Disciple

“Did you hear that?” Melissa was wide awake, her face flushed hot from panic. She grabbed hold of her husband Dennis’ shoulder through the sleeping bag and shook him until waking.

Eyes still closed he rolled over to face her. “What time is it, Mel?” he mumbled, still half asleep.

“I said, did you hear that?!” she hissed, concern in her voice—maybe something more than concern.

 “No, what’s going on?”

 “I dunno but there are weird sounds coming from outside our tent,” she shook his shoulder again.

In the pitch-black Melissa could barely make out the whites of his eyes as Dennis folded back the sleeping bag. Sitting erect he turned to face her. Some women were predisposed to melodrama, a quality he did not personally appreciate, but Melissa was pragmatic, grounded.

“Are you sure?” he whispered.

“Yess, I’m sure—” stopping short, she held the palm of her hand to his mouth. “Listen. There it is again.”

Dennis clasped her wrist, gently maneuvering her hand away. He turned his head, looking in the direction of the zippered tent flap. It was still closed. Judging by the slight flutter of the fabric in the mountain breeze, the tent’s rainfly was still closed too. So nothing has tried to get inside, he thought to himself, listening intently for any noise resembling Melissa’s source of concern. The blackness of night was all around them. He leaned closer to the wall of the tent, tuning his ears for anything but the wind.

Then he heard it.

Somewhere off in the distance, a sickly moan like a lamenting mourner, then the soft crackle of leaves breaking underfoot. The lack of vision distorted his perception, and he couldn’t determine where or how far away the sound had emanated.

Turning back to Melissa, whispering softly, “I-I heard a low moaning sound and then leaves crunching.”

“Yes. That’s what I heard too!” she wheezed. “What is that? It doesn’t sound like an animal at all.” She nudged Dennis, “Take out your gun. You brought it, right?”

“Right,” he confirmed. “I always bring it when we go camping, you know that.” Turning to his left he felt around the tent floor searching for the small bag containing the pistol. As quietly as possible, he slid the dual zippers away from another and grasped the handle, freeing it from the bag, making sure his finger was clear of the trigger—remnants of his father’s tutelage.

A thought occurred to him.

“How do you know it’s not just Mark and Kelly having sex out there?” It was a valid question. “I’ve been friends with him for years and I know he doesn’t look it, and hey, it’s not like I ask for details, but the guy enjoys some kink every now and again. I assume so does she?” Removing one hand from the pistol, he felt for Melissa’s face in the darkness, cupping her cheek with the palm of his hand in a reassuring way.

“I heard it too, and I agree it was weird, but are you sure we’re not overreacting?”

“Dennis, I’m sure,” she insisted. “At the very least we have to check on them. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep again after this anyway. Let’s just get out of the tent, make sure they’re ok, we’ll stay awake, or I’ll stay awake, then first thing in the morning we pack everything and hike out of here.”

“Is that what you want to do, will that make you feel better?”

“Yes.”

“Ok, then it’s settled.” Dennis tried his best to maintain his composure. It was his responsibility as her husband to protect his wife from harm. If she didn’t feel safe, then he needed to do something about it until she did.

“I’m going to turn on the lantern,” she said.

“No!” he snapped in a harsh whisper.

She instantly dropped her hand from overhead. “What?” she asked.

“If someone is out there and they see the light, they’ll know we’re in here and maybe decide to inves—” he stopped mid-sentence, interrupted by the sound of snuffling coming from right outside the tent. Like a horse or a pig or… something else.

They both froze, rapidly inhaling and exhaling in shuddered breaths. The noises stopped.

Dennis spoke a barely audible whisper, “Listen to me very carefully. I am going to point the gun at the tent flap. I need you to unzip it as quietly as possible.” He heard the subtle swoosh of her jacket fabric indicating she understood.

“Ok,” he continued, “when the zipper is undone, pull the flap aside while I scoot myself out. It’s awkward because the rainfly forms an overhang with the zipper at the bottom, but I’ll manage. On my word I’m going to rip the zipper up, fast; I need you to shine the light in the same instant so I can see. Got it?” She nodded. In the entirety of their relationship, she’d never heard Dennis so serious.

“You have your headlamp?”

She fished it out of her jacket pocket. “Yes,” she affirmed, a restored confidence in her voice.

“Be brave, ok?”

“Ok…”

When they were both in position, he gave the command. “Now!” he hissed, flinging up the zipper and slapping open one side of the rainfly, training the pistol in front of him.

Melissa clicked on her handlamp with full brightness.

“Oh sweet Jes—” Dennis stammered, vaulting himself back inside the tent. The droopy upside-down face pressed its way inside moving towards them, peering emptily with pitch-black eyes which reflected the light of the headlamp like tidal pools. It let out a sickening gurgle that built in intensity until transformed—a muffled scream as if by someone being forcefully suffocated. It felt like the source of the sound originated from the thing’s guts. Its tongue moved luridly, feeling about the inside of the rainfly, leaving trails of shimmering residue. Melissa struggled to keep the light steady, shaking with primordial terror. Dennis fired.

