Black Lodge

Written by Feind Gottes

He knew he never should have come here in the first place but it had been too good of an offer to pass up. Nothing that had transpired had been his good friend Momma Bear’s fault but it was always easier to blame someone else than to admit that you had been a fool yourself. It had been five years since he had first stepped foot inside this blasted cabin in the middle of nowhere. Only five years, yet it seemed a lifetime ago. Now here he was again, only this time carrying a small limp body in his arms rather than the backpack and laptop bag he had that first time. Most people would stop at this moment crying, “Where did I go wrong?” Brian Lee knew exactly where he had gone wrong. It had been right here at this dark cabin in the woods where everything had gone so right but also so very, very wrong. A simple black lodge in a forgotten wood where ghosts feared to haunt but memories were free to crush a man’s soul.

He kicked the rickety door of the cabin in, carrying the body across the threshold. He laid the limp, barely breathing form down next to the fire place on the old braided rug that had been there for longer than he had been alive. Grabbing some kindling from the box next to the stone fire place and a box of matches off the mantle he made quick work of getting a fire started. Sure that it wasn’t going to go out he exited to grab an armful of firewood from the pile on the porch. With the fire set, he grabbed a glass from the cupboard beside the stove and the bottle of scotch he had left there five years ago.

The ancient wooden chair creaked out every one of its long years under his weight as if crying out to simply be left alone. He ignored the groan of old wood, poured two fingers of scotch in the glass, lifting it to his lips in hopes of burning away his sorrow. It wouldn’t work but he couldn’t imagine facing the stranger again completely sober. He dreaded the coming of the man with the black eyes. The man who had changed the course of his life five years ago. The man who had forced him to make a simple choice then, of course, leaving out the catch in the deal. He often wondered if the man was Satan himself or just the used car salesman of a demon he sent to ruin men’s lives. He supposed it didn’t really matter in the end. Time marched in but one direction and there was no going back to change the mistakes of our pasts no matter how badly we wanted to. The man with the black eyes had warned him there would be consequences though he never expected them to be the regrets that would haunt him to his grave and beyond. He had become the Faust in this tale, albeit unwittingly but he was going to burn for eternity just the same.

He had come back to the cabin at the request of the man he so wanted to forget. The man with the black eyes who had started all of this. He yearned to kill the man so bad he could taste it but he had to know if the damage was reversible, though he feared the answer. He held his head in his hands in despair knowing why he had made the choice he had in this very spot five years ago, while desperately wishing he had made another. All he could do now was sit here and wait, filled to overflowing with regret. He had not heeded the sage advice he had been given to ‘choose wisely.’

** Five Years Ago **

The Belladonna was a little hole in the wall type of bar, which made it Brian’s favorite. There were generally few patrons other than the regulars so bullshit was kept to a minimum. It had everything he wanted when venturing out of his house; cold beer, good food and as little human interaction as possible. All he had wanted or expected when entering the little dive was a couple of cold beers and some of his favorite barbeque/hot chicken wings along with a little alone time without actually being alone. He opened the door, happy not to see a single familiar face aside from the bartender, Dan. He wasn’t exactly a regular at the Belladonna but he was in often enough that Dan picked up a glass, filling it to the rim with his beer of choice without having to be asked. Brian took a seat at the far end of the bar so he could see and avoid anyone coming through the door. He sipped his beer in peace, taking in the ball game on the big screen over the bar. He was content which was about as good as things got for him.

He finished his beer, ordered another along with an order of his favorite chicken wings and watched the game, though he normally found baseball about as exciting as watching paint dry. Before his piping hot wings were delivered, the door popped open, bringing an instant smile to his face. His long-time friend Brenda bopped through the door, instantly breaking into a smile when she saw him sitting there. They had been friends for what seemed like their entire lives, though in reality it had only been about fifteen years. She affectionately referred to Brian as one of her kids and he thought of her like a second mother or more precisely that crazy aunt that you go out and have fun with then never tell your actual mother about.

“Momma Bear!” Brian nearly shouted at her.

“Ahhh, Brian Lee! How the hell are you?” Brenda spread her arms as she approached, for a huge welcoming hug.

“Still alive. And you?” He asked, squeezing her tight.

“Ornery as ever!” She exclaimed, with a devilish grin.

He leaned down to give her another hug before they sat down to catch up on old times. She was one of those people you just couldn’t feel bad around as she heaped on the praises, whether they were warranted or not. He had always been amazed at the sheer love of life she had always exuded in contrast to his normal doom and gloom filled mind. They sat at the bar, sharing what was new, or not, in their lives but truly just happy to be sharing each other’s company. They had one of those friendships that never seemed to miss a beat no matter how long it had been since they had seen each other. Inevitably the conversation turned to his writing, with Brenda telling everyone in the bar how great he was whether they cared or not. She had always been his biggest fan, though she hadn’t even seen half the things he had written. He was as humble as one can get about that part of his life, where Brenda never missed an opportunity to brag him up to everyone she met.

“So what are you working on now?” She asked genuinely interested.

“I’m desperately trying to write a novel. Sometimes it feels like a doomed venture.”

“Stop that! It’ll be great, so what seems to be the trouble?”

“Life, in a word. Distractions, interruptions and, if I’m being honest, a little procrastination at times.” He took a sip of his beer, “What I’d really love is a few weeks in the middle of nowhere with no distractions, somewhere that the only interruption would be if a bear attacked me out of nowhere. Y’know, somewhere quiet where I can sit and do nothing but write until my damn fingers are ready to fall off then get up and do it all over again the next day. Now that would be absolute fucking paradise!”

Brenda sat there silent a moment, as though in deep thought. She took a long sip from her beer before turning back to him.

“I think I may know a place. When would you wanna do it?” She looked at him with a coy, knowing smirk.

Brian was stunned by her question. It had to be too good to be true. Could she really know some secluded place where he could write to his heart’s content? It didn’t seem possible.

“Are you serious?”

“I think you know me well enough to know I damn well am. So what d’you think?”

“I think that is the most awesome thing I have ever heard! What is this place?”

“I’d have to make a call but I doubt anyone is using it at the moment. A friend of mine, Jim- I don’t know if you’ve met him- has a cabin out in the woods with nothing around it for miles. I’m pretty sure there’s a generator so you’d have electric, but that’s it. It’s been in his family for years but hardly anyone ever goes out there. We went camping there a few years ago. Jim calls it the Black Lodge because being there is like being in a void. If you grew up there you wouldn’t even know other people existed. The road back to it is a couple miles long and there’s absolutely nothing around within a ten mile radius or more.”

“Where is this at?”

“Not far really, though it feels like being on another planet if you’re used to the city. It’s about an hour drive, maybe a little more, I can’t remember exactly but I’d get directions for you. So what d’you think? Should I give him a call?”

“Hell to the Yeah! That sounds damn near perfect especially if there’s a generator, otherwise I’d have to run out to charge up the laptop every day.”

“I’m pretty sure they leave the gennie up there, if I remember right. Ooh I can’t wait! I’m gonna go call him right now! Be right back.” Brenda rushed out the door to make the call away from the bar noise.

Brian ordered another round for both of them and hastily finished his wings while he waited. He couldn’t believe his good fortune. Could he really have access to such a perfect place to get some real work done? It seemed every time he tried to get started on his novel something would come up to stop him. Out there he would be away from all human contact which is exactly what he wanted. He couldn’t think of a more perfect place to write. He started making a checklist of the things he’d need in his head, growing more and more excited at the prospect. He hoped Momma Bear’s friend wouldn’t have any problem with him using the place. His heart sank a little at the thought of being told no but he tried to push the thought out of his mind.

Momma Bear walked back into the bar with her head down making him think the absolute worst. He began to regret getting his hopes up. She walked slowly toward him as if distraught, and his heart sank. Just my luck, he thought.

“I’m sorry.” She said, “You can use it anytime you want!” She snapped her head up with the biggest shit eating grin he had ever seen plastered across her face.

“You, Bitch! You had me going and you fucking know it!”

“Brian.” She gave him a stern motherly look, “Come on, would you expect any less?” She burst out laughing.

“I’d smack ya, but I fucking love you too much right now!”

“Momma Bear takes care of her cubs, you know that!” She smiled at him as happy as any mother could be, “He’s going to e-mail me the directions to the place so I can forward them to you. He only has one stipulation.”

“What’s that?”

“When you make it on the best sellers list you give him a free copy!”

“That I can do, though that’s a pretty lofty expectation. You tell him I’ll give him a free copy as long as it gets published.”

