Midnight (Adrian's Undead Diary)

by Chris Philbrook

  Michelle loved her life.

  *****

  Mike drove deeper and deeper into the rugged interior of the Congo. It was pitch black at night in Africa when you got away from the villages with electricity. Billions of stars above gave the night sky a soft blue glow but it wasn’t enough to illuminate the land to drive safely. He had the lights of the Rover on as they followed a rundown Nissan pickup truck out of the savanna and into the fringe of the dark African jungle. Most people would be horrified to even consider heading into a place like this. There were gorillas, spiders the size of your fist, and locals with centuries of cannibalism in their past here. The further into the jungle they drove the more likely it was they’d just…. Disappear.

  Michelle listened to the groan of the powerful engine in the Rover as she held on for dear life. They weren’t driving fast, but the dirt road they were on was the definition of poorly maintained. Washouts, roots and rocks all made the ride almost unbearable. They would have a smoother ride on a jackhammer she thought. She might even have fun getting there that way. At this rate by the time they got to where they were going her ass would be pounded flat.

  Mike issued a steady stream of profanities at the road. The wheel of the Rover jerked side to side as he attempted to take the path of least resistance. The jungle was thickening every inch they moved forward though, and after an hour of fighting the roads, the truck leading them into the cave of vegetation came to a halt in a small clearing. Three other beaten to death trucks were there already, and Mike pulled the Rover into the area with them.

  Their guide hopped out of his truck and Michelle saw him for the first time. He was a tiny black man, with skin so dark he was nearly invisible once they turned off the truck’s headlamps. His yellowing shirt was the only thing visible until he turned on a similarly yellow flashlight, and headed to their truck. Mike and Michelle got out and grabbed their backpacks out of the back.

  “Wilson, thank you so much sir!” Mike greeted the little man as he shouldered his heavy pack. Wilson stood nervously, looking around into the moist, hot jungle that surrounded them like a womb.

  “No probs misteh Ree.” He didn’t finish any of his words apparently.

  Mike smiled at him in the dark. Always nervous, this Wilson fella. Mike looked over at Michelle and could make out a golden gleam off her ponytail as she shouldered her own backpack. He turned back to Wilson as she came around the truck to join the two men.

  “We are ready Wilson, lead on my fearless friend.” Mike shook his body and let the backpack’s weight settle onto him.

  “No. Nuh yeh. Roos fust.” Wilson’s tone became very serious.

  “Okay Wilson, rules first. Let’s hear them again.” Mike agreed with the man as Michelle leaned against the front fender to listen.

  Wilson looked around once more, clearly worried that they were being listened to. Finally he cleared his throat and rapid fired out a series of instructions, “No pickchas. No tapehs. No tawken. You take pickcha, take tapehs or you tawk, spirit can’t go to spirit world. Den it trapped heyah, and nevah fine home.”

  Michelle struggled to piece together his broken English. Mike turned to her, “You get all that?”

  She considered everything, and nodded in agreement, “Yeah I got all that. No pictures, no recording, no talking.”

  Wilson regarded her for a moment, evaluating her seriousness, but then seemed happy that she’d gotten the message clearly. He turned and pointed his dying flashlight towards the deep jungle, but stopped abruptly and turned back to the two researchers. His stare was the most intense thing they’d seen outside of the zealots that’d threatened them with AK’s over the winter in the Sudan. He uttered one last warning, then turned his back and started walking;

  “And membah no talkie at midnight. If spirit canna hear da shaman, den it might get angree.”

  Mike and Michelle exchanged glances in the pitch black jungle, and they followed the little man as he pushed his way through dense undergrowth, heading towards an ancient, morbid ritual that awaited them.

  *****

  They stumbled in the darkness of the jungle for almost ten minutes before Mike and Michelle saw the faint light of torches ahead through the thick greenery. Wilson stopped and let them catch up. The oppressive heat had caused them to stop once already so they could wipe their sweat away and get some water out of their CamelBaks. Their previous stop had caused Wilson to get a little angry with them. He insisted that there should be, “No duhlays!” This stop was different.

