The Consecrated Emenation by H. L. Dowless - HTML preview

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995 Morrison Drive

Charleston, South Carolina 29403

Incident report 505A

It was on the fifth of august, 1988, at 0900 hours, that

I, Eudora Johnson, was walking along the beach by the

battery park. As I walked, I came upon an oblong heap of

sand, obviously some sort of heap heedlessly dug and cast

aside by some child in play along the beach. The heap bore

a strange oblong shape that first attracted me over to it; but

what held my attention for the longest duration of time was

the strange indigo aura that appeared as a slight mist, and

floated just over the top of the heap. Though the mist was

transparent, it behaved as if it attempted to conceal the

mound from any view of the passers by.

The scent....oh, the enticing sweet scent....was of velveteen

roses. Even thought the mist gave the appearance, both the

transparency and the smell enticed the desire for giving a

much closer look.

I could not resist, though I was short on time and needed

to travel back home. I then bent down and commenced to

dig, first with my bare hands, then with a plastic bowl that

I discovered approximately thirty yards from the mound.

I had dug down some one foot and several inches, when I

suddenly struck something hard that obviously was not

sand. At the same time, the grating sound made by the

dragging plastic betrayed the fact that it was not concrete or

stone, but subconsciously I knew it to be glass.

I dug with more passion and intensity, soon uncovering

a slight blanket of sand that concealed the glass from my

view, only to discover that the glass was indeed a pile of

bottles, some ancient, and some very modern, but all

stuffed with a corn cob for a cork, or some sort of home

made stopper. At this point, I was entranced, as though a

strange hex had been placed upon my very heart and soul. I

was compelled to continue my investigation.

I removed the bottles from the hole, dusting each one off

very carefully as I lay them by my side. I quickly glanced

around, and upon seeing no one about and myself being

very alone, I continued in my labor.

In total, there were thirty bottles of a liter or so in size. As

I inspected carefully, very carefully, I was shocked to

discover that all were perfectly dry and very empty...except

one. Inside this one there appeared to be a note of velum

parchment, but I knew not if it was modern or very ancient.

The lettering did not appear to be stained, or smudged, nor

faded in any sort of way. I quickly pulled the cork from the

opening, dumping the letter from the neck and the mouth,

and into the opened palm of my right hand.

I quickly glanced around once more, upon seeing no

one, my trembling right hand opened the note, and these

are the astonishing words that I read:

Note to the finder of this bottle

Day one, according to my slighted reckoning:

My name is Sam Shepard. I am from Wilmington North

Carolina. The date is May sixth, nineteen and eighty six. I

know not the time, but I estimate that it is about 1200 hours.

I am an outdoors man and adventurer by personal choice, a

teacher and freelance author by trade.

I put in via canoe just above where the Ashley river and

the Cooper river converge. I chose to follow the Ashley

branch as I began my journey, to an island named for the

respected family, Culpepper. This family was once the

proud owner of this specific island, but sold it in the due

course of time, to another family who chose to raise pigs on

the island instead of running a seaside supply store for any

sailors who happened by. I guess this fact is the reason why

the locals today simply call it Hog island.

According to local legend, the old plantation gentry

Culpepper family traded with anyone who possessed the

cash and was willing to trade, and this included both the

saints and the devils of the sea. The island was even

rumored to have been the sanctuary of drug runners and

pirates, both old time and modern, but no one living now

knows the real truth. For this reason, I set out to investigate.

In a couple of hours, my canoe came to beach on the

golden sanded shore. The wind puffed in a way that

pleased both the hair, the flesh, the mind and the soul. I

pulled the canoe high upon the beach and out of sight

behind some thick Yaupon bushes, just in case there was

any beach side company that I might have to contend with,

even though I knew that there more than likely would not

be.

I began my adventure by walking through a small

stand of vegetation, slightly hacking with my machete as I

walked. Soon I was three or four hundred yards back from

the beach. In the distance through the cover of thick

vegetation, I could clearly discern the rhythmic crash of the

waves. The sound was most beautiful to the ears. I felt like

just sitting down and listening to the wonderful natural

rhythm.

As I slightly hacked at the vegetation with my blade, I

soon came to notice that the thick cud-zoo vines concealed

an ancient wall constructed with what were obviously very

old home made bricks. I had to investigate. I carefully

continued to remove the vines with my blade, and then

exposed a brick wall some four feet in height and some nine

by nine in square feet.

I walked up fully expecting there to be at least two

graves inside, but only discovered that the inside center

had sunken in some what. I dug into my combat patrol

sack, removing my folding shovel, or e-tool, as the soldiers

call it. With this I then commenced to dig away at the

center. Soon I exposed a heavy door of hammered iron and

Catawba wood, which I knew to be one of the most rot

resistant local woods.

