Everyone was so desperate for a savior and miracle of miracles; here he was, larger than life. Truth be told, we’d even heard his name before. There was a tribe nearby that bore the same name. There was even a nearby island that was named after him and we took that as a sign. I know now that they were keeping him trapped there, that the name was truly meant as a warning. Whether he took their name, or they took his it was no matter; it was all meant the same. They were keeping his evil from spilling out and infecting the rest of the world, but for our great sins and transgressions and for the lives we and others like us so thoughtlessly took, they unleashed him upon us, or quite possibly they couldn’t hold him back anymore due to the greed and evil we had brought with us to this new world, I know not which. It is no matter though; I truly wish that I could stand before you, blameless, and say that we didn’t deserve any of this woe that rained down upon us, but regretfully I cannot. He told us we could all come and live in his town where there were already-built homes, stable defenses, and plenty of supplies for us all.
It seemed to be the very answer to our prayers, but then came his price and it was but one terrible thing. He had only the one solitary condition for us, for all the wonders that he was so freely offering. He did not believe in our Christian God and they had to leave him behind to die with the settlement if they were to follow him. Unfortunately, by that point, people were only too willing to jump at any scrap of hope that was offered. They felt that God had abandoned them here in this harsh, unforgiving land to die, their prayers falling on his deaf and indifferent ears. So they followed him instead. They disassembled our entire settlement, piece by piece, unwilling to leave behind any scrap of the slightest value, even when moving to a promised paradise; such was their hubris and their greed. They followed him then, off onto the mainland, into the darkness and the woods. On the way out of the shell that was left behind, he carved his name into one of the remaining fence posts, a cruel reminder left behind to me of the name of the wolf that had led my lambs astray. He led them here, to the town that he had promised them.
Over the years, the look of the town changed some; the buildings morph overnight while the people are at their meetings. They change to look more like the modern world, with all the modern amenities; those that he’ll allow so that they do still retain their Old World charm. Likewise, the people’s speech changes as well, to mirror what it is like in the world outside. They don’t even notice the changes as they happen, as far as I have been able to observe. Only my church alone never changes here.
The few children that were with the original group or that have found themselves here since, aged to adulthood and then simply stopped aging. All the adults that come here stop aging immediately. Every night, they go to their meetings and every night he feeds upon their souls, as was their arrangement. That is the price they gladly pay for their eternal youth, in some sick form of demonic symbiosis. He holds no real affection for them though. He keeps them forever young, not because he loves them, but merely so he can continue to feed off them for all the eternity he chooses to grant them. He makes them sing and dance because it amuses him, like puppets, like toys; he lets them believe that they are free, but they aren’t. Whether they know it to be true or not, they’re all nothing more to him, but slaves, his cattle, his food, his prey; they are completely under his control. They will do anything that he tells them to do.
Over the years, the population has continued to grow as people stumbled into his trap. Once here they are given only the two options, to stay and follow him as their false god, or die. It doesn’t matter to him either way as their souls are forever trapped in this world, no matter what they choose. He’ll continue to feed on their souls long after they die.”
“What? Wait; people can die? I thought they lived forever here?” Kurt asked.
“Oh, they won’t die of age or disease, to be certain; those things simply don’t exist here, but they can always be killed.”
“And what happens to the people who are killed here?” John asked.
The preacher looked heartbroken and bowed his head. He seemed to be saying a brief prayer for all those poor lost souls. He then stepped out from behind the pulpit, walked past them to the center of the room and knelt down. They watched as he pulled on a small string nailed to the floor and lifted up a secret hatch. John and Kurt both rose from the pew and walked, tentatively, over to where the preacher stood. They looked down at the opening, but they couldn’t make out what was down there. It was simply a black pit.
CHAPTER 14
THE HEART OF MUSICAROLINA
John and Kurt stood beside the preacher at the edge of the opening he revealed in the floor. John gazed downwards into the gloom of the abyss, trying to hazard a guess as to what might be shrouded in the darkness below.
