Depths
by
C.S. Burkhart
Copyright © 2015 by C.S. Burkhart
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
ISBN-13: 978-1514711521
ISBN-10: 1514711524
Dedicated to all of those who have suffered their own bouts of insanity. Hopefully it was brief.
Table of Contents
Foreword 6
Prologue 8
Book 1: Surface 17
Chapter 1 18
Chapter 2 26
Chapter 3 27
Chapter 4 34
Chapter 5 38
Chapter 6 40
Chapter 7 43
Chapter 8 49
Chapter 9 51
Chapter 10 56
Chapter 11 60
Chapter 12 67
Chapter 13 74
Chapter 14 78
Chapter 15 82
Book 2: Immersed 85
Chapter 1 86
Chapter 2 91
Chapter 3 94
Chapter 4 97
Chapter 5 102
Chapter 6 106
Chapter 7 107
Chapter 8 109
Chapter 9 112
Chapter 10 114
Chapter 11 119
Chapter 12 124
Chapter 13 128
Chapter 14 132
Chapter 15 135
Chapter 16 139
Chapter 17 143
Chapter 18 148
Chapter 19 154
Chapter 20 156
Chapter 21 162
Chapter 22 169
Book 3: Depths 171
Chapter 1 172
Chapter 2 178
Chapter 3 182
Chapter 4 188
Chapter 5 191
Foreword
So this is my first published novel, it took me five years to finish it but it’s finally done. It’s interesting, I started writing this book as a way to sort of document what I was experiencing. A lot of what happens in the novel actually did happen to me; I was constantly having dreams/nightmares and I couldn’t tell if they were real or not. I would get confused throughout the day, thinking I had done something or needed to do something because of a dream I had had. It went on for months before I decided to basically stop sleeping. You can’t dream if you’re not asleep right? I would sleep at an absolute maximum of 3 hours per night, usually closer to 1.5 - 2 hours, except on Saturdays when I would sleep in. This would mess with me too though, I would have auditory and visual hallucinations, space out and not remember who I was talking to, or continue conversations with the wrong people. I did this for almost a full year.
Anyways, I started this book so long ago and finished it when I was in a completely different place in my life. Going through it again so much later, it really brought back all of those memories from that time. The things we do…
In reading this novel, you will live through and experience many of the same things I have. Almost everything (almost everything!) that happens in this novel is based off of dreams or nightmares I had, and the writing reflects the disoriented thinking I was doing back then.
I will tell you that everything you need to know to understand this novel is written inside, although it might not seem like it at first. There are clues to look for, things to notice and pay attention to and if you’re clever enough, you just might be able to figure out what’s going on.
Good luck.
Cordially,
C.S. Burkhart
P.S.
Got questions about this book? Send me an email, I’ll be doing Youtube Q&A sessions and would love to answer any questions you have!
[email protected]
Prologue
…I stumbled through my front door, gripping my head. What had just happened? Where did I even come from? I plopped onto my couch and closed my eyes, hand on my forehead. I took the car keys out of my pocket and dropped them onto the coffee table. The clinging sound echoed in my skull like pots and pans beaten by hammers.
I yanked my hand off my forehead, my eyes bolted open and I sat upright on my couch. What day was it? Did I need to work?
Today is Monday. I think.
No, today is Monday. Right? Whatever, I hate Mondays and I'm pretty sure everyone else does too. Don't you? Correct me if I'm wrong. There's always something that could be better about Mondays. And if there was something that could be better about the week, it was Monday. The significance of it being Monday is that two days ago it was Saturday.
Since it was Saturday I could sleep in, and I haven't been sleeping much lately. Whether it's because I can't get to sleep or because I'm refusing to sleep, I simply am not sleeping. Your mind works in strange ways when you haven’t slept. Try not sleeping at all for about 48 hours and you'll be amazed at how differently you start thinking. Try not sleeping for longer than that and you will see the world through a whole new set of eyes. Your brain is unfiltered and it just becomes pure thought. Your mind processes so much faster because there aren't any hoops and hurdles in your head anymore.
Saturdays I slept though. Sundays sometimes, but not usually. I didn't get my hopes up for it at least. I woke up on Saturday like I usually do, unaware of my surroundings, trying to piece together what had happened the night before. Usually nothing had happened the night before which is why it was all the more confusing not being able to remember. It’s not like I was out with friends or anything, I didn’t really have any, nor was I drinking alone or anything else that would cause me to forget. Maybe I just wasn’t doing anything memorable and that’s why I couldn’t remember.
Tendrils of haze peeled away as I lay there in bed, naked and shivering in the January cold—I didn't use a heater, costs too much, plus I liked the cold. I heard a sound coming from outside of my door. A dull, creaking sound. The sound you would expect an old man to make as he rose unwillingly from his arm chair. There was obviously no one in my chair, I lived alone. But I digress.
