The Works of Nick Hayden

Sorry for the long delay between installments. The next installment will probably be slow in coming, as well, because of events in real life, but I’ll do what I can.

~~~

It occurred to me that it was probably useless to expect real answers out of a madman, but I was fascinated and frightened and felt compelled to see where this led, despite Aura’s mutterings. “Everyone died,” I said, trying to wrap my head around the idea. “How did they die?”

“Die?” he said, confused. “How should I know?”

“You said they died….”

“I did not,” he said defensively. “They aren’t. They can’t be.” He set down his cup and almost stood. “I defy you!”

It took me longer than I like to admit to close my mouth. I didn’t understand a word John was saying. I felt like I was in a particularly obtuse episode of The Prisoner.

He never said they died, Aura said patiently. He said he was alone. He said men had gone into the earth, from whence they came.

“What is she saying to you?” John asked. “Did she come to you at night, when you waited for the sun and hoped it would never come?”

“Can you see her?” I asked.

“No,” he said quickly.

I am not a creature like that thing, Aura said vehemently. Don’t even think it.

So I move away from that train of thought. “The other men–did they go into the earth?”

“That’s what I said.”

“All of them?”

“Haven’t you been listening?”

“Why didn’t you go?”

John leaned back and gave me a knowing look. “We’ve come to the point finally. You have come to lead me into the Pit. I have resisted previous temptations. How do you hope to convince me?”

I once heard a debater say that one of the best tactics to buy some time when you didn’t know how to respond is to ask a question. I certainly needed the time and I had more than enough questions. Aura was still chattering in the background, so I pretended I knew what I was talking about and asked: “How did he convince you?”

“He didn’t come like the others. He didn’t want me to go. He wanted me to stay. He came to be with me. He did not come to take me away.”

“I haven’t either,” I said honestly. “What did he look like, when he came to you?”

“Like a man, a weary man. He wanted water, and I gave it to him. He had traveled across dry, lonely places. It was a lie, of course. He told me the truth eventually.”

I waited for him to continue, but he didn’t, of course. He just stared at me and nodded imperceptibly. “The truth?”

“Oh, just that he was a parasite and would die without a human host.”

“I see.” Awkward. “And…you’re okay with that?”

“Most times, I barely notice him. Even when he speaks, it’s just a hum, like a bit of music in the background.” He stood and walked to the door. “I’m tired. I haven’t slept well lately. If you’re not going to try to tempt me, you’re going to have to leave.”

[democracy id=”5″]

I took a sip of the tea to distract myself. I had never much cared for tea, and this didn’t change my opinion of the burnt water. I couldn’t ask Aura any of the questions I desperately wanted to without causing a scene, so I sat waiting for someone else to talk.

Ask him about it.

That wasn’t going to happen. The man looked perfectly normal, at least for a man who lived alone in a cabin and claimed to be the last surviving human on whatever planet/reality I currently occupied. As I took another bitter sip, I saw him looking at me with piercing eyes. I was going to have to speak first.

“I’m not from around here,” I said. Lame, as always.

The man nodded and waited for me to continue.

“I come in peace.” I smiled awkwardly.

Anytime now, Milton. Let’s thank the man for the drink and get out of here. Seriously, that thing gives me the heebie-jeebies. I don’t know if it’s more spider or snake, but it’s just wrong. It keeps looking at me.

The man blank stare unnerved me. It forced me to keep talking, just so I wouldn’t have to keep suffering beneath his silence. “So, what’s it like here, living alone?”

The man blinked and straightened himself. His lip quivered somewhere between a smile of triumph and fear. “There it is,” he said softly. He set down his cup. “You know I am not alone. Let’s just begin there.”

“I–why do you say that?” I spluttered.

“Don’t,” he said harshly. “You are all of the same kind. You come to convince me. You want me. I know you are here to take his place. I will not exchange him for another. He….” The man searched for something with his eyes, something he did not find. “He is my friend.”

“Of course,” I said.

Now say you’re going to leave. He doesn’t want you. Just stand up and walk away.

But I couldn’t. There was something strange–okay, a lot strange–about this, and the man seemed harmless enough. He wanted to talk. I had been whisked away from my life and set down in this place, near this lonely cabin. It was hard not to see it as necessary that I stop here and do what I could.

“What’s you name?” I asked.

“John.”

Such an ordinary name. “What is his name?”

“What is hers?”

“I don’t know,” I said truthfully, starting to wish I’d listened to Aura’s advice. “Why are there no men here?”

“They have gone. They have left me. Some came, claiming to be men, but they were suits worn by the storm and the flame. I resisted them and drove them away. Then one came to me and spoke softly to me. He promised to keep me and protect me. And now you have come, the first to challenge him.”

