The Tower

The Tower

         I awoke to the sound of a familiar comfort. The unmistakable echo of a wave, distant and ephemeral, bid me to regain my consciousness. Lifting from the location of my deep slumber, I gained view of a sight I could not seem to remember before my awakening. My eyes discerned an ocean–an endless, beautiful ocean. It stretched out before me, trying to grasp at the ends of existence; its movements were a myriad of characteristics I could scarcely comprehend. It was the color of it that I seemed to remember most, and the feel of it. The mystic thing ebbed and flowed with a grace I never knew before, as if the Seraphim themselves would call this water holy. Blue and purple was its hue, with a great, thick mist that permeated the whole of it, the essence of it.

         I stood there, breathless at the sight, before I began to look around for some token of recognition. My mind was a torrent of questions, for I knew nothing but what my five senses saw fit to give me.

         Alone on a shore, a harshly white shore, with nothing but endless water to one’s side gives a soul few options. I turned my head away from the waves and shoreline to greet what lay behind me. Past the shore devoid of all color, my eyes beheld the great earth. It rose hundreds of feet above me. Dark, rigid, and hard it stood. Massive cliffs, utterly defiant of the grandeur and beauty that stood opposite of them: a great ocean of white mist.

         As I regained my true mind and spirit, a feeling of the slightest dread seemed to descend upon me. It was not wholly a single, swift blow. No–it was a gnawing, nauseating sensation that slithered about in my core. Slowly, like a virus, it moved within my human instrument. Inch by inch it crawled, present at the back of my stomach like some haunting memory I might fight to hide. It was those cliffs and that ocean and the paradox of their visual presence that bothered me, that gave me such wretched anxiety. What was I doing in this place? Then a thought more dire: what occurrence brought me here? Questions, questions–and the only answers my mind gave led to more questions.

         I stood there on the shore, between a wondrous ocean and mournful cliffs, like a madman amused by some shining light. The waves -ever endless in pace- continued their thorough assault on my ears, crashing against the white sand with the passion of a warning, roaring of things to come.

         Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a disturbance within the rock. Strange, odd-shaped things protruded from the earth. Slowly, I began to move toward the beckoning entrancement. Upon closer inspection, it appeared to be … a step. No–steps. They reached out from the rock, all too inviting.

         Being as close as I was to the great, sullen cliffs (for I had to discern the steps with my feeble eyesight), I gazed upward. Following the great colossi, I took a step back–as if afraid that the natural titans might topple down upon me. The sky, already showing signs of night, was ablaze with shades of purple and orange, searing out into the expanse of the cosmos. A thousand stars slowly coming into their cyclic existence. Never before had I seen such a striking sunset. Never again would I care.

         I would camp near the water that night, trying best to stay warm and perhaps find some sustenance from either land or liquid. On the morrow, I told myself, I would go about finding some form of proper lodging.

         Yet that gnawing feeling of dread, still ever present within the pit of my bowels, seemed to give way ever the slightest when I looked upon the steps; the promises they made, the lure they contained... Oh, what temptations those steps brought! I would be cold and hungry, yet safe, on the beach. The steps, oh the steps–they offered something even greater to me than an unsure safety: knowledge. Knowledge of what madness this place was... this place must have been. With that knowledge, the paradox would be dissolved, and with that dissolution, my fear and anxiety might cease to be. What hope there was! I had only to scale the steep, natural stairs for answers.

         Abandoning what little reason I awoke with, I took up the path of mortal curiosity and began my slow and perilous ascent. Men say the longest journeys begin with a single step. For me, each and every step was a journey unto itself. The outreach of rocks that rendered the “staircase” was a hard, jagged thing–much like the mother it was born from. I cannot say how long my travel lasted, so concerned was I with the fear of plummeting to the white sands below. At a certain height, I knew, the once soft beach would function as such no longer. A swift death would be my reward if my legs gave way, if my mind did not stay attended to the task at hand. One footstep after another I rose, until at last, rough stone gave way to murky dirt and sparse, sickly grasses. Finally reaching the top of the cliffs, I gazed out before me and received a sight both bold and ominous.

