Wordscapist, The Myth

What you say

What you wreak

Will follow you

Scurrying in your wake

Slick

I watched the sun set, and the landscape turn dark. I stayed on my seat as people around me in the carriage made their beds in preparation for the night. The lights soon turned off. I had played the morning’s memory a few more times, my imagination colouring it more and more horribly with each retelling. I tried to focus on what had happened after the incident… the remaining events of the damned day that had me travelling to Goa. I carefully turned my mind back to the point where I had ridden away from the nightmare.

The ride was a nightmare too. My hands were shivering violently and I rode like a drunkard. I was petrified that I would be flagged down by a cop on traffic beat and then it would be curtains for me. The blood stains on my clothes would lead to questions and I was sure there was already an all-out manhunt for me. I tried to keep the speed down and the riding disciplined, but I was too distracted for my own good. There were several instances where my own paranoia got the better of me. There was one woman with blonde streaks riding in front of me. She was in no hurry to go anywhere, and I had a tough time talking myself into overtaking her. When I finally zipped past her, I did all I could to keep myself from looking at her face. I was sure I would see the grotesque horror of grey-green flesh and molten glass. I kept talking to myself, telling myself that my fears were ridiculous. That demon was after that poor guy; specifically, his head. It got the head and was gone to do whatever demons did with heads. I had no dealings whatever with demonkind and should be completely safe. I mean, it could have finished me then and there if it wanted to. All this reasoning did not help though, and only further distracted me from basic essentials like traffic signals and pedestrians. Luckily, no one got killed and I finally got home.

I did not bother with the lift and rushed up the four flights of stairs leading to my apartment. It took several painstaking seconds to open the door. My hands shivered like I had an attack of the DTs. All the while, I kept mentally willing my nosy neighbours to stay indoors. Finally I was in. I closed the door and collapsed on the floor. That was when it hit me; the sheer insanity of the morning’s events and the mind-numbing horror of what I had seen. I broke down.

I fell on my knees, shivering from head to toe. Breathless sobs escaped me and soon I was crying and screaming, trying to vent the horror. After a while, I started running out of steam.

A quarter of an hour later, I was done. Feeling much better though a little numb, I picked myself up. I walked slowly to the window where I had installed a couple of cushions on the ledge. I propped myself up against them and sat looking out at the view. I could see the lake that lay close by. I lit a cigarette. I looked back at my flat; a sparse but tastefully done up studio apartment that I had set up over five years. I loved this place. This had been home to me through all my madness and happiness. It came to me in a flash that I had to leave, and soon. I had to abandon all this and go. I had no clue where. I took a long drag on the cigarette. The smoke was tainted by the metallic smell of blood that still clung to me. I needed a shower.

I quickly stripped and stepped into the shower. Soon, I was scrubbing like hell to get the blood and smell off my skin. The demon’s stench however refused to go, and I finally concluded that it was all in my head (which is a lot harder to do than you would realise.) I had been nowhere close to the demon and could not possibly smell of that decaying horror. That train of thought did not stop me from overdosing on deodorant and aftershave when I finally stepped out of the shower. I got dressed in my basic survival wear; jeans, a sweatshirt and sneakers. I had to pack. I pulled out my backpack, the old faithful that had accompanied me on many a trek. I quickly roll-packed all essential clothes and other stuff I did not want to leave behind. There were many tough decisions. Many books, CDs and other knick-knacks had to be abandoned. “I’ll come back,” I kept telling myself. I checked the time. It was more than an hour since I had reached home. I had to move on.

My hands were shaking. I lit another cigarette. Where was I to go? The question came back again. I could not go back to my folks in these circumstances. I had too much pride to run home with my tail between my legs. I could not pull any of my friends into this mess. The truth was, I did not trust any of my friends enough to be able to tell them what had happened. That was when I saw my bloodied clothes lying in the corner. The notepad was sticking out of a pocket. I picked it up.

It was still gibberish. Well, gibberish spotted with miscellaneous words I understood that were somehow worse than gibberish. Like the word ‘zauberin’. That one was German, and it meant ‘sorceresses’. Not that I know German, but I had come across the word in a chat room. But the rest of it was not German. It was not really French either, though some of the words resembled French. Maybe it was Italian, but then I thought I knew enough Italian to know what was not Italian. All in all, it was a lost cause. I had no clue what language it was written in.

