Black Goo

 

Father called me early to report about a "problem". By "father" I mean the reverend - in this village, he has always been the father. Boy was that tricky during my childhood - there was my own father, the father in church and even the all mighty father in Heavens. This must be the patriarchy I've heard oh so much about.

I start loading up my truck. Must be a small water leakage, although, even that sounds improbable. I was there personally, watching over the damn thing, the whole renovation. There is hardly a nook in the cellar that my watchful eye won't recall. Could such elementary things have avoided my glance? I mean there is a chance. But I suspect the good old janitor knocking over his water bucket, on a hasty mission to fetch the sacramental wine, is the unlucky culprit. Anyway, better to see for myself.

The wind grows harsher as I valiantly approach the church grounds. Completely honest, this place has always made me shudder, from a small child to this day. The gravestones are ancient and unkempt, moldy and blackened by the sun. The crude rock walls have stood there since the war, not in any aesthetically pleasing order either, just boulder after boulder, carried there to lay rest for decades, not unlike the occupants of nearby homes. As if time itself is as fond of this place as me. Also, not surprising for a graveyard, but the atmosphere of death and the mighty church rising for the occasion, like a shrine of rotting bones, is ever present and has always felt grotesque to me. The most prestigious building of the area, sunbathing so proudly, surrounded by masses of slowly decomposing generations. And its not like things are getting cheerier - this town is literally growing old and dying as we speak. The majority of the parish - future members included - are whispering their hymns under the soil already. The end of the road - asphalt turns into sand. Old father is there by the roadside, restless as the wind, awaiting.

He almost runs me over, sprinting like a fleeing soldier and presses his face into the glass - he seems so distressed that one would think that the whole building is about to collapse. I roll open my window, slightly amused but mostly curious:

"Finally you came. About time. Something strange is happening here. Something I can not explain."

"Take it easy Father. What is it? Is it the insulation in the cellar?"

"Ahh I'm sorry my child. It's been a long and strange day already. And a similar night for that matter. Yes. Yes it is something like that."

Bingo.

"Water? Totally my mistake. I did triple-check them but you know, human error, something must'v.."

He cuts me off:

"Not exactly water my child. Better you come see for yourself."

Intrigued, I start following the old man up the dirt path leading to the church. On top of the hill lays also a pasture. Amazingly some arrangement was made, years and years before, that such good grazing grounds not be ruined altogether, and for the love of it the clergymen couldn't come up with another place for the holy building, so alas, horses be greeting the visitors. I'll pet one of them, as is tradition, for good luck.

"Who's this good boy?" I say as I gently brush the luscious hair of the majestic animal munching grass closest to me.

"That must be Ville. He's a good boy indeed, eats straight out of your hand!"

I hate it when people give their animals human names. I pick up some worn out grass for him to eat. He takes the offering, but looks at me with the nastiest side-eye. Almost like a warning. Or just displeased with the quality of snacks I lifted off the ground for him. Better get going.

Father opens the giant wooden doors, revealing the altar. For a church this old and this remote, it looks surprisingly elegant. But it smells weird inside. Normally you'd expect the smell of cut grass, dew or even hints of old wood. My nostrils are filled with scents of burning soil, like a damp, muddy bonfire.

"Have you, by any chance, started a fire here?" comes out of my mouth like a reflex. What a dumb question. Father looks at me like I've lost my marbles. He shakes his head and bumbles down the stairs to the cellar. At the last step he stops for a second, hesitating opening the cellar door.

"Just so you know", he whispers:

"I had the most peculiar dream tonight."

"Okay. Peculiar in what way?"

"It felt too real. It's hard to explain."

Oh man. Looks like the old reverend has finally lost it. I'm getting a bit annoyed, having driven all the way here for some bedtime stories. 

"Does it have to do with the matter at hand? Can't be here all day you know", I spit out angrily.

"Why yes. I dreamt of something behind that door". 

Old father looked extremely scared. Like whatever was behind that door would be too much for him to bear. Or for me to stomach. I decided to hear him out regardless.

"Tell me about it then."