  Wilson was silhouetted against the torches at least a dozen ebony skinned people held in a clearing ahead. It was almost like some god-like hand had mystically scooped out a glade in the middle of the jungle. Without the heavy canopy above them the night sky was revealed once more, showing a trillion pinpricks of warmth in a sea of black. The night sky was so pure and deep they could make out the faint tinges of blues and pinks from nebulas in deep space. Neither Mike nor Michelle had ever witnessed the majesty of the night sky quite like this before. The serenity of the place hushed the two researchers as they came up on their guide. He watched their faces and took in their expressions of awe at the almost supernatural beauty of the spot they were about to enter. He seemed pleased about their obvious reverence.

  Wilson killed his meager flashlight and whispered to the two outsiders, this time with no accent, “You go inside for your church. We come here for our church.”

  Neither the man nor the woman could argue his logic. This may not be a church with a steeple, or a mosque with a minaret, but the touch of the divine on this natural treasure was unmistakable. They continued to take in the serene beauty of the glade as he gave them more time to soak it in. A small trickling brook bubbled out of a crack in a large grey stone that had wide veins of rose quartz running through it. The stone seemed to be bleeding out the pure clean water, freely giving its own eternal life to the ground around it. On both sides of the brook the glade was flat, lush and grassy. There were small burial mounds dotting the area that were arranged in a radial, sun-like pattern. The locals carrying the torches stood naked in the outer ring of mounds, clearly showing reverence for the inner circles of burial places. They stood still, holding their flickering flames in front of them, almost like a gift and sign of respect. Mike and Michelle had never seen anything like it before. The closest thing Mike could recall was the Maasai tribes that burned their dead, but this was different, much different.

  This felt… magical.

  Without breaking the silence, Wilson spoke to them. Neither Michael nor Michelle registered the fact that his words were unspoken. He was somehow speaking directly to their minds, leaving his words on their souls.

  Here is where it all began. This cold world became warm with life right here, eons ago. You are about to enter the true womb of the world. Take heed of my warnings, for our rituals are required to maintain the order of all things. He paused and regarded the circles of graves, and the worshippers about to start the ritual standing amongst them. They are especially of grave importance now, as the world bleeds. So much hurt, so much hate, and so many careless people wasting what has been given to us freely. Our reverence here helps to maintain the balance of all things.

  Mike and Michelle were almost in a trance. On some level they knew what was happening was not of this world, but Wilson’s words echoed deep inside them and spoke to a place that had almost never been touched. Michelle had the overwhelming feeling like she was falling in love, and Mike experienced the exhilaration of victory from the man's words. Both knew intrinsically, completely and fully that this man was speaking an ultimate truth neither could deny. They would never be the same again.

  Wilson continued his otherworldly lesson; We are not the only ones tasked to maintain faith, and the old ways. We are simply the first and oldest. All cultures give their true reverence in their own ways. Some do it in circles of stone, others in temples made for sacrifice. Some preach from pulpits, others pray in wilderness shrines. How they decide to ma
intain the necessary order of peace is up to them, so long as the rituals never stop. We cannot risk the ire of the divine. Wilson pointed once to the sky gently, and once to the ground forcefully. Implying there were more than one divine force at play.

  Mike and Michelle nodded.

  Tonight we bury our oldest keeper of the ways. His spirit is very strong, and will enter the afterlife and live forever, giving back to the world as much as it gave to him in life. We pay him respect as well as respect to the world that gave birth to him.

  They nodded again.

  If all goes well, he will rejoice until the end of time itself.

  Without thinking about doing it, the two researchers of religion had intertwined their hands. Their fingers slipping between each other’s until their hands were one.

  You must not enter the inner circle of graves. It is sacrosanct. You must not interrupt us, and you must not bring the outside world in with you. Leave all your belongings here in the path.

