The Itch

[Keanumoreira]

The Itch

 

Prologue

 

On the morning of April 4th, 1561, the residents of Nuremburg, Bavaria, awoke to a struggle in the clouds. They described formations of silver discs emerging from large cylinders in the skies, raining fire and destruction on the helpless people watching anxiously from below, believing that the end was all but certain. Terrified and bewildered, they put to parchment what they could not possibly understand, a concept of interest that would later send a ripple through history until those who could, would examine the tattered texts. Now, after so much time has passed, these vaguely familiar beings have returned to Earth for the same reasons they arrived in the first place, over 500 years ago, only now...it’s a cry for help.

 

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Chapter 1: A stray off the path

 

In a wheat field in Montana, a lonely soul bears the golden sea, their movement as steady and fluid as the gentle downpour quenching the summer afternoon. The pitter patter of rain builds a chorus around her, our adventurer shoving away the bristles of wheat that lashes the cheek, like a jungle man hacks away at the webbed vines of a rainforest’s Indian trails. The wind sails by in childish movement, cart wheeling and spinning, snickering and running, flattening the onlookers of the rain's performance as it passes above their sun baked stalks in juvenility. Handfuls of Feverfew scramble, lingering lazily on the breeze, carefree, without a thought, scenting the summer day with promises of pollen. A sliver of lightening explodes simultaneously, stealing the show with a grand dance of purple veins, as bright as fireworks, reaching this far back into the audience from its Broadway stage. Altos of crickets, bathing in the shower, join the chorus with the soprano lightshow as it jumps from mute to thundering. Music is everywhere, alive and jubilant, an unexpected motion of theatrics in an otherwise generic setting. The rut of nature was still present here, after all. Sage and dry land grasses still grew, life struggled as it always had, just like everywhere else, making it quite that: same in every way really. Quite unremarkable. It was the way that it invited outsiders, however, its personified taste for culture, that musical inclination, the love of the arts, that made this bubble of the Northwest such a unique one. Everywhere there was to look, some kind of role-play was going on, whether it was the insects marching in rivalry like the great armies of empires that came and went, to those grasses as flexible and spineless as a Russian Acrobat. The weeping sky, down to the misshapen rocks, standing like idle statues yet full of face; both made an appearance here beneath the play lights of the symphony sun, the composer of the show. It was this rhythm that every soul here sang to; it was this beat that flamed inside their hearts, crying out for expression. Everyone had a part to play, big or small, and an instrument that went with it. Not one feature stood beside and watched; everyone had been enveloped.

 

Wet of boot and dry of tongue, nevertheless, the shadowy figure trudges on, all of ears to the limelight jerking in from all directions. When then, at the drop of a hat, the rude trumpet of drama roars without cue, storming on stage. The drumming of thunder dies in whimpering rumbles, the whistle of wind falls in plane, and the chirpings are all but a memory when the vocalists are thrown from the theater. The eerie quiet that ensues is focused on something that shouldn’t have been there on that light-rained, June afternoon. Its presence seemed to be keen on waiting, watching...for something, someone, as if being here was its purpose all along, the harbinger for something perhaps much greater. Creeping out from over the wheat and panning into our spectator’s view, this rogue figure takes its scene, nature’s random virtuosity afraid to continue beyond this point. Flocks of soulless crows soar up and beyond from every corner as if spooked, without an incentive, as if...summoned...coming to gather around the mysterious object’s pyramid head which had climbed into the Earth’s lining as far as it could go, making itself known far and wide to the pilgrims it had attracted. Perhaps more; but civilization is a golden ocean away. No one else will come, no one else but the reign of silence. Only curiosity and curiosity alone had brought the wanderer here, urging her to push on as this sudden interest augmented within and before her as she approached its glinting lure. She seems to tiptoe now, one foot at a time, pacing herself, almost like baby steps, as if this thing, whatever this thing may be, could be dangerous, even evil in some way. But what could possibly be dangerous or evil out here, in a place that was, after all, filled with such divine, ear soothing music only just a moment ago? What could be harmful in a place such as this one?

 

“CAW!”

 

The shifty shadowess pauses, but not in fear, taking a moment to observe these black birds’ odd behavior as they march in greater plumes ahead. The closer she gets the more ominous they become, agitated, as if angered by her presence here. The wind, who once sang so softly, tightens in a chilly howl with her trespassing, the grey cotton balls that bore the rain and promised innocence, stalk above, and only now are they turning as black as the crow’s charcoal feathers. The atmosphere, now, hums a different tune, one more sinister, one more punishing, as the backdrop of oranges and purples are filled in with a black void. What would cause such a dramatic change that tore the page from fairytale and slammed it shut in nightmare? This couldn’t be in the norm; nothing appeared to explain how the mountains could lower their heads, the air to freeze rock solid, and a draft of dread, as unseen as a whisper in the night, to fall so quickly on the peaceful landscape. Could this be any mere point of interest, or was there more to this than what meets the eye? Something that was, perhaps, supernatural?

 

“CAW!”