"Well.. you know how I like to spend nights here from time to time? To get things in order for the early morning mass. Last night I was in the sacristy, reading the scripture, when I heard some unusual noises."

"Go on."

"This is an old building.. I mean, even a strong wind causes a million things to make sound around here. But the night was still. Nothing. And it wasn't like a big rumble or creaking of boards. It was steps."

A cold sweat came out of a sudden.

"I had to be sure. After all I'm an old man, but to my knowledge, every sound I hear is a real one. I enter the main hall and can hear it still. It's not my tired mind playing tricks on me. Under the floorboards there is a discussion. I muster up all the courage still left in me and march towards the cellar door. It's coming from the inside. I can hear their voices clearer, but for the love of me can't remember what they were talking about. I take a deep breath and swiftly open the door."

"Three people are there. They stop whatever they were doing and stare straight at me. One of them is like a man from another place."

"Like a foreigner?"

"No, like.. human-like but with something off? Hard to explain. He was all hunched up on himself with a blank expression. He wore a dirty, gray robe, hood and all."

"Go on."

"Then there was this military man. Medals and all. He had a nameplate but I couldn't see it. A large, scary man. He grinned when I entered the room but quicky regained composure. And finally.."

The reverend has to take a deep breath.

"Lastly, on the ground between them, sat a little girl in a green dress."

My heart jumped.

"I don't know or want to know what was happening, but I raised my flashlight and tried to ask what are they doing. Must've been the adrenaline. However, soon I realized I had no flashlight. And I didn't ask them what they were doing. In fact I wasn't there at all. I had no body, just a floating state of being. But.. the door was still opened in my vision. Or dream. Or whatever you wish to call it."

Oh my god. All this for a dream ramble? "So it was a dream. OK. A lively one at that. But why needed I come here today?"

He looked down with a defeated face and grudgingly opened the door. Flick on the lights and.. There it was, on the ground. A small, green dress. Jumped at the sight of it. No soul to be seen though. What the fuck happened here?

"Told you", said the smug reverend.

"Check the corner".

I glance at the end of the room, and under the ceiling is a small hole. Some sort of liquid is gently dripping down the wall. A small puddle has already formed. Need to get closer to identify. 

"Not water, that much I can say", comes out of me, but for why, I don't know. Might as well be water. It is a pitch black, gooey liquid. I stick my carpenter knife into it. Yup, definitely oily, definitely not water. I reach slightly closer for a whiff. There's an earthy fragrance, like a sweating core, dark liquid soil.

"I'm stumped. Never seen stuff like this before", I admit, trying to stay professional. The meek Father suggests:

"You think it has something to do with the dream? Like, they did this?"

Believe as you may, my first instinct was yes. I can't describe why, but the feeling those words produced in me was a tingling sensation, like when you place that monumental piece in a jigsaw, or when you find the checkmating pattern.

"No."

I'm at a loss for answers. That's why I was brought here - not to console an old man's dreams, to do my job, but this is beyond me, in many levels. As if the ground is leaking, or crying even. And for those tears, I'm not of much use, a faltering shoulder.

"Dreams are a funny thing you know", the reverend has hunched himself in a corner, like a gazelle in a room full of lions. You don't have to be afraid of me. His voice has taken a grim tone.

"Your dreams hold all the answers, but your mind is blind to them".

Annoyed, I reply: "Your dreams, maybe. I dreamt of a fishing boat or something mundane. Not.. whatever this is".

It is still drizzling out from between the boards. Like, it is not slowing down. A constant, mellow stream of black matter. The scent perplexes me as much as the texture. It reminds me of molasses, but like I said, doesn't have that sweet smell. No, it is very.. stony. My best description would be, "If rocks had powerful scents, something akin to this will burst out, should you slice open a boulder". The dimness of this rather claustrophobic room is starting to mess with my eyes. I see the goo vibrating, oh so slightly.

"Do you remember the first time you came to me, as a young man? With your problem?" mutters the old man.

"Yes."

"She wore a green dress too, if I remember correctly. And I know you didn't do anything to her."

I stopped. What a disgusting memory to bring up.

