Beside Still Waters

Muddy and bloody he stood beside still waters. In his right hand there was a knife. The blade was called Tongue and it shimmered in the starless night. It spoke words both beautiful and terrible. The hilt was made of bone. Warm bone. Fresh bone. Harvested bone. The lamb that was slain lay splayed out on the wet earth and iron lingered in the stale air.

“You have been washed,” whispered the Tongue. “But not all of you.”

From head to toe the man was wet and cold. Mud caked his boots and pants. His coat and shirt were soaked in blood. He was filthy. But not all of him. His hands were beautiful and white, dry and warm. They lacked the old familiar pains and were mighty beyond compare. When his hand gripped the knife called Tongue, the fresh bone cracked and moaned.

“You are the hand, my bearer,” whispered the Tongue. “Part his flesh with me that I may speak.”

“What will you speak?” The bearer trembled, for though the Tongue whispered, the knife’s words thundered with authority.

“Truth.” And the earth quaked.

I awake to an unsettling silence and instinctually roll over and check my phone. 3:11 AM. Sigh. No matter the time, when I am up, I am up for good. This wasn’t always the case. There had been a time when life was simpler, more straightforward, easier.

The bedroom is dark, and the world still. The floors boards creak underfoot as I stand and wait for the jingle of a dog collars. Nothing.

“Sadie,” I say.

Nothing.

“Damn dog.”

Then comes the familiar jingle and the flapping of a beagle’s ears. I snatch up my phone and open the door. Light creeps from the living room into the bedroom, and I see Sadie digging at the covers crafting herself a warm nest to snooze in until late morning.

Coffee and nicotine carry me into my morning routine despite the early hour. As I snap a coffee pod into place, I look out onto the still lake, and I see a faint glow. At first, I think it is just a reflection of the lights inside of the cabin. I pull back the dusty curtains and squint through the cobwebbed window. My heart thuds.

Beyond the lake, between the tree line and the still waters, is a light, small but bright. But it feels wrong, out of place. It does not illuminate anything around it- it just exists bright like a distant star in the dark void of space.

Baa.

Baa.

BAA.

The bleating wail is harsh, the desperate cry of an animal scrambling to escape death. In the silent wake of that terrible cry, I know.

Then the light intensifies, devouring the darkness around it like a ravenous star. I turn away, as the light scorches my eyes. I feel eerily exposed, and my fear turns to panic.

I move with haste, as primeval instincts free me from the fetters of my usually cautious mind. I crash into my bedroom. With trembling hands, I stuff my feet into still tied boots, grab my baseball bat and barrel back into the kitchen.

BOOM.

I nearly piss myself.

Then the shockwave of the clapping thunder brings me to my knees. The statue of a dusty angel cradling a small child teeters in the windowsill. She had left it in our son’s empty room the day she moved out. I still don’t know what she meant by it. Never asked. Don’t know why I still have it, but I swallow tears as the angel falls.

I rise on wobbly legs and shuffle towards the door. The lights in the house flicker. There is absolute darkness one moment, perfect illumination the next. As I reach the kitchen window, the world settles, and the light vanishes.

The wind carries the ashes of another cigarette. It is three o’clock, and the caffeine has me jittering like an addict. It has been twelve hours since the light disappeared, and I am still in shock. The weather forecast predicted a week of beautiful fall days, but the howling wind disturbs the still waters of the lake as the early bands of a storm roll in.

My initial plan had been to get in the truck and get the hell out of dodge. That plan was quickly abandoned upon seeing the flashing battery symbol on my truck dash. I have been stuck on Plan B for most of the day. I have been unable to muster the strength to leave the porch, but I know I must. I take the last long draw of my cigarette before grabbing my ball bat and heading out into the brisk fall wind.

Yesterday, the woods were bright with autumn hues. Now leaves litter the wet earth, as I slip and slide towards the other side of the lake. I spent the day trying to convince myself that last night was nothing but a bad dream.

As I approach my destination, this thought takes hold. Nothing looks or feels out of place. There is no evidence of mutilated woodland creatures, no alien flashlights or probing devices. I aimlessly kick and prod the earth beneath the carpet of leaves until I feel as though I have given the grounds a proper investigation.

