The Lost Level (2 page)

A trip to the local mall provided me with a start. I went inside
the bookstore there and found the occult and metaphysical section, which was
comprised of exactly two shelves sandwiched between Bibles and Western novels.
I’d already read my father’s Bible and my grandfather’s complete (if somewhat
battered) collection of Zane Grey and Louis L’Amour westerns. What I wanted was
in that small middle section.

That first visit to the ‘New Age’ section introduced me to the
Simon paperback version of the dreaded
Necronomicon
. I was familiar with
the book from my readings, but too young to know that the Simon edition was a
fake. Attracted by the lurid cover and the book’s reputation, I bought it and
read it. Hell, I devoured that book. It was like a switch had been clicked on
inside of me (sadly, it wasn’t until years later that I beheld the real
Necronomicon
).
I returned to the bookstore every week after that, and soon I’d discovered
everything from Crowley’s
Magic in Theory and Practice
to Lavey’s
The
Satanic Bible
to various paperbacks on Wicca and other pagan religions.
After reading everything my local bookstore had to offer, I started perusing
the free occult texts that were available online.

By the time I earned a full scholarship and entered college, I’d
worked my way through most of the readily available occult tomes and now spent
my weekends haunting antiquarian bookstores, looking for the rarer, esoteric
volumes. And that was how I first discovered the Labyrinth.

I could fill up the rest of this notebook writing about the
Labyrinth, and still not explain it fully. Since I don’t have the time or
capability to do that, I will have to give you the CliffsNotes version. If you
have a layman’s grasp of string theory, or if you’ve ever read a Marvel or DC
comic book, or watched an episode of
Doctor Who
or
Star Trek
, then you’ll
understand the basics of the Labyrinth. Provided they have those things where
you come from, of course. Not every place does, as I’ve learned from some of my
fellow castaways over the years.

The Labyrinth is perhaps best described as a dimensional shortcut
through space and time. It touches and connects everything. Most of humanity
remains ignorant of its presence, but it is explored and utilized by madmen,
magi, occultists, and a few in the highest levels of world government. The only
times the rest of humanity sees the Labyrinth is when we die, dream, have an
out–of–body experience, or alter our consciousness in some manner, perhaps
while under the influence of certain perception–enhancing substances. It is not
actually a labyrinth, but that is how mankind has perceived it over the millennia,
and thus, that is how it has gotten its name.

Imagine the universe. Picture our galaxy and all of the other
galaxies beyond ours, both known and unknown, that make up the universe. Then
consider all of the planets in each of those galaxies. The Labyrinth connects
to all of them, and by utilizing it, one can travel from planet to planet and
galaxy to galaxy. But it goes far beyond that. Interplanetary travel is just
the beginning. Our planet, our galaxy, and our universe have different versions
of themselves that exist in other dimensional spaces. Some people call these
alternate realities. Devotees of the Labyrinth refer to these alternate
dimensions as levels. As one occult tome explained it,
“Just as there are
different planets in the sky, there are also different versions of those
planets, existing simultaneously on a different level of the universe. Beings,
including humans, can traverse this multiverse of levels by means of The
Labyrinth.”

By using occult methods, one could access the Labyrinth and
through it, visit an Earth just like the one I came from, or maybe one where
the Germans won World War II, or where North Korea launched a nuclear war in
the year 2008, or where dinosaurs never became extinct and continued to evolve
instead. And just as you could travel to alternate Earths, so could you explore
the alternate realities of other planets—a Mars filled with lush vegetation or
intelligent life, if you liked, or a Mercury cool enough to walk on. All of
these levels were accessible to a practitioner who had the knowledge and will
to do it. And I resolved that I would be such a practitioner.

The one thing I came across time and time again in my studies was
the mention of a “Lost Level”—a dimensional reality that existed apart from all
the others, a place where the flotsam and jetsam of space and time occasionally
washed up from across the shores of the multiverse. It was supposedly a place
where one could encounter creatures and beings and objects from, quite
literally, anywhere in the multiverse. All mentions of the Lost Level warned
that while it could be accessed by a traveler, there was no escape from it. The
Labyrinth led into it, but there was no exit, except in death—and even then,
the scholars seemed divided. Some said souls and spirits could escape the Lost
Level. Others said those energies remained trapped within it. Regardless, the
one thing I’ve learned since my arrival here is that no one gets out of the
Lost Level alive.

