by Chris Smith
From the top of the cliff a small pathway descended aggressively down the face of the escarpment. Grandpa strode purposefully down the track, leaving James struggling to keep up as he hugged the wall of the cliff, terrified by the drop. Regardless of how fast the old man went, the guiding light chose to stay with James. Patiently, it accompanied his methodical progress. With curiosity getting the better of him, James attempted to peek over the edge, down into the gorge. Maybe the mist had lifted? As he leant over, an icy blast of wind shot upwards. The gust threw him back against the rocky face and its shelter. After regaining his composure James walked on a bit further. Although he repeated his attempt another couple of times, the same blast of icy wind threw him back. He gave up, settling his priorities on a safe decent. Whatever lay at the bottom would be reached soon enough, he concluded.
While he was negotiating the decent, James determined that whoever had made the path had constructed it in the most arduous way, without regard for the safety of travellers. He tripped on rocks placed strategically in the trickiest, most awkward of locations. At other times he slipped on the deliberately polished smooth surface. He also lost his footing walking on a bed of rubble shaped like marbles. With the path as narrow as possible and the sheer drop sometimes only inches from his feet, James’ nerves were constantly on edge. He had never felt so alive as he ventured down the track.
James concentrated hard while endeavouring to catch up with the old man. The temperature was falling dramatically. He began to shiver. The descent led him into the ice-cold blanket of foggy mist he had seen from the top. His vision gradually diminished as the fog closed in, adding to his discomfort. The constant fear of falling pervaded all of his movements. Neither he nor his grandfather spoke. James attempted to shut out everything and focus on each step, one by one. The treacherous conditions demanded all of his concentration. He struggled valiantly as the conditions continued to worsen.
James he could barely see his grandfather as the gap between them widened. Apparently oblivious to his predicament, Grandpa marched down the path without bothering to shoot even a single glance behind to check if he was still there. For all his grandpa knew, he could have fallen and be lying at the bottom of the ravine, dead. Unable to match his pace, James saw the old man disappear behind the white curtain of mist. Alone, isolated, vulnerable and without the comfort of the familiar figure, James responded and sped up. His anxiety to catch up grew with each step. James’ feet shuffled, skipped and jumped as quickly as possible. His hands groped at the wall. His eyes searched in the hope of a glimpse of the dark cloak; he longed for the security it offered.
But he was unable to move fast enough because, afraid that he might trip, he kept flicking his eyes down onto the trail. His anxiety grew. But his fears didn’t materialise despite the path narrowing to its thinnest before coming to an end. In front of him, a small, wooden bridge extended across a ravine. James stepped forwards, holding his arms out for balance. The bridge, about the width of a gymnastics beam, swayed in the air. Don’t look down, James repeated again and again as he made his way over the chasm. The bridge led to a tiny ledge stuck against the cliff’s face. It was no wider than a hand’s width. The ledge stretched deep into the mist. A little higher than his head, James noticed hand holes cut into the rock. He pressed his fingers deep into the holes. Slowly, he traversed along the ledge, his heels hanging over the edge.
Even though he was moving sedately, James failed to notice until it was too late that the hand holds were getting smaller. With them all but gone he struggled to find the next grip. He stopped dead still, his hands and cheek pressed flat against the rocky wall. Unable to look back, he watched the light hovering a few feet ahead, indifferent to his dilemma. He decided to attempt going back. His right hand scratched at the rock looking for the previous handhold. He couldn’t find it. He searched his mind for another way out; however, he couldn’t find that either. From somewhere below, deep in the abyss beneath the mist, he noticed for the first time a faint screeching. It sounded like some sort of creature. James thought the noise, although somewhat painful to listen to, hid a gentle melody. The distraction was brief. Numbness from the cold had spread up his legs and his toes felt frozen like little blocks of ice. He needed to move. He shuffled his foot one small step forward along the ledge and peered into the mist. An icy gust of wind caused it to swirl. The mist lifted enough to reveal the end of the ledge; James saw that it opened onto a wider path. He shuffled along the ledge, one tiny step at a time.
James collapsed onto the path with the last step to safety. His hands were raw from clinging to the rocky face, his ankles in agony from holding the weight of his body, and his toes numb from the harsh cold and the pressure that had been placed on them.
‘Tell me what went wrong?’
His ragged nerves still on edge, James reacted impulsively to the shock of his grandpa’s voice. He covered his face with his hands and curled into a ball, the way he always cowered when under attack. The reaction had become second nature to him. He’d protected himself in this way many times.
‘You did well to get across, James. To be quite honest I didn’t think you’d manage. I thought you’d opt for the mask.’
Absorbed by the challenge and threat of the ledge, James had forgotten that the mirror mask could save him; that the accompanying star-light would change at his touch into that mask. If he had remembered that the mask could lift him out of this place to his home he might have given up right there on the ledge.
