Musings From A Demented Mind (5 page)

                 
Master of Discontent

I’m not sure when I arrived, but I’ll never forget my stay. 

When I found myself in a large cavern, the odorous scent of the brimstone stung sharply in my nostrils.  I staggered to my feet, but was immediately forced back to my knees by a large cloud of burnt sulfur gas.  When my bloodshot eyes had adjusted to the dimness, I was able to survey the rocky environment.  It consisted of rock and active volcanic fire.  My position was near the base of an underground cliff.  The sheer drop was approximately eighty meters.  The ceiling was perhaps three hundred meters above me.  It formed a dome at least ten kilometers around.  The length extended as far in either direction as could be seen.  Scattered within were countless stalagmites and stalactites.  Some of the former were burning fiercely and eternally.  It was these stalagmites that illuminated the chamber.

“Good eternity!” boomed a guttural voice behind me.  “I’m your host!  You may address me as Mephistopheles!”

I whirled around and there through the fading mist I glimpsed a tall mysterious man.  “Welcome to my humble abode.  I hope you will enjoy your visit.  And now, if you will follow me…”

His voice trailed off.  I must admit, I was dumfounded.  This Mephistopheles was a tall, immobile figure.  He was wearing a hooded, black cloak and black Russian Cossack boots.  A gold link chain fastened with a silver inlay dagger was around his waist.

“Silver,” he remarked, “is sometimes necessary in controlling our more excitable guests.  You shall be assigned to rock and coke detail. Quarry Eight.  Since you had a flawless record on Midgard, you are hereby appointed Quarry Master.  You’re quite lucky.  Most new arrivals are made into carriers.”

We walked along for a couple of yards when an anguished scream rippled through the heavy silence.  Acting as though nothing had happened, my new master continued on the journey toward the mysterious Quarry Eight.  Suddenly, another scream rang out.  Seeing I was becoming more and more cautious, my companion began to chuckle.

At last, we came to our dismal destination.  A more retched place can’t be imagined.  The entrance was nothing more than a three meter square opening in the wall.  From it a slope led downward at an acute thirty degree angle.  The walls were encrusted with fungus and large splotches of algae.   Here and there on the floor were puddles of green slime.  An odor of decay heightened the air of despair.

Then I saw the slave carriers.  My God, the carriers were beaten ad starved wretches.  Driven to the limits of the unknown, these ragged and forlorn beasts of burden were more animal than humans they vaguely resembled.

I was to direct these spiritless zombies?  My stomach fought to upsurge and I gurglingly lost the battle into the pits.  I must find Mephistopheles and demand to be freed from this monstrous chamber of horrors.

Receiving jumbled instructions, I slowly made my way out.  I hadn’t trekked long when I began to wish I had never started out.  I began running and then I saw I was involved in some odd cat and mouse game.  And I was the prey.

Following me was a new, unspeakable, nameless horror.  Three large, red-eyed bats, dripping red liquid from their slit-like mouths were silently winging above.

Exhausted, I stumbled past other souls lost in time, other decaying ruined mines, and pools of sulfuric slime.  Finally, I picked up a huge rock and braced myself to meet my tormentor. 

A huge mastiff with three foaming heads appeared before me.  Was this to be the last thing I’d ever see?

Suddenly, a cloud of acid smoke engulfed us both.  It passed quickly revealing that Mephistopheles had joined us.  With a wave of his clawed hand, the mastiff and bats slithered off. 

“Why didn’t you remain at the quarry?”  he thundered.

My head ached severely and I felt a warm ooze trickling down my neck.  I probed and found a large hole in the back of my head about the size of a bullet.  My mind throbbed painfully.  I felt pushed to inhuman limits. 

“In the name of God!  What is this place to harbor such horrors as these?”

“Surely you remember.  Or has amnesia set upon your mind?”  he said as the truth began to glimmer in my brain.  “Suicides are eternally damned to burn!”

“I remember trying to kill myself,” I screamed, “but I don’t remember anything else after that until I woke up here.  Just where in the hell am I?”

