Sleep Revised

by Wright, Michael

  They pulled him further, dragging through the doorway and into the main room, which he saw immediately was a parody of a church’s sanctuary. Lined with candles that gave dim and unholy light to the proceedings. The bricks were tainted with the same leaking fluid, and it seeped onto the edges of the room. He saw a row of benches, slowly being occupied by other men, clothed in the black robes and white masks, these much plainer than the ones of his captors.

  At the end of the room, he saw a pair of doors that he knew instantly. The ones the Elder Ones rested behind. The ones that chased him into reality last time, but he knew that it wouldn’t happen that time. It couldn’t happen that time. There was no waking from reality.

  They shoved him forward and he heard another figure come up behind them, break off from the group and head toward the altar that rested in front of the doors. At the altar a man stood, pulling back his hood to reveal a shock of long hair and a wound on his head. He looked familiar but Clark could not place him.

  The man took a large helmet off of the altar, it shrouded his head and extended with black horns on either side. On it was emblazoned the symbol that he had seen so many times in the center of the eye. He turned to look at the man who stepped forward from the hall. The man was carrying a large bucket, one of the ones from under the tables. He bowed low to the priest, who bowed back, and he turned to a bowl, and poured out the blood and entrails into it.

  The bowl was connected to three cables and Clark followed them up to the ceiling, not willing to think about what could possibly be the purpose of it.

  That was when he saw Sam. She was on the table in front of the priest, laid out spread eagle, naked as the day she was born. She wasn’t moving. He could see her eyes were open, but they were also unblinking, staring into the nothingness of the ceiling.

  “Sam!” His voice was weak, but it echoed and carried in the dimness of the room. He watched her, desperate for a response. There was none.

  God in heaven, please help us!

  The men pulled him roughly past the aisle that ran in front of the altar, offering him a full view. There was an array of knives laid out on the altar with the chalices. They were all empty, waiting to be filled with the blood of the sacrifice.

  Another man emerged with a bucket to pour into the large bowls.

  They pulled him toward a font, it was carved of near spotless white stone, engraved with depictions of angels and demons fighting, raping and pillaging. It looked old, far older than anything else in the room.

  The doors thundered with echoing pounds behind them.

  He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It was impossible.

  They stopped him in front of the font and the priest stepped to the front of the altar. He screamed out a single syllable word that Clark did not recognize, and he doubted that anyone outside of that room would recognize. It was a word that somehow he knew had been spoken in secret, in the shadows that attended such meetings like that throughout centuries of time, hiding in the darkness that they depended on. It brought an unholy chill to his bones.

  From the hallway there came a large procession of men and women, all clothed in deep black robes, ghastly masks obscuring their faces, staring out of the disfigurement that was inflicted on other human faces. They all paused and stared at him, and then turned to the altar, to stare at Samantha. Samantha who was exposed, vulnerable and alone, just as she had always been, but on a grand scale. There was not a single thing he could do about it.

  The priest descended from his high place on the altar and with a grin surveyed him. “It seems the Elder Ones have provided for us once more!” He said, and drew a crooked dagger from his robes. He saw that the tip was stained lightly with blood. It glinted red in the dim candlelight.

  One of the large men who had dragged him in drew out his hand and held his wrist forward, thrusting it at the priest as he juggled the knife in his long and bony fingers, wrapped lightly in a layer of what he assumed was leather but could have also been tanned human flesh.

  The crowd shifted in and moved slowly into their benches, taking their seats in neat and quiet order.

  Clark looked over at Samantha, her face still pointed upwards, staring endlessly at the ceiling, lost forever in the darkness it contained, and her hair streamed behind her, flecked with flesh and blood down from the table, strands of gold against the perverse grime and grungy nature of the chamber. She was out of place, he knew. But he knew that for them that was the point, they were meant to be out of place, out of where they belonged. It was part of an ancient and depraved liturgy—to take that which was so beautiful and mix it with the filth of our world to bring about a new and terrifying one.

  The priest grabbed his wrist. “With the shedding of blood comes change. Welcome to the new world, Clark.” Lips drew back and showed small teeth that glared out in a look that more resembled the sharp rows of a shark than a man.

  The knife was slowly drawn across his wrist. He felt the harsh sting of pinpricks, jolting up and down his arm as the knife cut, and as the blood dripped and began to fall, he felt consciousness going. When the blood hit the bottom of the stone basin, he was in the dream.

  Out of the blue,

  5

  into the black.

  The world around him was desolate, and grimy. Heavy clouds of acid and rot hung in the sky around him. He stumbled backwards away from the spot where he stood in the wasteland. The ground beneath him was structured of hard, dry rock. Gray and molding, it was cracked deep down with dryness, and below he could see streams of black liquid sliming it’s way through the cracks.

  Through the clouds, a blazing eye looked down, peering through the dimness. The eye that had followed him since the beginning.