‘Now get up and tell me what went wrong back at school my boy; you know, with the picture?’ He paused. ‘And what happened at assembly the other day.’ Grandpa expanded upon his initial question while ignoring the jittering mass on the floor, struggling to regain its composure.
Pinning his hair back from his forehead, James held the top of his head. He glared at the old man. Disbelief draped across his face. He thought back to the awful assembly where he’d seen the strange dark figure with the sparkling eyes.
‘It was you I saw at school.’
‘Yes, now tell me what’s been going on.’
James took a moment to dust the debris off his clothes and get to his feet. Grandpa waited while James regained his composure; then, apparently content that he’d waited long enough, he continued along the pathway. James took the cue and followed. They walked at a far more comfortable pace than earlier. James moved alongside the old man, the path now wide enough to accommodate them both.
‘The trouble is they hate me, they all do, every one of them’ James began. The outpouring that followed surprised James. His story burst forth unrestrained, purging the grief he’d held inside for so long. James told how the boys had humiliated him. How he’d do anything to win their praise, even to the point where he’d play the fool for their pleasure. But, no matter what he did to try to gain their acceptance, it made no difference; they still took the piss out of him; they still called him Maggot. He told Grandpa how, most of all, Perfect Pete upset him. The guy used to be his friend. He found it bewildering that Pete had changed so dramatically, to the point where he now despised him. James explained how he would act like his puppy, doing anything his master commanded. He told how Pete seemed to relish his power. How he’d call James over under some sort of pretence and James would oblige, paying the price of humiliation in return for the possibility that Pete might befriend him. If Pete asked him to jump, James would jump; if he asked him to beg, he’d beg. After Pete had had enough fun at James’ expense, he would verbally or, sometimes, physically assault him. At this point, once he’d been completely humiliated, Pete would move onto a new target.
‘But he always comes back to me. I’m his favourite,’ James clarified. James told how he’d escape to his safe place and hide behind the school bins. ‘It’s so disgusting no one goes there.’
As they continued down the path, Grandpa listened as James went on to tell him how he’d tried to do the same to Burley Blake. It was good to have at least one kid weirder than him. James cons
idered Burley to be his puppy. He had decided to show Perfect Pete that he could be just like him; show him how he could intimidate and humiliate someone too. But no matter what James did to Burley, and he did some bad things, the weirdo simply passed it off and let it go. To make matters worse, Pete reacted against him, using James’ failure to humiliate Burley as a reason to ridicule him. To them, he was Maggot, the lowest of the low and no matter how hard James tried to be like Pete and his cronies, he was treated with contempt.
‘I feel like my insides are being eaten, Grandpa, when they treat me like that; like I am rotting or dying inside. Whatever I do makes no difference. It doesn’t change a single dammed thing. And there’s this whining voice, constantly in my ear, going on and on, telling me to do this, and then do that. It keeps at me, demanding that I try harder, and try again, and keep on trying.’
‘How does that voice make you feel, James?’
‘I’m angry…. I’m bloody livid. Pete’s a shithead, and Jesus, why can’t it be different?’ The blood rushed to his face, betraying the emotions he had previously managed to hide away, but which now surged forth, taking him by surprise. Even though he wanted to scream, James held back.
‘It’s not right, Grandpa. There was no reason for him to treat me like dirt after our falling out. I still don’t know why he wouldn’t make up with me. It‘s like an excuse to get rid of me. I did nothing wrong; I don’t deserve his ridicule.’ He paused, allowing the anger to give way to sadness, which rapidly began to engulf him.
‘He should like me, shouldn’t he? After everything I do for him, I don’t understand why he doesn’t. I do everything he asks. I must be missing something; I’m definitely missing something I can change. I can win him over. He used to be my friend.’
‘And Burley?’
‘Well, I’m not sure, but I guess if they can treat me like that and get away with it, I should be able to do the same to Burley. Why is there a different rule for them? If this is the way life works then I should be free to behave the same way. Life’s meant to be fair. ’ They climbed over a few rocks that blocked the path.
‘Have you worked out what’s going on yet?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The whispering voice you hear is your shadow. It’s your shadow’s voice driving you mad. He provokes you to jump through hoops; sets up and creates those conflicts and challenges. He pushes you and gives rise to all those emotions. Your shadow is the one who demands you win Pete’s friendship, at any cost. It is he who tells you that you should be able to make Pete like you. And your shadow tells you how things should be, regardless of reality. He piles on the pressure, makes you attempt to bend over backwards, all in the name of being liked. He tries to make you be something you’re clearly not, but something you think you should be. Think about it James: how ridiculous is it to think that you can make anyone do anything, let alone like you. Can you control his mind? Do you have some sort of mental super human power over people?’
