My eyes shot open in the darkness of my room as I convulsed involuntarily and clasped my hands to my chest. Something was wrong—I could still feel the tremor that had ripped through my chest. I wiped the heavy sheen of sweat from my brow as I glanced at the alarm clock on the desk; 3:33 AM.
I lay awake for hours, tossing and turning, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. After what seemed an eternity, I finally drifted to sleep.
Squinting my eyes in the early morning light, I groaned as the digital tones of my cell phone alarm continued to blare in my ears. I yawned loudly and sat up, glancing around the sparsely decorated room and stretching my hand out to quiet the merciless device. Tugging on my week-old jeans and my green, checkered flannel shirt, I begrudgingly slouched towards the door, ready to start my shift at the granite shop in sleepy Elberton, Georgia, the Granite Capital of the World.
Moving into the kitchen, I rubbed the grit from my eyes and muttered “Good morning,” as I passed my little sister Clara, who characteristically ignored my presence, glued to her phone seated at the kitchen island as usual. Grabbing a glass from the cupboard, I moved to the sink and turned on the faucet, moving my cup under the stream of water. I raised the glass to my lips and, startled by a yell behind me, turned around suddenly losing my grip, shattering the vessel on the laminated tile of the kitchen floor.
“Holy shit!” Clara screamed in a high-pitched voice; eyes laser-focused on her phone.
“What the hell, Clara?” I exclaimed, fixing her with my signature disapproving look. “You scared me half to death!”
Clara looked up from her phone for the first time this morning, gazing at me seriously. “The Guidestones, they’re gone, Dan!”
My thoughts drifted to the mysterious Georgia Guidestones, a local granite monument attraction referred to as “American Stonehenge,” put up by a wacky nutjob in the haze of the 1980s and replete with instructions to preserve mankind in eight languages. I quirked my eyebrow, furrowing my forehead and making quotes with my fingers, “What do you mean they’re ‘gone’?”
“Somebody blew them up!” Clara expressed excitedly. “Look, there’s a video and everything, the security camera got it all,” she said, holding out her phone to me.
Looking down at the screen, I observed a video of a security camera above The Guidestones, complete with a timestamp in the upper right-hand corner. As the frames fast-forwarded by, an explosion lit up the screen, followed by the scattered debris of one of the granite columns shooting across the nearby grass field.
“Damn,” I remarked, taking in the scene, and feeling a little sad. “I mean, I know they’re a little weird, but they sure do bring in a lot of visitors, don’t they?”
“Yeah, social media is lighting up!” Clara exclaimed. “Elberton is getting some attention for once!”
Shrugging my shoulders, I bent down to pick up the shards of the glass. “Crazies everywhere these days it seems.” Grabbing a fistful of broken glass, I winced as a shard sliced along my thumb, drawing a drop of blood. Gazing into the crimson bulb, my heart stopped in my chest and I halted mid-step. I dashed to the trashcan and dumped the glass inside, turning to Clara.
“Clara, give me that phone,” I commanded.
Looking up at me suspiciously, Clara hugged the phone to her chest, “No, why do you want it?”
“Let me see that video again,” I said.
Begrudgingly, Clara made a few rapid movements with her fingers and handed the phone over to me. “Why, didn’t you see the whole thing?”
Ignoring her, I held the screen up, focusing on the security camera footage once more. This time, I squinted, focusing on the timestamp in the upper right-hand corner.
July 6, 3:33 AM.
--
My thoughts continued to dwell on The Guidestones as I drove down the road towards my workplace, Granite Solutions, Inc. in my beat-up brown pickup truck. Trees and trailers on solitary, poorly grassed patches of earth whizzed by in the humid Georgia heat.
The Guidestones had always been something of a controversy in the town. A mysterious man utilizing the pseudonym “Robert C. Christian” commissioned the monument in 1979, insisting that the stones be capable of withstanding catastrophic events. Inscribed on the massive stone tablets were ten guidelines for the preservation of humanity, the first reading, “maintain humanity under 500,000,000 in perpetual balance with nature.”
“What a fucking wackjob,” I muttered as I cruised down the highway.
I pulled into the graveled lot near our sheet metal warehouse on the outskirts of town, glancing at the two other pickups parked haphazardly by the warehouse entrance.
Hopping out of my truck, I moved towards the building, approaching Ricky, who was packing a dip and leaning on the side of the warehouse. “Morning, Ricky,” I nodded, stopping short. “How are we looking today?”
Ricky studied me, clad in his trademark trucker’s hat and brown overalls, giving me a similar nod, “Morning to ya, Dan. Looks like nobody is showing up today.”
I craned my neck into the warehouse, glancing around at the distinct lack of employees. “Yep, looks like there are no signs of life in there.” Turning back to Ricky, I broached the subject, “You see what happened to The Guidestones?”
Ricky nodded solemnly, “Felt it is more like,” spitting brown onto the gravel lot.
My chest suddenly grew cold, “What do you mean by that, Ricky?”
