They are Not You
I’d heard tales of this thing (no not that ‘thing’) living out in the Arctic since the 90′s, but had to see it for myself. Horror stories of a simple floating being. Shaped vaguely like a tall androgynous human, with reflective skin akin to blown glass. It sounded like something out of a fairytale or a failed attempt at a third Testament.
The local scientists and Yupik people said the being didn’t move more than a couple miles from a specific point but warned people that others who’ve tried to get too close collapse and are rendered speechless.
I had to learn why for myself and what this creature that could only be described as alien to our comprehension.
A few flights, an oversized orange coat and some introductions with my guides later, I was ready to witness this crystal-like creature. The guides and I trekked across the blizzardous landscape until a few hours later the snow seemed to swirl and raise like a tornado, but without the strength to lift any of us off of the ground or invoke any form of fear for our safety. The first of the two guides looked to me and said,
“We’re close. We have to go through the spinning snow. Shouldn’t be much farther now.”
As we entered the eye of the storm, the sun gleemed down and made the ice we walked upon shine like a rainbow and floating not more than a meter off the ground I saw them. The being was preoccupied, making light bellowing hums at a seal. The bellows sounded like a quieter less deadly vibration Sperm Whales are known to make.
The seal appeared to be staring in a trance at the floating 6ft creature. After what felt like an hour later, the seal slowly began to go off towards a nearby hole in the ice, still as wide-eyed as when we spotted them.
The second guide went to get the creature’s attention for me as it did not have a history of physical violence. After playing a piece of violin music through a special speaker, the mirroresque being slowly turned towards us for me to gaze upon them.
It was as people said, a floating androgynous humanoid with crystalline, reflective skin which looked more like a household piece of art than a living layer of dermal tissue. But the being approached us and its limbs moved organically, except its strong legs which dangled down, oddly unused. To my surprise this thing began bellowing a lower pitched rendition of the song my guide played for the them. As it approached the guide to inspect them, I realized it had no facial features but one reflective face. No slits, protrusions or orifices of any kind were visible, leaving me curious how this being communicated like this?
But I didn’t have time to contemplate as the hovering sentient seemed to gaze into the guide’s soul with a new hum that vibrated all of us slightly. The other guide and I watched, terrified, though awe struck as this guide went wide eyed, mouth agape face to crude face with this thing. The humming began to go up in pitch changing to a siren song of sorts. Not long after this auditory phenomenon I screamed,
“It’s aging him! My god this creature is making him greyer, we have to get him to snap out of it!”
The glistening being tilted their head to me and after a few strange clicks telecommuted to me,
“This man, like all who’ve gazed to me sought answers. So I gave him every answer he’ll ever need. But it appears you, humans don’t handle knowledge of this capacity well.”
Before I could ask it where it came from or why it gave knowledge of this magnitude, the being stopped floating and walked calmly into the same hole the seal had entered not long ago. Not long after that, the snow began falling normally and the circle of clear sky was no more.
It wasn’t easy, but the other guide and I got our all-seeing comrade to safety, if you can call it that. It’s been over a year since then and he has had doctors come in and out of the room he’s stationed in. He hasn’t blinked since the occurance, but his eyes never dry or tear up. He mutters a mile a minute about every solution to every regret he’s had. A scribe has been hired to write and record as much of what he says as possible as some of the knowledge he has rambled has given us more efficient cars, helped warring nations come to temporary peace, and those with depression find solace within themselves.
Sadly, this is all at the cost of his own life. Doctors say his vitals are in an identical state to someone having an eternal anxiety attack. His body rejects the IV’s given to him, but he hasn’t lost a pound since entering the hospital. His skin and hair however have aged rapidly.
Humanity has since referred to this mysterious being as "The Answer". I’ll never forget The Answer that gave us access to so much, but at the cost of turning my guides into something more. Most nights, I still see it’s gleaming shard-like skin staring down at me in my dreams. Yet somehow, I’ve never slept better.
I’ll go first
My supernatural being is a female named Rokee. She was a witch who was burnt at the stake during the Salem witch trials. Rokee was summoned from beyond the grave by several practicing witches 200 years later. She is 5'6" tall with red hair and green eyes. Her physical death left burn scars over half of her body. Upon being summoned, she was endowed with the powers of a shapeshifter, and often shifts to a siren so she can seduce men into doing her bidding. A humble woman before being condemned to death, she is now corrupt and wants all men to pay for her suffering. Sometimes she shifts into inanimate objects and hides nearby so she can discover a person's worst fear.
When love is found,
When destiny meets another,
When a plant finds another,
Intertwine is there.
She is nature itself,
Blue river eyes,
Green grass hair,
Sand yellow skin.
When nature is harmed,
She will go out of her way,
To save the day,
Fierce and feisty,
Strong and Mighty,
Intertwine will save the day.
There are creatures which live on the periphery. You’ve seen them. Or, almost seen them. Just as you turn your head they’re gone.
Many have likened these elusive wisps to leprechauns or gremlins. If only. Leprechauns are wont to bless a person with good luck when the fancy takes them; and gremlins, nuisance though they are, are mindless, as likely to spend an afternoon pulling apart a broken-down jalopy as an aeroplane engine.
But these almost-seen entities have motives of much darker intent.
I’m still don’t know where these things originated from. But then, I’m not sure where the human race came from either. Some mysteries, intriguing as they are, can remain unsolved and life will carry as normal. But the identity of these insidious beasts must be learned and shared.
It was on a train journey that I first witnessed the cruel truth of this creatures. Summer was ending and I was heading back to university. Beside me, a business read his Times and, across the table, a mother fussed her young son.
