by Ryan Peter
Perhaps days had passed. Garth wasn't sure. He could not even fathom whether he was suffering a delusion. He remembered being dragged off by the desert spiders into a narrow cavity that he barely could squeeze through. Muffled noises of his companions had echoed through the cavern as they too went went down, down, down. A faint sound of water had begun to become noticeable, but it had seemed like a distant dream, as if someone else was hearing it. Deeper and deeper they descended. A foul stench surrounded him, but that too only seemed to be somewhere distant. The darkness grew more vile and malevolent. Everything became only a clouded echo.
Eventually he realised that he was bound to the roof of a tight hollow, deep within the caves. The darkness seemed to close all the more around him, but he was sure he was suspended on a ceiling, wrapped up tightly in web. There were times when he was aware of screaming men around him, yet even the frightening screams seemed numb to him. Day after day, hour after hour — he had no idea on how long — it continued. Every few hours there was a small gnawing on his legs. It never felt painful. Indeed everything felt numb. He knew they were keeping him paralysed and dazed while feasting on his companions. In his numb state all that came to his mind was the wonder of when he would be next.
The tap tap of the spiders echoed in his head; every day, every hour, as they feasted and scores of them moved about the caves.
But there was a day, or a few hours – Garth did not know how long — when they stopped abruptly. Or, it seemed abrupt, but it might have gradually gone quiet over a few hours. Garth simply didn't know. For only a moment – or a while – he was considering if they had gone and slowly became aware that he could move again. The poison must be wearing off, he thought. But he still found the webs were too tight.
As he continued to struggle with the web a growing awareness began to overcome him. Something else was in the hollow. He shuddered when he heard shuffling close by. There was certainly something else there.
The darkness of the cave grew only more dark, as if that were possible, as Garth slowly became more and more aware of the presence. He found himself starting to panic, and then hyperventilating, and then became aware of others in the room doing the same.
Suddenly a frantic shrieking echoed through the cave from one of Garth's fellows, ending abruptly. Silence. Another scream; even more terrifying than the first. Then silence.
Hours passed, perhaps days. But every few days the Something Else would come and go, come and go. Whenever it would come, it would sometimes seem to do nothing but just settle close by, while at other times it seemed to be fidgeting with something. Garth wondered if it was also feasting on them.
Then came the time when it spoke.
“When will your time come?” it whispered malignantly, rupturing the silence. The whisper echoed in Garth's head. Garth didn't know where the voice was coming from as it reverberated against all the walls of the hollow. But he knew it was speaking to him.
“What? What?” he asked.
“Are you afraid to die?” it whispered.
Garth kept quiet, taking deep breaths. He opened his mouth and heard a distant scream. He was sure it was from his own mouth.
“I am already dead!” he shouted, panicking with the web. “Is this death? Is this hell?”
He screamed and struggled. Still, the web-cocoon had him tightly in place.
“They can come back, you know,” said the Thing.
“Who?”
“Those servants of mine.”
“What? What are you??”
The Thing seemed as if it was laughing. It moved. Garth suddenly felt a warmness over his body. Something was breathing onto him, onto his face: a burning and feverish breath. A foul odour overcame him. It breathed in and breathed out. His head spun viciously as a madness ate away at the little sanity he had left.
“Ancient,” it said. “Yes, the ancients are returning. Death. Death I breathe on you.”
He was ready to throw up. Maybe he did. He knew he was going to die. But then suddenly his whole body relaxed. He stopped trying to move while Horror entered his mind. Continuous Horror. The Thing then moved away.
Days or hours passed, Garth moving slowly towards the edge of death. He was sleeping in another daze when he became aware of the warmth again, the Thing breathing over his face. It was breathing heavily and rapidly.
“You are chosen,” it said malevolently. “We get to choose too; not just the others.”
Garth started hyperventilating again. He couldn't get out. Claustrophobia. Madness and insanity.
“I am at your mercy!” he cried. It laughed, and continued to breath on him rapidly. His head was spinning again, insanity entering his mind, all sorts of images flashing before him. Eyes. Red eyes in front of him. Breathing, breathing. Hot. He screamed hysterically; he panicked; he struggled.
“This could end,” said the Thing. It breathed faster over his face. Breathing, breathing. Hot. Red hot breath. Putrid. Breathing. Garth wanted it to end, but it wouldn't. It breathed faster, faster. Breath. Faster, faster. Spinning. Breath. Burning. Raging; raging; raging.