“Of that I have no doubt!” Brenda exclaimed, giving him a big hug and a kiss.

*Day One at Black Lodge*

The bumpy, rutted dirt path leading to the Black Lodge was so overgrown in some places Brian had to exit his beat up jalopy, a 1973 Olds Delta 88, to clear the way. He smiled every time he looked at his rusty old beater. He had never felt the car had been more appropriate than at this very moment, since he had bought it in homage to his favorite cheesy horror movie, The Evil Dead, and its star “Groovy” Bruce Campbell. The irony that he was now traveling to a cabin in the middle of the woods wasn’t lost on him for a second. Hell, maybe he’d find the infamous Necronomicon at the end of his journey, he thought. It was great inspiration for a horror writer as his mind was flooding with ideas already. He was here for one purpose though, to write the best damn novel he could while enjoying the solitude of not a single interruption while doing it.

The drive to the cabin seemed to take forever as his back grew sore from absorbing one rut after another. More than once he thought the car’s rusted body would shake completely free of its rusted frame, but finally he rounded a bend and could see the cabin straight ahead. It didn’t look necessarily ominous like he had expected, in fact, it looked rather pleasant. He could see the wood it was made from appeared weathered, but otherwise it looked solid. He had been told the roof didn’t leak but he figured he wouldn’t know for sure until the first time it rained. From his vantage at the end of the driveway the cabin appeared to be fairly large. There was a wood/tool shed attached to one side, his left, and a covered porch on the other side. To Brian Lee, it looked damn near perfect and enough dissimilar from the cabin in The Evil Dead not to give him the heebie jeebies- which he got in certain places though, as a horror writer, he kept that to himself.

He was excited to get inside and get started on what he hoped would be a masterpiece. He grabbed his backpack and laptop bag from the backseat barely able to keep himself from sprinting to the door in his excitement. He was told there was no lock on the door since way out here it seemed rather unnecessary. The smell of dust forced a slight recoil as he burst through the door but he had brought along some antihistamines to deal with that slight irritation. He set his bags on the floor just inside the door so that he could explore his new home for the next several weeks. He was expecting an eerie shiver to travel up his spine but there was nothing spooky about the place in the slightest. The few pieces of furniture had been covered with sheets to keep them usable, otherwise nothing looked abnormal.

The door opened onto the main living room in front of him and a small table with four chairs to his right, with the small kitchen behind it. The living room held a covered couch, chair and a pair of what he assumed were bookshelves, along the kitchen side wall. He walked through the small galley kitchen ducking into a small hallway off to the left. The first door to his right opened on a small but efficient bathroom, the second door opened on a small bedroom with what looked like a twin bed and then on the left side of the short hall was a door that opened onto the larger or master bedroom which was large enough to hold what looked like a queen-size bed. Again the word “perfect” popped into Brian Lee’s head bringing a huge smile to his face.

It took Brian the rest of the afternoon to remove the sheets off the furniture, start the generator, sweep the bulk of the accumulated dust and dirt from the cabin floor and haul in the remainder of his supplies. The chore of getting the cabin livable for the next month done, he sat down on the leather couch staring at the bookshelves. Quite a variety of reading material had been accumulated on the shelves over the years. He saw plenty of familiar names like Tolkien, Poe, King, Oz, Dickens, and Cussler mixed in with numerous unfamiliar names. He sat imagining what shelves his own name might appear on someday. Would he be recognized among the greats or fade into obscurity only to be “rediscovered” a hundred years or more after his untimely demise? It was a question every author ponders at some point, he assumed, though he knew it wasn’t exclusive to writers. Everyone has the thought somewhere along the line of, “Will I be remembered?” Of course, he hoped to be known and remembered long before his departure off this mortal coil.

The sun sank below the horizon as he sat on the comfy leather sofa staring at the book shelves with delusions of grandeur dancing away in his brain. He was hot, sweaty and tired with no energy to make the bed so he pulled his legs onto the comfortable couch, laid his head on the padded arm and was out like a light a moment later.

It was the middle of the night when he sat bolt upright. A loud indistinguishable noise had jolted him from a very deep sleep. He sat on the sofa a moment trying to collect his thoughts and slow his racing heart. Brian wasn’t one to frighten easily but the first thought that popped in his head was, “BEAR!” His rational mind knew that was highly unlikely but in the dark, rationality went out the window. He listened intently for any noise, while his eyes darted back and forth in search of any movement and his pupils adjusted to the lack of light. There was nothing for what seemed a very long time, then finally he heard the noise again. It was a creaking of wood as though someone was walking across the floor. He didn’t think it was as loud as the noise that had woken him but it was impossible to know for sure. He was frozen with fear as the creaking came again and again.

“Who... who’s there?” No reply returned. “I warn you, I’m armed! Identify yourself!” Still there was no reply.

Emboldened by the lack of response and his own voice, Brian got off the couch to retrieve a lantern he had left on the table. He flicked the switch, bringing it to life, half expecting to find Dracula standing at the back of the kitchen or something equally bad, but there was nothing. He saw no movement, nothing at all but shadows cast by the fluorescent bulb. He walked slowly through the kitchen peering deeply into every corner but there was nothing to be seen. He inspected the bathroom and bedrooms finding more nothing.

“It’s just an old cabin in the woods you freakin’ ninny!” He laughed at himself, “This old place probably creaks and groans all day and night long.” He felt calm washing over him but he spoke loud enough to scare off any critters that may be lurking outside just the same.

He stood by the table a moment making sure there was nothing further to investigate, then shut the lantern off and laid back down on the couch. He didn’t know what time it was but he knew it was too damn late for any more of that nonsense. He was snoring loudly a few minutes later.

* Day Two at Black Lodge *

When Brian’s eyes popped open again, the sun was shining brightly through the curtainless window. He cursed the light, squinting until his pupils adjusted. He sat on the edge of the couch rubbing at his eyes until he felt he could stand without falling over. His calculations were slightly off as he staggered toward the kitchen, nearly falling over as his legs weren’t quite ready to cooperate. He made it to the small kitchen counter that he used to steady himself as he pulled his coffee pot forward. The “Nectar of the Gods” for a writer, he thought. Caffeine and nicotine were all he needed, food may be a necessity but he thought of it as optional. He had actually brought more junk food than true sustenance. He knew how he could get once he got going on a project. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to eat, it was that he didn’t want to take the time to do it.

He sat down in the chair at the head of the table facing the door, making it squawk so loudly he thought it was going to collapse beneath him. It reminded him of his midnight adventure which made him laugh at his own foolishness again. Must have been one fat damn ghost, he thought, making him actually laugh out loud. He was still smiling and shaking his head as he opened his laptop, powering it up while his coffee finished brewing. He reached into his bag, pulling out his necessities, his external keyboard, his rollerball mouse and, of course, his headphones.

He knew he didn’t need to use his headphones way out here where the only things his music would disturb were a few squirrels, but he liked to wear them anyway. It was his way of locking himself into his own mind. When he wasn’t wearing them he found he was more easily distracted by nothing at all and, most importantly, he couldn’t write without his music. Artists had their muses, music was his. His biggest fear was going deaf since without his music he didn’t think he could write a single word, plus a world without music was a world he didn’t want to be a part of anyway. No music meant no muse which in turn meant no life.

The morning was flying by as he was nearly through the first chapter and his first pot of coffee for the day. He paused a moment to light a cigarette, amazed he had already blazed through so much and was only getting started. It amazed him how much he could accomplish when there were no interruptions, nor the chance of any. He had a bad habit of distracting himself with the internet but he had decided to only use it here when absolutely necessary. He needed it for bits of research now and again, but staying offline meant he could have his whole novel completed in less than two weeks at his current pace. He made a mental note to thank Momma Bear and her friend, Jim, for allowing him to come out here. He only hoped now that he would be allowed to do so again.

His fingers were no more than a blur at the keyboard for most of the afternoon as he poured his heart and soul out on the page like he never had before. The words flowed through his mind onto the page as though they were always meant to be there. Brian had never felt so at one with his thoughts. He leaned back with his eyes closed envisioning the scenes in his head while his fingers tapped away, describing all that he saw. Athletes talk about being “in the zone” and he was definitely in one now. When he finally opened his eyes, he found that he was already over ten thousand words, feeling like he could write another ten thousand without batting an eye. He tossed his glasses off to the side of the keyboard, rubbing his eyes while he took in the day’s accomplishment. He had had good days writing before but he couldn’t remember it ever coming this easily to him.

