The Lost Level (15 page)

“Perhaps,” Kasheena agreed.

“Maybe it was some sort of amoeba,” I suggested. “Or some type of
land–based jellyfish. Or a protoplasmic alien from elsewhere. It disguises
itself as a puddle of water and then waits for its prey.”

Kasheena said nothing, clearly still disturbed by what we had
just witnessed. Bloop stood calmly against a tree. Using a twig, he cleaned
alien flesh from beneath his claws. Then, he experimentally stuck the end of
the twig in his mouth and tasted it. I assumed the alien’s skin wasn’t to his liking,
judging by the face he made and the vigorous round of spitting that followed.

“Have you seen the aliens before?” I asked Kasheena.

“Aliens?”

“The things that tried to kidnap us. On my world, they’re called
Greys—although even there, most people don’t believe in them.”

“I have never seen one until tonight,” Kasheena said. “But I have
heard others speak of them before. It is said that they come from elsewhere,
like yourself. They appear and disappear very quickly, and no one knows where
they return to.”

“But they live here, right?”

Kasheena frowned. “What do you mean, Aaron?”

“They live here in the Lost Level? They don’t go back to where
they came from before?”

“I do not know. I always assumed they must live here, as does
everything else. Shameal suspected that they served the Creator, but in what
capacity, he never said.”

I thought about this while we hiked back to our campsite. The
glow we’d seen had looked like some sort of portal, and when it vanished, so
had the other aliens. The one who had been left behind—the one Bloop had
pursued—had acted like it had been abandoned. Was it possible that the Greys
had the ability to enter and leave this lost dimension at will? If so, then
perhaps they were my ticket back home—if home was indeed where I wanted to
return to. Before, I had thought so. But now…I wasn’t so sure. This world was
fraught with perils and hardships, but despite that, the thought of leaving
made me a little sad.

As if reading my thoughts, Kasheena reached out, took my hand,
and gave it a squeeze. She smiled. I returned the gesture.

No, I wasn’t at all sure I wanted to return home anymore. And if
I did, I wondered if she would be willing to return with me.

You might think, reading my accounting of the Greys, that I
should have been more incredulous at the encounter, but you must remember that
I’d long studied the occult and other esoteric mysteries. The Greys were a part
of those studies—a small portion, to be sure, but something I’d read up on
nevertheless. I had more trouble wrapping my brain around the giant robot and
the mysterious sounds of underground machinery than I did alien abductors.

Something I
was
curious about though was Bloop. My
thoughts returned to him once again, as they had right before we’d made camp.
It felt like the more I learned about him, the less I knew. There was the
matter of his apparent prior knowledge of that strange water creature, but I
was also intrigued by his reaction to the Grey aliens. Although I couldn’t be
sure, I suspected that Bloop had encountered them previously, or at least had
some sort of knowledge of their intent. I wondered if his people had legends of
abduction phenomena just as my people had. It was also important to note that
he had seemed immune to the paralysis they had induced on Kasheena and myself.
How, and why? It frustrated me that I couldn’t ask him. There was so much I
wanted to learn, so many questions for which I felt he had the answers, but the
communication barrier between us prevented me from getting those answers.

We made it back to the campsite without incident, but when I
examined the ground, looking for the strange device the alien had dropped, I
couldn’t find it. Nor were there any markings on the ground where the weird
light had appeared—certainly nothing indicating that a craft of some type had
landed there. It was as if the aliens had never been there at all. Our own gear
was unmolested, sitting right where we’d left it before the attempted
abduction.

All three of us were still tired. Bloop let out several
exaggerated yawns, and Kasheena and I both had circles under our eyes, but
despite our exhaustion, none of us could sleep. After a half–hearted attempt at
breakfast, we decided to move on and make camp elsewhere. Soon, we started off
again, taking care to go far around the pool of killer water, but even after
the campsite was far behind us, I kept glancing over my shoulder, looking for
signs of pursuit. I don’t know if it was nerves or paranoia or lack of sleep—or
perhaps a combination of all three—but I couldn’t shake the persistent feeling
that we were being watched. But there were no more aliens or liquid blobs.
Instead, the only thing I saw was that ever–present sun, hanging high over our
heads like an unblinking eye.