An inquest later revealed that postponed maintenance works had been the main contributor to the crash. Of course, none of us knew that at the time. Our minds barely had time to register that the train was coming off the rails as hell enveloped our day.
Momentum shifted as the carriage moved forward, up and sideways all at once. My stomach lurched as it does when the rollercoaster releases from his initial long climb. Glass shattered and peppered us, scratching some, deeply wounding others. Bodies tumbled from their seats, bags and laptops flew through the air. Up became down, left became forward, back became up.
Then the screaming started.
The cries of the wounded and maimed were terrible to hear, yet – disturbingly – calming. It signified they had survived, that the worst was over and that hope remained.
As my vision dimmed, I looked down and saw the table had broken from its mounting and had been forced into myself and the businessman. Other people and debris pressed against the far side of the table, affording us no room to free ourselves. My breath was being forced from me and I was unable to breathe in. Beside me, the man loosed a low groan, barely audible yet more chilling than anything I had heard thus far. I had heard of a death rattle, the final breath being expelled from a dead or dying person, but had not thought it a real thing.
And the almost-seen things surged upon him.
Their movements were rapid an erratic. The lasting image I have of them is comprised of a dozen snippets seen here and there. They resembled jellyfish in shape and size, but seemed made of grey smoke instead of tangible substance. Though I do not remember seeing eyes, each creature had many toothless mouths dotted around its body in a nonsensical pattern. Among the multitude of tendrils I saw several tentacles, each ending in a vicious-looking tooth or claw. These tentacles thrashed at the man as the beasts writhed over his body.
By some miracle, the crowd moved, the table eased from my gut and air rushed back into my lungs. I gasped and sobbed and waited for rescue.
I do not think that the unseen things caused the accident. Rather than being the authors of our demise, I believe they hover close to us waiting intently for our end.
Perhaps they are the embodiment of death and the Grim Reaper, atop his pale horse with a scythe in his skeletal grip, is just a romantic personification. Maybe every living soul has a grey counterpart, waiting for us to enter the undiscovered country. This I do not know.
All I know is that the sound of a soul being ripped apart – the pain and terror it voiced – will haunt me until my dying day. And probably beyond.
The Nameless one
I am a being free from time. Unbounded by the restrictions of time beings, I am at liberty. I can see beyond the realm of man. I understand the path mortals have taken. I have watched them trace it fleeting upon the face of the eons, the past as vivid before me as the future.
I breathe, I speak, I move, in seasons. I whisper through generations, going backwards, going forward. I know not all, though I know much. My hands struggle to reach any one person. I can grasp only roughly in fits and starts. I know them, but they know not me. They misconstrue my every overture, misunderstand my every word, delight in everything which I abhor.
Leaving me, as ever I was, since the dawn.
I am the one alone, the nameless one.
A Byproduct of Creation
It is pasted together. Grubby with the petals children have pulled from the head of roses and sunflowers. Its bones are fuzzy with cherry red and envy green pipe cleaners that have been cut and twisted—disregarded in wire mess wastebaskets. Its eyes are the many bits of lint pulled from deep pockets and wads of spiderlike string that has been rolled between thumbs and fingers. It blinks and a mouth carved from tiny scissors reveals needlepoint thumbtacks that glisten in its cloth scrap maw.
It is tall and skeletal thin with a belly that caves in. It hungers but it is weak. It collects the used and useless things cast from uncaring hands and with them builds its rising form. It waits in delighted agony. Waits for the rolled pieces of cartoon stickers, for snapped hair ties, bent needles, scattered confetti, and plastic pieces. And the more waste that is left astray, the stronger the creature becomes. Until its head—dripping with bleach, flaming oil, and stark blue antifreeze—touches the greasy sky and its long radioactive arms stretch around the grey earth.
Its mouth, now filled with rusted excavators, fallen planes, collapsed steel beams, and all matter of sharp manmade things, opens wide. And as a hot breath of burning tires, of asphalt, and of gasoline sweeps over the earth, the creature will take one big bite and swallow down the world down.
You know the creature's name. But collective negligence and the unrelenting bite of cooperation's greed force us to ignore the creature. We let it grow and grow. And when it devours our frail, sick bodies, we will only have our own system to blame alongside our own inability to do one simple thing: change.
Her skin glows with an enchanting color of a gem's emerald green dazzle and she moves effortless around the room. Her long soft curls highlighted with deep sage wisps beautiful around her perfect face as her beauty is unforgetable. She isn't the hostess of this party yet she demands attention from every little thing happening around her.
For those who are more brazen and who crave her confidence will be searching for intriging ways to grab her smart focus. Some willing to spend all of their treasures on her, for her, to be just like her. Even trying to give her gifts of themselves, an expensive family heirloom, a watch off a wrist, an earring out of their ear and the brillant bands and blings of diamonds off their necks and fingers--only for her to pocket the items in her hunter green glittered gown, that will never be enough to warrent her time to be spent with you.
Though it seems clear to me, happy in my own skin, proud of what I have become and how well I have weathered life's storms, she can't seem to stay away. Her fungus green finger nails scratch at me to listen to her bland story of being better to be the best. Her alage tinted tongue interupt my converstation making her look needy in front of my guests. Her moldy green breath on the back of my neck makes me excuse myself from her exhausting attempts to win me over. I leave Envia in the corner of the dance floor alone and beaten.
It's just a matter of time before her slim green slippers are lost and her eel-driven carriage drags her back into her unfortunate place of never being satisifed and longing for the courage to be her own true self.
For my next time get together, I hope her invation gets lost in the mail.