The Itch At The End Of The World

[Willowfang]

Hiyas, my story from the contest over at Bloody Disgusting. Hope people like it and maybe offer some input on what they think of it.

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The Itch At The End Of The World

I could feel a sort of itch all over, a bit on my skin, more so on my head, but inside my mind most of all. It didn't need scratched though, it needed fed. And somewhere. Nearby. I could feel a collection of puzzled itches all around me, and I wanted to get at them so badly...

I awoke with a start and tried to sit up, but I couldn't use my arms. Something had them wrapped around me, after a few moments and that hollow jangle of old buckles with rollers on the outer edge, I realized it was a straight-jacket. Had I been able to get a good look I could have told right away, but I had some sort of metal casing on my head. I could only see out below it where it didn't quite cover my nose. I could make out the white canvas sleeves, the brown leather straps with brass ringlets down the middle, brass buckles, and below that, bare feet and loose linen pajama bottoms.

As my head cleared, I managed to sit up and began to look around. The room was small. A metal cot with coarse white sheets and a rough gray blanket. I couldn't decide if the walls were almost white or almost blue, the color being very faded and having that reflective sheen you only get from countless layers of paint on paint. I could see a patch of sunlight on the floor, with a criss-cross of lines and dapples of shadow. I barely managed to lean back enough to peek out under the helm, or whatever it was on my head to see a window, complete with it's wire mesh glass, the sort you see at schools or public buildings. I could hear a whir of a camera turning or changing focus, but couldn't lean back far enough to see where it was.

I soon heard a click. Turning towards it quickly, I titled my head back and saw a door opening. How could I not have noticed that before? Of course a room should have a door. I could see three sets of legs enter the room, but more than that, I could feel their “itches” coming closer, I felt if I could just get a good look at their eyes, my own itch would go away. I tried to pull my arms free, the jacket stretched and the buckles clacked, but I couldn't get loose. I heard a gasp, they didn't seem to like me trying to get loose. Two of them grabbed me by the shoulders as yet another dragged a chair into the room, it's wooden legs protesting as they scraped across the floor.

“Please Sit,” said the third man as the first two forced me to sit down. The two men then stepped back, staying behind me while the third closed the door and moved to the side. It seemed no one wanted to be in front of me for some reason.

“So what's going on here?” I asked as I turned as best I could to at least face his direction even though I couldn't actually see him. I leaned back as well to try and see at least a little something of him, but he kept moving around as if refusing to be in front of me whether we could see each other or not.

“You are Dr. Jean Radcliffe, the American linguist, currently working with the The University of Reading in the UK, correct?”

“Um, yeah, so what's going on here?” I asked again.

“And you were on assignment in Romania, at some ruins in the Carpathian Mountains, correct?”

“Yes, I mean, you said 'were', so where are we now then, what's going on here? I asked again, my voice rising in frustration. “And can you please get this damn helmet thing off me?”

“Sorry, no, we can't take it off Miss Radcliffe, and please stay calm, there's a problem with your eyes at the moment. It's better for everyone if we keep things the way they are, and yes, including the straight-jacket, if you try to relax, it shouldn't bother you as much. As for where you are, you're at the Greek army base at Koufovouno. One of your team at the site called for emergency evacuation, the Romania army came to assist but were attacked, they called for help and their rescue team was also lost. We then came to assist the Romania forces. We also lost several people as well, but were able to take you into custody. So now you're in Greece and we're hoping to try and figure out just what happened, and we were hoping you could help us with that.

“My eyes? What's wrong with them? From what little I can see under this thing, everything seems fine. Maybe whatever was wrong was only temporary? And why the jacket? Surely this can't be necessary?”

“We took a few samples earlier while you slept and are running some tests now, we'll let you know as soon as we have something to tell you” he said. “And until we know more, we'd like to keep the jacket on you too. We don't want you getting hurt.”