I stretched, back cracking and popping, tendons loosening up, a stretch a track coach would be proud of. The blood rushed from my head and I felt dizzy for a moment, but I quickly regained my balance and proceeded to my bedroom door. The door seemed to bulge towards me, like I was looking through a fish eye lens. I inspected it for stretch lines, it would have only made sense for a bulging door to have them wouldn't it? I had not had any experience with this before. I grasped the knob, the metal cold in my hands, twisted and pulled the door open. I shivered and my teeth started chattering so I wrapped my arms around myself to warm up and I saw my own breath. Little puffs rising and quickly evaporating. Now, I like to think I can rationalize most anything. But I couldn't make sense of this. I didn't check the clock when I woke up, but it must be at least two in the afternoon. That was the earliest I woke up on Saturdays. And there was no way it would be cold enough to see one's breath inside, even in January. I went back into my room, tripped over my black work boots, and while lying on the ground dazed, found a pair of pants and a shirt. I'm not sure how long they had been there. They didn't smell bad though, at least not to me, so they must have been OK to wear. I sat up on the ground and pulled the pants and shirt on.
Let's try this again. Stand up, back to the door, open, go outside and... Yep. Still freezing. Why? I staggered down the hall in the dim light from outs—
...Dim light? Wait, what time is it? Teeth still chattering I made my way back to my room once again, tripped again, I really do need to clean my room
, and checked the clock on my nightstand near my bed. The clock read out loud to me, “5 A.M.” in such a matter of fact voice—in my head of course, the clock can't talk—that I actually had to say it out loud for it to register. I would deal with that impossibility in a moment.
The house groaned again.
Room, door knob, open, hallway, thermostat.
Now why would a thermostat, set to keep the place at 75 degrees Fahrenheit, tell me such a blatant lie? It clearly is not 75…
Creeeooooooooocccccshhheerrrrrr!!!!!!!!!
That's what the house sounded like. Say it out loud, you'll understand. The house seemed like it was impatient with me. Which was unfortunate, I was impatient with the thermostat and it was far too early for me to be awake, so it seemed that no one was starting off to a good day on this fine Saturday.
The noise was coming from my office, kitty-corner to my bedroom. Down the hall on the left. I made my way back down the hall and put my ear up against the office door. I always kept the doors shut in my house. If something comes after me, I'll at least have a few extra seconds while it opens the doors. I listened closely... And couldn't hear anything. No groaning, nothing.
I was knocked to the floor and hard. Luckily my head broke the fall. I was stunned for a good ten-seconds or so. As I shook my senses back and picked myself up, something slammed against the door again. The door bulged unnaturally outwards with the force. It didn't even make sense for it not to shatter with the impact. Somewhat fascinated as to how that could be possible, but also rather frightened, I cautiously approached the door again. There was another loud groan that erupted from inside and I backed away, expecting the force to hit the door again. But nothing. Seizing my chance, I leaped forward at the door and swung it open and… Nothing again.
It's frustrating when that happens. You know, like when you're watching a movie, the suspense builds... Creepy music plays as someone rips open a shower curtain to find nothing? And then…
Creeeooooooooocccccshhheerrrrrr!!!!!!!!!
The sound was deafening coming from the actual origin. I clasped my head trying to block my ears but it was if the noise was inside my head. Everything rattled violently, my desk, the bookshelf, the stacks of paper and books tumbled off my desk and crashed to the floor.
The sound stopped and I opened my eyes and uncovered my ears, still ringing. I stood up but my legs were shaking so I leaned on my desk for support. A voice in my ear said:
“Monday. Today was Monday. The significance of it being Monday is that two days ago it was Saturday.”
Wait. What day is it?
“...And nobody likes a Monday.”
“Wake up!”
What?
Now don't get me wrong, I can respect authority. But this is ridiculous. I had worked at my company for going on four years now. I can't say I was perfect but I did my job. Watching a surveillance camera isn't the most difficult thing in the world. Especially when you're a night-shift security guard for a company that sells copy machines. I mean honestly, who steals a copy machine? Who even buys a copy machine anymore? This was the first time anyone had even attempted to break in, let alone actually break in and steal something. Why the fuck would someone do that? Is robbing a bank too cliche nowadays that we have to steal copy machines? And how did they even get it out? Honestly, you have to give whoever did it some credit for actually being able to get it out of the building without even waking me up or being noticed by anyone. I'd assume something like that would make a good deal of noise. It's a fucking copy machine. So, long story short I was fired.
Friday. Today was Friday. It was nice that this happened on a Friday so I could at least have an extended weekend. And I was fired at 5 A.M., the end of my shift which was pretty convenient.
I can't say I really blame my boss for firing me, or well former boss, because I wasn't the perfect employee. But I could have at least gotten a warning beforehand, no? I walked towards my car, unsure of what to do for the rest of my day. Friday.
