Chosen (part 1)

It couldn’t be hidden for long. When Ben stopped coming to school and Mr. Regius stopped showing up at work, people noticed. People told other people, and eventually, someone called the police after more than two weeks of no one having seen them or being able to contact either of them. We were neighbors at a stretch, and when my mother visited, no one was there, and it looked like no one had been for a while. And no one had.

The police searched the house, finding no signs of foul play, and the general consensus was that Mr. Regius fled the area with his thirteen-year-old son, maybe running from debts or family issues. Then they found out Mr. Regius had parked his car in a mechanic’s parking lot just before he disappeared, and the car was still there. A further search of the woods behind the house revealed a skull and the remains of another skeleton. While dental records with the only undamaged skull revealed it was not Mr. Regius, the other could have been him or his son. More evidence led the authorities to believe that Benjamin Regius, who was declared mentally unstable some years before and who was never actually declared to have recovered, ran out of the house late at night, and his father pursued him.

The theory was that Ben led his father farther into the woods and then murdered him and someone else before running into a system of dangerous and unexplored caves in the vicinity and drowning in the swiftly flowing underground river, where they found the remains of another skeleton, but not enough to say who it had been.

The only issue with this hypothesis was that the skeletons appeared to be much older than two weeks—oh, and it was completely wrong.

Benjamin Regius was my best friend, and I wish to write an honest account of what happened. I was there that night, and I saw what Ben did. I also saw how much he sacrificed, even himself in time, to save us.

As aforementioned, Ben had been declared mentally unstable for three years and was actually soon to be officially cleared in his fourth year, the doctors all had agreed however that he was most likely better, but were keeping him under observation for a little longer, it was a little before the his final appointment to declare him back to normal, when the incident happened.

He was found by firefighters at the scene of a car crash when he was nine years old. When they pulled him out of the vehicle, he was hysterical, claiming that ghoulish apparitions had knocked the car off the road before dragging his older sister and mother out. Then, after he saw them cut up by the beasts, they came for him, only running because a group of bystanders arrived and called the firefighters.

They found his family members, having flown through the windshield, likely dead on impact. However, one strange piece of the case was that the buckles were torn up and shredded as if by a knife.

Ben proceeded to see these apparitions everywhere he went, screaming in fright and pointing into every mirror and window. At night, he was sometimes heard to whisper to himself in his sleep, words supposedly impressed into his mind by the apparitions, “We destroyed the chosen.”

Some therapist or doctor decided that possibly these apparitions stemmed from a fear of being defenseless against danger and prescribed a low-grade martial arts program aimed at boosting his confidence. Ben liked it so much that he asked his father if he could keep going to higher levels,  where I met him when we were both yellow belts. We looked close enough to be brothers, with the same dark hair and blue eyes surrounding the pointy nose. Many people assumed I was his older sibling when they saw us. Actually, Ben was a month older than I was, but I was tall for my age, and he was relatively short. As a result, I was always better at kicks and jabs.

Whether it was the treatment working or just time fogging up the traumatic memories, Ben stopped seeing the creatures coming for him, and he stopped talking about them. Although his nightmares never dispersed, and he continued to be afraid as if something was hunting him, Ben rehearsed his lines and told everyone he no longer believed that they were evil beings seeking him. He said that he now understood that they had just been impressions of traumatic memories his brain couldn’t handle. Ben recited, but in my opinion, he never believed, though he fooled even me at the time: I think he always knew he was in danger and that someday they would return.

The incident began one rainy evening, the night after we had earned our green belts. Ben told me that after expecting the whole day to go well (because when you are a green belt in karate, what is going to stop you), he was sat on on the bus, failed two tests, slipped dropping his lunch all over himself, and got caught in the rain while running up the long dirt road to get home on the edge of the woods.

Ben’s general policy was to avoid interactions with his father as much as possible in the two years since he had returned from the hospital; he had barely spoken with Mr. Regius. Mr. Regius wanted to help his son, perceived by Ben as siding with the doctors who claimed he was insane. Ben always got very angry when he thought anyone thought he was insane. Mr. Regius wanted to be sure his son was okay, as perceived by Ben as wanting to keep him in the hospital (which he couldn’t stand). That caused a rift that had yet to heal; both of them may have wanted to reach across the gap, but didn’t know how to begin. Conversations were tenuous and awkward at best.

