fiction

The Visit Coming in in '12

He Walked The Trail Alone Part I

He walked the trail alone. The full moon passed thin white light through the giant trees that grew straight up despite the insane angle the hill containing the trail stood at. He didn't remember the trail being so steep in the past. His chest burned now and he practically crawled up the hill, slipping on the piles of leaves blown into the gullies water cut into the hillside from the torrential down pours they'd had several months before. He thought about those storms. What he knew then, what he didn't know then, what he wished he didn't know now. What exactly did he know? He knew it was leaking again. That meant the wolves and maybe the bears and God knows what else would be on the trail pretty quick. Yes, he knew that but the thought of it didn't scare him in the least. He was on a mission and nothing could stop him now. Still, it would be wise to take a breather and try and stop the damned thing from leaking.

He reached the top of the bluff, looked at the full moon, looked back into the shadows of the steep incline he'd just covered, stumbled over to a tree, dropped his load and plopped down next to it. He was tired, so incredibly tired. He panted like a dog as cold sweat beaded up on his forehead. Why would no one listen to him? What was the saying? "A prophet's words are never heeded in his own land and time?" He knew God very well. Painfully well. He knew God was many things, but omnipotent wasn't one of them. He noticed the seat of his pants getting wet. It hadn't rained for weeks, not since the last storm ravaged the area. The leak. "Damn it" he was startled to hear himself say. He slid the package over and began rewrapping it. He knew it was no use. He tried. That's what he always did. Tried and failed. It probably didn't really matter now, in the scheme of things, the "Big Picture" as his dad used to say. But he didn't know how to not at least try. He finished the job, realized it bought him some time, leaned back against the tree, tried to fight back the instinct to sleep, and again failed.

The sun hadn't quite made it above the high bluff to his east when he woke up. It wasn't the dirty brown light, filtering through the lingering smoke that woke him anyway. It was the birds. He briefly remembered why he'd hated camping so much. It crossed his mind how that now seemed to be another life entirely, which of course, it was. Was he really even awake now? Was he going to open his eyes and be in bed with his wife, realizing the light from the street was playing tricks on his half opened, half asleep eyes? Proving the last couple of months had been nothing but a terrible nightmare? He'd just lean over and see how much time he had left before his alarm went off and he'd have to get ready for work. He forced his eyes open all the way. The clock radio's red digital numbers told him it was 6:14. He reached over and clicked of the alarm quickly before it started screaming at 6:15. He rolled over and put his arm around his wife, she stirred, mumbled something he couldn't understand. He slid back into a light sleep, rolled over again and slowly drifted back into consciousness. Why was his mouth so dry? Had he drank a lot of alcohol last night? He couldn't remember anything. Again he forced his eyes all the way open. He wasn't in bed. His wife wasn't next to him. The nightmare wasn't the last couple of months all crammed into one night's dream; the nightmare was real. The nightmare was opening his eyes and realizing that none of it was in fact a nightmare.

The edge of the sun poked over the bluff now and he realized the time he'd bought rewrapping the package had expired and it was leaking again. It was starting to smell too. He tried to work up enough saliva to swallow but his mouth was full of nothing but dust. He was dehydrated and starving. He couldn't remember how much further the cave was. Maybe he should go back and start over. Surely he could get water somewhere in town and maybe a day's rest, some bread, or even better, some meat. He thought about just giving up. What difference would it really make now anyway? He decided on a compromise. Continue towards his destination but leave the package behind. He could feel the eyes of the scavengers all over him now as it was. Were they waiting for him, or just his package? He suddenly realized that it was a feeling he'd always had anyway, no different than those days at the office. He forced his sore muscles and joints into action. Pulling himself up to his feet, with the help of the tree, he glanced down at the red package, turned away, and started walking. What a waste it all was. He wondered if any of the people still left worshipped God. "Of course they did", he thought to himself. "They are, right now, blaming themselves and everyone else for this and turning to God in droves... If there are in fact enough people to make a 'drove' left." He smiled.

