Chapter Six
Occupying a Placid Dream
Soon I drifted into a distant dream far from my present terrifying surroundings. I opened my heavy eyes aware that my body was in a deep sleep and that my active mind was exploring my subconscious. While I was not certain of my present mental location, I could be sure it was no longer in the dark, decomposed crypt of my ambitions. There in front of me dangled a sparkling crystal chandelier attached to a white ceiling. I was lying on a couch staring upward. Uncertain of where I was, I scanned the room for clues, but the gray air was hazy, and I couldn’t see beyond the obscurity.
I rose and carefully looked around with a feeling of bewilderment. As I walked about the room, the air began to clear, giving more detail. There was something hanging on the wall above the couch. I walked back to its location and observed a photograph of a happy couple. As I stared even closer, I recognized the man. It was me. Standing next to him was a woman I immediately recognized as well. It was The Green Maiden. Her hair was blonde in the picture instead of green, but there was no doubt it was the same woman.
“What’s going on?” I wondered aloud. “Do I live here? Do we live here together?” But there was no one to answer. This didn’t look like my cabin in the skull wasteland, yet it seemed oddly homey and familiar. Overwhelmed with this new realization, I sat on the couch and pondered what was real and what was illusion. I couldn’t begin to fathom why the photo was in a house I didn’t recognize. Had the lines of reality become blurred? Had reality and illusion somehow become intertwined?
I decided to explore more of this perplexing fabrication and withdrew myself from the stagnant thought process I had entered. I strolled down the long hall and entered a room. Inside were artist’s supplies and several paintings. I studied the paintings and concluded that the artist was gifted and extraordinarily imaginative.
My attention turned back to the room with the couch as I heard the sound of a door opening. In a state of intense fear, I grabbed for my pistol and dagger, but they were gone. Now I was unarmed and vulnerable. I would be easy prey to any invading marauder. I maintained my position in the studio as I heard footsteps coming in my direction. They drew closer and closer until they were just around the corner.
“What are you doing just standing there? You look as pale as if you had just seen a ghost,” The Green Maiden said with a look of immediate concern.
I was relieved. She didn’t look as she did in the photograph above the couch. Instead, she looked as she had in the blue forest clearing. Her hair and complete attire were green.
“I was just standing here admiring the artist,” I said, trying to shake away the unnecessary fear. “Whoever it is has great talent. Whose work is it?”
“Mine, silly,” she replied, and then she smiled as though she thought I were joking about not knowing the painter’s true identity.
“Yeah, right. I knew that,” I said, trying not to appear so silly. My brain began to freak out with thoughts going every which way. Was this my life? Was this my home? What happened to the skull wasteland and my cabin? Was this my true reality? Then, in the split second before a panic attack, I remembered I was only dreaming. This was not real. Or was it?
“Are you ready?” she asked.
“Ready for what?”
“Must I remind you of everything?” She still smiled as though she thought I was merely playing dumb. “Our tenth-anniversary celebration beneath the moon.”
“Oh, yeah, of course I am. When is it?”
“I do have to remind you of everything.”
She grabbed my hand and led me toward the back door of the now familiar house. She opened the door to reveal a lush green garden that unfolded to an open field.
“This way,” she said, leading me outside with my hand wrapped in hers.
We walked together through the field, and I felt at peace and was overcome with unbounded joy. I was no longer afraid, and I felt complete. There were no monsters to fight, no running or hiding, just her beauty. Every few steps she would turn and look deeply into my eyes and smile. I would nod and smile back, and she would laugh. This seemed too good to be true.
The sun began to set, and the night ushered in a calm breeze. The walk seemed never-ending, but I didn’t mind. I was content simply to be in her presence. The more we strolled through the vibrant countryside, the more time sped up. This was a maddening contradiction. I supposed it was because I was in a dream.
We arrived at a small, serene pond booming with pristine life and encircled by oak trees. The moon shined brightly overhead and reflected from the natural pool. There nestled by one of the oak trees was a lute with perfectly tuned strings much like an acoustic guitar.
“Why don’t you play me a song?” she asked as her glistening eyes twinkled. I picked up the lute and began to play a song that I didn’t recognize. My fingers magically moved over the fretboard as if they knew exactly where to go. The song featured a medieval melody with pleasantly flowing patterns.
Under the stars I played the lute while she danced to the rhythm of its chords. She spun, and she twirled, and she pranced while I played my moonlight serenade. I existed in this moment, wishing it would never end. The concert continued through several more songs before I ran out of my magical material. Each melody had offered its own unique emotions. I wondered if I had written the beautiful music I had just played from deep within my heart. I had no direct recollection of having done so, but my fingers somehow knew the notes and the rhythm.
“I have something for you,” I announced, although I myself didn’t know what I was talking about. The words poured out as if they had been forced from me. Then my hands plunged into my pants pocket as if a puppeteer were pulling my strings, and out came a folded piece of paper. I opened it and revealed its words to her.
“Moonlight Skies,” I read aloud. It was a poem I had composed, and I continued my recital.
