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For nights, he has been unable to fall into the arms of sleep. Every night, at two am, he would find himself jerking awake, heart racing, sweat pouring, never sure what the hell it was that chased him in his dreams. Doug wished he knew the source of this inexplicable fear, for if he did, at least he could tackle it, get to the root of everything and get rid of it once and for all. But he could find no great fault in his life, nothing that could render him this irrational, to be this compulsively afraid of the invisible force in his dreams. There was no point attempting to get back to sleep. He would turn and toss; eventually about to fall into the abyss of sleep, only to have the cold fingers of enormous fear sneak out and grip him again. For two weeks, he had been entangled in this pattern of non-sleep. He padded lethargically to the bathroom, attempting to wash the lingering fear away by splashing ice-cold water on his face. When he glanced into the mirror above the gleaming sink, he didn't even recognize himself. Instead he saw a gaunt face that was increasingly sunken in, terribly bloodshot eyes that seemed determined to bury themselves deeper and deeper into the sockets. Jet-black stubble overshadowed his skin and greasy forelocks tumbled over his forehead. He was disgusted with what he saw but didn't seem able to do anything about his appearance. No wonder his fiancée threatened to leave him alone if he didn't start cleaning up his act. It was not just the abnormally sloppy outlook. He had been outrageously inattentive, listless and blank whenever Beth came visiting. She thought he was making no effort whatsoever for her. On top of everything, he was about to lose his well-paid job. His company was not exactly thrilled about his continued absence without even a feeble excuse. Uncountable messages blinking on his answer machine had been ignored by him for the past week. There was no way he could explain his night chills to either her or them. He dragged himself to the kitchen downstairs and made a steaming cup of cocoa. Then he pulled a chair over to the large window and sat, leaning his elbows on the wide window ledge. He thought he would stare at the stairs and again try to examine the cause of his nightmares. Instead, he found himself gazing intently over the barren landscape where nothing but a few shrubs grew. He was surprised to find that despite the heavy darkness, he could see every crack and pebble on the draught-dried land as clearly as if it was in daylight. He thought he was being hypersensitive but there seemed to be a slight, barely perceptible tremor which vibrated everything around. It was so slight, more like paranoia, but the immediate shudder that ran through him was as solid as the chair under him. Before he could reduce it to a mere figment of his imagination, induced by the extended period of insomnia and deep-boned exhaustion, the previous tremor coursed through the dark land again, this time more obvious, nothing anyone could dismiss as an imagined sensation. He jerked off the chair, petrified that something monstrous would burst forth from the land. In spite of not witnessing any monstrosity, he dashed through the two-story ranch house preparing himself an arsenal, consisting of a shotgun and two boxes of ammunition always kept locked in the cupboard; two butcher knives occasionally used for slaughtering the wild boars he hunted down; an axe normally stored in the basement and the antique sword he acquired on an Europe expedition. All these, he carefully assembled on the kitchen window right beside the window, except for the shotgun he then fully loaded and gripped tensely in his two hands. He did not know what he was guarding himself against but had an odd feeling even all this weaponry would not help preserve his life. Doug had never been a cowardly man, having braved through the Vietnam War in which less than half of the soldiers had survived. Him, together with his squadron, lived through the most hideous deaths possible of others, had endured frightening sounds reverberating through the forests, whilst all the time superstitious tales resounded in his feverish mind. He'd had his fair share of paranormal encounters in those much-revered forests. So why did this little tremor strike this never-felt-before chord of fear in him? He stopped struggling to understand his current predicament. Determinedly, he posted himself at the window and took position as sentry again, only this time; the guarded territory in question was his own home. Without waiting long, the tremor began once again, now definitely threatening. The house itself shook, glasses clinked, curtains shuddered, and the hanging lamp flickered. Though cold all over with fear, Doug stood fast. A large segment of the land two hundred metres away rose quickly, like a woman becoming pregnant in minutes. It rose to a height twice of Doug's, and the growth stopped, but the huge bulge was pulsating quickly, violently, like that of an excited human heart. But Doug could see nothing bursting forth. He felt himself breathing as quickly as the huge mound was pulsating; his jaws were clenched so tight they ached, his grip on the shotgun so intense his knuckles were ghostly-white. In the dark panes he could see the vague reflection of the jumping jaw muscles beneath the dark stubble. He watched the mound like a hawk, his gaze never wavering. But nothing more seemed to be happening. After another hour, all remained the same. By then, Doug was so exhausted by the lack of sleep, by the previous rush of adrenalin, and by the suffocating tension, that his body had to relax even if not by his choice. He slumped on the loyal chair and was just beginning a little involuntary shut-eye when all of a sudden, there was a thundering noise, not unlike the simultaneous explosion of a thousand giant firecrackers on Independence Day. He jerked to attention but was seconds too late. He experienced before his eyes a dazzling white-hot searing pain and the next thing he knew he was landing on the other end of the kitchen floor with the seat of the chair as his jarring cushion. He felt like his