Where They Were

Blake had survived the fire tide but just barely. He had clung tightly to the small tree for nearly three hours as the searing heat of the fire tide flowed below him torturing his body. Straining to open his eyes, Blake realized that his left eye was fused shut. Through the ordeal of heat that had risen from the swiftly moving magma below him, Blake had pressed the left side of his face against a branch of the ironwood tree, now the flesh from his forehead was covering his eye. His right eye quivered as he forced it open, but through the blurriness he could just make out a red-orange glow that formed a line along the horizon. The fire tide had passed and he was alive.

When Blake lowered himself from the tree, the damage to his body became evident. His left thigh and calf lost a long strip of flesh where he had pressed tightly to the tree. As his eye began to clear he could see the blood rolling down his leg and forming a small puddle around his blackened feet. Two toes on his badly damaged left foot were almost burned off. Blake delicately touched a piece of dark, scorched skin on his arm. It was brittle and quickly broke off and crumbled in his hand. Soot, dirt, blood, and charred flesh covered his naked body. It would take a long time for him to recover and then only if he could find food and a safe place.

Instinctively, he squatted and surveyed his surroundings. The sky was dark with a thick smoke that blocked out even the brightest star. As far as Blake could see in all directions the ground was flat and barren with small wisps of smoke slowly rising into the dry, hot air. It had been burned hard by the fire tide which he could still see in the distance behind him. In front of him there were a few rocky mounds topped by ironwood trees, but beyond them was an inky nothingness. That was the way he had to go because the fire tide would return all too soon.

With each step a jet of electricity shot up Blake's crippled left side. The pain was excruciating, but he continued on. At one point he stumbled in an ash-filled hole. Luckily, he was able to right himself and flop awkwardly to a nearby mound of rocks. Breathing heavily and near exhaustion, Blake dragged himself to the top. He needed to get farther from the fire tide, but in his present condition that would be near impossible. His next best hope would be to find shelter.

As he leaned back he noticed an opening between two rocks that was large enough for him to squeeze his body into. Blake decided to give it a try. He lost more skin when he pushed himself through the tight opening, but it would be worth it if he found the protection he needed to survive. He moved farther along between the rocks until he discovered that there was enough space to crawl. The small rock tunnel was leading downward and eventually gave way to an earthen burrow. It should have been pitch black, but along the way there were clusters of tiny Nitor mushrooms that gave off a faint green glow. They provided just enough light to draw Blake deeper into the passage that twisted back and forth as he descended.

After one sharp turn the tunnel opened up to reveal a small pocket in the shaft with two men huddled together on one side of the space. Blake froze and gave a hard, unwavering stare at the two men, who were surprised to see him. The men were just as dirty and disheveled as Blake. One was older than the other and clutched a frayed cloth satchel tightly to his chest. The younger one kept his cold, wild eyes fixed on Blake.

Never removing his gaze, Blake slowly crawled to the other side of the space where he firmly put his back against the rocks. There were several minutes of suspicious looks created more tension, then the older man whispered to the other. After a moment of quiet words and a few nods, the younger one cautiously crept toward Blake.

While maintaining that wild gaze, the young man softly asked, "What do you do?"

For a long time Blake said nothing, but finally whispered, "Dread."

The young man continued to stare into Blake's eyes. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of his face and dripped off his chin. He broke his gaze and looked back to the older man who after a moment of thought gave a sharp little nod. The younger man quickly returned to his spot.

"Yrerregon?" asked the older man.

Blake said nothing.

Reaching into his bag the older man pulled out a bread loaf, tore off a piece, and tossed it to Blake, who wasted no time biting into it.

"Caught in the fire tide?" the man asked.

Blake pointed to his mangled foot and took another bite of bread.

The old man shrugged. "I've seen worse. You'll be fine." After a pause he again asked, "Yrerregon?"

Blake stopped chewing and stared.

"It's okay. We're alone here." The man thought for a few seconds then continued. "Just knowing that there were those in the past that had powerful, secret knowledge is enough to keep us looking, isn't it?" He spread his arms in front of him. "Their wisdom is still here someplace. It may even be that they're still here. But where?"

The wild look was gone from the younger man and it was replaced with a dark sadness as he listened to his friend.

"I can tell you've been searching for a long time. We have too. Have you thought about what it is that compels us to risk everything for something we know nothing about? Is it simply the enigma, the mystery, the curiosity that drives us or is it the peril, the risk, the danger that fuels our energy? My friend and I have learned very little in all the years we've searched but we haven't given up."

The three fell into silence, each thinking about their long odyssey and the misfortunes and pains that have befallen them along the way.

