Progeny

by Shawn Hopkins

  Journey with the Gods. Neptune. Heroes of old.

  But John couldn’t quite remember what the man on the tape had said about these “heroes” — some kind of inference suggesting they were none other than the mythological gods of antiquity. It was a connection, though, that he couldn’t do anything with at the moment. So instead, he grabbed the first book in the pile.

  The Bermuda Triangle and the Doorway to Hell.

  For over two hours, he read the book that attempted to define the physical boundaries of the phenomena, document the strange occurrences within them, and even bring a theological perspective to the topic — addressing creation, the ocean, demons, and why there was to be no sea in heaven.

  John had always been under the impression that the entire subject was nothing but pure fabrication. But the detail Douglas included in the reports was sowing his mind with second thoughts. There were simply too many official records and too many mysteries that went unexplained by the available theories.

  The story of Flight 19 especially gained his attention because it seemed to be “the event” that had first cemented the Triangle’s infamous reputation throughout the world.

  In December of 1945, Five Navy Grumman TBM-3 Avenger torpedo bombers took off from Fort Lauderdale on a routine training mission that was to take them no further than one hundred and twenty-three miles from the base, following a triangular pattern. But the entire flight vanished on its way back. Some of the pilots’ transmissions that had been picked up within the three-hour ordeal included reports of erratic compasses, unknown directional headings, low fuel, and no idea as to where they even were.

  A twin-engine Martin Mariner, manned by a crew of thirteen, was sent out to look for Flight 19, and heading toward the last known position of the five bombers, it too vanished — though it had only been in the air for twenty minutes. But despite over four thousand one hundred hours of air-search time by more than three hundred planes and a small army of destroyers, submarines, Coast Guard vessels, search and rescue cutters, and private yachts and boats, not a single trace of Flight 19 was ever found, leaving a board member from the Navy Board of Inquiry to remark, “They vanished as completely as if they had flown to Mars” — a statement which only lead to more bizarre theories about the area. A scientist from Miami was actually quoted later by the press as saying, “They are still here, but in a different dimension of a magnetic phenomenon that could have been set up by a UFO.” And then, twenty-nine years after the disappearance, a ham-radio operator that had been working during the time of the ordeal told a reporter that the lieutenant in command of the flight had actually transmitted, “Don’t come after me… they look like they are from outer space.” But the reporter sat on this information for obvious reasons, until he was able to view, in part, the transcript from the plane’s transmissions — something that was made available only after severe pressure was applied by the missing pilots’ families. Though he wasn’t able to see the entire thing, he did discover that, indeed, the Lieutenant did transmit at least the first part of the strange command, “Don’t come after me…”

  There was also a US Army C-54 that disappeared between Bermuda and Palm Beach in 1947 and then a British South American Tudor IV passenger plane, Star Tiger, that disappeared in January of 1948. Even though the captain of the Star Tiger announced to Bermuda’s control tower that weather and performance was excellent and that they expected to arrive on schedule, the Star Tiger was never heard from again. Even more bizarre, the Coast Guard station in Newfoundland later picked up a voice transmission pronouncing G-A-H-N-P, which were the Star Tiger’s call letters. This strange phenomenon, if not a hoax, led someone to suggest that these late transmissions could, perhaps, have been broadcasted from a great distance away… as in another dimension of time and space. A Court of Inquiry concluded that there was no ground for assuming radio or mechanical failure, fuel exhaustion, meteorological hazards, or that the pilots simply got lost, but instead concluded, “It may be truly said that no more baffling problem has ever been presented for investigation… What happened in this case will never be known.”