  Mike and Michelle slowly gave up the other’s hand and started to take off their backpacks and gear. Wilson did the same, stripping off his dingy shirt and shorts. He kicked off his shabby sandals and strode naked out into the clearing, stepping into a glade where time itself seemed to stop.

  Once they’d both stripped naked the two explorers followed Wilson deeper into the glade, taking each other’s hand again. Wilson pointed to a spot on the fringe of the glade, far away from the center where the still unburied elder lay deceased.

  Mike and Michelle felt as if they were walking in a dream. The starlight mixed with the flickering flames of the torches gave an otherworldly glow to the grass and trees surrounding them. There was so much life right in the glade the world itself seemed to hum with vibrancy. Michelle noted absently there was an apple tree in the glade, just at the corner of her vision, but couldn’t quite understand the meaning behind its presence.

  Wilson walked slowly away from them and headed to the center of the circle where his elder silently awaited burial. Despite being dead for almost a day, Mike and Michelle felt as if he were still alive. It was almost as if his spirit, his very soul calmly awaited this ceremony to move on. They were awestruck by the immensity of the moment.

  The small African man gathered the other worshippers into the inner circle with him. They took each step with purpose, moving in a surreal unison that left both Michael and Michelle breathless. They were long, lean, exotic and their naked bodies were positively exuding supernatural power. Michelle found herself tingling down below as she watched them move. Michael stirred as well, becoming aroused at the worshipper’s lithe bodies.

  The small black man reached the body at the center of the ritual and dropped to his knees beside it. He knelt and consecrated the form with water from a clay jar that looked older than the pyramids. Wilson started a chant in a dialect they’d never heard before. As soon as he uttered the first syllable they felt the ground resonate with power, and watched the stars above quiver with anticipation. His words were in tune with the earth and sky, heaven and hell, and he was giving a life back to the universe. Here was the true Ouroboros.

  Wilson’s chanting ebbed at times, and reached a fevered pitch at others. It was almost as if his words simultaneously were the silent winds moving the trees, and the thunder of a stormy sky. His words became dry like the desert, and then dripped with the salty water of the oceans. In his words they were all transported to the pure Earth, and true reality. Finally, after an eternity of gently opening the invisible door between the worlds, his chant reached the end.

  Michael and Michelle could hardly contain themselves. The grass beneath their feet was almost piercing their soles, like roots pushing upwards, giving the Earth’s energy back to them. The branches of the massive jungle foliage swayed in an ancient primordial rhythm as Wilson committed the soul of the elder back to the Earth, and back to the universe.

  And suddenly there was silence. A complete stillness hit the glade like a freight train. A cold metallic taste crept into the mouths of all present as something foreign, and unknown to this place entered. The worshippers froze solid and spun their heads around, looking for the cause of what happened but seeing nothing. Their heartbeats became sluggish, weighed down by a mighty presence. Wilson’s eyes widened as he realized they were not alone anymore.

  The torches the worshippers held snuffed out with a cold gust of air. Their smoke trailed off into the night sky with finality.

  “Stop,” A voice spoke from the darkness. The voice was neither male nor female, nor angry or happy. The voice carried the weight of eternity with it, and everyone knew instantly they were in the presence of a greater entity.

  Wilson dropped to his knees immediately beside the body of the freshly consecrated elder. He brought his hands up in front of his face and closed his eyes. He started gently rocking, whispering in the strange language he’d chanted in moments before. His fellow locals, the naked worshippers, dropped to their knees instinctively as well. Michael and Michelle, now snapped out of their transcendent state, stood frozen solid, searching with their eyes for the speaker. They too saw nothing.

  The ethereal voice spoke again, echoing in the suddenly empty feeling glade, “No more of your kind are welcome in the beyonds. Your spirits have been tainted by your actions as a whole, and allowing more of you to return to the fold will undo all of creation. You hate for no reason. You bicker over things that do not matter. You wage war for things that should be given freely. But most of all, you have walked away from your defining humanity. You have become a pox on creation.”

  It sounded to Michelle like a death sentence of epic proportions.