The old man pointed into the tunnel. "At the other end there's a village. Maybe you'll find what you're looking for. Be careful. It's a long way and there's many dangers. Stay away from anything that moves or speaks. We're leaving. We've got to beat the fire tide." Without another word the two strangers crawled past Blake and left the way he had come in.

Alone in the burrow Blake lowered his head and tried to sleep, but a dull ominous moan drifted up from deep in the tunnel and made sleep impossible. Hours passed before he could feel a tingle in his left foot and make out light in his damaged eye. He was beginning to heal. It was time to move on.

The narrow passage eventually opened up to a large cavern. The light from the Nitor mushrooms wasn't enough to tell him how big it was, so he began to follow the rocky wall to the right. Blake stopped when he realized that the haunting moans he had heard before were now much louder. Cautiously he followed the sound to a nearby hole and looked down.

In a lower level cave, Blake could see a macabre procession of people escorting ghastly creatures. The people were naked except for colorful spots and stripes painted on their bodies. Some had feathers in their hair while others had strips of lizard hides draped over their heads. The sound Blake heard was a chant or mantra that the people repeated monotonously. As they moved the revelers jerked and gyrated. Their bodies seemed violently agitated by convulsions impelled by demonic forces. Yet what Blake saw appeared to be more of a celebration than a satanic ritual.

As they moved through the cave the people performed their wild dance around three very large frightening beasts which loped along on large bat-like wings that pounded the ground with each step forward. The bodies of the monsters were segmented with a stinger on one end and giant oval "ears" on the other. The "ears" had hundreds of veined tentacles which twisted and turned in the shadowy light of the cave. The creatures had no eyes.

Blake was mesmerized by the scene. The rhythmic chant, the strange movements of the people, the surreal beasts. He opened his mouth and with the slightest of breaths he whispered to himself, "Yrerregon?"

The sound stopped. The people quit moving. The celebrants and the monsters turned their heads and "ears" toward Blake, who jerked back from the hole. Terror filled his heart and panic ricocheted around his brain. He had to get out of there as fast as he could. Hobbling along Blake quickly pushed deeper into the cave. Driven by fear he forgot his physical pain and steadily moved away from the strange creatures. After a while he collapsed beside a rock wall just as exhaustion drove him into unconsciousness.

Blake was snatched from his sleep by a high pitched squeal that sounded like an animal in distress. He sat for a while expecting another noise but there was none. Then he began to doubt what he had heard. Was it real or part of a dream?

Getting out of the cave became his primary goal and when the passageway turned upward Blake moved even faster. He was ready to take his chances with the fire tide rather than the creatures in the cave. After some climbing Blake slipped between two rocks and was startled by the cool night air that inundated his aching body. He looked up to see a clear sky filled with stars. There was just enough light to make out the shadowy outline of the village that the old man had mentioned. Following a road scarred with wagon ruts, Blake cautiously approached the buildings. Most of the small, wood frame houses were shrouded in darkness but a few had fuzzy yellow glows emitting from windows.

Blake crouched beside the roughhewn wall of one of the houses then crept to the corner where he found a wooden wash barrel containing dirty water. He quenched his thirst then scrubbed the dirt from his face and arms. Noticing a basket of clothes beside the barrel, Blake pawed through them, found some pants and quickly slipped them on.

As he was about to move to the next house, Blake was hit from behind and pushed to the ground. His attacker rolled Blake onto his back and sat on him while holding his neck in a deathly grip. The man was big and strong. Blake struggled to push him away but felt himself succumbing to the choke hold. In one swift move the man pulled Blake to a standing position and loosened his grip. With Blake gasping for air the two men stared at each other. Slowly Blake's gaze drifted past the man to a multi-storied gothic house on a hill at the far end of the village. He became hypnotized by the eerie emanation that wafted from its steep gables and pointed arches.

"Yrerregon," said Blake.

The man was shocked. His eyes filled with terror. He spun around and searched the sky around the house on the hill as if he expected fantastical specters of death to fly down to him. When nothing immediately appeared he grabbed Blake by the scruff of the neck and dragged him into the nearby house.

It was dark inside except for the meager rays of light from the fading embers in the fireplace and a single candle on an old table. Blake was pushed into a chair as the man scrambled to a window to continue his surveillance of the house on the hill.

As Blake's eyes adjusted he could see a woman seated in a high-back chair by the fireplace. Her head slowly moved from side to side in such a way that at first Blake thought she was blind, but then he noticed that she was softly whispering to herself so he considered that she was feeble-minded.

The man broke off his vigil at the window and sat in a chair beside Blake.

"How did you get here?" asked the man.

"The cave," said Blake.

The man was shocked again. "No one's come through the cave in a very long time. I've heard that it's full of monsters."

Blake nodded. "I'm looking for..."