“You see, my friend,” he said, laughing hideously, “that is exactly where you are!”

Silently, I went back with Mephistopheles following behind me to Quarry Eight to work for all eternity.

                        
The Kick

Marty watched as the clowns jumped out of the tiny compact car one after another after another after another.  He loved going to the carnival down in Connersville, Indiana.  This year they added a circus attraction.  He had never seen an elephant up close before and this year he finally had his chance.  His younger sister, Lois, laughed as the clowns collided into each other as one of them suddenly stopped to avoid crashing into one of the large elephants.

Marty’s mom laughed.  He had never witnessed his mom having so much fun before.  He never could have imagined the circus would bring his mother so much joy.  Maybe becoming a clown would be a great career choice.  Besides, anybody could be a fireman or an astronaut.  He turned his attention back toward the clowns as one of them sprayed the others with a seltzer bottle.

After the show, they sat down at the picnic tables set up near the small food trucks and ate hot dogs while their mom ate an elephant ear.  After they were done eating, their mom gave them some money to play some of the carnival games while she rested.  His sister tried throwing metal hoops onto some bottles while he threw some darts at some balloons in the hope of winning a small square mirror with the Superman emblem on it.  After finally winning one after spending several dollars, he walked away to rejoin his sister.  He could see her still unsuccessfully throwing the hoops.  As he got closer to her, somebody grabbed him and dragged him behind one of the trailers.

“Let go of me!” Marty said as he struggled to get free.

“Be quiet or I’ll cut you,” the man threatened.  He was a tall man dressed in raggedy clothes.  He had a cigar in his mouth and looked like he hadn’t shaved in a couple of weeks.  Marty had seen the guy many times during the day.  He apparently had been following them the whole time waiting for his chance to grab him.  “You’re going to come with me, or I will go after your sister.  And trust me, you don’t want me to do that.”

Marty stopped struggling.

“Good,” the man said.  Before he could say another word, Marty kicked him hard in the crotch.  He fell to the ground screaming in pain. 

Marty ran toward his sister.  As he ran, he remembered two years ago when his uncle had taught him to protect himself.  He had warned him of the dangers of strangers, and that his feet could be one of the best weapons he could possess from being abducted.  His uncle, a black belt in karate, taught him everything he knew about karate.  Today, those skills came in handy.

                  
            
Games

Malcolm’s heart beat faster and faster as he was lying in the bushes waiting for the games to begin.  He looked over at Brayden and asked, “How long do we have to wait for the games to begin?”

Brayden was dressed in a beige military uniform smeared with dried blood.  He had a brown bandana soaked with sweat covering his bald head.  He had a couple scars on his face from many fights he had been in over the years.  He looked annoyed as he stared at Malcolm wearing his clean blue t-shirt and blue jeans advertising he was a rookie to the games. 

“Since this is your first time, Malcolm, it just might be all day.”

“All day!  There are plenty of things I’d rather be doing at home than this.”

“What? Read your so-called comic books.”  He and his friend, Colton, laughed at him for several seconds before returning their gaze to the field in front of them.

Malcolm stood up angrily and walked toward his friend, Tyler, who had talked him into participating in the games.

“Get down, you idiot, before you give away our position,” somebody whispered. 

Kneeling down next to Tyler, Malcolm asked, “Why did I ever let you talk me into this?”

“Because you are my best friend.”

Looking down the little hill they were on and straight ahead into the green meadows with trees and bushes, Malcolm thought about the corrupt direction the world had gone in.  To him, the games signified how stupid humans had gotten.  The games were created to keep degenerate men off the streets.  He wasn’t as bad as Tyler, but wondered if a part of him was as psychotic as those surrounding him.  He was the only one there he knew who didn’t have a criminal record.  His friend had been in and out of jail several times for selling narcotics.  Brayden had killed a police officer while fleeing a bank robbery.  Colton had murdered his wife and the guy he caught her banging in his bed when he came home a couple hours early from work.