“DO YOU
RECOGNIZE ANYTHING?”
I asked Kasheena after an extended, grueling hike
up an especially steep and rocky hillside. I don’t know how long our trek had
worn on, but I was tired and thirsty, and my feet burned. I’d built up blisters
during our journey to Kasheena’s village, and our extensive climbing and
walking had finally caused them to pop. The police riot armor had never seemed
bulkier or heavier than it did at that moment. My throat and tongue felt like
sandpaper. I applied some of John LeMay’s cherry lip balm in the hope that it
would make me salivate. I think Bloop was worn down, as well. His tail hung
limp behind him, dragging the point of one of his swords through the dirt.

When Kasheena didn’t answer me, I tried again. “Are there any
landmarks that might indicate how close we are to your village?”

Nodding, she pointed ahead. “Beyond those trees lies the soft
valley. As I told you before, I know that area well. Past the soft valley is a
strange, small, yellow statue. After that, there is more forest. We should
reach the shores of a lake before our next sleep. We will not linger there, for
the waters are dark, and it is said that the lake is inhabited by a monstrous
creature. My people have never seen this creature, but our elders have spoken
of it. We do not fish there. Also, we have seen parties of Anunnaki along the
lake’s shore many times before.”

“And your village is near the lake?”

“Not quite. After the lake, there are grasslands. It is perhaps
another sleep before we encounter the Temple of the Slug, which we will also
avoid. My village is only a short journey beyond that.”

“What is it about this temple that makes you avoid it?”

“I do not know,” Kasheena admitted. “My people are forbidden to
go inside. It has always been this way. Those few who have dared to defy that
rule, and have ventured into the temple, have never returned to tell what they
found there.”

I mulled it over. A soft valley. A yellow statue. A monster–haunted
lake, perhaps with a bonus group of snake men patrolling its shores. And
something called the Temple of the Slug. Before I could ask for more details,
Kasheena turned away and pressed on. Bloop glanced at me, shrugged his furry
shoulders, and followed after her. Sighing, I did the same.

“You seem distracted,” I told Kasheena. “Is everything okay? Is
there something you want to talk about?”

“I am fine,” she said, even though she clearly wasn’t, and it
occurred to me that women were just as frustratingly similar and mysterious
regardless of what planet, dimension, or alternate reality they came from. It
had always been my experience that they wanted you to be sensitive to their
feelings, but through clairvoyance, rather than communication.

I sighed again in frustration and followed along. When I glanced
at Bloop, I swear it looked like he was grinning.

“Laugh it up, fuzzball.” As soon as I said it, I remembered that
Bloop had probably never seen
Star Wars
and therefore wouldn’t
understand the reference.

It occurred to me then that even if he had, we were still
separated by our language barrier. It would have been easy to dismiss Bloop as
an animal, or even a pet, but that simply wasn’t true. Although we didn’t know
his origins, he was clearly from a bipedal race of creatures on an intellectual
par, roughly, with humans. The fact that he could understand so much of what we
communicated simply through studying our expressions, gestures, and tone
demonstrated as much.

The ground began to slowly slope downward, and the trees thinned
out, becoming shorter and more slender. Lush ferns grew in the rich, moist soil.
Some of them had green fronds like back on Earth, but there were other colors,
too—brilliantly hued oranges and reds and yellows. One of the ferns had leaves
that looked quite similar to those of a marijuana plant. I wondered if it had
the same influence when smoked. There were also wildflowers and other forest
plants. Neither Kasheena nor Bloop showed any concern about them, so I assumed
the foliage was safe.

Soon, our descent grew steeper. The trees disappeared completely,
replaced with thick stands of shrubbery and undergrowth. Halting, Kasheena
turned back to Bloop and myself.

“Watch your footing,” she said. “There is a small game trail
here, or at least there was the last time I traveled this way. It is not
treacherous, but the soil is loose and rocky and can give way suddenly beneath
your feet.”