Ricky remained silent for a moment, averting his gaze, before turning back and meeting my eyes. “Something wasn’t right last night. I ain’t slept that poorly in a while.”
I nodded emphatically, “I felt it to, like some sort of pulse, right here.” I tapped my chest right in the center.
Ricky nodded again, “Same thing happened to me.” Glancing in the direction of the road, Ricky jerked his thumb towards the warehouse, “Sounds like the authorities have torn the stones down, but Jim and I are gonna head up that way to see for ourselves this afternoon if you’re game.”
“Of course,” I replied, looking off the in the direction of the road. “It’s not every day your town makes the news.”
--
It was 1:00 PM and the sky was growing darker by the minute above the warehouse as Ricky, Jim, and I piled into Ricky’s grey diesel pickup, complete with lift kit.
“Y’all sure about this?” Jim said nervously from the front seat, his skinny frame wedged against the window looking up at the darkness. “It really looks like a storm is coming in.” Glancing at his phone, Jim muttered, “And my signal’s on the fritz, nothing’s working.”
Ricky cranked the ignition and caught my gaze in the rearview mirror, rolling his eyes. “Don’t worry Jim, weather should be clearin’ up any minute now and ‘sides, there’s been no lightning at all.”
The clattering of gravel echoed on the frame of the truck as we peeled out, heading north along the 10-mile route towards The Guidestones.
We proceeded down Hartwell Highway with the windows down, taking in the surrounding landscape. Looking out over the surrounding fields, the overcast sky gave the bordering vegetation a sickly brown look in lieu of the usual, vibrant green.
Fiddling with the dials of the radio, Ricky muttered a curse as static filled the cab of the truck, “What the hell? Nothing’s workin’.”
Two minutes out and the sky was black as pitch—this time with a tinge of red. A wild wind buffeted the truck, and it was all Ricky could do to keep the wheel straight and the vehicle between the lines of the road. A low, shrill, keening wail mercilessly echoed throughout the surrounding pastures. My gaze locked on black and brown shapes lying motionless in a field. I began to hyperventilate. “R-ricky, tu-turn around.”
The truck’s engine sputtered and died suddenly as Ricky continued to wrestle with the wheel, careening off the side of the road.
--
Wind whipping around us, we stood by the truck waiting for Ricky’s diagnosis. He stood solemnly, regarding the truck where it had swerved into the nearby roadside ditch. He slapped a hand against the hood and turned to look at each of us in turn, shaking his head sadly.
“That bad huh?” I said.
“Yep, she’s dead all right,” Ricky grunted, looking up the road towards The Guidestones.
“What now?” Jim asked.
“Well, it seems now we have no choice,” Ricky said, spitting onto the asphalt. “We continue on foot.”
“Man, I just have to say, this is some crazy ass weather,” I protested. “Doesn’t it make more sense to go back to town? I don’t like what’s going on out here.”
“I’m with Dan,” Jim said in solidarity. “I don’t feel safe out here.”
Ricky reached into the cab and pulled out a long, 12-gauge, double-barrel shotgun and a box of shells. “Don’t worry boys, there’s nothing out here that this can’t handle.” Slinging the shotgun on his shoulder, Ricky began to move up the road shoulder towards The Guidestones.
Jim and I turned to look at one another and begrudgingly began following up Hartwell Highway.
“Wait up, damnit!” I yelled.
--
As we turned around the bend, each of us stood frozen at the base of the hill, the highest point in Elberton, leading up to where The Guidestones once stood. The darkness was all consuming overhead, but what looked like a crimson bolt of lightning stood still where it had struck the center of the site, providing an unearthly illumination the color of blood. Several white sheriff’s cruisers formed a line on the highway, with half a dozen sheriff’s deputies in position, pistols and shotguns drawn, looking up at the source of the light.
Eldritch tendrils of black reaching out from the bolt, darker than the sky above and they seemed to be expanding by the second.
“You can’t be here!” a voice screamed at us over the sinister wind. “You have to evacuate, now!”
The three of us turned to the source of the noise, a male sheriff’s deputy clad in kevlar body armor and sporting a black, AR-15 style rifle.
“No problem, m-mister” Ricky rasped in an uncharacteristically meek voice, pointing his shotgun towards the ground. “We uhh, w-we were just leaving!”
“Why the hell are you boys out here? Nothing is getting through. Not cellphones, not the radio, nothing! Just the damn walkies! We can’t even contact the feds to report this th–” the Deputy’s voice was drowned out by the sound of a thunderclap that shook the air surrounding us.
I fell to the ground, clutching my chest as the line of cruisers rippled like a wave, one of them flipping over and emitting a screeching car alarm. The crimson bolt of lightning grew even brighter, and the center began widening until the bolt seemed to split in two, revealing a pale green glow in the opening in between. A pair of massive, ghostly-white hands with six-fingers, each the width of a double-wide trailer, shot through the opening and appeared to clasp either side. Each finger narrowed before terminating in a wicked black talon.
Trembling wildly, the digits clenched and began wrenching the opening wider.