I went into my sack again, this time removing my

military scout hatchet. I then proceeded to chop away at the

heavy door, right at the edge where it appeared one of the

iron nipples caught into a hole in the iron on the jam, and

caused the door to lock. Soon I had hacked enough away

that I exposed the latch, and I could then simply take my

bare hand and the handle of the hatchet, and lift or pry the

latch, causing it to release.

When the door opened it exposed what appeared to be

an ancient corridor and a dark stair case that went down

right at my feet, and into a cold, damp, pitch black blanket

of never ending darkness. In the distance I perceived the

intimidating sound of heavy breathing, though I could not

make out any sort of presence.

I removed my carry sack from my back, going directly

to my hand held spot light; since I keep my combat duty

sack very well organized, so organized that I posses the

ability to lay hand upon my articles, even in a total absence

of all light. I punched the button with my thumb, and

instantly the light clicks on. I see the bottom of the staircase,

beyond I see the corridor until it turns, but still I perceive

the chilling sound of heavy breath....heavy angry breath,

though I see nothing to betray it's source.

I carefully walk down the staircase, going with caution

toward the bend in the wall to the right, approximately

some thirty paces from the stairs. I have always heard

rumors of treasure on this island, but for some strange

reason, all of the locals, even those who would otherwise

appear rough and brave, seemed intimidated to venture in

and inspect. That sole thought pushed me forward.

As I neared the bend, I distinctly perceived the sound of

movement...of a slow easing movement in consortium. A

pulsating mass of slow movement that gave me the feel of

predation...yes...., that of being pray to some evil pursuing

villain! I cautiously moved forward, snapping off my light

with my thumb, so as not to give the predator the

advantage of attack in the light, and to give my self the

advantage in concealment by the darkness .

The volume increased with every forward step that I

took . The heavy breathing....the heavy angry breathing,

continued, growing somewhat in intensity. I eased forward

in the darkness. Upon reaching the bend and the forward

stretch of the corridor, I heard the now intense, but slow,

seemingly mass movement just above my head and to my

right side, but about three yards out. The forthcoming

attack was surly eminent! My heart began to race with an

increasing tempo....would I live, or would I die?

I quickly snapped on my flashlight, and to my sudden

astonishment, I beheld a mass of water moccasins some few

feet from my head. I estimated that there were probably

thirty at least, that many were some six feet in length, or

even somewhat more. They were slowly, but with

increasing speed.... heading my way!

I made the turn at the corridor, but raced backward,

keeping my face on the serpents. I slowed enough so that

one would suddenly rush out, then I chopped off his head

with my machete in a single heavy swipe! Each one I

disposed of in this manner, simply one at a time. I

destroyed all of them, figuring that I would have to pass

back by them on my way out. I might as well get them now

before they get me later, I reasoned with myself.

I breathed a sigh of relief, wiping the heavy beaded

sweat from my brow. But the heavy rhythmic breathing...;

in the distance my ears could still perceive it, it's

threatening forward movement, but my light exposed

nothing but brick walls as far as the eyes could see into the

thick darkness.

I continued to move forward, with my light guiding the

way, and my pistol now ready by my side. I walked

onward for what seemed like hours, my cell phone clock

now stopping as though the battery had lost it's charge. It

was well charged and it should be going strong, but for

some strange reason beyond explanation, it ceased. I

wonder as to why, I thought as I moved along through the

corridor?

I have lost all track of time. It seems as though several

days have passed, but maybe I am still in the first day only.

I do not know if it is the light of day, or the pitch black of

midnight...maybe it is? Still there is a slight wind that I feel

that bears this heavy, angry, rhythmic breath, that I know

not of it's source, nor if it be friend or dangerous foe. The

breathing never stops, never weakens, obviously the being

from which it is born, never sleeps. My heart races with the

spice of fear, but my mind is persuaded to pursue the

thought of gold and outstanding glory. Maybe this be a

craft of some demon or spectral apparition to lure me into a

trap, or some monstrous man eating being simply hungry

for new flesh! The answer to these questions I know not,

nor do I have any indications as to the correct answer.

I am exhausted, my limbs are very weary, my heart

hammers out of an absence of sleep, and no longer from the

forces of fear. Though I still hear the heavy, blood curdling

breath, I no longer care....I am just way too tired to even

care.

Ahead I round the next bend to discover a deep cleft in

the brick wall that formed a corner some six feet deep in the

left wall. Here I cleaned a spot on the floor and pitched my

tent. I carefully unrolled my bag and climbed in. My eyes

closing all on their own in-spite of the heavy, soul piercing

breath that rode upon the wind and echoed in the distance.

Just a little sleep, I ask, just a little closure of the eyes for

strength.....

My eyes suddenly are awakened by a great collapsing

crash behind me, from the direction that I came in. I know

not how long that they have been now closed. The thunder

roared for what seemed like five minutes or more, but

above it all....above it all my ears still perceived that

heaving, angry sound of breath....but it appeared to be

closer, even much closer than before....

