Music of the Gods

Word Count 3370


"I suppose we're lost!"

Donald sensed the anger in Susan's voice, the question phrased more as a statement of fact, and he bit his tongue to keep from replying in kind. He’d planned this weekend trip to get them away from all that. The bickering, the name calling, and the general distrust that had become the cornerstone of their failing marriage.

He glanced at the road then returned his attention to the scribbled note in his hand, directions to the Bed and Breakfast written in his undecipherable script. She was right. There was no use denying the obvious, they were lost, and it was his fault.

Reaching the top of the winding road they emerged from the green tunnel of overhanging tree limbs. Bright sunlight filled the car, a refreshing change from the perpetual gloom through which they had traveled.

The sunlight lifted his spirits. He would find a way out of this. Endless cornfields blanketed each side of the road bordered by green mountains towering to the sky in the hazy distance.

"It's beautiful," Susan whispered.

Donald sighed in relief. Maybe if she was distracted by the scenery she would shut that irritating trap of hers and he could concentrate on getting them back on the right track. Too stubborn to just give up and turn around he glanced again at the directions. It was no use. They were absolutely, positively, lost.

“Look out!”

His attention was brought back to the road by Susan's cry of alarm. The leering grill of an approaching truck filled the windshield. Donald cut the wheel to the right; hard. They slipped along the trailer as the tires squealed in protest. The steering wheel was ripped from his hands as the passenger side tires dropped off the pavement.

The hood of the car bounced crazily in front of them. The wooden fence bordering the field disintegrated beneath the front bumper. Several boards danced across the hood. One slammed through the windshield and impaled the seat between them.

Susan screamed again. The car was yanked to the right as the passenger side tires dropped into a ditch. The bottom of the car scraped over the edge of the road with a deep rumbling that was felt more than heard.

Donald was thrown against the stops of his seatbelt, the air bags deployed, and filled the interior of the car with their white fullness. The car threatened, for a moment, to roll over onto its side then fell back with a shuddering crash that drove him into his seat.

"Susan," he cried out. Years of arguments and mistrust drained away from him as one thought filled his mind. Was she all right? His body thrummed with the flow of adrenalin as he beat down the air bag and looked over at her.

"Are you all right?" He asked, struggling to keep his shaking hands still.

"What's wrong with you?” Susan shouted. “Are you trying to kill me? Is that why you brought us out here so you could kill me?"

"It wasn't my fault," he yelled back, his own anger rising to meet the challenge laid before him.

"You were driving. Weren't you watching the road? Or are you lost?"

Donald looked at Susan, fixing his stare on the crease that bisected her forehead. Her face was narrow; her nose was like the sharp blade of an axe, giving her a haggard appearance. Her blue eyes flashed with anger dispelling any softness that might have remained on that harsh, angular, face.
It hit him then with the full force of a blow to the chest.

He hated her!

Why did he ever marry her? It was a question he'd been asking himself a lot lately. A question for which he had no answer. What could he have possibly seen in those harsh features?

What had happened to the beautiful young girl he had married?

"I thought," he searched for an answer, wanting to explain, not sure how, or even why he needed to.

"I thought we could try to save our marriage, I thought if we spent a quiet weekend together."

"A weekend!” She exploded. "You thought! You were going to waste a two days of my life trying to save a marriage that was doomed the moment I said I do."

"Please Susan, let's not fight, this isn't the time or place."

"You're right, for once you're actually right about something. And speaking of places, where in the hell are we?"

"I don't know," Donald looked through shattered the windshield at the tilted world beyond. Twenty feet in front of them the hanging branches of a weeping willow stirred. Behind the slender leaves he caught a glimpse of a bright green sign with two white letters shimmering in the sunlight. ST. The branches moved a little more revealing an A,

"But I can find out." He pushed open the door, struggling against it, as metal squealed against metal. With the door open he lunged forward. The seatbelt yanked him back into the car and the door started to swing closed. He caught the door with his foot and unhooked his seat belt as Susan laughed hysterically.

