It emitted such coldness. The rock was slightly larger than my fist and shaped like a pirate’s eye patch. Smooth… Metallic… Polished like hematite and icy to the touch. The edge of one side had deep gashes chiseled alongside it as though the stone itself had been torn away from a much larger foundation. The broken fragment then found refuge in the ocean for some time, giving way to the comings and goings of the tide around it. Until it found itself washed up on the shore today and picked up by me.
Whatever it was, wherever it came from - it drew me in.
I held it up against the Summer sky like a gaping Hole that tore the blue open to something dark and black beneath. I gazed at its bleak harshness contrasted with the warmth of the sun on that jagged side. It was heavy, I realized, and let my arm down.
Turning my head, I looked back up the California coastline from where I came. An older woman sat on a piece of driftwood and looked out at the water. A chatting couple walked along the tideline with a prancing dog at their feet. Around me, it was empty.
I looked back down at this Hole in my hand and something told me to leave it. Instead, I slipped it in my pocket before making my way back home.
—–
The Hole remained on my bedroom dresser for several weeks following that day on the beach. I gazed at it periodically in the time that followed and lost myself in its unmoving and unforgiving depths. But my life kept moving, and so did I. The Hole though, stayed still.
Between the movements of my day-to-day, I began to notice a certain dampness come over my room and home, permeating everything. I couldn’t figure out where the humidity was coming from. I would open my dresser every morning and my clothes would be cold and musty. I left my laundry in the dryer for extra cycles and purchased dehumidifiers for every room.
The dampness eventually became wetness. Soaked-through wetness. I was completely at a loss after one morning when I slowly pulled out shirt after shirt and watched in horrified disbelief as each one carried with it its own pool of water. The articles of clothing hung heavy, bogged down with their weight.
The phenomenon persisted throughout my entire home. The hardwood floors began to warp and discolor, my mother’s blue velvet couch grew mold and soaked through my jeans - if the jeans weren’t already soaked - every time I sat down. My kitchen became a breeding ground for mosquitoes after every cup and bowl somehow developed small pools of liquid that sat still and mossy in my buckling cupboard.
Then the nightmares came. Not so much of any particular thing, but of a deep drowning sensation that clung onto me every night. It pulled me slowly down, down, deeper into a forbidden coldness until the pressure in my chest and the weight of whatever was looming became too much to bear and I would wake up - gasping for breath, my sweat mixing with the cold wetness of my sheets and mattress.
I realized soon that I had also developed a perpetual chest cold and no matter how long I stood in the sun, or how long I stayed away, as soon as I came into my home the coldness came over me and I became soaked again. Coughing in mad fits, always so cold, miserable, and wet.
The longer I stayed, the worse it became. The wetness seemed to follow me now - squishing in my socks and leaving trails of water wherever I went. The empty coughs rattled my chest and my dreams became darker. It felt as though each night I woke up a moment later than the night before and there was something else now in the dreams. A presence. Someone or something lurking in the deep darkness that drowned me every night, something that wrapped tendrils of ice around my sleeping corpse and pulled me slowly under, hiding just beneath the curtain of black below me..
I had to get away.
I tried to sell what items I had but any prospective buyer soon became deterred after smelling the heavy scent of mold and must that emanated from my meager belongings. What kind of buyer would purchase a home that looked as though it had been sitting at the bottom of the ocean for the past 5 years?
But I couldn’t stay. I decided to take what I could and leave. I opened my closet and reached through the waterlogged contents before pulling out my suitcase and crossing over to my bedroom dresser. It was only then that I saw it again - the Hole.
It was as black as ever and seemed larger than I remembered. Its polished surface was still glossy and bright, but now there was something else dripping out of the jagged edge. Something darker than the water pooled around it. I reached down and dug my fingernails underneath its rounded edges but the Hole didn’t budge. I examined it again and this time angled my fingertips along one side, attempting to pry it off. My hand snapped back and I saw my fingers covered in the dark water that was seeping out of the Hole’s jagged edge.
I quickly wiped the edge of my hand against my wet jeans and although the substance came off, it left behind a biting cold. Tiny pricks of ice ran up and down my palm and seemed to nestle deeper into my skin. I grabbed my hair from the scalp and felt myself crumble inside - I needed to get out. Ignoring the Hole I opened the dresser drawers and pulled out miscellaneous articles of clothing, throwing them into my suitcase. What was I even doing? My clothes were ruined, my house was ruined. There was no purpose in packing.