I snapped on my light with my right thumb, but saw

nothing, not even any dust from the crash...I only

heard....heard the crash and heard that evil pursuing breath

in the distance, but not as much distance as before...it's

source appeared to move closer, even surrounding me in

from all sides!

Is this evil source a single source, or multiple? Is it of the

secular and of the flesh, or is it of the spirit? Oh...how

dreadful the thought....how is the flesh to do battle with the

spirit? Is it real, or is it just an imagined figment of my

tormented mind? I cannot allow this situation to get the

best of me, I must move forward with my intention.

I closed my eyes again for some time, I know not how

long. I was now completely refreshed. I eased my right

hand into my combat supply sack, carefully taking out a

packet of instant grits and some multi vitamins. In my front

pocket I removed my small folding stove and an army

canteen filled with water. I dropped in my burning tablets

and soon commenced to boil the water in the stainless steel

cooking set. I stirred in the buttered grits, and it made a

wonderfully thick and filling porridge. I popped in the

vitamin tablet for insurance, and my meal was complete.

Since I still had some burn left in my heat tablet, I

carefully poured in some more water, brought it into a boil,

and mixed in a teaspoon full of instant coffee. Even in this

apparently hostile environment, I could still relax backward

and make the best of everything that was before me. Yes, I

do agree, just a little grits are always good for the soul!

I repack my tent and supply’s, and move on. I continue

on for what seems like hours beyond my ability to count. I

round nine bends ahead, and soon come into a

chamber...yes an elaborate chamber! In the center of this

chamber is a dusty box of tamarack that sits still in the

center of a cypress table. The box is not locked, so I

carefully open it, exposing a detailed map hand drawn on a

sheet of parchment. Obviously this was created some time

ago, but I do not know how long. I could clearly see that the

map was one of the corridor.

As I studied the map, my eyes beheld the glorious

site....the chest....the gold and emerald necklaces...the silver

chalice....there it was, marked right there on the map so

clearly..Behold all eyes....and it shall surly be all mine, all

mine for the taking!

Here was the chamber that I was standing in right there

on the map. I had carefully logged the turns and their

directions on a note page, so that I would have an idea of

the form and shape in the corridor, and of my direction

from whence I entered in. My drawing nearly matched the

map perfectly! Right there was the chamber that I was

presently standing in on the map....and two more down

was the treasure....! I am so excited that I can hardly write,

nor even speak if you, dear reader, were here with me!

I quickly make my way, I come to a left turn some ninety

paces down, and a chamber just as it clearly shows on the

parchment map, and then a right turn and a chamber....The

next right turn and the following chamber....would be the

glorious treasure....and it will be mine, yes....all mine for the

taking!

No more labor, no more lay offs and being fired with no

real facts to support that decision, no more dirty tax from

some pigs' meager choice in paid wages..! Yes, behold

dear ones....no more denial of opportunity when I am

qualified for the job...damn all of the conspicuous bastards!

It is mine, I tell you, and I am the one that will make the

decisions and hold the controls....!

My breath heaves and my heart races with

overwhelming excitement. I race around the next right turn

and into the next chamber, just as the map clearly shows.

My breath picks up even more, my heart quickens it's pace,

my mouth goes dry, my hands do tremble.....

I glance down at the map, and there it is...just ninety

paces more ahead ...is the room, oh...that hallowed glorious

chamber that all dear hearts dream of for the duration of

their pitiful mortal lives, but only a small few will ever

obtain and experience.....

But wait just a minute, what is this? What is this figure

standing painted beside the treasure chamber on the map? I

shine my light on the parchment, and I clearly see it...a

cherubim, lo an angel, a guardian angel I do suppose,

bearing a sword of fire and glowing sapphire light in her

left hand! In her right hand she bears a skull scepter of

smoky incense, like that of the belladonna rose...., and a set

of scales before her feet! Behold her appearance is

horrid...why did I not notice her figure before now?

I hear the breath...oh the terrible horrible dreadful

breathing rhythm that wreaks at.... even at my very soul,

my very being! Much closer it is now, much much closer,

even at my very back! I quickly snap on the light, but my

eyes discern nothing......, only emptiness, only endless

winding corridor and the damp ice cold brick of the walls!

Immediately behind me I hear a massive collapsing

thundering crash that lasts for what seems like three

minutes or more. I have only one choice now, and that is to

move forward...only forward. I move with quickened steps

toward the treasure chamber...but behind me in the

distance I hear the haunting breath, and now the gradual

heavy footsteps......

