I Met james vickers
As my foot descends, it comes in contact with and crushes something small and brittle. I look down to see that small skeletons litter the ground beneath my feet. They are indiscernible. Some look ever so slightly familiar, approximations of the skeletal configurations of cats or dogs, but most are entirely foreign. The wind sweeps the dust into the air in small clouds that swirl around me. As they swirl they seem to form letters, perhaps even words. I cannot tell what they say. Their meaning is lost to me.
The opening becomes closer; the call more desperate and alluring. I can no longer feel myself walking. My footsteps have become automated and the call sinks its tendrils deeper into my mind. The voices whisper more loudly now. They whisper harsh warnings. They beg and urge me to turn back and return from whence I came. I hear them, but I only vaguely understand. I am consumed by the need to move forward, the need to engulf myself in the anti-light emanating from the monument before me. There is a feeling of calm descending upon me. It enfolds me in its warm velvety wings. My emotions have ceased their struggle, only to become willing spectators watching the present unfold from the theater of my mind.
I take my first step through the threshold and what small amount of light is left in this dismal place fades. Darkness so complete and pure envelops me. It is a darkness that could only be known by those in the very depths of hell. The whispering voices fade and my ears ring in the newfound silence. The calm has sunken into my very soul. I can feel only one other thing, the overwhelming sense that my journey has come to an end, I am home.
I awake to the warmth of the sun shining on my face. The sweet sound of birdsong wafts in on the cool spring breeze. My sheer blue curtains tumble lazily creating dancing shadows on the wall across the room. As I slowly bring myself to a sitting position, I ponder the oddity that was last night’s dream. The remnants of it are curiously strong as they swim through my foggy mind. In fact, I can still see the dark monolith and its swirling demons. I can hear the whispering voices as they echo into nonexistence. I can still feel the call that had pulled me into the eternal darkness. Somehow, I am not chilled by these thoughts. They are comforting and make me feel out of place in the safety of my own bedroom.
As I place my feet on the floor I could swear I feel the crunch of small brittle bones underfoot. I peer down at my beige shag carpeting to ensure myself they aren’t there. I groan and stretch in an attempt to shake away the last vestiges of sleep within my body and mind. They go begrudgingly as I shuffle to my bathroom. The running faucet in the bathtub babbles in a low voice reminiscent of the voices from my dream. As I slide into the warm water I am reminded of the embrace of that dark structure and the sense of coming home.
Slowly I slide into the day’s clothes and make my way to the kitchen. The heavy aroma of freshly brewed coffee greets my nostrils and causes me to salivate. I make my way to the cupboard to retrieve my most beloved coffee mug. As I pour my coffee the swirling black beverage causes a flashing image of the clouds around the tower’s peak. The heat of the coffee warms me to my core and once again I am reminded of the feeling of complete acceptance. My cell phone begins to ring. Within the small LCD display I can see that the number is listed as “Unknown.” I flip it open and place it to my ear to be greeted by a sharp whisper. It is so harsh I could swear I feel a puff of breath against my cheek.
“You must come home. Come home. Come home…come home…”
