The Quest for Immortality: From The Tales of Tartarus

by A. L. Mengel

  The cemetery was deserted, but the grave liner was still there, sitting on gleaming silver runners in front of the smattering of small folding chairs under the tent, waiting for someone to come and tend to them.

  But the cemetery was eerily deserted and silent.

  “Darius,” a male voice whispered, close to him but not close enough to decipher who the voice belonged to, and far enough away to sound distant. “Darius…”

  He scanned the cemetery in search of the voice.

  Daylight was fading and ushering in the twilight; his sport-utility vehicle was a large silhouette against the highway which seemed relatively devoid of traffic and shared the same silence that he was enduring in the sea of graves.

  “Darius!”

  He snapped his head in the direction of the voice. It was closer now, but Darius was closer to the thick of trees at the edge of the clearing. And he closed his eyes, falling to the ground, sitting his knees in front of a large stone weatherworn angel, and prayed.

  He closed his eyes tight and prayed to God hoping that He would listen after so many years of isolation and solitude; he closed his eyes so tight the creased in his face ran down the side of his cheek, and he prayed that the voice was not Asmodai.

  Something, sure and certain and without any doubt, called him into this cemetery. The light of the fading sun that painted the sky pink and light blue was a stark contrast to the evil that Darius could feel. The dark presence that would overtake the graveyard within minutes.

  He dared open his eyes, and looked up at the angel. She cast her loving gaze down upon him, her large round stone irises peeking out through the chipped paint and decayed stone, worn after years of rain and storms and intense heat and sun. He peered around the side of the monument, not wanting to see what was inside those trees. The thick and concealing trees. The trees that would be ripped out of the ground and strewn across the grass once the sun had set.

  Darius knew.

  He knew what happened when the sun set; he knew what happened when the mist came.

  They came.

  The white worms.

  They came out of the trees, just as they do every night. They rip up the trees and come out of the holes from the bowels of the earth and wipe the slate clean. They don’t care who is in their path or who was there by mistake, they wipe everything clean.

  Darius looked at his dirty sneakers, and shook his head. Somehow, he had wandered in. No matter how much he racked his brain, he couldn’t recall when it may have happened. But he was here. Maybe there was some sort of portal at the entrance of the cemetery, or maybe he slipped in last night. But he was here.

  He had struggled and ran from the demons, from the beastly drooling monsters with Antoine’s urn but somehow he was back.

  He could tell. Because something here was not right.

  He cursed himself for stopping, wishing he had never been drawn to the open grave.

  For he knew.

  He knew that he did not have time, because now, the sun had set. It sank over the horizon towards the western sky, and now the shadows, spiny trees rose from the edge of the cemetery against the fading light.

  They would be here soon.

  I know you will be here soon. I know what you will be here to do.

  Darius sat on the grass. The cool blades tickled his legs. He looked towards the casket. No one came to bury it.

  But soon They would be there.

  They.

  And then Darius opened his eyes, to see Delia standing above him, smiling. “Do you understand now?”

  Darius nodded. “Was I out?”

  “Yes, you were out. Now what were you dreaming of?”

  Darius sat up and looked down at the coffee table. He saw Das Buch des Tartaros. “It’s in there, isn’t it”

  Delia nodded, and took a place next to him on the sofa. “It’s The White Worms, Darius. They will always come. They never stop, and they always come.”

  *~*~*

  Later that same evening, Darius fished his cellphone from his pocket and dialed. After a few rings, there was the same familiar female voice. “I am stuck in the cemetery, Delia.”

  “How do you know that? Why don’t you just walk home?”

  Darius glanced around the cemetery. “Because it’s too late. The sun has already set. They will be here soon.”

  “Yes they will. At this point, Darius, all you can do is hide from them. Because they will be there. Just like they are every night.”

  Darius sighed and leaned his head back on the marker he was propped up against. “Fuck this. I can’t go through this again, Delia! I ran before…I can’t do this again!”

  “Are you there alone?” Delia asked. Darius glanced around the cemetery again, and rose to his feet. He looked towards his parked SUV, and then scanned the area. “I think so. I don’t see anyone else here. Not that I would really expect to.”

  The landscape seemed frozen in time. His car sat on the side of the road, just shy of the stoplight, but the light never changed. The sky remained dark, yet there was no wind, no cloud movement, no light from the moon. “I know they aren’t much farther. They have to be within ten miles or so.” Darius squinted to see out towards the other side of the road, where the landscape rolled lazily towards another forest, where the sky darkened to a deeper black.

  But there were no stars.

  “Get inside, Darius. They are going to be there any minute.”

  The White Worms.

  *~*~*

  Doug sat back and digested what the men just said to him. “A new leader?” He looked back and forth at the men, noticing their angelic features. They each bore different ages, but each man appeared to glow, as if their skin were slightly translucent. “How can I lead you?”

  The eldest man, who sat behind the desk, answered first. “You will progress into the role naturally, over time. Sheldon was the leader we had, for many years. He had a passion for his work. But it eventually took his life. Now that you are armed with that knowledge, you can step into his role without making the same mistakes that he did.”