He reached the cave sooner than he thought he would. He had misjudged how much further he had to travel and now wondered if he should go back and get his package. He entered the cave and sat on a large rock. The air was damp, stale, but comfortable. He felt safer than he had felt in months. He thought about the last time he felt safe, he struggled to remember, slowly it faded into view. It was fall; his favorite time of the year and his life was going well. Good job, good wife, nice house, nice car. He had some worries, typical stuff, but nothing like the burdens he'd carried when he was young. He was a worrier as a child. But as an adult; get up, go to work, make the house payment, insurance payment, put a little back for the nest egg, invest a little in the house, take a vacation, watch television. Life was good in the middle of America, in the middle of life, in the middle of the classes. Then one morning he woke up and it was the beginning of the end. Somehow he knew that but it seemed no one else did. He started warning people at work, in the stores, and in the neighborhood. He started calling, writing, and emailing friends and family. He started stock piling bottled water, canned goods, and batteries. His friends began avoiding him, his wife began worrying about him, and his coworkers began laughing at him. He hadn't felt safe since, until now, in this cave, at the end of the world. If only he'd brought his package. He failed again. All he had to do was show up at the cave with the package, and here he was, at the cave, without the package.

He stood up and stretched, he wondered how much weight he'd lost and how much longer he could continue. He knew mentally he was up to the task at hand, but physically... That was the question. He had been mentally preparing himself since the day he realized that he was the one chosen for this job. It seemed the more he mentally prepared, the more he physically deteriorated; let alone the last couple of weeks on the run. None of that really mattered now. He was at the right location, sans package, but there, mentally prepared, never the less.

The Visit: Avaliable 2008

Shadowed

I'm so afraid... Terrified. I know he's coming. Oh yes "he". There's only one. How do I know? How did I ever know? Just feelings, a sense, call it instinct if you want but I'm right. I've never been wrong. Not yet anyway.

It's dark now, so very dark. I can't see my hand in front of my face. I loath the dark despise it. It all began in the dark, in my room, in my bed.

There was a great thunderstorm, not unlike the one we're having now. I'd never been afraid of the dark, or of thunderstorms before. The wind, rain, thunder, lightning. Normally I never really noticed it, but this one was different. It had brought something with it. The terrific blasts of thunder shook the whole earth it seemed. It must have to bring me from that drunken sleep. That's another thing. The alcohol.

I started drinking to calm my nerves some time ago. I've always been nervous, jumpy some would say. Once a week, twice a week, soon it was a daily drink, or two, or three. I'd drink just to settle down, to help me sleep, relieve the stress, but now? Now I drink because I'm afraid. It's the only way I can cope. And the more I drink, the more afraid I become, so the more I drink. It is a vicious circle. On and on it goes, where it stops probably only he knows. "He"? I'm getting to that.

During the day it wasn't so bad. I smoked more, drank about a gallon of black coffee. My coworkers would occasionally ask me if I was OK. Comment about the dark circles under my eyes or about my appearance now. They'd joke about the wild nightlife I must lead. If they only knew.

Anyway I was shaken awake by a particularly loud clap of thunder that night. I rolled over onto my back and stared at the ceiling, eyes wide open, I strained to see the light directly above my bed, considered turning it on, then squinted as a lavender strobe flashed from the sky outside my window. That's when I really noticed the storm, the air, a feeling. How do I describe the feeling? "That" feeling? I felt as though I was being watched. Something wasn't quite right. Terror would be too strong a word to use at this point. That was coming later.

