Shadows In A Grove

I don't remember much from the outside - we lived in a small grove. I always had food there, as there was plenty of vegetation and animal life. It rained often enough, there was quiet, and I even crafted my own hammock to hang between the greenery. That was pretty much it - I had a wife and some children, and this was our home. Sure, we always knew about the Masticators, but they always seemed so far away....

*****

I'll never forget that fear: I was away from home when the Masticators emerged from the caves, from those raucous holes that bellowed from beyond the grove. As these titans walked the ground would convulse, like the dirt was made from tiny strands on the verge of snapping. I had no choice but to leave them behind...how could anyone help against something so impossibly large?

My last and youngest son was with me (only a babe at the time), and we fled to the smaller caves above our defiled grove - and now here we are, a grotto for a grove. It's been many years since then, and life has become very strange. We are cave dwellers now, our home in an airy cavern where the wind always blows. Food is scarce, and always we hear them: the Masticators devouring their prey in the large caverns of darkened light....

*****

One day I was walking with my son. We were looking for water - since the wind constantly blew in these caves, we could usually find cooler sections of the network where the air condenses into little pools of liquid that we could collect. We were walking back to our shelter when the sound of the Masticators began to drum up around us. My son spoke with the fear I know too well:

"Dad, they're coming!"

"No," as I would constantly remind him...constantly remind myself. "No, they are not coming. They are too big to fit in here, remember?"

"But what if they come from through the ceiling?"

Dammit - how did he know about that? I thought he didn't see...I quickly had to come up with something; he didn't need to worry about this, especially when neither of us can do anything to stop it. "Don't worry about that. That was a different cave - it was closer to their lair, and there was nothing above the cave ceiling there. But our shelter is reinforced and farther away, so they can't get to us."

"How do we know that?"

Why do kids have to ask so many questions!? "Look, see the little bit of light coming in through the cracks down there?" I gestured farther down one of the cave's cylindrical halls, where some faint lines of light floated like ghosts between the ceiling and floor.

"Yeah."

"The Masticators live in the bigger caverns. More light gets in those, as they are closer to the outside. Closer to the outside means there is less space between us and them. We live in a smaller, darker cavern. For us, less light is good, because that means we are farther away from the outside, and their lair. More walls between us."

"But we hear them everyday! And it gets louder as the night goes on!"

"Hold up, what are you doing following me around at night in the first place!? I told you to stay at the shelter!"

"I wanted to see! I don't like it here..."

"Look, I know what I'm doing." I hate lying to him, but I also need to keep what little control I have. "We just need to keep exploring these caves. At this point, there are too many Masticators outside...I checked the other night. I don't know where else we can go out there. But, if we go deeper into the caves, then we can make a new home: a shelter from them."

"But one time you said there weren't as many in the morning. Maybe we can run away then."

"That's true, but there are still some out there in the morning, and they move ten times faster than we do."

"Is it because they have four legs?"

"Maybe. Yeah. Sure. They are also so much bigger. Look, can't you just..." I knew this couldn't go on forever. I may have succeeded in sheltering him for now, but at what risk? For all I know, those things could dig thorough the ceiling above our shelter as simply as they pulled up our grove. More than that, had my son really forgotten how big they are? Has it really been that long since I've let him see one? I guess he was very young when we abandoned home....

He continued to stare at me, waiting for me to finish. It was then I asked, "Do you really want to see?"

*****

I can never forget this fear. I tell my son to stay with me, and to not make any sound. I show him this so he can learn, so he can understand. If he doesn't do what I say...I don't want to think about that. Not with the possibility being greater than a hypothetical....