  He looked up as he steadied himself. There were others around him, trudging through the rotten ground. They were in various stages of disarray, all bore heavy chains on their torso, wrapped several times around. The links were as thick as his fingers, and they dragged on the ground. Their skin was lined and heavy, as if they had been exposed to intense light for a long period of time. Their expressions were grim and broken, staring forever into the oblivion around them. One man, aged deep into his seventies, wispy and dirty, with barely enough hair on his head to cover the top of his scalp looked over at him, staring him up and down. He seemed surprised that he was not wearing chains as well. After a moment, he broke the stare and turned away, continuing on his mindless trudge through the wasteland.

  Clark turned away from him and started searching among the roamers that encircled him.

  Lightning flashed in the sky above, crackling across the clouds that ran for miles. The sound vibrated the ground beneath him and he braced himself against it. The roamers around him didn’t turn, and didn’t stir to look in his direction.

  As he scanned their faces he saw the same desperate and confused expression, locked forever in the world that they had woken up into. He wondered if they were others who were involved in the absurd ritual he had been pulled into.

  Would he end up like them?

  A woman stared at him, her skin just as worn. In the folds of her skin on a once healthy body, she had deep cracks forming, just like the ground. No black fluid flowed through her. Her torso was stained with rust from the rubbing of the chains that cackled with every step she took. She met his gaze as he stared at her, but with eyes that were totally empty of anything but fear. She didn’t look him up and down as the other man did, she only stared at him in mindless horror before she quickened her pace to move past him, bumping into another member of the macabre group that waddled through the wasteland.

  Clark stepped forward, reaching out in her direction, trying to get her attention.

  “Hello!” He shouted. “You there!”

  She shuffled faster, as if she were afraid of what he would do to her, or what would be done to her for associating with him in such a way. Her shuffling turned into running and she began to pick up speed, running far away from him. The loose skin on her thighs fla
pped and flopped as her thin legs pumped.

  Clark dropped pace and watched her run off into the distance.

  She made it about a quarter of a mile away before she fell down to the ground and stopped moving.

  Clark started for her when another stepped in front of him, blocking his path. He weaved to move past him, but another joined him, blocking the way. They began to hold their hands out, stopping him from moving any further.

  “She needs help!” He cried.

  Breaking past another one he blocked him with his shoulder and went running out, sending the man wrapped in the chains flying to the side, out of his way and he began to run.

  Shadows were gathered around her. The dark figures from his dreams that had been following him, they were standing around her, and watching her as she lay dying on the ground. One looked up in his direction, and then turned back down to the old woman.

  Clark ran a few more feet when he felt the ground begin to shake beneath him, tossing him off of his feet and onto his side. He felt a rib pop and collapsed into the rock. The cracks on the ground dug grooves into his skin. He grunted and pulled himself up onto his knees.

  The ground in front of him, not but a few feet from the old woman, had broken open. There was a massive crater that looked to be six feet in diameter. From it, smoke was rising, just as disgusting and acidic as the clouds that thundered above him.

  From the hole, arms began to emerge, at first two, each one sliming and raw, then there were more. Out of the ground a tall being emerged, his arms numbering at least four, all exposed flesh with massive slithering tendrils wrapped around. He knew that had to be the muscles. It used two legs with feet and two of it’s arms to crawl toward her. It’s body was thick, like a spider with a large rise toward the back, and from a long neck sat a head with horrendous pincers. It did not have any eyes that he could see, but was covered over with a white, viscous gel that oozed from every pore it had. Smoke rose from it as it crawled forward in the foul air.

  He heard a growl emerge from it of some language that he had no hope of ever deciphering, and the shadows moved aside.

  Clark stood to his feet and watched as the creature wobbled toward the woman, and with one of the lower arms it reached out and flipped her over. She writhed beneath it’s clasp, and tried to shuffle away from it. Her eyes opened and when she saw the creature, she began to shriek. The screams were loud and piercing, filled with terror that Clark had never even been able to imagine before.

  The creature made a clicking sound and began to move toward her. From it’s lower body, a long member extended, some grotesque combination between a stinger, tentacle and phallus.

  The woman began to shriek louder.

  “Hey!” Clark yelled, and began toward the creature.

  The shadows turned to him and held up their hands. They were blocking him.

  “Leave her alone!” He shouted and continued to barrel forward.

  Stupid, stupid. I don’t have any weapons.

  He watched as the creature paid him no mind, and began to drag the old woman forward, snapping at her with the pincers on it’s face.

  The shadows stepped forward, and he charged into them, trying to break through their line. He bounded back as he made solid contact with one that only pushed him back further. He ran at them again and they continued to hold fast, pushing him back.

  The woman screamed louder, growing in pitch and intensity.

  Clark pushed against the shadows once again, and they slowly circled him around, fencing him in. They did not give a single inch as he pushed against them and he found himself bouncing back from one and into another.

  The woman suddenly stopped screaming, and Clark looked one last time to see the pincers deep in her neck, her head cocked to the side, and the large member was stabbed into her stomach, and pulsing.

