Fossil Lake: An Anthology of the Aberrant (8 page)

THE DANK

Doug Blakeslee

You know there’s trouble when a gnome hands you a mysterious package.

“What’s up with the mystery gift?” I asked. “My birthday isn’t until January.”

“It’s a delivery,” said Bernie.

He wasn’t really a gnome, at least not that he would admit to. A bit over four feet tall, with a mop of messy white hair and long sideburns … the only things missing were a long nose and jaunty cap to go with his wizened features.

“I don’t recall anything on the schedule,” I said, wracking my brain to see if I had missed any last minute changes.

That was our business, here at Rogue Transport and Logistics. Part of it, anyway. The job board showed everyone else out on various calls, leaving me – Theo March, changeling and man in charge – the only one available.

Crap
.

“It’s a personal favor for a few friends,” Bernie added. A small bag hit the desk, clinking and clacking. “They paid in rimestone. Enough to cover expenses and twice the usual markup.”

I raised an eyebrow at that. “What’s the job and what’s the catch?”

“You wound me, Theo. Why would there be any issues with a simple drop-off?” His face held a neutral, innocent expression perfectly.

I held my hand up to stop him. “Where does it need to go? And what sort of trouble can I expect?”

“Just an easy drive to the lava caves near Bend,” he assured me. “Some spelunking to an underground lake, drop the package into the water, and leave. Simple.”

“What’s in the package?”

“A leather pouch.”

“Containing?”

“Restorative juju.” He grinned at me. “Open it up, dump it out, and let it disperse. Piece of cake.”

I sighed. “Uh-huh. That’s a long haul to Eastern Oregon.”

“Motel’s reserved in your name.” Bernie slid a sheet of paper across my desk. “All the details are here, including the shortest route through the cave. Even taking your time, you’ll be in and out in a couple of hours.”

A hand drawn map showed way-points marked in a clear cursive script. “I hate caving,” I said.

“Tough.”

Had I mentioned I was the boss around here? Yeah, right.

Bernie went on, gesturing towards the garage. “I’ve packed you a kit to take along. It’s in the van. Everything you’ll need.”

“You’ve gone to a lot of planning for a simple, piece-of-cake job.”

That got a chuckle. “Theo, my lad, you’re the reckless, irresponsible son that I never had. Writing everything out is the best solution to keep your ass out of the fire.”

“Thanks. I think.”

“Don’t stray from the path and don’t kill anyone,” he said, and tossed me the keys. “Seriously, no shooting or stabbing.”

*     *     *

“Easy drive, my ass.” I climbed out of the van several hours later, stirring up a cloud of dust that hung in the still air. My ass indeed, and it ached as much as the rest of me.

Sweat beaded on my forehead. Being a changeling with an affinity for fire and earth doesn’t make me immune to nature’s laws. Back home in Portland might have been cool and pleasant; way out here, the summer heat lingered well toward dusk.

One other vehicle occupied the parking lot, an older model Ford station-wagon with fake wood panels. Two harried adults shepherded a gaggle of kids towards it with the desperation born of exhaustion and low blood sugar. The last stragglers leaving the park, heading towards air conditioning, food, and sleep.

Rough wooden signs and directional arrows proudly proclaimed ‘Newberry National Volcanic Monument – Fossil Point Lava Caves’ in faded white lettering. I pulled out the park map and ran a finger along the path highlighted in yellow marker.
Half mile hike, turn left, take the service trail for a hundred feet to the cave. Time to get this show on the road
.

Bernie’s particular cave entrance was not the gentle slope that map indicated. A safety rail surrounded the steep descent, keeping the curious away, warning, “No Trespassing” in red.

I hopped over, went to the edge of the drop-off, and peered down. The fading sunshine showed the cave floor less than ten feet below. Cool air blew up from the depths, a respiration that resembled the breathing of a great beast.

Enough with the imagination, it’s just a cave with a draft.

I free climbed down the side of the wall, landing heavily in the loose rocks and assorted garbage; bottles, cigarette butts, and food wrappers.

What a mess. Tourists must use it for a trash pit, not a scenic attraction.

Turning on my head-lamp, I started to pick my way deeper inside. Dry stone walls engulfed me with poor footing threatening to twist an ankle and send me spilling to the rocks. The temperature dropped to around forty as I progressed, feeling uncomfortably cold compared to the heat outside.

Further in, it stank of sour guano. Bats whirred and flapped, heading out for their nightly feeding. A rummage through the kit Bernie had provided me revealed no breathing mask or face covering. I found heavy leather gloves, rope, climbing harness, spare batteries …

… a fluffy pink bath towel, a couple of chocolate bars, and a change of underwear.

The hell?

“Not a great packing job, Bernie,” I muttered out loud. “It’s like you expect me to fall in the lake.”

It struck me that this might be a glorified snipe hunt, but the rimestones had been real enough. An expensive joke, if it was one.

More guano, white and sticky, covered the floor, moving under its own volition. I squatted for a closer look and immediately regretted it. Worms and crickets, blind and pale, fought over the bounty of waste material. Locked in a struggle over the best feeding spots and choicest pieces of ... crap. The carcass of an expired bat must have been manna from heaven.

I could hear Bernie laughing as I straightened and continued picking my way forward.

*     *     *

“Son of a … what the hell, Bernie? Your map sucks.”

An ice cold mist sprayed as water splashed over the rocks, into a small pool, then burbled off into the darkness. I pulled out the instructions and scanned them again. Turn right at the first fork, keep left until the long drop, crawl through the gap to the right, and then straight until you get to the underground lake.

Simple, he’d said. Total bullshit.

The map had to be wrong. Or the passages shifted. Something.

