You Never Can Tell (Part 3)
The exciting conclusion. (1506 words)
Pa entered. I followed. The greasy musk of stale manure filled my nose and mouth, then slid down the back of my throat. I gagged, but held my breakfast. Sunlight flooding through the open doorway behind us washed shadows from our boots across the stable floor, splashing them against a table that was set in the middle of the space. I'd never seen it before, so I figured it was part of what Pa had planned. The thick wood post we'd tie the horses to while tending their hooves and shoes was planted in the dirt floor another dozen feet or so beyond the table near the back wall.
We walked to the table. Pa laid the canvas bag on it. That's when I noticed the hole dug into the dirt between the table and the post. It was as long, and wide, as a man, but only about waist deep. I stood there at the foot of the thing a long while, staring down into it. I couldn't make any sense of it. It looked like a shallow grave with the fill pile evenly distributed to either side, but I didn't see any shovels anywhere.
A flare of dim light and the sound of a struck match pulled my attention back to Pa in the process of lighting a fat black three-wick candle. The flames cast a circle of light across the table illuminating the emptied contents of the canvas bag.
He handed me a long coil of hefty rope and told me to tie one end to the post ring, then set the rest on the ground next to it. I did. Then he told me to give it a pull as hard as I could to make sure the knot wouldn't slip. I did that too, and it held firm. Next, he handed me a canister of salt and said to pour it out on the ground in a ring around the post, the hole, and the table taking care that it be one continuous, unbroken line, and that I be extra careful to pour it from the ground inside the circle because to step outside of it would ruin the work. I did as he asked and he was proud of the care I took to follow his exact instructions.
It all seemed kind of weird to me, but when I asked him why we were wasting perfectly good salt on the ground he just winked and told me to pour out a handful to sprinkle it across the whole bottom of the hole. I did that too, even though it felt wrong. I wondered what Ma would say, but then I remembered my promise to never tell. Maybe it was just nerves, but as I sprinkled the salt across the bottom of the hole, the hair on my arms and neck stood up on end which only added to the uneasy feeling growing in my gut.
“That's a real good job, son. You're doing great. Now, come stand by me and we'll get this thing started proper.”
I took my place by his side next to the table. That's when I got my first good look at it, and what was on it. The whole top was decorated with some kind of metal inlay that traced out some fancy shapes I'd never seen before. They all came together in a big circle at the center. Pa had placed the candle just outside the top edge of the circle. On the left he had a small book laying open in front of him with small writing I couldn't make quite make out. To the right was a single page with a neatly written passage on it. And right in the center of the circle he had placed his old hunting knife in such a way that the handle was in the candle light, but the blade was in the flames shadow.
Looking at the knife reminded me of that old pearl hunter, but I pushed it down and thought about the delicious birthday cake Ma had waiting for us at home instead.
“Alright, now you pick up that paper and read it down into that hole, loud and clear” he said, picking up the hunting knife and pointing with it.
I picked it up and stepped over to the edge of the hole, then glanced back over my shoulder to Pa. He had turned back toward the table and was busy running the knife blade through the candle flames.
I don't remember all the words, but they were beautiful. They said something about a seed planted, wrapped in the earth mother's nurturing darkness, reaching down with deep anchoring roots, reaching up to find the light. Then something about a mighty tree and the strength of family, and at the end was a list of five names I knew well. Henry Alan. Cecil Henry. William Steven. Robert William. And my name, Jacob Robert. Every man from all the way back to great-great-grandpa Hank down to me, Jake Collins.
When I spoke my name into the hole, the bottom came alive. Maybe it was just the flickering light of the candle playing tricks on my eyes, but it looked like it was moving. The sight had my adrenaline pumping. My heartbeat hammered away at my eardrums so hard I didn't notice Pa step up behind me until I felt his rough hand on my forehead.
He muttered some strange gibberish, then I felt the gentle pull of a thin hot line across my throat that started just below one ear and ended just below the other. I was stunned. In shock. Terrified. Afraid to move. Afraid to blink, to breathe, to think. My hand found its way to the gash in my neck. Hot blood oozed from the wound, coated my fingers. Somehow, I managed to turn around. Pa looked like the devil himself standing there with his hunting knife glazed and dripping with my life's blood. His face was a blank page devoid of his usual cheer. His eyes, though. Those terrible eyes. I tried to look away, but couldn't. I was a moth trapped in a web and those monstrous eyes were coming to inject their poison into my meat, turning it to soup for the drinking.
He took my bloody hand in his, pressed the knife handle into it. Everything began to fade from blood loss and shock. I couldn't tell if the barn was spinning or if I was, but I found myself leaning over the hole. Blood, dripping into the salted earth floor, sent ripples through the dirt like spring rain on a pond.
His breath, warm on my ear and thick with smell of sweet birthday breakfast, cut through the rank stench of mildewed horse shit. “Now you are your own, Jake Collins.”
My stomach churned. My own breakfast tried to escape while the rest of me stood paralyzed. My vision boiled with little black spots while everything went fuzzy.
A single blow landed hard between my shoulders, toppled me into the hole, too weak to resist. Confused, scared, dying, I fell. I fell, and I fell, and I fell. Past the floor. Past the hole. Past death itself, into nothing, darker and blacker than anything I'd ever known.
I don't know how I survived the slab breaking my fall, but when I regained enough of my senses to take in my surroundings, I discovered I was sprawled out on a rectangular stone slab as long and wide as a man, and about waist tall.
It rested in a perfect circle of light surrounded by an ocean of darkness so thick that when I stuck my arm outside the circle up to my shoulder I couldn't see my fingers. The light seemed to come from above, but I couldn't see its source, just more endless dark.
Nothing made sense. My head hurt. I needed rest, so I stretched out on the slab and closed my eyes.
“Next thing I know, you're slapping my face to wake me up. So, now what? Who are you anyway?”
“That is a beautiful story, Jake. Thank you for sharing it with me. It's been so long since I've had anyone to speak with, I'd almost forgotten what it's like out there. I just wish I had better news for you. You see, today is the day I go back. I've waited a long... long time. Sadly, there isn't enough left to tell you my story now, but someday I will. I promise you. When it's your turn to go back.”
Just then, the end of a rope fell between us. We both looked up into the void above to see where it came from, not that there was anything to see.
“I can tell you this. My name was also on that list. Right before yours. And that man up there. His name was right before mine.”
And with that, he took the rope into his hands, and began to climb.
O WOW
I get your Void NOW
O WOW
I was NOT expecting that twist. Well done! So simply written, too. And appropriately titled! Very nice!