"What is that supposed to mean? Huh? Why would you have to say that you know it?"

"Well, if my mind servers me correctly, there were rumors.."

"Yeah. There were. A lot of hurtful rumors that still to this day make me despise this fucked up town."

She was my first crush. Or might I say, love. We got along real fine, although, the teenagers we were, didn't think too much of it. Anyway. She disappeared. I still remember that time vividly. It was October, and the autumn was darker than usual. It felt like some black clouds circled this city. I had been sick for a while, bedridden, with a not-so-gentle pneumonia. When I first heard about it, I thought it might've been a fever dream. We spoke just yesterday. She promised to bring me some hot soup later. I don't know whether or not she vanished on the way to my house, but nevertheless, she was gone without a trace. No clues left behind, no worrying behavior, and I think I would've noticed any.

The vengeful eyes of a quiet town turned to me, "the boy who's madly in love, unrequited". My parents, siblings and friends got my back. They knew my condition. I was literally sleeping in a fever at the time of her disappearance. But after that "circle of trust", there were the whispers. And the looks. No-one dared say anything to me, but I knew how they felt. Someone spray painted "MURDERER" on our front door. I want to say I'm over it now. I was always more hurt about her going away, not knowing what happened. And the way it happened.

The body, or any clues for that matter, were never found. There were no sightings after she left home at 20:10. A fateful hour. Her parents claimed that she told them she was just going "out". Nothing more specific. If anything, I would've pointed the finger at them. An innocent girl just going "out", to do whatever? No, it didn't happen. That much I do know. They had more friends than I did however.

"You mention her again, I will leave."

"I'm sorry. It's just.." his voice starts breaking. I take a quick glance, its like he is withering. Crying even. I start to feel bad. My head is like.. caving in to itself. I'm starting to suspect this stuff is poisonous or something, affecting my brain in some ways.

"It's just what?" as I ask it, I notice my voice also being a bit labored. Whimpering. Feeling the urge to cough. The room is somewhat darker than before. Smaller. I see it now - the goo is pushing through the ceiling boards everywhere. Father seems to notice it too, watching it come down all around, looking extremely uneasy. Like a curtain is coming down on him.

I move closer to another part of the room. Yes, it is the same substance. Looks like the room above is full of it, the way it is aggressively flowing downwards. I was scared already, but now I'm worried that the ceiling will collapse on us. I know the blueprints of this church, and there is no room directly above us. It is a structural support area, with thick concrete. This cellar is below the ground, on top of it a level of soil, and then the concrete. Maybe it is the soil between us that is.. leaking? Father is in tears, he's trying to hide it but I hear the sobbing from the corner. 

The goo is somehow growing more.. detailed. It is absolutely black, it is not just dark and heavy like molasses, it looks like the far reaches of the universe, in condensed form. I feel free somehow in its presence. There is peace in the way it moves down between the insulation, painting the crude walls of this hidden room.

"Do you see the stars?" 

How does he see it, all the way from there? I push my face right next to the goo, careful not to touch. Yes. I do see them and they are beautiful. The goo is sparkling and emitting a small vibration. The skin of my face tingles slightly. 

"What is this stuff?" I want to push my face into it so bad, but I think better of it. I take a small sample of it into my drinking bottle. Yeah, contaminate it all you want, this thing has to be examined elsewhere.

"She always hated this place" I proclaim out loud. The old man is visibly wounded by the intensity of my words. I remember that during her rebellious period, she outright refused to attend the services. She told me in confidence, that there is an evil aura lurking here. Right down to the air. The people, the animals, the plants, even the planks and stone that show the way to the light. She felt it deeply. Am I thinking or speaking right now?

"Speaking", says Father, growing weaker by the minute. He looks like he is going to be sick.

"Did you do it?" I'm holding out hope. He is a man of the church, he wouldn't be that reckless. Twitching and gagging.. For the love of God. The old man starts spewing out the black goo. Very violently he vomits it all over himself, ruining the already worn out but still usable gown. I don't believe it.

"Why did you do this? Do you have any idea what you've done?" I'm extremely angry at this point. A man I held in such high regard - like a god damn child at the sight of any curiosity. A weak, feeble soul.