I traced the alternate route.
Dammit, going the long way around.
I wasn’t lost, but this wasn’t a three hour tour anymore.
I’ll be lucky to get out here by morning.

The path sloped sharply downward, slick with water, moss, and mud. I grabbed the closest rock, tested it for security, and eased over the edge. Cold water ran over my hand as I moved from purchase to purchase, pausing to check and double check that I wouldn’t be flung into the darkness by a loose stone. Fatigue crept into my arms, but I reached the floor before my grip gave out for good. The burbling creek vanished at the edge of my light, rushing towards the lake that lay ahead.

Theoretically.

“At least the path is marked,” I said.

“Marked? Not marked. No signs. No signs at all,” something croaked in the darkness.

Since I’d been talking to myself, the reply came as a surprise.

The long knife snapped into my hand and I crouched, whipping the light around. “Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m me. Prince of the Dank. Dweller in the Shadows. Lurker in the Cave.” A shape hovered at the edge of the light, eyes reflecting and glittering.

“Are you some kind of cave troll?”

“Perhaps not troll. Perhaps troll. Here for a long time. No longer matters. Powerful and mighty and wise. Many followers.” A grimy, moss covered hand tested the pool of light, carefully, as if expecting to be burned. It grunted with satisfaction.

“What do you want?”

“Talk. Long time. No visitors. Just bats and rats and mice. No men.” The shadowed head turned towards the darkness behind it. “Sister no longer welcomes me. Hides when she bathes now. Fleeting pleasure gone. No more soft skin and white hair.”

“Uh ...”

“But Mother loves us. She loves all her children.”

And I’m done with this thing. Person. Whatever.
I nodded down the side passage.
“Love to talk, but no time. The lake’s that way?”

“Fossil Lake? Kingdom of the Dank. Yes. Yes. That way. Long and dangerous. My home. You shall not pass.”

“Why not?”

“My home. Not for others.”

“Please?” I held the knife, and it was unarmed, but Bernie’s words echoed in my head. I didn’t need to antagonize some critter that decided to be territorial. Being polite and talking worked on occasions.

“Trade for passage. Riddle gift.” The man-thing crawled into view, pale from years of darkness, perhaps since birth. Covered in moss and mud, wearing not a stitch of clothing. “Yes?”

“Riddle gift? You mean a riddle game?”

“No. Riddle gift. You solve riddle and give me a gift. I let you pass.” The thin mouth of sharp teeth pulled into a rictus grin. “Fail and you must serve me.”

He doesn’t look like a sphinx or a fighter; probably could take him with a quick move
. “Fine, riddle away.”

The thing scratched itself, flaking off bits of mud and other ... stuff. “Riddle ... what riddle should I pose to you ...”

Jesus, this is going to take forever.

It raised a finger. “Soft when new, hard when old. Jewels to hold, holes I behold.”

“Uh ...”

“Come. Come. Not difficult.”

Great, underestimated the opposition again. Let’s see. Old. New. Holds, but has holes. That’s a poor container. Colander?

“You have answer?” It sat down on a flat stone, legs spread wide. “Or do you wish to serve a master? The dank calls and many answer. I know others. Many others. They praise me. Mother says so.”

“How about a minute to think.”
Ugh, I don’t need to see that. He really needs a pair of ...
“Underwear!”

“But we have none.”

I tossed him the change of fresh undies from the kit. “Put these on.”

“Intriguing.” He sniffed them, wrinkling the flaps that passed for his nose. “Smells odd. Not like the dank.”

“It’s spring fresh. Not like you’d know that, living in this basement.”

“Bounty soft.”

“Or maybe you do.” I studied him again. He
looked
human. Sort of. Nasty and unwashed. Spoke English, after a fashion. Acted human, in a stunted and regressive way. “Good enough answer?”

“Yes. Clothing fine.” The troll thing struggled into the briefs, wearing the garment like a onesie pulled up to the chest. “Good fit.”

I’m going to get you for this Bernie. So help me god.

“Follow water,” he told me. “Safe passage.”

“Thanks. I’ll be on my way.”

“Say hi to Sister. Beware of Mother’s love.” Then he slithered through a too-small crack and vanished.

Right, the pervert mentioned watched his sister bathe. This is going to be a special trip.

*     *     *

I found her crouched on a boulder in the middle of a cavern. Six passages lead out from it, unmarked on Bernie’s map, the underground creek disappearing into a small crack in the floor. A single, milky-white eye in the middle of her forehead followed me with an eerie accuracy. Long flowing white hair covered her body, clinging in strategic places.

She gestured to a smooth stone in front of her. “A man. So long since I’ve seen a man. Come and sit with me.”

“You must be the sister.”

“The pretty one. Mother says so. You’re a charmer. I can tell.” A warty, green tongue slathered over her pale lips, leaving a thin brown slime behind. “Sit. Sit. We can talk.”

“I’m in a hurry.”

“Just like a man. Always in a hurry. Never time to talk. Always on the go. Never stays and plays.” She sniffed. Her mouth turned down and a single tear leaked from the corner of her eye.

“I guess I can stay for a bit.”

Damn it, Theo,
I chided myself.
Always such a sucker for the ladies. Even the weird cave-dwelling ones.

She smiled, showing three blackened teeth. Her hands rubbed together. “Oh good.”

I eased onto the smooth stone. “So, come here often?”

A shrill laugh echoed around the cavern. “Oh, you’re a slick one. Are you trying to pick me up? My boyfriends will be jealous!”

“No. No.” I waved my hands at her. “I didn’t expect to find ... anyone down here.”

“You are in luck. Not often we have visitors. New people to meet and greet. Not like brother. Nasty. Creepy. Crawls and whines and begs. Mother sent him away.” She spat on the ground.