Another bright flash and I saw him, or at least I saw his silhouette. I froze... eyes closed, like a little child afraid of a monster in his closet I pretended to be asleep. But I still felt it. He was staring at me. Somehow, someway, someone had gotten into my apartment and was standing there at the foot of my bed just staring at me. I opened my eye just a crack. My room was ink black but I knew he was there. Another sheet of pink lightning swept through the room, flashing, blinking, casting long shadows and illuminating the walls only the way lightning can. And again I noticed him. I wasn't looking right at him but I caught his shape from the corner of my eye. I lay there unmoving barely breathing. One hour, two hours. The storm was barely a rumble in the distance when I must have finally dozed back off to sleep. The next morning I barely remembered the incident and passed it off as a dream.

The very next night I realized it was no dream. I worked late and went out for a couple of drinks afterwards. I got home around eleven to a dark apartment. I unlocked the door, entered the front room and there he was. I hadn't turned on any lights yet but I knew he was there. I could see his silhouette against the far wall. I could feel his eyes looking at me. I stood still. Heart pounding, a living statue. I could feel blood pulsing through my temples, suddenly I bolted for the light, flipped it on, spun around and caught a glimpse of him, just a shadow, just a vague outline, and he was gone. Nothing. I ran down the hall checking each room and turning on every light. No one. My small apartment never seemed so big. I felt like I was alone in the dungeon of a huge castle. I laughed nervously at it all and passed out on the living room floor.

The following day I couldn't get what had happened out of my head. I fidgeted nervously, no focus, no ability to concentrate. And that night... it happened again. I was sleeping when something woke me up. A noise, a flash, a movement, I don't know, it could've been anything as I was in a very light sleep. I shook my head back and forth to make sure I wasn't dreaming. I opened my eyes and saw the dark figure standing at the foot of my bed. I shook my head again and again but he was still there. I quickly rolled over and turned on the bedside lamp. No one was there. I sat up and tried to clear my head wondering what was going on and stayed that way until morning came around.

That day after work I couldn't face going home so I went to the bar for a couple of drinks and then out to eat. It was around 11:30, I had finished eating and went to the restroom. From there I heard a muffled screech and a defined 'thud' and the lights went out, darkness, total blackness, void of light. I don't know how but again, he was there. Before the lights went out I was alone, now he was with me, watching, waiting for something. "Who the Hell are you?" I asked calmly, trying to put a sarcastic element in my voice. No reply. I groped for the door. He followed me with his eyes. I knew. I could tell. I got out of the restroom and ran outside. Everything was dark except for the passing cars headlights. I realized an accident had occurred outside the restaurant. A car had hit a utility pole, causing the black out. Had he planned that? Did he cause the accident so he could get me in the dark? I no longer found humor in my fear. I went home. I sat up popping No Doze, drinking coffee all night, every light in the house on.

It's been going on for over a month now, each night getting worse. I've deteriorated both mentally and physically. I sleep for a couple of hours after the sun comes up, go to work, come home, sleep for a couple of hours, then get up and sit with all the lights on and flashlight nearby. I used to sit and stare out the window but I would see him, in the dark, ducking in the shadows of the streetlights. Now I keep the blinds pulled. He's waiting. I have no real friends to tell this to. I'm telling you because, well, since my wife left... She always said I'd... That's another story I guess.

Now here I am sitting up, in the dark waiting for him. I'm sure I heard him walking in the hall outside my room. How long will my flashlight batteries last? I doubt the utility company will have the power back on soon, the storm's still raging outside, nothing but lightning and this dimming flashlight. Yes, now I hear his footsteps, they're covered by the thunder but they are there. He is here.

He Walked The Trail Alone Part II

Night came swiftly. He peered out of the cave entrance as the sun set behind the bluff. Shadows went from being long to all encompassing. Everything was in shadow, it always had been. It was in the world of shadows decisions were made, lives were saved or lost, souls were redeemed or damned. He was now in the world of shadows. There was no turning back. He didn't have the power to redeem or damn. He didn't know for sure if he had the power to save, but he had made decisions, decisions that had led him here, to this remote bluff over looking the beginning of the end of creation. And he knew it would be tonight.

