I dreamt of creatures crawling at my bed, nesting at my feet as if they belonged to me, as if they were my pets. They wanted me to pet them.
I must’ve had several variations on the same dream, each one waking me from my sleep so that in the morning it produced a groggy bad breathed man who stumbled to brush his teeth and barely recognized the puffy eyed face in the mirror, then stumbled out onto the interstate where hopefully no one was going to try any quick lane changes.
When I finally woke I was sitting in my office on my second cup of coffee and almost to the inch high of coffee soaked sugar at the bottom. I analyzed my dreams and the idea of the creatures, never certain that Jeff had ever seen the same thing.
Then my boss Randy came through the office, he had a client with him and for more than just a flash I saw them, tugging at his ears, dangling off his pants pockets, and then the client had his fair share too, who seemed to be reaching for the ones on my boss, Randy.
Then they looked at me and hissed.
I felt the hiss, it was more physical than it was sound, it was as if the skin on my face suddenly dried up. Wincing only made it hurt more like a bad sunburn.
They had seen me.
It was too early for Bu Mu to be open but I banged on the glass door anyways having seen a car parked around the side.
I didn’t give up. There were no rational thoughts in my head telling me to comeback later. I just kept rattling the door thinking at some point perhaps I’d set off an alarm and the owner, Wanda would have to come running down here and I’d get my answers then.
“Enough already!” A voice came from behind me so suddenly I was startled into punching the glass door. Luckily neither my hand nor the glass broke, though both probably felt like they had been.
“Whazizut?”
“They looked at me.” My voice surprised me too, it cracked and was filled with panic.
“I knew you’d be the one.” She showed off her gap teeth and her eyes were shining with pride. “Come on in, ma boy.”
“What’s happening to me? Why am I seeing them?”
“Yous born dat way.” Wanda said unlocking the door. She ushered me in and locked it behind her then clicked on a series of fluorescent lights. “Hassa seat.”
I stood for a second to make a point but the fear in me that something was deeply wrong pushed me down into a booth where I slumped and waited eager for a diagnosis.
“Gotsa warms up the ovens for bread,” she called from the kitchen as I heard small commotions. I tried to remember if I’d ever seen the creatures crawling on her. But there wasn’t a moment and although I’d seen them on most people I know I hadn’t seen them on her, at least not today.
She returned and looked quietly pleased with not just her self but me as well. She looked eager to hear me talk, so I told her everything I had seen and how they had seen me.
“Dey noticed you cause you gots the gift. I find it in you.”
I couldn’t muster a ‘thank you.’
“You see, dey attach dem selves to people who are evil. The more evil dey are the more dem tings attach to em.” I gave up trying to catch her lie in her facial expression and closed my eyes. Her words fell on me like they came from another room, a television on a show I didn’t know. A voice I wanted to hear, wanted to know what it was she was talking about. But like that tv in the other room, I seemed to have missed something. I had no frame of reference for what she was telling me.
“Only you can remove dem.”
My voice popped like reflex, “Who?”
“The knots, the little creatures you see crawlin’ on everyone. The knots who twist der evil ways on man and woman.” Her eyes scolded me as if I hadn’t been paying her any attention. Only I had, it just couldn’t register. Perhaps I have no suspension of disbelief.
“Look, you can see dem. You have the gift, the duty. You can destroy their hosts. And no more will der evil befall us.” She held my hands that I’d left on the edge of the table. I suddenly wanted them back but her palms were the perfect blend of callous and soft, the hands of a trustworthy, hardworking individual.
And I believed her, that moment then and there I decided it was the only explanation. Perhaps I shouldn’t have.
The flash was brief and I watched the creatures that Wanda had called Knots glare back at me with disgust and more importantly fear. They had clung to a teen that carried a skateboard; though I’d never seen him attempt to ride it in the four blocks I’d followed him.
His pace quickened almost as if the knots were letting him know he needed to flee, that I was on my way. But if he wouldn’t use his skateboard, how could he expect to be faster than my car?
