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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/940330-Slivermoon
Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Horror/Scary · #940330
Am I living the dream, or dreaming the life?
SLIVERMOON


Criss Dane


         The Dream is always the same.

         The sky is barely lit. Pallid stars shine through thin ragged clouds like dust through old lace; all swirling amongst the thin crescent of a moon. It’s barely enough to light the field, but not enough to really bring it into focus. I’m grateful for that. I get the deepest sense I don’t want to see too far out into the landscape. There are noises out there; unidentifiable animals that just don’t sound right.

         And so I walk; deeper and deeper to whatever lies in the center. The noises are kind enough to remain in the outskirts. My agitation grows as I waver between wondering what they are and not wanting to know. As I walk, everything seems to grow sicker. The trees take on a more haggard diseased look. No birds; no life to speak of anywhere except the far off noises. The grass and brush grow sparse and patchy. There’s no wind either; only the sound of my feet scraping on the ragged brush and the distant howling to keep me company. The animals sound further away now and I realize I’m heading someplace they fear to tread.

         In the passing of time, I come to what must be my destination; a small, square stone building set in a clearing; some sort of temple. Haggard, bare, diseased trees encircle the clearing like zombie worshipers. Nothing grows within the circle; as if all life is afraid to enter the area. The animal voices rise in warning—or perhaps in pain. The temple beckons silently, recalling my attention. It is an unremarkable building; nothing spectacular. Grey walls and a single doorway. Dim amber light flickers from inside. There seems to be some unnatural aura that emanates from the structure; as if it’s not supposed to be here. Or maybe it’s me that is not supposed to be here. The animals seem to agree as their howling increases to fever pitch. There are no other doors or windows to the small structure. As I approach, I become more and more unsettled. My feeling of intrusion grows; but something is pulling me in. Curiosity? Grim fascination? With no small sense of foreboding, I enter.

         The inside is a whole other world. It’s much larger than the outside structure allows; longer and with two large wooden doors on the other end that couldn’t lead back outside. Between the doors, a pedestal holds what looks like a book. Not far above some jewel glimmers set in the wall. Outside air doesn’t seem to penetrate because the air inside is dry and stale. It seems I am the first to enter in countless ages. The room is dimly lit by two torches on glyph covered walls. The language is unknown to me—long forgotten by the world. As I cross the room the far wall comes more into to focus and what I see turns me inside out.

         The jewel in the wall is not a jewel but in fact a hole about the size of my fist. And within this hole is an oversized eye; red streaked and weary. But the eye doesn’t acknowledge my presence. It just looks down, darting back and forth. In its line of site is a pedestal displaying some ancient tome. The Eye darts back and forth surveying the pages before it. Behind the doors on either side of this loathsome sight, sounds emanate; sounds more tortured and less recognizable than the animal sounds outside.

         Slowly, I approach the ancient tome that is the object of the Eye’s obsession. Flush with the wall—and revoltingly close to the Eye—I look at the eons yellowed parchment of the book. The pages contain a script that somewhat mirrors the glyphs on the wall. I don’t understand the script any better than the glyphs, but a feeling of familiarity washes over me. I feel as if I should know the script. I glance over to one of the doors. There’s no handle—at least not on this side. Not that I’m at all willing to venture in! I know in my heart that something-many things-are waiting beyond those doors; even approaching. Seeking distraction—any distraction—from the thought of where those doors lead, I turn back to the book. Again, I feel as if the words scrawled on the page should make sense to me; as if I stare at them long enough, the mystery will unravel. I know good and well that I won’t like what I learn, but I’m moved by grim fascination.

         Suddenly my thoughts are interrupted by another feeling; that of being watched. As I look up, my gaze and the Eye’s lock. I can scarcely breathe. Where it been erratically darting back and forth, the Eye is now frozen, fixed upon me. The sounds beyond the doors—which had since become louder—melt away. Nothing can penetrate this Eye’s stare. I desperately want to run out of the room, but can’t move. It just keeps staring at me. Time stands still as does my heart. I imagine I can see all levels of emotion from this mute expressionless eye; fear, desperation, loathing, malice! Be it sympathy or hate, the Eye conveys clearly, that I DO NOT belong here. I should leave. I should run. But I can’t move. I can’t even blink. I’m entranced by this eye that will not break its stare. Time has stopped. Life has stopped. Nothing exists beyond me and this eye. And perhaps this is how I will remain; locked in some unspoken conflict with some nearly unseen creature. Who is the owner of this eye? What is the wall hiding? My mind swims. All sorts of creatures come to mind from some pitiful victim of nature to its most vengeful nightmare. Not knowing is worse. My fate hangs in eternal suspension.

         Then a thunderous thud against one of the doors brings me back. The sounds have become roars just beyond the ancient wood that now seems so fragile. My legs start to move again, but I can’t break the stare. Slowly I back away; not able to turn away from the Eye that even now refuses to break its gaze on me. The sounds beyond the door reach riotous level; growling, screeching, clawing, gnashing. And yet my departure is at a snail’s pace; the way it always is in dreams—prey moving in slow motion, predator at top speed. Though my mind is in full flight mode, my body seems content to slowly slither away.

         Finally, I reach the threshold. Mercifully, the Eye breaks its gaze and returns to pouring over the book before it. Only then can I move. I break into a full run; the pounding, scratching and howling behind the doors still blaring in my ears. As I dart past the trees, they sway; almost as if they’re shunning me, turning away in fear. The horrible sounds still echo from the temple; mingling with the distant sounds of the field. It’s as if they’re linked in some hellish symphony. For certain, I have awakened something in that vile place. The temple sounds fade under the growing sounds of the animals in the field. I am obviously heading straight for them. Yet the outside sounds are of lesser concern. I welcome them compared to whatever was making the noises in the small temple. Any fate would be better than them, I’m convinced. I glance up at the moon in revulsion. It now looks more and more like a giant lid, covering a giant eye that will at any moment pop open and stare down at me. I look away and convince myself that it won’t happen; though my heart screams otherwise. Where would I run from that? There is no shelter save the temple I running from at top speed. There is no other option.

         So I run under the dim light of the slivermoon; running towards the sound that once filled me with dread. But I run charged by new fears. Fear of what I stumbled upon. A gate to Hell? Another dimension? My destiny as fodder to the things beyond the doors or the vile thing in the wall. What if those sounds tearing at the doors escape? What would that wall reveal of that Eye’s owner? What if it’s coming for me too? Am I far enough away? Can I ever be?

         Faster and faster I run; unabated as newer fears slowly creep into my consciousness. I have no idea where I’m running to. In fact, I really know of no other life beyond this field. I have no idea who I am. Such thoughts engulf me, shutting out all else; the sounds in the temple, the sounds in the field, everything. And then a new fear permeates my soul, a fear of waking. Fear that I will find that wretched tome lying in front of me…forever.
© Copyright 2005 Krazy Daze (ctrhippie at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/940330-Slivermoon