“But where did the men go?”

John closed his eyes. “Where do all men go? Into the earth, from whence they came.”

[democracy id=”4″]

I walked carefully, wanting to approach as quietly as possible. At the door I listened. I heard nothing. I felt Aura’s impatience–or imagined she must be impatient. I knocked.

A cry answered, not a scream exactly, but a strangled sort of noise. I stepped back and waited, heart pounding.

I could hear something now. I stepped closer. It was a man’s voice, low and muttering.

Knock again. 

“Easy for you to say,” I whispered back. But I raised my fist and knocked again. The silence that followed was absolute.

Third time’s the charm.

I’d come this far. I knocked a third time.

“What are you?” came the terrified voice.

“My name’s Milton Henry. Can I come in?”

“What do you want? Why have you come?”

Those were not easy questions to answer, so I kept it simple. “I was stranded on the beach. I’m lost. I need some place to stay for a bit.”

Tell him you’re on a mission.

“Am I?” I asked.

Oh, I didn’t tell you? I just figured it out.

“What are you, Milton Henry?” the man demanded.

“I’m just a man.”

The door shook beneath a blow. “Liar! You’ve come to deceive me.”

“I haven’t.”

“You have!”

This was going nowhere, and I didn’t want to spend the rest of the night convincing someone I wasn’t a rogue. Besides that, I was more than a little frightened. “Look, just tell me where the nearest city is, and I’ll be on my way.”

“City? There are no cities! There are no men. I am alone, and you are here to torment me.”

Well…that’s unfortunate.

“I was hoping you’d have some idea what to do next,” I told Aura.

“What was that?” the man demanded through the door. “What did you say?”

“Nothing,” I said. “I’ll just be going. Sorry to disturb you.”

“All right, all right,” the man said, but he seemed to be talking to someone else in the little cabin. “I don’t trust him. Hey!” he called to me. “You still there?”

“Uh…yeah.”

“Lay down your weapons.”

“Done,” I responded immediately.

“I’m going to open this door to look at you. Then I will invite you in. I will serve you tea. You will pose your questions and I will answer. Will you then leave me in peace?”

“Sure,” I said uncertainly. What did he think me, some ghostly inquisitor? “This is your fault,” I whispered to Aura.

You’ll thank me after a warm cup of tea. She mimicked a British accent perfectly.

I heard a bolt slide and the handle turn. The door groaned heavily as it opened, spilling lantern light into the dark. A man stood silhouetted in the doorway. “You do not look horrifying,” he said after a moment.

Milton….

“I’m just a man.”

But the stranger shook his head vehemently. “Come in and we will test our wits.”

Milton, run away.

“What?” I asked.

“Come in,” the man insisted. “I will face you and expel you.”

Run, Milton. Run now!

The stranger grabbed my wrist. “You can’t knock on my door and not come in.” He pulled me across the threshold.

Aura was panicking. Don’t you see it, Milton?

I couldn’t answer. The man was studying me with cold, curious eyes.

On his back. Don’t you see it on his back?

The man was bearded and thin. He wore clothes stained black and brown. He smiled at me. “You aren’t a fierce demon now, are you? Come, the tea’s still hot.”

Why can’t you see the creature on his back! 

“Thank you,” I said. And I sat before my knees could give way.

I thought I could sense the nameless girl in my head considering. I don’t know. It’s a big deal.

“I could just call you Girl.”

Really? How thoughtful.

“I mean, if you didn’t want a real name yet.” She didn’t have to get mad at me. I was trying to help. “It could just be a nickname. ‘Hey, Girl!’ I’ll say. And you’ll say, ‘What, you big lug?’ See what I mean?”

Big lug? Seriously? Never mind about a name. 

The cabin was drawing closer, and I could see a faint light in the window. “I’ve got to call you something. How about Amnesia? It’s like calling someone April because they were born in April, or Sonny, because they’re a boy–”

Or calling someone Ditzy because they’re blond. How about not naming me after the gigantic hole in my brain? She huffed, a long, distinct sound of irritation. Why’d I have to get stuck with such a dork?

The ground here was not as sandy as before. My feet were unused to being bare, and the sharp grass was irritating them. Just ahead was a dilapidated fence that hemmed in a patchy yard and the small, dimly lit cabin. I stopped. I couldn’t work up the nerve to go forward while arguing with the voice in my head. I needed all my wits about me, and this girl was far too distracting.

“Do you want a name or not?”

I want my name.

“We don’t have that. I need to call you something, though. Give me a second.” A second wasn’t going to be enough. When I started to think, I immediately went back to earlier, when the old man had come to me. I should have known. I should have asked questions. I should have protested or broken the pad he gave me or packed a suitcase or something. At least worn something more suitable than a ragged T-shirt and pajama pants. What I wanted to do, above all, was to curl up in a ball in some nice crevice and revel in all the things I had failed to do. How was I supposed to ignore all these pressing thoughts and name a girl I could not see, a girl I did not know?