         The thing stood out before me. A tall, dark, gruesome thing made of a stone I doubt any man knows the origin of. A tower- oh, that horrendous black tower! My journey to the forsaken thing must have been long indeed, for the moon had retaken its throne and glimmered fiercely across the heavens, the purple and orange haze now replaced with the most morbid grey and black twilight. The moon itself seemed to mock me, for it shone brightly, illuminating a place I had no desire to see.

         I studied this tower, a dark cylinder which nightmares consist of. Tall it stood, proud of its existence in this surreal land it called home. At the base, I made out an entrance. An archway stood at the tower’s bottom, guarding what would pass through mortal eyes as a door. The door was made of a wood, for certain, yet it was not a healthy wood. Dark and cracked, full of sorrow and mourning like the master it served. The purposes behind this tower, I knew no human minds had played a part in.

         The gnawing in my stomach broke free of its original organ and spread throughout my entire body. The worms of fear crawled through my veins. I needed to flee this awful thing and make my way back to the water–the beautiful water. Turning away from the ghastly structure, I sought to correct my folly of climbing the steps. I would go back down the cliffs and follow the shoreline to some form of peace. Yet steps I did not find. They were gone–banished. The objects that spurred me to this wicked place were now absent from my sight, as if never to have existed.

         No! It was all too surreal... some terribly potent delusion I could not free myself of, some powerful trance I could not cast off. Sweat began its slow trickle down my brow. I turned back to the hideous tower of black stone and shook. It stood like a demon. Watching. Waiting.

         At the summit, I could see the vague silhouette of some great beast, almost as dark as the grim night that surrounded it. What make or manner this beast had, I could not say, for in the veil of darkness I was only able to discern one physical feature: a pair of long, arched wings. Motionless it perched - so very, very still. For a moment, I thought that the thing might be a part of the tower itself. After a time, with my body frozen in fear, the thing slyly receded back behind the tower’s edges and my view of it lasted no longer.

         My heart beat faster now and the sweat had found new areas on my body to spring forth. I felt a slow tinge of bile begin to creep up within me–the worms were surely doing their part in my illness. Part of me (the part in which I cannot account for) demanded I put distance between this unholy tower and myself, whose existence radiated an air of death and pain and all things men fear to be confronted with.

         Scanning the ruinous area, I looked past the object of my dread to face but another. A forest, almost as tall as the tower, extended out along the bleak countryside. Its reach was vast and powerful; its atmosphere was but a mere reflection of the thing that stood just before it. I should think my courage as a man strong enough to not fear the sight of trees–but oh, you did not see this forest. You did not suffer its strange power. It was a terrible entity, with long, ailing branches that reached for me, as if to goad me into entering its realm. The roots of the trees did not so much as grow into the dirt, but tore into it. Past the initial tree line, no mortal eyes could pierce.

         In but an instant I had a new faith: no salvation lay in that deep, dark forest of aged trees. Whatever wicked force held sway upon the tower, so too, did it reign over that forest of horrible branches and roots.

         As if to confirm my new belief, emanating from the forest, a sluggish, creeping fog began to pour forth. It was the sheer opposite of the mist I bore witness to upon the shore, the memory of that ocean a dear treasure among this bizarre, raped landscape. No, the fog was low and grey –not white– and carried with it a stench so terrible I cannot find words to describe it. As I was still standing near the cliffside, the notion of returning to that wonderful white ocean of mist struck me. All I had to do was take but a step back and this vision would surely end…

         The way is forward, a voice inside my head echoed. You fool! Look around you. Death is no release… in this place. For the dead have dominion here, and only they may choose who may stay and who may go. The consolation you would find at the end of your great fall would be pain and agony, nothing more. The voice must have been the genesis of some newfound madness. Yet in the madness there was some strange truth beneath. How I knew this, I cannot say. Forward! Yes, forward into the forsaken tower is where I would find my sacred antidote–not behind. The worms, the forest, the tower–they would grasp me no longer if I would just confront the entities of my misery!