I reach the chamber, oh...finally that chamber of the

heart's desire! My foot crosses the thresh hold...my eyes

now behold that most glorious of sights! In the center of the

room sits a three by four foot chest of cedar, some three feet

in height. This chest is sitting open, overflowing with gold,

necklaces of amber, and jewels of every sort! Mine eyes

behold venerated charms of alabaster and emerald rings. I

see golden chalice and silver dippers! Not only is this chest

of gold and golden coin sitting filled to overflowing, the

riches are poured out upon the floor surrounding it. Yes.....,

'tis a most glorious sight to behold!

But....but I hear the evil breath......I hear the footsteps

approaching....now I hear a low thundering rumbling roar.

Behold, what shall I do? The chamber is the end of the

corridor! What shall I do? The only exit is back...toward the

beast or demon who approaches, who now roars with

anticipation of it's forthcoming gratification!

Hark now....I perceive liter sized bottles filled with

strong rum, oh what shall I now do, what action shall I now

take? I quickly seize up one of the bottles by the neck,

uncorking it with my left hand, and pouring out the

contents upon the floor with my right. I will have an

additional weapon, I suppose.

I hear the approaching roar....but I also hear the coaxing

rhythm of the sea near by, yes, very near the solid wall

behind me! I take my hatchet from my bag and began to

hammer upon the brick behind me with the flat of the back

side opposite of the blade. In some ten minutes or so, I

hammer a hole through, but alas, then it hits solid concrete

stone, and I cannot make my way to enlarge the hole. The

light of day shinning through the hole gives me joy and

hope on the inside, and I perceive the tinkle... yes, the

glorious trickle, of some creek or stream nearby....yes, right

here at my back side!

I hammer with great ferocity, my arms know not the

feel of weakness or that of being tired. But the stomps are

getting much closer, yes the roar is getting louder, the

breath.....oh that dreadful sound of the breath...is growing

with more intensity. Now..., oh how dreadful...I can hear

the slobbering smacking lips.....!

I can only fold up this note and heave it into the ancient

bottle. I shall continue this awful hammering with the slight

hope that the hole will widen, and I just might...., yes....just

might make it through! With cork in place I shall heave the

bottle through the head sized opening..... But that evil

stone....that stone base in the wall prevents me from

enlarging the hole.....!Lo, the beast now draws so much

nearer....ever so much closer....help, please, oh please help

me, if indeed any one can!

The Golden Girl

The winking twinkling of multicolored lights cast a brilliant

cascade of intense colored designs upon the plain white walls of a certain cabin's interior. Inside this humble dwelling were only two rooms; one large, in order that a few guests might be entertained, and one small, so that a single occupant might have a tidy place to retire after the daily labors.

On the western wall opposite the door, rested a mahogany

Grandfather's clock that dutifully announced the measurement of

time with an outstanding consistency. The clock's endless TICK

TOCK seemed to thunder as forcefully as any shotgun blast on

this Christmas fortnight, for in the dead silence a vivid

imagination harbored only the small elf and the small baby

reindeer, allowing them to play about the few furnishings of the

home.

In the corner, formed when the western wall met the northern,

stood a bright green fir tree. Tall and erect it stood, for it was chosen among thousands to show one's love for that most gentle

babe of Bethlehem. Throughout it's entire stand, not even one

time did a single needle wilt or droop. It was almost as if the

lifeblood that had sustained it rejoiced in it's final destination.

About the tree's foot was spread a snow white cloth of pure

cotton, sprinkled with the dust of ruby, emerald, and glittering

sapphire. On the outstretched limbs of the fir rested lengthy

strings of winking lights joyfully singing the good news message

in their own voice of winks in time to well known songs of the

season.

Against the southern wall was carefully placed a withered

couch that seemingly had seen more than it's share of visitors. The intent was to replace it, but the owner had long since abandoned

the possibility of accomplishing that task. On this couch, with it's tattered covering of cloth and it's well worn cloth buttons, sat a young lady who was the sole survivor of a terrible disaster that

had cruelly removed the only ones from her life who truly offered

genuine love in a world of hate. Her heart was pure, in the

traditional sense of the word, and her mind firmly fixed on God –

like desires. In this respect she was as she had always been,

therefore she was doomed to walk alone on the dusty roads of

life.

During her life in this warm cozy shelter of love offered by her

parents, her cheeks were rosy, her body full of vibrant energy and her golden locks appeared to be encased in a aura of moonlight,

as though a halo had been placed upon her head by the holy

angels in heaven above. In those days, when the world pushed her

aside, some cruel ones even violently attempting to shatter her

qualities of passionate beauty, she would race into this shelter of love spread before her by those who had given her life.

Unfortunately, those days had forever passed and now fate

itself had delivered a horrible blow in a single attempt to crush

her vitality. The once rosy cheeks were now pale as hazed

moonbeams; her bouncing hair of flaxen had wilted upon her

head, and her once glittering eyes of sapphire had dulled into a

pasty near blue film. The ability to sleep had long since fled from her grasp, and as she sat gazing blankly at the floor in front of