“I guess,” I was pretty frustrated, but it didn't look like I was gonna get anywhere with them at the moment, I figured I may as well go along with things for now. “So where do you want me to start?” I said. “I don't really remember any army showing up. Come to think of it, I can't remember things really falling apart at all. Were we attacked by terrorists, or artifact thieves, or something like that?”

“No. Not thieves or terrorists. Why don't you start with what you know about the site before you even got there.”

[Willowfang]

I was rather annoyed, and hungry..., or something. Again I felt if I could just look into their eyes. With nothing better to do, I decided there was no harm in telling them what I knew. “Well, they say the site was found a few years ago actually. Some hikers, maybe lost, went into an area that the locals avoided for as far back as anyone could research. Numerous legends dating back hundreds of years, any number of campfire tales in more modern times, but the earliest written accounts dated back to around 1300 to 1500 B.C.. And even those tales suggested that the area was being avoided for hundreds of years already. What they found though looked Greek in origin, they took a number of pictures, spent the night, and then left. The pictures made their way to the archeology department at Reading where they confirmed the location by satellite and eventually began working on putting a team together and getting the necessary permits.”

“Would you say it was a Greek Temple?” he asked.

“We soon referred to it as such, there was eventually a theory that 'Oracle' might be more accurate, but it'll take years to decide which, if either is most appropriate. Even the idea of a tomb or palace was thrown around, but we tried to stop speculating and see where the facts would actually lead us. You'd be better off asking Dr. Winford, he's the one in charge of the team.”

“That doesn't seem possible at the moment I'm afraid, he was killed at some point. We're trying to make positive I. D.s of all the dead, but so far, you're the only survivor anyone has found.”

“Dead? But... you have any idea at all what happened?” I tried to remember something. Anything. But there was nothing, not even some cutoff point where something fishy even began to happen. What the hell was going on? I found it hard to believe Peter was dead. Could everyone else be dead too? Though they didn't actually come out and say so, I had the impression there were lots of dead soldiers as well. And if not terrorists or some other group come to raid the site for artifacts, what could have killed two rescue teams and some of a third before being stopped?

“We're trying to piece things together, but between strange evidence, and a lack of information altogether, it's hard to guess what could have taken place. So a Greek Temple or something, in Romania. The location is pretty out of the way, isn't it?”

“Yeah. It shouldn't have been so far north, but it was definitely Greek, or at least partially so. There was no mistaking the columns, or architecture. It could be the Greek part was built on top of something older, but that still didn't explain what any Greeks were doing so far north, to build anything at least. You see, from the outside, it was all Greek, but once inside, it went into the mountain itself and became more carved out then built. So while still somewhat Greek at least, we don't know if they changed style for some reason or adding to something else.”

“Okay, so never-minding where it was located for the moment, what was built, and for what purpose?” he asked.

“Hmm, it's hard to explain much if you don't have a background in ancient Greek history, but I assume you know Greek mythology?”

“Fairly well, movies, stories, and so on, I know the major characters and maybe a few minor ones.”

“Alright, well, what the Greeks built there, they built to match the Greek mythology of the time, and might even have been the beginning of some Greek myths, basically putting their imprint, as we know it today, on something far, far older. So what they built seemed to have been a 'temple' to Scylla at first, the mother of many other Greek monsters. But she was never anything close to a god and not even Cthonic cults ever worshiped her, at least not that has ever been found. A Cthonic cult being a group that worshiped a 'dark' or 'underworld' side of one of the Greek gods. We found evidence that it could have been a Cthonic temple to Scylla, but that was just one of many things to be investigate further.”

“Cthonic cult? Are they evil or something?

“Not necessarily. They were never the 'good guys', but not always 'bad guys' either. The Cthonic cults would practice ritual sacrifice. Anything from wine, to grain, to an effigy of a human figure. But it's been disputed whether or not the Greeks ever practiced human sacrifice in even their rarest moments. We did find an altar with what may have been blood stains on it though. We took some samples, but as old as it is, who knows if we can ever tell for sure if it's human, let alone if it's even blood at all.”

