Tales from the Canyons of the Damned: Omnibus

by Daniel Arthur Smith

  And like that, Elina had sealed her own fate. Her mind had been made up for a while, but the method had come to her only now. She was sure it was the ink that burned—the elders handed it out with such care and attention, while the parchment they took from a pile. Elina suppressed her nerves and began to write.

  One by one the women walked to the fire and tossed in their scroll. Each time the scroll burned black. There were five of them in the ritual—the village was small in number—and Elina was third in line. She walked forward slowly, pangs of excitement and fear deep inside her, and raised the scroll above the flames. The heat was intense and made her eyes water. She took a deep breath and dropped it, watching for the smoke.

  Black.

  Elina stood still. How could she have been wrong? She was certain about the ink. One of the elders came and guided her away—she didn’t know how long she’d been fixed there, dazed. The next girl moved up, only her and Ciara remained, and began to do the same. Elina wondered if she had picked the wrong girl, but it seemed impossible. The second-last girl was clumsy and dull. The smoke burned black.

  When Ciara approached and her scrolled burned white, Elina could not comprehend it. It was her ink that had written Ciara’s prayer. Which meant the elders intended to choose her. It didn’t seem possible. Or perhaps she had been wrong to doubt their traditions. Might it not be the ink, but the wisdom of the fire? Could the stories really be true? A heavy knot twisted in her stomach.

  “Don’t worry, I am fine. This is a great privilege and I am honored,” said Ciara. She must have seen the confusion and anger traced across Elina’s face.

  Elina nodded, not yet resigned.

  ~*~

  As with every year, the bloom appeared that evening. The jellyfish pulsed with a mesmerizing blue light, bringing the surface of the ocean to life. Elina could not take her eyes from Ciara. She stood stoically amidst the villagers, the white dress bringing out her delicate beauty further. Her hair fluttered gently in the breeze. Elina’s breath felt damp and heavy.

  As Ciara began her slow walk to the shoreline, Elina felt her eyes drawn to Thell. She stood on the opposite side of the gathering, slight and fragile amongst the villagers. The blue light of the ocean flickered across her face. Elina could feel her dark eyes watching her, looking deep into her soul.

  “You must not let this happen,” came a gentle whisper, a voice that seemed part of the breeze. A cold chill shivered down Elina’s spine.

  “Gods of our ancestors, accept my soul. I give myself unto you so that we can be saved.”

  Ciara had reached the shoreline. She looked out at the ocean with glassy eyes, preparing herself for the first step into its depths. Elina felt a burning in her heart, a deep longing to be in her place. She broke from the line and ran to the shore, the crystalline sand crunching underfoot. Chaotic ripples marked her entry into the water. The bloom parted, as if prepared for her abrupt entry, and Elina found herself in a pocket of darkness. If the villagers cried out, then she did not hear them. The wind had become damp and heavy.

  Elina plunged into the ocean’s depths, reciting none of the usual words. They held no weight. She felt a connection with the bloom deep within her, beyond the level of spoken word. The water was warm and supporting. She was weightless.

  Elina felt the swarm close in, dangling tentacles drifting around her, but felt no need to rise for air. The strands began to wrap around her. Waves of pain struck her as they dug beneath her fingernails, working their way into her skin. They wound into her eye sockets and ears, forcing their way into flesh and finding nerves to bind with. The pain stopped and the world Elina knew faded away. Her body began to dissolve.

  In that moment, Elina knew. She saw the lives of all who had bonded in an instantaneous flood of understanding. She saw the island teeming with life, at its peak a sprawling village swelling with people. The ocean was violent and wild, suffocating under a glistening film of fluid. Large boats trawled the ocean, propelled by blades that churned the surface, using nets to drag up what little life remained. The ocean was sick and dying, abused and in pain. It could take no more.

  One night, an old and weary woman wandered into the depths of the ocean, willing it to take her life. She’d seen the destruction her people had wrought and it filled her with a great sorrow. Elina knew the woman. It was Thell, as old then as on any other day. As she called out, tears on her leathery cheeks, the ocean felt her pain. It knew similar sorrows itself.