         With steady resolve I paced forward, away from the direction of that ocean, away from the promise of a lucid beauty I barely knew. The tower’s size grew before me as I approached its lurid entrance. The dark, oppressive stone became more existent with every cautious step I took. The ground crunched softly as my feet trudged forward. The moon, still radiant and bold, stood out amongst the stars. It hovered above the tower like some silent sentinel, like its purpose was to bear witness to some ungodly event.

         The ghostly mist stretching out from the neighboring forest was now covering the last remnants of clear, ugly ground before my destination. Aimless the mist moved, thick and heavy in presence and odor, drifting across the land like some ill-fated spirit. All ground was now covered by it. I was now surrounded by it. Encased in this frightening haze, I began to hear a strange, enchanting resonance. Whispers, ever faint upon my ears, consumed me from every direction. They murmured of things no sane man would choose to perceive. Even the worms within my skull seemed to recoil at the infuriating sounds. Louder they rose, the words incomprehensible now due to the sheer number of voices. Louder and louder until I bawled in agony, my mind–my ears–begged for relief. I fell to my knees, my hands now pressed firmly to my head.

         In an instant, the voices ceased–replaced by pure silence. At that moment, it seemed the only sounds that existed in the whole of this world emanated only from my body. The panting of my breath and the fast, powerful beats of my heart was all I heard. Nothing else in that wicked land made a sound–nothing. For but an instant, my spirit gained a tranquil state.

         Eeerrrrkkkk, came the sharp sound. I rose from the cold, misty earth to face the hum. The noise which destroyed my brief grace. The cracked and ugly door was swinging back, receding into its owner. In the door’s former place stood sheer darkness... and then horror. Oh, what horror! From the black heart of the tower, a figure stepped forth. Inhuman it was, in motion and presence. Tall, this figure stood. Clothed from head to neck in a flowing, black robe–its tint was only a small degree less than the black of the tower’s innards. Over what I assumed to be its head, a hood the same color and fashion as the robe, hung sullenly. This thing stopped just inches outside the door’s archway. The hood hid all discernable features of this creature’s face above the lips. Shrouded, it was, in the quality all things from this realm seemed to consist of: gloom. Even its head proper seemed amiss, for the hood did not conceal a sphere like that of a man’s head. Elongated was this dark hood, perhaps three feet in length, it extended outward from the face (if I must call it that). The entity was nothing of this world. The lips and jaw line–features I could see–were of no comfort to me. The skin of this being was a hideous, sick grey–lifeless. The chin was sharp and hard, the lips a deep scarlet red and thick. Oh, how wide that mouth was! It must have been twice the length of an average man’s.

         Motionless this tall fiend stood. I sensed it looking at me–no, looking into me, with whatever malevolent force the thing might call sight. Deep down, in the vestiges of my fading character, I somehow knew. This was not a thing from the tower; this was a thing of the tower.

         There we stood, the mist and moon serving as watchful judges between two things not meant to be brought together. Off in the distance, I heard a meek wind spur up what must have been some loose foliage from the cursed forest floor. It was the only sound I had heard since the slow creak of the tower’s door.

         Then, with a devilish haste, the thing smiled at me. The scarlet red lips gave way to another terror: two rows of sharp teeth, dull and grey like their owner’s skin. They were pointed and fierce and wicked and raw. The worms of fear were purged from me at this sight. In their stead came the true killer of men: despair.

         Anxiety, fear–these are the emotions of a man going down a path unknown. Despair is what comes when that man knows his final destination. Hope was gone–a fleeting memory like the wonderful blue subsidence of those peaceful waves. With that smile, I knew my fate. I saw my destination. Oddly, this newfound nihilism urged me to press on, to see just how far the arms of my sanity reached.

         “Where am I?” I asked. “I am a stranger to this land! Lost, I dare say. Can you give me knowledge of the terrain? Some place where I may find shelter or food?”