Satisfied, I trek back towards the cabin looping around in the opposite direction from which I came. As I light a fresh cigarette, I hear the clap of distant thunder, and the world breaths deep.

WHOOSH.

A torrent of wind blows from the west. Leaves are tossed into the lake, exposing the naked earth. My heart pounds, and like a bat out of hell I sprint as quickly as my middle-aged legs will allow.

The brisk air burns my lungs. Not even halfway home, my shirt is drenched. But still fancying myself the athlete I never was, I leap over a fallen tree. My foot catches the top of tree, and like a branch snapping under the weight of heavy snow, my leg breaks.

The man with the white hands stood on a ridge. His heavy coat billowed in the strong wind. He wondered if it was the appointed time.

“No,” Tongue whispered. “For it is written, Let those who hide in darkness be found in it.”

The man pondered these words and asked, “Am I of the darkness?”

“Yes.”

It's dark, and everything hurts. My head is pounding, and the uncontrollable shivering brought on by the cold amplifies the sharp pain in my leg. I attempt to stand, but the pain is unbearable. Crawling seems to best option at this point, but it’s slow and awkward. I start to slowly make my way across the earth when I feel the first drops of rain on my face.

Within moments I can barely see, much less hear anything besides the rain. I curse myself, God, the rain, and every other damn thing that comes to mind. My current predicament has momentarily pushed the mysterious events from my mind. As I continue to slog my way through the mud, the light appears.

The unnatural light shines from the same spot it had first appeared in. But now something is different. At first it appears that the light is growing. But it isn’t. It is getting closer, moving over the water, right towards me.

Panic and adrenaline pulse through me and I hop through the woods like a malformed bipedal rabbit. Using tree trunks for balance, I glance over my left shoulder as I continue through the woods, the light steadily gaining on me.

I feel the smallest tinge of relief as I come upon the cabin. Just thirty yards away, I am now completely out of the woods and hopping one legged through the now muddy embankment of the lake. I feel the suction against my left shoe and without a tree for balance, I fall face down and let out a blood curdling cry.

I moan like a feral beast as I thrash helplessly up the muddy shore. As Sadie howls inside, the heat from the light intensifies. The flesh of my exposed neck chars, and burning flesh hangs in the air. When I turn my head, the light is gone.

The sucking sound of feet rhythmically pulling themselves from the mud pulls my attention back towards the cabin. The man’s coat is covered in just as much mud and blood as mine. He wears no shoes and a hood obscures his face.

“Please help me!” I beg. “Please.”

The man doesn’t respond. He only points at me with some sort of glimmering object as a lightning bolt crackles through the sky. His face and the object are illuminated in the flash of light.

The man wields a glowing knife both beautiful and terrifying. His face is my face, but contorted as if every feature I disliked about myself was exaggerated. His cheeks are chubbier, and his patchy beard cannot hide his wobbly double chin. His skin is blotchy, his yellow teeth protruding behind his thin lips.

“The darkness could not hide me!” cries the man. “Nor you.” Tears form in his eyes as he raises the knife. “Light shines in the darkness.” He plunges it into his stomach. He doesn’t so much as twitch as the blade disappears, but I do. Burning pain erupts through me. I scream, but the wailing sound comes not from me, but him. At first, I think he is mocking me until I see bewilderment in his eyes. He does not understand what is happening any more than I do.

“The liar is blind,” the prophetic voice rumbles, impossibly, from my the knife lodged in my guts. “You hid in the darkness, falsely believing the light could not find you.”

The man plunges the blade of burning light into my chest.

“But it has.”

My blood boils as fire courses through my veins. I burn with a fever I have never felt before.

“Now, gird up your loins, for truths are hard, cleansing us like the refiner’s fire.” I feel my sternum rattle as air is forced from my lungs. I gasp and the world goes dark.

Muddy and bloody, I die beside still waters. In my right hand I hold a knife. Its name is Tongue.

“You have been washed,” Tongue says.

“All of me?” I say searching for the comfort of a purposeful death.

“No.” Tongue says. “You are my hand, the bearer.”