She took a few minutes to search the hillside and then uncovered
the trail she’d mentioned, hidden between two large boulders. Kasheena started
down the path, followed by Bloop and myself. It was steep and narrow, and the
ground shifted beneath me several times, but after a short descent, the
undergrowth cleared, and we reached the bottom. When we did, I simply stood and
stared—incredulous.

“The soft valley,” I muttered.

“Yes,” Kasheena replied.

At first, I didn’t comprehend what I was seeing. Oh, I understood
it well enough. I could identify the strangeness of the items blanketing the
valley floor. I just couldn’t comprehend how such a thing was possible. Or
why
….

Back home, I’d done my laundry every Sunday afternoon at a
laundromat around the corner on my block. I’ve always felt that there is
nothing lonelier than doing laundry in such a place. Usually, I would take a
book along with me to pass the time, but even then, I’d feel lonely and morose.
Still, there was one part of that weekly ritual that always left me feeling
slightly bemused, no matter how deep my depression. Every time I removed my
clothes from the dryer and folded them on the table, I’d discover that one of
my socks had gone missing. Never a complete pair. Always one lone sock. I’d
check inside the dryer, under the table, and everywhere else for the escapee,
but would never find it. I’d always wondered where those socks went.

Now, I knew.

Spread out in front of me as far as the eye could see were socks.
Gym socks, dress socks, footy socks, children’s and baby socks—every type and
color you could imagine. They blanketed the valley floor from one side to
another. Kasheena and Bloop waded into them, as if traipsing through a field of
wheat. At their deepest point, the socks reached halfway up Kasheena’s calves.
Weeds jutted through in some sparse places, but most of the vegetation was
buried beneath the pile. I noticed that none of the socks were in pairs. The
assortment was mind–boggling—a myriad collection of colors and sizes and types.

“This….” I paused, unable to finish my sentence. Instead, I could
only stare in astonishment.

Kasheena glanced over her shoulder. “Come along, Aaron.”

Shaking my head, I followed after my companions. After a dozen or
so steps, socks clung to the legs of my pants, and I heard small crackles of
static electricity. It was having an effect on Bloop’s fur, as well, which had
puffed out, making him look like a freshly bathed cat who’d been sat under a
blow–dryer. Socks clung to his bare legs and tail.

I wondered how long they’d been here—the socks. Some of them
looked brand new. Others were obviously weather–beaten and worn. Were they like
fallen leaves in a forest, with the top layer concealing older layers that had
deteriorated into nothing?

“Hold on a second,” I called out.

Kasheena and Bloop halted, turning back to watch me.

It occurred to me that my own socks were already worn through
after all the hiking I’d done. They were also dirty and crusted from my popped
blisters and sweat. I bent down and grabbed a few extra pair of socks, having
no difficulty finding some that were my size. Then, I shoved them into my
backpack. After that, I removed my boots. As neither Kasheena or Bloop were
accustomed to wearing socks (at least as far as I’d seen), they seemed bemused
as I went through the process. But I didn’t care. I stared at my feet. My toes
and heels poked through the holes in my dirty socks. I pulled my old socks free
of my feet. They seemed stuck to my skin, and it felt wonderful to flex my bare
toes. The comfort I felt after tossing them aside and putting on two pairs of
new ones was almost sensual. I sighed, relishing the sensation. Indeed, it
might have been one of the most luxuriant things I’ve ever experienced. I pulled
my boots back on and stood up, feeling as if I could walk a hundred miles.

“Better?” Kasheena asked.

“Oh, yes.” I nodded. “Like you wouldn’t believe. Thanks.”

“I am pleased.”

“So am I.”

A small breeze whistled through the valley, lifting a frayed dryer
sheet and plastering it across Bloop’s face. He brushed it away, grunting. The
presence of the dryer sheet only confirmed my wild speculations. As bizarre as
it seemed, this valley accounted for the missing socks back on my world—a
phenomenon which most people had encountered at some point in their lives but
had always laughed off. I wondered if it was possible for a person to wait here
long enough, watching for a sock to appear, and if so, could one fling
themselves through the dimensional doorway before it closed, materializing in a
clothes dryer somewhere?