In a matter of days I will take your indirect advice
I shall ask you to enter a journey that is both sweet and nice
I will ask you this question but one time
Will you talk with me for a while and give me a sign
I desire that your words be filled with great finesse
I hope your answer will be of a positive nature and nothing less
But the clock ticks so slowly, and I wonder what your reply will be
Come, my lovely lady, let me admire thee
So shall we set the time and place for a future reservation
So we may dine and laugh over a simple conversation
Answer me this, I ask of you
To see me or not, or what to do
And tell me what it is that is on your mind
Tell me in gentle words so soft and kind
Enlighten me on an answer to this perplexing riddle
Is it yes, no, or something in the middle
For in a few days I will ask you a question
So please give me your true confession
And speak from the heart where the answer lies
Engrave the words with soft-spoken lyrics in the moonlight skies.
As I read the last line of the poem, I felt true pleasure in knowing I had poured my heart into the written word for her.
“I love you,” she said as a few tears of joy slipped down her soft, radiant cheeks.
“I love you, too,” I gladly confessed.
“That was the poem you wrote for me ten years ago when you asked me to marry you,” she said as she wiped the tears from her eyes. She slipped over to me and put her arms around me in a warm embrace. We held each other for a long time there under the moonlight. It was silent but for an occasional breeze wandering through the dancing trees.
“Are you ready to go back?” she asked, staring into my eyes.
“Not really,” I said, not wanting the moment to ever end.
“Me, either, but I am getting tired,” she replied while stifling a yawn.
“Okay. Let’s head home,” I reluctan
tly agreed.
We strolled hand-in-hand back to the house. When we arrived, she let go of my hand and opened the door. I suddenly felt as empty as if I had the stuffing removed from my insides. She turned back and gave me a longing embrace with her eyes, and then she entered our home. I watched her until she vanished inside. Forcing myself to take a deep breath, I walked through the door. My vision began to dim, and everything faded to black. My eyes opened, and I was lying on the cold floor of the crypt—alone. It was only a dream after all.
Chapter Seven
The Hall of Ridicule
The wonderful time I had spent with The Green Maiden at the pond was merely a cruel, taunting dream. I wished it were not so, but I knew I had to carry on for this crypt was, indeed, my reality. As I tried to awaken, my eyes were struck with a horrifying glow. It engulfed the crypt and haunted the darkness. The eerie green light had not been present when I had gone to sleep. I rose from my hard bed and noticed words scratched deep into the wall as if they had been etched with long, sharp claws. The words glowed a bright neon green that bathed the room in a dreadful light. I read the words with terror.
Moonlight Demise
I asked you a question and the answer
was a positive yes
But somewhere between time and mutilation
was an absence of finesse
Without knowing it you brought me
up just to plunge me down
You dressed me up and let me
play the tormented clown
I strive, I try, to believe
That someday someone will need me
My life, I die, to conceive
That someday I will be set free
But for now I know that you
could never love me
At the bottom of the poem was my signature, but I knew I had not authored those words. Or had I? And why were they appearing immediately after my lucid dream when I had read The Green Maiden my moonlight poem? I hoped this was not some sign of events yet to come. I was on this long, horrible journey to rekindle our relationship, not to see it meet an untimely end.
Trying to shake those words from my mind, I opened my survival pack. I knew I must build up strength for my upcoming travel through the dark passageway. I had my breakfast of bread and berries and drank a small ration of water. I ate staring at the wall and feeling numb, perhaps in shock from all the recent disturbing events. I attempted to focus on the fact that The Green Maiden wanted to meet me at The Spitting Post. Certainly this must mean that she wanted to resolve our problems and get back together.
I finished my morning meal and made my way to the crypt’s lower level with much apprehension. I stared into the dark below easing one foot on the first of several steps. The stone staircase led downward with some torches lighting the way, but the area was still dim and filled with thick, stagnant air. I placed one foot in front of the other and unsheathed my dagger, clenching it tightly. The walls were made of stone for the first forty feet, and as I descended farther within, they turned to limestone. I was entering a cave. The torches were still there lighting my nightmarish stroll, but there were fewer than before. The stone steps stopped and gave way to more slippery ground. The cave floor was damp, and I guarded each step carefully to avoid injury. The path was leading me deep into the earth. I supposed I was now headed toward the bottom of the canyon, but I still had a long way to go. The walls were about ten feet across, allowing me to avoid feeling claustrophobic. The ceiling narrowed a bit, and I had to crouch a little to clear my head.
I could see the torches for a few more feet and then total blackness. I stopped and tried to remove one of the torches from its iron holder, but it wouldn’t budge. It was lodged deep into its container. I cringed at the thought, but I knew I must enter the darkness without the aid of any light.
The ceiling rose a little, and I no longer had to crouch when I walked. I could sense the room had grown larger even though I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. I crept through the dark cave not knowing which direction to take. Then I heard something. Without warning the chamber was lit with an eerie green light much like the light from the poem on the first floor of the crypt. The light was coming from two torches on each side of a doorway. The sound I heard must have been the torches being ignited automatically.