“So far it doesn't sound like any of it could lead us to where we are now, so you must have found something more?” he said.

“Right, the blood, if that's even what it was that was, was 10-20 centuries old at least, no one had been keeping things going obviously. Beyond the altar in the next room was where things got interesting. It was there we found a wall or door. It would take us months to get it open. In the mean time we worked out how to do so as well as explore the rest of the temple as well as translate the tale carved into the buildings at the site.”

“So just what tale did you uncover?”

“This would be my field of expertise. Although I can translate one language into another, my specialty is translating pictographic narratives into a written narrative. This involves a deep knowledge of the culture that wrote it of course. Upon closer examination, I found that the carving on the arch outside said here 'lies', or 'dwells', 'a child of Scylla'. So a few things here. That's where the idea of a tomb or palace comes from, but also, this wasn't a temple to Scylla at all, but one of her children, or something the Greeks decided must be one of her children. After that, nothing really matched Greek mythology. The story they seemed to write came close, but just didn't line up with anything. It obviously came close to the story of Medusa, but not like we know it today. At best, the story we found here was an original, or different version from the one we know today. It was pretty exciting at first, but we also had to wonder if it would ever really fit in with Greek history as we knew it, or would it be considered some local anomalous temple based on the original tale that somehow made it's way north.”

[Willowfang]

“So what was the story you found?”

“It's hard to know exactly, and even if someone got it right, not everyone would agree, since some parts could go in different directions. My guess was that the tale was almost entirely political and not a philosophical lesson. It might make more sense to call it a philosophical tale though, to the ancient Greeks, they were sometimes the same thing, and here it was like they were making more of a political point, at least by today's standards. The narrative phrase that kept coming up was 'a mind like stone becomes like stone'. So it invoked the story of Medusa, but this wasn't the story as we'd ever heard it before.”

“Any idea what the phrase meant?”

“Well, it wouldn't make any sense to repeat them selves, so they were obviously using two different metaphors for 'like stone'. It didn't take long for us to come up with a few ideas, but we didn't want to put words in their mouths either. So after a few more weeks of continued study, I was able to settle on what I think they meant. And that is, for the first part, 'a mind like stone' is someone that is in a set way of thinking, that your reality or beliefs are what they are and you can't grasp any other picture. You see?”

“I suppose it makes sense, but as you say, not everyone would agree it's the only possible explanation.” he replied.

“Yes, as I said. Now if my conclusion of the first part was correct and fit all the carvings throughout the site, I then had to find another metaphor for 'like stone' that fit the first part, the carvings, a political or philosophical idea, and could be seen as leading to a different version of the story of Medusa.”

“I see.”

So in a way, those three guidelines made it hard to come up with an answer, but at the same time would make it easy to be sure if I came up with the right answer to the riddle.”

“I'm assuming you came up with, or discovered something, something dangerous even? Had you not, there never would have been the call for help that lead us to where we are now.”

“I see what you mean. I really don't know what went wrong as you say, but something must have or we'd still be at a dead end as far as the message went.” I said, as much to myself as to them. It was a little hard to think too, the itch was growing stronger, I had a need for something, but what? He must have noticed it too.

“We've been at this a long time. Are you hungry? Would you like something eat or drink?”

“Hmm, yes. That sounds good. Could I get this jacket removed though, so I could feed myself?”

“Very well. But lets replace the jacket with some travel restraints. Give her half a meter of chain total so she can manage.”

And with that he walked out of the room. Another pair of guards came in shortly thereafter with chains jingling in their hands. They removed my straight-jacket and put them on me. With less than half a meter of chain from wrist to wrist, I could slide the chain through a ring at my waist and reach out a little with both hands, or a fair amount with just one.