“Save me!” he cried. “Save me please!”
“Who's going to save you?” it screamed madly. “You are at my mercy now! Who is going to save you?”
Breathing, breathing.
“Mercy please! Mercy!” Garth shrieked.
Madness, screaming, breathing.
“I am your saviour, me! You bow down, you swear allegiance to me!”
“Who are you! I serve... grace! Please!?”
Furiously it flung him about. He could feel his body crashing against the walls of the cave, sharp edged rocks piercing into his flesh. He was numb to the pain. There was only fright inside his head. Numbing him. Violence. Images he couldn't erase. Horror.
“I am now your Grace, I am now your Saviour! Say it! Say it!”
“Please! Please!” Garth pleaded. “Save me, please!?”
It stopped. Something inside Garth spoke to him. He wasn't sure if it was in his head, or if he heard it with his ears.
Don't.
“But who will save him?” said the Thing. “You? He's here because of you. I am the only one who can save him.”
Don't said the voice again. Garth had no idea where it was coming from — inside, or outside; or in his head.
Or in his heart?
He could sense the Thing shifting about in the cave, and slowly the tap tap tap of the spiders came back.
“They are coming. And you are next,” the Thing whispered.
Tap tap tap.
“But they serve you,” Garth whispered in his daze, lying on the floor with his face in rock.
“Yes. They do.”
Tap tap tap. It was getting louder. They were coming. Their last feast was ready for serving.
“I... I will serve you.”
The Thing laughed again.
“Now? Now you will serve me? You are worthless to me now.”
“I will serve you!”
Instantly he felt something suck onto his chest followed by a sharp squeezing pain. He couldn't breathe. He felt himself being lifted into the air. A hot fire penetrated and burned in his chest, but his blood and veins grew cold. Very cold — as if ice was driving through his blood. He started to shiver.
“It is the Riches,” whispered the Thing. “Yes. I am the Riches. Your greatest love, your greatest pleasure.”
Garth's head suddenly became clear. The Madness he had felt disappeared. He felt himself drop to the ground, shivering. His eyes were wide open. He could sense the Thing move off quickly; he could almost see it clearly, but it remained in shadow.
“Do not ask me my name,” it said to him. “For it is too great for you. Only, serve me in the covenant we have entered. You will know what to do when I call.”
“Your name is Benumbed,” said Garth, for a reason he couldn't explain. He felt as if he knew this Thing, he knew who it was.
“Yes, that is one of many. But it is pure. I make it blameless. And
pure. You will see.”
The tap tap tap was getting louder but Garth didn't care. He wasn't afraid of them anymore. He rose to his feet and stared around. Shapes and forms in the darkness became easier to see — carcasses strewn over the hollow, spiders scattering and bustling nearby. He heard a faint sound of flowing and dripping water and moved off towards a fissure.
He heard another voice behind him — a different voice this time. It reminded him of home, of days lying on the sweet grass, enjoying the dazzling beauty of flowers, birds and trees surrounding him; the sun soaking him in its warmth. Or of days lying in the same field, the rain sparkling over him, warming his heart with its purity; freedom and liberty burning in his chest. It reminded him of romance, of the time he first saw a woman so beautiful, graceful and radiant in her every move. It reminded him of a sunset, more glorious than anything he had ever seen in his life.
He stood there for a moment.
I love you.
Was the voice in his head? Or his heart, again? He knew that it couldn't be in his heart anymore. He ignored it and squeezed his body through the hole. The voice continued to compel him; he felt as if Joy was just behind him. He could feel its tugging. Waiting for him to come back and embrace it. But he was cold. Cold inside.
The crevice tunnelled straight down, and as he wangled himself through it he felt himself fall into water. It felt neither cold nor warm to him. Neither wet. He just knew it was water.
It seemed to him to be an underground river. It flowed furiously and spat him out another crevice and into a shallow pool. He got up and looked around him, aware of a faint light coming from higher above. He saw only rock around him and realised he was in a cylindrical cave. Above him was the moonlight, streaming through a hollow crack. The small pool continued to flow into the walls, disappearing again.
He found himself climbing up the rocks and exiting through the hole above.
It was night time. He was glad for it. He preferred the dark now.
CHAPTER TWELVE