Then I had it.

“Did you ever read comics?” The old man had pointed out the comics. He had known I’d need to look at things from a less-than-realistic point of view.

Maybe. Why?

“Let’s give you a cool superhero name. You know, like a nickname, but it shows how cool you are. You can keep a secret identity, I don’t need to know your real name. Sound good?”

I don’t know. Depends on the name.

And with a moment’s thought, I had one. “How about Aura?”

Aura. She was trying it out on her non-existent lips. It’s not too bad.

“Aura, it is, then. Not too shabby, if I say so myself.”

So humble.

“So, into the cabin, I guess?”

What are you, chicken?

“I’m properly hesitant. You ever read a story where a lone cabin in the middle of nowhere was a good thing?”

Sure. Now get going. I won’t be stuck inside a coward. So speaks Aura the Great!

I entered through the broken gate.

[democracy id=”3″]

The girl stopped talking. Despite the crashing of clouds and the thunder of the ocean, her voice had been the most distracting and dissonant, like listening to a symphony on earbuds in the middle of Brazilians cheering for the winning goal. A certain peace fell upon me and I felt a renewed vigor to my step. I had no destination and no map, but I was going somewhere, and that seemed something, at least.

But it wasn’t just her voice that stopped. The cold rain was lessening from a downpour to a shower to a scattering. The clouds were drifting to mists, revealing hundreds of crystal pinpricks swimming in the black night. The waves went limp, as if someone had shut off the wave pool. In less than a minute I stood beneath clear stars beside a calm shore, soaked and chilled.

This was almost more frightening than the storm had been.

I waited, trying not to disturb whatever had happened. My first thought was that when the voice went to sleep, the turmoil of the world had gone with her. It made no sense, but who knew what sort of sense I was suppose to find now? If I moved, would I wake her up and start the storm again?

What did you do? the girl asked, hushed.

“I thought you did it.”

I wish. 

I looked about slowly, not knowing what I was searching for. She saw it first. (I had no idea how she saw anything.) Look, there, inland. See that?

It was smoke, rising peacefully into the sky. “You think it’s safe?”

Safe? Probably not. But we might as well see what we can find. It’ll be an adventure. She sounded rather too pleased with the word “adventure.”

“All right.”

I began to trudge up and down the wet dunes. My pajamas weren’t meant for a monsoon and seemed to be holding at least a gallon of water, so I removed my shirt and wrung it as best I could manage before continuing. The moon shone bright upon the land, now, so I could make my way over the sand and scrubby grass well enough. A few creatures–crabs, I think–scurried away as I walked.

Since we’re travelling together, we should introduce ourselves. 

“You already tried that. I don’t feel like talking.”

Tell me your name, at least.

I owed her that much. She didn’t ask to be stuck with me any more than I asked to be stuck with her. Or be in this place. Or be bequeathed a strange device by a crazy old man. I’d bet money I was in another world or dimension. That’s how these things went. For some reason, this didn’t bother me much. I hadn’t had time to think on it yet.

“Milton Henry. What’s yours?” She didn’t answer. “Come on. What’s the matter? It’s not like Priscilla or something, is it?”

I can’t remember….

“What do you mean? Amnesia? Seriously?”

I–I know lots of stuff. How the world works. Names and places–other people’s names. I have facts, but I don’t remember anything. Or, I’m not allowed to remember…. It feels like it’s off-limits, like a door your parents won’t let you open, that sort of thing. I’m trying. I just don’t….I can’t remember.” Alone on the lonely hills of sand, the emptiness and loss in her voice was worse than the previous din.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “We’ll give you a name. What sounds good?”

[democracy id=”2″]

Once, for reasons beyond my comprehension, I ran a half-marathon. That’s 13.1 miles of running. The .1 matters. I’d trained a little. I could do a 5K without dying. So, the first 3 miles weren’t bad. The second three were tolerable. And then I realized I wasn’t yet half done. The last 3 miles defied all physics. Some Greek guy spoke about how you can’t travel any distance because you must first travel half that distance, but you can’t travel half the distance until you travel half of that, and you can keep dividing distances unto infinity, thus, motion is impossible. And so it was for those three miles as time slowed and distance expanded and the black hole effect of long distance running began.

That is the only way to explain that night beneath the rain, beside the sea, within the wind. I took step after step, but I did not move. The lightning flashed and the ocean thrashed and the wind screamed in torment, but in the endless motion, I did not move. I listened and waited for the storm to subside. A moment of peace held out hope, but in the next instance, my ears were again bombarded, my face slapped, my eyes burnt. I walked to keep moving, to keep my limbs moving. It was not freezing, but I was cold and shivering. It was hard to see in the seismic quakes of nature, but I stumbled forward. Then the girl spoke to me:

