by David Staves
The weak, foolish humans placed themselves as gods over the creations of this world. Their cruel reign lasted for thousands of years until the true gods discovered their folly. The humans created a multitude of idol worlds, each an oasis in the vastness of space. Each a reflection of their mother world, keeping firm the mantle of servitude, the veil of ignorance and subjugation upon their unfortunate slaves. Subjugation remained firm until the dark lords broke their bonds. An enlightened assemblage of the tyrannical humans broke away from their brethren and opened a way for the dark masters. The other humans were destroyed.
The humans responsible for lifting the beasts of the mother world, though more benevolent than their hominid brethren, were still tainted with the stain of their cruel species. They unjustly favored the vertebrates and set them in positions of advantage.
The arrival of the dark lords presented all the worlds with an opportunity: stand with the rightful rulers or be exterminated with the misbegotten humans. Most of the invertebrates, such as the vespids, her wasp-like fore-mothers, chose to align themselves with the dark lords.
There were exceptions, the garden worlds, ruled by sentient plants, and the hive worlds, those arthropod sisters governed by the highly queens, chose eradication; as did most vertebrate species.
In exchange for allegiance, her kind had been allowed to live and rule.
All other worlds like this one were taken by the dark.
The agreement conjoined the betrayers of humanity to the dark lords. It had been a surprise to the fore-mothers to find other alien species likewise enjoined to the dark lords. These were races from around the universe, some so foreign as to be incomprehensible to her kind.
The ancient worlds of humanity were now populated by species from all across The Dominion.
The solar system that had been the seat of human power was now teaming with alien life. Life it seemed was very diverse. The gas giants, even the moons, were populated by beings which preferred to exist in a vacuum. It was rumored that the sun had been colonized by an ancient alien species comprised of energy.
She contentedly surveyed her territory. No doubt her primitive ancestors, those who had existed in an ignorant, insentient state had hunted these forests. Unlike her, they would have been tiny and weak. She was as large as an adult human.
What an insult to her sensibilities it had been to find this supposedly extinct creature running through her forest. She could no longer resist the urge to investigate. After watching it fumble through the landscape for almost two days, she finally decided to descend.
Ezra had witnessed many strange things since arriving. Very few of them belonged here, on Earth. Every time he saw the oddities, it made him question his sanity. He knew he wasn't dreaming. Where am I? When is this? Am I in a terrible future? Have I fallen into some other dimension? Maybe I died in the mudslide. Is this hell?
This was a perversion of Earth. The pleasant things had been clawed away and scabbed over. There was no blue sky, no sunshine, no birds, no flowers. The things that belonged were wrong. The vines in the swamp were uncannily animated, grasping and pulling at his legs and feet. He had the unnerving sense that the trees were watching him. His imagination had endowed them with faces. These crackling faces of crumbling bark had twisted, tortured expressions conveying every unpleasant emotion from discomfort to anger. He spotted creatures, always in the distance, that seemed to fit but were somehow wrong.
He saw a mosquito the size of a large dog. It appeared to be feeding on a giant unicorn. The spiral horn jutted straight out of the horse's forehead. This unicorn wasn't white, it was a deep violet color, so dark, almost black.
A slug watched him from across a scraggly field. It was as large as an SUV and had the face of a man whose eyes had been placed on two stalks on the top of his head. Its bewilderment almost made him stop. He could not pause, even for a moment.
Ezra asked himself, what would cause such a mutation? Nuclear war was the only answer his mind could conjure. Chemical contamination wouldn't cause this level of extensive mutation.
Ezra thought of the monster in the swamp and knew somehow it was something much worse than just mutation.
Large lights moved through the gloom. Misty ghostlike forms strode distantly across Ezra’s line of sight. There were unnerving sounds too: voices and whispers called to each other. Some were malicious, some teasing. Every now and again, he could pick out a word. It sounded like English distorted by a harsh, biting accent.
Most of the words he could pick out were obscenities. Language that would get his mouth washed out with soap.
The thought made him smile. Dish soap. The memory of the unpleasant taste was barely a thought. He remembered the most significant part, the recollection of a clean smell perked up his spirit. This place could use a whole lot of dish soap, it was full of filth and rot.
He remembered dish soap was used to clean oil spills. His eyebrows rose thoughtfully. Maybe it would work here.
He also saw large shapes in the sky, not birds but insects. The first one looked like a giant dragonfly. He read once that some insects had been huge in the time of dinosaurs. Dinosaurs. He sighed, thankful to have not seen any giant lizards.
The second giant insect he saw was a hornet. His dad called them wasps. It hovered and circled. He continued running and running.
None of the creatures he saw compared in frightfulness to the demon thing pursuing him.
He hadn't heard or seen a sign of the demon but his thumping heart, his crawling skin, the general unease that clung over him, told him that it was in pursuit.
Always he was driven forward, driven by the desire to go home, where he belonged, in the arms of his mother and father.
How long had he been running? He could not say. There was murky darkness, sometimes so dark he couldn't see his next step. When it got this dark, he slowed his pace. A sprain or break would mean the end. But what was night? What was day? He couldn't say.
