Oasis

Hundreds of years ago the earth was flooded – a great flood. One that drowned away the evil of the world. Burying it beneath a great sea. Or so the legends would have you believe.

I’ve never been one to place faith in any deities. In this vast world – there are too many different accounts of creation. Too many accounts of gods, goddesses, and the like. An educated person – and I would consider myself well educated – tends to place more faith in science.

Such is my story.

Yet, as stories often do, all that changed. I no longer question the evil of the world. Or the existence of a higher power. Nothing else could explain what these eyes have seen.

I was born wealthy, almost fifty years ago. And I married into wealth, some thirty years ago. I married young – to a strapping young lad. My brother’s best friend.

My brother, you may have heard of him – John Lucas Picall – inherited the Picall Salvage Corp from our father in his twenties. My father had an unfortunate accident at sea that ended his life prematurely – he was caught in a violent storm. I was only fourteen when news came by way of mail that his ship had been found capsized; his body was never recovered.

On one particular island, my brother met his best friend – son of a wealthy merchant, a man well renowned for his crafts – one who often charged exorbitant prices for his wares. This man – Samuel William Potchitt – with this man’s help, my brother expanded the business soon thereafter. Hiring many employees and establishing trade routes between the islands peppering our corner of the world; between four major settlements within about a five thousand square mile area. Though many islands pepper our great sea – most are hardly worth mentioning. Few are inhabited by anything more than local wildlife; trivial little specks on a vast ocean of waves.

Though Samuel desired primarily to work in trade – my brother held firm to my father’s beliefs and traditions; sending salvage vessels across the great sea. They scoured the depths of the sea for lost treasures of a world long gone; treasures from sunken vessels and failed expeditions. They charted maps of the islands as they explored and searched for any signs of the ancient world. On one peculiar day, they stumbled upon a man with a wild look in his eye. He had been stranded on a pitiful little island with a single wooden structure carved into the only tree the island had to offer.

The little man – a dwarf is the proper term – was dressed in curious attire and spoke in riddles. He offered them a chart – I can remember the chart well, for a rather large sum. The chart – a loose parchment embroidered with purple and gold – was aged well beyond any relic that my brother had ever seen. Agaisnt Samuel’s desires, he purchased the chart.
The chart was not easy to decipher – though the dwarf offered to do so. However, as my brother lacked sufficient funds, he decided to do so himself. This decision, in retrospect, bought him more time amongst the living.

Months passed before my brother was able to make heads or tails of the chart – written in strange hieroglyphs that I have never before, nor since, seen. A language that, by all means, was long dead to this world.

During this time, Samuel and I grew close – though he was difficult to get along with at first. He had a way about him, a charming smile that set him apart; a confidence that exuded from his very being. I must admit that, though I detested the idea of his pursuit – I found myself becoming smitten with his touch, his voice. Four years after he and my brother met, we were engaged.

Because Samuel was as affluent as he was – he often showered me with rare and expensive gifts. Jewelry…dresses. For our wedding, he revealed to me that he had made purchase of a private island. Our own little oasis out in the great sea. The island was spectacular – a natural spring of fresh water erupted from its center – culminating in a waterfall that dumped the water into a cool, clear pool. He hired the best carpenters to erect a cabana on the island; a single roomed haven with a hand carved door and furniture. Though the cabana was small, he had the mind to include a wine cellar – stocked to the brim with the sweetest wines. An access door for the cellar rested in the floor at the foot of the fireplace.

I had requested a fireplace – but Samuel noted that in this tropical oasis, such a thing was not a necessity.

As I taught in one of the main settlements of our region – we seldom made use of our oasis. But those nights we did were enveloped in passion and desire. It was heaven.

One night, on our island – we had a visitor. The moon was high in the sky – a full moon. My brother’s eyes were wide. He frantically asked for Samuel. I roused Samuel from our bed and they disappeared out into the cool night air. They re-entered carrying a large iron chest, engraved with the same strange hieroglyphs. I felt my stomach sink as they entered the cabana and made their way for the cellar – speaking in hushed tones.

“The chart was only part of mystery!” My brother’s voice grew more and more agitated with every breath. He scratched furiously at the linen sleeve of his tunic.

“What did you do to your arm?” Samuel asked. I followed my husband’s gaze – John’s arm was bleeding. The fabric of his tunic was torn.