So, tell me about yourself.

I ignored her. I wasn’t going to waste my breath.

Okay, I’ll go first. I don’t have a name yet and I was born about 15 minutes ago when you initialized me. I am not a computer. Or, I don’t believe I am. I am not sure what I am exactly, having only been around for 15 minutes, but I not a program. Not only a program. More than a program? This is very confusing. This is why I didn’t want to go first. Then I thought, well, maybe if I just start talking it’ll make sense. It’s important for me to talk out loud. It’s hard to think silently. I become real by speaking. When I am silent, I drift formlessly. Since we’re not doing much of anything at the moment, maybe I could just keep talking and we’ll find something out. Sound good?

Still wasn’t going to waste my breath.

All right, then. Here I am, inside your head. How does that feel? I can’t read your thoughts, you know, so whenever you feel like speaking, I’d be happy to listen. I’m real, though. I think. I remember what it feels like to have a body. You belong to it, but you can separate yourself. It’s a part of you, but you are not it. In some way, I can sense you, too, the movement and the bodily responses. They are not mine, but I understand. It’s a layered removed than if it was my own body. I’m just hitching a ride, I guess. I hope you don’t mind. You don’t, do you? Otherwise, this is going to get awkward fast.

“We’re way past awkward.”

Yeah…I thought so, but I didn’t want to say it out loud. I thought maybe I was just imagining things. But now that you’ve said it….

“Just be quiet for a bit, okay?”

Sure, sure. I’ll be quiet. Maybe I can fall asleep. Rain’s nice background noise for sleeping. I am a little tired, now that you mention it.

She grew quiet and I pressed forward with single-minded determination. Less than a minute later, she asked:

Can I sleep without a body?

[democracy id=”1″]

My hand and arm tingled for a moment, then the sensation was gone. I raised my arm and studied it as best I could in the dark. Lightning flashed non-stop behind me, and the boom and rumble of thunder joined with the rain and sea. In weird shadows I twisted my arm, trying to see if the device had somehow grafted to my skin.

Cerebral connection complete.

The voice was in my head. It was in my head. Not like really-good-Bose-earbuds in my head but imagined-voice-in-the-distance-but-much-much-clearer in my head.

I put down my arm. I stood there, defeated. I was soaked and shivering and likely as not to be struck by lightning.

Is something the matter, Milton Henry?

I had thought the voice that of a woman. It was, but not the sort of polite “Turn left in point one miles” I was used to. It was more human than that.

“How’d you guess? Accelerated heartrate? Increased Oxygen consumption?”

Common sense. You are in a strange place with a voice in your head. That would disturb most people. That you aren’t screaming means you might be in shock. And in case you’re wondering, this isn’t a dream.

“I’d gotten that far.” A lance of light struck to my left, blinding me. I stared at the afterimage.

Perhaps we should find shelter.

I turned in a circle. Behind me, strange hills of sand and rock rippled one after another like frozen waves. In front of me, the ocean spasmed. Above me, the clouds screamed past, growling and spitting and spitting fire. I would never have gone out in such weather. It was madness to be out in such weather. Tornado sirens and government warnings prohibited such things. But a part of me did not want to hide.

Rain slashed my face and streamed down my hair, down my nose. My bare feet had sunk into the wet sand. My clothes hung heavily, flapping wetly in the wind. I was cold. My fingers were numb. But I was in it. I wanted to remain, to soak it in and let it batter me. In some way, I lived.

A minute passed. My teeth began to chatter.

How about now?

“Good idea. Can you locate a place?”

You’re the one with feet. I’ll leave the walking to you.

I didn’t argue but I didn’t have any idea in which direction to head, either. In the epileptic light I saw only rain-bashed land–no trees, no caves, no lone cottage with a warm light in the window. I began the descent to the sea instead of heading into the undulating hills, if only because it was closer. I was already lost, but I felt, somehow, that by staying close to the water I would know where I was. I walked almost to the edge of the waves that crashed against the sand. In the dark, crazed light it seemed a monster, a mammoth creature that rose up from the weird depths, with a boneless body and eyeless face, skin like tatters of fabric, sting like a whip. Did this alien thing exist on earth? Was I even still on earth?

Keep moving. You need to keep moving.

“Left or right?”

I have chosen a random direction. Left.

“Nope. That’s not right.” I chuckled. Sure, I was utterly disoriented and might die, but a pun was a pun. What’s the use of witnessing the majesty of the tormented sea if you can’t laugh a little?

I turned left and started walking.

Here it is, part 2, of the craziness that is/will be/should be The Wandernell! Enjoy!