When the government had banned the Bible and burned down all the churches fifty years prior, the world began to follow the devil’s path.  All the Christians were sentenced to death as in the Roman times when Christians were fed to the lions.

But even in the darkest times, there were a few beautiful souls left in the world. Malcolm’s wife had been one.  She had the courage to stand up against the government and publically damn them to hell.  When they came for her, he didn’t have the guts to stand by her and admit she was his wife or say that he believed in God.  He told them he divorced her three months prior because of her beliefs.  The look on her face when he betrayed her was permanently burned into his mind and ever since that day, he prayed daily to God and to her for their forgiveness.

He didn’t want to participate in the games, but Tyler had finally convinced him after weeks of going on about how it was for a good cause.  He never told him what they would be hunting, just that it was the best prize any serious hunter could want.

“Gents, get your guns ready for our prize is coming,” Brayden instructed.

Over the bushes, they could see their prey.  Behind one of the trees, several Christian women wearing ripped clothing and shoes that had been worn through, stood looking around nervously.  They had been imprisoned for several months until it was their turn to be hunted during the games.

He looked at them in shock?  Humans were the game?   Was he at the point when he degraded himself to the level of an animal hunting a helpless prey?  With his guilt heavy on his soul, why would he willingly agree to get involved in this madness?  Everybody, but him, ran down the hill ready to toy with the women until the men were ready to torture and kill them.

Tyler turned around and looked at him.  “Aren’t you coming?”

“If Donna could see me now?”

“She’s dead.  Killed by the government because she was foolish enough to believe in God.  There is no God.”  He looked over at the women running for their lives.  “Man, they are such a beautiful prize!”

As Tyler was running away to join the game, Malcolm shot him in the back of the head with his rifle.  Tyler fell down.  Malcolm walked over to Tyler and watched him bleed out.

“I’m sorry, my friend; I can’t be a part of this,” he said as his friend died.

Malcolm stood up and stared at the other men hunting the women.  With a determined look on his face, he ventured onto the field to hunt the ones who were on the hunt.  The women would be no prize for these men.  No longer would he stand idly by and watch a Christian being slaughtered.

              
Where Evil Shall Dwell

                      April 13, 1964

“Sub-Mariner to base!  Sub-Mariner to base.  Proceeding along as planned.  About one hundred miles west to southwest of Bermuda.  Should we stay on course?”

“Roger, Sub-Mariner.  Just proceed as planned.  No deviations.  Over and out,” the radio operator instructed.

“Captain, can I ask a few questions about this experiment?”  Ira Labanowski asked, listening intently to the conversation.

“Ira, you may.”

“How does this involve me and what is this experiment going to prove?”

“Ira, there is an area from Jacksonville, Florida to Puerto Rico, from Puerto Rico to Bermuda and from Bermuda to Jacksonville that is called the Bermuda Triangle also known as the triangle of death.”

“Bermuda triangle?”  Ira asked.

“There have been between one hundred and two hundred ships and planes since 1945 that have vanished or been destroyed by someone or something between these coordinates outlined on my map.  We don’t have the slightest clue to their whereabouts and, worst of all, the United States government is pressuring us to find the truth behind this mystery.  Several of our allies want answers since they also have lost ships.  We’ve heard about your experience with the James Charlot case and how you used your sixth sense to crack it.”

“I’m not sure if my psychic abilities can be much use in this matter.”  Ira sat there and thought about the events that led to him being hired by the United States government and being transported via helicopter to the small radio shack in Fort Jackson.  His colleague, a senator, offered him a hefty paycheck to advise the captain about the experiment, but didn’t give him any specifics.  He remembered hearing a radio newscast about a British ship on training maneuvers disappearing and Britain claiming it was destroyed by a US Naval vessel days before.  “Have you tried this experiment before?”

“Yes, three times without success.  This time, with your help, we hope it will be successful.”