He proved not to be.
Nor did he provide much of a dent, just a small indentation on the hood, which I was able to pop out as soon as I returned home.
One down I thought.
Then my phone rang and the thought tried to go away. But I wouldn’t let it as the phone kept ringing I realized I needed to take the call.
“Hey, where you been? “ Jeff asked.
“Just working some things out.” I remembered where Jeff had seen the knots. He had seen them in his mirror. He had never seen them on other people, just on himself. Some how that made sense. All these years I’d doubted Jeff’s image. I knew darkness lurked within him. And perhaps it lurked within me as I asked him over.
“Sure, I’ll swing by after work. You are doing okay aren’t you?”
I didn’t believe his concern was genuine.
He didn’t believe I was serious. It allowed me the upper hand and I was able to pin him on the ground and wrap my arms around his neck. I squeezed until his legs stopped kicking.
Jeff’s body flopped on the floor, dead weight. That’s right, he was dead and I would have to take care of that. He certainly couldn’t stay on my floor.
The panic set in.
Rational thought popped back into my brain and wanted me to think about what I had just done.
I had just murdered a man.
The second man in just an afternoon.
Was I insane?
I saw the knots around Jeff this time when he had come into my home. He had seen his own knots in the mirror.
I left his body on the floor and went into the bathroom. There was the mirror waiting for me. It could only bring bad news. I was either crazy, or most the people I pass on the street were evil.
I stared at the mirror for hours, knowing I couldn’t be sinless.
But I never saw one of the creatures. I swear I never saw one. If I were evil I would see one.
Unless I am just seeing things.
THE END.
INTO THE VORTEX by Jeffery Scott Sims
To the town of Sedona they came, those three young people—Theresa Delaney, Aaron Rucobi, Josh Fentz—came as bidden in Josh’s old sedan with its peeling decals and broken muffler, and as bidden squealed to a halt that morning in the parking lot of the run-down (but not inexpensive) motel just outside the mouth of Oak Creek Canyon. The driver drew alongside a familiar vehicle, a big boxy van with high, deep-tread tires. They got out, those three, a motley crew, hefting backpacks and duffel bags, dissimilar despite their fresh faces and their loud young voices, an odd assortment of traveling companions. Aaron, tall, dark, serious of demeanor, in his casually smart attire and light jacket whipping in the stiff cool breeze, looked the budding scholar, which he sought to be; Josh, with his beefy face and red complexion, his conventionally squalid duds and his backwards baseball cap, impressed rather differently; and then there was Theresa, who might have stepped as a model from a fancy designer’s magazine, a lovely fair girl who seemed dressed for an old-fashioned safari in that matching tan blouse and skirt ensemble with those tall boots and that spreading floppy hat.
A minute only they tarried to chat, perhaps admiring the stark, shadowed vistas of red sandstone bluffs and weather-worn spires looming overhead in all directions, before the fourth appeared. He descended the creaking iron stairs
from the upper floor, a lean, imposing figure wearing a fine suit and rakish hat, sporting a short, well-manicured beard beneath his striking hawk-like features. The trio knew him, for he it was who bade them come to this place, he—Professor Anton Vorchek—who would act as their leader and colleague during the days ahead.
Professor Vorchek hailed them as he reached the littered concrete. “My friends,” said he, his voice pleasantly modulated and slightly accented, “so good to see you, and on time at that, which makes for a favorable start. I desire to get underway as soon as possible. What you need not carry may be deposited in my room, which I have rented for the duration. Then we must breakfast at the restaurant down the street, which I have already scouted for us. A hearty meal will spur us to great exertions this day.”
They ate a fulsome feast, most of them at least, for Vorchek, despite his sound advice, picked at his food. Conversation was restrained, an indulgence of small talk and aimless chatter. Little more need be said by them at this point, for only two weeks before, at a posh Phoenix seafood restaurant, the professor had hosted the same group, and there he had regaled them with an outline of his grand scheme.
