by Walter Lazo
Rick?” Cori asked.
“I think he’s dead,” Francine answered.
“I saw Cynthia and Shane,” said Cori in a hoarse and desperate whisper. “They were turned to stone. That’s Medusa, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know,” said Francine. “In the myths Medusa was killed by Perseus, but I don’t know how much of that is real. There were three sisters, I think they were called Gorgons, and Medusa was one of them. This can be one of the other sisters…I just don’t know.”
They heard a hissing sound accompanied by flat, slapping footfalls. They went completely silent. They could see out of the mushroom but, due to the angle, not very much, barely enough to make out the Medusa’s shadow.
The creature hissed and looked all around, searching for them. Then she began chanting in a language they had no way of understanding. The melodic sound of her chanting made their bodies sway, however. Before she could even think about it, Cori popped out of the mushroom, seduced by the chanting. She walked over to the Medusa, who seized her from the shoulders and stared into her eyes. Cori turned to stone halfway through a scream.
Francine was exiting the mushroom, also, when Cori’s scream, like a slap to the face, woke her up. The Medusa turned to look her way. Francine tucked herself back in the mushroom, closed her eyes, and pressed her hands over her ears. The Medusa chanted for a few minutes and then left.
Francine would have remained there forever, too afraid to move, but then everything started to vibrate. Earthquake, she thought, but the vibration was subtle and steady. She did not know what it portended, but the little voice in her head told her that it meant the mountain was about to vanish; for she now believed that the mountain had come from some other place, another world—perhaps a place where the gods still played their cruel and horrible games. She listened to the voice in her head this time.
Francine slithered out of the mushroom, took a few steps, a couple of deep breaths, and opened her eyes. The Medusa was gone, as was Cori.
Night was approaching. The sky went from a bright yellow to a deep red. Abandoning caution for the sake of speed, Francine ran to the platform.
When she made it back to the platform, all her friends were there, in stone form. They had become a part of this obscene museum of statues. She cried then, letting all her sadness and anguish pour out.
She knew that there had to be a lever, and she searched for one. Behind the statue of a burly farmer she found what at first seemed to be a lever but turned out to be a somewhat long dagger with a forward curving blade. It was stuck to the ground. She grabbed it and pulled it out.
Behind her she heard a loud, angry hiss. She closed her eyes, gripping the dagger tightly; tears streamed down her cheeks. The apotheosis of hopelessness embraced her, and she became the very embodiment of despair. She stood there waiting, dagger in hand, resigned, but somehow no longer afraid.
The Medusa grabbed her from behind, said something in a strange tongue Francine could never hope to understand but that for reasons that would elude her always sounded to her like an apology. The Medusa then turned Francine around and tried to pry her eyes open. “I’m sorry, too,” whispered Francine as she thrust the dagger forward and upward. It entered the Medusa through the solar plexus.
Hot fetid breath covered Francine’s face as the Medusa hissed and howled her agony. The Medusa released Francine and staggered backwards. A slushing, slurping sound accompanied the exiting blade, and warm blood spurted all over Francine’s hands.
Still clutching the dagger, and with her eyes still painfully shut, a nauseous Francine fell to her knees. There she remained while the vibration in the ground and all around her intensified. But she did not care about that at the moment. She was listening to the horrible gurgling, dying sounds of the Medusa. Misery and pity filled her, and she did want to offer some sort of comfort to the Medusa, but did not dare open her eyes.
When the Medusa finally stopped making sounds, and Francine could no longer hear her breathing, and the vibration was becoming too much to bear, she crawled her way to the Medusa’s corpse. Trembling with both fear and disgust, she felt the Medusa’s body. She placed her hand on the Medusa’s chest. Blood was still flowing freely from the wound, but there wasn’t any movement. The Medusa was dead.
Remembering the old myths of how even the severed head of a Gorgon can turn people to stone, Francine kept her eyes closed.
The vibration of the mountain had reached a high pitch, and Francine knew that while her eyes remained closed she would not be able to find the lever that must operate the platform. However, she did not want to risk opening her eyes. But she had to do something, or she would disappear along with the mountain.
Francine dropped the dagger, reached down and grabbed the Medusa and started to turn her over. She had grabbed the Medusa from the shoulders and was attempting to turn her on her face when the Medusa’s hair hissed weakly and tried to bite her. Francine was quick, and when she felt the snake hair touch her she screamed and jumped away. She then seized the Medusa again, this time lower, by the hips, and twisted her face down. Finally, Francine opened her eyes. She resisted the urge to look down and get a look at the Medusa’s body and hair; instead, she looked for the lever.
The statues were trembling so hard now that they seemed to be fading in and out of existence. Francine looked for a lever or a switch. She was getting frantic—the platform, the forest, the mountain, were beginning to disappear. Francine ran around, looking behind every statue, until she found what she was looking for. It was an old lever built into the floor. It was about three feet high and made of metal she did not recognize. She grabbed it and pulled it hard.
The room spun at a high speed, nearly knocking Francine off her feet. When it stopped, she was right back where they had started. She could see the open door ahead. The room, the corridor, and even her body were now blinking in and out of reality. She ran for the door. She felt her heart pounding, almost bursting, and her mind was filled with visions of a terrible world where awful things that could not be, were. Everything shone an eerie green. Francine saw the door, jumped through as hard as she could, and then the mountain vanished.
She landed hard on her belly, heard the mocking laughter of depraved gods behind her, and knew that she, as well as her friends, had been nothing more than the plaything of evil forces beyond comprehension. She also knew, deep in her heart, that the Medusa had tried to warn them, but they had not understood her ancient tongue, and the Medusa had been forced to fulfill the will of the evil things that created her.
Francine got up, turned around, and was not surprised to see flat prairie land. The mountain had vanished. Her friends had been turned to stone—whether that meant they were dead or alive she did not know—and she had killed someone. Her hands were covered in blood. Francine started walking, her heart consumed by two feelings: bitterness over the loss of her friends and a seething desire for vengeance against forces she did not as of yet understand.
THE END
From The Author
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