The sun was already starting to dip toward the horizon when he finally decided to take a break to stretch his stiff legs. He walked outside to take in the natural beauty surrounding the cabin, feeling that if he died right now he would die a happy man. He ducked back in the cabin for a moment to retrieve a cigar from his bag so he could enjoy it, while taking in the sunset on his first full day doing exactly what he had come here to do. He sat down in the rickety old rocking chair on the porch, proud for the first time in a very long time. Now he was determined to finish his novel whether his delusions of being a great writer came to fruition or not. In that moment it mattered not one bit whether he ever sold a single copy or if he sold one to every single person on the face of the planet, he was going to have a completed novel and that was all he wanted.

After sunset he returned to his keyboard for a couple more hours before calling it a day. His short break had resulted in his hands stiffening up which tended to happen more and more the older he got. Playing sports in his younger days had done their damage and he paid the price for it almost every single day. Some days he had the grip strength of a five year old barely able to hold onto his morning (afternoon and evening) cup of coffee but he wouldn’t trade the experience for anything. Well football, he thought, he might trade the few years he spent playing football for something else since that is where most of his body’s aches and pains came from these days. No one ever thinks about the consequences of their choices until they come home to roost. What had come home to roost for him was arthritis setting into his hands from the numerous fractures that went untreated because you don’t stop playing football or wrestling for a broken finger unless the bone is showing. He regretted those injuries now but at the time he was too tough to admit how much pain he was in. All he could do now was deal with it just as he had dealt with it all those years ago for little thanks and no glory, since he had played for losing teams the entire time. Such is life, he thought.

By the time his head hit the pillow his mind was exhausted enough that sleep had no trouble finding him. Writing may not be the most physical activity but the mental exhaustion it caused seemed to be the equivalent of sixteen hours hard labor.

He slept the dreamless sleep of a baby, until once again in the middle of the night he was awoken by a loud noise. He ignored it after the previous night’s farce. He laid his head back down on his pillow as one creak after another echoed through the Black Lodge. He was nearly back to sleep again when the creaks began to be accompanied by what sounded like a voice. He tried to ignore it but it wouldn’t go away. He assumed it was nothing more than his overactive imagination but unless he got up to inspect, his mind was going to prevent any more sleep from coming his way. He had set the lantern next to him on the nightstand so he wouldn’t stub his toe or something if he needed to use the bathroom in the middle of the night. He held up the light to make sure he was definitely alone, when he heard a hushed voice again coming from the kitchen or living room.

“Who in the flying fuck is out there?” He yelled, then waited for a reply.

No reply came. The creaks ceased as well as the hushed voice he had heard.

“If someone is out there, you’re about to get an ass full of buckshot!” Silence was the only reply. “Final warning asshole!”

He knew it was an empty threat, but if someone was actually there with him they didn’t know that. He stood up from the bed creeping his way out to the kitchen ducking behind the raised lantern as though it were some sort of shield. Again, like the previous night, he searched, only to find he was as completely and utterly alone, as he knew he was. He smacked himself across the cheek for his foolishness but he still had a creepy feeling crawling up his spine as though he wasn’t alone.

“Pull yourself together, man! You know better than anyone that ghosts aren’t real.” He shook his head laughing at himself but still his spine tingled.

He hopped back into bed trying to shut off his brain that was running wild. The creaks of the old cabin seemed to be gone along with whatever else he had heard. He chalked it up to his wild imagination but he still felt unsettled. After a few minutes of silence, he fell back into a peaceful sleep that carried him through the rest of the night.

––––––––

* DAY THREE AT BLACK Lodge *

Brian’s third, but only the second full day at Black Lodge began much the same as the first, with him stumbling his way to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. He stepped outside for some cool morning air to splash life back into his system and have his morning smoke, naturally. He stood just outside the doorway for a moment, admiring the beauty surrounding him. Summer was just past its peak but the lush green had yet to begin fading to the colorful hues of autumn. It would be several more weeks before any of the leaves began to change. He loved this time of year. It was slightly past the peak heat of summer though a stray smothering hot day wasn’t out of the question. It was still humid as hell, making the air feel like a solid mass but it wasn’t the worst that it could get, though it held pollen in the air in such abundance it felt like trying to breathe a flower whole into his lungs. He had medicine for that so he ignored it as much as possible.

He puffed away at his smoke, trying to put his mind back to the task at hand, as the bittersweet aroma of his brewed coffee began to seep out the open door. He was about to flick away his finished cigarette when he had to jump out of the way as something came barreling past him. He thought he was going to have to change his pants for a second as all he could see was a big brown blur, then it landed on the pile of wood stacked off to the side of the door. It took a moment for his brain to register that he wasn’t about to be eaten by a bear but that an owl had just given him an early morning fly by.

“You scared the living shit out of me, do you know that?” He laughed at the huge bird. “That was your intention, wasn’t it? Make the city boy crap his pants! Well you almost succeeded, Mr. Owl. I hope you’re happy!”

The owl sat on the stack of wood staring through him like he wasn’t even there. He thought good and hard for a moment but he didn’t think owls were harbingers of anything bad. Owls were known for being wise so perhaps the owl was a good omen for a true masterpiece to come out of him.

“I could be wrong, but I’m taking your presence this morning as a good sign, Mr. Owl.” The bird just stared at him with indifference.

Brian flicked away his cigarette butt, opening the door to fetch his first cup of writer’s juice, or coffee as it was more commonly known. He sat down at the table as he had the day before, opening his laptop to check for any messages, then went to work. It was getting started that always seemed to be the hardest part. Once he had a few sentences or sometimes a few paragraphs down on the page, the words usually started to flow pretty well. He had good days and bad days like any writer but, in general, he didn’t have a hard time settling into a groove. Admittedly the owl flyby had gotten his heart racing and his mind wandering off where it shouldn’t be, but at least he didn’t have to actually change his underwear. He tried to get started writing but the owl was occupying all of his mind for the moment.

Unable to get his focus back on his novel, Brian stood up, sipping his coffee as he paced around the table then through the living room and past the shelves of books. He stood staring at the names on that shelf, wanting nothing more than to finally see his name alongside them. Sure there were plenty of terrible writers out there whose names were preserved for prosperity, but to be one of those special ones is what he wanted. If his name could even manage to get mentioned in a conversation with some of his heroes like King or Barker he could die a happy man. He knew those were long odds but if you didn’t work hard it would never happen anyway. He closed his eyes visualizing his own books sitting on the shelf alongside these greats, putting his focus back on his reason for being here in the first place. He let a smile curl up his lips, which was stolen away in an instant when the owl hooted.

“Damn it, bird!” He yelled out.

Brian ran to the door pushing the screen door open so hard he had to raise an arm to keep it from smashing back in his face. The owl still sat atop the wood pile looking as indifferent to his presence as it had before. It blinked its big yellow eyes at him as if to say, “Fuck you, I do what I want.” If apathy could be embodied in a single creature, this owl was it, Brian thought.

“Go away!” He waved his arms at the owl but it didn’t flinch. “Shoo now! Go on!” He yelled while the owl just sat and stared.

Brian locked eyes with the bird in a staring contest for the ages, but yet the owl didn’t flinch. It was as though the bird were staring right through him at something behind him. He ended the staring contest, seeing it was utterly pointless, while he scanned the area for anything to shoo the bird away with. He didn’t wish to get too close to the bird’s lethal beak or claws. It may not be able to kill him but it could sure do a lot of damage. Finally, his eyes set on an old broom, but it was leaning on the opposite side of the wood pile. He’d have to walk past the owl to get it. He steeled his nerves, prepared to duck and run if the owl made a move, but again the bird looked through him like he wasn’t even there. He grabbed the broom, backing up the length of the handle, not actually wanting to hit the bird.

He swung the broom back and forth, “Go on! Shoo now!” He yelled but still the owl just sat on the wood pile indifferent to his presence. Brian moved a little closer tapping the owl lightly with the broom, “Come on you, go away!”

Finally, after changing from light taps to sharp slaps, the owl seemed to acknowledge his presence. The large owl looked him in the eye as if to say, “You’re gonna regret this.” Then it turned its head, stretched its wings and flew off. Something about the bird and the entire encounter was unnerving. Brian was physically shaking as he reentered the cabin.

“What in the holy hell was wrong with that fucking bird?”

His curiosity was piqued though his nerves were shot. He returned to his laptop, no longer concerned with writing but trying to find out what the hell had just happened. It only took a few searches about owls for his heart to sink into his gut. First the cabin acted haunted in the middle of the night every damn night so far, and now this. It was fairly common knowledge that owls represented wisdom, though he had always considered ravens and crows to be the smartest fowl. Now he sat in awe of what he had pulled up on his computer. Aside from being a representation of wisdom, owls were also known as harbingers of doom. It said an owl could be a symbol of impending doom or good fortune, but given his owl’s behavior, it didn’t seem to be bringing a sign of anything good about to happen. Normally he would laugh at this sort of thing, or at others for buying into it, but the owl had truly creeped him out. A chill was running up his spine that he didn’t seem to be able to shake.