John paid him no mind. “They tried to hide it, but I found it! I found it Samuel! The treasure! It’s in that chest!”

Samuel cast a glance towards the chest. “What treasure?”

John pushed the chart into Samuel’s chest. “The only one that matters, Sam! The only one that matters!” He sat on the chest, and continued to feverishly scratch at his arm. “They tried to take me. They tried to stop me…but I got it. I found it.”

“Tried to take you? What does that mean? Who?” Samuel dropped to one knee. “Who tried to stop you?”

“You wouldn’t believe me…” John laughed – his laugh was hollow. Pained. “Them, Samuel! Those that live amongst us! Not of this plane! The departed!”

“You speak of foul spirits?”

“That’s what they’d have you believe…but they’re not. They’re as flesh as you and I…”

John continued to dig at his arm. I could see the crimson glint in the dim candlelight.

He was bleeding.

“John!” Samuel took hold of his arm. “What happened! Speak plainly!” He pulled the sleeve of John’s tunic, tearing it asunder – then, he stepped back, a look of horror painted over his face. “Oh…John, you’re burning up…”

His voice faded to a whisper – I could no longer hear him. I watched in silence for a long while as Samuel inspected my brother’s wound. He stepped briefly to one side…

A spiteful wound – torn flesh and muscle – ripped from his right bicep.

I gasped – and my brother looked up at me. For a moment – I did not recognize him, his eyes were dark. The skin around the wound had already begun to fester – it was discolored, a deep teal, the color of the ocean.

Before he could react, I tore from the cellar – fumbling over myself as fast as my legs could carry me. My entire body suffered a dull ache, as nausea crept over me.

I waited outside the cabana – for a long time. Finally, my husband emerged. He sat beside me, in the damp grass and examined the sky. “He’s feverish…he’s dying.”

“What happened?” I asked, my voice cracking in despair.

“I don’t know…but I fear whatever did this to him…it had to do with this…” He extended his arm and opened his hand. In it was a single block of broken medal – shining gold and warm to the touch. I lifted it – inspecting it closely.

“It vibrates…”

“Your brother is resting in the cabana…I need to go get help. I won’t be more than a few days. Keep him hydrated, there are plenty of rations in the cellar.”

“Samuel…you can’t leave me.”

Samuel stood, enveloping me in his arms. “Oh, love…I will never leave you.”

He set sail that night – that cursed chart in his hands. He left the treasure – though I shudder to call it that – with me. I tucked it away into the chest in the cellar.

The night was long. John tossed and turned – moaning an ungodly sound. I tried to keep him comfortable…I wiped the sweat from his brow, I kept him fed and hydrated. I changed his sheets and changed the bandages on his wound. For three days I did this – each night, he grew worse. On the third night, I brushed my hand through his hair…speaking to him of our departed father. He moaned quietly. “Can you hear me big brother?” I asked…

But he did not answer. I pulled my hand from his head…and disgust filled my being. I had taken a good portion of his scalp with me…it clung to my palm. With a yelp, I jumped to my feet and made my way for the beach – I could not wash my hand in the freshwater, my mind reminded me…for I needed it to sustain us. I bathed myself in cool, salty sea water.

The wound had since stopped bleeding – instead, a thick black paste had begun to form around it. The smell was foul – so foul that, by the fifth night, I relegated myself to the gazebo my Samuel had erected on a small stone platform within the freshwater pond. I listened to the sound of the waterfall, lounged in an old wooden lounging chair we had picked up at the local market and, fretfully, found sleep.

I awoke to a horrible ruckus – screams that sent chills down my spine. Screams that made the hair on my neck stand and my skin crawl. With each scream – I felt paralyzed…the muscles in my body almost refused to move. I was stricken with fear…

But the screams were coming from inside my cabana. I inched towards it – walking at a snail’s pace, and I pressed my ear to the door.

Another blood curdling scream pierced my very being. I stumbled back, falling flat on the deck…then silence.

I waited for a while…a long while. I waited until I felt the rays of sunlight break the clouds and rest on my skin. Then I made my way to my feet…and I pressed gently on the cabana door.
John wasn’t on my bed…he wasn’t even in the room. But the door to the cellar was ajar. I eased to the door…then down the stairs.