  As so, the ocean offered a pact—eternal life and a second chance for her people, but at a tremendous cost. She accepted, gravely. The dying ocean gave her the last of its power and sent her to purge the island of its tormentors. That night, there was no tsunami; no crashing waters to cleanse the island. The ocean had no strength left. Instead, there was fire. Thell used the power she’d been given to set the town alight.

  The village burned in blue flame. It was an intense energy that spread from hut to hut, engulfing the island, consuming it. Flesh bubbled off the bodies of thousands. Eyeballs popped in skulls. Screams were lost to the crackle of flames. A plume of smoke rose, gathering in the sky like the darkest of storms.

  Only the children were spared, sheltered away in a cold damp cave. Thell had been their teacher, and from them, she would start again. They were never to know the way things had been. The village could never advance to what it had been. That was her pact with the ocean.

  Thell filled their heads with stories and myths. Later, as they grew older and inquisitive, the brightest amongst them would be sacrificed to the ocean, keeping the village forever incurious. Submissive children became adults, married, and had children of their own. And the cycle repeated, over and over. In return, the ocean offered its forgiveness. It recovered over many generations, the bloom accepting the souls of hundreds into its consciousness. It grew strong and it was happy.

  Every night, Thell would look into the sacred fire—the last remnant of the flames that had cleansed the island. Her bones ached but her heart was full. The ocean’s power had blessed her with eternal life, yet trapped in a body moments from death. It reminded her of the island itself. The precarious balance between life and death, and the heavy burden of her duty. She thought of herself as a protector, a guardian. The one that cultivated the stock of humanity. Trimmed its weeds. Kept it in order. It was the only way they would survive.

  This knowledge flowed into Elina in waves of pure thought. Pictures and images, sounds and smells. She knew the truth and the longing in her heart subsided. Her concept-of-self melted away. She dissolved and the bloom absorbed her.

  The ocean went dark.

  The people rejoiced on the shore.

  Forever safe. Forever simple.

  ~*~

  THE HEREAFTER

  Hank Garner

  ~*~

  “And as you can see, the grist mill here is old, but I don’t know about haunted. I think there’s a perfectly logical explanation. During the high water season, the section of the wooden wheel that is submerged swells with moisture. This pattern of swelling, then drying out in the summer has warped the wheel over the years.

  “In the fall, when the days are hot and the nights are cool, the wooden wheel will contract as the temperature drops and that causes the off-balance wheel to spin.

  “There you have it, ladies and gentlemen: one more state, one more haunting debunked. I’m Daryl Daltry, reporting from Childersburg, Alabama. Seven more stops to go on our tour of the best-haunted places in these fifty United States. I’ll see you in a couple of days where I’ll be reporting from Weston, Mississippi. I hear there’s some real spookiness going on over there.”

  “And you’re clear!”

  Daryl dropped the microphone and rubbed his sore cheeks. “I can’t keep doing this crap. I bet Walter Cronkite didn’t have to slog it out on the road doing these stupid human interest stories.”

  The cameraman nodded as he rolled up his bundle of cables. Daryl waited for some sort of response. Eddie the camerama
n just kept nodding and working.

  “Eddie, did you see that demon sitting on top of the grist mill? I think this one was actually real.”

  Eddie kept nodding and rolling. Daryl walked over to him and pulled one of the ear buds that were jammed in his ears.

  “Seriously Eddie? Did you hear anything I said?”

  “Ummmm, something about the water wheel?”

  “Yeah, Eddie. The water wheel. I debunked it, just like I’ve debunked the last three dozen haunted places we’ve been to.”

  “Actually, forty…”

  “I wasn’t being exact! Jesus, Eddie.”

  The cameraman shrugged and went back to packing up his video gear. They were both ready to be home. These last couple of months had been brutal. They’d spent days either driving down boring interstate highways that all looked the same or in some one-horse town where the locals all believed that some sort of supernatural phenomenon somehow made them special.

