Dark Channel

by Ray Garton

  He forgot about them almost completely when he saw light up ahead. It was faint, blue and seemed to pulsate.

  “Remember what I said, Mark? That you would see things tonight that you wouldn’t understand?”

  He nodded, frowning.

  “Well, you’re about to see one of them. It will all be explained to you in the coming days, but I promise you that, when you see it, you will experience a sudden understanding, of sorts. A gut-level knowing. This is knowledge already possessed by every human being on earth. But it’s been lost over the centuries. Abandoned by humanity in favor of conventional science or antiquated religion or drugs or liquor. And it’s right here, Mark, right here with you. You’ll see it, touch it, bask in it.”

  They were nearing an elbow-like curve in the subterranean path they’d been following and it was from around this curve that the light came.

  “And,” she went on, “you’ll know that it has always been here. Just waiting.”

  As they rounded the corner, Mark felt the hair on his arms and neck stand up, heard a ringing in his ears and gasped as a fist clenched in his chest. He stopped, took a step back and stared at the pulsating blue light. For a moment, he wanted only to tear himself away from Hester, turn and get out of that cave as quickly as possible. His stomach roiled for a moment and a sickening hum began to fill his head, as if his teeth were vibrating rapidly in their sockets.

  “It’s okay, Mark,” Hester cooed, putting an arm around him and leading him on around the corner. “It always feels like this the first time. It’s very powerful, and unfortunately, it’s a power that we’ve been separated from for so long that being near it again is … well, a bit overwhelming. But you’re going to be all right, you’re going to be just fine.”

  She kept talking quietly, never pausing as they went around that seemingly endless curve until—

  —Mark could see part of it, just one side, and he automatically started to squint against the light, but found he didn’t need to because, bright as the light was, it was gentle, actually rather soothing, and as he continued around the corner, as it came into full view, static crackled softly through his hair and his knees trembled unsteadily, but he wasn’t afraid. Instead, he—just as Hester had promised he would—basked in the blue light.

  It came from an enormous, narrow, almost teardrop-shaped vertical crevice in the cave wall several yards away. The crevice was about fifteen feet tall and along each side of it were folds of smooth, glistening, fleshy stone. All around it, stalactites and stalagmites came from the ceiling and floor of the cave like fangs in a gigantic mouth. Above and around it, on the curved and lumpy walls, Mark saw something else, something that almost diverted his attention from that wonderful light.

  Like granite gargoyles perched on the ledge of an old European cathedral, murky figures were straddling, squatting and standing on natural stone platforms jutting from the cave’s walls. Mark couldn’t see them in any detail, so wasn’t sure if they were carvings or real people—or things—watching him from above, but it hardly mattered, because—

  —all Mark could think of was that light, that glorious, loving, healing light that filled him with a sense of euphoria that brought tears to his eyes, splitting the light into millions of glinting shards that seemed to shoot out, surround and embrace him, and a quiet sob escaped his chest as he put a weak hand over his mouth.

  “Isn’t it wonderful, Mark?” Hester breathed.

  “Wuh-won … wonderful. What … what is it?”

  “The Center of the Vortex.”

  Mark couldn’t take his eyes from it. Hester turned off her lantern and set it down, but Mark didn’t notice; the lantern’s light had been completely obliterated by the blue glow.

  Even the crevice itself looked inviting, as if it were warm and comfortable inside, and somehow Mark knew that if he were to crawl inside and curl up, he would never have another worry or problem, not the slightest discomfort whatsoever, ever again. His muscles burned to move him forward, to walk him right into that blue light, through the teardrop opening of that crevice to whatever wonderful thing lay on the other side. He almost did it. In fact, he took the first step but got no further because—

  —Hester’s arms were around his waist, holding him tightly, her hands sliding over his back and she was moving in front of him, brushing her lips across his, her hands moving down his sides now, over his hips and around to the front where her right hand moved up and down.

  “I’ve been holding off for this,” she whispered, her breath hot on his face. “I wanted to do it here. We have time, Mark. It’ll be a while before everyone’s here and they’re ready to begin. Here, Mark. In the light. In front of the Center of the Vortex. Now.”

  She lifted his robe. He felt her hands on his bare legs underneath.

  “Feel that light, Mark? Do you feel what’s in it? It’s full of love. Energy and love, Mark. Right here. Now.”

  They were kneeling on the smooth stone floor and Mark was moving his hands over her, kissing her, tasting her, and in the glow of the light each sensation was magnified, each time his fingertips touched her skin he felt connected to some powerful electrical current that shot through his body, rejuvenating him, cleansing all impurities, wiping away all flaws, and as they made love in the pulsating blue glow and under the gaze of the figures in the dark overhead, Mark began to cry out joyfully as—

  —Jordan watched and listened and waited. The crowd outside the cave grew and the people talked among themselves in hushed voices. He heard a few things—something about a vortex, more mentions of Katie Coogan and the Translation, even something about Reverend Barry Hallway—but nothing helpful, so he turned his attention to the children.

