The Hot Black Obsidian

CW: Violence

The winding Boulder roads wrapped themselves like a serpent around the mountain, its covering thick forest which concealed it from the few stars and full moon which hung in the obsidian black. Daniel was driving fast, why, he wasn't sure. All he knew is that he was being followed. Eyes glancing every other moment at the rear view mirror, on the third look, Daniel could swear he saw a levitating fire in the black road behind him. It was cold, but perspiration covered his face like gloss. He continued driving, not sure of his destination, just knowing, the type of knowing that's like a knot in your intestines, that he had to keep moving forward.

After a minute or two more of continuing along the curling road, Daniel came across an inn that sat tucked in the trees like an egg in a hens side. An older, grey Subaru Outback sat in the rocky driveway, as well as a faded red pickup truck that sat a little to the left. Daniel pulled up, parking behind the Subaru. The incessant drive to keep going, and the paranoia that he was being pursued had dwindled, and the tiredness was now free to assault him, his eyelids now feeling as if they had been dipped in wet cement. The lights were on inside, a soft and warm gold. Daniel turned off his car, stepping out and walking for the inn.

***

The inn, which was called John & Edith's Inn and Breakfast (Daniel spotting the half-fallen sign hanging a little above the door upon entering) was fairly nice inside. Perhaps not modern, or really even semi-modern, but cozy. It reminded Daniel of those summer months when he was still a boy, he and his brother staying at their grandparents house in Georgia when their father was being more aggressive than usual and his mother thought a brief reprieve from the discord at home would be beneficial for the both of them. The walls were maroon, and faded and chipped wood tile covered the ground. On the oak front desk sat a small radio, which played faint jazz music before switching to a news report.

"Boulder county's sheriff Ike Goddard announced earlier that a new joint operation with the neighboring Morrison county would began this coming Thursday. This coming right off the heels of the shocking and tragic discovery of Rachel Adam's body, a thirteen year old local girl who went missing just three weeks prior." 

A faded, gold bell sat on the oak front desk, when Daniel pressed it, a soft ring emitting.

"Just a moment", an older male voice replied after a brief moment. A grunt, huff, several footsteps and clang later, a large, towheaded old man with a ruddy complexion emerged from the hall.

"Sorry for the wait", the old man said, coming to the front desk. "Was trying to heat up a macaroni dinner and the damn microwave wasn't working. It's a shame too, my wife made me get rid of my old one, but it worked just fine. Better than this new one at least. Damn Bluetooth and whatnot, don't see why it's necessary for heating up some food."

The old man opened a desk drawer, pulling out a visitor log book.

"And here ya go", he said, placing the book atop the front desk. "Watcha you looking for, sir?"

"Um...just a room for the night, really. I plan on being gone by morning."

"Well...", the old man said, bent and rummaging through a drawer. "Lucky for you, we have no guests tonight, so you have your pick from the cream of the crop."

The old man arose with a key in his meaty hand. "Room eight. Personal favorite, the celling looks like the ocean sometimes."

They arrived to a room with a army green door that sat on the second floor, having taken a staircase to get there.

"Alrighty", the old man said, opening the door and flicking on the light. It was big, and slightly out of fashion, much like the rest of the inn, but was cozy. It felt lived in, like many families had once called this place home, if only for a brief moment. Daniel could see why it was his favorite. A framed painting of a farmer, working the fields with his young dauther. Another of a cowboy kneeled in a river, tears of joy streaming down his face as he gazed at the gold in his hands, blood coming down the river from the dead indians that float upstream.

"Sheets are all fresh, and we clean regularly, even if the room hasn't been used. All the basic cable channels should be there, and uh...oh yeah, breakfast starts at seven. Now, since you seem to be our only guest for the night, breakfast will probably only consist of me, Edith and yourself. I know they say the more the merrier, but I find the more the more discord, and hey? Two's company, three's a crowd. In a positive sense, though."

Daniel smiled, his first for the day. "Bacon included?"

The old man smiled.

"Along with sausage, eggs and OJ. American necessities."

Daniel chuckled, getting one out of the old man as well.

"Well", the old man said, turning around. "I'll leave you to unpack and -"

The old man turned back around.

"Did you forget your things in your car, or...?"

"Oh, um...I don't have anything. This was just a quick stop. Get a little shut eye really before I head back out on the road."

"I see, I see. Better here than in your car on the side of the road."

"Yes sir."

"Well then", the old man said, turning back for the hall. "I guess I'll stop pestering and leave you be, then."

Daniel gave a wave and a thank you, when the door closed falling backwards onto the bed. He looked at the teal celling, cracks and wrinkles looking like ocean waves. Daniel winced, placing a hand on his stomach. He leaned up, getting off the bed and walking into the bathroom, flipping on the switch. Bright, fluorescent light flooded the room, and Daniel was almost momentarily blinded. When his eyes adjusted, he thought he saw a figure in the bedroom, but when he turned around found nothing. Daniel turned back for the mirror, sighing as he ran a palm over his face. He lifted his shirt up, blood staining his abdomen, the source of which was a deep gash. Daniel ran his fingers over it, having a vague recollection of how he got it, but not fully sure, as if a cloud hung over the memory. He remembered he was in the woods, having left a dive bar not too long before that.

Regardless, Daniel turned on the faucet and began to clean and disinfect his wound. After that was done, he proceeded back into the bedroom and lay on the bed, turning out the lights.