Ben went up to his room hurriedly to change. Instead, he stared at the karate posters on the walls and held his green belt, sighing, “What went wrong?”

A clatter awoke him from his reverie. Ben glanced out his window to see trash flying away from the corner of the house where the dumpster was.

“Oh great,” he muttered and opened his door.

His father was mounting the stairs, “Ah! Ben, I wanted to talk with you.”

“Sorry, something got into the trash. I’ll be right back.”

“Oh,” his dad said, clearing his throat, “okay, yeah, I guess that works.”

Ben ran out into the rain through the back door and rounded the side of the house with a broom in hand to wallop whatever raccoon had entered the garbage. Instead, he came to a halt, completely paralyzed with terror.

It towered over him while he was kneeling in the dumpster. Cracked and dry lips barely separated to show its teeth in a horrid grimace, with trash and goo dripping off its lips and teeth. It had no eyes. Just as Ben remembered it, it cocked its head though as if it could see him adjusting the strap across its shoulder with the free hand not gripping a bag of old coffee grinds.

Its fingers were short and stubby. Each was equipped with curved claws, more than making up for the distance of a human finger. The claws jittered and tapped as if to some freaky melody of the earth only it could hear. The nostrils were just slits like cuts in the green-black pale flesh. The muscles and skin were so thin you could see the bone on its joints, yet it looked strong enough to rip through anything it wanted to effortlessly.

Ben rapidly began to hyperventilate, falling to his knees in the mud. The crouching creature rose to its straight height of about six and a half feet; it stood on the pile of trash cocking its blind head at Ben and flexing its claw slowly. A grin spread across its face as a shiver did so in tandem on Ben’s spine.

Memories flashed through Ben’s head of the beasts that had swarmed the road, sending the vehicle off into the ditch. The same monsters who had ripped the doors off their hinges and cackled away madly while slicing the seat belts and dragging out the screaming family members to do their worst.

Then they had returned for him, as more of an afterthought, one of them had extended its claw and cut him right behind the ear, an injury that spread like fire through his veins, and unlike the rest of his injuries, that one had taken very long to heal for a small cut supposedly done with a shard of loose glass in the collision.

The pain behind his ear flared up. Ben cupped his hand to his ear with a yelp of pain. The thing above him smiled; it knew that he felt pain, and it was enjoying it. The whole side of his head throbbed as if the accident had been yesterday. The beast leaned forward, its rhythmically tapping claws grabbing at mid-air and approaching his face. Ben didn’t know what to do. He leaned back, and when he thought he was going to be dead, a sibilant click and growl filtered from the woods.

The shadowy entity glanced at Ben, then at the trees, and the hiss was repeated. Reluctantly, the creature arched his back and moved away into the trees, flowing like a snake or a stream of water more than walking. Though if you really had to describe it accurately, it was a form of walking. And so, like a gliding shadow, it left.

Ben crawled across the ground, grabbing onto the side of a dumpster and pulling himself up to stand straight. Then he hobbled, gripping his ear to the house. Mr. Regius was waiting for him at the dining room table with dinner ready, “Ah, Ben!” he said. “There is something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Ben hung up his raincoat and walked in, still very wet. Mr. Regius was about to bring up the subject when he noticed the mud all over Ben.

“What happened?”

“There was something in the trash. I fell in the mud.”

Mr. Regius frowned as Ben started eating, “You should be more careful. There are some dangerous creatures out there.”

Ben ate quickly as if being at the table pained him. Mr. Regius, having derailed his train of thought with the mud conversation, gathered his thoughts and tried to decide how best to break the news. Finally deciding on a method, he began to clear his throat when Ben finished his food, got up, and washed his dish in the kitchen.

Mr. Regius deflated, not bothering to call Ben back. He glanced at a picture on the wall after Ben went upstairs later, “How do I say this to him?” He set his head on the table and groaned.

Ben was also looking at a photo, one he kept hidden in his nightstand, his whole family pictured together as if nothing in the world was wrong. He heard Bella’s voice in his head, the words his older sister had said, the last things she had said.