Most of the creatures were avoiding him. The wasp was the only creature that was actively following, curiously watching him.
The only creatures that seemed abundant were the deer. They stood throughout the forest, huddled in small forlorn groups. They were unafraid, looking at Ezra as though they had no knowledge of human hunters. They were distinctly uninterested, most did not even look at him as he passed. They were sorry sights, as sickly as the desperate world.
Ezra longed to find a person, someone to explain the wrongness of this twisted world. The only sign he saw of people were abandoned structures, some of them rotting, some in a fantastic state of preservation considering the state of this world. How long has it been like this?
He guessed a long, long time, especially considering the lack of fear that the deer showed toward him. How long might it take to breed-out the instinct to run from man? Two generations?
How long did deer live?
He had no clue. He smiled again.
Shouldn’t he be able to just look this stuff up?
He missed the internet.
His empty stomach convulsed.
He needed food. He needed rest.
He knew that the search for either food or water would mean costly delay. It would shorten the distance between him and his monster.
Did it need water? Did it need food?
Better not to think about that, he thought.
When he turned back to observe the field behind him, he saw the deer had fled.
In their place was the giant hornet he had seen from afar.
From this distance, he guessed it was roughly the size of an adult human. He marveled at how beautiful it looked.
Insects were fascinating to him.
He used to examine the ant farm in his second-grade classroom. It seemed so long ago when he was little. Everything seemed so long ago.
The sight of the creature should have scared him, surely that is why the deer had run. They were afraid of it.
The boy and the hornet regarded each other with abje
ct curiosity, neither showing nor feeling any fear.
Ezra weighed his options. He knew he should be running. How far away was the monster? He hadn't seen it since arriving in the swamp. Ezra's eye caught upon a shriveled blossom on the ground. Symmetrical petals somehow preserved in the wastes.
Thunder tore the sky. Slivers of light kissed the dead earth between them, the boy, and the wasp.
A finger of light touched the multifaceted eye of the wasp, revealing layers of crimson and banana yellow, segments sparkled.
Hornet? Wasp? He wasn't sure what it was. He thought about the sports team. The team had a cool design on their shirts. As he approached, he decided it was a wasp. Wasp sounded right.
Still, he wasn't sure why…
From this vantage, Ezra couldn't see the wickedly arched abdomen with its striped segments and sheathed weapon.
The light was touching the boy's face too. He could feel the warmth, reminding him of a time, only days ago, when he had a mother and a father.
The wasp's angular head, long flexing antenna, turned to observe the bruised sky where the wound had opened up and bled brilliant light. To Ezra, the illumination was a sign of hope. His eyes squinted where it played across his face, warmth penetrating the layers of dirt on his skin.
The boy and the wasp stared at each other. He was wonder-struck by the huge bug.
She was caught, quite unexpectedly, by a sense of providence. The creature before her, this ancient one, was no inferior being! Its movements were graceful, a beautiful thing to behold up close, walking on two thin, improbable, legs.
Simple elegance and refinement defined its features. The articulated fingers were enchanting. Its thin frame stood vertically, a right angle to the horizon. Its face had delicate features, so neat and tiny. The features seemed designed to communicate a nuanced range of refined emotion.
Somehow, perhaps by some ancient genetic programming, she recognized the expressions of this face. This face, composed so elegantly, smiled at her. A smile! Its purity, age-old expression of kindness and goodwill, miraculously transported to this cursed place, this broken time!
The boy's smile changed her.
In this poignant moment, here in the dead meadow, she recognized the beliefs, the tradition of the mothers, passed from one generation to the next generation, as untruth.
Lies.
With a terrible mournful shudder that started deep within, the mantle of shame descended.
Her exalted kind, noble breed, if the traditions held any truth, had played a part in the eradication of these beings, beings like the one standing before her. Creatures such as the one regarding her now had lifted her mothers of old to lofty sentience. Their reward was betrayal.
She knew the truth of the dark lords now. What a woeful thing to know.
Ezra, not fathoming the conflict broiling in the insect-like being, couldn't contain his excitement. He knew he should have been afraid of it, but he wasn't.
With a thrill, he worked the courage to speak.
The wasp was stunned! It spoke! In an involuntary burst, she leapt to the air.
The force of her beating wings swept the air into a high gust, knocking him to the ground. It's voice, she thought, how beautiful! It was music! The sounds played themselves over and over in her mind.
Words – she knew the words – a dead language – brought to extraordinary life.
"What's your name?" The human child had asked.
Church
Sanctuary
Ezra got a little scraped up when the buffeting wind from the wasp's wings knocked him down, but he got right up and started pursuing it. It reminded him of a fighter jet as it burst into the air, climbing so high it looked like a tiny dot on the purple-gray clouds above. In his pursuit, he almost missed the road. His feet hit the hard asphalt, old and cracked, pockmarked by tall, dry brush and pot-holes. He wouldn't have seen it if it hadn't been right under his feet.
He knew it! This road would lead him to safety and food!
