The man ran his hands along the rough wall of the cave that was his home and his prison. His fingers searched for weaknesses and found the familiar fissure where two portions of the stone connected. At his touch, a red light began glowing faintly behind him and a familiar buzzing echoed through the domed chamber. He hazarded a look and saw the two almond-shaped organs hanging from the top of the cave emitting the light and producing the sound. His eyes combed the darkness, looking for the maligner. He withdrew his hand, not wanting to press his luck, and the light and sound faded. He sighed and walked toward the front of the cave.
His only connection to the outside world was two circular holes large enough for him to put his face into, but not large enough to crawl out of. Even if he could fit in the tight holes, the maligner would paralyze him before he escaped. He rested his chin in one of the holes, content to watch the waves break on the rocks, to smell the salty sea, and to hear the rhythmic crashing of the waves. On occasion, if the wind was just right, he’d feel the gentle dampness of mist tickle his nose and wet his eyelashes.
He didn’t know how he’d come to live in the cave—the longer he dwelled there, the more it blurred his memory. He carried vague wisps of recollection—a mother’s gentle voice, donning gloves for harvest work, brushing his lips against the neck of a lover—but he didn’t know if they were memory or fantasy. Now he was an ethereal slave, bound to the maligner, not eating or sleeping, just existing with the singular goal of avoiding setting off the organic alarms. People from the village tried to help him, bringing him leather-bound books, fragrant oils, and saying prayers for him. Once they even brought their lyres and recorders and played him music. He’d wept at the sound, pressing his ear against the hole, greedily trying to absorb every note.
But they couldn’t save him.
He glanced over his shoulder at the darkness, unconsciously scanning for the maligner as he thought about his new scheme for escape. Each of his past plans had failed, but he thought he’d finally stumbled upon a solution. He pressed his fingers to the two strips of seaweed the villagers had picked up for him from the beach outside his cave. They were finally dry.
He balled up the seaweed and stuck the tightly packed plugs in his ears. The thick material blunted all sound, even the waves outside the cave. He picked up the chisel and hammer his father had given him. He’d already tried having his father chisel him out, but the maligner had tortured him until he’d begged his father to stop. After that, he’d tried doing it himself, but the maligner’s voice had paralyzed him before he’d even chipped away a single pebble. He looked at the melon-size organs on the ceiling; they remained tan and inert, but he couldn’t help but shiver at their malevolent power.
He placed the chisel tip on the inside of the hole with one hand and raised the hammer with the other. Fear gripped him, freezing his arm in place. The racket would set off the alarms, which would bring the maligner. Facing his nemesis terrified him, but so did spending another moment in the cave. He struck with all his might. A shockwave went through him, as if he’d struck himself with the hammer. He blinked away stars. The red glow pulsed throughout the room like a heartbeat, reflecting off the metal of his chisel. The low buzzing sound couldn’t penetrate the seaweed, but he still felt its rumbling in his body. A tiny sliver of rock lay next to the point of his chisel. He gritted his teeth and struck the chisel again, sagging forward with the lightning strike it sent through him.
He felt the hair on his neck rise. A familiar rasping sound echoed from the darkness. He tried to stop himself from looking back, but couldn’t resist the compulsion. A form slithered through the gloom, unhurried, approaching at its own pace.
His hands shook as he tried to place the chisel against the stone. He raised the hammer, dread sapping his strength, and struck the chisel halfheartedly. Another jolt went through him, and this strike failed to chip away any stone.
He felt the maligner’s cold, damp presence at his back. A gray snout moved slowly into the corner of his vision, just above his shoulder, its flabby lips nearly touching his ear. He snapped his eyes shut, feeling its breath on his cheek, perfectly timed to his own.
You thought you could block out my voice? The maligner’s whisper resonated in the man’s head as if he had nothing in his ears at all. Terror filled him; his throat tightened, the chisel fell from his hand and rattled against the stone, and nausea bubbled and rolled in his stomach. His plan had failed.
“No. Not again,” the man whimpered.
A sardonic lilt lifted the maligner’s voice in his mind. You thought you could escape? There is no escape. You will reside in this cave forever. I will always be your master. You have no power. Its voice never rose above a whisper, but carried menace and certainty. As it spoke, it slithered all around him, never touching him, but staying close enough he could feel its clammy hide, prickling his skin, making him shiver and sweat at the same time.
The voice seemed to cast a spell on him. His chest constricted, bringing short pants from his mouth. Sweat poured from his palms as he buried his forehead in his hands. Hot urine ran down the gooseflesh of his leg. He crumpled into a heap, pulling his damp legs to his chest. Fat tears of terror and self-loathing poured from his eyes. “Go away. Please. Just stop torturing me. Make it stop,” he pleaded.