         The abomination’s “hand” revealed itself from under the tattered, dim robe. Its finger’s reminded me of the legs of a spider, except vastly longer and with dreadful, pale flesh which extended over the appendages, taught as a drum. Its arm outstretched, a single finger pointed at me.

         With a low, raspy voice it spoke: “Ris-s-se… in-n-n…embers-s-s.” The words poured out slow, like a hiss from a serpent. The mighty arm went back down, once again concealed beneath thick, coarse fabric. Then the thing returned to its monstrous vigil–still, motionless.

         My head pounded away, searching for a meaning in those cryptic words. The demon spoke again, this time its call was not a hiss but a shriek. It reverberated through the night, a heavy stone dropped in dark water. Its shrill screech was maddening, forming a chorus made of sheer malice. “RIIIISSSE IN EMBERSSSSS…”

         It was enough. Some may call it insanity, I called it peace. The tower and forest and mist. The faint ocean and beach of white. This creature. All began to fade from my consciousness. Nothing but distant thoughts they were, neither real nor imagined–memories from a mind now dissonant in function. I surrendered to a great void. My sight slowly began to narrow and blackness started to enclose upon my vision until, it seemed, I was viewing the world through a keyhole.

         The black thing must have sensed my condition. Still shrieking its horrid chant, it lunged forward at me. Feet I did not see; footsteps I did not hear. It glided along the ground, ever so gracefully, to my body. I greeted the deed with the greatest apathy, knowing this all a part of my fate since the wicked smile.

         The apparition grabbed me, with arms longer than my height. Its spidery pale tendrils grabbed hold of me at the waist with an incredible strength. I looked onward, past the thing’s shoulder, to the tower. My face showed no heavy emotion. Pain twisted and turned throughout all systems of my body, yet the worms of fear and dread did not return to me. I felt a warm wetness at my abdomen. Blood, no doubt. It began to trickle down my legs. The blood was nothing more than death incarnate–my death?

         With one hand still holding me in place, I watched (through my narrow vision) as the creature pulled out what appeared to be a vial from under its garments. With its free hand, the thing poured the contents onto me like a priest might baptize a small child. The liquid in the vial greeted my face before descending down my body. Cold–so very cold was this liquid. With great speed, the creature released me and stood silent again. It glided a pace back to survey the fruits of its short labor.

         I screamed and fell backward in agony. The cold, hard ground greeted me without empathy. The grey mist surrounded me again, for I was at its level now, within its domain. I writhed and kicked and yelled as my body tried to cope with whatever fluid assaulted me. I looked up with a trembling head. The stars –thousands of them– bore down upon me like hushed gods, waiting for the inevitable. At long last, an incredible numbness took hold of me. I was tired, so tired. Carry the burden no longer, I thought. Be done with it! I closed my eyes. The universe itself seemed to tilt and spin. My breathing slowed. Oblivion took me; the last thing I remember was a slow, coarse hiss and some dreary image of a ruinous black tower, cloaked in sorrow and moonlight; behind it, a deep, harsh forest.

         I awoke to the sound of a familiar comfort. The unmistakable echo of a wave, distant and ephemeral, bid me to regain my consciousness. Lifting from the location of my deep slumber, I gained view of an ocean the color of blood. It was an endless, fearsome ocean. Its movements were a myriad of characteristics I did not want to comprehend.

         Looking out over the horizon, I could see the comet blazing across the clear blue sky. The celestial being was so massive and vivid, even the light of the sun could not reduce its immensity–its prominence. It seared out toward the heavens on some mission unknown, leaving a bright crimson trail in its wake… like embers from a fire. Then the terrible, lucid dream came to me once again. The absurdity of it all rolled over me like some great tempest might consume an island. I looked past cliffs once dull and grey. Glorious and righteous the tower stood. There on that beach I sat and wept, then died once more–passing on to the next dream with nothing more than the faint memory of some foreign tower overlooking an ocean of red, an ocean of blood.

I awoke to the sound of a familiar comfort...