  The Star Arial, Star Tiger’s sister ship, disappeared during a flight from Bermuda to Jamaica almost a year later to the day. Again, the pilot reported clear weather and that their ETA was as expected. It was, as in the other cases, the last anyone had ever heard from the Star Arial, even despite the fact that a US Navy task force was already positioned within the general area the search would begin in. And the reason why the task force was already present within the area was because it was looking for another plane, a chartered DC-3, that had disappeared on December 28th. The search had just been called off a week prior to the Star Arial incident. The circumstances surrounding that incident were even more troubling than that of the Star Arial’s disappearance, namely because weather was calm and clear and that the last thing ever heard from them was the pilot announcing they were just fifty miles out, the lights of Miami visible. The term “dematerialized” began being used to describe the mystery.

  By the time Ronald’s book had concluded the accounts, such phrases as “clear air turbulence,” “wind shear,” “atmospheric anomalies,” and “electromagnetic disturbances” had become regular in use. It was true that official theories existed concerning certain disappearances, but it seemed that none could truly account for missing planes and boats, or explain how completely such vessels could even vanish.

  But more troubling to John than the thousand plus missing vessels and their passengers was a chapter on the ocean itself. He was suddenly too tired to think back through it, though. Instead, he quickly sent off a text message to his pastor, asking for his opinion on the strange theological theory Douglas had presented within the chapter.

  He rubbed his eyes and swung his feet over the side of the bed, needing only to reach the light switch before committing to some much needed sleep. But in his movement, he accidentally knocked the bizarre book to the floor. It landed awkwardly, its pages momentarily fanning open before gravity could set them back to rest. Now only the front cover remained bent open. John tilted his head as he noticed something scribbled across the inside of the cover, beneath the dust jacket. Reaching down, he removed the jacket and discovered that the author had actually signed the book. It took John some effort to make out the scratchy signature, but when he finally did, he picked the book up off the ground, closed it, and with trembling fingers, removed the sticker price from off the front cover. It had been concealing the author’s true last name — which was not Douglas.

  His full name was actually… Ronald Douglas Carter.

  SIX

  I’m sure that I’m lost now, and quite certain that the sinister presence that is leading me will abandon me in this labyrinth once its purpose is satisfied. The thought of dying down here has my hands shaking uncontrollably. I want to turn and run. I don’t care about the terrorists’ booby traps. I just want to leave. But still, I can’t stop moving forward and am only getting deeper and deeper into the strange network of tunnels. My night vision only intensifies the eeriness, masking everything in a ghostly glow of green and white. I swear that I can see things creeping around, hiding in the corners of my vision. I come to a split in the path and swing my MP5 submachine gun up, peering down each black hole. Everything in me says to go left, that the stone floor inclines and leads back to the surface. But I go right. Something is pulling me. I can feel it dragging me now, summoning me against my will. My screams echo around me. I curse the god of this horrid land and beg whatever other deities may be listening to just kill me.

  John let himself acclimate to the foreign surroundings that were beginning to appear before his somnolent eyes. Slowly, the dream’s influence began to fade, replaced instead by the seeping memory of the past day. He sat up in the bed and looked out the sliding glass door beside him. The sun was up, and there was not a cloud anywhere in the northeastern sky to encroach upon its declaration of the new day. The clock next to him read 8:39.

  No
ticing that his hands were still shaking, he decided it would at least take a hot shower to rid the dream’s lingering aftertaste from his worldview. As he stood, he caught sight of the books stacked next to the alarm clock and remembered in an instant the things he had discovered just before falling asleep, namely the stories of the Bermuda Triangle and the author’s last name. He also recalled texting Pastor Brian a question about hell’s association with the ocean, if even there was one. But after checking his phone, he saw that neither Brian nor Frank had gotten back to him yet. There was, however, a text message from Jackson instructing him to meet them in the lobby at noon. He tossed the phone back onto the bed and anxiously headed for his morning therapy.

  As the hot water splashed against his skin, he felt the dream — and the memory that still managed to sustain it — begin to grow fainter, evaporating into the steam that engulfed the bathroom. He bowed his head in prayer, seeking a guiding light that would lead him through the mysterious maze he was so helplessly lost in.