Look at you. You’re helpless, pitiful, weak. I’m stronger than you’ll ever be. You’ll never escape this cave. You’ll never get back to the village. I’ll always have this power over you. You think they would accept you in the village? You think anyone could love a piss-covered, sniveling, coward? You—
The maligner continued its stream of words, weaving them together into a paralyzing loop as it hovered over the man’s body, undulating in the air just above his curled form. It danced, playing his sensations with invisible fingers. His heart raced until he thought he might die. “Please. I’m sorry. I’ll never try to leave again. Please. Please stop,” he said silently, knowing the maligner could hear him.
I am your master. I control your actions. You have no identity outside of me. You will never be anything but my slave. You are—
“Please. Please, stop. Please—“
—but a powerless freak. You’ll never be anything but a cave dweller—
Slowly, the voice faded as the maligner slithered away, back into the darkness of the cave. The man lay on the stone floor, his damp legs shivering. He crawled toward the front of the cave and pulled himself into a sitting position with his back against the cave wall. Light from the two holes above him made perfect circles of sunlight on the floor before him. The chisel lay in the sunspot, reflecting the light. He kicked it away in disgust. He listened to the sound of the surf, letting the terror subside with each ebbing wave, and fantasized about playing in the sea, feeling the salty water brush against his thighs as he stomped through the waves, kicking up foam in his wake. He thought he’d been in the sea before, but he couldn’t remember. It seemed so long ago; he didn’t know if it was a dream.
When the maligner’s spell completely faded, the man fell into an exhausted stupor. He didn’t sleep. He just sat in his listless daze, wishing he could be free.
Some time later—hours? days?—the man went from feeling frightened to feeling angry. He stood, pressed his chin into one of the holes, and watched the rain lash the beach outside. The wind whipped the waves into violent motion as the dark storm clouds unleashed their fury. The rain beat against the cave, a steady accompaniment to the booming percussion of the thunder and waves. What right did the maligner have to imprison him? He didn’t deserve to be subservient to anyone.
He turned and paced the cave in stormy agitation, talking himself into righteous rage. His anger gave him a raw, visceral energy. He scanned the floor until he found the largest stone in the cave, then hoisted it above his head over and over again, feeling his muscles burn. When his arms started trembling, he set it down and sprinted back and forth between the cave walls until his lungs felt like they’d been rubbed raw with sandpaper. The pain felt good. The pain felt empowering. A new plan took shape in his mind,
With repetition came results. His emaciated form filled out with knotty muscle. When he’d started, he could only lift the rock five times, and now, weeks later, could lift it fifty times. He could run between the walls dozens of times without stopping. The routine became a passion, a daily ritual so ingrained he’d almost forgotten its endgame. Then, during a morning training session, his foot struck something. He reached down and picked up the chisel, which he’d forgotten about. A sadistic smile curved his lips.
#
When he felt ready, he sharpened the chisel against the stone wall, bringing its head to a sharp point. He picked up a palm-size rock and turned his eyes upward. He hurled the stone, and it hit one of the organs with a meaty smack. A bolt of pain shot through his head, as if he were the one who’d been struck. He shook away the spots from his vision as the red light began to pulse and the hum of the alarm buzzed in his ears. He focused on the coolness of the chisel against his palm to block out the noise, light, and pain.
A sound like wet paper against rock cut through the buzz as the maligner slithered its way toward him from the darkness. He swallowed his fear, feeling his pulse hammer in his throat, as the monster approached. The creature came into view and rose into its seahorse-like vertical shape. A hissing laugh came from its snout, directly into the man’s mind.
How amusing.
His breath came in short gasps as the spell began. The maligner undulated, sending off waves of disconcerting sensations. He charged forward, wanting to strike before he lost his strength. He plunged the chisel into the maligner’s bulging brown eye. A head-splitting pain shot through his own eye, and he felt sure the maligner had stabbed him with something. He fell to the ground, holding his eye as he moaned, yet nothing protruded from his eye and no blood filled his palm. He writhed on the ground in confusion and pain.
A sardonic laugh reverberated in his head. You actually thought you could kill me? Just stab me and be done with it? We are linked, you fool. You are no more capable of living without me than you are of living without your heart or your lungs. But I’ll be making you pay for your stunt.
It returned to its movement, paralyzing the man as it whispered its terrifying litany into his mind. It felt like it went on for weeks, maybe months. The creature would retreat long enough for the man to feel relief, even the faintest spark of hope that his suffering was over, only for it to return with new words, new sensations, new tortures. The man begged for mercy, but the maligner gave none. His muscles wasted away over time as he endured the misery. He found the chisel at one point and considered stabbing himself to escape the pain, but he set it aside. He couldn’t die in the cave. Not as a prisoner.
