A Buried State of Quasi-Life

 

            It should have been an absolute silence in which they all worked but Abigail could only hear the sound of someone's nose whistling as they breathed. The tension built in her neck with each exhale, and she sat staring at the screen of her laptop wishing for nothing more than cheesecake and Chardonnay. It had been a particularly difficult day with nothing but disagreement and snide remarks from her co-workers. The workspace had been cleared of all cubicle walls to share the open space with six others only amplifying the sound of the clicking of keys, not so subtle conversations, and the slurping of coffee. She hated her job, her workspace, and her co-workers, none of them possessing even the slightest inclination toward anything of value, focusing their time and money toward shopping, eating out, and the vanity of Hollywood.

              She knew that with her flawless figure, her long blonde hair, and her spotless skin, she was by far the most attractive woman in the office and unarguably the most intelligent, two points she never failed to communicate at every opportunity. The clock ticked over to five and she signed off her laptop, quickly gathered her things and waited in front of the frustratingly slow elevator to take a silent trip down five floors to the parking garage. Clicking across the concrete in her high heels, through the myriad of parked cars, she feared no man and sometimes would hope that some guy would be foolish enough to try to make a move on her, giving her the opportunity to use her ten years of grappling training.

              Listening the writings of Marcus Aurelius on a podcast made the drive home at least somewhat bearable, still frustrated with the collective idiocy of her fellow drivers, she finally arrived at home to a house full of cats. A single candle lit each room flanked by drawn blinds and blackout curtains, she relished her privacy and the dusk like ambiance to relax on the couch to be warmed by a dozen cats as her stress melted away.

              She had skipped lunch that day and as the clock touched the six-thirty mark she slowly rose to her feet, opened the Door Dash app on her phone to have sushi delivered within the next thirty minutes, giving her enough time to further relax with a brief yoga session. Laying on the floor somewhat akin to a jellyfish, she heard her phone ping with a notification of her dinner's arrival within three minutes. Following a splash of water on her face, she slipped on an overly large sweatshirt just in time to meet the delivery guy at the door.

              She escaped to her rear deck, her dinner in hand as well as a glass of Chardonnay, to enjoy the last few moments of dusk before evening settled in. Living in a neighborhood certainly had its benefits but the far too frequent smell of cannabis from the neighbor to her left, the perpetual sounds of late-night barbeques and laughter from the other neighbor, and the sounds of a teenager, somewhere, practicing his drums always undid the relaxation of yoga.

              Finishing her sushi and wine far sooner than she desired, she retreated to the similar darkness and blissful silence of her home to take a tepid bubble bath in hopes of regaining the former relaxation that had dissipated far too quickly. She turned on Brahms and slipped into the water focusing her attention on the single candle on the bathroom counter and began counting backwards from one hundred, relaxing each portion of her body from toes to forehead.

              As the water slipped from tepid to cool, she drained the tub, rinsed off in the shower and ate a handful of almonds before climbing into bed just past midnight. The abrupt and jarring sounds of her six o'clock alarm pulled her back to the real world, reminding her to check her Forex account for overnight activity, to be ultimately pleased with her latest success. "Well, that answers that then," she said. The yen to dollar sale that took place while she was sleeping pushed her bank account just slightly over her predetermined level that she had promised herself would bring about an end to her mundane existence in the suburbs of Indianapolis.

              She fired off an email to her boss, announcing her immediate departure from her job, pleased with this final step finally taking place as she moved into the next phase of her life. She then placed a call to her real estate agent in Wyoming to secure the purchase of the one hundred and twenty acres in the middle of nowhere. Immediately followed by a second phone call to her local real estate agent, putting her home on the market, priced low to expedite the process. A third call was placed for the moving company to box all of her belongings to be delivered to a heated mini-storage facility by weeks end.

              A second email was sent to her lawyer with instructions to begin the already established and defined course of action. She followed her typical morning sequence of activities, packed all of her clothes and enough food for a couple of days, loaded her SUV, to leave the remaining responsibilities for the maid who would arrive in the next three hours. After three more phone calls, a stop midway for the night between her now for sale home and the wilds of Wyoming, she arrived at her new property to load her sparse belongings into the brand new and just delivered travel trailer.