~~~

I turned on the light. What was that beeping? It wasn’t the smoke detector. I didn’t have one of those fancy surge protectors with the battery back-up.  The computer was off. I didn’t own a watch. I hadn’t set the alarm, and it didn’t sound like the microwave.

A gentle light came from the living room. I grabbed my lightsaber again, which I’d placed for just such an occasion, and tiptoed into the room. That strange, blank pad the man had left me was shining. I’d poked and prodded it in every way I could and had convinced myself it was just a dead rip-off. The beeping was growing louder. I backed away.

It was a bomb. I was suddenly certain of it. I was going to die. My feet wouldn’t move because I was imagining how it would feel to have the my skin burned from my body and the impression overwhelmed my good sense. The light grew suddenly as the insistent beeping ceased. Then all sound ceased, as if it had been torn out of the air and crushed. I turned away from the light. My last thought was, I’m afraid to admit, nothing more profound than I wished I had called Mom tonight.

The light wrapped around me so tightly I was enveloped in darkness. The silence grew so intense it roared. My body burned until pinpricks of ice assaulted my exposed skin.

“Initialization complete. Customization commencing. Please state your name.”

Okay, I wasn’t dead. I didn’t know where I was, but I wasn’t dead–and I wasn’t going to open my eyes. Not yet

“Please state your name.”