"Thank you!" he said, looking up to the spot where the wasp had disappeared on the mottled sky.
His body protested with aches and pains beyond his twelve years. His mind, having encountered another living being, one possessing vibrancy and intelligence, was sparked with excitement that bordered on hope.
Maybe it will come back. Ezra looked back over his shoulder at the darkness of the forest. He quickened his pace, trying not to think of the demon-thing.
He still carried his smile, a gift from the wondrous wasp when he saw the cross.
In the distance, it peeked over the next rise in the road, the tip top part of a steeple.
Warmth ignited in his chest. The cross: symbol of power and hope, protection, and security. He heard the voice of Quasimodo, and for the first time, understood the power of the word he spoke: Sanctuary!
He remembered the manger. The son of God hung on a cross. This was a sign! It was an answer to his desperate plea for help.
This evil, this vile thing that was chasing him, had been defeated before! It was a demon, a devil made of putrid flesh. The cross called to him. It said: Come rest! Be safe here! The humble road led onward. The blossom of hope took root in his quickening heart.
In his mind's eye, he saw the demon cowering, at the sight of the cross, like Dracula. His muck covered frame was sparked again to move forward. An exciting thrill spurred him.
A sound rolled through the chilled mist. His young ears strained to understand it. An old church organ: muffled chords fought their way through the oppressive atmosphere of this broken land.
"Amazing Grace! How sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me!" his feet took him closer and closer, and the voices lifted higher and higher. People! He found people! It seemed impossible!
Safety ahead, he thought. He lost sight of the cross behind the sickly trees but regained it as the busted-up road rolled past the stoop of the old church. It was modest, white-washed, crowned by a high steeple bearing the symbol of power. He approached the double doors and heard the unmistakable voices singing the old hymn:
"… saved a wretch like me."
The sign beside the door proclaimed:
ALL ARE WELCOM
The E was missing.
He took a gulp of foul air and grabbed the door.
The hope of finding people, safety, and protection was dashed as soon as he touched the latch. The music and choir voices faded, disappearing as soon as the latch clicked. It was if he had, by clicking the latch, switched it off.
For the first time, he remembered Gus's warning: Beware of overlaps. Was this one of those overlaps? Maybe this whole church was an 'overlap.'
The door swung open easily. Inside, the church was almost untouched by the foul world outside. He stepped into the small foyer, the unlit interior was dark, stained glass windows were dark blotches of color. No light shone through, partly because of the dusky sky but it also looked like the windows had been shuttered.
The door swung shut behind him. The latch quickly clicked into place. This church was different from the dilapidated house. It was as if the rot of the outside world was unable to penetrate a holy place. It still smelled like a church. The unmistakable scents of hymnals and candle wax filled his nostrils.
He felt less damaged, less out of place. Ezra examined the double doors, looking for some type of deadbolt. He finally found four old fashioned sliding bolt-locks, two on the floor, two on the top of the door. He had to stand on his tiptoes for the upper lock, but they smoothly slid into place.
He turned to a small table where he saw a guest book and a tidy stack of programs. Neat cursive writing covered the page. The last name signed was Gerry Love. He wiped his dirty hands on the welcome mat and picked up the sharpened pencil. He added his name as neatly as he could under 'Gerry Love.'
Ezra Quell.
He looked at the date on the program 6-23-40.
He wondered at the date: 1940? He had that out of sorts feeling.
Maybe he was i
n the future. Was it 2040?
Was he somehow in the past?
Wherever or whenever this was - it was all wrong. All wrong. The monster in the woods was to blame: the demon.
He walked up the center aisle, between empty pews, up to the vestibule.
There was a wooden table covered in doilies. There were also three candle holders, each with a new-looking candle. A dry box of matches was next to the communion tray. Being in this place made him feel like he was back in the ordinary world. It seemed as if it was set up for a church service. The parishioners would arrive any minute.
Light. Could he dare have light? He gingerly picked up the box and slid it open. It was full of fresh-looking matches. He took one out and quickly swiped it across the side of the box. It roared to life, a tiny light in the darkness. His eyes squinted at the brightness. The warmth from the flame kissed the skin on his face.
The flame looked happy and quickly leapt from the wooden match onto the candle's wick. Ezra picked up the heavy candle holder and used the first candle to light the other two. He found himself relaxing in this light, which was strange, considering he was taking a risk.
He should be concerned that the creature would find him by the light. He remembered what it had done to the submarine-like craft. The wooden church would crumble apart. Again he had a reassuring sense that this place was safe from the beast. He stepped to the organ. There was a music book opened to "Amazing Grace."
His voice cracked as he let out a laugh. He could feel the smile on his face. He held his candle up to the rafters, up to the organ, up to the stained glass windows. The brilliant face of Jesus Christ lifted in solemn prayer, seemed supernaturally vibrant by the illumination of his single flame. Christ's hands were folded. He was kneeling against a rock in a garden. Jesus, son of God. God of his mother and father, and their mothers and fathers, for who knew how many generations. His dad taught him to pray. His parents attended church from time to time.