“This is yet another unsettling revelation heaped upon an apparently never-ending big ol’ pile of unsettling revelations, on top of what has already been a rather unpleasant day. Ah, misery, my old friend; you never let me down, do you?” John mused.
“Nope, this just keeps on getting better and better, doesn’t it? Soooo what’s down there, preacher?” Kurt asked, his sarcasm trying to mask his nervousness.
“If you truly wish to peer into the true blackest heart of Musicarolina, it’s right down there in the pit. Down there, the garish façade of the town is utterly absent; its fragile mask finally peeled away, revealing the grotesque face beneath. So, my children, therein lies the truth behind all the pretty lies,” the preacher responded, ominously.
“Yeah, that’s great and all, very descriptive, but now just one problem I see with that; ironically, you really can’t see anything down there right now. It’s pitch black,” John responded.
“Well, if you ask me, it is only fitting that the heart of this particular town would be pitch black,” Kurt interjected.
“I suppose that this is going to be one of those situations where you’re going to tell me that you can’t simply explain to me what’s down there. I, dreadfully, suppose it’s one of those things that ‘I have to see for myself’ or some such nonsense?” Kurt asked, gloomily.
“I’m afraid that is indeed true, my son.”
“Yeah, I figured as much. That’s about how my luck has been running lately.”
“Now, you’re not afraid of a little adventure, are you?” Kurt joked, although honestly, he failed to see any humor in their current predicament.
“You know there was a time, way back when, where adventures were fun and exciting. Filled to the brim and overflowing with dashing heroes, beautiful maidens, and wacky sidekicks. Now, it involves crawling through the pitch black underbelly of a town run by some sort of psychotic, murderous, singing, demon mayor thingy! Why is it that things never change for the better?”
“Oh really? That’s fascinating. What times were those, exactly?”
“I don’t know! I wasn’t around back then; we read about ‘em in books and stuff. You know, those things with all the words in ‘em?”
“Well, I guess, to that point, I would qualify as a wacky sidekick,” Kurt said pluckishly.
“You certainly are, my li’l chum, you certainly are. Also, equally as true, I am quite the dashing hero, if I do say so myself. Not that it’s especially comforting right now,” John replied with a wink.
“Charming banter aside, do you want to go in or not?” The preacher asked.
“Oh, believe me, I’m going in; after everything that I’ve been through in the last twenty-four hours, the last thing that’s going to scare me off is a little ol’ hole in the ground. Of course, thinking back on it, I did say roughly the same thing about a sign with some scary red ink on it and that didn’t turn out so well for anyone involved,” John said, pretending to be more confident then he truly felt.
“Yeah, that’s the spirit; just ignore how amazingly poorly it worked out for us with the whole town hall thing. I’m sure it was just a freak occurrence. I mean what are the odds of things going that far sideways twice i
n a row?” Kurt asked, with a wink.
“Yeah, yeah, thanks for pointing that out, fate-tempting jerk. You coming with me then, Kurt? C’mon; it’s gonna be loads of spooky fun!”
“Oh heaven’s no, what kind of idiot do you think I am?”
“Thanks, pal. I knew I could count on you. I swear, you are the worst wacky sidekick in history! You should know by now that, as the wacky, comic sidekick, your only job is to accompany the hero on his noble quest and, at some point in the tale, to bravely and selflessly sacrifice yourself for him. You are really dropping the ball!”
“I’m...sorry?”
“You darn well should be! Well, if I’m going to do this, I’m going to need some light,” John said. Immediately, in response to his request, the preacher headed to the back of the church and began to rummage through an old chest that was tucked away in the corner. Finally, he produced an old torch and a length of rope. He pulled a matchbox out of his pocket, took out one of the matches, struck it and lit the torch. The torch flickered to dazzling life. The flames shone brightly, lighting up the room. He crossed back over to John and handed him the lit torch. John took it halfheartedly from him, and said, “A torch? Really?”