The muzzle flash temporarily blinded them both and Melissa dropped the headlamp, reflexively cupping both palms to her ears.

Through the intense ringing she could barely make out the words but knew Dennis was calling out to her. “Melissa… Melissa!” Then louder, “Melissa!” he repeatedly screamed, shaking to agitate her from the leporid whiteout.

“Get you—hey! Get your boots on, now!” Tears streamed down her cheeks and her lips trembled.

“Dennis…” she managed to choke out, “Dennis what was—”

“Melissa, I don’t know,” he said, cutting her off. “Just… look, give me your headlamp.” He snatched it out of her lap and affixed it to his head. Heart pounding into his throat he crawled out of the tent, then popped upright in one fluid motion. In aggressive, bird-like movements of the head he looked all around the woods, turning with the pistol in each direction. The cone of light came to rest on Mark and Kelly’s tent. Its artificially bright lime green reflected back and he brought a hand to his forehead to shield his eyes, taking care not to blot out the light. The flaps were open. Through the wool socks, sharp twigs and rocks pricked the bottoms of his feet as he moved closer to inspect it.

He called out to Melissa.

“Get your boots on as quickly as possible and grab a bottle of water. Leave everything else. And bring me my boots!” he commanded her. “We are leaving immediately.”

“What about Mark and Kelly?” she called back to him, rubbing the sleeve of her jacket over her nose and mouth, sniffling.

“We can’t worry about them right now, Mel. Mark’s his own man. He’ll…” Dennis left the thought incomplete. From what he’d just witnessed, there was little doubt Mark and Kelly were already deceased, and he struggled to find the words to assuage her terror.  

“They’ll be fine. Mark and I are a lot alike. I’d bet he’s armed, too.” The terse, broken phrasing was a miserable consolation devoid of any possible comfort, but it was all he could manage. Melissa was his priority and Kelly was Mark’s; that’s just how it had to be until they both were safe.

Melissa approached from behind. “I brought your boots,” she sniffed, sucking up a run of tearful snot. At least her crying had subdued somewhat. That was progress.

“Ok,” he nodded. Lifting one leg until his thigh was parallel with the ground he instructed her to brush the debris from his sock and slip the boots on one at a time while he balanced himself. When both were tied, he pointed to his left where he knew the trail they’d followed up the mountain ended; their campsite only a couple of hundred feet away. Suspiciously, he eyed another path cut out of a group Firs behind Mark and Kelly’s tent that wasn’t there when they’d arrived. Absolutely not, he thought, we cannot risk searching for them.

“Come on, we need to leave,” he called over his shoulder, motioning for Melissa to follow. Turning his wrist, he set the sports watch to ‘Hike’. Every twenty-five feet it would store a GPS point, marking their descent route. When they reached the base he’d give it to the Rangers, or the Sherriff’s Office, or National Service Forest, or anybody who wanted it. He certainly didn’t, and there was no way in hell they’d revisit this place again—ever.

“Stay right beside me,” he told Melissa. “We’re maybe three miles from the trailhead. If we move quickly, which I strongly recommend, we can reach it in an hour, less if we hustle.”

“Ok.” Melissa agreed.

“Stay right beside me,” he said. “We’re maybe three miles from the trailhead. If we move qui—” he stopped himself mid-sentence. “Melissa?”

“I’m right here.”

Turning on his heels to face her, careful not to flash her with the muzzle of the pistol, he asked, “Was I just repeating myself?”

“I don’t think so, why?” her brow furrowed in concern.

“Ok let’s… go back. I don’t think we’re on the old trail anymore.” Studying the watch, their position didn’t make sense. Did they… translocate back to the campsite? The first GPS pin from their initial descent was barely visible in the perimeter of the watch face. He realized they were standing in the entrance of the other path leading through the tunnel of trees.

“Alright,” he sighed, “I need you to promise me something.” Melissa stood rigid next to him. “We need to turn around and walk back the other direction. We have to pass through our campsite again.”

“But—”

“I know,” he tried reassuring her. “I don’t understand it either but pay strict attention to the forest floor when we start the descent. I’m going to tilt the headlamp down so you can see clearly while we walk.”

Melissa shuddered as they backtracked, passing through the campsite for a second time. Dennis stopped for a moment, thinking. Holding up a hand he indicated for Melissa to wait, wanting to check the inside of their tent. Crouching down, he peered inside. All their things were untouched.

“Are you ok,” he called out. The sound of crunching leaves grew louder as Melissa approached.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she huffed, “but I’d prefer to stay close rather than by myself. I don’t like this. I don’t like any of it.”

“That’s probably better,” he agreed. Reaching inside the tent he unhooked the lantern hanging from the apex and handed it to her. “Just in case.”

“Alright.” She nodded.

“Ok. Let’s start again.” And they repeated the march down the mountain at a pace sufficient to place them at the trailhead in less than fifty minutes.