  Eddie and Daryl quickly realized that no matter where they were, be it in Nebraska or Georgia, West Virginia or New Mexico, people all believed they had something special to call their own. What they discovered at every stop was that the unexplainable was actually just the deliberately overlooked.

  People want to believe in something, and when they do they’ll look for any reason to resist common sense explanations. That was okay with Daryl, though; this segment for Sunrise America had garnered quite the following. Now to get to Mississippi and mark one more Podunk town off his list. Hopefully, his superiors would see that the audience loved him and finally promote him to an anchor position.

  While Eddie finished packing up his camera gear, Daryl pulled out the folder holding the brochures for his stops.

  “Haunted swamp in Weston Mississippi. Shouldn’t take long to debunk these stupid hicks. And I’d a gotten away with it if it weren’t for those meddling kids!”

  He looked at Eddie for a laugh, but Eddie was just nodding his head to the rhythm of the music in his ears.

  “Screw you Eddie.”

  Eddie looked up, still bouncing. He gave Daryl an enthusiastic thumbs up.

  ~*~

  The drive to Weston took five and a half hours. Once they left the haunted grist mill in Alabama, it didn’t take long for the van to become claustrophobic. Eddie ate tacos from a paper sack that contained a seemingly never ending supply. One after another, he peeled the paper back and crunched and chomped as he drove the van in otherwise silence.

  Daryl had had enough about thirty minutes into the drive. He punched the knob on the radio and tried to dial in some local radio. After spinning through the top forty drivel and about ten different country music stations, he punched the knob again in disgust. He settled for his next favorite past time: watching clips of himself on YouTube.

  ~*~

  Eddie exited the interstate and took the old two-lane highway that led into Weston. He didn’t pay attention to the changing speed limit and was welcomed to Reid County by flashing blue lights.

  “Dammit!” Eddie said.

  Daryl opened his eyes from a fitful nap to see Eddie digging for the registration and insurance information to hand the officer. A sheriff’s deputy walked up to the van, stopping to admire the New York license plate. He smirked as he approached the driver’s side windows.

  Eddie placed his hands on the wheel and tried to not look suspicious. He’d watched My Cousin Vinnie, after all.

  The officer tapped on the window with a knuckle. Eddie carefully removed his hands from the wheel and slowly reached for the button to let the window down.

  “Hello, officer. Nice day, huh?” Eddie said in a sing-song tone. Daryl rolled his eyes.

  “Howdy y’all. You know how fast you were going?”

  Eddie hoped that the truth would be a good disarming tactic. “Honestly officer, probably faster than I should have been. We just drove in from Alabama and spent about five hours on the interstate. I guess my foot was just used to going seventy and I didn’t adjust when we turned on the two-lane.”

  “Let me see your license, please.”

  Eddie handed the card to him.

  “New York. What brings you fellows down here?” The deputy looked at the network emblem on the side of the van, then back at Eddie.

  “We’re doing a segment for Sunrise America. We’re reporting on haunted places or unexplained phenomena in all fifty states. Our next stop is in Weston. A haunted swamp, I think.”

  “Yeah, my wife told me about a couple of those episodes that she saw.” The deputy looked past Eddie to Daryl. “That must be the one she was telling me about.”

  “Good afternoon officer.” Daryl chimed in.

  “Yeah, she was right. You do look like a jackass.” He handed Eddie’s license back to him. “Lest you think we’re called the Hospitality State for nothing, y’all can go, just obey the speed limit.”

  Eddie took his license and put it back in his wallet. “Thank you, officer. Will do.”

  “And y’all be careful. You won’t be the first ones to try to get to the bottom of what goes on out there and some things even the law can’t protect you from.”

  Eddie smiled a nervous smile and thanked the deputy. When he could see the deputy in his rear view mirror, he put the van in gear and eased back onto the highway.

  Eddie looked at Daryl, “That was weird.”

  “Well yeah, these places are tourist traps. You know the locals are all in on it. Don’t worry, this one is going to be one of the easiest. I mean, did you see that guy?”