I wish now that I had heeded those warnings, but I was young and headstrong
and stupid. I have matter from the entire universe beneath my feet, and yet I
am homeless.

Accessing the Labyrinth—finding a door, opening it, and
traversing the dimensions—was a long and complicated process, and again, I’ll
have to be brief in my explanations of it. During a careful study of ley line
maps, I found a place of power at a lake about one hundred and twenty miles
southwest of Duluth and decided to begin my experiments there, as such places
were traditionally favorable for rituals such as this. On my first attempt, I
went there in the afternoon, chose a remote location far removed from prying
eyes, and set up my tent. I’d fasted all day, and I was lightheaded with hunger
and a strange mix of fear and excitement. It was hard to stay focused, but I
did my best. I felt ready. Pure. Having a healthy body, mind, and spirit is
important in magick, as is possessing a sense of self–assuredness and
confidence. The key to success is making the universe revolve around
you—understanding that you are the focal point of all that occurs.

I crawled inside the tent and meditated for a while. When it was
time for the ritual to begin, I grabbed my backpack and went outside. Using the
compass and GPS feature on my phone, I found north and faced in that direction,
making sure there were no tree limbs or other obstructions directly over my
head. Satisfied with my choice of location, I found a stick and used it to
scratch a circle into the forest floor, at a depth of about a quarter inch—just
enough to clear the dead leaves and disturb the soil. Then, I filled that
circle with salt. Returning the salt canister to my backpack, I pulled out a
red blanket and spread it out on the ground inside the circle, making sure none
of the fabric overlapped the circle’s edges. Then, I placed four red candles in
four different positions—north, south, east, and west. I lit each of them and
then retrieved a small incense burner from my backpack. I filled it with a tiny
amount of scented oil and lit that, too. When it was burning, I reached into my
pocket and pulled out a piece of paper on which I had drawn the required
symbols for this particular ritual. I touched one end of the paper to the flame
and let the ashes fall into the oil, holding it there even as my thumb and
index finger burned. I winced, clenching my teeth and resolving to feel no
pain. When the paper had been consumed, I sat down cross–legged in front of the
incense burner and faced north again. Finally, with my left hand, I pulled out
my final item—a pocketknife my father had given me for my tenth birthday—and
sliced the ball of my right thumb.

“I have fasted according to the Nomos,” I said. “The Nomos is the
Law. I have eaten nothing unclean. I have drunk only water. I have avoided
spilling my seed and have abstained from worshipping at the temples of Ishtar
or Lilith. Thus, I have kept my essence and remained pure. My candles are of
the appropriate and required color and were lit at the appropriate time. With
them, I cast light upon the four Gates of the Earth, even as I face the
Northern Gate. There is no roof over my head, except for the sky. I have done
these things in accordance with the Nomos, which is the Law, and thus, I
command your attention.”

I held my bleeding thumb over the burning oil and squeezed out three
drops of blood. As I did this, I repeated the incantation three times. “Ia unay
vobism Huitzilopochtli. Ia dom tergo Hathor.”

Finished, I paused for a moment, sucking at the cut. The taste of
my own blood made me feel queasy, but I shrugged that sensation off. I pressed
the wound against my jeans and waited for it to stop bleeding. When it did, I
continued.

“I sit in the appropriate and required manner, and am safe inside
my circle of protection. You cannot harm me. I come here with respect to open a
gate. I come seeking passage. And so, I call upon the Gatekeeper, who gave to
us the Nomos, which is the Law. I call upon the Doorman, who is the Burning
Bush and the Hand That Writes and the Watchman and the Sleepwalker. I call upon
he who is named Huitzilopochtli and Ahtu. He who is named Nephrit–ansa and
Sopdu. He who is named Hathor and Nyarlathotep. I call upon him whose real name
is Amun. And thus, by naming you and offering my blood three times, I command
an opening.”