“Brave Ben. Be brave.”

Ben sat upright. No, that wasn’t what she had said. It couldn’t have been. They had been discussing Bella’s music recital that night, so where did the ‘be brave’ come from? He thought some more, and while falling asleep, he seemed to remember a silent moment right when the monsters had swarmed onto the road… She had turned to him, not frightened, and spent her last words telling him, ‘Be brave.‘

She seemed to understand what was happening, like she had seen these creatures before. Very strange.

• • • • •

The next morning, I was waiting for Ben at the bus stop. He jogged up, backpack bouncing, and gave me a sly grin. Surprised, I raised my eyebrows, “What are you thinking about?”

“I have a plan!”

“Oh no!”

Ben gave my shoulder a shove. “No, seriously, I want your help to track down this thing I saw last night!”

I looked down at him. “Define ‘thing’, please, if you would be so kind.”

“It was snakish, but it had legs.”

“A… lizard?” I asked, confused.

“No, not a lizard. It didn’t look anything like a lizard.”

“But you said it looked like a snake, which looks like a lizard.”

“It had legs and walked but moved like a snake; its whole body was rubbery or fluid-ish.”

The bus arrived. “Wait, how big was this thing? What did it look like?” I asked in a rush, excited.

“I told you it looked like a snake!”

“No, no, no,” I said, “besides a snake.”

We began to get on the bus. Ben quickly answered, “It reminded me of a man, but kind of like a frog.”

A chill ran down my spine. “You want to track this thing down?”

Ben nodded, “Tonight, seven O’clock.” He said excitedly.

After another somewhat similar bad day, though, Ben’s excitement was much dampened. His father stopped him when he came into the room, “Ben, we need to uh, we need to talk.”

Ben looked at his dad, “Okay.”

His dad cleared his throat, “Vaynes wants to see you.”

Ben went pale momentarily, “No, I’m not talking to him!”

Mr. Regius grabbed at his hair, “Come on, Ben, he only wants to help you if you’d let him!”

Ben shook his head again, “No, no, no! I am not talking to that lunatic. Dad, why would he want to talk to me after all this time? He just wants to mess with my head and make me think I am crazy!”

Mr. Regius sat down heavily in his chair. “He never wanted to harm you. You were just so insistent that you were correct that you hated him for not believing you. Now that you and he both know he is right, there should be nothing wrong with you two having a conversation. He wants to see how you are doing.”

“He’s wrong, he’s always been wrong! They are real, and I saw one last night,” Ben raged, “you don’t believe me, he doesn’t believe me, no one believes me, but they are real!”

Mr. Regius looked at Ben dazed, “B-Ben?”

“And I’m going to prove it!” Ben said, walking away.

Mr. Regius shook his head over and over, repeating the same lines, “But how? He was fine! What do I do?”

He sat for some minutes, lost in thought, until he heard the door shut. In a flash, he was up on his feet, terrified, as he heard Ben’s words repeated in his head, “…And I’m going to prove it.”

“No, no, no, no!” he said, rushing to put on his coat, “I shouldn’t have let him out of my sight. I’m such a fool!”

• • • • •

Ben was thinking about Vaynes as he moved through the forest looking for me, about the disorienting man who blurred the lines of reality and found it a pleasure to leave his patients dazed and confused.  He shuddered to remember the strange needles, the disarming smile, the disorienting words that made you feel like you were trapped; there was no way he was going back.

Finally, Ben ran into me—or, more accurately, I ran into him. He roamed in one direction, then another, not caring where he was going. I hailed him from a distance, “Ben! Hey, Ben!”

He turned and saw me. “Oh, hi, did you get the camera?”

I nodded, “This is crazy big. Do you think it could be a creature unknown to science?”

“Sure,” he said unenthusiastically.

I paused mid-step, “You did see this, right?”

“Yeah,” he said and continued searching through the brush. I followed, examining every tree and every mud puddle, pestering Ben with questions.

“Where would they go?”

“I have a feeling they’ll be waiting for us.”

My blood chilled, “What?”

“I said they might like caves, and we could try that area.”

Almost an hour later, I finally stopped Ben, “Maybe we should head back now. We are pretty far out in the woods, and it is getting late.”