I left the building into the parking lot and got to my car, fumbling with the keys before getting them into the lock.
Click.
I love that sound. It meant that I was going somewhere. Somewhere away from wherever it is that I am. I left the parking lot and began driving down Memorial Drive. I still couldn't get the dream out of my head. What did it mean? I just needed to concentrate so I could remember all the details.
The windows in my sedan exploded, shards of tempered glass flew at my face. My body was flung to the right and jerked back as the seat belt locked. As my car began to tip, I watched as the horizon went from horizontal in front of me to vertical, to behind me to just a blur of shapes and colors, spinning and spinning as I tumbled. The crunching metal and shattered glass littered the street behind me. I could hear tires screeching trying to stop, attempting to avoid hitting me. From what I could tell they hadn't. But I couldn't feel any part of my body so how would I really know? Hell, I could barely see. Blood ran into my eyes but I couldn't tell if it was running down my face or up my face. And yet, the only thing I could think of was my stained shirt. Not the one I was wearing, the one I was wearing when I went to dinner with her the first time. Wine is a bitch to clean out. So is blood. What a way to start the weekend.
“Wake up!”
What?
Now don't get me wrong, I can respect authority. But this is ridiculous... Ridiculous... Why was I fired without a warning? Four years and I don't even get a warning? It was one fucking copy machine? One! It’s not like the whole store was robbed! And why only one copy machine? Is that all the robbers could get out? Or did they only need one? Do they not have a Kinko's or something? I don't know. I reached my car and fumbled for the keys before getting it into the lock.
Click.
I loved that sound. It meant I was going somewhere that wasn't here. But I couldn't get my mind off the dream as I backed out of the drive way and onto Memorial Parkway. If only I could remember all the details... I just needed to concentrate...
Shit!
Red light. Almost ran it. Good thing I stopped too, that jackass didn't even wait for his light to turn green before speeding around the left turn. Would've hit me if I hadn't stopped. Idiot. I hate when people don't pay attention when they're driving.
I honestly couldn't think of doing anything. I mean, normally I would be sleeping. If I slept that is. More like trying to sleep. But I felt that since I would have a lot more free time on my hands I should figure out something to do with it, but nothing came to mind. My social life as of late had pretty much deteriorated into nothing. No one came to mind to meet up with, and it was too early in the morning anyways. 6:34 A.M. is what the clock said.
6:34 A.M.?
Hang on, how long have I been driving? I was fired at 5 A.M. I didn't even know where I was. I'm not exactly known for my navigational skills. I couldn't even remember the path I took. None of the streets looked familiar, no landmarks that I recognized. I didn't even see any cars on the road.
Where am I?
A low moan whimpered from the passenger seat. Her shaking arms clawed at her face in an attempt to wipe the red, red blood out of her eyes. I was paralyzed. My car veered to the right and I grabbed the wheel, barely avoiding driving off the road.
“What- what hap-happened... Wha-What happened to m-m-me...?”
Her frail voice broke through choked tears that leaked profusely from her eyes. I wish I could have said something, but I just sat there trying to steer while I stared with my mouth hanging open like a moron.
“WHAT HAPPENED TO ME!?” she shrieked, lashing out at me, gashing me with her nails.
My car veered from side to side, screeching down the road as I fought to stay in control of my car while fighting her back.
“WHAT HAPPENED TO ME!? WHAT HAPPENED!?”
“I don't know! Calm down dammit, I want to help!”
“P-p-please help m-me...”
She broke into sobs and pulled her legs up to her chest. I
couldn't find anywhere to stop, nothing seemed to be around.
What part of town did I drive into?
All there was was road.
Until there was a gas station. I slammed on my brakes, almost speeding right past it, and pulled into the parking lot.
I was alone. No other cars, no people. Just nothing.
I parked the car, undid my belt and jumped out scurrying to the passenger side door, and opened it, trying to help out of the car. She kept her head down on her knees and when I touched her arm, she jumped and let out a whimper.
“Don't make me... Please don't make me...”
“OK, OK... Just stay here and I'll get help.”
I darted into the mini mart behind the pumps, up to the counter and peered around. There was no one in back, no customers. The place was deserted.
I felt a hand grip me sharply on the shoulder and spun me around.
“Can I help you sir?”
What?
The cashier gazed at me, clearly puzzled. He had wrinkles around his bespectacled eyes, which were magnified intensely by his glasses, and balding gray hair ravished by a receding hair line. Seemed like a nice enough fellow.
“Can I help you with something?” he asked again. A little harsher tone this time.
For a moment I forgot where I was. What was I even doing in here?
“Uh, yeah. I'm a little lost. Can you tell me how to get back to Memoir Drive?”
I sounded as confused as he looked.
“Take a left at the light, follow the street down for about two miles and you'll make a right at Chestnut and then take the first left after that. You'll hit Memoir in about a mile.”
Depths Page 1