I felt new moisture falling down my cheeks and my chest tightened as I cried out months of frustration. I crumpled onto my wet bed and curled up on my side as I let the emotion I was feeling consume me. How long had it been since I brought the Hole home? One month? Two? I no longer recognized my life. I no longer had any sense of self. I was lost in the dark and didn’t know how to get out. Who was the person who had been at the beach that day? The person who had picked up the Hole? That person who once knew the feeling of warmth.
I woke up to tiny sprays of water splashing against my face. I could hear it falling around me. I opened my eyes and gazed in mystified horror as water erupted from the center of my bedroom dresser. The drawers were open and gushing, the angled frame of the wooden structure buckled with the weight of some unknown pressure pushing ceaseless amounts of water through its center.
I stumbled off my bed gazing at the amount of water that was shooting up from the drawers and realized that it wasn’t water at all - it was the dark liquid that had been weeping out of the Hole itself. There was an inch of the cold wetness already on my bedroom floor and I felt the tiny needles burrowing into my feet as I ran to the source of the fountain.
The Hole called out to me. It was no longer stuck on the dresser top but floating in a pool of pure blackness. I reached my hand out and grabbed it. I felt the familiar jagged edge before I noticed another hand on mine. This hand was cold, pure black, and had fingers that stretched out long and thin, like angled spider legs. Its nails were sharp and pointed and I noticed there were seven fingers instead of just five and watched in horror as another slender digit began to sprout from its palm.
My hand seemed glued to the small fractured piece of darkness floating above my dresser as I looked up at the arm of the hand on mine. I finally saw it. The presence from my dreams. I recognized it from the deep pressure that suddenly grew in my chest and the overwhelming feeling of hopelessness that came over me.
At first I did not notice any discernable shape to the figure - it was massive and far-reaching, not physically, but in waves of energy it emitted from its concentrated center. As I gazed longer I began to notice delicate traits beneath the amorphous shape I felt and saw. Several slender limbs, whether arms or legs I couldn’t be sure, and in the middle of them all - a face? Something was staring back at me with no eyes - I felt it and shrank back but was unable to remove my hand from our point of contact. Then, as my eyes grew larger taking in more and more of the oval shape in the center, I noticed it. A small fragment was missing from the bottom right corner of the otherwise perfect oval-shape that seemed to be glaring back at me.
I glanced back down at my own hand covering the shard of the Hole I had stored away for so long and finally felt my hand slip off its smooth face. The figure’s hand, now more than twenty digits stemming from its center and growing, seemed to clasp the fragment and awkwardly bring the piece up to its center. After it dropped its limb, I saw a perfect oval hole glaring back at me.
A fragment of relief before I noticed the center of the oval becoming deeper. Heavier. I couldn’t remove my eyes from the middle of that deep dark shape and fear crept up again. It was becoming wider - the feeling of hopelessness swallowing me whole. I was so cold, I exhaled frost. The bottom half of the oval stretched out towards me and wandering tendrils of ice clung to my frozen cheeks.
The Hole’s massive jaw unhinged and dropped below my feet. I felt my own jaw drop open and the darkness surged in and filled my lungs with bitter cold. Despite the liquid filling my chest I felt only a growing sense of emptiness. The sound of my scream was muffled against the surge of darkness that rushed inside of me and I felt a sudden hollow vibration that took over my own breath.
The Hole became so wide I could no longer see the damp corners of my bedroom. I felt myself shrink as the shape inside me dragged me down. I couldn’t breath, I couldn’t feel. My chest was heaving but I couldn’t find air. The Hole fell on me and just when I felt my body succumb to its weight - it stopped.
The dark oval grew rounder and its limbs shrank back inside of its body. The fingers lost their points and twenty digits became five. As the ominous shroud of darkness retreated, I noticed something else. Warmth.
At first it spread like tiny pinpricks over my skin and the sensation was so foreign, I thought it was pain. But the feeling of pain retreated almost as quickly as it came and what replaced it was pure bliss. Warmth. Comfort. I saw a light stretch out and slowly fill the full frame of my vision and the freezing arms that held me hostage for so long retreated. I sighed and found myself smiling softly.
“Oh, hello there.”