              Exhausted from two very long days on the road, she slept until the following morning to begin the final phase of her new life. A shipping container, fully loaded with her preplanned items sat a few yards away from the trailer and she pulled it open to remove the tools needed for her work to begin. She set up the pulley system, grabbed a shovel and began digging a hole approximately six feet in width, lowering the bucket with her as she slowly descended, throwing out shovel fulls of dirt until the top of the hole became too high to reach, necessitating the use of the pulley system.

              Her engineering degree had come in particularly useful as she designed the system to lift each bucketful to ground level and empty it, to then return the empty bucket back to her side. As darkness began to set in for the day, she ascended the extension ladder and saw no purpose in showering as she was completely alone in the middle of nowhere with other human beings no closer than several miles away, offering an open, blissful silence she had dreamt of for years.

              Day two arrived and she arose to an aching back, aching muscles, and blistered hands, vowing to continue her work with the pulley system knowing no limitations to its reach below ground level. She worked in semi-darkness until the sun reached its zenith fully filling the hole with blazing heat. "Hey down there," she heard from overhead, now having reached a point where distance eradicated any possibility of recognizing facial details. She shielded her eyes from the blinding sunlight and answered the call, to eventually recognize the voice of her realtor. "Just thought I'd drop by and check on you," he said. "Is everything going alright?"

              "Yep, I'm good," she answered, "everything is going just as I'd hoped." With a wave, the man departed, and Abigail continued her work, watching the sun slowly crawl across the sky and the rim of the hole grow smaller as she descended. Just before dusk arrived, another voice called out her name, which took her by surprise as no one else besides her lawyer knew of her location. The distance she had descended had become far too great to see anything, so she began the long climb up the ladder to greet her latest visitor.

              Acknowledging her sister's presence, the two shared a brief hug, which struck Abigal as rather odd, since they had basically no contact over the last ten years. "Um, that is a really deep hole you've got there," she said, "a lot of people have been calling me and asking about you. After I talked to your lawyer, I thought I'd come and see for myself what it is you're doing. So, what are you doing?"

              "I'm tired of the suburb life, the mundane daily office job, and I'm tired of being around people," she answered. "I've been planning this for a long time and my investments finally paid off enough to allow this to happen. Thanks for stopping by but I need to keep working."

              "Hmm, okay," she said, "please stay in contact once in a while, so I know that you're doing okay. I hate having to tell anyone that I don't know how you're doing. This whole thing seems really odd. Just call once in a while."

              She hugged her sister a second time and watched her drive away, to then return to the hole, descend the ladder and continue her digging. After a full week of excavation, she stood at the bottom of the hole, rather well-like she thought, and thoroughly enjoyed the near pitch black with only a single pin prick of sunlight at the very top, offering no real intrusive light or warmth. She sank to her knees, sat down, and rested her back against the wall, finally able to enjoy herself in solitude, in silence, and in darkness. Her extension ladder no longer able to reach the upper lip, now permanently secured her place in this new home.

              As day turned to night and back to day again, Abigail saw no distinctive change but thoroughly enjoyed her new solitude and silence. The occasional rainfall stimulated the growth of several different types of greens and mushrooms, which formed the basis of her new diet with the occasional worm or grub. She was thankful for the single water bottle she had carried with her to the bottom, giving her a source of clean water from gathered rainfall.

              Her cellphone presented no bars and she began to wonder how soon until her sister arrived to visit again but her question was answered after two weeks when the outline of a person appeared in contrast to the bright sky above. After this first visit, someone or someone's regularly made an appearance, calling down to her but to no avail as their words were lost in the distance. Finally, all visitation stopped, and Abigal developed a routine of ego boosting monolog and exercise, trying to convince herself that she loved her new home.

The Perpetual Cauldron

 

            Geoffrey had been traveling all day, having woken at sunrise to begin his journey to the largest cathedral within walking distance. Now, standing beneath a tree with too few branches and holding a rather smallish canvas over his head to keep out as much of the rain as possible, he was thrilled to see the torches at the city gate, clearly within walking distance, even if it meant becoming slightly more damp than he already was.