  ****

  After surviving the shower without incident — no drain demon trying to suck him out to sea by his toenails or Neptune disguised in a wig and brandishing a knife — John walked back into the bedroom and sat on the side of the bed. Adjusting his towel, he reached for Ronald’s other book, Lost Bloodlines: The Gods Among Us. He had an hour before he would set out in complete disregard to Frank’s advice, so he took the book out onto the balcony and sat in the morning sunshine. Cautiously opening the cover, as if by mishandling it he might release into the world a manifestation of its contents, he started reading.

  He didn’t get far. Chapter two was already thrusting a rather large monkey wrench into the biblical timeline with which he was familiar. The stumbling block proved to be a passage in Ezekiel chapter 28, a passage, Ronald declared, that concerned the priesthood of Satan before his damnation.

  John went and got his own Bible just to make sure that Ronald wasn’t rewriting the holy Scriptures.

  The word of the LORD came to me: “Son of man, take up a lament concerning the king of Tyre and say to him: This is what the Sovereign LORD says: You were the model of perfection, full of wisdom and perfect in beauty. You were in Eden, the garden of God; every precious stone adorned you: ruby, topaz and emerald, chrysolite, onyx and jasper, sapphire, turquoise and beryl. Your settings and mountings were made of gold; on the day you were created they were prepared. You were anointed as a guardian cherub, for so I ordained you. You were on the holy mount of God; you walked among the fiery stones. You were blameless in your ways from the day you were created.”

  But there were a few differences between John’s NIV version and whatever version Ronald had used, so John checked the copyright information on the first page of Bloodlines, learning that all quoted verses had been taken from the New King James translation.

  The places in which the text varied were where the NIV had “adorned” instead of “covered” and “Your settings and mountings” rather than “The workmanship of your timbrels and pipes.” “You were the anointed cherub who covers” was also rendered “Anointed as a guardian cherub,” and “you walked back and forth in the midst of the fiery stones” was instead translated, “you walked among the fiery stones.”

  John was not educated in any form of Hebrew, so any opinion he might have on the matter would be useless. Perhaps when he returned home he would inquire about the original language of the text. But for now, he was only concerned with understanding Ronald’s point, a point that may or may not have brought his brother to this place.

  The chapter argued that Satan “was in Eden” but that the Eden described could not be the same Eden that Adam was placed in because Satan was said to have entered this Eden as a minister of God, the Genesis account obviously painting quite a different picture. Also, in the Ezekiel text there was no mention of trees or other things commonly related to the Genesis Garden. Instead, Ezekiel confronts the reader with what appears to be some kind of palace — constructed of gold and precious stones (the “covering”) — that seems peculiarly similar to the Scripture’s description of the New Jerusalem. It also seemed, from a proper translation of verse 13 — the service of thy tabrets and of thy pipes was prepared with thee on the day when thou wast created — that from the time he came into being, Satan had been surrounded by symbols of royalty, his person and position being announced, as it were, with the very noises appointed for such a high inauguration; for indeed, God made Satan to be the wisest and most beautiful of all His creations, appointing him as the Prince of the World and the Power of the Air.

  It was clear from the verses, Ronald proclaimed, that Satan’s dwelling place consisted of three areas — Eden, the Garden of God, and the Holy Mountain of God. Just as the tabernacle itself contained the Outer Court, the Holy Place, and the Holy of Holies. And just as Satan was described as being “upon the Holy Mountain of God as the Anointed Cherub that covereth” — like the covering cherubim situated atop the Ark of the Covenant within the Holy of Holies — so was the Jewish High Priest fixed in Jerusalem near the Temple and the presence of God. From all of this, Ronald claimed that it was a matter of reasonable deduction to conclude that Satan had been the great high priest of his realm, perfect in all his ways and dwelling in a palace of gold and jewels that was located near the very presence of God.