The only thing he could think to do was lay back down and try to reset the day. He was shaken enough that he wasn’t going to be able to write for a little while anyway. Sleep came more easily than he had expected. His dreams were filled with visions of owls and darkness. When he woke a few hours later he was every bit as shaken as when he had laid down. He tried to shake the feeling but it wouldn’t go away. He lit a cigarette with his hand shaking so bad it nearly fell out of his hand.

“Christ! Pull yourself together man! It was just a damn bird, nothing more nothing less.”

He didn’t seem to be able to convince himself though. He needed to see that the bird was gone, perhaps then, he thought, he could calm down. He rushed to the front door, pausing to take a deep breath before pushing the door open. He closed his eyes, stepping out onto the covered porch into the late afternoon heat. He took another deep breath, opening his eyes slowly hoping to see nothing but the usual sea of green before him. The blazing sun in a cloudless sky greeted him, along with green as far as his eyes could see. He turned to the wood pile, finding the owl hadn’t returned and he let out a great sigh of relief. There were no owls anywhere to be seen. Finally, he felt a sense of ease as the tension in his muscles subsided. He had to laugh at himself, making him think of his friend, Momma Bear, who had sent him here. “We gotta laugh or we’ll just cry.” She had often told him, the words never seemed more poignant.

Having wasted half the day frightened by a lone fowl, Brian finally sat down to write. The words came slowly at first, then his fingers picked up steam, tapping away at his keyboard like a madman until the sun was gone and he sat alone in the dark, bathed in the glow from the screen in front of him. He didn’t even realize the sun had set until it had been gone for at least an hour. He flicked the lantern to life, deciding he should probably get up and stretch his legs before he couldn’t stand at all. He stretched, feeling every crunch and pop from his knees to his elbows, only realizing now that his eyes felt like they were about to burst out of his head. He hated that feeling. You never realized you hadn’t blinked in five minutes until your eyes started to burn out of their sockets. He rubbed at them until it looked like he was crying, as his tear ducts over compensated, desperately trying to put out the fire.

He was still rubbing his eyes as he exited the door into the cool summer evening air. This time of day he could breathe the fresh air deep into his lungs without choking on the pollen held in suspended animation by the humidity. He looked into the starlit sky, admiring their shining beauty along with the quarter moon gleaming in the clear sky. He often forgot how much he missed being able to see the stars at night. The city was often too bright to see more than dull remnants, but out here away from the city lights he could see billions of twinkling diamonds doting the sky. Sometimes he wished he had learned more constellations than just the big and little Dipper but he was content just to be able to see them at all.

He took a pull on his cigarette, content to be miles from another living soul. He couldn’t remember feeling so at ease since he had been a kid. He remembered walking for hours upon hours in woods just like what surrounded Black Lodge. His mother may have been a nervous wreck but she had never shown it. She never yelled at him on those summer days when he would be gone all afternoon, as long as he made it home in time for dinner. She worried about him, of course, like any good mother, but she never told him he couldn’t. Sure, he might get punished when he got home but that would only mean he’d go further and be gone longer the next day and she knew it. So, she bit her tongue and prayed that he didn’t end up hurt or dead in a ditch somewhere out there in the woods. She trusted he would be alright and he never let her down. He missed those innocent summer days. It had seemed a lifetime ago until he had arrived here, now the memories of those summer adventures were as fresh in his mind as though they had happened yesterday. He had forgotten the carefree days of youth as most adults do.

He finished his cigarette with a smile on his face, the same one he had worn in his boyhood reminiscences. In a flash all the happiness of his youth disappeared, the owl was back. The rush of brown feathers buzzed him just as they had first thing that morning, scaring the crap out of him. Again, the large owl took up residence on top of the wood pile to stare at him.

“You know what, owl?” He paused for a response, “Fuck you!” He shouted while the owl ignored him as before, “Whatever. The porch is all yours, asshole. Do me a favor and be gone by morning, would ya?”

Exasperated, he stormed back into the cabin. He shut down his laptop knowing he wasn’t going to get any more done tonight. Once again, the owl had shaken him to the core and worse now after what he had read about it. He took the lantern with him over to the comfy leather couch, just wanting to relax. He stared at the bookshelf, which had become his favorite pastime in the cabin. He closed his eyes, trying to calm his nerves, visualizing his own books along the shelf. Slowly, calm washed over him. He didn’t care if he was just having delusions of grandeur, they were his delusions to have if he wanted them. He laid his head down on the cushy arm of the couch, flicked off the lantern and drifted off to sleep.

* Day Four at Black Lodge *

Brian jumped out of bed, startled by a knock at the door. The sudden awakening had his heart racing like a dragster’s motor. His shirt was soaked through with sweat, nearly to the point where it could be wrung it out. He was about to lay his head back down on his pillow, when the knocking came again. Why would somebody be knocking on the door in the middle of the night? The damn thing was open after all. He looked down at his pillow, wanting nothing more than to lay back down, but the knock came again.

“I swear if it isn’t someone in need of dire medical attention I’m gonna strangle the mother fucker!” He mumbled to himself as he got to his feet.

He stumbled into the tiny galley kitchen still grumbling under his breath about being woken up in the middle of the night. Murphy’s Law being in full effect, he managed to stub his toe on a chair as he made his way to the door. The knocking persisted every few seconds of the now painful journey.

“Who the fuck is out there? Fair warning I’m armed!” He lied then waited for a reply.

No voice greeted him, just another knock to the dry, rotting wood of the door. He took a deep breath, trying to wake his brain up in case something terrible was standing on the opposite side of the door. The knock came again as he gripped the knob, sending his heart racing once again. Steeling his nerves, he pulled the door open just enough to peek out.

“You better be dying, mother f...” His words trailed off as there was nothing there but the black of night.

He pulled the door slowly open wider, but still there was nothing. With the door wide open, he saw only the black of night.

“What the fuck?” He said to himself more than anything.

He left the door ajar while he retrieved his lantern, flicking it to life. He was too far out for any kids to be messing with him, so who or what the hell had been knocking? His mind was racing for any answer, but found none. He carried the lantern to the door, hoping it truly was nothing, so that he could go back to bed.

He stepped out onto the porch, raising the lantern high out in front of him. At first, he squinted against the light, not seeing anything. Then a few feet in front of him, a pair of yellow eyes appeared, owl eyes. Then he saw another set and another until the entire ground in front of the cabin on past his car parked twenty feet away was awash in big, round yellow eyes. He nearly fell over backwards trying get back inside the cabin. As he moved back, the hundreds of eyes moved forward. His heart pounded so hard he swore it was going to burst through his chest at any moment.

He tried to turn to run back into the cabin, only managing to trip over his own feet. He landed hard on his ass and the owls moved in. They surrounded him, staring with their haunting yellow eyes as though they were staring straight into his soul. He swung the lantern wildly to back them off, but none of the birds so much as flinched. In the matter of a few seconds he was completely surrounded by a circle of owls. He sat there at a loss as to what to do next while the birds seemed content to just stare at him. He wondered if they would try to stop him if he made a break for the door. They didn’t seem intent on hurting him but he didn’t know if he dared to move or not.

While he pondered whether this was how the story of Brian Lee was going to end, one owl stepped forward. He couldn’t be sure, but he could swear it was the owl that had buzzed him twice already. It seemed to be in no hurry, inching its way toward him until it was no more than an inch or two away from him. Slowly it lifted its right wing, surprising him when it seemed to motion him forward. Does this thing really think I’m going to lean down so it can peck my damn eyes out willingly? He thought to himself. Again, the owl motioned him forward and he reluctantly obeyed, ready to withdraw at any sudden move from the creature. He leaned in until his nose practically touched the owl’s sharp beak.

“Choose wisely.” The owl told him.

Brian sat bolt upright in bed his heart racing in his chest like he had just sprinted the length of a marathon. His clothes were soaked in sweat and the owl’s words still echoed in his head. It took him a moment to realize he was sitting on the couch and not in his bed. He rarely remembered his dreams and could count the number of nightmares he had ever had in his forty years on one hand without using all his fingers. Nightmares weren’t exactly in his realm of experience. He didn’t like his mind fucking with him like that. He wrote about people having horrible experiences, now he felt like one of his own characters.