The old man paused, allowing his words to take weight with the boy. Up until the moment he saw the dark figure in the mirror, James had been unaware of the Shadow’s existence. But to think that the dark being talked! He found this incredible. Furthermore, he struggled to come to terms with the way, as Grandpa explained it, that the Shadow operated. It seemed to take every opportunity to seed, tend and cultivate his troubled thoughts. And these ideas shaped his actions. Surely “his Shadow’ should be working with him, not against him. The sadness from earlier weighed on him a little heavier; he’d discovered he had another enemy. But despite the sadness, James seethed with anger. The thought that the Shadow had control of his emotions, that it had driven him to the point of desperation and despair, infuriated him. James strengthened his resolve to rid himself of the darkness, even if it meant killing the Shadow and his king. I’ll see it in hell before I let it keep the light from my eyes, he thought.
‘So when Pete’s friendship didn’t come?’
‘When he rejected me, I wanted to hurt him deeply. That’s why I painted the maggots swarming in his mouth. I wanted them to eat away at his insides, in the same way he chews me up and spits me out.’
As he finished his sentence, James’ foot caught on a rock, and he tripped. Absorbed in telling his story, he’d forgotten about the dangers of the path. He tried to grasp the edge of the escarpment as he fell, but he wasn’t agile enough. He fell into the mist, disappearing into the abyss. The slope of the cliff moving outwards towards its base broke his fall. Head over heels, he toppled down the easing gradient of the slope. The rocky rubble on the ground tore at his clothes and flesh. Rapidly, the slope flattened. He came to rest lying face down. Almost instantly, he sensed danger nearby. He sprang to his feet, poised and alert. The muffled screaming of the creature he’d heard earlier was louder, coming from everywhere, but James appeared to be alone. He stepped forward. The ground cracked beneath his feet before the thin shell of its surfaced collapsed beneath him.
‘Grandpa’ James screamed as he dropped into a hole.
The short fall winded him. He landed in what appeared to be a dark warren. The ground shook from the noise of screaming creatures, which exploded from every direction. He gulped down some air and stood up. Swinging his body in a circle, he realised that he’d fallen into the creatures’ nest. James covered his ears with his hands as protection from the intense noise. But no matter how hard he pressed it made little difference: the noise cut through and hurt his eardrums.
Erupting out of the walls were thousands of foul maggot-like creatures - large, slimy, smelly, vile things - screaming with hunger. Stuck in the mud-walls, the bodies of the maggots wriggled to get free. Every few seconds a maggot about the size of a tennis ball flopped out of the wall onto the ground. Once on the floor the maggots squirmed in James’ direction. If their path became blocked they would climb over the top of each other in their desperation to reach him.
James’ mind couldn’t think with all that racket going on. The power of their pleading, bleating, hungry cries and the pain of his aching ears besieged his brain until it hurt. In the vicinity of his ankle a creature had attached itself to his leg – right through his jeans! One of the maggots was sucking on his calf through the material! It was drinking from his body, quenching its thirst. The creature’s powerful suction drew out James’ energy from every corner of his being. Without making any cut or tear in his clothing, it was simply drawing out his vitality, effortlessly. James sensed its insatiable desire to suck all the power and life-force out of his soul. He would die if he didn’t escape.
‘Why don’t you take the easy way out as usual? Go on, get out. You shouldn’t be here. You don’t belong here. Use the mask and get yourself out!’ The voice of James’ shadow was unmistakable now that he knew what it was. He turned, expecting to see the dark figure. Even through the racket, the whispering voice cut through, compelling James to act. But his anger surfaced again to override the compulsion to take action on the Shadow’s dictate; he shouldn’t have to put up with this crap. He would silence it forever, given the chance.
‘Show yourself!’ James shouted, not thinking through what he’d actually do if the Shadow fulfilled his request. How do you kill a shadow, free yourself of its hold, and silence its demands? James had not yet consciously acknowledged these questions but they lurked in his subconscious, waiting for answers. Blinded by his hatred, James, right at this moment was consumed with a desire to kill the Shadow.
‘Why put yourself through this?’ the voice mocked before turning more aggressive: ‘Get the hell out of here; use the dammed mask!’
James’ knees wobbled. He was exhausted; another maggot had attached itself and was sapping what energy he had left. James kicked his leg automatically. The creature held on, sucking with an equally unquenchable thirst. James struggled to get it off in vain.
‘What are you doing fool, get out. Use the mask.’
‘I saw you, thief. You stole the light from my eyes, Give it back or I�
��ll…’
‘–You’ll do what? Put the mask on now! Do as I say.’
‘My light doesn’t belong to you!’ James shouted. ‘If you don’t give it back I’ll kill you!’
The maggots’ screaming intensified. They became more desperate in their effort to break free from the walls. The argument between James and the Shadow was exciting them into a frenzy.