  Their chanting had become more intense. Jordan had never heard such raw passion in such young voices. The chanting went on for several minutes, but to Jordan it seemed like mere seconds; it was so easy to become swept up by the hypnotic cadence of the chanting that he’d lost track of time and even, for a few moments, of place. When the children stopped, Jordan blinked several times and shook his head hard, then watched the woman who stood in the center of the circle.

  She turned the little girl around to face her and said, “On this night, Katie Coogan, you will meet your destiny. You will pass through the Center of the Vortex and into your next incarnation, whatever it may be.”

  Next incarnation? Jordan thought. But I didn’t think that happened until … until—

  Until you died, he almost thought, but couldn’t bring himself to form the words in his mind. Surely that was not what this was all about. Surely they weren’t into that.

  “Take with you,” the woman continued, “the courage, energy and peace we have called down from the Ascended Masters and know that, in undergoing this early translation, you are helping to hasten the arrival of the New Age of Enlightenment.”

  The woman bent down and embraced Katie Coogan, holding her tightly for a moment as the circle began to break up. The children formed a line behind the woman, and when she moved away, the first child stepped forward, set down the lantern, embraced the girl, retrieved the lantern, then moved aside to make room for the next child … and the next … and the next.

  They’ve done this before, Jordan thought as a bad feeling settled into his stomach. This is a ritual they’ve all gone through before and they’ll go through it again.

  When they were done, they all headed toward the cave, single file, leaving Katie behind with the woman. The muted chatter among the adults stopped immediately and those with their hoods down pulled them up over their heads as they all stepped aside to let the children pass into the cave. Once they were all inside and the glow of their lanterns was swallowed up by the darkness, the adults followed.

  Jordan waited, listening as their footsteps faded, until there was only the silence of the woods: the chirping of crickets, the croaking of frogs, the hoot of an owl in the dark dis
tance. Once he was certain that no one had stayed behind to keep watch, Jordan made his way slowly through the bushes, around the rock and toward the cave. At the cave’s mouth, he stopped and listened for movement in the darkness. When he heard none—

  —How far in there have they gone? he wondered—

  —he went inside, as—

  —Mark watched the crowd gather, watched everyone setting aside their lanterns as they entered. His mind was still reeling from what he’d just experienced: the act of making love with Hester in the light from the Center of the Vortex. It had been the most invigorating and energizing experience of his life. No, no … those were inadequate words; it had been life-changing. Now he was certain, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that he had made the right choice in bringing Nathan here to Grover. He knew now that he had been called here, there was a reason; the light from the Center of the Vortex made him realize—gave him the assurance—that his presence here had purpose. He could not have taken the smile from his face if he had to; his happiness was almost palpable, he could almost taste it in his mouth. It was the most beautiful feeling he’d ever had and somehow he knew that nothing could ever take it away.

  The children filed in first, forming a half circle around the crevice; Mark joined the adults in forming another wider half circle behind the children. Hester stood in front of them with her back to the crevice, her body silhouetted by the shimmering, pulsating blue light that came from the crevice just a few feet behind her.

  “We have come together here,” she began, smiling, “in a spirit of celebration to witness a Translation that will aid us in expediting the New Age of Enlightenment, which Orrin has assured us is in our reach right now, but which is being held back by the disbelief of those less informed—less enlightened—than you and I. We have come here to rejoice in the knowledge that this New Age is being ushered in by young and old alike, by people of all colors and backgrounds, and that we are lucky enough to be a part of it.”

  Mark’s chest swelled, his grin felt uncontrollable, as if it might damage his face. He lifted his head with pride as—

  —Jordan made his careful way through the darkness of the cave, flicking on his flashlight now and then to make sure he wasn’t about to run into any stone walls, shielding the narrow beam with his fingers, hoping not to reveal himself to anyone, except he didn’t see anyone, there was no one coming toward him out of the darkness, no one hiding behind rocks, until, until—

  —he heard a voice, Hester Thorne’s voice, rising and falling up ahead in the distance, delivering what sounded like some kind of speech that was sometimes buried by the hammering of his heart sounding in his ears. In a few moments, Hester’s voice stopped and, after a brief pause, a chorus of voices began to chant deep within the cave, adults and children.

  He pressed on, wondering exactly how far in those people had gone, wondering what they were doing and, most importantly, if he really wanted to know.

  As the chanting grew louder, Jordan noticed that a faint blue glow was infusing the darkness; the farther he went, the brighter the soft, throbbing blue glow became until his flashlight was no longer necessary. He stopped to slip the light into his coat pocket and was about to continue when he noticed it, just a vague feeling of anxiety deep in his gut at first. But it increased. His palms became moist and clammy, his mouth became dry, and he suddenly felt vulnerable, as if he were about to be attacked from all sides. He walked on. The blue light became brighter and the feeling inside him grew worse. It was more than simple anxiety now, more than just a discomfort. It was now a raw, sickening fear and his steps became uneven, he swayed a bit from side to side, closed his eyes a moment and—

  —his mind exploded with hideous, vivid images—a mangled body lying in the rain as its blood rushed down a muddy gutter, an infant being thrown hard against a rock wall, burned flesh, gouged eyes, torn lips—and he opened his eyes as wide as he could to escape them and took a deep breath as sweat poured down his back, and beneath all his makeup, his skin began to prickle with perspiration, but he couldn’t worry about his makeup at the moment because something was terribly, terribly wrong here and the feeling he was having—the sense of badness, of naked, throbbing evil—was beginning to nauseate him and he felt like he would vomit soon.