  “I have a life back in Boston. This was supposed to be a short trip to pick up Sheldon’s ashes and return back up north. But I have a life back in Boston.”

  The eldest looked at the other two men who sat at the conference table, and then back at Doug. “I am afraid that you must. You need to. What Sheldon was doing was more important than you can even fathom. He was not simply the Director of a paranormal research society – he was leading those from the darkness back to the light.”

  “And then, I don’t even know what is going on up there. What is happening with the bodies and all the rest. What the heck is going on?”

  The youngest of the three men finally spoke. “The white worms are coming, Doug. The green mist. It is what happens here. But here seems to be a bit confusing to you. But there is really nothing to be confused about. We exist, Dr. Kahn. We have always existed. Right alongside the physical. The spiritual has always been, and will always be, right there.”

  The eldest clapped his hands. “Well said, Malakai. You are truly the messenger, my dear boy.”

  Doug leaned forward in his chair. “How do I get out of here?”

  The eldest said, “The white worms will tear you to shreds. And the green mist will unleash monsters and demons that will pursue you through all of eternity. It is best that you stay with us below while the cleansing process is taking place. Until then, you can carry out of the tasks that Sheldon requested, and then once they are complete, you can return to Boston.”

  Doug shook his head. “Okay then. When do I leave for Germany?”

  *~*~*

  It had to be The White Worms.

  Those damn worms that slithered up from the sewers and down the streets, eating anything and everything in their path. Darius remembered hearing about them many years ago. Back when Antoine was still alive. He remembered a discussion they had in Coral Gables, when Darius had first arrived in Miami.

  �
�I remember The White Worms,” Darius said, lazily spilling into an outdoor lounger next to a bright blue pool. He flung his hat onto a large, round glass table and propped his feet up on a nearby chair. “They will come. You wait and see.”

  Antoine turned the pool light on and stripped to a small, bright blue bathing suit. He turned back towards Darius and glanced at him before diving into the pool. Darius rested his chin on his hands. Antoine swam to the opposite end of the pool underwater and then surfaced. “So what are they?”

  Darius stood up and walked to the edge of the pool, stooped down, and tested the water. He shook the excess water off of his fingertips and stood again. “It’s somewhat of a legend among those who inhabit the quantum realm. They come just after dusk.”

  Antoine swam a lap to the far end of the pool. His dark skin glistened in the star green pool lights. He called back to Darius. “So they are like the mist then?” Darius returned to his chair. “Not exactly.”

  But Darius knew exactly who They were.

  He knew, when he had stared at the trees at the edge of the cemetery, that They would be appearing any moment. That they lived in the dead bodies and would be slithering out of the corpses, through the cracks in the coffin and up through the dirt to eat him alive.

  But when he was with Antoine, by the pool, he was not the fearful human trapped in a cemetery. He was the powerful immortal that he once was.

  “What are they then?” Antoine swam to the edge of the pool, close to where Darius was sitting. “What’s their purpose?”

  Darius sat back in the lounger. “They are worms.”

  Antoine laughed. “Worms?”

  Darius shook his head.

  “So where do they come from?”

  Darius let out his breath as Antoine swam towards the ladder and got out of the pool. Antoine wore a form fitting square cut white bathing suit, which seemed to glow in the pale green evening light, and shined brightly against his dark skin and tight, taught muscles. Darius stood and walked over to an outdoor dining table, and flipped through the pages of Das Buch des Tartaros. “The legend says that they are cleansers.”

  “Like the green mist?” Antoine grabbed a bright white towel and started to dry himself.

  Darius nodded. “Somewhat…” He turned another page and sat down. “The mist unleashes demonic forces. These white worms…they digest everything unclean.”

  Antoine sat down across from Darius. “How do they do that?”

  Darius raised his eyes and looked over at Antoine. “Do you honestly want to know?”

  Antoine shrugged. “Is this something we have to watch for?”

  “Oh yes. Anything not of ‘God’ would be considered ‘unclean’.”

  “And when are they supposed to come again?”

  Darius stopped reading aloud and thumbing through the pages. He looked over at Antoine, directly in the eyes. “As the sun sets, the worms will come. You will see them come each night, after the sunset. Any immortal will certainly be destroyed by them. Avoid the worms at all costs.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  There were days before Antoine was dragged to the Altar that he didn’t feel so guilty. He didn’t feel the heaviness of his transgressions weighing on him; he remembered the days that he first came to Miami – the days when he felt younger, much more alive, and when he first met Roberto.

  He had remembered that much.

  He had remembered when the sins weren’t so sinful, when his actions didn’t matter as much, and when things just didn’t matter.

  But when he was dragged to the Altar, things mattered.

  They mattered a lot.

  For when he looked down, he saw the blood pouring from his body, running down his forearms and staining his tattered clothes, he knew that his sins mattered. For when he was strapped down, as the rope was tied around his wrists so tight that blood seeped from the wounds underneath, he knew that his sins mattered.

  When he felt the searing heat of the hot flames below, he knew.

