• Monster

    Mist. Mist as far as the eye can see obscures my vision. This haze plays light and shadow across a field of grey. I slouch cold and naked in the twilight. A damp fog sets my hairs on end. It smells not only of dew, but also of something rotten. What kind of dreamland is this? Is this even a dream, or rather a nightmare? The veil begins to dissipate and reveals a winding path.
    Withered willows flank this trail. Their black branches are barren, and their gnarled counterparts barely penetrate the fallow soil. It is as if these trees, instead of sprouting here, were rather exhumed from some decrepit crypt. What is this land that man and God have forsaken? Above these hell trees, the sky is obscured by an colorless clouds.
    Then, by some sentient sleepwalking I find myself elsewhere. What fiendish force has conveyed me to this hollow? I reside at the edge of a crater, encircled by those same cadaverous cedars. Their sinuous roots snake down to the center of the caldera, where they twist and fuse into a gargantuan oak. This tremendous timber, which would put any redwood to shame, is not but a foundation for a much grander edifice.
    An immense granite garrison emerges from the woodwork of the oak. Boulders each a ton or more in weight buttress the behemoth bulwark. Strangely though, each stone squats unmarred as if no foe ever dared to come against its might. A black banner billows over the ramparts. A heart impaled thrice by swords is emblazoned on it. What ill omen does this flag portend? The portcullis is raised and an enormous drawbridge extends from the entryway.
    Again, according to the will of this sentient landscape, I alight inside the colossal citadel. Unadulterated silence readily greets my ears. The floor of this sanctuary is not stone but pure water about six inches deep. My feet rather than simply sinking, balance on the surface. The water, perfectly translucent and without a single impurity, is like a tear of God. Some ways off, something golden flashes in the pool.
    Skimming the water, I move to retrieve it. Bending over, I cautiously attempt to gain tenure of the single treasure in this territory. As I immerse my fingers to take the trinket, it franticly flees. Startled, I chase it a ways and try again to catch it. Splash. It again avoids my grasp. Obsessed by this one shimmer of color in a gray world, I hastily pursue the golden object. I circle the courtyard thrice in my crusade. Frenzied, I dive for my prize. Splash. But, it was for naught. Exhausted, I collapse in the center of the pool. Why can I not catch you? Will you not be mine and end this madness? Suddenly, as if reacting to my will, the object leaps, surrounded by a globe of water, into my pleading hands. Staring out at me from this watery sphere is an innocent goldfish. What do you want from me? The fish then spins like a needle on a compass. It spins north, east, south, and west. Landing finally on north-northwest. Looking at the destination directed by the fish, I notice a niche in the citadel wall.
    A black and foreboding blemish mars the facade of the fortress. Darkness, an oozing coil of twisted vines and serpents, flows from the aperture like an evil tide engulfing all matter in its demonic aura. Each of the flawless, granite boulders cracks and crumbles under its corrupting touch. Only the aqua vita is spared this plague. Having done his duty, the fish dives back under the safe sanctuary of the holy water. For that small being, the watery realm of innocence protects him from the foreboding madness of some greater presence lying in wait. What heart of darkness could spawn such a sick shroud? The darkness coils around my limbs and drags me struggling into its depths.
    I am utterly consumed by the crushing darkness now. Slowly, I drop down through this void away from the light. The color of the upper world fades till it has no greater effect on my life than a star in the night sky. But, I am hardly in the peaceful realm of night. My skin crawls under the touch of something slimy. Thousands of clammy undead hands wriggle around my flesh. Their putrid fingers worm inside my nose and mouth. I inhale all manner of bodily fluids. And I taste mucus, pus, and bile. Thud.
    I lie supine on the floor of some corrupt cathedral. A green light plays across the ceiling as if I was in some monstrous underwater cavern. The remainder of this necropolis is nothingness. A menacing rhythm issues forth from the inky curtain. Thump…Thump… There is a beating that reverberates off the skeletal walls of this hellhole. Thump…Thump… Suddenly, an icy gale stirs as if the sinister spider of this lair has noticed a fly in her trap. The tempo picks up. Thump…Thump. The room starts to smolder with a crimson aura now. Thump…Thump. Grotesque, bloody beasts dance in some occult practice in the monstrous murals. Thump. Thump. Something emerges from the darkness. Thump. Thump. There is a throne ten times grander than any king has commissioned. It moves up and down with the beating. Thump. Thump. The chair is constructed completely from still beating human hearts.
    A form materializes from the sadistic seat. The figure is so monstrous that it hunches under the ceiling of the sepulcher. The creature bears no head, only a stump at the neck. Blood, stained black, pours in a sanguine river from where the heart of the beast ought be. The torso of this creature is gangling. The demon’s four arms are twice the length of the body of the beast and end in long wiry fingers like the legs of a spider. Dark green veins snake across the devil’s being. A maw, wide and hungry, is burrowed into stomach of the demon. Rows of voracious fangs line the monster maw brimming with carnal hunger. From the mouth down, there is only that same oozing, flailing, and writhing darkness. Our father…Slowly, the creature reaches down, and extends one long, thin, sharp talon. Who art… It lingers for one solitary second. A bloodshot eye buds from the knuckle and observes its praying prey. In heaven… Firmly he plunges his reaping tool deep into my chest piercing my heart. Ugh. Blood sprays from my mouth, nose and chest.
    Then, the universe begins to fade. The light grows fainter. The ringing of the terror in my ears wanes. The flavor of hot blood flows into my mouth. My nose gravely inhales my last breath, and my chest heaves. And the rest is silence.
    “You will not have my fear.” I whisper. The devil’s digit slows. “You will not have my fear.” I croak, spitting blood in its face. The monster starts as if in pain and begins to retreat. “You will not have my fear!” I moan. The monster howls, and pulls its charred finger from my body. “Reveal yourself!” I bellow.
    A piercing white brilliance erupts from my heart scorching the darkness. The bloody void is torn asunder as if by a mighty lion. The despair retreats to the corners of the hall. Letting out a shrill shriek of defeat it perishes there. The seat of power is reduced to a smoking funeral pyre, and nothing but ashes remain. All that exists in this hall are a small boy and I. Maybe not.
    The young child is diminutive and emaciated. His skin is pale and glows with an eerie innocence. A small golden crown tops his unkempt black hair. Staring out at me from behind the mass of darkness are two brilliant river stones. A jet-black blanket protects him. He clutches at it for security. Is this the same monster as I just saw? Is this the same darkness? As I approach the youth he attempts to flee. But with one arm held fast, I bring him in close. Holding him in a tight embrace I take the darkness from him, murmuring, “You will not need this anymore.” He collapses from exhaustion and the rear of the golden throne room crumbles. A magnificent archway full of dazzling white light engulfs both him and me. I pick up the sleeping, innocent child and head for the opening.
    The opening stands on a cliff overlooking a valley. This is the forsaken valley with the gnarled trees and citadel standing at its heart. A great mist of deception covers them all, but the cliff top stands above the ignorance. Suddenly a golden spyglass with amber lenses falls out from one of the child’s pockets. Gently, I lay the child down on a warm patch of earth. Then, I delicately pick up the gift.
    Looking through the lenses, I now see the truth. I see the poor willows, paupers frozen into position by a corrupt incantation. They are twisted in some grotesque dance, a celebration of a new king’s birth. Turning, I see the citadel rise like a giant stamen of a flower. All around the valley are giant stepped cliffs. The stone plateaus that crown the valley are like giant stone petals. This valley of mist was not but a rose turned to stone by the scorn of a lover. At its heart is a king who doesn’t believe in fairytales anymore.