              Even though he was interminably tired, he moved at a slight jog a bit off the rutted pathway identifying and jumping over puddles as the diminishing light allowed. He reached the two glowing torches that flanked each side of the massive city gate to explain his purpose for travel to the four guards that rigorously questioned everyone approaching. Breathing a sigh of relief as he was allowed to pass, the ever-growing ache in his stomach finally demanded his attention so he began his search for a public house, a tavern, or an inn, almost willing to kill for a warm meal.

              He continued to avoid the ruts and the mud puddles, eventually taking shelter under the generous overhang of the shop of a blacksmith, to shake the excess rain from his person. The multiple towers of the massive cathedral cast an ominous contrast to the darkening sky, and he carefully peered at each storefront from his pleasantly dry position. It was the staggering of an older man emerging from a doorway about one hundred feet down that triggered his attention. "Perfect," he muttered, jogging from overhang to overhang until he scuttled through the dark opening that had just vomited out the obviously drunken former occupant.

              The sharp smell of too many people who had not bathed in far too long assaulted his nostrils, forcing him to breathe through his mouth as he approached the long wooden counter attended by a massive breasted middle aged woman who may have been pretty in her youth but clearly did not understand the impact of her loss of years. He ordered a bowl of stew, sliding a small silver coin across the counter to the woman, motioning toward the seat he would be taking.

              Waiting for no more than thirty seconds, the woman emerged from the kitchen carrying a steaming bowl, far larger than he expected and traded him the coin for the hot meal. He deliberately seated himself with a direct view of the kitchen, occupied by a very old man repeatedly chopping vegetables and meat, adding to the massive cauldron, as ladles of stew were removed, keeping the stew continually full, a never-ending process that guaranteed a consistency to the clearly famous and well-liked meal.

              Geoffrey ate in silence, watching the old man work and the middle-aged woman as well, distributing bowls of stew, and thoroughly enjoying the first hot food he had tasted since dinner the previous evening. He slowly gazed around the room to realize that nearly ever person in the pub seemed to be enjoying their hot food as much as he, and an interesting parallel occurred to him as he ate and warmed up. "I wonder how long that cauldron of stew has been going," he thought, thinking back to stores his mother had told him as a child of perpetual stew, as she called it. Judging by the age of the pub, he guessed the bubbling, redolent meal could be centuries old.

              The hot meal agreeing with him in the most pleasant way prompted him to lust after a hearty ale. Digging through his pockets, he found another small silver coin and approached the counter, to catch the woman's attention. "Could I get a half pint of a darker ale?" he asked, placing the coin on the counter. The woman smiled a smile that probably would have meant something when she was in her earlier years but only came across as lecherous to a young man like himself. She waddled to the end of the bar, filled a mug, and returned, again trading the mug for the coin, offering up another smile. He returned the smile simply as a gesture of courtesy, wanting to keep himself on the best of terms with the barmaid.

              He returned to his seat and slowly sipped the room temperature ale, with far too much head and a slight bitter aftertaste, giving his body the opportunity to handle the alcohol without getting buzzed too quickly. The barmaid became suddenly busy, skillfully managing the high volume of customers with a remarkable agility, repeatedly looking in his direction and offering up more smiles. "Well, looks like being friendly was probably a bad idea," he thought.

              Swallowing the last of his drink, he approached the counter a third time to return his mug and asked for the availability of any room. "No, sorry," she said, "but.... I do have room in my bed if you cannot find anything else," reaching over and stroking his hand. "You might check 'The Swollen Hog,' she said, "it's only a few doors down to the right and they almost always have rooms for rent. Come back and see me if they don't any rooms available."

              Geoffrey couldn't hurry out of the pub any quicker, praying for a room that he could afford. He caught sight of the inn, just a few doors down and he hurried through the unending rainfall to momentarily pause at the door, looking up at the three massive towers of the cathedral, directly behind him. He watched for a few moments as people came and left, entered and departed, which resurfaced the vision of the old man adding to and taking from the perpetual cauldron. "I guess that's what religion is like," he thought. "The recipe never changes but only the people. It's the same stew regardless of time."

              He shook the raindrops from his jacket before entering the inn and much to his joy, a room was available that he could afford, though he was told he would be sharing it with another gentleman, similar in age to himself. He paid for the room and followed the directions of the innkeeper, up the stairs and to the right, overlooking the main street. He walked into the room without knocking and was greeted by an overpowering stench of unwashed feet and flatulence. Holding in a gag, he hurried to the window, introduced himself and let in a glorious blast of cool, fresh air.