He crawled back to the front of the cave, weak, defeated, and hopeless. His fingers trembled as they sank into the familiar grooves in the stone. He pulled himself up and rested his chin in one of the lookout holes. The salty, intoxicating smell of the sea filled his nose and the damp breeze cooled his forehead. Waves swelled, apexes reflecting the sun and twinkling like iridescent stars too bold to be hidden by daylight, before breaking against the beach, splattering foam, sand, and seaweed in all directions. Over and over again, the sea deposited its burden, endlessly diligent, infinitely patient, unaffected by the influences around it. Tears streamed from the man’s eyes, collecting the beads of seawater on his cheeks. For a moment he was free, basking in what he had in the present, indifferent to what he’d lost or what he’d never have.
He heard the giggle of a little girl echo across the open expanse of the beach. She walked into his view, no more than six, carrying a chubby little brother who looked capable of walking but was clearly happy to be carried. The long shadows of her parents stretched across the sand to the man’s left, their forms just outside his view. He heard the quiet murmur of their voices juxtaposed against the girl’s squeals of joy as the surf brushed against her toes. She set her brother down gently at the water’s edge, reverently positioning him so the waves would just barely reach his legs.
The girl’s mother sauntered into view, her dress flapping gently in the breeze.
“Can you do something for me?” the man ventured, his voice croaking from lack of use.
She looked at him, startled, and then her face relaxed. “You’re the man in the cave—who used to live in the village.” She paused, staring down at her clasped hands. “I’m sorry for what’s happened to you.”
“You’re kind, for saying that. I think most people have . . . given up on me. ” He watched a gull flapping against the wind, looking like an animated smudge against the white clouds. “I don’t blame them. I’ve given up on me, too. But . . . I might have one more idea.”
“You might be able to free yourself?” she said, lighting up.
“Yes.”
“How will you escape?”
“I won’t.”
“But you said you’d free yourself.”
The man smiled enigmatically. “I think I’m learning that freedom and escape aren’t the same things.”
She cocked her head quizzically.
He pointed down the beach. “I need your help. Can you bring me the biggest conch shell you can find?”
The man fiddled with the conch shell in his hands as he stared into the darkness at the back of the cave. The rough nubs of the outer shell pressed against his right hand as he spread the fingers of his left hand into the smooth inner surface. He swallowed, wondering if he was doing the right thing. Wondering even more if he had the courage to do it, regardless. He pressed the shell to his ear and listened to the echoes of the ocean: waves gathering in sonorous swells, pausing for a reverent moment before crashing in a crescendo of power and release, then pulling back in retreat to start again. Constant. Indomitable. Eternal.
He started his walk into the darkness, his gentle footfalls pressing against the silence while his hand brushed over the ridges of the cave wall. As he made his way deeper, the blackness became absolute, the cave narrowed, and the ceiling brushed the top of his head. He felt something slide past him and yelped in surprise. A familiar voice berated him.
What do you think you are doing, coming into my domain? Do you know how dangerous this is? You think you can challenge me? A cowardly, pitiful, stupid, imposter like you? You are my slave, my supplicant, my subject. I own you. You are under my control, forever. I—
The endless stream of threats and insults invaded his mind, filling his awareness, chasing away all other thoughts. A familiar hammering filled his chest. His breath came in short gasps and his legs felt weak and prickly. He wanted to turn back. Through the fear, he remembered to put the shell to his ear. He heard the waves, crashing and receding. The narrative from the maligner continued, but it competed with the sound of the surf.
—never going to be free, never going to do any—
—the tumbling surf, shells brushing against sand—
—ridiculous to ever think you could—
—water splashing through rocks—
—a hopeless, irrational fool who believes—
—gathering, pulling back like an inhalation—
He willed one leg forward, planted a trembling foot on the ground, and followed with the other. He let the words flow into the sound of the surf; they became an accompaniment to the music of the ocean and lost their meaning in the rhythm. He focused on filling his lungs slowly, with great draughts of air each time the sound washed over him. He felt the roughness of the cave wall against his fingertips. Another step. He felt the maligner slide past the back of his hand, where he held the shell to his ear, its slimy skin so close it made him shiver. Another step.
In the distance, he saw a flickering orange glow. He resisted the urge to run, but instead focused on each step, each breath, each heartbeat. The maligner danced, cursed, accused, and belittled. As he walked, the light grew larger and brighter, until he entered an internal cavern. Orange torches burned in recessed sconces around the room. In the center stood a carved stone table and two boulders just large enough to sit on. He felt like he’d swam out to a distant island and wasn’t sure he had the strength to swim back. He sat down on one of the stones, body trembling violently. He forced himself to take the shell from his ear and set it on table. The maligner twisted and shouted in agitation.
