rejoining the floor.
He swung it open and found everything normal. There were no cosmic abysses, orbs, or goblin swarms. There was nothing but the balmy light of a Kentucky summer percolating through the window.
‘What sorta stuff have those hicks been sprinklin in my whiskey?’
But this thought was impossible. His face was raw and gritty. He wiped at it and gasped at the stream of reddish sediment that action produced. The sand was all too tangible, all too real. He plodded kitchenward, out the bedroom door, propelled by the gravity of crumbling denial.
Jim descended the stairs like a drunk and stuck his head under the faucet. After a sort of microcosmic phylogeny of lapping water like a beast, he regained enough humanity to shoot a hand for a large tin cup.
After three brimfulls he filled a fourth and sat on the cool marble floor with his back against the freezer. Yes, the floor was cool. And Jim was cold. No, this wouldn’t do.
All his bones ached as he stumbled onto the porch, down its steps, and into the meadow. The warmth of the sun was pleasant and he sank down making a mat of the tall grasses. He lay on this organic stretcher long enough to begin to feel the first effects of sunburn.
Sitting up Jim noted that the rings were still all there. He recalled all the strangeness. It was an insane reality he could no longer deny. Though traces of rationalization still lingered the insinct for survival overwhelmed them.
Supernatural or not, he must at least keep whatever was going on at bay. Right now his best bet, insane as it was, would be to use Dutch’s trick.
Realizing it would be an arduous task he decided to breakfast. Chasing away the soporific effects of a hearty meal with a large coffee he set about the business of checmical warfare.
His first idea was to make a Clorox trail to the hole by the stump. He was amazed old Lizzy hadn’t fallen into the trap when she’d come there to greive. He patted the grass to make certain the hollowness beneath the veneer was indeed present. He was very much satisfied that it was, and laid a bit of Seng on the mossy side of the stump, for good measure.
Next he laid out tins of the alleged goblin booze in all cardinal directions of the wood. He poured trails that circled in figure eights. He poured trails that led to water. He poured trails that led to cliff edges.
Maybe risking the injury of one of these critters was unwise but Jim was too annoyed by the alien nuisance to care.
The whole ordeal took up a quarter of the day. It was late afternoon that he placed the now considerably lighter and empty Clorox barrel in the center of the odd granite formation.
Once he returned home, had a late lunch and whiskey, he found that he was too tired to read the letter that was so perfectly balanced on the couch’s arm.
Though there was the sense of time slipping away. Though Jim’s sleepward brain was producing images of skeletons, galaxies, and hourglasses; he could not help but sink into yet another deep slumber.
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The Fractal Journal 