I flipped the pages. There was quite a lot of stuff written in neat, tiny handwriting. I saw the word ‘demon’. There’s also a ‘faerie’ in there. What was this book; the 21st century edition of the Grimm’s Brothers’ tales? I turned a couple more pages. One name leapt out at me; Silvus. I remembered the dead man muttering the name. It had sounded like ‘Silver’ back then. From what I could remember of the delirious words, I suspected the dead man had not liked Silvus too much. I continued flipping. Some more pages later, I noted ‘Guild’. So it had not been ‘guilt’ after all. I was going to give up on the cryptic booklet when one word caught my eye. It was in quotes and used many times. Wordscapes. I said the word out aloud, and immediately, the air started swirling in front of me. I almost dropped the book in surprise. It was as if there were a warp in the space in front of me, twisting and turning, almost waiting for me to say something. I said the word again, watching the warp warily. Wordscapes. The warp spun a bit more, as if to say, “Yeah, I heard you! What next?”

Wordscapes. I did not say it again, but what could it mean? A picture painted with words? Strange. And why the appearance of this bizarre warp? I’d seen a demon rip off the head of a stranger, so the mere appearance of an odd shimmer in the air wasn’t going to phase me. And then, I came across a variation of the word…Wordscapist. Even as I read it out in my head, I could see the warp freezing to a standstill. I decided to give this new word a shot. I took a deep breath and said it aloud…”Wordscapist.”

The warp recoiled, almost as if it were gasping. It then rapidly coiled up on itself with a curious sucking sound, and all but disappeared into a dark black spot, suspended in the air. I leaned forward, trying to get a closer look at the dark spot. There was a moment of rapid, silent motion, followed by the quietest explosion ever. The last thing I remember was being thrown backwards, but only inside my head…

I eventually came to. I opened my eyes, half afraid of what I would see. My head was spinning and felt really heavy. I picked myself up, feeling disoriented. I looked around, half-expecting the room to be completely destroyed. But it was exactly in the shape I remembered it to have been, which was pretty wrecked to start with. At least it was no worse. I closed my eyes and tried to recall what had happened. I vaguely remembered an explosion. Apart from the fact that I had been lying on the floor, there was no other clue to this mysterious event.

I remembered the word, and I tried saying it again. Wordscapist. Something stirred in my head at the sound of it, but no strange warp in the air appeared. I repeated the word again. No effect. I clearly remembered saying the word aloud, seeing the warp become a black hole and then a supernova. And then I had passed out. Sigh. My memory was on an acid trip of some sort. I guess I had just passed out from exhaustion and shock and my mind had cooked up an incredible explanation while I was unconscious. I warily picked up the notepad that I had dropped in the midst of all this drama. I quickly flipped through it, almost reluctant to see anything more I could understand or enunciate! I reached the last page. There was a small note there, in English.

If found, please deliver to:

Aktomentes Loon

The Gypsy Shack

Baga Beach

Goa

Finder shall be rewarded.

It was one of those moments. The coin dropped. I knew my destination. I was going to Goa. This Aktomentes character (not Act two, Akto…that’s who the dead man had been asking me to reach…another revelation) had some explaining to do if he wanted his precious notebook. I had to find out what this was all about, to preserve my sanity if nothing else. I needed to understand. I stole another glance at the clock. Almost 90 minutes since I had reached home. I needed to get a move on!

I picked up my backpack, looking around me. I guess I owed myself a vacation. I had enough in liquid savings to cover my back for a couple of months at least. And the promised reward might just pay for my trip. And more than anything else, it would keep me away from the cops and buy me time to come up with a plan. My apartment would be alright without me.

I walked around the flat, picking up a couple of odds and ends and stuffing them into my already overflowing backpack. Finally, I gave up and accepted that I was leaving a lot behind and there was no alternative. I hefted my backpack and walked out. “I will come back,” I told myself again, as I locked the door. Somehow, I knew they were just empty words. I had a strong feeling that this was the last I would see of my beloved apartment and everything I was leaving behind.

The memory faded out as I came back to the present. I went back to staring out of the window. I could make out random shapes jumping at me from the darkness beyond. The night was half past, and barely a few hours remained before I would reach Goa. I had never been to Goa. I had always wanted to go to Goa. It is strange how wishes tend to be granted.

I closed my eyes and tried to get some sleep. I knew I needed it, but I could not relax. I was petrified that the demon’s face would come to me in a nightmare and the sheer horror of it would stop my heart. “Pleasant thoughts,” I told myself, “pleasant thoughts.”