Friday, May 15th We just arrived at the cabin - Paul is making us all lunch, and Harry and Gwen are arguing over the proper way to start a fire. The cabin is nice; small but cozy, and sort of feels like a time machine. All of the appliances, furniture, and decor is straight out of the 70s. Even the lightbulbs look old. It’s sort of why we chose this place online. A real getaway without modern distractions. We’re planning a cookout on the old charcoal grill outside tomorrow, and going for a hike on Sunday. The cashier of the gas station at the bottom of the mountain warned there was a big storm coming our way, so the cookout may turn into a cook-in. Either way, we’re ready for a week of relaxation and exploration.
Saturday, May 16th The storm hit us early this morning, so we’ve been stuck inside all day. We tried to watch a movie on my iPad, but it mysteriously died and won’t turn back on. I’ll have to get it looked at when we go back home. The cell service and WiFi here are both spotty, so we’ve been entertaining ourselves with the boardgames and cards the homeowners left. No modern distractions, remember? Luckily, Harry stocked up on plenty of booze, so spirits are all quite high (pub intended). Maybe I’ll check out the cabin’s small book collection after dinner.
Saturday, May 16th - Evening I found something quite strange in my room. It’s a guestbook where visitors can leave notes of thanks or give feedback. Pretty typical. Some people even left photos. But what’s weird is that the entries start from 1973, and stop in 1977. There are dozens of entries, most of them positive - except the last one. It’s from a group of friends from Iowa. They wrote:
“Our stay started out quite pleasant. The cabin is lovely and the wilderness is beautiful. But starting on the second night of our stay, we noticed a strange blue light coming from the woods. We checked around outside the cabin, but couldn’t find the source. We plan to hike out to the lake nearby tomorrow, so maybe we can find out where the light is coming from.”
There’s nothing written in the book after that. It was probably some light pollution from the nearby town or something. But I don’t really have an explanation for why there aren’t any more recent entries. Perhaps there’s a newer guest book in another room. I’ll search around tomorrow.
Saturday, May 16th - 12 AM Gwen just came to wake me up. She said she had a weird dream about a strange animal in the woods outside her window. She seemed pretty shaken up. I told her it was probably just a mix of the beer and the storm making her imagination work overtime. She’s on her way back to bed now. I’ve been trying to fall back asleep, but there must be an industrial plant or something not too far from here, because the sky is sort of glowing a bright blue. Maybe we’ll go check it out on our hike tomorrow.
It starts with a crack Right through the middle of a person. It’s a simple equation, really. Strike the heart, and you kill the soul. Strip the power, and you kill the will. Rip away hope, and you kill the humanity.
Allow them faith, but not too much And if you see a spark, don’t forget to stomp Heaven forbid they taste peace.
Yet when they hand over nothing but fear and ash and rubble, When they poison the water and Salt the earth, And leave nothing but cinder and ruin Still have the gall to ask “When does a man become a monster?”
All I could think of was the suffocating feeling of my soaking wet hair wrapped around my own neck. Nevermind that each drop of salt water flung into my face felt like a frigid bullet, blurring my vision and numbing my cheeks. And nevermind that not only were we sailing through a storm so violent the noon sky went black, but we were also in the midst of a titan: the Kraken.
The screams of men around me didn’t register; not as the behemoth tentacle slithered its way out of the water just feet off the edge of our ship. Not even rapid gunfire and canon blasts could cover the sound of soft, wet flesh sluicing from the depths as the beast from below came to claim her next prize. And the smell. Like a mountain of decaying bodies too far gone to tell what creatures they were - a living grave of all things dank, decrepid, and rotted. If my body were able to move, I would have vomitted.
But I was frozen. Both by fear and frigid water. It’s as if time slowed; the carnage around me happening at half-speed. The water-logged wooden floor beneath me was tinted a deep red as men - or what was left of them - bled where they’d been scattered. Shards of broken beams confettied the deck as the titan’s slimy slithering apendage pierced the ships hull from below, sending blood and flesh spraying as shouts turned to agonized wails before being cut short.
My eyes in their stunned glaze drifted downwards to my feet, now planted in a growing pool of murky liquid. There, just beyond the toe of my left boot, lay a gold ring. A wedding ring from the looks of it. Nothing ornate or eclectic; just a simple gold band. I’m not sure what it was about the sight of it, the out-of-placeness of it sitting so brightly in the bloody puddle, but it broke my trance. And I moved.
Life without you is life without color Without music or laughter. Silent. Lonely. Labored. Like all the air in the atmosphere Suddenly turns to hot oil. And burns as you choke on the absence of everything you bring to life. Like the oceans go flat, Aching for the wild chaos of existence And the ancient embrace of current and wind. The forest goes silent As birds forget their songs and their wings forget How sweet the air tastes.