You shouldn’t be here! You can’t be in this space! Don’t you know this is the most dangerous place in the cave? This is my lair! I’ll break your mind and leave you a babbling madman! I’ll—
“Sit with me,” the man said through gritted teeth. “Tell me your tale.”
It tried to resist, but its body, compelled by the force of his invitation, wrapped around the other stone until they faced each other. Its long gray face pointed toward him, its bulging, lidless eyes focused and its toothless mouth pinched in resentment and . . . fear? Orange light reflected off the shell on the table between them. The maligner seemed to consider its strategy, while the man waited and observed his own hammering heart, the sweat running down his ribs, and the long, seahorse-shaped shadow cast against the wall of the cavern.
“I’m ready,” the man said.
The maligner burst into a fury the man had never seen before. It screamed inside his head, bringing tears to his eyes. Its frantic words ran into one another, becoming a stream of incomprehensible sounds as its body danced, twisted, and sprang.
uselessstupidcowardlyuglypowerlesssubservientservanttometoyourfearIcontrolyouandyoucanneverescapemeneverescapemypoweroveryouspineless—
The man watched his body react to the onslaught. He felt the terror reach a peak when his chest felt full of liquefied stone, when tears bubbled from his eyes and cut a damp path through his dirty cheeks, when his palms felt pricked by a thousand needles and then went totally numb. In the distance, he heard the faintest sound of the shell; quiet, almost imperceptible, but constant. He felt himself pass over a threshold, a tiny sliver of space developed between his bodily response and his consciousness. His chest felt a bit less tight, his tears a bit less urgent, and his hands became his again. “I’m here with you. You can speak as long as you wish and I won’t leave.”
The maligner screeched on, but its energy seemed to be waning. The serpentine body slithered onto the table, tail first. It began to coil into the shell, sliding an impossible amount of its body into the opening. It bleated noises—no longer even forming words—as it slipped into the conch’s opening. The man watched, feeling his terror recede, but more importantly, not caring if it receded or not. Just watching.
The maligner’s body slipped into the shell, its snout and large, round mouth disappearing last. He could still faintly hear its threats, mixed with the sound of the surf.
The man found himself sitting alone in the cavern, sweat drying on his brow. He heard a rumbling behind him and turned to see that part of the cave had fallen away, exposing the beach, still damp from the recent storm. A blue sky freckled with clouds of different colors and shapes rose from the distant horizon. The man stood and walked toward the exit, feeling no need to run. As he approached the opening, he saw a thick, opaque membrane stretched taut over the hole. Was this freedom a mirage? He walked up and touched the membrane; it felt firm, impenetrable.
Dismay bubbled up inside him, but he let the feeling drift through him, not fighting it or engaging with it. If he couldn’t leave the cave, so what? His situation was infinitely better than it had been a few moments ago. And if the maligner returned, he could deal with that, too—just as he’d done this time. But he had a feeling the membrane was just another thing he could learn from in his cave.
He went back to the table and sat down, letting his mind drift. His fingers reached out to the shell unconsciously. When it touched it, he heard a rustle behind him. The membrane made a low wonk-wonk-wonk sound as it undulated. He picked up the shell and the membrane waved hard, like a sheet in a storm. The faint voice of the maligner came to his ear, mixed with the sound of the sea. He thought he understood; he stood and walked toward the membrane, shell in hand. As he approached the opening, the membrane tore in two, both pieces blown inward by the cool, salty breeze of the sea. He gave the cave one final look, turned, and left it behind him.
He found a piece of driftwood and seaweed. The seaweed creaked in his fingers as he tied one end around the shell and the other around the driftwood. He slung the driftwood over his shoulder, letting the shell dangle at the end of the makeshift rope. Snatches of the maligner caught his ear when the wind changed, and his heartbeat quickened a little each time. But he smiled and let it be. He looked back at the cave. The round gray dome blotted out the sun, and he could see the two openings that looked out toward the sea, as well as two slits he’d never noticed from inside that rested between and slightly below the round openings. A row of equally spaced square stones were pressed into the sand below the slits.
He hadn’t realized it was a skull until he was outside of it.
With a smile, he turned and headed down the beach toward the village, carrying his burden but hardly noticing it was there.
Thank you for reading! I look forward to sharing another story with you next month!
Just a reminder, if you wish to buy my dark fantasy novel series, the first book, SCAB AMONG THE STARS can be purchased here. If you have read SCAB and want to read the sequel, you can pick that up here.