John was hunkered next to the chest…his body convulsing in unnatural ways. The discoloration of his wound had infected the entirety of his being – and his body was devoid of hair.
His hands picked through the dirt. I watched in horror – silently – as a small rodent scampered about his feet. He did not react…he didn’t react when it curiously sniffed at the teal flesh of his leg. It was then that he screamed…

The rodent squeaked – but did not run. It stared at my brother, it’s nose twitching and its tiny chest heaving. I watched my brother – with lightning speed – grasp the small creature tightly in his hands. He lifted it to his face and devoured it furiously.

Like an echo of days past, I let out a gasp. And he turned to me, like those nights before…his eyes no longer clouded, but as black as the night sky, save his pupils – which shone red.

I struggled to my feet – and he screamed. I froze in terror – my eyes locked on his. He began to inch towards me. I willed myself to run, but I could not. My body would not cooperate.

He was an arm’s length away when I regained composure…I dashed up the stairs and slammed the door shut, locking the creature that had once been my brother in the cellar with his treasure.

And with the rations.

The days crawled on – with no word from my husband. Weakness began to overtake me…hysteria. Without those rations, I would die…and as the hunger consumed me, I became painfully aware of it.

I would have to venture into the cellar…if I was to survive to see my husband’s return.

I knew I was getting weaker. I could wait no longer, else I would lose the strength to carry myself. I found myself standing before the cellar door. I knelt, grasping the latch to the door – and, with all the courage I could muster – I pulled it free. It hardly made a sound…but isn’t it strange, when you’re trying to remain quiet, even the tiniest sound is like thunder? I half expected what used to be my brother to burst through the cellar door and devour me, as it had done that rodent.

But it did not.

I eased into the cellar, one step at a time. The stench seemed to had faded…or perhaps I had just grown accustomed to it. At the foot of the stairs, I saw him. I saw it…kneeling next to that chest, motionless…lifeless. But I knew better. Quietly, I made my way through the cellar…careful to keep my distance. I was almost there…

“Marie!”

My beloved…my Samuel.

I wanted to call out…but to do so would surely spell my doom.

“Marie!”

I heard the clunk of his boots as he trekked across the cabana’s floor. I had brazenly left the cellar door open.

The thing that had been John, turned its gaze towards the cellar stairs…it began to convulse violently once more.

“Marie!” He called out into the cellar. “Is John with you? Leave him! Now!”

He was halfway down the stairs now…and the creature was on its feet, lumbering towards him.

“No!” I yelled, springing to my feet…

I saw it play out. I saw myself rushing by the creature and into my husband’s arms. I saw him taking my hand and I saw us rushing out of the cabana – leaving the creature and its cursed treasure behind. I saw us embracing on his boat as we sailed away.

That’s what I saw, but that is not what happened…I leaped to my feet and I rushed across the cellar. But the creature was waiting for me. It screamed that paralyzing scream…and it pounced.

But it never landed on me…for my beloved Samuel plunged into its path, throwing himself between myself and what had once been my brother. It sunk it’s teeth into his neck and wrapped itself around his back…contorting in ways that was just not natural.

I was terrified…and I am not proud of my actions. I left my Samuel there…I ran for the stairs and slammed the cellar door shut. I bolted it, and then I sealed it with Samuel’s tools.

That has been so, so very long ago. I seldom visit my tiny oasis anymore. I have since sealed off the cellar…creating a tomb for the departed. Encasing the entrance to the cellar beneath the stones of a fireplace…I suppose I got my fireplace after all.

I wish I had had the courage. The courage to save them…my loved ones. The courage to explore this vast sea to find some cure. Find some way to heal them. But I cannot.

For I lack such courage.

Still, I do what I can to spread joy. I teach the children of my dearly departed’s home. I teach them about the dangers of the great sea. About the dangers of tampering with forces we do not fully understand.

Even now, I can hear them both down there…moaning. Screaming at one another. Tomorrow, I’ll leave this island. I’ll head north, back to Windfall.

The postman brought a letter today. A boy clad in the green clothes of the legendary hero has been helping residents of the island with all that ails them. I’ll give him the deed to my cabana, if he can prove he is the hero of legend…maybe he’ll find the courage to slay the creatures on my tiny oasis, and bring peace to my beloved.