We neared the end of a cave segment, with a harsh, brownish-orange light biting down from the cracks in the cave ceiling. Brighter the light, the closer the Masticators, and how the room echoed and quaked! Snarls and squeals melded with clomps and chomps as the sounds swirled around the space, spinning down the ribbed tube of the cave. As we approached the cracks, I reminded him of the rope on our backs. The wind acted differently near the Masticator lair (it was such a large cavern compared to the caves we crawled through) and the air could sometimes gush and pull you upward, sucking you through the portal. Telling him this he nodded and looked up through the cracks - his first loathsome look at the monsters:

They lived in an impossibly large cavern, one seemingly bigger than canyons or mountains. Rooted in the floor where large trees with spherical tops that glowed the glowering light that reverberated through the cavern, seeping into the caves. But the true horror came from the Masticators themselves: crawling on the ceiling far above, they organized themselves in circles around various prey, devouring their fleshy meals and drinking an acrid liquid of depraved origin. And the more they imbibed the more sound billowed forth, sometimes one crying out louder than the others, only to have the rest suddenly join in a chorus of wet cacophony. Chaotically one would stop its feast, extend itself slightly upward, and move about the cavern, all while affixed to the top of the room. He next noticed the strange legs - sometimes used for moving, sometimes for grabbing, but always bendy and partially akimbo. As his attention slowly and quietly (what gratitude I had for his quiet...) moved around the room, he noticed the floor again. The glowing trees were rooted into a strange kind of bed. This was unlike the cave halls he had already seen: These were neat squares, perfectly symmetrical, with craters our size littering each square. From what he could tell (or I, for that matter) the Masticators made the floor this way, but for no immediate purpose. More so, the ceiling the beasts walked on was again different from this floor, and also artificially created (though it was too far away to study rigorously). Finally, he gave a little gasp as a zipper flew by a glowing tree. The zipper circled around the cavern a few times, but in a move as quick as a flick in a flame a Masticator slapped two of its legs together, crushing the zipper dead with a crash that ballooned a sphere of violent sound around the cavern.

This was the end for us. I had to quickly drag him away before he made too much of a scream. We fled back down the darkening cave for several minutes before I allowed him so speak. He cried:

"Why did they kill it!?"

"I don't know, okay! I don't know."

"We get food from zippers. Are they going to kill them all? Are we going to starve!?"

"Of course not!" I didn't know that. Not really, anyway. "Just keep moving! Let's get back to the shelte-"

There was a crash and we were on the floor. A bone shaking tremor made the cave spasm. I cried as we fell down, and a mere moment later a bed of brownish-orange light slapped down on us as the cavern full of Masticators turned their heads down at us. One in particular was right on top of us, curling its leg around the bit of cave that used to be our roof, our wall, our shield from these destroyer of groves. We then felt a terrifying suction as the wind within the cave erupted forth, and while I was able to blindly grab ahold of some random bit of cave floor, my son jetted upwards out of the cave. I barely had time to yell after him as the Masticator reached toward me with another leg. It missed by a hair as I managed to crawl, the crash nearly deafening me. Moving on unfiltered instinct, I kept moving in one direction as the wind resisted my trek. Several new sounds rumbled behind me, and out of the corner of my eye I saw the monster now reaching toward the hole with some square-like object. I kept crawling and crawling, not looking, not feeling, just moving. One final boom, and the wind stopped. All was silent. Breathing heavily I turn around.

A square of strange webbing now blocked the cave path. I was shaking...what just happened?

MY SON!

I began to panic as memory returned - then came the pain. My body was haggard from the struggle against the wind, and the images of the Masticator flashed before my eyes, each searing a new layer of anxiety into my mind and soul. My son....I brought him here to teach him safety...to help him learn...what have I done?

*****

I am not much for words. I try to be simple, plain, straight. But fear...this is never simple.

I fear for my son...and for myself if I cannot find him. What will happen to me? Not just my body, but my mind? My being? What will I do to myself, both consciously or...otherwise. Ungodly images and sensations flow through my mind - a wicked river of madness: ebbs a nightmare, and flows a pain.

If I stop seeing my son, does he no longer exist? He existed at one point, but if his essence is gone then this one point gets pushed further and further back in the flow of time. It drowns. It diminishes. It gets closer and closer to zero, until...I know his existence existed, the idea of him...does that idea remain after death? Or does that diminish too? It must, I suppose...much like an echo falling through a cave, so too must memory fade.

I don't remember much of the outside - we lived in a small grove. But...did we have enough food then? I don't remember...I only remember the pinch in my stomach, and weariness of eating zippers...everything hurts now. What if I lose myself to pain? What if I only know pain? Does my identity, my existence, the one thing I can totally observe, also become only pain? If so, does that mean that last thing to exist will be my pain? They never tell you that pain echoes the longest....