              He remained at the window, watching the constant stream of people coming and going, entering and leaving the cathedral, which struck him as odd, considering the late hour. "Like a great big stew," he muttered. As he looked across the room, his fellow traveler seemed to have no interest in small talk, which was perfectly in line with his preference as well. Despite the stench, he was overjoyed at not having to return to the pub and interact with the barmaid. He felt somewhat torn between the two options, a surly, smelly roommate, or an older woman, clearly fresh on him, but far past her prime and certainly carrying any number of diseases.

              He settled himself where he sat, not even slightly interested in reclining in a bed that had housed more people than he cared to count. Partially closing the window, he retained enough of a breeze to hold back the pungent stench, enough to prevent him from tasting the smell that was surely soaking into his skin and clothes. Within moments, he drifted to sleep and dreamt of a massive cauldron full of people of varying ages, coming and going, entering and leaving.

When It Arrived

 

            The sun had just crested over the distant hills, slicing through the grayish hue of the early morning, tempting Julian to hope for a slight increase in temperature. An annoying, rhythmic drip had been irritating him for the past three hours as he rested on his knees in three inches of water, waiting for the next round of ducks to fly overhead. His last opportunity arrived over thirty minutes prior, and he managed to only glean three ducks from that fly over. In the midst of his frustration, he could not identify the source of the constant drip, a sound that made him want to leave but he knew that this would be his last opportunity to hunt this season.

              His ice chest semi-floated next to him, containing the carcasses of the three ducks, another annoyance that required him to repeatedly shift it behind him. Knowing better but doing so anyways, he stood from his crouched position and rotated all of his limbs and neck to try to relax from the tension of the situation. Standing and squatting several times, he was startled from his calisthenics by the sound of something very large dropping onto the swampy land relatively close behind him.

              He turned toward the sound to see something large and bright purple partially submerged, surrounded in an almost poetic manner by water lilies and stalks of swamp weed. His first suspicion was that of a frozen block of liquid from an airplane but as he approached the object, he realized it was certainly not frozen but appeared gelatinous and squishy. The alarmingly bright purple color was unlike anything he had ever seen but it wasn't merely purple, it also pulsed, it's color slightly shifting in a rhythmic manner, hinting at life but no form of life he had ever before observed.

              He poked at it with the tip of his shotgun and the blob did nothing at all, other continuing to pulse, it's surface slick and basically impenetrable, merely flexing inward as he pushed. "This is bad, this is not a good thing, this is both awkward and frightening," he thought, "I need to tell someone about this." He glanced around himself to triangulate his exact location, knowing that his was the only duck blind in the area, he grabbed the handle on his ice chest and worked his way across the marsh toward his truck parked less than a mile away.

              After loading his equipment into the bed of his truck, he scraped a large arrow in the gravel, pointing toward the duck blind, and left as quickly as possible to find friends, or neighbors, or better yet, the sheriff. Within the hour, thirteen people stood around the pulsing blob with Julian, each poking it with the tip of a gun or a stick or, in the case of the sheriff, a nightstick. Everyone had the exact same response as Julian, "that thing ain't natural," they all said.

              The sheriff then spoke up, giving direction as the actual authority in the town and declared that this area was now off limits, and that he would posting warning signs and crime scene tape to protect everyone was interacting with something that no one could identify. Shuffling the group of equally confused onlookers back to the parking lot, he placed a call to the FBI, seeking direction on how to proceed.

              By the end of day, the FBI had arrived and agreed with all those present that whatever this thing was, it was certainly unnatural and potentially dangerous, creating even greater barriers of access to the area. Within three days, the Johansson brothers had built an observation platform a safe distance to the south, charging a small fee for anyone interested. By weeks end, the brothers had amassed an alarming amount of money from everyone in town, from the surrounding towns and from local and distant media.

              By the end of the month, the pulsing blob had done nothing but sit and pulse until one of the Johansson brothers let out a large whoop, immediately followed by an announcement that the blob had extended a tentacle from its side, which brought a change in its shape, seeming more like two interconnected blobs instead of one, it's color changing from pulsing purple to pulsing green. The tentacle eventually developed into an additional blob on the far end, much smaller than the original but still pulsing the same green light.