  Eddie let out a nervous laugh. He drove toward Weston but kept a wary eye on his rear view mirror. He had a bad feeling about this place.

  ~*~

  The sign said “Weston – 5 Miles” and they were hungry. A quaint little place on the side of the highway beckoned to them, and they decided to stop for a bite. “Possum’s.” It had the look of an old roadhouse that had been renovated and now was one of those vintage throwback supper establishments.

  They parked and walked up the porch to the front door. Bells jingled as they swung it open. An old bar on one edge of the restaurant had a large glass keg full of what looked like lemonade. The place might have once been a bar, but it wasn’t anymore. The two men were met by a jovial little lady who ushered them to a table.

  “Can I get you boys some tea or water?” she said while plopping down menus in front of them.

  “Just water for me,” Daryl said.

  “Me too.”

  “Lord, y’all ain’t from around here, are you?”

  Eddie looked bewildered, “No, we’re from New York,”

  She rolled her eyes, “Well, I’ll be. What brings y’all way down here?”

  “We’re doing a news story on a haunted swamp outside of Weston.”

  The lady got excited and said, “So y’all are going out to the Keene place?”

  “Yeah, that’s the one.”

  “Well you picked a good time to come.”

  “Why’s that?” Daryl cocked his head, giving her his full attention

  “It’s a full moon. Strange stuff goes on out there during a full moon.”

  The two men looked at one another and the old woman let them sit there while the tension built. She dropped her notebook on the table and said, “Boo!”

  Both of the men sat bolt upright.

  “Got you!” She laughed all the way to the bar where she filled two glasses with ice water. When she made it back to the table, she was still giggling. “Sorry, y’all. It’s kind of a tourist attraction, you know. But still. Watch yourself.”

  They nodded at her.

  “So y’all want the vegetable plate? We got fresh peas and greens in right out of the garden.” It was more of a statement than a question. They nodded.

  She brought out their plates and a bottle of hot sauce. Eddie picked up the bottle and read the label. “I don’t think we need this.”

  She took the bottle back, shaking her head. “I don’t know how you eat collards without
hot sauce, but to each his own. Yankees.” She patted Daryl on the shoulder before she made her way back to the bar. “Y’all enjoy your supper.”

  Daryl stirred his peas and looked at his travel companion. “Eddie, if I ever get back to New York, I’m going to have real bagels, pizza, and a lobster as big as my head. I’m tired of these crazy places. ‘See the world’, they said. Well I’ve seen about enough of it.”

  Eddie lifted his fork. “Who knew you could fry a green tomato?”

  ~*~

  They ate their meal in quiet. Daryl looked through his folder on Weston’s haunted swamp. “I figure we’ll go out tomorrow morning and scope the place out.”

  Eddie nodded and kept eating.

  “Once we have the lay of the land and talk to a few folks, we can start figuring out what the angle is. There’ll be a dead giveaway, I’m sure.”

  A woman walked over to their table. “Excuse me, are you Daryl Daltry?”

  Daryl gathered his brochures and papers back into the manila folder and puffed his chest out. “Yes, ma’am. And this is my cameraman Eddie.” He gestured across the table.

  “I’ve been watching your series on TV. It’s been pretty fascinating. I saw that you were coming to Weston. This should be interesting.”

  “Well, thank you for watching.” His ego grew eighteen percent. “I hope it is interesting.”

  “Oh it will be,” she said. “I know you’re making a name for yourself by going to all these places and exposing people, but I just want to warn you. There are some things that can’t be explained.”

  “Everything can be explained. You just have to be willing to look and to ask the hard questions.”

  “You’re not the first one to ask the questions. But I promise you this, you go see Old man Keene, and if you can come out of that swamp with a good explanation for what goes on in there, then you’ll be the first.”

  “That, my dear, is what I stake my reputation on.”

  ~*~

  They checked into the Days Inn, one more of a seemingly endless string of places they had lain their heads over the last couple of months.