“What in the actual fuck!”

The words had barely escaped his lips when there was a knock at the door. Brian froze as though someone had just pointed a gun to his head. He had to still be dreaming, he thought, how could it be anything else? He pinched his arm to no effect, so he squeezed even harder but still he sat frozen as another knock echoed through the cabin. He slapped himself across the face hard enough to leave a mark, but either he was actually awake or this dream was even more vivid than the last, he couldn’t be certain which it was.

The knock came again, louder this time. Brian leaned down to flick his lantern to life, hoping this was just another dream but suspecting it wasn’t this time. He made his way to the door careful not to stub his toe on a chair, like he had in his dream. He had never experienced déjà vu, but he couldn’t shake the feeling as he gripped the door knob.

“Who’s there?” He asked with a shaky voice.

After a pause, “Fear not. I’m just a weary traveler.”

Brian jumped back at the sound, not expecting any response, just as he had dreamed a moment before. He couldn’t believe this was actually real, but the hair standing up on the back of his neck made it seem very real indeed. He stepped forward turning the knob, opening the creaky old door a crack to peek out at the stranger.

“I mean you no harm, good man.” The man sounded like a friendly old grandfather.

“How do I know that? I have nothing of value to steal, if that’s what you were planning.” Brian responded still stunned by the man’s presence.

“I assure you, I am no thief. I saw your cabin and hoped I might rest my weary bones for a moment. I’m very sorry to have disturbed your slumber, I know it’s very late.”

Brian opened the door wider, hoping to get a better look at his strange visitor. “Oddly enough, my slumber was disturbed before you knocked.” Seeing no threat from the man he added, “Please come in and have a seat. Can I get you some water or I could put on a pot of coffee? ‘Fraid that’s about all I have to offer.”

“A warm cup o’ joe to warm my bones sounds absolutely splendid, if it wouldn’t be too much of a bother.”

“Not at all. Please, please come in.” Brian stepped aside, allowing the stranger to enter.

The old man slowly entered Black Lodge as Brian closed the door behind him. Brian had to hold back a laugh at the sight. The stranger wore a black hooded cloak that looked like it was stolen straight off the Grim Reaper’s back. He walked with the aid of a large walking stick, that appeared to have been fashioned from some stray fallen branch out in the woods, in place of a scythe that would have completed the look. The stranger took a seat at the end of the table closest to the door, while Brian shuffled around him to make them a pot of coffee.

“So how did you end up out here in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night? If you’re lost, I could drive you into town in the morning.” He offered as he pulled the canister of coffee from the cupboard.

“No need for that. I wander about from here to there and sometimes back again. Live off the land, as the old timers would say. I’m never lost.”

“Ahh, I see. Must be nice enjoying that kind of freedom.”

Brian finished preparing the coffee, hitting the “Brew” button, then took a seat at the opposite end of the table from the stranger, where he normally sat to work. He set the lantern between them in the middle of the table, dimming it so as to not blind either of them. He slid his laptop and things off to the side, while the aroma of fresh coffee began to fill the air.

“May I ask your name, new friend? I’m Brian Lee, by the way.”

“Roun’ here, most call me Uncle Hendrik. It’s their way of being polite and not referring to me as ‘Old Man’ I think. No matter, the name stuck some time back, so it’ll do just fine.”

“Uncle Hendrik it is then.” Brian half stood to shake the man’s hand, “Wow! You’re as cold as death. How long you been out there?”

“All my life. My mother always said I had all the warmth of a corpse.”

“Well perhaps a cup of writer’s juice will warm you up a bit.” Brian smiled at Uncle Hendrik, unable to see more than the lantern’s reflection in the man’s eyes with his hood still up.

“On the inside at least.” Uncle Hendrik replied.

As if on cue, the coffee finished brewing. Brian pulled two mugs from the cupboard, thankful he had brought an extra one. He hadn’t expected company, but he had dropped more than one mug in his life and thought it best to have a spare just in case. He filled the mugs, then set one down for his guest.

Before sitting he asked, “Cream? I’m afraid I don’t have any sugar.”

“Black is fine.”

“A man after my own heart! I do have to put a little cream in my first cup, usually so it doesn’t tear my stomach up.”

Brian sat down, enjoying the smell of fresh coffee filling his nostrils. Finally, Uncle Hendrik pulled back the large black hood that had been hiding his face. His face was gaunt with a day or two’s worth of white stubble, making him look as prickly as a cactus. His head had an equal growth of short stubble where he obviously regularly shaved what remained of his hair. He looked to be in maybe his mid-sixties, with a weathered look like anyone who spent a large amount of their days out in the weather or at sea. He may have looked like a frail old man, but Brian was sure he was tough as nails if he spent his days out in nature as he said. The man was really quite average looking until he looked up from his mug. Brian was taken aback by the man’s black eyes. Uncle Hendrik now looked to him like something out of a horror movie or one of his stories. Perhaps those eyes were the reason Uncle Hendrik chose to live alone in the woods. They were most unsettling to even someone as liberal minded as him.

“So you’re a writer then? What sort of things do you write?” Uncle Hendrik asked.

“Horror is my passion, Uncle Hendrik.” He told him enthusiastically, “I know it’s not everyone’s cup o’ tea, but it’s what I live and breathe.”

“Like that King feller I’ve heard about?”

“Sort of. I can only dream of being that successful someday though.”

“Only dream? Why? You’re every bit as good, I suspect.”

“Nice of you to say, but luck has as much to do with it as talent, I’m afraid. Lots of writers out there sucking all the air out of the room, if you know what I mean. It can be difficult to get yourself noticed, to say the least. All I can do is put my work out there and hopefully an audience will find me.” He hung his head knowing that in all likelihood he’d struggle until the day he died, mostly going unnoticed.

“Chin up, friend, you’ll be a hit, I can see it in your eyes.”

“Too kind, but I do appreciate it. That’s why I’m out here in the middle of nowhere. A friend of a friend agreed to let me use this cabin for some peace and quiet. They call it Black Lodge. I’ll tell you a secret, if you’re gonna be hanging around these parts, I’m told it’s unoccupied the majority of the time and the door is never locked. Just sayin’, you could stay in it whenever you wanted.” He winked at Uncle Hendrik, “I won’t say anything.”

“Thanks, but I’m just passin’ through on my way back home.”

“Oh? Where’s home?”

“Deep down south. Winter will be rearing its ugly head soon and I can’t say I’ve ever enjoyed its company much. I like the heat.”

“You’ll get no argument from me. I like snow and cold about as much as a bear likes an ass full of buckshot.” He laughed.

“So, what are you working on way out here away from humanity?”

“My first novel. I’ve had some short stories published, but it’s time for me to, at least, try moving up into the big leagues.”

“Then surely it was fate that brought me to your door in the black of night.” Uncle Hendrik stated like it was a fact.

“I’m not much of a believer in fate. People like to say everything happens for a reason but if my shitty life has taught me anything, it’s that sometimes shit happens and there ain’t fuck all you can do about it. If there is any reason at all for it, it’s because God exists and he hates us. You can sit and cry when bad things happen or you can lift a giant middle finger to the heavens letting God know just what you think of his ass! Sorry for the rant. I sincerely hope I didn’t offend you, it’s just the way I feel about it.”

“No, you haven’t offended me, but I do think you are wrong. I mean you no offensive, of course. Fate is as fickle as a woman, but she exists nonetheless. Let me ask you this, since you don’t seem to be a God fearing man, do you believe men have a soul?” Uncle Hendrik rubbed his chin, patiently awaiting an answer.

Brian didn’t hesitate, “In the biblical sense, no. I had a science teacher in junior high who put it this way, and I’ve pondered it long enough to believe it to be true. Our bodies are full of energy. When we die, that energy has to go somewhere. Now bible thumpers and even those who only loosely consider themselves believers, will tell you that if you were a good person- your soul- that energy, goes to heaven, and if you’re bad it goes to the fiery pits of hell. Personally, I don’t believe it matters. You see, once we die, consciousness dies along with our bodies. That energy leaves our bodies and it doesn’t really matter where you think it goes, because you won’t know anyway. Our bodies rot and decay, living on for eternity as part of the Earth, and the energy we held dissipates out into the ether. There is no good or evil in it to go to heaven nor hell. Call me a whacko hippy, but essentially we become one with the universe, both in body and spirit.”

“So you don’t believe in God?”

“Again, in the biblical, religious sense, absolutely not. Forgive me, but I usually avoid conversations like this since most people get offended just because I don’t believe what they do.”