‘You’ve got to do it. Do it now before it’s too late. I’m trying to help you, idiot.’ Drowned amid the clamouring creatures’ screeches, the Shadow’s request went unheard. Hundreds of maggots had by this time freed themselves from the wall and were squirming their way towards James. Obsessed with discovering the Shadow’s whereabouts, James kept searching, ignoring the impending danger. The creatures reached him quicker than he had expected. Several maggots, climbing over each other, latched onto him. Ankle-deep in the vermin, the sheer strength of their suction dragged him down until he fell to his knees. James could feel the last of his life-force being extracted. He collapsed, and within moments the mass of maggots had buried him alive in their feeding frenzy. Then, like an annoying fly, the Shadow’s voice could be heard again.
‘You must listen. Put on the mask! It’s your only hope. Will you listen to me, you idiot!’
‘No, I won’t give up.’ James managed a faint cry of defiance. He closed his eyes; he hadn’t got long to go before he was done for. The mask, his only hope, stayed in his thoughts. He’d reached this point of desperation so soon. A small gap between the writhing bodies momentarily appeared. In those few seconds James caught a glimpse of his grandfather’s guiding light peaking through the mass of bodies. The guide was waiting for him a few metres away. Despite the uproar surrounding him, Grandpa’s words echoed in James’ mind:
‘This light will guide you, James; follow it wherever it goes.’
‘Follow it – yes, follow the light!’
With a superhuman effort, spurred on by the sudden realisation that there was still hope, James slid forward on his belly. The maggots persisted: as he moved they clung to his arms, legs and back, almost everywhere except his face. But even with them pulling at him he was able to push through the swarm, to pull himself closer to the light. He became totally focused on his lifeline. Soon the little star was hovering gently in front of him, its glow comforting him. But the light made no effort to help James escape from his current predicament, to find him safety and sanctuary.
Exhausted by his efforts, James rested his cheek on the ground and closed his eyes. What is the light waiting for? he thought. He was confused and angry: he’d been led to nothing; the journey had been a futile exercise. The maggots had succeeded. He opened his eyes, surprised to see the star at ground level, glowing inside the broken, discarded shell of a maggot pupa
‘Put the damned mask on!’ The Shadow’s voice was relentless.
James succumbed. He reached out a trembling hand. The light was transformed. The brilliant mirrored face shone once again, illuminating the pupa’s shell which now sat on top of the mask, like an ancient warrior’s helmet. The cone shaped head piece fitted perfectly, while pieces of shell dangled down each side of the face, as though protecting the missing ears. The mask and helmet combined to create an amazing illusion - the complete head of a warrior, lying dismembered on the floor. Without further invitation, James grabbed the helmet and placed it on his head.
‘Good lad, you’ve done well.’ Grandpa's voice was crystal clear above the now dwindling, almost musical sound of the maggots. That which had previously appeared chaotic now looked tranquil and peaceful.
‘It’s quite enchanting.’
James didn’t reply, somewhat because he was shocked at the sound of his Grandpa’s voice, but more so because he was awestruck by the change in the maggot’s sound. He instinctively knew that, like his search for the Shadow, it would be futile to try to find his Grandpa. He assumed the old man’s voice was speaking to him through the helmet. James felt his energy begin to flow back. As he recovered and rejuvenated, the maggots lost their strength. They became weaker and weaker until they fell away, becoming impotent bags of flesh.
‘Life sucking vermin,’ Grandpa’s voice stated. ‘They’ll devour you if you let them but, as you can see, if you can detach yourself from their whining, and protect yourself from their screams, and listen, really listen, you’ll find their song. And, well, their bleating loses its hold. Some might say they even sound rather beautiful. Do you think so?’
‘Yes, I suppose’
‘Do you understand yet?’
‘Understand what?’
‘For goodness sake James, these are the King’s creatures. Through the whispering of the Shadow, pushing you here and there, making you jump to his commands, he puts you in conflict with yourself; he drains the very spirit of life out of you into these parasites. Find tranquillity James. When you are in turmoil, try to get free of the mayhem and find peace. Only then will you be able see things for what they are. And let me tell you: the best thing is that there is always a hidden melody, concealed behind the bleating demands. Remember this James for the time will soon come when you will need to practise it.’
‘I don’t understand…’ But silence met James. Grandpa’s voice was gone; he was alone. The Shadow was also quiet. Despite his solitude, the guiding light with its comforting glow provided him with some reassurance.
Unexpectedly, the sound of the maggots stopped and a scream arose from inside an unhatched pupa. Unlike the cry and wailing of the maggots, it sounded like something vicious was fighting inside the shell. Violently, the skin of the pupa began to rip apart and slowly, a folded wing emerged. With a sudden bursting forth, a huge bee-like creature was born.
Chapter Eight: Scorpion Bees.