“I called you here,” he said on that evening, over a scarcely nibbled dish of fried oysters, “to tell you something of my recent adventures, and to invite you all to partake in the next stage of my work. Miss Delaney necessarily knows something of my doings, for while she took no part in my recent delvings, she and I go back a ways together, and I have ever considered her my faithful assistant. Mr. Rucobi, you were my best student last year, prior to my sabbatical, and I kept you in mind throughout. Mr. Fentz; well, you came to my attention—chose a course of mine as an elective, did not you?—had to drop out—financial difficulties, I presumed; nevertheless, I concluded that you possessed qualities of value to me.
“To the point: my researches into the arcane, unfathomed mysteries of our world and universe led me to focus attention upon the unusual characteristics of the Sedona region. You have all heard tall tales and bizarre claims made for the place by the woefully unscientific New Age crowd. Scarcely a tourist’s guidebook fails to mention the furtive powers and astral influences said to emanate from the area, glorious cosmic forces into which especially open minds are keen to tap, so that they may achieve ‘oneness,’ or enlightenment, or inner peace, or some such rot. Most of that, I tell you, is rubbish, yet there remains, once one clears the wishful detritus, a substratum of potential actuality which intrigues the genuine scientific spirit. Something goes on out there. I took sabbatical that I might investigate.
“Armed with a sheaf of notes derived from many sources, a collection of maps, and a battery of scientific instruments, I set forth to discover the pristine truths underlying the accumulated heap of claims. During my labors I tramped across an area of 2500 square miles, probing, testing, observing, collating data. In the end, after many a trek to specific locales, some popularly known, others—several others—largely unknown, I believe I uncovered evidence of a real effect, some sort of emission or presence neither hitherto defined nor investigated by science. Through intense analysis I think I have located the focus of the disturbance, that which is styled in populist literature as the ‘vortex.’ My time ran out—conventional duties called—but I mean to go back during the forthcoming break, and this time plumb the very heart of the remarkable force which does, I assure you, cast its spell over that land.”
This soliloquy proved meat indeed for his fellow diners. Questions and comments ensued. Vorchek produced a map of the wild area into which they would go, a document he passed among them. Whatever features it revealed, centers of human habitation were not among them. The mystery and romance of the proposed expedition intrigued Theresa, who lived for unorthodox excitement. “Might we really find wonders out there,” she asked, “wonders of a sort one hopes for, but no one believes?” The professor said they just might, with luck. Aaron, the student of physics, pondered aloud the possibilities of vital discoveries. “May I expect,” he asked, “to take part in ground-breaking research that will lead to fresh avenues of genuine knowledge?” The professor praised his spirit, averred that his expectations could be satisfied. Josh shrugged, said, “Whatever. It looks to be good hunting country. I might carry along my rifle.” This idea the professor squashed, saying, “All that land, untraveled though it may be, is Federally protected wilderness, guns forbidden. However, Mr. Fentz, we shall be roughing it, so your outdoors leanings, if any, will be gratified.”
Vorchek spoke at length of the trip’s fundamental requirements and hazards—a journey of many days into the wilderness—and when he had done demanded decisions from the three. “Of course I’m coming,” said Theresa. “Don’t I always, when you ask?” Said Aaron, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. If you’re right, this could mean something big.” Said Josh, “Yeah, why not? I don’t have anything better to do.” So it was settled.
Now the morning of departure had come. Breakfast concluded, they returned to the motel, sorted gear, packed or re-packed the necessary, checked and re-checked supplies, Vorchek overseeing these labors. When no more could be done he announced, “The march begins,” and he escorted his three charges from the room, locked the door behind, led them down to the street. “From here on we walk,” he said. They trooped along the highway north into Oak Creek Canyon, covering an easy mile or so with the gigantic sandstone and limestone bluffs rising above them in the early light. They started dressed warmly against the morning chill and the sporadic breeze. Each carried a backpack or rucksack containing one complete change of clothing, space-conserving food, a thermos of fresh water, chlorine tablets for purifying more. Vorchek and Josh also packed the folded materials for two-man pup tents. These items any hikers would appreciate. There were others, however: a fairly large briefcase, possessed by the professor, containing scientific instruments; a smaller satchel in Theresa’s hand, containing Vorchek’s relevant papers and writing materials; the camera equipment, Vorchek’s old Minolta SRT-102 in a bag with an assortment of lenses and film carried by Aaron, while Josh slung the massive wooden tripod of German make over his beefy shoulder.