              Each week for the next three months, a new tentacle emerged from the blob in a circular pattern, until the original blob sat in the center taking on the appearance of a clock, surrounded by twelve new blobs, varying in size, and each as equally as puzzling. No one knew what to do or how to respond, as the thing seemed to present no potential threat or hostility, it merely sat, now surrounded by twelve offspring, as some began to label them. Eventually the entire marsh was closed off by an ever-expanding team of scientists and military personnel, to the disgruntlement of the local hunters.

              The FBI tried to take samples of the original, but to no avail, trying as well to obtain something from each tentacle and from each offspring but again to face only failure. The area immediately within and surrounded the thirteen blobs began to lose its moisture, as if an invisible wall had built itself around them, exposing now dry ground as the twelve offspring began to grow larger in the sequence that they had appeared.

              Most of the locals began to become frustrated at the constant presence of the FBI, the military, and the continual flow of sightseers from the surrounded area. Soon many began protesting and picketing that the government needed to do something to protect their favorite marsh and remove this abomination from the area, and to take it somewhere secure to identify its nature and its purpose, if it had one.

              The consternation from the locals appeared to achieve its desired goal as multiple trucks and trailers arrived as well as excavation equipment, breaking up the unnatural, or as some called it, unholy visitors. With each extraction, the tentacle-like appendages began to shrivel and separate from the original blob, allowing the government to remove the abomination. The locals cheered as everything returned to normal and Julian thankfully returned to his duck blind to continue his hunting efforts, thankful for the opportunity given by the extension of hunting season. "Three ducks is nowhere near enough for one season," he grumbled.

              Just before the winter cold set in, the sheriff received a visit from an FBI agent, with an announcement and explanation of what they had learned. One of the twelve blobs stopped glowing on the trip to the laboratory for examination, and the original blob which had semi-shifted into something appearing like two blobs connected finalized their break, one eventually shriveling into a pale lifeless mass while the other grew only larger and more vibrant. "And as far as we call tell," he said, "the lifeform had no ill intent and posed no danger to anyone, in fact, it seemed to be enhancing the quality of its surroundings."

              The glowing masses, while certainly alive in terms of the scientific definition, didn't exactly fit into any category of life known to any scientist on the planet. Sentient or not, they were uncertain, as its nervous system and brain were nearly impossible for the experts to understand. As the remaining blobs continued to pulse, the science team fabricated a similar setting in which to place them with the hope that marshy ground was their preference in which to thrive.

              Many years passed and eventually everyone in the town forgot about the strange appearance and Julian continued his regular pattern of hunting, still annoyed by the unidentifiable drip.

A Beautiful Face

 

            It was a half-light that greeted the day, punctuated by the happiness and songs of the small gray and white birds flitting from branch to branch in the back yard, occasionally dropping to the ground for a worm or otherwise. Alistair rolled to his side to watch the minute hand on his clock click from fifty-eight to fifty-nine, an ability he had possessed from his youth, somehow waking just moments before the alarm clock. Though seventy-two years old, he gracefully slid from his covers to stand at the bedroom window in only his boxers, joyful with the activity in the backyard, the start of a new day, and the list of activities waiting for him on the kitchen counter.

              Giving a loving pat on the top of the bust of King Charles as he left the bedroom, he released the quart of water that he had drank before bed the previous evening to then move into the spare bedroom for his morning prayers immediately followed by stretches. An elderly man by nearly everyone's standards, he had the body of a thirty-year-old, the fruit of a lifetime of diligence and commitment to comprehensive health. Still in his boxers, he sat on his back porch sipping a cup of warm water, putting off coffee until an hour after breakfast.

              Avoiding the news, he had grown tired of the clearly monopolistic and tyrannical nature of American politics, constantly pining for the old days of the monarchy, his thoughts going back to his one encounter with Queen Elizabeth upon receiving his Victoria Cross award for valor in battle. Finishing his water, he walked through the patio doors into his kitchen for his typical toast and peanut butter with a banana, still in his boxers enjoying the meal after returning to the patio.