“I take no offense, new friend. Please continue, I’m interested in what you think.” Uncle Hendrik continued to rub his chin, seeming genuinely interested.

“Well, to avoid offending most people, it’s usually just easier for me to say I’m an atheist who doesn’t believe God exists. In truth, I really don’t believe but my thoughts are more complicated than that. I absolutely do not believe in the religious view of God as some little old man in the sky judging every little damn thing we do. I mean, to me, that notion is just silly. However, if I’m put on the spot about whether I believe there is a god or not, I would have to say I do believe but I don’t think ‘god’ is what I would call it. I believe there is a higher consciousness to the universe, call it god or call it dog, who cares? If I magnified an image of the teeniest, tiniest atom and set it next to a picture of the entire universe, you wouldn’t be able to tell me which was which. There is a mathematical order to the universe that is undeniable. The believer will tell you God made it that way. I say the order itself is that God. It’s difficult for most to fathom such an abstract concept, even I can’t at times, but that is what I believe. There is no God, there is no Satan, there is no heaven and there is no hell. Those are constructs of the human brain, to put the abstract in tangible terms. Am I making any sense at all?” Brian felt a strange relief at letting his deepest thoughts out.

“I think you make a lot of sense. What about alternate planes of existence? Do you believe this universe is the one and only?” Uncle Hendrik continued to rub his chin, staring at his host with his pitch black eyes.

“I think other planes of existence are definitely a possibility. I don’t think their existence has yet been proven, but they haven’t been disproven either.”

“That being the case, couldn’t heaven or, vice versa, hell, merely be another plane of existence? It would seem to a simple man such as myself, that the possibility of the soul, or energy as you put it, might well be able to cross through to those other planes of existence. In that way, couldn’t heaven or hell truly exist?”

“I have no problem admitting that that is a distinct possibility. I believe it isn’t very probable but it is certainly possible.” He really hated admitting something like that, but he accepted the possibility.

“Good. Then we are in agreement. What would you say your goals are for your life in general? If you don’t mind humoring an old man.”

Brian gave a quizzical look, but answered without hesitation, “The humble thing to say which is also accurate, is that I’d be happy just to get my novel published. Long term, the goal would be to make enough to have a decent life.”

“Is that really all? What do you really want?” Uncle Hendrik continued, stroking his chin now, reminding Brian of a movie or comic book villain trying to hatch his next plot.

“Well... if we’re talking crazy, I’d love to surpass King as the undisputed Master of Horror. I don’t want to just be mentioned in the same conversation but I want people to argue that I’m better. I want my books to sit alongside the likes of King, Barker or Lovecraft and not be considered out of place or a joke. In a word, I’d say my goal is to not just be good, but great.” He hung his head, embarrassed for saying such blasphemy aloud.

“Don’t you dare hang your head! That should be the goal of anyone who does anything. Don’t just do something, do it better than anyone ever has! I admire that kind of ambition. I told you it was fate that brought me to your door and now I know for certain!” Uncle Hendrik’s black eyes almost appeared to glow as he made his declaration.

Subconsciously Brian shrank back slightly, “I don’t think I follow.”

Uncle Hendrik leaned back from the table, reaching inside his huge black cloak. A moment later his hand reappeared holding something small. He stood up slowly, leaning forward to the middle of the table. His presence seemed to fill the room, reminding Brian of the scene in the first Lord of the Rings movie when Gandalf demands Bilbo Baggins give him the One Ring. He knew it was just his imagination but a shiver went up his spine all the same. Uncle Hendrik stared at him with his alien black eyes a moment, then set a small figurine down beside the lantern before sitting back down.

“What’s that?”

“Go ahead, take a look.” Uncle Hendrik responded.

Brian leaned forward, grabbing the figurine his stranger visitor had placed on the table. At first glance, he thought it was carved from some dark wood but the weight and hardness told him it was some kind of stone. It was polished so smooth, it felt like glass in his hand. Holding it up to get a closer look at the figurine, it appeared blacker than anything he had ever seen. The figure itself seemed to be some sort of grotesque gargoyle or lizard, he couldn’t tell which. He was fascinated and repulsed by the figure in equal measure.

“What on Earth is this thing?”

“That is a depiction of Teyollo, made from perhaps the rarest piece of obsidian in existence.”

“This may be the coolest thing I’ve ever seen. How old is it?”

“Older than you could possibly fathom.”

“Why show this to me?”

“You have shown me that you are an ambitious man, Mr. Lee. I wish to test your ambition.”

Brian set the figure back on the table, “Test me? Perhaps it’s time for you to leave friend. I have shown you hospitality but I do not wish to play games with a stranger in the middle of the night.”

Suddenly his nightmare popped back into his mind. He had read that the owl could be a harbinger of doom and now the owl’s words echoed in his mind. “Choose wisely” it had said. Had he already chosen, by allowing the stranger inside? Was there still time to choose wisely?

“I’ll leave in due time. At the present you have a choice to make.”

“I choose for you to leave, Uncle Hendrik, and leave now!”

“I’m afraid it’s already too late, now that you have touched my idol. Now you have a choice to make. I’m afraid there’s no getting away from that now.”

“Listen, I let you rest your bones. I was nice enough to share my coffee so you can warm yourself.” Brian stood to stress his patience was at an end, “Now I must insist that you leave and take your little toy with you.”

“You do have spirit.” Uncle Hendrik smiled at him, “I knew I chose you wisely. Now in spite of your insistence, I must ask you to sit your bony mortal ass down and pay attention.” He continued to smile as though no unpleasantness were taking place.

“Just who in the fuck do you think you are? I’m not asking you again, get your ancient ass up and get the fuck out!” He couldn’t remember the last time he had lost his temper, but he was about to unleash hell on his guest, old man or not.

Uncle Hendrik’s eyes glowed a fiery red, “I’m not one you can threaten. Now sit down! We have business to attend.” His voice boomed through the cabin like a roar from an angry grizzly.

The fire burning in Brian’s belly was completely doused as he slumped back in his chair as though he had just taken a punch in the mouth from Mike Tyson. There was a power in his visitor that he knew instantly he could not defeat. The owl’s words filled his mind as if the bird were right there whispering in his ear.

“That’s better. Now I must inform you, Mr. Lee, that no matter your choice, your life after tonight will never be the same. However, you get to choose your own destiny. Do you know how rare a thing that is? I’m about to give you an opportunity that men would kill for.”

“Just get the fuck on with it, old man!”

“Very well. I see patience is a virtue that you don’t possess, but I’m not really big on virtue or I wouldn’t be here. You told me your biggest, wildest dream was to be the greatest horror writer to ever grace the Earth, correct?” Brian nodded, “Good, that is the option you face. Right here, right now, in this little cabin in the middle of the woods you can choose to have that dream fulfilled. Any other man would have to work hard and pray, but you, Brian Lee, can decide whether to fulfill your biggest ambition.” Uncle Hendrik’s smile had turned wicked, as though he were a demon salesman.

“And if I choose to get there with my own blood, sweat and tears?”

“You’ll never achieve it. Ever.” Uncle Hendrik leaned forward, spreading his demon smile wide, “You have two choices. You can choose to be the greatest of all time or you can choose to have a happy life but never publish a single word ever again. The choice should be an easy one.”

“So, what’s the catch? I write the greatest book in the history of humankind and then have an ‘accident’ and never get to enjoy the fruits of my labor? Or maybe I turn into a hideous ogre or something?” Brian knew there’d be a catch but he had to admit he was tempted.

“Everything we do has consequences, I won’t lie to you. I can tell you that you will live to a ripe old age unless you choose otherwise and you won’t turn into a physical nightmare. Brian, you stand now on the precipice of infinite possibility, if only you have the courage to take advantage of the gift I am offering you. Think of all the worlds you’ll create, how many people you’ll fascinate or the throngs who will sing your praises centuries after your energy has returned to the universe, as you say. You will have every single thing you could possibly want. Fame, fortune... women, anything at all your heart desires and you’ll get to do what you love most in the entire world, write. Your other option is a bleak, hollow existence. My guess is that existence will kill you within a year if not sooner. I think you’ve already made your choice. I see it in your eyes. I saw it the moment you opened the door. Brian Lee, master of horror, greatest writer in history!” The demon salesman had transformed into a demonic carnival barker.