  “You bastards!” He lashed against the shadows, trying to push past them, to break himself free. They pushed back at him, their arms reaching out and grabbing onto his shoulder, chilling it, leaving behind a cold sting with every touch. One grabbed him from behind and pulled him off of his feet. He fought against them as hard as he could, but their strength was far beyond him. It threw him down on the ground again, and he felt the air being pushed out of him. One from the side placed a foot down on his chest, holding him down.

  The pressure choked him of breath, pulling it from his lungs as his ribs compressed the organs that pumped it into him. He tried to push it away, feebly struggling against it with his arms only to have it remain, like a massive stone on top of him.

  They eye glared down at him.

  Around him, the ground shook again, rumbling and cracking. He heard the falling of more stones from the ground into a pit not but a few yards from him. Smoke stained the sky as it rose, black and billowing, tinted with terrible hints of purple as flames shot sparks into the sky. He smelled sulfur and copper as smoke rose, and began to cough as he fought for air against the heavy foot.

  The shadow finally released him and then stepped back, looking down at him, before it took it’s place back in the circle that was formed around him, who were all turning away from him and toward the pit that was forming near them.

  The billowing clouds of dust that were left by the formation of the pit billowed into the air around him and the shadows. They were outlined pillars in the gray fog that was surrounding them, illumined by the dim light that came from the eye.

  Clark sat up and turned, looking at the pit that had formed over at the side. Reaching out of it were endless eye-stalks, the eyes were affixed to the end of it, staring into the area around. After they finished their survey of the surrounding area they retracted and the edge of the pit was plain again.

  He stared at the shadows who were backing away, forming a line behind him. They stood at attention, as if preparing for an inspection from a commander. Behind them, he saw the wanderers in chains were beginning to run, run as far away as they could from the area around the pit. One made the mistake of running too close to the spider-like creature, and it ran for him, pinning him to the ground.

  He turned his head, and saw one of the wanderers in particular, a young girl. She was wrapped in chains and pulling herself along with her arms. Her legs were missing from mid-thigh down. He didn’t need to wonder who it was.

  From the pit a new wave of dust followed the rising of two massive, black wings. The leathery appendages reached high into the air and he heard the crack of joints and bones as they waved again, causing dust to scatter away from the surface it had emerged from. The wings were followed by a massive hand, just as pitch black as the surface of the wings and grab onto the edge of the pit. The fingers pierced the ground and it ruptured under the grip. The hand was followed by another, and there was a terrible quaking from inside the pit, as the ground began to deteriorate and let the thing that was connected to those arms and wings pull itself from the rocky confines.

  First a set of shoulders, at least forty yards in span, thick and weighted with muscle that ground beneath the thick, cracked skin of the creature. They heaved as it pulled the creature out, the wings spanning out and stretching further. In the center of the shoulders was a head easily the size of a small car, humanoid, but with a raised skull in the back, growing into thin, twisted antlers. It’s eyes were pitch black, broken with terrible lines of brilliant white, lines that did not stay stationary, but ebbed and flowed as the creature shifted it’s eyes across the landscape.

  It’s chest was barreled, a display of massive strength. As it finished pulling itself out, he saw that it’s legs and lower body were just as muscular and dangerous. His skin was deeply cracked, as small ravines ran through the flesh, and rivers of black slime oozed through it, circulating and shifting, but not dripping from him. It was as if his veins were on the outside of his body.

  He opened his mouth, massive jaws that were somewhat dog-like, revealing red teeth that glimmered with spit, and he let out a horrendous roar into the air around him. Clark covered his e
ars to block out the sound, unable to handle the intensity of it. The creature was well over massively tall, unfathomably so.When it finished it’s roar, it stretched it’s neck, the cracking sounded like the snapping of trees in a tornado.

  It looked down at Clark and the shadows. It stared at him, with what seemed to be a mixture of amusement and indifference. It’s hand lifted and he racked his fingers in a gesture of dismissal.

  The shadows began to walk away, never turning around as they did so, just walking backwards as if their legs were mounted the other way around. As they left, Clark caught a glimpse at the area behind him. The people who had been wandering in chains were nowhere to be seen.

  “WHO ARE YOU?”

  The voice was like thunder behind him. It pounded in his head as if the sound was carried by a hammer.

  Clark looked up at the creature. It had bent down slightly, looking down at him with those cold black eternities where eyes were supposed to be. The cracks on the face were smaller than the ones on the torso, where the black blood ran through and pumped in the valleys. He didn’t answer he only stared at the creature, somehow unbelieving, yet fully comprehending.

  Who are you? He thought.

  The creature tilted it’s head. “WHO AM I?” It laughed, a metallic grating sound. “To you, I am a god.”

  Clark blinked. “You can hear what I am thinking?”

  It snorted. “I hear all.”

  “How?”

  It sneered at him. “What is this to you?”

  Clark leaned forward and set his palms on the ground. It was somehow cold and miserable feeling. He pulled himself up, and stood to his feet, slapping his hands together to remove the dirt that was trapped on them. He looked up at the creature and cleared his throat. “Are you the one for whom the door opens?”