              Doubly pleased to be joined by an individual squirrel who often accompanied him for this meal, to enjoy his own special treat from the nut bowl on the picnic table, he enjoyed his breakfast, watched the squirrel enjoy his and walked back inside to get dressed for his morning walk. He checked his schedule to see that his path was eastward this morning, a two-mile weave through multiple neighborhoods, avoiding the traffic of husbands going to work and of school buses shuttling children from home to education.

              He walked slowly, enjoying the peaceful solitude, watching as husbands kissed their wives, waving goodbye as they departed, everyone seemingly happy and content with their suburban existence. "This feels like an episode of 'Leave it to Beaver' but with a modern twist," he thought. Seeing more yoga pants than day dresses and pearls, he made mental note of particular families with whom he had become familiar, having the timing down perfect for departure times. Each house presented itself as if it were something from a home decorating magazine. Each lawn trimmed to golf course precision, each flowerbed full of bright colors and lacking weeds. Each window sparkling, holding various patterns of curtain behind each pane of glass.

              He reached his one-mile marker but instead of merely turning around and returning the same way from which he'd come, he walked a half-block north and turned westward down the alley between the houses by which he had just passed. Both surprised and not surprised at the stark contrast between the shiny happy front yards and the chaotic, unkempt nature of the backyards, he recognized the painful metaphor that these homes presented of what people in America were actually like. "A pretty and happy display but hiding an ugliness to which they would never admit," he thought.

              Continuing his covert surveillance, he saw more and more of the same, each home though beautiful on the front revealed their true selves from this alley perspective. Depressed after three blocks of immersion in this deception, he returned to the main street and walked home to make some progress on his list of to-do's for the day. As he approached his front door, he felt particularly moved to explore his own immediate neighborhood, circling around to the alleyway of his own block, which to his disappointment looked no different than all other alleyways he had previously been viewing, save his own.

              As five-thirty that afternoon rolled up on him, he changed into his exercise clothing and took his afternoon walk to watch the shiny, happy people along his route. He deliberately walked slower than usual, seeing the same faux happiness that he saw every other day, unsurprised at the reality of the situation that had been revealed to him earlier that day. He lingered for an hour at the local coffee shop and then returned to the alleyway to have his disappointment only amplified by the hostility and profanity that flowed from the back windows of these "perfect" homes.

              Despite his knowledge that each person has his own struggles, hearing the anger and hatred that flowed from them still shocked him. He saw too many weeping wives, slapped children, and kicked dogs for his own good, grieved by the internal depravity that certainly existed in most of his neighbors. The arrival of dusk allowed him to blend into the shadows of the alleyway, unnoticed in his observation.

              He circled the block again and took a seat in a corner booth at the local pub to enjoy a seltzer water as he wrestled with such a harsh image of reality. Knowing that he was not alone in his drive toward goodness, beauty, and honesty, he began to wonder about those he knew well or thought he knew well. "What kinds of secrets are people hiding?" he thought. Fully aware of his own sins, he cast no judgment on anyone but only felt sad for the darkened state into which much of mankind had fallen.

              He had conquered about half of his drink when a young woman approached his booth and asked if she could join him. He smiled and affirmed her request, motioning for her to sit. She was scantily clad, heavily tattooed and had a flat, dead look in her eyes as she made small talk with him. His immediate presumption of her line of work was almost instantly affirmed as he began making suggestive comments and physical contact. "At least she's honest," he thought.

              He continued the dialog with an attempt to sway it toward something valuable and enlightening. The woman clearly had no boundaries as she continued to drift back toward the abuses she endured, from parents, from former lovers, and from clients, describing in lurid detail all of her pain and suffering. Alistair did his best to encourage the woman, offering suggestions for making changes and improving herself, but his words seemed to fall on deaf ears.

              Like a light turning on, she suddenly seemed to understand that her forward manner was not being appreciated or desired. She patted him on the hand and rose from the booth. "If you change your mind," she said. "I'm almost always around here every evening."

              Alistair thanked her, wished her well and watched her drift off toward other men of like mind and the same interest, judging by their immediate responses to her attention.

              He returned home in the dark, making a decision to begin interacting more with more people, with the hope of making a change in even just a few people. "Even one person would be a good start," he thought.