***

Before he was awoken by the fire, consciousness brought up by the searing flame, Daniel dreamed two dreams: In the first, he was sailing down a river with his brother, Peter. Before the incident. Before he was snatched from him, and Daniel's life was thrown into a seemingly endless upheaval. Before the curse attached itself to him. Daniel aged fourteen and Peter twelve. They were in Virginia, sailing down a river that was blue like ocean water on a  small boat their grandfather had crafted for them. Peter said he thought he saw a trout, and Daniel said he was mistaken. In all honesty, Daniel wasn't himself sure. This was the last  time they would converse with one another. In the second, Daniel found himself trudging through a tar like swamp, strange and crooked trees surrounding him. A bubble emerged out the tar, and an arm soon after. A woman slowly arose, and Daniel began to push her back down until she drowned. More bubbles emerged from the swamp, Daniel using all his might to move to each new location and push the body back down. An older man. A young woman. A middle aged man. A boy. The more Daniel moved though, the more he sank. With his last bit of strength, he pushed another body down only to drown himself in the tar.

Then Daniel awoke drenched in sweat to find a screaming, levitating boy on fire above him. The boy thrashed and yelled wildly in the air, illuminating the otherwise black room in orange and red. Daniel felt the need to go, to run, to act, that he had felt earlier, and that had tormented him most of his adult life. And just like that, the boy disappeared, and the room returned to black.

Daniel got up out of his bed, dressed and departed the room. He knew what he had to do.

***

The man had come up from Utah to visit his daughter, who attended CU Boulder. He was a construction worker, and lived by the sweat of his brow. Twice now his daughter had asked him to visit her, but as always, some duties had to be attended to. Some unforeseen responsibility rearing its ugly head. Two weeks ago, toiling away in weather that was cruel for both man and beast, he had a heart pain that took him to the hospital. Stress, overwork, the doctor had said. Years of cigarettes and whisky didn't help either. A new perspective casted over his vision, and he called his daughter and told her was coming to visit her. Now he found himself strung with rope and hanging nude from a ceiling in the basement of an inn.

The man who stood in front of him was of large build, with pale skin and a reddish, ruddy face. He wore jeans, a red flannel and brown leather work boots. He was towheaded. He spoke, as he pulled the man up by a rusted gear, about how he was a hunter. About how his family, from father to son, to father to son, had been hunters. Hunters of beast and man. The man from Utah was in great pain from the beating he had just endured, and ears that resembled something like cauliflower could just barely make out the words the man spoke.

"-and even my grandfather. This was back along time ago", he said with a huff as he turned the gear once more. "Back in Alabama, when it was still great. First he started off with deserters, from war and whatnot. But slave owners, they would lay a hefty sum for any slave who dared to flee for the north after the war. And his son, my father, followed, and so forth. I raised my boy the same, but his quench led him to that dammed desert across the globe. That's not a real war, though. Not something worth dying for anyhow. Fighting for investors, for stockholders. Nowadays, you know, there's nothing to fight for. No big war, no world ending battle. The apocalypse is just another marketing gimmick. So you just gotta make do."

The man from Utah was going to beg, to plead, for mercy, but as he listened to the old and ruddy faced man he realized there was no point.

And then, just like that, the basement door flew open with a furry. Daniel stood the opposite side, eyes casing the room as he slowly walked in.

"I-sir, what...can I help you?", The innkeeper said, his voice taking on a faux quizzical note.

The old man turned back to the man from Utah, then back to Daniel.

"This...barbarian broke in and tried to assault me and my wife. I'm just doing what any man would do. What men used to do."

Daniel looked around the basement, and for a brief moment, wondered if this is the type of place Peter found himself before he died.

"Mmmm!!", the man from Utah moan-yelled, his mouth gagged with a dirty rag.

"Shut up", the old man shouted. He turned back for Daniel.

"Now listen, boy. I don't know who you are, or where you come from, but I will say I liked you. Just a feeling. But now of course you can't leave. I think I'm going to have to kill you. Actually, I know it."

The old man turned for a rocking chair in the corner of the room, a figure draped in a maroon cover sat on it. He placed his hand on the forehead of the cover.

"Edith, give me strength."

The old man turned back for Daniel, and when he did, the fear of the living God overcame him. Above Daniel levitated a burning boy who slowly sunk down into him, the two becoming one.

"J-Jesus", the old man stuttered, stepping back.

"No", Daniel said with a voice that sounded like two. "No gods. Only vengeful spirits and the crawling chaos. You have been weighed, Howard Morgan, and found wanting. Here, I decree your punishment: all four, brown walls here, and indeed even the floor, shall be covered crimson before the end of the ten and nine minutes. From your vessel. This is my judgment."

A look like fear briefly crossed across the old man's face, before a strange comfort and enthusiasm set in.

"I welcome the challenge. Charge for me, strange man."

And Daniel did.

***

Around the thirteenth minute, after the man from Utah was unshackled by Daniel and ran screaming out the crimson drenched room, blood dripping from the ceiling after Daniel had thrown the old man's tore off face up there, Daniel had exited the inn and was walking towards his car. The Boulder sky was dark, speckled with the distant white of long dead stars. The air was calm, and clean. It reminded Daniel of why he loved the mountains. The man had escaped, injured but still alive. The old man's victims, now none existent in the void that awaits all men. Before getting in his car, Daniel gazed up at the full moon, for it was beautiful. He stood there a moment, completely and utterly alone. Then the fire begun again, the push, the drive, the will to act and unrest, and he went into his car and proceeded towards West Virginia. He didn't know why, or what awaited him there, but he steadfastly drove into the night.