  John read through it again, paying special attention to the references made to the fiery stones and the parallel verses Ronald used to explain them. Compiling Ezekiel 1:26 and Exodus 24:10 and 17, he believed that the fiery stones were present before the throne of God, which suggested that when Satan was in Eden, he must have had customary access to and from God’s immediate presence, even holding from such a location the exalted responsibility of leading all creation in worshiping God (as seemed to be the responsibility of the cherubim in the book of Revelation).

  John closed the book and stared out over the harbor, his mind suddenly troubled by something new. And upon further reflection, he realized that the cause of his discomfort could not entirely be attributed to the things written, but rather the manner in which they were written. Turning to the Bible, he very briefly read the entire chapter, wanting immediately to discount Ronald’s theory on the sole fact that it was not Satan being addressed at all but rather the King of Tyre. But he had to admit that even that explanation led to a host of other problems, since no mortal man could possibly be said to have met such requirements. He would have to ask Brian about this, too.

  Still unable to truly lay his finger on why the words were troubling him, he went back to the book and continued to read. Two pages later, it struck him right in the face. It was the way in which Satan’s apparent reign had been pronounced without an account of its end. In fact, the last verse Ronald quoted — “he was perfect in all his ways” — was cut off from the rest of the verse, which stated, “till wickedness was found in you.” There was simply nothing in Ronald’s writing that hinted toward the fall of Satan. Rather, there seemed to be a sense of sympathy behind the carefully chosen words used to describe such a lost “Golden Age.”

  When he read those two words, reinforcements of terrible vibrations hurriedly rushed to join the violent assault already in progress. He didn’t even know what they meant, but for some reason they fell on him like contestants from one of those reality weight loss shows, pinning him down into the chair.

  And then the sliding glass door slammed shut behind him, nearly shattering from the impact.

  Once his heart sank back into its rightful place, John turned around, almost hoping to see someone in his room. Even a man strapped with explosives and shouting, “Allah Akbar!” would have been preferable to an invisible attic stalker closing doors on him. But no one was there. Opening the door, and for some reason expecting it to be cold to the touch, he stepped back inside and looked around the hotel room, wishing someone would jump out at him. After not finding a single trace of anyone having been in the room, he gathered his things and left. As far as he knew, heavy glass doo
rs thrusting themselves closed was pretty abnormal. If not completely paranormal.

  Speeding away on his scooter, he quickly put as much distance between himself and the hotel as possible. He didn’t think the invisible intruder, whether a ghost or a time traveler equipped with a cloaking device, would come after him, but he wasn’t taking any chances. Besides, the timing of the door closing had corresponded too perfectly with his third reading of the words, “Golden Age.” It was getting harder to ignore now, that something was indeed happening. Something from some other sphere was reaching its hands across the Great Divide and beginning to muddle in the world of the living… slamming doors shut, making VHS tapes, manipulating storm clouds…

  Ignoring the speed limit over the Causeway, and against all reservation, he headed into the rising sun, Bermuda’s oldest home waiting for him.

  ****

  Coming down Southside Road, John was surprised to spot Jackson on a scooter pulling away from the curb that lined the Carter House. John quickly dropped his head, and Jackson passed by without noticing him. He was heading back west.

  John pulled up to a stone wall that was adorned with a circular plaque announcing, “Carter House: One of Bermuda’s Oldest Houses.” Turning on the scooter’s seat, John stared after Jackson, wondering what could’ve possibly brought him to this place. Another improbable coincidence.

  Once he was sure that Jackson was too far away to notice him in a rearview mirror, he shut down the scooter. Entering a wooden gate and passing between two signs advertising the Carter House Museum, he followed a stone path between a palm tree and some other island foliage, coming to a white stone building accented with dark green shutters. But he didn’t enter the building, just stood before it, trying to appreciate its four hundred-year history. Though he hadn’t doubted its existence, he nonetheless felt he needed to see it for himself in order to grasp the magnitude of what its history suggested. Not that he had any idea what that could be, but there was little doubt now that whatever was going on involved not just Henry, but the whole Carter name.