Ira felt like he was having a migraine attack.  He closed his eyes to shield them from the bright light and saw the Sub-Mariner in a dense fog.  He couldn’t see anything through the fog and then the plane vanished.  He opened his eyes and looked at the captain.  “The plane is in trouble.  It has lost all sense of direction.”

“Captain, I’m picking up a faint transmission,” the radio operator reported.

“Sub-Mariner to base!” an exhausted voice came over the intercom.

“Turn on the tape recorder!” the captain ordered.

The radio operator turned on the tape recorder as the voice continued.  “Help!  We’re lost!  Lost all sense of direction.  Don’t know which way is north, south, east or west!”

“Do you have any idea where you are?”  The radio operator asked.

“Smack in the middle of nowhere.”

“Contact Star Duster,” the captain ordered.

“Base to Star Duster!  Base to Star Duster!  Sub-Mariner is in trouble.  They are lost somewhere between Bermuda and here at Fort Jackson.  Over.”

“Roger, base.  We’re on our way.”

A couple of seconds later, the voice of the pilot of the Sub-Mariner could be heard.  “I’m feeling very dizzy like I’m experiencing vertigo.”

“Do you know what is causing this?”  the radio operator asked.

“I don’t know.  Wow, you have to see this.  The sky is a darkish green.  Even the ocean doesn’t look right.  There’s no sun.  It appears to be nighttime.”

“Impossible.  It’s three o’clock in the afternoon,” the captain said, looking over at Ira.

“Nothing is impossible when dealing with the unknown,” Ira advised.

“Base to Sub-Mariner!  Base to Sub-Mariner!  Come in!  Do you hear us, Sub-Mariner?  Come in!”  The radio operator looked at the captain who was also concerned.

Ira closed his eyes and saw the plane floating in midair in complete darkness.  He could see the pilot.  His eyes were closed and his head slumped forward.  “The pilot’s dead.”

The captain was about to respond when he was interrupted by the co-pilot’s voice.  “The pilot is dead.  I felt this coldness go through me and then the pilot grabbed his chest and spit up blood.  His eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped forward.”

Ira closed his eyes and saw a translucent hand enter the pilot’s chest and squeeze his heart until it burst.  “Captain, he was murdered.”

“Murdered?  By whom?”

“I don’t know.  It’s all so blurry.”

“Oh no!  Get away!”  the co-pilot screamed.  “Get away!”

“I lost contact with the Sub-Mariner,” the radio operator reported.

“He’s dead,” Ira said sadly.

“Ira, can you see anything?”  the captain asked.

Ira closed his eyes.  He could only see complete darkness.  “My vision of the scene is dark and blurry.”

The radio operator screamed, grabbed his head and fell to the floor.  The captain ran over to him and checked his pulse.  “He’s dead.”

Ira kneeled down next to him and examined his body.  “Judging by the look on his face, he was frightened to death.”

“Huh?”  The captain looked at him puzzled. 

Ira closed his eyes and saw through the radio operator’s eyes what had scared him to death.  The radio operator’s deceased mother, disfigured and covered in maggots walking toward him screaming in German to stay away.

Ira looked at the captain.  “It was a warning to stay away from the Bermuda triangle.”

“We better warn the Star Duster!”

As the captain was standing up, the north wall collapsed.  As the dust settled, he reached for the radio.  “Base to Star Duster!  Base to Star Duster!  Turn Back!  Do not approach the Bermuda triangle!”

“Roger, base….What the hell is that?  Oh no!  It’s coming right for us!  Get Away!  Get Away! No!”

As they heard cries for help through the radio, the rest of the walls collapsed inward burying them.  The captain pushed Ira under the table in time as the ceiling crashed downward.

The last thing Ira heard before he passed out was a booming voice through the radio saying, “If someone with your physic abilities ever interferes with me again, the whole world will face my wrath.”

Ira regained consciousness several minutes later.  The captain was dead with a frightened look on his face.  Ira pulled himself out of the rubble and looked up.  He could see the sky above him through the gigantic hole in the ceiling.  The sky was a darkish green.