  He staggered to his left and leaned against a fat pillar of stone, lifting a hand to shield his eyes from the light. But even when he wasn’t looking at it, he could feel it all around him, could feel it inside his bones like a silent, impossibly deep thrum, and closing his eyes to the light only brought back the frightening images that pierced his mind like shards of glass. Leaning heavily on the stone, he looked ahead.

  The light was brighter up there, unbelievably bright, and yet it didn’t hurt his eyes, didn’t even make him squint, although he squinted anyway because there was something wrong with that blue glow, something very wrong. It’s source was just around a bend that lay up ahead.

  That’s where they are, he thought. Just around that corner.

  Contradicting his better judgment and the small voice inside him that kept saying, Turn around now, get out, get away from this cave, this town, these people, get out getout GETOUT! Jordan pushed away from the pillar and, using the cane for real instead of just show, headed toward the bend up ahead. As he neared it, the light grew brighter and the deeply invasive sensation it gave him increased; the chanting became more distinct until he recognized it as the same chant he’d heard outside earlier: apparently a series of odd, exotic names, one of them being “Orrin.”

  He lurched toward the bend and, moving very carefully, climbed up over a large formation of rocks that resembled a head of cauliflower until he was against the lumpy wall of the cave. He was so close to them now, he could discern individual voices in the crowd of chanters, could hear each word they said … even if he didn’t understand them.

  The blue light pulsed from around the corner, shafts of it seeming to seek him out like the tentacles of an octopus. He edged around the curved wall, his feet searching for purchase on the uneven knobs of rock until he was almost able to peer around the corner, almost, almost, but—

  —his fear was worse now, a solid lump in his gut rising steadily to his throat, and the sweat was stinging under his makeup and making his shirt cling to him, his breath was coming fast and his head was throbbing dully, but when he closed his eyes, even for an instant, he saw—

  —mountains of naked decaying corpses and human body parts scattered over a vast barren landscape where buzzards feasted on red-black entrails, so—

  —he kept his eyes open and tried to calm his breathing as he leaned forward carefully, so very carefully, until he could see them.

  He was standing slightly above them and looked down on the two hand-holding half circles of children and adults. But they kept his attention for a brief moment. Instead of watching them, he stared in open-mouthed awe at the enormous crevice through which the blue light glowed. He wanted to look away but couldn’t. Whatever the source of that light, it was something unnatural, he was certain, something wrong … but it was also mesmerizing. It held his attention so firmly that, when he finally managed to turn away, it was only with great physical effort. Pressing his back against the wall and grinding his teeth, Jordan listened to the chanting until he heard another sound … a sound like—

  —wings flapping over Mark’s head.

  He was so lost in the chant that it took him a while to realize he was hearing something besides the other voices, but when the sound finally registered, Mark allowed himself the small infraction of opening his eyes during the chant and looking up.

  There were four of them. They glowed with a white light—A heavenly light, Mark thought—that made them stand out in the blue glow. They flew in graceful circles over the chanters, their wings flowing up and down fluidly, arms moving in gestures of approval, as if they were giving a sort of blessing, and—

  —Jordan stopped breat
hing when he saw them flying around over the chanters, the blue light glistening off the sheen of slime that covered their grey flesh … if it could be called flesh. Their bat-like wings looked frayed as moth-eaten fabric but moved with frightening power. Something viscous dribbled from their snouts, but because of the shadows playing over them, Jordan couldn’t see their faces in any detail, and for that he was thankful.

  They were—

  —naked, Mark noticed. Their creamy bodies were sexless, hairless and perfectly smooth, their head oval-shaped with delicate, almost perfectly round eyes that reminded Mark of Little Orphan Annie’s eyes, except instead of being empty, they sparkled with love, with joy. They—

  —flew around the chanters like vultures circling carrion and Jordan felt tears on his cheeks before he realized he was crying silently. He was crying because what was happening before him completely shattered his world view, utterly destroyed with one sweep the years he’d spent trying to exorcize from his mind the god-and-Jesus-versus-Satan-and-the-demons upbringing he’d so despised, the care he’d taken to reject anything supernatural, to scoff at the idea of heaven and hell, of good and evil, and cling only to those things that were visible, tangible and could be scientifically proven, but this, this was happening right in front of him, he was watching winged, man-sized lizards flying around in a blue light and he felt as if someone had taken the top of his skull off, dipped the two aluminum beaters of an electric mixer into his brain and flipped the switch.

  He stared at the flying creatures, trembling.

  They were—

  —Angels, Mark thought, they’re angels—

  —feverish nightmares, they were, to Jordan, pictures from the thick yellowed pages of some ancient, hellish book never meant to be read to children, they were—

  —The salvation of Man, Mark thought, our only hope. They’ve come to lead us by the hand like children into the New Age, they’re—