Brian sat silent pondering the opportunity being presented to him. “Choose wisely.” The owl had said but what was wise? Greatness or fade into obscurity and death. How dire could the consequences be? He tried to rationalize the choice he knew he was going to make anyway. It wasn’t as though if he chose greatness that his mother was going to suffer a horrible death. You don’t know that, his logical brain screamed but he quickly muted it. He’s offering you all you ever imagined. You’ll be greater than King, greater than all of them. The mere mention of your name will make children pull the covers over their heads. Grown men will cower before you as if Satan himself was in their midst and women will swoon. I’ll be a god amongst men! There was no point in hesitating, his choice was made before Uncle Hendrik had finished his pitch.

“What do I have to do?”

Uncle Hendrik’s smile widened, “Give me your hand.”

* One Year Later *

Tears streamed down his face as he plunged the knife deep into the woman’s chest. Blood and sweat dripped from his brow while he watched the woman expel her last breath. He looked around nervously but no one was coming. No police sirens wailed outside. He was alone with his victim aside from the scurrying feet of the rodents who were the prime residents here. It hadn’t been difficult to lure the young prostitute to the abandoned building, all he had to do was flash the wad of cash in his pocket. After that, she would have followed him pretty much anywhere. Now he was coated in her sweet crimson, paying the toll for the very same wad of cash he had used to coerce her to come here with him.

His first novel was still the number one book in the world and his second novel, released that morning would be quick to join it. His life for the past year had been one surreal moment after another. A month after the release of his debut novel, Stephen King had actually gotten down on his knees to praise him as the new Master of Horror, live on a late night talk show. A week later, he met the most beautiful, kind hearted, gentle souled woman in the world. Marie Dawn had just accepted his marriage proposal the night before. His life couldn’t be any better. When he did a book signing people camped out the night before, the lines were so long, he had been banned from doing signings at most bookstores. They just couldn’t handle his hungry hordes of fans. He was already growing tired of the non-stop attention, not even being able to walk down the street without getting mobbed by avid fans.

All of Brian Lee’s good fortune had come with a price, though. Once he had made his deal with Uncle Hendrik it didn’t take long for him to learn the consequences of his choice. For every good fortune that befell him, he owed a blood debt. The cost of fame and fortune was splattered across his face almost nightly now.

It had started slowly. He hadn’t even been conscious of it at first, until the nightmares started. It was months before he realized he wasn’t dreaming. After Uncle Hendrik had left Black Lodge that night, he had finished his debut novel in two days. His fingers hammered the keys as though they had a mind of their own. A major publisher agreed to put the book out for him within a week and one month later the whirlwind had begun. By the time his book hit store shelves he had sacrificed half a dozen lives to his good fortune. It took another half dozen for him to realize he wasn’t having nightmares but that the consequences of his choice had come home to roost. He considered suicide but he was compelled to keep writing. How could he rob the world of his greatness? So, he had continued basking in adoration while the body count of his blood debt rose.

It didn’t take him long to rationalize the murders. So a few poor souls that no one would miss had to be sacrificed, he thought. No one missed whores and homeless anyway. With every good fortune and the subsequent sacrifice for it, his heart grew a little colder. At first he had been horrified just by the “nightmares” of what he had done, but now that he was a year in, he was beginning to enjoy it. The simple slashing of a throat was no longer good enough. A few months previous, he had begun mutilating his sacrifices. He began hacking them with his knife until they were barely recognizable as human, but he had grown bored with that quickly, too. Now he took his time disemboweling his sacrifices, doing his best to mess with the heads of the police who would eventually find them. Sometimes he created “angels” by opening up the bodies from the back, draping their lungs across their pulled open rib cages. The Vikings called it a blood eagle but he liked to think of it as creating angels. Lately he had been using his sacrifice’s bowels in homage to the wise old owl that had tried to warn him, using them to spell out the words, “Choose Wisely.”

No remorse entered his mind as he pulled out the whore’s intestines to leave his message. He thought of Uncle Hendrik as he arranged the fleshy pieces. Was the man with the black eyes Satan? For some reason he didn’t believe so, but who was he, the Grim Reaper perhaps? Before meeting Uncle Hendrik, he didn’t believe such beings existed. He had explained to him that night that he didn’t believe heaven or hell existed, but now he was fairly certain they very much did. With that realization came the notion that he was going to burn an eternity for what he was doing at this very moment, but he didn’t care. God should thank him for ridding the world of sinners and Satan should praise him for sending so many souls his way. Who was Uncle Hendrik? Brian Lee decided it didn’t really matter. He was already considered the greatest living writer on the planet and soon he’d be considered the greatest ever. So he’d suffer in hell someday, that day wasn’t today. If Uncle Hendrik was really Satan in disguise then so be it, the deal was already worth it.

* Present Day – Black Lodge *

Her hand gently rubbed the back of his head before she leaned in to kiss him softly on the lips. He brushed her dark hair back out of her eyes, reaching up to caress her cheek as their tongues began a gentle dance. Apart from sex, he couldn’t think of anything he enjoyed more. He let his hand slide down to the softness of her hip. He leaned back so she could sit down on his lap as they continued their kiss. His heart literally skipped a beat as she caressed the back of his head, while gently biting his lip. Her smile melted away any burdens weighing on his mind. He had playfully called her the doctor of love because her initials were MD. Marie Dawn was the love of his life. She had the ability to calm him regardless of whatever weighed on his mind at any given moment.

He picked her up, carrying her into their bedroom, while they continued to gently kiss, filling with lust as their bed drew closer. He set her gently on the edge of the bed, taking his time slowly removing her clothes, tossing them aside until she sat before him in nothing but her black silk bra and panties. He kissed her lips gently, reaching behind her, freeing her breasts from their silky constraints. He pushed her gently back on the bed as he tossed her bra off to the side. He kissed his way from her lips to the soft lobe of her ear, sucking on it gently before working his way down her neck. He kissed his way slowly down her body, gently sucking each nipple hard as he worked his way down. He kissed his way down the softness of her belly, making his way agonizingly slow to the heat emanating from between her legs. He bit the edge of her black silk panties, pulling them off with his teeth. Her sweet musk filled his nostrils as the first moan escaped her lips.

How could he? The pleasant memory of his sweet Marie Dawn, the doctor of love, disappeared in a flood of crimson. As the years had passed, the toll of his sacrifices grew. The sacrifice of indigents to fulfill his blood debt had been sufficient at the beginning, but soon faded. The idol demanded substantive sacrifices. He resisted as long as he could, knowing what the idol demanded but unable to accept it. Every passing good fortune had exacted a steeper and steeper toll. When she told him she was pregnant, the toll had been his own parents. Nine months he waited, praying that she would have a miscarriage until the day finally came for her to give birth. He prayed for a still birth, though he wanted a child more than anything. He knew what the toll for such joy was going to be making him dread every second of the birth. His daughter’s name had been whispered to him in a dream by the same owl whose advice he had ignored. Offra Lee was born on a bright sunny morning in June, as Marie Dawn wept tears of joy and Brian Lee wept tears of dread.

He had resisted as long as he could but the idol demanded his good fortune be paid for in blood. The police found Marie Dawn’s body a week later, another victim of the serial killer the papers had dubbed The Sage. The same as dozens of other victims, the phrase “Choose Wisely” had been spelled out with her insides. This time, rather than using the intestines, The Sage had used the woman’s uterus and ovaries to spell out the words. Brian Lee didn’t have to feign grief as the soft spoken policewoman delivered the grim news.

After that he tried avoiding any and all, good or bad fortune. He stayed locked away in his mansion in the Hollywood hills with his daughter, as much as humanly possible. Three movies had been made from his work with several more on the way. Each one had been a blockbuster, while his novels stayed atop the best seller charts week after week, without fail. He had more money in the bank than he could spend in five lifetimes. He didn’t want to write any more in fear of the good fortune that would come his way, but his fingers refused to listen. In under five years he had churned out fifteen best-selling novels, each one receiving critical and fan praise. Everyone seemed to devour his novels as avidly as they were devouring his soul. Offra was the only light in the darkness that was his life, but every time she smiled, Marie Dawn’s face filled his mind, making him weep like a baby. She had become his joy and curse in equal measure.

Two days ago he had dreamed of the owl again. It was the same as the dream that had preceded Uncle Hendrik’s arrival at the cabin. He was awoken in the middle of the night by a knocking at the door. He walked out, shining a light over a field of yellow eyes, tripped, fell and was surrounded. The head owl walked up to him, motioning for him to lean close before it finally spoke. He had expected to hear, “Choose wisely,” escape the black and yellow beak but this was not a repeat of his dream from five years earlier.

The owl stared at him with its hypnotizing yellow eyes before it said, “Return to Black Lodge. Bring the child.”