back had broken in two and was bent over backwards on the seat. He thought his eyes were closed in pain but they were in fact blinded. He blinked hard several times but even then gained only speckles of vision. He saw that glass from the window was shattered and large shards were strewn on the floor. Even his face had not been spared by a tiny few. He did not have time to worry about vanity. Pushing himself up with a loud groan, he saw something approaching his little sanctuary rapidly and was struck with paralysis. Something did not burst forth from the land. The huge mound of land had extracted itself from its fellow land and was now wobbling toward him. If it managed to enfold him, he supposed that would give a whole new meaning to "being buried alive". He uprooted his legs and began to sprint staggeringly. He abandoned all his weapons on the table for surely they would be of no help to him. How did you defeat a gigantic lump of slick mud, with knives and an axe? But he held on to the shotgun, if only for a false sense of security. He ran faster than he ever ran in his life, abandoning the dear house. He burst through the front door, skipped down the porch, nearly tripping over the pile of garbage from previous days and sprinted for his jeep. He was glad he had a habit of leaving the keys in the ignition and the engine was in tip-top condition, the jeep roared to life at a turn of the keys. He reversed and raced down the driveway. Glancing in the rearview mirror, he saw that the unnamable was relentless, keeping up with him without effort . Trying to ignore how his harsh breathing seemed to be choking him, he concentrated on the driving. He congratulated himself for the fact his jeep-racing skills had not deserted him. He seemed to be gaining headway, after all, how could a lump of gross mud possibly keep up with a vehicle? But he counted his eggs too soon. When he next checked, the 'monster' seemed to have given up and was gone. There was no sign of it. But then he heard a sound and found himself raised along with his jeep to a great height, almost crashing through the crowns of tall trees. The mud had been slithering on the ground like a vicious python and in that way it could have won the race hands down. Doug knew he had to jump or risk being thrown into the hungry ocean right over the side rails by the road. He braced himself, took one deep breath and jumped, breaking his fall by rolling on the road with the shotgun still in his tenacious grip. He ran, again, but this time turned back and pumped off a few shots at the material from his nightmares. The shots did it no harm, save throw a few balls of mud into the air. So there were now a number of loopholes in the monstrosity, but none that could possibly kill it. Just as expected, the jeep was thrown over the rails into the ocean, while at the same time a deep growl emitted from the lump of mud, like a supernatural tiger unable to hold its quarry captive. Doug's mind raced. He had a flash of insight. He recalled how he and his Vietnam comrades used to compete in mud slinging towards the bay to see who could throw the farthest. He remembered how that particular mud would just float on the water surface, remaining immobile. His pursuer seemed to be of similar soil as the kind they used to toss around for fun. But this was not ordinary, lifeless mud. Would it react the same way? Yet did he have any other option? He could not outrun it, could not kill it, so he had to take a gamble here. He had nothing to lose. With no more contemplation, he took a few long steps, abandoned his shotgun, and hauled himself over the rails and into the ocean. He then swam a hundred metres away, turned around, treaded water and watched. The monstrosity hung over the rails, seemingly considering -- if it had a mind to consider with. In moments, after emitting a deep rumbling sound, it slung itself into the dark water. Doug watched intently, his breath held in, hoping against hope this would finally work. It started to move a short distance over the surface. Doug gasped and turned and swam furiously. But then he heard a loud bubbling sound. He turned back again. The huge lump of mud, now spread over the ocean surface in a large oval shape, was bubbling. Specks of it lightly exploded into the air like hot lava. Doug felt a teeny sense of jubilation and miraculously, bit by bit the nightmare evaporated. Doug watched in fascination, unable to believe he'd finally triumphed. That he had gained a chance to live again. Fifteen minutes later, after obtaining absolute certainty he would be pursued by nothing, he slowly breast stroked towards another side of the shore, where Beth's house was twenty-five minutes away. It was four am, but Beth would take him in. Four-thirty am, and Beth could still find no sleep. Sitting alone on the deserted shore, she seethed atop the fine glittering sand, lightly illuminated by the radiant moon that had escaped from behind the dark clouds. She was rummaging through her mind for a plausible explanation to Doug's incomprehensible and utterly incorrigible attitude. While her thoughts were fully trained on her fiancée, her sad eyes were lightly scanning the surface of the rippling ocean. She was suddenly alerted by a thrashing sound. Head cocked and eyes squinting, she saw a dark silhouette on the water about a hundred and fifty metres away. It was difficult to tell, but the movements resembled a human figure enmeshed and struggling in a large pool of unidentifiable substance. Ever the sensible character, she decided she was being stupid and it was probably just a large fish caught in a large mass of moss. "Beth". She gasped at the urgent and vulnerable voice of Doug calling in her mind. Casting aside all speculation about the writhing mass in the dark ocean, she turned and trotted back to her home, feeling only an irrepressible urge to phone Doug and find assurance in his warm voice. When she last looked before stepping into the house, the commotion had stopped and the mass remained stock-still. As she lifted the phone receiver to dial Doug's number, she thought she heard a faraway delighted gurgle. |
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