 

She resumes, cautiously, despite the damming screams of the hollowed beasts. After crossing through the threshold from one world to the other, the pyramidal tower, in its colossal completeness, its metal armor penetrating into the cloud’s darkest recesses, was at last within arm’s length. Upon ripping away the blanket of wheat that had shrouded it, however, it was clear that this monstrous blight didn’t stand alone. By its side stood another, and now the third, finally the fourth, lost in the tomes of time within the pages of nature’s fragile fabrication, until our archeologist had stumbled onto them from the gold leafed forest. All of them bared the skillful etching of hieroglyphic symbols who glared down at the intruder from their dark, archaic stones, some, which dared, to spell out otherworldly. Within this encrypted language, however, were symbols that to any person on this planet would be somewhat recognizable. Moons that accompanied the worship of humans, planets lined neatly in chessboard formation, but the most puzzling of all were the depiction of the stars. All of them were assembled in a complicated series of rows that occasionally overlapped one another, shaping a web of not only the familiar constellations-all 72 of them-,but also a string of other star related shapes. It was a stellar map, containing dozens...no...hundreds, potentially thousands of star systems, each linked together by whoever put them to stone. They flamed up in the lightning’s cranky mumblings, their godly brilliance even more convincing. It was a remarkable find.

 

An icy fog rolls in rudely from the east, but these towers are already cold, a frostbitten finger, in mid stroke, shivering curiously in absence of total warmth. Sounds began to push from beneath the muddy mound, the center of these ghostly wrapped obelisks. Something was off, uncanny, not just the sight and sound of things but of how the energy that flowed around these four felt. It was tasteless, self-centered, stomach churning, restlessly hungry...a whole site that to the senses could be a haunting. The crows still encircle their knife sharpened tips as if this was a holy site; in their eyes it seemed to proclaim: “Behold, our fallen angel! The Dark God of this unworthy land! All followers come to kneel at its omnipotent father!” so said the air that was trapped around this hellish oasis.

 

“CAW!”

 

Our drifter flings in a full 180, the nose diving terror, without warning, bearing down like an uncontrollable missile let loose, slashing and escaping hastily with a string of flesh dangling from its chipped pincher. The peace has been shattered; the call for courtesy was over. It was war. In a chain reaction, the others become enraged, as if possessed, the barrage raining down in guerrilla warfare as they circle around for another attack. Strands of hair, drops of blood, morsels of flesh; with every wave, nothing is spared in wake of the tower’s demented disciples. Desperate hands tear into their little bodies like knives, but the relentless horde pushes forward without as much as a flinch, their scarlet stained feathers ravenous for nourishment. They go for the legs, and then the eyes, flanking the arms in swarming savagery, all sides breached, all defense compromised. She feels herself slipping, the mud saturating into potholes with every drunken step.

 

“CAW!”

 

The final wave slams into her like a haywired wrecking ball, bird and all crashing into the flood below. A massive, invisible sinkhole, masked and weakened by the rains trickery, and no longer able to hold their support, opens up from the deepest wells beneath, causing them to tumble wildly into the cold, damp, darkness-ridden pit that has been allowed to give way underneath the brawl. The last of the crying echoes dies into the stormy night.

 

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Drip...drip...drip...drip...

 

Stories down, our free-faller is found in a dust-cloud daze, clothing in shambles, scratches and bruises pocketing every elbow, knee, and shoulder...but alive...barely saved by a root's unseen hand of fate, see-sawing precariously from an unthreading, sleeveless, white T-shirt...but at least alive. But there is no time to rest, danger has followed her down. Waterfalls have flowed in from the surface gap, threatening to drown anything that lacks the skill to swim its rapidly expanding volume. Loosened rocks and pebbles take a leap of faith, hopscotching recklessly from wall to wall, threatening to add insult to injury, nothing less of a concussion, to an already broken soul. As the taunting crowd meets their plunge of doom, a familiar pair makes their acquaintance, who too have fallen short of good luck. In the abysses’ swishing stomach, dashed upon the razor wet rocks, the crows had met their grizzly fate, necks snapped like sticks, bones protruding upwards, and intestines spilled from their bowels and mangled upon the other, some twisted around the roots that have lined their grave’s walls and slowly...bloodily...rocking back and forth like a child’s macabre lullaby. Washed over by the rainwater, the soupy mess is thrown from side to side, the digesting witches brew gurgling as if it were ready to erupt, but just as it is about to swallow her, the water mysteriously stops, even though the waterfalls continued to drop. The torrents had to lead somewhere else in an opposite direction, so was the only way to explain how she still drew breath. Anywhere it had to go, no matter the odds, was better than gambling here. It was a risk worth taking. So...after some happy thoughts and wiggling to freedom, our cave dweller throws the dice down and bets the bottom dollar, slipping away into the vast and unpredictable...unknown.

Edited May 25, 2011 by Keanumoreira

[LordWushin]

very good read. I enjoyed it very much. Can't wait for more.

[grannywils]

Keanu, loved the plot and the whole idea. It will be interesting to read more. Your prose is a bit florid, and the ideas are good enough that it does not need to be. You can get your point across just a bit more simply. But I like your imagination a lot. You make me want to know more.

[Maharg67]

Very much liked the story and would love for you to continue.

 

Only one observation; be careful not to let the story become lost in 'wordiness'. Sometimes I was not sure what was happening and had to do some rereading but perhaps that is just me.

 

:thumbsup: :thumbsup: :thumbsup:

[Keanumoreira]

Thank you guys for your feedback. I'll try and get my chapters in when I can, but to be honest, It'll take me time to produce each one. I hope you guys tune in for each one and thanks for your support.

[SilverDNA]

I liked the Idea of the concept most. It is interesting and promises some good twists.. keep it on Keanumoreira :thumbsup:

[VesemirTheWitcher]

*ahem*

 

Keep it up, or i'll kick you.

 

the end.