One look to the calendar told him that it wasn’t just any dream. He didn’t even bother packing a bag for either himself or his daughter. She was still sleeping when they left, and now here they were at Black Lodge. He had given his precious Offra half a sleeping pill as he pulled the rented Jeep off the main road down the cow path that was the driveway to Black Lodge. He didn’t know what Uncle Hendrik wanted or why he wanted Offra there, but he didn’t imagine that it was a good sign. He sat at the table where he had been seated those five long years ago with his head in his hands and a glass of scotch in front of him. He saw the faces of every one of his sacrifices, but none had drained more of his soul than his beautiful Marie Dawn. Even as he had sacrificed his parents, he hadn’t truly regretted his choice made here at this table but when his choice claimed the only woman he had ever loved, his soul had truly died. The only tiny remnant of it was lying in front of the fireplace. He sent a prayer up to a god he now believed actually existed that she would be spared the same fate as her mother. As if on cue, a knock echoed through the cabin.

“Come in, Uncle Hendrik.” He said loud enough for his nemesis to hear.

Another knock came as the only response.

“For fuck’s sake, you can’t even open the damn door!” Brian yelled in frustration as he got up to open the door.

“I must be invited.” The old man pulled back his hood as Brian opened the door.

“Come in and let’s get this over with.”

“Thank you, friend.” Uncle Hendrik gloated.

“We ain’t fucking friends.” Brian said, slamming the door behind his guest.

Uncle Hendrik took the seat closest to the door as Brian returned to his seat at the opposite end of the table. Brian downed the rest of his scotch then filled it again, not offering any to his guest.

“Tsk tsk. I remember you having better manners.”

“Fuck yourself. You want something, you should have brought it. Now kindly tell me why you dragged me back out here, you son of a bitch!”

Uncle Hendrik looked kindly over at the limp little body lying in front of the fire, “They’re just so precious, aren’t they? Their whole lives in front of them. So many choices to make along the way.” He turned back to Brian smiling, “You know about choices, don’t you, Mr. Lee?”

“She’s not touching that fucking thing! Even think about it and I’ll...”

Uncle Hendrik cut him off, “You’ll what? I own you, Mr. Lee. You made your choice exactly five years ago today. You sat right there in that same exact chair and you made your choice. Your threats are as empty as your soul, so spare me.”

Uncle Hendrik reached into his cloak pulling out the idol of Teyollo. He set it down in the middle of the table as he had before. When he removed his hand this time Brian’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull. The small figurine carved in obsidian was no longer pitch black but instead glowed a deep red, a shade he knew well.

“Why? The color?” Brian stuttered.

“I think you know why. You’ve been a most busy little bee, Mr. Lee. It takes most men the entirety of their lives to give their souls to Teyollo, but you’ve nearly completed the task in just five years. Most impressive, Mr. Lee.” Uncle Hendrik stared at him, rubbing his chin with satisfaction.

“So, what now? Why are we here?”

Uncle Hendrik smiled, looking slowly to Offra then back again, “It seems you have another choice to make.”

“I’ve given you everything! You’re not going to take her too! I’m done playing your damn games. I’ve fulfilled my end of the deal and then some!”

“Almost, Mr. Lee, almost. Look closely at Teyollo. He’s not quite full, almost, but not quite.”

“I won’t do it. She’s just an innocent little girl, I can’t. Anyone else, not her!” He yelled, his eyes wide in horror.

“You have a choice to make again, Mr. Lee. Sacrifice your precious daughter, thereby paying your debt in full or she can take your place and will have the most wonderful life any human has ever had. Her every wish will be granted, every dream she ever has will be fulfilled. Isn’t that what you would want for her?”

“Condemn her soul to burn in hell for all eternity in the process, right? She’ll have consequences to pay, a blood debt to fulfill, right?”

“All choices have consequences Mr. Lee. You know that better than probably anyone else, but now you have another choice to make. Which will it be, Mr. Lee?” Uncle Hendrik smiled, enjoying the torment he was causing.

“Who in the fuck are you? For a long time, I thought you were Satan himself, but you’re not, are you? Who are you?” He felt he needed the answer before making the only choice he could.

“The Master doesn’t venture up to this plane. I have been given many names but I am nothing but a humble servant, really. I work in supply and demand, Mr. Lee. The Master demands souls and I make sure he is supplied. Now it’s time for you to make your choice.”

“What happens to my soul if I choose to trade fates?”

“Choose to let your daughter take your place and your soul will be judged like any other soul when it is released from your body. The odds of ascension aren’t good I’m afraid, you have been a rather naughty boy Mr. Lee. However, there is the possibility, albeit slight, that your soul won’t be condemned to the Master. Personally, I wouldn’t bet on it but the possibility exists. Make the sacrifice, though, and your blood debt will be considered paid in full. You will be free to spend the remainder of your days basking in the glory of your achievements.”

The two men sat staring at each other, both knowing which choice was about to be made.

Uncle Hendrik broke the deadlock first, “This would be the last, Mr. Lee, then you can go back to the world, back to the praises of the masses, just as you desired when we first met.”

* Twelve Hours Later – Hollywood, CA *

“Where is she, Mr. Lee?” The detective asked him for the hundredth time.

Brian Lee sat silent in the interrogation room, refusing to say anything. He hadn’t called for his attorney, nor did he want one. He felt absolutely dead inside now that his debt had been paid in full.

“Why? ‘Choose Wisely’? Why those words? We’ve got your DNA, asshole. One hundred and fifty-seven lives, Mr. Lee, including your own wife! You’re lucky California no longer has the death penalty or I’d throw the switch to watch you fry myself! Why did you do it? Why, Mr. Lee?” The detective looked like he wanted to strangle Brian Lee with his bare hands, “You will answer me, Mr. Lee!”

Brian Lee sat in silence. There was nothing they could do to him. He had already sold his soul for five years of fame and fortune. He had slaughtered his parents, dismembered his lovely wife and finally slit his own three-year-old daughter’s throat. He had lost count of how many others he had sacrificed along the way, but he knew the detective’s count of one hundred fifty-seven was low by several dozen at least. He had forgotten how many he had killed before he started playing with the bodies, and how many more had never been found, as his daughter’s wouldn’t be. She was at peace with her mother now and that’s all that mattered to him. It hurt but he couldn’t bring himself to condemn her soul to hell for what he had chosen.

“Why, Mr. Lee? Your own wife?” The detective tossed their wedding photo down on the table in front of him, “How could you do it? My wife reads your stupid fucking books but now I get to tell her all those horrible things are nothing compared to what the monster that wrote them has done. You disgust me, Mr. Lee. You had it all, money, fame, so why? Why murder all those people? Why those words? What does ‘choose wisely’ mean? Answer me, damn it!” The detective’s face was beat red from his ranting.

Brian Lee sat stoic, not so much as acknowledging the detective’s presence. They could beat him. They could jail him. None of it mattered in the slightest to him. He was the greatest writer in history, no matter what they may call him or do to him now. They couldn’t take that away from him. He was going to burn for all eternity for it, but so long as there were people on Earth he would be remembered as the greatest writer of all time. For the last five years he had regretted his choice, but now he thought of the alternative. If he had chosen the other path he would have never met Marie Dawn, never had his precious Offra, never been known to millions and never been called the greatest writer of all-time.

Brian Lee looked up at the detective smiling, “I chose wisely.” It was the last time he ever spoke.

Feind Gottes [Fee-nd Gotz] is the horror writing, metal loving founder of the website Thy Demons Be Scribblin. Feind began writing in 2012 merely to see if he could, soon falling in love with creating so one story became two and so on. Feind has posted several short stories, poems and flash fiction on his website for free. Feind won the Dark Chapter Press 2016 novel writing contest with the first draft of his first novel which is unpublished at this time. Feind is also excited to have recently placed in the Top Ten in The Next Great Horror Writer Contest.

Published Works of Feind Gottes

1. Hell Awaits (short story) published in Kill For A Copy from Dark Chapter Press
2. Tamed Brute (flash fiction) published in Flashes of Darkness: Halloween Special 2015 from Dark Chapter Press
3. The Bones of Baby Dolls (short story) published in KIDS: Volume I from Dark Chapter Press
4. Known But Not Named (flash fiction) – Winner of DCP’s December 2015 DreAdvent flash fiction contest, Read Here
5. Harvester of Sorrow (novelette) – Top 25 (out of thousands of entries) in the 2016 writing contest at Freeditorial Available FREE - Here
6. Coven of Ignorance (short story) – Published in Demons, Devils & Denizens of Hell Volume 1 by Hellbound Books Publishing

Feind on the Web

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WebsiteThyDemonsBeScribblin.com