A strange sensation crept over him. The same shift he’d felt when they translocated earlier, a folding of reality. Looking up, he snapped off the headlamp. Despite the absence of light, the blanket of stars overhead was covered in a kind of film, or a haze, their usual sharpness diminished.

At the far end of the tunnel, he could barely make out a dim halo. The watch showed they were in the exact same position as before.

“Why’d you turn off the light,” Melissa asked, “What’s going on?” Tears welled in her eyes; she was scared out of her wits.

Touching the small gold crucifix hanging from her neck he told her, “Now would be a good time to pray.” 

The situation was grim. Against his better judgement, Dennis resigned himself to tell Melissa the truth. “I don’t know what we’re going to find when we get to that light source but something in my guts tells me whatever we saw outside the tent is there, waiting for us, and if we don’t go to it, it’s going to come to us. Either way, it’s not leaving us a choice.”

It occurred to him this culmination of every possible negative emotion he could fathom, as they were experiencing now, may very well meridian their final moments together. He didn't want Melissa to remember them like this; gripped in terror. If this was the last time he was to know her in this lifetime, she wouldn't see him falter. Cupping the back of her head with both hands, he leaned in and kissed her. “I love you.” His heart ached. Nothing left now but to face it.

“I’ve never spoken to you this way before, and I know you’re scared. I’m scared too,” he admitted. “If—when that thing comes for us, I’ll try and shoot it. It’s possible that it can be killed but I don’t know that to a certainty. If it goes for you and you’re being ripped up, I’ll try and put you out of your misery and then myself, if I can,” he added. “Or if I go down first, I’ll try and… I don’t know, toss you the gun. I think we’re just going to have to figure it out in the moment. I don’t think it’s possible to really plan for a confrontation like this. Please pray to—”

To Him? The voice pressed in from all directions before migrating directly inside Dennis’ head. Is that what you were going to say, for her to pray to Him?

“I…” Dennis stammered. At once, he found himself in front of a hovel made from bent sticks lashed together with leather ropes, but Dennis knew it wasn’t leather. It looked like skin. Something vile beyond comprehension lived here. The light he’d seen earlier through the tunnel of trees ebbed like a candle. It hung suspended but he couldn’t make out any visible fixture. It was simply there, illuminating both places at once—inside and outside of the structure. Involuntarily his body moved towards the interior. The flame flickered unsteadily, frenzied shadows lapping at the backs of two figures knelt in worship in front of a rudely carved wooden throne.

The light source floated up and away from him, coronating a hand-wrought bronze plate with visible hammer strikes in the center of the back wall. The intensity of the light was increasing, revealing previously unseen details of the room. Now he recognized the two kneeling figures; Mark and Kelly, flayed open from sternum to groin, straw spilling out of their body cavities. They’d been made into effigies. On their slumped heads they wore garlands of twigs, dried perennials, and clumps of gray moss. Blood trails marked the floors in diagonal lines, leading to the far corners. Dennis could barely make out two bowls, also hand-wrought, filled with viscera that overflowed the rims, steaming in the cold.

“I’m going to be ill—” Dennis choked, retching. “Jesus, I—wait, stop!” The arm with the pistol flexed with a will of its own, pressing the barrel to the side of his head. He felt unable to control the squeeze of the trigger, the flesh of his finger bloated and deformed. The skin tore, exposing the underlying muscle striations and he felt blood leaking down his wrist. “No! P-P-Please…!” he cried out. 

The pistol clattered to the floor as his whole body went limp.

If not to take your own life in sacrifice, then by what consideration have you come to my altar? It felt like the voice inside was peeling his skull. The wooden throne was obscured by interweaving panels like two curtains endlessly flowing over one another. Dennis struggled to close his eyes. Whatever it was, he couldn’t bear to look at it. Something told him this creature was filled with arcane knowledge he was not capable of receiving. It would destroy him if he tried.

If not Sacrifice, then Worship. You will kneel at my feet and serve me as my disciple… Its suggestive thoughts forced Dennis to his knees, his head bowed in reverence.

Trembling, he opened his eyes to mere slits. The drooping face was right in front of him. It penetrated his consciousness with its enormous black eyes filled with shooting stars. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever witnessed. It was changing him. He no longer saw with just his eyes, but with his whole self. The stars kept falling one after another, more intensely now, donations from the universe, from distances so vast and systems so alien, they streaked across his newly heightened perceptions, the cosmic droplets filling him with ecstasy. Were there hundreds, or millions? Dennis felt his throat closing as he attempted to reject the blasphemes he was not just experiencing, but enjoying.

Melissa was crouched outside the shack in a complete meltdown, her hands cupped over here ears, screaming. She didn't know what was happening to her husband but she knew he was dying. The horrific croaking noises sending her into a frenzy, clutching her head as she gyrated sickly about her pelvis, urine darkening her trousers.

At once, they blacked out.

Dennis awoke inside their tent to Melissa shaking him by the shoulder, her face flushed hot from panic.

“Dennis,” she whispered, “Did you hear that?”