The man frantically shook his head and pointed in the direction of the gothic house on the hill. The two fell into an awkward silence that lasted several minutes until Blake motioned toward the woman near the fireplace.

"Maria," said the man. "My sister." He paused. "She's not crazy. She talks to people that we can't see."

"Ghosts?" asked Blake.

"No. Maria says they exist in the same space that we do but only Maria can see them." The man noticed the questioning look on Blake's face. "Really, they exist. They're right here, right now. It's an invisible realm that's right on top of the world we live in."

At that moment Maria rose and walked over to Blake. She put her face just inches from his and looked deep into his eyes.

"What do you do?" she asked.

"Fear," Blake replied without hesitation.

Maria slapped him hard and began yelling, "Get out! Get out of here!" She wildly punched and scratched at Blake until her brother grabbed her.

Over the woman's hysterical screams her brother shouted, "Go on! Run! What you want is on top of the hill!"

Blake busted out of the door and ran past several houses. He stopped only when he could no longer hear Maria's shrieks. He caught his breath and turned his attention to the big gothic house. It's aura was still calling to him and he couldn't resist.

As he trudged along the winding path that led to the house, Blake remembered what the old man in the cave had said. Was he driven by the mystery or the danger? The journey was filled with excitement, but to know something that others don't know was equally exhilarating. Blake decided that he was consumed by both.

After only two knocks on the large oak door of the house, it swung open to reveal a small, stout, middle-aged man with a receding hairline and eyes that were deep, dark and mystical.

Blake found the courage to speak. "Yrerregon."

The man stepped forward, took Blake by the arm, and lead him into the big house. The inside was dark, cold and foreboding. Blake's fear was rising and there was hesitation in his steps, but the man pulled him into a large room with a fireplace. The warmth from the raging fire added to the enticement and Blake moved forward. The man sat Blake in a large, soft chair by the fire and took another chair nearby.

With Blake staring unconsciously at the flames, the man asked, "What do you do?"

Blake turned to him and coldly said, "Horror."

The man's eyes narrowed and the corner of his mouth turned up in a way that could have been a smile or a sneer.

"I can help you," he said.

The man pointed to a book sitting on a table in front of Blake. It was large, thick, and quite old. The rough leather cover had an ornate design on it but the years of use now disguised it behind primordial cracks and a weathered layer of use.

"Open it," said the man.

Blake cautiously pulled the cover back. He was surprised by what he saw. It wasn't so much a book as a ledger. Blake looked down a column of what appeared to be names.

Yrerregon
Akhilesh
Guo Shengtong
Nefermaat
Eydis Bjartra
Tharybis
Lothar Cassian
Hahkethomemah
Magomu Abao Fu

The list continued to the bottom of the page. They were definitely names but Blake didn't recognize any of them.

"Go on," said the man.

Blake turned a page then another and another. The list of names went on and on.

"I don't understand."

"This is a place of nightmares and visions," explained the man. "Everything here was created from the dark dreams, hallucinations, and phantasmal imaginations of those in the book. The sky, the earth, the people, the monsters, the fire, the cold, the flesh on your bones, yes, and even your bones. All were created by the people in that book."

"But I'm real," declared Blake.

"Yes," said the man, who pointed to the book, "so were they, but from time to time their twisted nightmares, drug-induced illusions, and macabre visions brought them here. This is where they were and this is what they created."

Blake stared into the fire and tried to understand.

The man let Blake ponder the situation for a bit then said, "Turn to the last page in the book."

What Blake found on the last page was a continuation of the list of names but it abruptly ended in the middle of the page.

J. Sheridan Le Fanu
Edgar A. Poe
Montague R. James
H. P. Lovecraft
Arthur Machen
Lord Dunsany
Clark Ashton Smith

As he watched Blake saw his own name slowly materialize at the bottom of the list. He was startled at first but soon he felt an enveloping warmth of understanding and calm. He looked around the room and smiled. This place no longer controlled him. He was in charge now. This is where he was supposed to be.

"What do I do?" asked Blake.

"Just do what you do best," said the man. "Dread, angst, fear, horror. Continue the legacy that they started. Release the dark terror in your heart and create the monstrosities of your dreams. Allow the loathing and repugnance in the shadows of your mind to live in this world. Panic, anxiety, and fear are your dearest friends. Here you can embrace them and know them in ways that only you can imagine."

The man lovingly moved his hand across the cover of the book.

"This is where they were and now it's where you are."

THE END

Bio: George Schaade is a retired history teacher that has always enjoyed writing science fiction, horror, and fantasy in the backwoods of East Texas. His last Aphelion appearance was Psi Language in our November, 2014 issue.

E-mail: George Schaade

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