Ben glanced over his shoulder, “I have to find this thing, Titus! I have to! Do you realize what will happen to me if I come home without having found this creature?”

I stepped back, “Hey, I’m just saying maybe there is nothing out here…”

“So you are calling me a liar!”

“Ben, I never said any such thing. Maybe you thought you saw something when you didn’t. Anyways, if you did see something, I don’t see it now!”

Ben scoffed at me, “Yeah, sure, go ahead and patronize me, just like the rest. You know what I’m gonna show’em. I’m gonna show’em all, you hear me?!”

I backed up, but as Ben turned and stormed away, I followed, “Ben, I don’t know what…”

“Just shut up, Titus!” He said breathily, “Just leave, go. I don’t want you or anyone else standing around ridiculing me!”

“Fine!” I shouted, walking away, “Go ahead and search the forest like a madman.”

I know I shouldn’t have said it. Even as the words came out of my mouth, I cringed. Ben narrowed his eyes and glared at me, “Go!” was all he said, but that word will ring in my ears all my life.

I ran away down the hill, through the forest, until I had covered half the distance back to Ben’s house. At that point, I navigated my way along a small ridge, but my foot slipped on loose shale, and I slid straight down the ridge, grappling for purchase at loose gravel, before shooting out into nothingness and dropping my flashlight.

I grabbed onto a root somehow and hung by one hand on the side of the pit, watching the small white dot, which was my flashlight, get smaller and smaller. Until it faded out. I shuddered, wondering at the depth of this pit, and took stock of my surroundings. The pit was about ten feet in radius with soft loam sides that crumbled when I tried to get my hands into them to climb. I was just out of reach of the top of the hole. I couldn’t get any higher.

“Help!” I cried. An updraft of cold air blew across me, bringing the stench of rotting death. I almost heard a chuckle as I slipped some more, “HELP!” I screamed, and right as I was about to let go and fall to my death, a hand reached out and grabbed mine, pulling me up. It was Mr. Regius.

He wiped his forehead, “Man, I’ve been looking for you kids out here forever. Where is Ben?”

“He is somewhere up there,” I said, motioning at the ridge. “What is this pit?”

Mr. Regius looked over the edge, “dunno, mineshaft? But look, we need to find Ben before he hurts himself. Like it or not, he isn’t well.”

I nodded, ashamed for leaving him, “I think I know where he is.”

We headed up the shale, making quite a bit of noise, so that is probably why we didn’t hear the snicker or the sound of enemies closing in around us. I don’t think either of us realized until it was already over.

• • • • •

Ben was having his own issues. I think at that exact moment, he was in the middle of a sword fight, but I get ahead of myself.

Ben stomped in a foul mood through the brush and reached a thick, mossy log. Without thinking, he clambered up nimbly, but his foot slipped as he was getting down on the other side, sending him toppling down into the dark earth, his face inches from a knife blade. Ben scrambled up with a yelp and then pulled the knife, almost the size of his forearm, from the soft dirt. He whistled softly, wiping clean the shiny blade of perfect-tempered steel. It nearly glowed with its own light. It was perfectly curved, perfectly balanced, and hilted.

Ben tried tucking the blade into his belt, but when he spotted the sheath a few feet ahead, he placed it in his jacket pocket, secured within its sheath. He scanned the trees with heightened senses, sniffing the air when a rotten stench caught his attention from deeper within the forest. Gagging, he followed the scent, noticing trampled branches and what might have been a footprint. He took pictures and pressed on. The smell became strong enough that he covered his nose with his shirt, breathing through his mouth.

Then he saw it: the creature bent over, rooting in the ground. Suddenly, the squeal of a rodent fell silent as the slimy humanoid monster raised its head and swallowed. It adjusted the long loincloth’s belt and ran its thumb along the shoulder strap. It quickly turned to face Ben, its pointy ears perking up, cracked lips partly open as if they could never close.

Ben dodged behind a trunk, his chest heaving, then peeked back around to see the beast facing in the opposite direction, seemingly surprised by the loss of its knife but consoling itself by drawing the long, curved scimitar blade (which looked like a giant version of one of its claws with a handle) and flexing its empty hand. The entity turned and left the clearing, moving into the darker trees, areas where Ben had never been. Steeling himself and trying to ignore the stench, Ben followed, attempting to keep the creature in sight while staying as far away as possible.