“Oh my God, they’re breaking through!” the Deputy screamed but was quickly drowned out by the sound of small arms fire targeting the monstrosities’ appendages—to little apparent effect. Picking up a walkie-talkie from his belt, the Deputy yelled something intelligible and ran towards the line, drawing his rifle and taking cover behind the overturned police cruiser.
As the gunfire died down, I felt a low, guttural roar erupt forth from the opening as if from a hungry, slavering maw. A figure the size of a man appeared as a silhouette in the center of the green opening at ground level. The figure had too many appendages to be human and was wielding a curved blade in each. A second silhouette, just as misshapen and twisted as the first, appeared in the opening, followed by a third, and a fourth, and a fifth and sixth.
A rough hand clasped mine and pulled me to my feet. “We’ve got to get the fuck outta here!” Ricky yelled into my still-ringing eardrums, snapping me out of my stunned stupor. We dashed over to take cover beside the Deputy behind the police cruiser, who appeared to be catatonic, clasping his rifle to his chest.
Ricky leaned into the immobile Deputy’s face, setting his shotgun on the ground “What the fuck is going on out here, man?!”
The Deputy shook his head rapidly, “What the—what the hell is that?.” He began to cry “Oh my God, it’s all over. We’ll n-never close i-it! We’ll ne—”
Ricky’s slap was audible despite the small arms fire echoing down the highway. “Get ahold of yourself man!” The Deputy began sobbing uncontrollably and curled into a ball.
Shaking his head, Ricky leaned forward and pried the rifle away from the Deputy “Here,” he grunted, tossing the rifle to Jim. Reaching down, Ricky pried something else from the Deputy’s belt, tossing it to me. I snatched the item—a ring of keys—from the air.
“Find that vehicle, Dan!” Ricky yelled. “We’ll cover you from here.”
I peered around the side of the overturned police cruiser, flanked by Ricky and Jim. Clicking the car alarm on the key fob I extended my hand towards the line of vehicles. One of the cruisers, thankfully upright, began chirping immediately.
The guttural roar erupted from the gate once more, this time joined by a multitude of shrieks from the great host that had gathered at the base. Dozens of misshapen figures sporting claws, human arms, mandibles, and everything in between had begun sprinting, crawling—and apparently floating—down the hill directly towards the gunfire.
And then they were on the deputies; hacking, slashing, biting, ripping, and stabbing.
We began sprinting towards the working police cruiser as one of the creatures, a pale, bulbous column of flesh covered in human mouths began slithering towards us like a snake, rearing up as if waiting to strike. Some of the creature’s mouths were cackling maniacally. Others were chattering nonsensically in inhuman dialects in a multitude of voices, pitches, and tones. One seemed to be aiming directly at me with puckered lips, as if preparing for a kiss.
Several mouths were grinning wide, revealing razor sharp incisors.
Jim began firing wildly with the stolen rifle as Ricky discharged first one, then the other barrel of his shotgun, scrambling to reload from the box of shells in his pocket. The bullets and shells ripped through one side of the terror, producing an eerie screech of pain that sounded almost human.
Each of the creature’s human mouths suddenly unhinged like a snake, falling deathly silent, as the creature pulled up short, looming over Jim. Rearing forward towards Jim, one of the mouths slid along my arm with gnashing teeth, drawing blood, and pushing me off my feet to the side of the horrific scene. The creature proceeded to twine around Jim like a python as he helplessly writhed, trying to break free.
“Oh my God he–,” Jim screamed in agony from deep within his chest, but it was too late. The creature’s mouths began snapping open and shut, producing crimson sprays as Jim shrieked over and over before falling silent.
A figure roughly hauled me to my feet, yelling into my terrified face, “We have to get the fuck out of here!” I tore my gaze from the creature wrapped around Jim’s motionless form to see the nameless Deputy, who had apparently recovered from his stupor, rip the key ring from my hands and begin running towards the police cruiser.
I didn’t even look to see if Ricky was all right before sprinting behind the Deputy.
I wrenched open the back passenger door as the Deputy cranked the engine, leaping into the open backseat. Ricky shoved me aside roughly, slamming the door behind. The back window of the vehicle shattered as a gargantuan red figure strafed the vehicle with arms resembling scythes.
“DRIVE!” Ricky and I screamed in unison as the Deputy slammed on the gas, the cruiser hurtling south down Hartwell Highway.
Ricky and I watched the dwindling scene out of the back window in silence. I could make out the creatures moving in and out of the line of cruisers and I averted my gaze from the stomach-turning acts being carried out. I turned towards the site once more. The gate had grown to the size of an upright football field, and the earth trembled as the guttural roar shook the air once more.
An ethereal glow lit the darkened sky as the field beneath the gate suddenly erupted in flame.
I sat back heavily in my seat as we sped down the highway, and I recalled the first guideline from The Guidestones, “maintain humanity under 500,000,000 in perpetual balance with nature.”
I don’t think it was a guideline at all. I think it was a commandment.