Lunch itself wasn't much, just a grilled cheese, some tomato soup, a jug of water, a glass and a cup of jello on a metal tray, with a napkin and some plastic-ware of course. Not very Greek, maybe they were trying to give me typical American food?

I tried to think of more as I ate, but nothing much came immediately to mind. Something big must have gone wrong or we would have just gone home empty handed. Nothing new there really. While such expeditions generally add to the overall body of knowledge, we often don't find many answers to the questions we really want to know. Like what's really behind door number one to history. Wait, the door! Did we ever get it open? Think. Think. We must have, but if we did, why can't I remember? What ever took place must be due to what we found, because everything else is clear enough and nothing to cause all this trouble.

So if we did open the door, what did we find beyond it? Room? No. Hall? No. Cavern? Yes. That's where we found the altar though. So I remembered the altar, but I thought we found it outside the door? Okay, so what was around the altar then? After thinking hard, I could remember a pit and a huge sculpture over it. Engels and Hastings worked on the altar while the rest of us were occupied with the sculpture, right? We checked the pit out first. It went down further than we could see with any light, and we had no other means on hand to check its depth. We did send away for some equipment, but that would take awhile. The sculpture however...

It was huge and straddled the pit on three legs. It had an art deco feel to it, stretched like taffy, four bluntish legs, three going downward and one straight up. The whole thing was only vaguely symmetrical, with cone shaped holes facing towards the altar on the leg nearest it. We measured the pit at nearly ten meters across, the sculpture was then a few more than that and about twenty-five meters high. We had no idea how it was brought in to the cavern or even in put place though. The sculpture itself was made of limestone, a substance that in recent years had been discovered to diminish lower frequencies while leaving higher ones unaffected, solving the mystery of the acoustics at the Greek theater at Epidaurus. We wondered if maybe it was meant to be an acoustic microphone and receiver, picking up sounds and voices from far below? Maybe there was another such sculpture at the bottom of the pit for two way communication? But the knowledge, engineering, and purpose seemed far beyond what anyone could have conceived, let alone actually built, thousands of years ago.

I mulled it all over as I ate. Strange that it all came to mind so easily after being unable to remember anything at first. Maybe I just needed a rest and something to eat. Speaking of which, now after eating a bit, the itch from earlier was returning. If I could just get this helmet off. There was no mirror in the room, but maybe...

[Willowfang]

Struck with inspiration, I cleaned out the soup bowl and filled it with water, not the best mirror, but I could see a little something of myself. The helmet was difficult to get a good look at due to the angle, but seemed to be more of a casing with straps attached than an actual helmet. In any case, I could make out four straps that attached to the sides near my ears. Two of them must have been attached to the straight-jacket somehow. The other two formed a chin strap. Were I unable to see it, I'd probably have no hope of getting it off, but with the reflection in the water, I might have a chance. The chains on my wrists were too short to let me reach it. Fair enough, can't expect them to overlook that. I then looked around the room as best I could, maybe I could scrape the straps against something and break them.

The walls were too smooth, no plumbing to work with, the doorknob wasn't going to work either. The bed? I looked at the legs, if I flipped it over could I use the legs? Was hard to be sure, but maybe. But if I did and it didn't work, they'd chain me up even more. Still, what if it was now or never? I decided to give it a shot. Thankfully it wasn't bolted down, I was able to flip it with my hands and looked it over again, if I could get one leg under the strap, I could push with my feet against the other leg and maybe break the strap off. It was tricky getting the leg under it, but I managed eventually, but how much time would I have before they came back? Regardless, I started pushing. It felt like it was giving a little, I could hear the leather creaking. With nothing left to lose, I kept pushing harder and harder. My head and neck were beginning to hurt, but there might be no second change to get free. My leg muscles were starting to feel like they were on fire, but a pulled muscle would hardly matter if I stayed locked up forever.