In time the good road took them to the picturesque bridge where deep, narrow Wilson Canyon ran down to meet the grander gorge through which they had passed. They paused at the guardrail, peering down into the majestic depths. Vorchek turned to his companions, said, “A beautiful view, is not it? Admire, too, this ribbon of asphalt, and the bridge, for they are your last taste of modern civilization for a mighty spell.” All present knew the route thus far. They turned left, toward the west, stepping onto a thin dirt and gravel path, set off into the recesses of Wilson Canyon, the first stage of their journey into the unknown.
An interesting foursome they were to see, attired in their unique styles, the professor still the splendid fellow though he had shed the snappy city finery and brightly polished shoes for a more rugged suit and boots. The hike into the side canyon was reasonably effortless, the trail well marked, the scenery—especially the looming heights of monumental Wilson Mountain—breath-taking. The group chatted, joked, took in the sights. They had a good time.
Much could be said of that first day’s uneventful, if delightful, advance through the coniferous forests of the canyon bottom-land, with its jumbled rocks and pools of standing water left over from recent rains, the flourishing green foliage, the towering massifs and unique formations to all sides, the scampering of wildlife, the singing of birds, the infrequent hails of a few hikers. More could be said of the increasingly difficult climb out of the canyon onto the wide open grassy saddle beneath the high flat peak of Wilson Mountain, a vantage that, in the late afternoon, afforded a stunning overlook of the vast Oak Creek Canyon twisting to the north. These subjects came up, naturally, yet this was no mere hike, nor were these mere vacationers. They came with purpose, and that purpose whispered to the minds of the three youths. Just what were they about, anyway?
The party made first camp on the saddle. The two tents w
ere raised, a fire carefully ignited within a blackened stone ring left by previous campers. “This is about as far,” Vorchek noted, “as even dedicated tourists are wont to go, save for the handful who follow the formal trail to the peak. Here we cross their path. Tomorrow we deviate irrevocably.” They ate their bland but filling meal of dried, compactly packaged stuff by the light of the fire, under the twinklings of a thousand stars which sprang into brilliance when the landscape turned darkly invisible. The group sat on strategically placed stone seats around the flaring ring, Theresa at the professor’s side, the two young men across from them.
Said the girl, “I’m still hazy as to our goal. You’ve been here, Professor, took your readings, wrote your notes. What else is there to do, under these circumstances?”
“Who cares?” said Josh. “It’s a great excuse for a holiday.”
“I want to know,” said Aaron. “Professor Vorchek, I second Theresa’s question. There needn’t be any mystery in all this. I accepted your invitation as an honor, but I want more. What do you hope to accomplish, and how can we contribute?”
Vorchek grinned, paused an infernally long time to light his pipe. At his example Theresa lit a cigarette, Josh, with a smug chuckle, a long, fat, smelly cigar. Only Aaron refrained. The professor said, “I have told you. I seek the source. There is a power out here, an unknown force to be investigated. It possesses certain properties, may bring to bear certain effects upon the countryside and its inhabitants. There are tales of unusual occurrences in these parts, strange events and odd happenings which may correlate with this force. I wish to track it to its lair, stand on the spot from which it emanates, study it properly. We must cross much wild country, employ the instruments I have provided for this outing. I could not carry all that by myself. My primary excursion was by way of reconnaissance. This is the real thing.”
“I knew it,” cried Josh. “We’re just beasts of burden. The prof wouldn’t go for renting mules, so he dragged us out here.” He slapped his knee and laughed.
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