OM NOM NOMmm...
“She’s dreaming at the moment. You can tell by the way her eyes are flickering.”
“But the nightmares? Is she still having the nightmares?”
The doctor smiles. “Not at the moment. Everything is calm, but you never know when storms might be approaching.” She rubs her hands together. “The dream recorder might help give some insight into her mental processes.”
“Dream recorder?”
“Oh yes, a brilliant new piece of kit. You hook it up so that it measures the electrical impulses from her brain while she’s dreaming, and it converts them into a visual representation of what she’s experiencing.”
“You can actually watch her dreams?”
“Oh yes. Some of it is quite fascinating.”
“Isn’t that a bit…intrusive? It’s not like she can give permission…”
“Maybe, but it’s useful to analyse the results so that we may better understand her condition. Come, follow.” The doctor and the visitor walk into a small side room, which contains two chairs, a projector and a large white screen. The visitor sits down and the doctor powers up the projector.
Then they begin to watch the dream.
A dark, terrible scene, with ruined buildings and monuments littering the landscape. The sky is the colour of blood, and the air is thick with dust and debris. In the midst of all this carnage are people; people who have lost everything, whose world has collapsed. But they’re not despairing.
Instead, they are playing. Mindless games amid the wreckage of a doomed civilisation, not a care in the world between them. Not a serious or worried face among them. Playing, smiling, laughing, delighting in being alive, until they collapse from hunger and exhaustion and fade away.
“Regression,” the doctor says, once the reel comes to a shuddering halt and the screen goes blank. “She doesn’t want to face the mundane reality of the world, and so she’s mentally regressed into a childlike state in a world of permanent bliss.”
The visitor smiles hopelessly, and the tears sting her cheeks. “That sounds like a great way to be.”
Ramon looked sidelong at her, and shook his head. “Geez, what the hell are you talking about, you mad woman? What are we supposed to be looking for again? Some kind of tunnel?”
“Er, yes. Let’s see,” she continued, mostly to herself, “Stephan mentioned something about there supposedly being a Hall of Records hidden beneath these ruins, and a great gateway, and, um, trials.”
They were standing before a large temple, surrounded by boulders with Mayan glyphs carved into them.
“The number 8 is a lucky number in some cultures,” said Ramon, looking with his back to Molly at the surrounding jungle. He tapped his feet, one two three. “When I was younger I spent some time in China. They have a real thing about the number 8, as it sounds like the word for wealth.” Molly didn’t respond, and Ramon stared deeper into the thick, dark mass of trees. Four five six. “On a mountain, somewhere beyond the realm of mortals, there are said to live eight demigods. They also have another name, but I’ve forgotten what it is.” Seven eight.
There was a sound that resembled that of a whooshing air, not unlike that which would be made by someone falling down a mysterious chasm, someone so shocked by this occurrence that they didn’t even have the wits to scream. Ramon turned, and Molly was gone. Where she had been standing there was a gaping hole in the ground that certainly hadn’t been there a few moments before, but before Ramon could do anything it sealed itself up, leaving no trace of it ever having been there. He lit up a cigarette, and stared for a couple of minutes before taking a drag, and saying, “Ah.”
“Ramon?” she murmured, “What happened? Where the hell am I?” The last thing she knew she had been standing in front of a stepped pyramid temple, and suddenly the ground collapsed and she was sucked down into the earth. “Ramon!” she shouted, but there was no response here, not even a echo. The ground was soft and earthy, which was a mercy considering how awkwardly she had fallen. She gazed around in the dark, and then a light bulb came on in her head.
“This is a trial, right?” she said, to no one. “Stephan mentioned something about there being three trials. What am I supposed to do?”
Only mortals must complete the trials, Moldavia*. You, on the other hand, get a free pass.
Molly jerked her head around, trying to gauge the direction of the voice, but it seemed to be coming from everywhere at once. It wasn’t one single voice, either, but rather sounded like several voices all speaking in perfect unison in a way that was so disquieting it made her skin itch.
“Hello? Who’s there?” Suddenly she was bathed in light, and she shielded her eyes against the painful brightness. “What’s going on?” she cried desperately, tears filling her eyes. “Tell me! Who is there?”
We are the Immortals, the serene voices eventually replied, known also to some as the Secret Chiefs, the Nobility, the Keepers of the Library and the Elder Brothers, among many other names. We have been waiting for you, Moldavia. Waiting for such a long time…
__________________
*This is Molly's actual first name. No seriously.
48
“She’s dreaming at the moment. You can tell by the way her eyes are flickering.”
“But the nightmares? Is she still having the nightmares?”
The doctor smiles. “Not at the moment. Everything is calm, but you never know when storms might be approaching.” She rubs her hands together. “The dream recorder might help give some insight into her mental processes.”