He is apologizing, black stuff still bubbling out from under his breath. Condemned us both. He deserves punishment for this action. But somehow, I feel so.. serene. Almost happy. After all, I almost feel like doing the same myself. It is tempting to just eat it all out. Or at least taste it. Why should I be mad about something like that? I give him a little head pat for his silliness before I move back to watch the flow of darkness.

Yes, I see them now. It is not fully black, there are specks of light. Bright ones at that, but I can't get physically closer before my eyes make contact with the stuff. Dare I try it? Even in this state, I am scared. What do you think, old Father? Would you recommend it?

I don't hear a reply. The room is suddenly very quiet, not even the ambient sound of electricity or the breathing and whimpering of the old bastard is audible. Peculiar. I don't know if its hearing, but I can sense the vibrations emitting from the liquid. No wonder I didn't register it earlier, it is super low frequency and terrifying down to the core.

"She was scared of me becoming sick". Back then. She thought it was a bad omen, but didn't really elaborate it further. She cried over the fact, and I remember being confused, it was a pneumonia, not the black plague or something, and I was a healthy, young man. Like, there was nothing to make her believe that I couldn't make it. And she still visited me, so she didn't fear for her own safety regarding it. I was not invited to her funeral. I knew when it took place though, and I felt the same as now, fearful of the uncertain.

I can see glimpses of them when I close my eyes. You were right, it is.. I won't say real, but it is something. Not just imagination. And they make me very edgy. I can't tell what they are talking about, me or you, or this stuff. I get the feeling that they are behind this shit. Why did you bring this upon me? The vibrations grow louder, unbearably present. I press my face into the goo. Feels like the skin on my face is disappearing, not in a burning sensation, not like a wound, but just losing its sensitivity to touch.

It tastes like nothing. Maybe slightly like helium? I'm slurping at it, digesting it like my life depended on it, which it might as well, splattering it everywhere.. but it just doesn't help. The voices are growing audible. The whispers destroy me under their intensity.

Trying anything to make it stop, I close my eyes and bash my head to the wall, with the intention to get myself unconscious. Yet, every time I close my eyes, it becomes clearer, he becomes more visible and vivid. His eerie smirk fills me with dread, like he has been watching this unfold for what feels like hours. My head is starting to hurt from all this pounding, and as I open my eyes, I see some red in the black. Still glimmering with what look like little diamonds.

What kind of a man have I become? Is this the right way to deal with.. whatever this is? The man in military attire is right next to me. He towers over me, is definitely older, and still wears this wicked, unnerving smile. The man from a dream, yet, I don't feel like in a dream. I can sense his heavy breathing, and a sudden fight or flight response triggers in me. Still bleeding from the head trauma, I leap towards him. He vanishes as I come to my senses. Father is laying motionless in the corner, black stuff still dripping from his otherwise not moving lips.

He is still breathing. I take off that blackened, and now bloodied, gown. There there, may you rest easy, old Father, wherever you went. You were right. They were here last night. And I suspect they opened this flood. It is slowing down as I speak. There is still movement in the liquid, but I'd say it is more like flowing down, not gushing. It doesn't look as appetizing anymore. Some spots in the wall are completely clean of it, which is rather strange, except that a symbol appears to be forming in their place. A symbol I don't know the meaning of. As if it is trying to tell me something.

"Hey you", she whispers behind me. Oh, how I have missed you, all these years. But there you are. Beautiful as ever, and as much as I want to hug you, I don't want to mess up your precious white robes with all this.. black stuff that is still all over my face and hands.

"Hello, mysterious traveler. It's been a while." 

"How have you been?"

"You don't know what I've been through without you. Where did you go back then? I never asked for you to disappear or die."

"That is not completely true."

"Who did it? Who took you from me?"

"I think you know it. On some level. You just don't want to think about it. He is in this room."

I open my eyes and find the military man crouching over Father. Wonder what he wants with that barely living old bastard. I walk towards them, and see him drawing that symbol from the wall onto the good reverend. It hurts to watch, looks like he is in a way violating him, a supposedly holy man, although in a way I don't quite understand.