Faded shadows soon turned to blackness. He was sure this was the darkest night he'd ever seen. Those instincts welled up in him again. Homosapien was not a nocturnal animal by choice. Millions of years of sleeping through the darkness aren't easily thrown off. His diurnal primate eyes tried adjusting to the darkness but it was like looking through a well of black ink. The air was still, damp, and cold. He wasn't alone.

Fear welled up in him. Suddenly it all seemed like a very bad idea. He was no prophet, no leader, no decision maker. Why had he accepted this challenge? Before he could follow that train of thought any further (not that it had any conclusions anyway) he heard the voice. It was just a whisper, faint; damp like the air it hung in. It wasn't the voice he'd expected to hear. What had he expected; Trumpets blaring and a guy sitting on a golden throne with a long white beard to be waiting for him here? He had no expectations, but if he had, this would not have been one of them. The voice spoke again. He couldn't understand what it was saying. It was so distant sounding. He felt like it wasn't originating from the cave. He stepped outside and listened. Again he heard it but it was no clearer. He felt as though the voice was coming from somewhere very far away. Somewhere unreachable. That sound, that timbre, he'd never heard anything like it. It calmed him right away yet frustrated him as he tried in vain to make out what he was being told.

He listened intently; He focused on the voice, he meditated on it. It seemed to be repeating the same thing over and over and although he never actually understood what it was saying he did realize what it wanted. The package. It wanted the package he'd left behind. He'd failed. He continued to listen, making no response. He had no idea what was actually being said, but he knew what was wanted and the frustration grew. Finally he shouted out, "I don't have the package, I left it behind" but the voice continued, incessantly, like a mantra he couldn't understand. He shouted again, and again, each time louder than the previous but the voice took no notice. He dropped to his knees and asked for forgiveness. The voice continued. Never changing pitch, never changing volume, never changing cadence, a distant damp chant cascading across the universe and falling into his ears and driving him to the brink of sanity.

An eternity passed. The chant continued. He stood up and began walking through the dank darkness, heading back to retrieve the package. Maybe it wasn't too late. Maybe the package, if it was this important, had been protected somehow. He noticed as he put distance between himself and the cave the voice also became even more distant until at some point he no longer heard it at all. He stumbled on feeling almost as though he was walking with is eyes closed. The darkness was all encompassing, so thick he could feel it brushing across his skin. His instincts guided him back to the package, he hoped. He knew the general direction, he knew it wasn't far, he knew he'd find what he was looking for, he had no choice.

He found the small round clearing on the top of the bluff where he'd left the package. He dropped to his hands and knees, he felt around, he prayed, he groped, he prayed, he checked the base of each tree at the edge of the clearing. He knew this was the right place but he didn't know exactly where he'd left the package.

A noise. Not a voice. Something watching. Something moving. Something hunting. He stopped and held perfectly still. He felt the adrenaline begin pumping. All of his senses kicked into overdrive. His eyes strained against the darkness, his ears penetrated the silence, everything looking for a sign to fight or flight. He heard the noise again. Faint but real, unmistakable. Someone, something was just inside the tree line tracking him. Even now as he sat motionless, it watched. His brain worked in conjunction with his senses to try and triangulate the location the last sound had come from but he was unsure. He heard it again and this time it was louder and definitely coming from the tree line just to his right. Without thinking he stood and ran away from the noise but the noise followed, the faster he ran, the faster it closed. He made it into the tree line, somehow keeping his balance as he skirted over the downed branches, slick mud, and underbrush, trying to tie him up. All he could hear now was the pounding of his own heart, the air fighting in and back out of his lungs, the wind buzzing past his ears. He had to stop.

He slowed; looking back over his shoulder into blackness, suddenly he felt as though a baseball bat had hit him in the back. He fell forward onto his chest, face first. Something was ripping into his back and neck. He struggled to roll over, he flailed against the attack, he fought with all his might. He managed to get up on his knees and tried to roll onto his back but was forced back down, face first. He heard the voice again. It thanked him for the package.