Nothing happened. I held my breath, waiting. My heart beat once.
Twice. Three times. Then, the oil began to smoke. Wisps curled from the incense
burner and rose into the air. The smoke seemed to be meeting resistance from
something, even though there was nothing there. The wind was still. There wasn’t
even the faintest hint of a breeze. I glanced down at my thumb, and when I
looked up again, a doorway floated in front of me, hovering just a few inches
from the ground. On both sides of the doorway was my world, but inside the door
was another level. Through it, I glimpsed a scene very similar to the one I
stood in—a forested lakeside after dark. Steeling myself, I stepped through
into that other world. Sure enough, it was an almost exact duplicate of my own
level, except for one telling difference. When I looked up at that other
reality’s sky, the constellations were very different than my own. Indeed, they
were different than anything I had ever seen from my Earth. Most telling was a
long, crooked scar running across the face of the moon, a shadow that had no
counterpart on my own moon.

I only stayed on the other level for a few minutes that first
time, and when I emerged back through the doorway into my world, I was scared
and shaken and didn’t sleep for two days. I had no appetite and ended up
struggling with an unexpected and deep melancholy. But that didn’t stop me from
trying again. If anything, it just encouraged me. The depression passed, and my
hunger returned—and with it, a thirst for more.

On my second attempt, the doorway opened into another alternate
reality. This time, I found myself looking at a city. At first, I wasn’t sure
which one. They have always looked alike to me, especially American cities,
where the architecture is usually the same, and the streets are filled with
chain stores, fast food restaurants, and discount outlets. The doorway hovered
directly over a busy sidewalk, and people bustled around the portal without
even giving it a glance. I assumed that only I could see it. I stepped through
the door and explored the city a little—half a block, no more, endeavoring to
keep the doorway within my sight at all times. I found a newspaper at a bus
stop and skimmed through it and found out that I was in Chicago. This level was
much like our level and dealt with the same problems—global recession,
terrorism, a new arms race, social unrest, the politics of polarization, and a
media that focused more on entertainment news and celebrities rather than
issues of actual importance. But there were subtle differences, as well. The
President of the United States was somebody named Anthony Genova. On this
level, Microsoft was the manufacturer of the iPod and iPhone. And the Chinese
had launched a successful return to the moon in the year 2000. This act had
since been followed by landing human beings on Mars, beating Russia and the
European Federation there by a projection of five years, even as the American
space program was discontinued due to a lack of funds.

I stayed in that world for an hour, never straying far from the
door. I determined that this alternate America’s cash was the same as ours and
bought something to eat from a sidewalk vendor. I watched some television in a
storefront window and listened to music booming from car speakers as the
traffic crept by. I didn’t recognize the television program or the various
snatches of songs. When I returned through the doorway, I brought the newspaper
with me as a souvenir. I wasn’t sure I would be able to, and when I closed the
doorway and stopped the spell by extinguishing the oil, I half expected the
paper to vanish, but it didn’t. It was still there, proof that I really had
traveled to an alternate reality. When I got home, I hid it safely.

This time, upon my return, I felt none of the adverse side
effects I’d experienced the first time. Instead, I felt excited and euphoric.
Rather than becoming depressed, I was simply impatient to do it again as soon
as possible.

So, I did.

My excursions grew more frequent—and more daring. I never did
master the art of opening the door on a specific location. Instead, my attempts
were similar to channel surfing. But I did become adept enough that I no longer
needed to work the ritual from a place of power. I began doing them from the
comfort of home, rather than the woods, opening doors into the Labyrinth and
visiting other levels from the rooftop of my apartment complex in the dead of
night when everyone else was asleep and I wouldn’t be spotted. I visited a
world where the Nazis controlled America, and one where the gas crunch of the
late–Seventies had turned us into a Third World economy from which we’d never
recovered. I went to other time periods in our level’s history—the Old West,
the Sixties, and what I think was a time about fifty years in my future. I can’t
be sure about the latter because I spent all of my time there hiding in an
alley as a series of massive explosions rocked the city I was in.