And then the strap broke from the helmet. Strangely enough, the helmet proved my savior as I then fell against the wall. Getting up I shook my head to clear it and get the helmet off. As I did that I could hear the camera overhead whirring. They'd be here soon. I looked at my chains, nothing I could do to get them off any time soon. I looked at the door wishing I could kick it open or something and run before anyone got here. I checked the knob, hoping for the best and it crumbled to dust and grainy sand. I was puzzled, but not so much that I was going to stop to figure it out right now.

I stepped out and there were soldiers running at me. They were shouting in Greek. I figured they were yelling at me to stop even as I translated it in my head. Strangely enough they were yelling at me to “drop down and cover your eyes.” I looked at them, not really thinking about it and felt their “itches.” I felt a hunger for those itches and began staring at them intently. One of them fell to the ground like a puppet with it's strings cut and just lay there catatonicly. Another just sat down and started laughing. Still a third began screaming and clawed his eyes out, that one fell dead from shock and blood loose moments later. I remembered now. Their minds were becoming like stone, to never think again.

As I walked around, trying to find a way out, more and more fell to my gaze. I could feel the itches in their minds uncoiling like springs, the madness in them growing as they saw everything I'd learned from the sculpture. It was never meant to kill, but the makers knew that many would go mad from listening to it. But those minds that could grasp it's knowledge would pass it on and bring a new dawn to their people. The itch in my own mind was being fed to overflowing, all the things the minds I fed on ever thought, all they'd ever felt, loved, hated, or cared for. A few survived, understanding the knowledge I had to share. They would soon be like me and go out looking for others to share our knowledge with. Many would die. The human race as it was known would soon be gone, our minds thrust forward with millions of years of knowledge and things we'd never have learned on our own as well. Perhaps this wasn't the first time we'd ever been thrust forward. Not just thousands of years ago when the sculpture was buried and forgotten, but long before as well, when we first started crawling out of the dust, or maybe even as far back as the ooze we postulated upon.
It was confusing at first of course. We'd received the measuring equipment in a shipment, and used the lasers to measure down the shaft. It was at least several miles deep, but we couldn't measure any deeper with what we had. We also got equipment to build a listening post to pick up any sound coming from the sculpture. We got nothing for weeks, what ever had been speaking we first figured must be long dead or gone. We were wrong, it was only asleep...

It was on one of my shifts that we started hearing something. I'd meant to call the others but didn't. As I sat and listened, so many things began to make sense. I got frequent headaches, but I was able to translate the many languages I was receiving to go along with the images that were appearing in my mind. While it felt like a life time, it was probably only a matter of a few hours when I walked out of the cave. I walked to where they were eating dinner and as we looked at each other, some of them just fell over dead, laughed, or maybe even screamed. That was it for all those that were there with me.

As I looked around for what to do next, I noticed the radio and went to it and started taking. I don't remember what I first said, but they asked me if everything was all right. I said no, everyone is dead. They said to wait and they'd be right there. I waited. They came. They died. They called for help. They died too. I must have received a blow to the head from the Greek army. Who knows how much force they used, but a little short term memory loss from fighting an army doesn't seem so bad. Saved me the trouble of walking back to civilization anyway.

As the resistance of the soldiers died down, I thought to try the dust trick on my chains. Grasping them, they simply crumbled away. Thankfully I quickly figured out I could control that ability. Climbing to the roof of one building, I saw the lights of a city to the West. It seemed like as good a place as any to start sharing the secrets of the universe with the rest of the world...

[Willowfang]

There we go, all fits now.

Thanks for reading and feel free to comment.

[mskarie]

Originally Posted by Willowfang

There we go, all fits now.

Thanks for reading and feel free to comment.

I'm not a writer by any means, but I really liked your story!
Very good sir.

[Fearonsarms]

Originally Posted by mskarie

I'm not a writer by any means, but I really liked your story!
Very good sir.

Ditto-decent story thanks for posting :)