  But when he lay there, watching the smoke rise into a crimson sky, he closed his eyes and saw his father. He had just sat Antoine down in a small wooden chair.

  He looked up at his father. He had tired eyes. His hair hung down on his head, reaching down towards his shoulders, covering the sides of his face, dirty and unkempt. His father sat and hung his head down, staring at the floor, shaking his head. He ran his hands through his hair, and looked upwards at his son. “It is your sin,” he said, sitting back in his chair. “It is your sin, Antoine.”

  Antoine leaned forward.

  His father continued. “One day you will understand. But now, you must know, that your sins will always be yours. You will always own them.”

  Antoine leaned back. “So what I did, then…”

  “What you did you own, my son. It will always be with you.”

  Antoine watched his father rise from his chair and walk towards the kitchen. He left the small clay house that they lived in was the same as it always had been, and went back into the barn. That would be the last time that he would see his father alive.

  *~*~*

  The sun was shining bright and hot, and it hadn’t rained in over a week.

  Antoine sat on a small, wooden chair next to the edge of the trees, in the shade, relishing the coolness provided by a canopy shielding from the Sri Lankan sun. His hair hung low, covering the sides of his face, and he hung his head down, studying the dirt underneath his toenails. There was still much to do, but father was still in the barn. And mother was still in the house.

  There was a cooling breeze, the relief of drying sweat. Antoine raised his head and grabbed his shirt to fan his torso as his thoughts were permeated –

  But I see you sitting in that chair.

  That small, wooden chair at the edge of the trees. I have watched you for years. Since you were born. And soon, I will come for you.

  Antoine froze. “Who is saying that?”

  He looked over at the door to the barn. It was still closed. He heard a cow call faintly in the field behind the barn.

  But there was nothing.

  Except sunlight and the summer breeze. But father was there. Father was in there. Lying in the hay. In the far corner.

  Father was in there. He must go and check on him, it has been too long. His parents were getting older, and he was awash with worry.

  So he walked to the barn; through the dusty paths through the coffee plants, across the small stones and dried puddles. Antoine rapped on the barn door. “Father! Are you in there?”

  Your father is no longer living, Antoine. He is lying in a lake of blood in the corner by the bushels of hay.

  Antoine slowly opened the sliding barn doors. “Father?” He called into darkness, and his voice was unanswered.

  I will permeate your thoughts; I will find you, Antoine. It is meant to be. Meet me at the café this evening, I will show you

  And then Antoine stopped, closed the door without stepping into the barn, and walked back to the house. He couldn’t get the voice out of his head.

  The voice.

  *~*~*

  On the night that Sheldon had first met Antoine, the night when the rain came with distant thunder as the sun set and the sky darkened, there was a point in the conversation between the two where Antoine had discussed his knowledge of Claret. Sheldon sat back in the plush chair, with his glass of whiskey on ice, and listened as Antoine told the story.

  “I remember seeing Claret for the first time. I remember seeing her walking in the sands, walking through the mountains and the stones, under dark blue night sky full of stars. I remember watching her across the desert, rising above the waves of the sands, through the earthen ocean, coming closer in her flowing robe. The light she created was heavenly and bright; it lit up the sky like a planet or a star, and the light traveled with her.”

  Sheldon paused, shifted his face, and scribbled some notes on his yellow legal pad. “So how did you first encounter her? As a celestial being?”r />
  Antoine watched the fire, silent for a moment. He watched the flames reach towards the chimney and fight for survival. “She was coming for me. I stood with the camels, watching the sky, then looking outwards in the black, dark desert. ‘Claret!’ I screamed her name over and over again, out into the night. To silence.”

  “And the vision?”

  “She was a beautiful angel, and a horrific demon at the same time. She has a chorus of angels around her in the sky, surround by beams of brilliant white light. And at her feet, as she rose from the sands, was a legion army of demons, writhing at her feet, snapping towards me, barking and grunting.

  “She stopped and stood in the middle of the desert ocean, rising from the sands. The wind was catching her robe, it was flowing through her hair.

  “She walked through the valley, the mountains high on either side of her, through a flat sand plain, towards where we had been. For where we were, there now was just a mountain. She stood under the stars, the moonlight highlighting her hair in blue against the night sky, and stood in the exact spot where our camels had been tied.”

  The fire died as Antoine stared, resting his chin in the cup of his hand, as a tear flowed down his cheek.

  The night fell silent.

  Sheldon sat back in his chair and stopped the recorder with a slight click. “I think that’s all for tonight, Antoine. She has clearly affected you a great deal.”

  “Oh, you have merely scratched the surface, dear Mr. Wilkes.”

  *~*~*

  It was another rainy night in Miami.

  “Tell me more about Claret.” Sheldon asked Antoine this that same evening, as they settled into a discussion in Antoine’s sitting room. Antoine rose and started a fire in a fireplace lined with marble.

  “Many times, I have seen her. I have seen her but I know she does not know that I am watching. But really, she does. She knows that I am watching and she knows that she is making me believe that she doesn’t know that I am watching. That is her power.”