“I suppose if it would make you feel any better at all, you could just use the matches...if that’s what you’d prefer. I really wouldn’t recommend it though,” the preacher replied.
“No, a torch is just super. I think I’ll stick with that, thanks; it sets the mood of this whole misadventure nicely.”
“Good. You’re all set then; no time to waste. Let’s get started,” the preacher said as he began to wrap one end of the rope around the leg of the nearest pew.
As he did this, John knelt down and lowered the torch into the pit. By the flickering light it provided him, he could vaguely make out the shape of the rock walls and what appeared to be a cavernous tunnel leading off into the darkness under the church. He turned to the preacher and asked, with the slightest waver in his voice, “Now, I don’t want any more monster-y surprises, so please be up front and honest with me; there isn’t anything down there that can hurt me, is there?”
“Trust me my son, there is nothing down there that is capable of hurting anyone anymore,” the preacher replied, sorrow in his voice as he began to prepare to lower the rope into the hole. Then, almost as an afterthought, he said, “Well, I suppose you could trip on a rock, or something, but that’s really on you. Also, before you go down, I really should caution you about one thing, my child. What you see down there will disturb you, shake you to your very core, but do not fear; there is no real danger there. Just remember, whenever you are prepared to come back, just head toward the light.”
“Oh great. Thank you for that. ‘Walk toward the light’; that doesn’t sound ominous at all. Here, take this for a second,” John said to Kurt, handing him the torch and beginning to secure his grip onto the rope.
“Kind of ironic that of all things, it’d be a secret tunnel, huh?” Kurt said.
“Why’s that exactly?” the preacher asked.
“It’s an inside joke. Trust me, it’s a long story preacher; I promise I’ll tell you all about it sometime if my wacky pit adventure don’t kill me first,” John replied, feigning a roguishly confident smile. He then grabbed the end of the rope, checked to make sure he had a firm hold and took the torch back from Kurt with his other hand. Taking a deep breath, he nodded to the preacher and allowed himself to be lowered into the pit. He held his breath the whole way down. He watched the flames flicker and reflect off the rock walls. He peered nervously into the shadows and despite the preacher’s earlier assurances, he still wondered and feared what may be lurking in them. Once he reached the bottom of the pit he shouted up at them, “All right, I’m down safely; let’s hope I stay that way!”
“If you’re not back in an hour, I’m going out for lunch!” Kurt shouted down at him.
“And I hope you choke on it, d-bag!” John shouted back, waving. He then held his torch high; the flames illuminated the dark cavern walls. He took yet another deep breath and slowly let it out. He then firmly closed and reopened his eyes. He knew he was now alone here in the abyss and the heart of Musicarolina.
***
John turned around, surveying his surroundings, trying to allow his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness. As he turned, he could hear his feet squishing in what sounded like mud. He looked down at the ground and he could then see that the entire cave floor consisted of nothing more than some form of reddish-brown sludge. He held the torch up again and from the light it gave off, coupled with the light still streaming down from the church, he could see that he was in what appeared to be a massive central cavern. Judging from the sheer size of it, he surmised that this cavern he found himself standing in must have covered the entire area underneath the church and its surrounding grounds. There was only a single tunnel that departed from this main cavern, which led off directly in front of him. The tunnel was enormous and unnaturally straight, at least from what he could see of it, which wasn’t much as the torch light wasn’t sufficient to even begin to reach the end of the tunnel.
John took one last, bracing glance back upwards toward the safety of the church and there he saw Kurt and the preacher staring down encouragingly at him. Kurt gave him a halfhearted thumbs up and continued with his weak, but still marginally encouraging smile. John then gathered all of the courage he could muster and headed down the dark tunnel in front of him, his feet squishing through the muddy earth the entire way. He gave a brief pat to where he had secreted his pistol, just in case, and feeling some hollow measure of security in finding it there, he continued onwards.