Pulling himself from the car, ignoring Susan, he got to his feet and stood on the edge of the road. Around him the day was tranquil, the air filled with an expectant hush, the only life he could see were several buzzards lazily circling in the air high above them.

We’re not dead yet, you bastard’s! He thought as he shaded his eyes to look back the way they had come. The truck was gone, having vanished into the distant tunnel of overhanging tree limbs. He leaned against the car, the metal hot beneath his fingers, as he became aware of the absolute silence that encased them.

From his belt he removed his cell phone and flipped open the cover.

No Service!

Adjusting his sunglasses he walked around to the front of the car and approached the hidden sign.

"Well. Where are we?" Susan shouted from the car.

It started in the pit of his stomach, a light, unsettled sensation that spread with icy tendrils of dread. Pulling aside the hanging branches the full name of the town came into view. White letters, floating against a green background, stared back at him as his stomach drew itself into a knot. His disquiet grew to a thought.

They didn't belong here!

ST-ALBAN 1. The sign read.

"Well!" Susan demanded.

One mile to Saint Alban. Did they really want to go there? The thought became icy fingers that caressed the nape of his neck. The world spun around him, his sight became blurred, and his knees turned to water. Letting the branches fall back into place he stumbled back until his legs came into contact with the bumper of the car. He became acutely aware of the stillness shrouding the cornfield on his right.

"Where are we Dammit?"

"I don't know," he mumbled, still lost in the dizziness that had gripped him.

"Well that's just wonderful, thank you Dr Livingston for that illuminating response," she faltered, stumbling over her words, a look of concern crossing her face.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her voice softer.

"Nothing, nothing at all."

"Well forgive me for giving a shit!."

"There's a town a mile down the road," he continued, ignoring her. Turning from the car he stepped to the edge of the road.

"We can walk that far," he said, as he looked first one way then the other. Heat waves danced above the surface of the road in the distance creating the image of water lying on the asphalt. As he stood there he had the unmistakable sensation that someone, or something the thought intruded with a shudder, was watching him.

He glanced in the direction the Saint Alban lay. Two hundred yards away the road vanished into a dark tunnel of overhanging tree branches from the forest crowding in on either side of the road.

"You expect me to walk a mile in these shoes, in this heat?" Susan said as she struggled to escape the confines of the car.

"Suit yourself," he said over his shoulder as he walked down the narrow ribbon of asphalt. What choice did they really have? It could be days before anyone else came this way. He looked around. At the vast fields on either side of them, at the thick forest in the distance, and another thought intruded upon the first to tumble through the dark catacombs of his mind.

Predators were on the loose! He shuddered. He had no intention of being out here when it got dark.

“Wait for me!” Susan yelled after him and the sound of her bare feet slapping on the pavement brought a smile to his face. Serves her right.

The heat hung over them like a damp towel as they trudged down the burning asphalt. Donald glanced back occasionally at the car sitting in the ditch. Forlorn. Abandoned. He felt like he was severing his last ties with civilization when it vanished behind the rising heat waves.

What was he so damned afraid of? The answer came in the form of a sign along the road. Its surface was faded, weathered, showing the signs of neglect that only comes from abandonment. Paint flakes mingled with the tangled knot of weeds growing around the base of the two wooden legs that held the sign upright. Most of the lettering was worn off, but enough remained for Donald to decipher what the sign had once said

‘ elc me t S A an’

The sight of it sent a chill racing the length of his spine. Beyond the sign lay the gloomy depths of the forest that crowded close to either side of the road. Surprisingly enough no sound emanated from the forest depths. Silence held it in a death grip of solitude.

“Can you hear that?” Susan asked.

“What?”

Susan tilted her head to one side.

“It sounds like music.”

“I don’t hear anything.”

“It’s very faint, must be a festival, or something.”

Susan walked into the shadows of the trees overhanging the road. Donald, still in the sunlight, momentarily lost sight of her and panic shot through him.