A shadow emerged from just outside my blurred range of sight. My muscles clench - preparing again for the wet cold. Please don’t take me back there. Instead, a woman’s face appears over me. She has soft curly hair that was graying but had been dyed an artificial red and soft wisps hung around her face. I found myself focusing on the lines that charted their way around her eyes and down to the corners of her mouth. Her painted mouth is tightening around her teeth and loosening in strange shapes. She is dressed in white baggy scrubs.
Her eyes are black. I flinch.
“Oh, don’t you worry now. We’ll get you right as rain again soon.”
I try to shake my head. I feel the warmth coming back to my arms and legs now. I shift my weight to one side and realize I am lying down. My hands spread out onto the sheets beneath me and I feel the undeniable comfort of dry linen. I start to laugh and my chest feels ready to burst with relief knowing that I left the Hole behind in that cold, wet place.
“Try not to get too excited now dear, you might hurt yourself.”
I open my mouth to tell this person that I am finally well again and there is no need for medicine, I was cured. But the words come out jumbled and I can’t recognize the sounds spilling from my own mouth.
“Shhh. It’s okay, it’s okay. You’re not well but you’ll feel better soon.”
My excitement slowly shifts into fear as I realize this figure doesn’t understand me and even worse, that it believes me to be ill. I can’t go back there again. I can’t be cold anymore.
My discomfort manifests into verbal outbursts as thoughts of the must-filled closet, soggy couch, and visions of the Hole itself come edging back into memory. My legs come to life but just as quickly I feel hands grab around my ankles. I squirm and turn, trying to push myself upward, but my body is stuck under a thick leather belt.
“NO!” I manage to scream. I thrust my chest upwards and try to wrench my hands out but everywhere is resistance and I can’t get free. My hands clench the cotton sheets beneath me - warm, dry, and unsoiled - hot tears fill my eyes. They are going to make me go back to that wet house and those dark dreams. They want to give me back to the Hole.
The figure was making mouth movements now at other shadows outside my range of vision. Why can’t it understand me? I lift my chest against the leather strap and tense. Let me go! Let me go, let me go. Its eyes survey my writhing body and suddenly I recognize something in those dark circles. At first it looks like human emotion, maybe pity? Empathy? But, no. The two black circles start to expand - across the white edges of the figures’ eyes and over the corners of its face, back into the cavern shape of its skull. The human figure behind those black circles retreats and the darkness that replaces it is terrible and deep. The darkness of the Hole.
I scream. My body finds new strength as I throw all my limbs upward toward the blinding fluorescent lights. Sweat beads along the bands on my wrists and I manage to slide one hand out of the constraints. Swinging, I heave my weight toward my freed hand and grimace. The gurney I am strapped to topples to its side in a heap of fabric and metal and sharp pain shoots across the right side of my body. The chaos rings against the caverns of my mind - static and fuzzy. I lurch my free hand above my head and attempt to drag myself, still strapped to the gurney, away. Anywhere, anywhere, as long as it was far away from here.
Heavy limbs fly down and hold me in place - my face presses up against the tile floor, my side twists in anguish amidst the rods and metal frame of the gurney still strapped to my chest. I feel a pinch in my thigh and a cold weight drops on my legs. My eyes flicker down to where the cold pressure is heaviest and I see dark tendrils curling their way up my calves. My mouth opens but whether or not any sound comes out I am not sure. All at once, I feel it hit me like a wave - the chills of deep water, leagues below where sunlight ever touches. Empty and suffocating.
I taste the salty warmth of tears cascade down my face and feel the last embers of any fight I had in me evaporate. I curl my outstretched arm inward and cradle my chest. Closing my eyes, I know without looking that the Hole has found me
Something lifts me up and positions the gurney upright. My eyelids flutter back and widen.
The Hole stands over me - its limbs infinite and its presence unyielding. Frost forms as slender tendrils fill the room and replaces the bands around my chest and wrists with ice. Another limb emerges from the Hole’s midst, the end splintering into a hundred fingers that extend upward toward the pristine oval shape of its center. No eyes, no mouth, no features whatsoever - but I somehow feel it smiling.
The outstretched hand covers the Hole’s oval center and pulls away a piece of itself. Immediately I recognize the broken shard from the beach with its jagged edge and I try to pull away. The Hole places that broken piece inside me and I feel myself fall. The darkness sweeps up around me, consuming me, and chilling me to the bone.
As I fall, I hear someone say from many leagues above - “See? All better.”