He held the torch out in front of him and studied the cavern walls on either side of him as he cautiously moved down the tunnel. From what he was able to observe, the walls were made up entirely of solid rock, unlike the muddy ground beneath his feet. Along the walls, intermittently running in and out of small cracks and crevices in the rock, wormed some strange form of scaly green vines. This was the only vegetation to be seen. The cavern was otherwise completely barren. He noted the strange odor of the tunnel. It was completely foreign to him; he thought to himself that it was as if someone had found a way to aerosolize the stench of despair. Ignoring this troubling thought, and fighting the urge to immediately turn and run back toward the light, he forced himself to proceed slowly, yet deliberately through the tunnel.
John inched along as slowly as he was able, not wanting for one second to rush headlong into whatever horrors were contained within the depths of this mysterious cavern. He held the torch in a death grip with both hands, so tightly his knuckles turned white from the sheer force. He earnestly expected that at any moment he would have no choice but to use it as a club on something lunging at him out of the darkness. As John continued his slow and fearful trek forward, he noticed, on the wall to his left, a concentrated bundle of the scaly vines. He saw from their shape and the odd colors showing through small gaps in the vine coverage that they obscured something about a foot off the cavern floor.
Against his better instincts, John drew nearer to it and elevated his torch to give him more light and to investigate the shape that was hidden beneath the vines. As he did, his heart stopped. He didn’t breathe; in fact he lost all sense of any feeling in that terrible moment, for he saw the vines were covering the body of a man. The man’s face was twisted in a hideous expression of terror and agony, his body covered in grotesque cuts and slashes. His throat was completely torn away, revealing the bone beneath and his eyes were an eerie, milky white. John reached out his trembling hand, with far more courage than he previously knew he possessed, to close the man’s eyes; when suddenly, he jumped back. He watched in horror, startled as the man’s chest swelled in and out; pushing the vines outward as it did. He realized now that somehow, by some ghastly spell, or blackest of magic, this mortally wounded man was still breathing.
With a beleaguered moan and what seemed to be tremendous effort on his part, the man low
ered his head and shifted his milky white gaze directly into the light of John’s torch as if he was being drawn to the flame. The man tried reaching his gnarled and mutilated hand out toward John when suddenly, unexpectedly, the vines sprang to life. Like a coiling python, they surged around the man and pulled him back to his original position on the wall. John took several paces backwards, brandishing the torch for defense. It was then that he noticed for the first time the movement underneath the man’s skin and clothes. The vines didn’t just go around the man, holding him there on the cave wall; they also went entirely through him. John then abruptly realized with a jolt and a shudder, as sure as if the thought hit him like a bolt of lightning, that they weren’t really vines at all; they were tentacles like those he and Kurt had seen on the mayor creature. Here, they wriggled throughout the length of this gloomy cavern, diving in and out of the rock, still feeding on those whose time had long since passed above ground. Realizing there was nothing he could do for this poor, wretched soul, he turned away from the man, whispered a silent apology, and stretched his torch back down the tunnel.
As he surveyed the walls with this appalling revelation firmly in mind, he now took in the sight anew with disgust and disbelief. John began to walk down the tunnel as if in a trance, propelled inexorably forward at the sight of his worst nightmares realized and made flesh. All the way down that horrid tunnel which seemed now to be endless, the walls were covered with bunches upon bunches of those writhing green tentacles covering the bodies of their victims. Each person held there seemed to have a very graphic and very fatal wound or wounds. He saw a gunshot here, a slit throat there, several missing limbs, but each one was still somehow alive, or at least what passed for living in this bizarre and gruesome parallel dimension. Each one was both covered by and infested with the tentacles covering their skin, writhing underneath and occasionally worming out of their grisly wounds to twist about in the cold air of the tunnel. As he passed by them, each grotesque visage would begin to turn toward his light only to be snapped back into place by the imprisoning coils of the tentacles. He looked at each face as they turned toward him, though he did not want to, it was merely a morbid reflex. He gazed back at each one’s agonizing stare and then he froze.
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