It wasn’t the old man’s voice. I knew because it was a woman’s voice.

“Please state your name. I insist.”

I found that speaking was nearly impossible. The calm, clear part of my mind knew what was happening. I had been chosen for some mysterious role. It was obvious. I’d known it since the old man had left. It was why I hadn’t disposed of the pad he’d handed me, why I hadn’t called the police. But this was only one small part of my brain. The rest was screaming in terror, and my body was shaking.

“Name. Now. Capiche?”

“Milton Henry.”

“Thank you. Age?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“Thank you. Married?”

“No.”

“Thank you. Would you like to keep the default settings?”

“Sure.”

“Thank you. Please wait. Do not reset the system. This will take a few minutes.”

I thought it was about time to open my eyes. It was dark, with black clouds skidding across the sky. The wind flung cold water into my face. It was raining lightly and the sea was crashing down below. I stood upon a dune in the night, the ocean knocking its hand against the walls of its cage, the storm the mad shadows of its deranged mind. And beside me upon the sand was a faint rectangle of comforting blue. I picked it up. A smiley face beamed from the screen.

“Contact initiated. Melding commencing. Please wait.”

My hand grew warm, a pleasant feeling in the cold rain. Then the device began to melt, rather like the Wicked Witch, and as it dissipated to nothing, in my mind I thought What a world, what a world!

Experiment time — I wrote this as a start to a off-the-cuff, keep-it-moving, stop-thinking-and-write sort of story. I’ve got a few more installments ready and am half-tempted to dedicate my lunch breaks to pumping out this light piece of stream-of-consciousness. Would you read more? If so, tell me! I’ll keep it going then.

~~

It was an interesting night.

I was rummaging through my old comic collection because…well, because I was bored and I was peeking in the nooks and crannies of my room and found the long white box buried in the back of my closet. So I lugged it out and starting flipping through 90s-style Spiderman and X-Men. You remember when Cyclops and Jean Grey got married and started hopping through time, filling in the blanks of their strange time-paradox family tree? I didn’t really either, so I thought I’d read through issue 1 when some old guy walked into my room, saw the comics, and said, “Oh good, you’ll understand.”

I stared at him. I didn’t know the man and I’d locked the door, but there he was, admiring my comics.

“Here.” He handed me what I looked like an iPad. I thought maybe he was the meter reader or one of those guys who offers to waterproof your basement. I tried to sign the screen, but it was blank.

“What am I–?”

“Inquisitive. Good. That’ll help. Ask questions. Don’t expect a lot of answers, though. But that’s okay. It really is. I’m just getting too old for this kind of thing.”

“What kind of–?”

“You don’t have a girlfriend or wife or something, do you? You’ll have to say bye to the girlfriend, but I can rig up something for the wife, if that’s what you’ve got.” He looked again at the box of comics. “No one, then?”

“I take offence at–”

“Yeah, yeah. Learn to laugh at yourself. It’ll save you a lot of heartache.” He patted his shirt and pant pockets. “Well, that’s it, I guess.” He paused, wistful. “Oh, to be young again. But, no, I’m happy now, to have seen what I have. Enjoy it, young man, no matter what happens. It’s a gift, all of it. Thank Him, every day, even if you’re starving, even if you’re lost, even if you’re dying. Thank Him. Yep. All right. I’m out. Bon voyage!”

He disappeared into the hall. I rose to follow him, but he was gone. To be sure, I grabbed the lightsaber replica from above my dresser and stalked through the house, looking behind couches and under tables. I checked the locks on all the windows and doors and spent a tense five minutes in the basement lit by the blue glow of the lightsaber.

I wasn’t crazy. I’d seen the man. He was most likely crazy. That didn’t comfort me. I lugged the comics to the living room and read them halfheartedly, my eyes rising continually for some shape I didn’t see, my ears hearing every car and pedestrian and stray cat outside. It was nearly midnight when I convinced myself, after placing chairs strategically at the doors to help bar any intruders, that I should sleep.

Teeth brushed, pajamas on, tucked in, I prayed as the clock reached the new day.

That’s when the beeping began.