I get it now. I finally understand - I fear pain. I fear pain becoming me. becoming greater than me. Outlasting me. Consuming me.

That which is seen is that which exists. If so, then my grove no longer exists, my son no longer exists...but I still feel pain, which means I still exist. And I once knew something beyond this pain, beyond this fear, which means an idea exists that I can see within. Ideas are nothing more than shadows, projections, echoes...but sometimes that which echoes from within was shouted from without...my son is still out there.

*****

I woke up next to that strange square of webbing. My body still hurt, and memory quickly returned.

My son. He was probably gone...but I wouldn't know for sure unless I looked. Saw for myself.

I limped over to the webbing - what a bizarrely perfect square, and the webbing was intricate. Thick, ornate, almost reminiscent of my old hammock. I then noticed: it completely blocked the wind. Why?

Off in the distance, I heard a benign swirling sound. I had not been in that section of the cave before....

Moving faster, I followed the sound to the new cave segment. Looking into it, I saw more light standing in erect lines in the middle of the path, indicating another opening in the ceiling. I walked over and managed to climb up, keeping in mind to secure my footing as the windy suction began to pull me upwards:

Peering through the cracks I beheld the same room as before - the haunting lair of the Masticators. The total noise had intensified as nighttime approached, and more of these titans had gathered to feast on the tops of the cavern.

Surveying the room, a stab stopped my heart - there, on a flat surface next to a Masticator feeding circle, my son's body lie attached to the ceiling, half hidden by a circular rock. He wasn't too far! He was probably gone, I realized, by I needed to check...needed to witness his existence for as long as I could.

I quickly felt my back: I still had some rope. I don't know if this will work, but....

I latched the rope to the cave wall and climbed closer to the hole. I felt my body lighten as the air began to lift me - I paused a moment. A natural hesitation before the unknown...after a few breaths, I took my last few steps.

In a sudden rush the air exponentially swelled as I was sucked upward, the rope slapping tight as I now hang. I slowly let more out, sliding farther up. Yes, keep this path: If I go in a straight line I will land close enough to my son's body. Around me, the Masticators would randomly jolt while hunched over their food and libations, too absorbed to notice me. Sometimes they would spit sounds at each other and perform odd patterns with their legs, but my focus was too narrow to care about that now...though I should have.

I was moments away from the surface, and within a leg's reach from the Masticators. One of the monster's heads aligned with mine and suddenly gestured toward me. Without hesitation she shouted, "Eeek! A SPIDER!"

*****

The humans at the table looked up to see the spider inching down, ignorant of the goal he was after. With a pathetic cry they all jump backward, one of them moving forward to swing at it. The spider barely lands on the table and scurries away before the blow hits. Noise and pandemonium escalate as they hunt to kill the tiny monster:

"Move the plate! Kill it!"

"Get the maître d!"

"Are there bugs in our food!?"

The dishes and utensils are quickly brushed away to reveal an eight-legged creature next to a motionless spec. One of the diners raises a hand to execute the final blow, but a gentle pull of the shoulder halts the attack. It was the elderly maître d, and he had a soft smile on his face:

"No need to do that. I will handle it. It was probably disturbed after I swapped the air filter."

The diner, surprised at the sudden calm, couldn't think of anything other than, "Uuuhhh, sure. I guess. My wife just hates those things."

The maître d smiled again and kindly agreed, "Ah yes, I myself am one to understand phobias. Let me relieve you of your fear, ma'am."

He lightly scooped the two things into a napkin and walked away while other workers attended to the diners. Within seconds, the sounds mastication revived in the air....

*****

My son died the next morning. The Masticator set us down in an undiscovered grove far away from the howling cave. We had peace enough, in the end.

I still see one every once in a while, lording on two of its four legs. But, for the most part, I don't seem to encounter much of them anymore.

My son still exists in my memory...I know this will fade. I will fade too, of course. But for now, the echo of him still resounds within my mind, his essence hidden in the shadows of a forgotten grove.