  “One last catechism. Your ending starts where it all began. One final crucible starts this moment, right here. You will be tried by your dead. Those of you who survive their blind judgment will earn the chance to start again, and one day regain the privilege of eternal afterlife.”

  Michelle’s skin had puckered with fear. Her skin was pebbled from the sound of ultimate judgment being passed. Suddenly she felt a presence just a fraction of an inch from her ear, and felt the cool, fetid breath on her skin, as one final statement was uttered, for her ears only;

  “Your people will earn their redemption, or all will suffer with me for eternity. YOU will bear witness to their trials Michelle Annabelle Lewis. YOU will tell all those that listen.”

  And the voice was gone, leaving a hollow void in all their souls. The worshippers felt the presence go and immediately started crying, feeling a pain they’d never had to experience before. Their connection to faith had been sundered, and it tore them up inside.

  Wilson stopped his desperate chanting and began to sob in his hands, tears streaming down his face and through his fingers. In front of him the body of the tribal elder began to twitch. It started slowly at first, but shaking and squirming inhumanly and more rapidly every second. Wilson’s crying made him oblivious to the elder’s strange behavior. Some of the worshippers who had gotten their tears under control began to back away and point at the body, trying to get Wilson’s attention. The elder’s head jerked side to side as his soul was forced back into his body from the other side.

  His dead face contorted into a strange rage and suddenly he went still. Wilson pulled his hands away from his tear streaked face and watched as the elder slowly sat up. The dead man’s muscles clicked and creaked as he lifted his torso up and twisted to face Wilson. The small black shaman absently wiped a tear away and watched, confused.

  The elder’s eyes snapped open, revealing cataract filled eyes, and he lunged at Wilson. The diminutive black man that had swayed the soul of the glade minutes before was tackled to the ground by the feral dead elder. He pinned the poor man into the grass and bit into him with silent ferocity. Wilson started to scream but with a gurgle the elder tore his throat out, and his voice faded into a hoarse rasp, drowned out by the bubbling of blood. The elder tossed the chunk of throat to the side and dove back in to rip another piece of Wilson’s neck free.


  Everyone in the glade screamed in horror. Nothing like this had ever happened here, could ever happen here. This was a sacred place, now filled with the disdain of the divine, and the horror of complete contempt for humanity. Some of the flock rushed in to aid Wilson. Two of them grabbed the arms of the elder and yanked him up and off, throwing him aside and into the bubbling brook that cut the glade in half. His tiny body dashed against the stones in the brook and Michelle heard bones snap.

  Michael shook his head and snapped out of the shock of the moment. He started towards the previously dead shaman to render some kind of assistance, but he stopped cold when the shaman arose to his feet once more, standing ankle deep in the cold running water. The moonlight was starting to pierce the edge of the hole revealing the sky, and his dark skin seemed almost blue in the moonlight.

  “Mike be careful!” Michelle yelled out to him.

  Mike turned and nodded to her, then reached down to pick up a smooth river stone the size of his palm. On the other side of the brook Wilson’s gurgling had stopped. His life had faded. Instinctively Michelle knew his soul would be trapped just like the elder’s was, and he’d return to the same twisted mockery of life.

  “Watch out!” She yelled to the worshippers near Wilson’s body, but they were fixated on the now risen elder. Wilson started his own twitching, and within seconds she knew he’d be a murderous corpse as well. One of the local men grabbed the burnt out husk of his torch and hefted it like a club. His movement attracted the elder, and with a few awkward, splashing steps he exited the stream and stalked towards the man with the torch.

  Mike took a few silent steps in the grass, and came up behind the undead predator. He raised his hand under the glow of the moon, and brought the stone down hard. It crunched with a wet snap into the skull of the elder and he went down. Mike stumbled forward, clutching the bloody rock in his hand. He steadied himself and nodded to the man holding the torch. Michelle suddenly realized everyone in the glade was naked, and felt for a moment they’d fallen a few thousand years into the past. That scenario somehow seemed much more plausible to her than what had just happened.