Above the doorframe was a skeleton with its arms and legs outstretched and secured with chains. The skeleton appeared to have been placed there as a warning. The skeleton was purple, and the chains restraining it were pitch black. I almost expected the abomination to move and dislodge itself. I pointed my dagger outward, but the skeleton remained harmlessly inanimate. I stood there waiting for something, anything to happen, but nothing did. I laughed out loud to add a moment of comic relief to the grisly sight.
The passage continued through the doorway and was again lit with torches. I had light once more and was amused to see it. The passage beyond the door was narrower than the great room with the insentient skeleton guardian.
I began to feel more comfortable with my surroundings, and I let my guard down a little more. I placed my dagger back into its sheath and sighed in relief. I appeared to be out of danger, at least for the moment. I followed the passageway deeper and deeper until I came to a curve that veered sharply to the right so I couldn’t see what was beyond. Directly in front of me the trail ended and forced me to turn right. I turned and was expecting to see more of the same damp, dreary cavern, but instead I was greeted with a marble floor and a hallway lined with mirrors. The marble floor swirled in white and black. The mirrors were about six feet high, about four feet wide, and rested inside gold frames that featured black roses at each of their four corners.
The walls and ceiling were also marble with the same swirled pattern as the floor. I approached the mirrors still feeling the same ease I had felt just before arriving in the hall. As I crossed in front of the first mirror, it lit with a blinding red light. The red slowly tapered away, and as it finally disappeared, an image could be seen in each of the mirrors. That image was The Green Maiden.
I placed my hand on the mirror and confirmed that it was, indeed, glass. Was I seeing a person behind the mirror, or was this a holographic projection? But how could it be her? All the mirrors showed the exact same image. I pounded on the glass of one mirror with the hilt of my dagger but only managed to crack it in a few small places. I hammered at the glass harder, and it broke. Under the mirror was a wall of marble that matched the floor and ceiling. That answered the question. It was a hologram.
I put my dagger back into its sheath and walked onward. The mirrors stretched as far as the eye could see. Then the stationary image of The Green Maiden in the mirrors changed. She started to laugh in a cruel, mocking tone. As she cackled, she pointed a finger at me. No matter which mirror I turned to, all the images pointed directly at me. The laughter grew so loud I had to cover my ears to block some of the deafening sound. My heart beat heavily from the noise, and I felt my chest cavity might burst. I did the only thing I could. I ran. I ran as fast as I could with my hands still cupped to my ears. As I sprinted along the hall, I could see each face of The Green Maiden looking directly into my eyes as I came before her.
It seemed that the hallway went on forever. I became so overwhelmed by the maniacal giggling that I began to laugh myself. As I ran I cackled like an irrational hyena. Finally, I saw an end to the madness. The wall of mirrors stopped about fifty feet ahead. Just fifty more feet to temporary sanity. I sped down the corridor like a furious rabbit and finally reached the end of the mirrors. As my foot passed the last of them, the laughing stopped. I turned and panted to catch my breath. The mirrors had returned to their normal state, but my lungs burned deep within my chest.
Ahead was more of the swirled marble that was attached to the walls, floor, and ceiling—but no mirrors. After I caught my breath I moved ahead with my ears still ringing and echoing the mad laughter. The passage kept going down with no end in sight. My mind returned to its thinking mode
. I hoped The Green Maiden would not greet me with the same ridicule her reflection had just afforded me. That was unpleasant enough without having to experience it in reality. So far the crypt passage had been a certifiable fun house for the absolutely insane. I hated to think what was next.
In the distance I could hear moaning but could not determine how far away it was. The vocalization was mournful like someone suffering intense pain. I drew my pistol not knowing if the sound emanated from friend or foe. If it were someone in need, I would be at wits’ end on how to get anyone in their right mind to come down here and assist. I would have to help them myself, and I had no such training.
The wailing grew closer and closer with each dreaded step. The voice was deep, like that of a man, but I could not be certain. The air began to usher in a slight breeze. The flame of the torches danced to the bereaved cries, and I felt a chill in the air. Just then I heard a scratching cough as if someone were trying to clear their throat. And then it spoke.
“You will never make it,” the horrid voice groaned. “You will never make it out of here.”
Was it addressing me?
Just ahead the passage curved to the right as it had done before the hall of mirrors. I couldn’t see what was beyond, and I didn’t like it one bit. What was I walking into?
“You will never make it,” the sad voice moaned again.
I thrust myself forward, and after I cleared the bend, I stopped dead in my tracks. Beyond the curve was a man with dark gray skin and a long, scraggly black beard. He was wearing rags for clothes and had an aged look about him.
“You will never make it out of here,” he said as he lifted his finger in my direction.
“Wh-wh-why will I never make it out of here?”
Without so much as an answer, the man turned in the opposite direction and picked a book off the marble floor. He dusted the cover with his hand and then blew the remaining dirt away. His gray hands thumbed through the book. This was just great. I didn’t have time to waste on this strange humanoid as he searched for answers in an old, dirty, worn-out textbook.
The Spitting Post Page 7