“Susan!” He cried out sharply.

“What?” Her disembodied voice came back to him from the shadowy depths.

“Wait for me.” He took a deep breath and stepped into the shadows of the forest. A hundred feet down the road stood a clearing filled with sunlight. Donald focused on that as he walked briskly through the gloomy passageway.

“It’s so beautiful,” Susan whispered.

From the forest came a soft sigh that accompanied her voice. Donald struggled to keep from crying out as shadowy shapes silently flitted to and fro in the gloomy depths to either side of him. Were they real? He wondered. Or a figment of his overwrought imagination?

Squatting amid a small gravel lot, a single story building waited in the burning sunlight of the clearing. In one corner of the lot a phone booth stood as a silent sentinel.

"Maybe they have something cold to drink," Susan said and Donald realized just how dry his own mouth had become. His tongue felt like a withered stick in the middle of an arid riverbed that clicked against the roof of his mouth as he spook.

"Get me something too, I'm gonna try to get us some help."

Susan looked back at him, her eyes flashing with anger, but she remained silent. Nodding her head slightly she turned and made her way across the gravel lot with gingerly steps. Donald was approaching the phone booth when a flashing glimmer of sunlight drew his attention back to the small building.
He scrutinized the structure. A low railing, separating the porch from the lot, ran the length of the front. The building appeared to be abandoned. The dust covered walls, a section of railing lying broken on the gravel lot, weeds growing in large clumps here and there about the building.

Everything screamed neglect except the many paned windows that served to remind him of a multi-faceted bug’s eye. They sparkled in the sunlight, as if they had just been cleaned, in sharp contrast to the run down appearance of the rest of the building. Gazing into the shimmering glass the sensation of being watched returned. He felt like he was in the presence of something forbidden. An ancient entity, unseen, watching them from the emptiness behind the sparkling glass.

Stop that! He silently commanded himself and turned back to the phone booth. The walls of the phone booth were perfectly clean, the glass sparkling as if it too had just been cleaned. Not a mark marred its walls. No phone numbers for a good time. No scribbled notes scared the painted shelf. Not even a "so and so was here" was carved into the metal frame between the windows. It was odd. No, more than odd, it was downright unnatural. He'd yet to see a phone booth as clean as this one.

Fishing around in his pocket for some change he looked back at the building. The sensation of being watched grew stronger. He spotted Susan peering through the glass. Her hands cupped around her face as she tried to look into the interior of the building. She shouldn't be doing that. His flesh crawled as he watched her. Once more the feeling that they didn't belong here washed over him. He wanted to tell her to get away from the building. But how could he explain his feelings? He wasn't even sure himself what they meant.

"Susan," he called out, unable to restrain himself. She turned from the window with a disappointed expression.

"They're closed I guess." Donald was relieved when she stepped away from the glass and strolled across the dusty porch.

Donald turned back to the phone as he pulled a quarter from his pocket. He allowed himself to breath when he lifted the receiver and the comforting sound of a dial tone hummed in his ear. Unnaturally clean or not it worked. His quarter dropped through all right, the dial tone changed pitch, and he dialed the number for Roadside Assistance. There was a brief ring on the other end before it was picked up by an electronic answering system. He glanced back at Susan as the voice recited the menu of options. She's was once more peering through the sparkling glass and Donald could feel his heart hammering in his chest.

“I wish she would stay away from there.” He whispered.

Donald made his selection and a distant phone rang once. Someone on the other end, probably sitting in a nice, air-conditioned office, picked up the line. Before a word could be exchanged between them a heavy static filled the line. Donald yelled into the mouthpiece, trying to be heard over the crackling racket, his voice becoming lost amid the static. He strained to hear what was being said and could barely make out a feminine voice, so far away, fading in and out amid the hissing.

Donald slammed the receiver down and backed out of the phone booth.

“Damn phone!” He said.

"Donald, can you hear that?" Susan said and he spun around.

"What?”