They trudged into the trees, which became increasingly darker. Ben stumbled into a clearing and quickly stepped behind a bush when he noticed two other monsters crouching hungrily in front of a cave, waiting for their friend who had just arrived.

One of the beasts leaped out and slashed at the new arrival’s chest, perhaps not so friendly. Ben peeked at the two who berated the latecomer with hisses and spits. The latecomer defended himself, arms crossed and hissing back. They seemed to reach a grudging peace without further violence, and they all entered the cave. Ben did, too.

He’d been warned since he was little about this cave; he’d never been close to it. Hesitantly, he felt his way through the dark, finally getting nervous enough that he pulled out his tiny pocket flashlight and covered it with his hand, creating a minuscule red glow with which he navigated the tunnel ten feet behind the massive slimy monsters, who slapped their long feet against the floor loud enough for him not to be heard. He followed slowly and crossed the precarious log bridge over a raging torrent of dark water. The creatures got ahead several times, but he managed to keep up.

They slapped-marched their way into a large chamber, scanning the walls and floor with appreciation. Ben ducked out of sight, glancing occasionally to watch their shadowy forms bend over a slab of stone, attempting to slide something across it. They seemed somewhat excited, hissing and rapidly moving their tongues to produce strange noises that carried far in all directions.  

They turned while Ben wasn’t looking, so when he peeked around the corner, he was surprised to see them heading back. Ben suppressed a yelp and quickly backed up, continuing to retreat and keeping the creatures in sight around each corner. Finally, he reached a branching tunnel and scurried down it, waiting for them to pass, nearly gagging at the smell. After debating whether to follow them, he turned and headed back to see what they had examined.  

Now that the creatures seemed to be far enough away, Ben pulled out his better flashlight and shone it against the walls. When he reached the larger cavern, he set the flashlight on the floor near the pedestal and examined it thoughtfully.

Runes covered the surface of the pedestal, and when Ben checked the walls, they also were covered in carved glyphs. Some were indented, and some protruded. The main feature was the sword lying across the table-like surface. Ben brushed some dust off the top and glanced at the distinctive engraved symbols. He touched the handle, feeling a warm buzz through his body as he did so. Before his eyes, the same glyphs seemed to melt and move, though only if you weren’t staring at them. Though they didn’t change in all the moving, he somehow perceived the meaning as clear as day. The stone read ‘the blade of heroes’.  

A shiver ran down Ben’s spine. A cousin to the next shiver shook his whole body, making his hair stand on end when he heard its voice.  

The dark being stood behind him, partially crouched like all its friends before it. Ben noticed from the missing knife blade that it was the same one he had seen. It let out a long hiss that varied pitch as it thrummed its thick, sticky tongue across its awful, cracked lips and bent teeth. While the noises continued to be unintelligible, the meaning and words impressed themselves on his thoughts. He heard both the noise and the words, like the rock glyphs before; he simply understood.

“Others have told me that this sword has been enchanted so that none but the children of the king may remove it, so I feel I must thank you for overcoming that most arduous task.”

“Ch-ch-child of what?”

“Humankind. Seriously, you’d think the intelligence of mankind has dropped quite since the last time we emerged on the face of the earth. You can’t even remember your own history.”

“What… what do you want from me?”

The creature arched its back, twisting as it slunk closer, “We want that blade, and we want you.”

Ben backed up, “Why do you want me?”

“How is it that you can understand my speech? How is it you lift that heavy blade as if it were nothing but a twig? No, do not pretend to be a worthless child as you fooled me once before, curling into a ball. It appears you also have the gift.”

Ben bumped into the wall as the beast cornered him, poised for the kill. Ben gripped the sword hilt tightly and hefted it in his hand. The monster drew its blade, the claws of its hand unable to curl fully around the hilt, but it managed.

“Now I’m going to cleave you to pieces, so we might as well stop talking.”

Sweat trickled down Ben’s forehead as panic welled up in his chest. Perhaps this truly was the end.

TO BE CONTINUED…