“Dream recorder?”
“Oh yes, a brilliant new piece of kit. You hook it up so that it measures the electrical impulses from her brain while she’s dreaming, and it converts them into a visual representation of what she’s experiencing.”
“You can actually watch her dreams?”
“Oh yes. Some of it is quite fascinating.”
“Isn’t that a bit…intrusive? It’s not like she can give permission…”
“Maybe, but it’s useful to analyse the results so that we may better understand her condition. Come, follow.” The doctor and the visitor walk into a small side room, which contains two chairs, a projector and a large white screen. The visitor sits down and the doctor powers up the projector.
Then they begin to watch the dream.
A dark, terrible scene, with ruined buildings and monuments littering the landscape. The sky is the colour of blood, and the air is thick with dust and debris. In the midst of all this carnage are people; people who have lost everything, whose world has collapsed. But they’re not despairing.
Instead, they are playing. Mindless games amid the wreckage of a doomed civilisation, not a care in the world between them. Not a serious or worried face among them. Playing, smiling, laughing, delighting in being alive, until they collapse from hunger and exhaustion and fade away.
“Regression,” the doctor says, once the reel comes to a shuddering halt and the screen goes blank. “She doesn’t want to face the mundane reality of the world, and so she’s mentally regressed into a childlike state in a world of permanent bliss.”
The visitor smiles hopelessly, and the tears sting her cheeks. “That sounds like a great way to be.”
---
“I was once stalked by the number 38,” said Molly to Ramon, noticing the number written in the clouds above the ruins of Piedras Negras. The clouds twisted, forming the number 48. Molly eyed the sky with suspicion. “I don’t trust clouds, especially when it concerns the number 8”Ramon looked sidelong at her, and shook his head. “Geez, what the hell are you talking about, you mad woman? What are we supposed to be looking for again? Some kind of tunnel?”
“Er, yes. Let’s see,” she continued, mostly to herself, “Stephan mentioned something about there supposedly being a Hall of Records hidden beneath these ruins, and a great gateway, and, um, trials.”
They were standing before a large temple, surrounded by boulders with Mayan glyphs carved into them.
“The number 8 is a lucky number in some cultures,” said Ramon, looking with his back to Molly at the surrounding jungle. He tapped his feet, one two three. “When I was younger I spent some time in China. They have a real thing about the number 8, as it sounds like the word for wealth.” Molly didn’t respond, and Ramon stared deeper into the thick, dark mass of trees. Four five six. “On a mountain, somewhere beyond the realm of mortals, there are said to live eight demigods. They also have another name, but I’ve forgotten what it is.” Seven eight.
There was a sound that resembled that of a whooshing air, not unlike that which would be made by someone falling down a mysterious chasm, someone so shocked by this occurrence that they didn’t even have the wits to scream. Ramon turned, and Molly was gone. Where she had been standing there was a gaping hole in the ground that certainly hadn’t been there a few moments before, but before Ramon could do anything it sealed itself up, leaving no trace of it ever having been there. He lit up a cigarette, and stared for a couple of minutes before taking a drag, and saying, “Ah.”
---
Molly opened her eyes and found herself in total darkness. She rubbed her head, and noticed a sharp pain in her ankle. She groaned, and slowly edged her way upwards, attempting to stand. However, it was too painful, and she slumped back down, in utter confusion. “Ramon?” she murmured, “What happened? Where the hell am I?” The last thing she knew she had been standing in front of a stepped pyramid temple, and suddenly the ground collapsed and she was sucked down into the earth. “Ramon!” she shouted, but there was no response here, not even a echo. The ground was soft and earthy, which was a mercy considering how awkwardly she had fallen. She gazed around in the dark, and then a light bulb came on in her head.
“This is a trial, right?” she said, to no one. “Stephan mentioned something about there being three trials. What am I supposed to do?”
Only mortals must complete the trials, Moldavia*. You, on the other hand, get a free pass.
Molly jerked her head around, trying to gauge the direction of the voice, but it seemed to be coming from everywhere at once. It wasn’t one single voice, either, but rather sounded like several voices all speaking in perfect unison in a way that was so disquieting it made her skin itch.
“Hello? Who’s there?” Suddenly she was bathed in light, and she shielded her eyes against the painful brightness. “What’s going on?” she cried desperately, tears filling her eyes. “Tell me! Who is there?”
We are the Immortals, the serene voices eventually replied, known also to some as the Secret Chiefs, the Nobility, the Keepers of the Library and the Elder Brothers, among many other names. We have been waiting for you, Moldavia. Waiting for such a long time…
__________________
*This is Molly's actual first name. No seriously.
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