"The music, can’t you hear it?" Susan stood in the lot looking at him with a peculiar expression, "what's wrong Donald?"

"Nothing, what music?"

“Coming from the forest,” she pointed at the dense trees crowded close behind the building, “must be a festival or something.”

“I don’t hear anything!” Donald said, but he could see something in the forest. Shadowy shapes darted back and forth through the gloomy depths. There be predators on the loose. The thought whispered through his mind and he shuddered.

“Let’s go see, maybe we can get help.” Susan said as she approached the forest.

“No, don’t!”

Susan stopped and turned back to Donald

“What is wrong with you?”

For the first time Donald noticed that her features had changed. The crease that had furrowed her brow was gone, the edges of her face had softened, the girl he’d married had come back to him.

“I.” He stopped, how could he explain what he felt, what he saw in the forest depths. She’d laugh at him for sure, and the old nag would quickly return.

“There it is again, can’t you hear it?” Susan asked.

Donald shook his head.

“It’s beautiful.” Susan said. As if in a trance she turned to the forest.

“Susan, don’t!”

There was a flurry of shadowy activity as Susan approached the forest. Fear kept Donald rooted in place as Susan stepped into the treeline.

“Wait,” Donald cried after her and willed his legs to move him forward. At the edge of the forest he stopped. Within its shadowy depths he could see deeper shadows flitting to and fro. One flashed nearby and he was overwhelmed with a deep sense of foreboding that emanated from the black depths of that shadow. He sensed stars glittering with a hard light against the velvety backdrop of an alien sky. The gapping maw of an endless abyss through which the tortured souls of millions of the dead marched in a perpetual gloom.

He stepped into the forest. An audible sigh whispered through the gloomy depths. A warning, a soft rebuttal, an acceptance of his approach. He could see Susan ahead of him, winding her way among the trees, her head still cocked at an odd angle as she followed the music only she could hear.

“Susan, wait!” He called after her. She ignored him, vanishing into the gloomy depths, her white shirt fading from view.

He ran after her then. Plunging headlong through the thick underbrush of the forest, ignoring the shadows that dogged his every step. His eyes fixed only on that fading spot of white that threatened to be swallowed by the all-consuming shadows.

Soon she was above him, climbing the side of a step incline that grew steeper with every step he took. Boulders grew from the leaf-strewn ground around him. Growing larger as he got higher, precariously perched upon the side of the rising slope.

“Susan!” He shouted into the growing darkness. That spot of white had faded completely from view. She was gone, vanished into the night, the girl he’d once married had returned to him only briefly before becoming lost within the all-consuming darkness of the approaching night.

“Susan, come back,” he shouted as he dropped to his knees and raised two handfuls of leaves to the dark sky above him. He let the leaves fall from his hands and they spiraled to the ground around him as another sound intruded upon his thoughts. It came from nowhere and everywhere all at once. A voice, feminine, yet commanding.

“We’ll get you out of this!”

Out of what? He wondered. Lights flashed around him. Blue and red lights that imprinted themselves upon his retina.

“You’ll be fine,” that feminine voice reassured him. He closed his eyes and let his chin drop to his chest. He felt a hand on his shoulder. Another worked at opening his shirt.

What was happening? Where was he?

He opened his eyes and lifted his head. Red and blue lights flashed, refracted into thousands of rays of light by the shattered windshield. Beyond the windshield the branches of the weeping willow danced in a gentle breeze. Red and blue flashing lights sent shadows skittering to and fro.

“Where am I?” He asked.

“You’ll be fine, we’ve about got you out now.” That voice replied.

“Where’s Susan?”

He tried to look to the right but a strong pair of hands held his head straight. He yanked his head back, away from the grip of those hands, and glanced to his right. Susan sat beside him, her head hanging down, her long hair draped over the fence board protruding from her chest.

His right hand was grasped firmly in her left. He looked away, focusing on the road down which they had walked not an hour before, as the first of many tears slid down his cheek.