I ask him what is he doing. I never meant to kill. Not sure if I did anyway. No answer. He looks at me, and is no longer smiling. I don't know what to make of this. He is not real. She definitely is not real.I'm in some exotic state of mind, that I wish to leave as soon as possible. 

So, to the wall I go. A swing of my head, hurts like hell, nothing happens. Sensing him watching doesn't help. Whenever I hit the concrete, the symbol appears. As if I spread it like a disease. I go to the next wall. Same thing. Out of desperation, I turn to the military man. He is pointing at a specific spot in the northern wall. 

As my head makes contact with the wall, I crash through some planks into a dark cabinet. A secret room. I can't make what is inside, all I can see that it is narrow, very dusty and probably been sealed for ages. Moving my hands lets me feel out the area. Brittle stone, broken planks, loose nails. A storage room, I suppose. This was not in the blueprints. When we did the works I never knew of its existence.

A bit further in the darkness I feel numerous items. Something that I can grab onto. Cloth. Old, ripped up pieces of cloth. And something harder. I grab some with me and bring them to the cellar. What have you done? Inside the lit cellar, I can see clearly what was stored in that place. Pieces of a green dress. And bones. They are definitely bones. 

All of this.. I.. 

There are so many bones in there.

Touched by me now, disturbed.

Forgive me.

The military man starts to laugh as I start running away for all this. I sprint up the stairs to the main entrance, the echoes of his deep bellowing drilling into my brain. Never have I felt this type of dread for what lurks under the seemingly regular face of a quiet town. Not sure what day it is, I open the front door to find it is.. purple. Is it morning already? The horse is not outside munching grass, which bothers me more than I'd like to admit.

As I start to walk away from the church, I sense that I'm being watched. As I look back, the military man, the hooded stranger and the little girl watch me from the door. I can't turn from this anymore. Forgive me. I close my eyes and find myself in a void of some sorts. Like I've traveled the far reaches of time and space, to escape their watchful glare, yet, here as ever I am but a pawn that is constantly monitored. They will follow me. My arm starts twitching and pulsating, I frantically roll up the sleeve to find the symbol being drawn on it. 

I guess there's only one way out. As I decide to walk back, the girl and the stranger go inside, while the military man stands there like a beacon, welcoming me to another world I almost got out of. On the steps of the building, we meet eye to eye, he doesn't say anything yet I know what he needs of me. Something is starting to appear on my hand. Smoke. As the smoke fades, my hand senses the cold metal grip of a gun. 

What happened next escapes me, officers. But I swear that what happened previously, as stupid as it sounds, really happened. I want to take full responsibility, yet, I'm not sure what I'm taking responsibility for. Can you.. can you answer some questions?

They never introduced themselves, so, Military Police #1, the older one, looks at me sternly, no expression whatsoever, as the other one writes down my story to a notebook. I've never seen them before, but here they are, next to my bed in a.. what appears to be a hospital, but I'm not sure. Hospital rooms usually have windows, don't they?

"Yes.. we can, for the best of our knowledge. If you can answer ours."

"Deal. Did I kill the reverend?"

"To our knowledge, no, you didn't. It appears that he was already dead. Now to our question."

"Wait, that's it? What killed him? Am I getting in trouble?"

"Uhh, some of that information is classified. I think you know why."

"Hell no I do not. What is this place and what are your names?"

"You'll find out eventually. But it is time for our question. Matthias."

MP#2 brings forth a picture that draws a cold sweat all over my body.

"Did you see this person yesterday in any shape or form?"

"Yes."

He takes away the photo of the military man and puts it into a briefcase. They stand up and start heading towards the door.

"Now wait a minute, that's it? You're not going to answer anything else?"

They look at each other, and the older gentleman approaches me to place a hand on my shoulder.

"In due time, everything will be made clear to you, my son. Don't worry now, you did well."

As they leave, they mutter something under their breath to each other. Then, they look at me, still rather expressionlessly, and the younger man suddenly pulls out a familiar-looking handgun and points it at