Part II of this epic novella.
“That was only the first dream. Countless others filtered into my mind every night while I slept, each one becoming more ridiculous and terrifying than the last. But they all had one connection, that monster. In some way or another, it was in each dream, even if the dream was a pleasant one. I remember, this one time, I was fooling around with Jennifer Sweet, a vivacious model at the time, and there it was, leaning over us like a disapproving mother. Before it yanked her from me, and hung her by her neck with its black tentacle, I jumped out of bed and puked. It came to the point that after every dream, I would wake up sick to my stomach.
“A few months had past and I was growing curious about the thing, so I ventured into the libraries and random bookstores in the city, looking for any type of books that dealt with supernaturalism, demonology, urban legends, and really anything that could be connected to dreams. I didn’t find much on the monster specifically, but I did find a lot of information on things that were to it, in a book called Vieni Prieš Mus, which roughly meant, Ones Before Us. Originally, I later found out, it was written in Egyptian, then translated in a few different languages, like old Chinese, Greek, and Hebrew. I assumed it was a pretty old book.
When I walked into the Cherry Brooke Gazette on Tuesday morning, I believed it was going to be a normal day. One filled with mundane tasks like going through dozens of replies to my ad in the paper, or Mr. Fisher would have me write up articles about some local events, like the fire that took place at the Moore Mansion the night before, or the car chase that ended with the culprit t-boning himself into a pole. But I was wrong … very wrong.
Entering my office, I saw there was a manila envelope laying on my desk. I picked it up and noticed how heavy it was, then sunk into my chair. Looking at it, I realized there wasn’t a return address, which was odd, but my wonderment of what was inside was far greater than the missing address.
Monoliths. Ancient astronomical stone-gardens. Human-like statues beyond antiquity. All tap into our deepest sense of cosmic time … and cosmic horror.
As I moved down the sandy shore of the Woodell River, searching for rock samples, I stumbled upon a queerly stacked stone statue. Placed perfectly it was, on a large weathered rock, so much so not even the water moving across its base made it budge. It begged the question, “Who built this?”
Who, indeed, did build the small pillar of stone that seemed to speak in an unspoken language that not even a geologist’s mind could understand. Although it was strange, and built abnormally, I found it captivating. The statue seemed to have a force about it, something that pulled me towards its direction, kept me standing in the riverbed, and left me to wonder about its quixotic structure.
As the cool water rushed over my feet, and my eyes fixated on the stacked stones, I pondered, what type of person would create such an odd thing. Slowly, my imagination pieced together characters that seemed to be ripped from the fictional stories I have read over the years.