Link to Book 1
https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/10meqmh/the_big_rock_candy_mountain_part_1/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=android_app&utm_name=androidcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button
“… all the bulls have wooden legs… “ Mike’s ringtone repeats.
I laugh, a short bark of shock at the lack of taste.
“Really? “ I say, shaking my head.
“It’s just for the Watchers of the Game, what, you don’t like gallows humor? “ Mike grins, it’s been somewhere around a year since I’ve seen him, but besides the intricate, almost ritual scarring on his face, and one clouded, dull eye, he looks a lot more… normal, to be blunt about things.
I’m sitting across from a six foot something guy in his thirties, wearing a New York Dolls shirt so faded I’m taking a guess as to who it’s promoting, not some clown themed serial killer with the devil’s luck.
My one-time companion answers his outdated smartphone, assuring whoever is on the other end that things are going well.
“No, not anymore I don’t, hoped I wouldn’t have a need for it.
So, why are you back man? I thought Art would have torn you to shreds by now. “ I ask, lighting a cigarette.
The small bungalow I’m renting isn’t much, but it’s the most stable I’ve been in a long time. After coming off of the path, the little annoyances and trials of day to day life, didn’t seem so bad. And while I can’t say I cut myself off cold turkey from any kind of drug, I’m a couple of beers and a joint kind of person now, and I know, in my soul, I have no chance of going back to the shit I was pumping into myself.
“That’s a story in and of itself, not that anyone seemed to want to hear it mind you.
But he kept me locked up, wanted to use me to recoup some of the losses we caused. Six months of hell and torture, and I took a golden opportunity, with the help of a few friends, and escaped.
The Watchers of the Game found me, and I’ve been with them ever since.
But you probably want to know why I’m here, right?
Well, these guys, I know they come off as a bunch of old blown out hippies, but they have… I feel like a fucking kid saying this… power.
They want Art to use as some kind of bargaining chip with his family, and we have knowledge, and experience they can use. “ Mike is relaxed, he stirs the instant coffee I made, drinking it almost without a grimace.
“You, I get, I’ve seen what you’re capable of.
Why the hell would they want me? “ I say, displaying my left hand, missing two fingers and all.
“I’m not here to make their case, I just wanted to get a little face time with you before they do.
I read your journals, and I spent a lot of time thinking about the things I did on The Path.
I don’t want you to feel dragged into this, I’d love you at my back, I don’t know why, but we worked well together. But, if you’re going into this, I want you doing it with your eyes open. “ I see emotion on Mike’s face, shame, fear, he drums one hand nervously on the cheap table.
“I’ll be honest, I don’t think there is a thing on earth that’s going to make me stick my dick in Art’s meat grinder again.
That being said, you promised me something back on the path. Either way, I want to know, who the hell are you, really? “ I, on the other hand, am calm.
“It’s a long story, in fact, once upon a time, I did the same thing you did and wrote my twisted misadventures for the world to see. God damn, what was I thinking?
But the long and short of it?
I’m either a vigilante, or a psychopath.
Don’t give me that look, I’m not trying to be vague, just honest.
But either way, I’m one in some other corner of reality, where the rules are set in stone, there are no ghosts, or werewolves, and certainly no demonic CEOs with short man syndrome.
I saw some bad things, and because of that I decided to take matters into my own hands. Found myself involved in some conspiracy theory level shit, and before I knew it, I was wrapped up in off the books government ops, and all kinds of other shenanigans.
Then I found myself… here, and found all the skills that I had were damn near useless. And this place was full of things much worse than the psychopaths I was used to.
But I also have a brain full of voices, back in full force as of late, and without a very specific set of meds, well, I start to lose my grip on reality. You’ve seen it, it’s why I have the bond-villain eye and roadmap face.
So, who knows how much we can trust my memory. I could have just as likely been Jeffery Dhamer as Huston Jones, is what I’m getting at. “ Mike stops making eye contact about half way through his admission.
Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t believe it, but why would he lie?
The Watchers arrive an hour or so later, three men in their sixties, and a woman who must be pushing 80, he eyes vacant, her face toad-like.
The man now sitting beside Mike seems to be their leader, short, slightly overweight, but with a strong build. He has a mid length white beard and wears square glasses with dark rims. His sharp grey suit puts him at odds with the retirement home hippie vibe the rest of his crew has.
“Hello Kevin, I’m sure Michael has given you a general appraisal of our situation, and our goals.
What I am here to do is show you why you would want to aid my organization.
We are not the void born, I have no intention of making you an offer you can’t refuse.
But what you need to know, Kevin, is that, the void, the energy that connects all the Woo-Woo nonsense, it leaves it’s mark on people.
Your last year is somewhat of a miracle, but some day soon, something or other is going to catch a whiff of the scent of your… adventures, and make itself known.
Of course, we are offering you financial benefits. But beyond that, after you complete your contract, we will offer you protection. And believe me, in this world, things that live in the shadows are a dime a dozen, but a bright torch, well, that is rare.
Oh, how rude of me, Jim Randolph. “ the old man says, offering his hand.
I shake it, feeling a bit overwhelmed, and out of my depth.
“Mike didn’t feel like answering this one, but I want your take on it.
You’re making a lot of promises, and it’s not that I don’t believe them, but I’ve got one question, why me? “ I hope my poker face is holding.
“Michael and yourself are nearly unique in that you have escaped the path, without any kind of contract with the entity you call Art.
One of you, is great. But two, the chances of something going wrong during our missions, is fairly high, having a spare would be a boon.
We understand that this is more than we can ask, but we also have resources the likes of which you cannot imagine. We promise you, your risk will be far outweighed by your reward. “ Jim makes eye contact, fixing me with a salesman’s inviting, yet challenging stare.
If I told him no, well, I probably wouldn’t have started posting these again, so I won’t bore you with the obvious conclusion to this deal. I agreed, and two days later, I now owned my home, and found myself in an ancient VW minibus, towing a horse trailer full of what I assumed was the drug supply for my new employers.
Jim was driving, out of all the baked, shroomed out, acid-headed, old bastards here, he was a teetotaler. Wish I had his grit.
“So what’s with all the drugs? “ I say, not one to shy away from a bit of weed, but starting to hate the pea soup thick hotbox of the minibus.
“We don’t do drugs Kev, we smoke weed, we eat mushrooms, and sometimes, we drop a little acid. “ Albert, a skinny, perpetually giggling man in his 50’s says, “Drugs, they send out a signal. They tell every shitty thing around that you are willing to trade your soul.
But the good stuff, well, that’s, tactical, man. Scrambles your outgoing signal, makes your soul slippery. “
“Okay, but what about Jim? “ I take a pull from the sharpie sized joint that’s being passed around.
“I was born lucky, no need for giggle sticks or fun stamps for me. “ the old man says, turning onto an exit ramp.
Out of all the old folks here, he most certainly seems the oldest.
We park what I feel is the world’s largest heat score at a small, out of the way motel. Mike and myself share a room, pouring over a Manilla envelope stuffed with information on the first part of our mission.
Art, for all his bluster of being some kind of God, seems to have quite the network of support staff, and the Watchers of the game intend to go after these soft targets.
The first, are dubbed ‘The Spaceshapers ‘, and who we are meeting with tomorrow.
The depth of the information tells me that The Watchers have some deep contacts, the fact that there are still conflicting reports, and pretty large unknowns, tells me the types of things we are going after should probably be left alone.
“So, fuck-face uses this cursed bunch of inbreds to make all his little pocket dimensions, and panic rooms by the looks of it. “ Mike says, he’s making his way through a six pack at a pace that’s quick, but measured.
“Seems to be, makes sense though. I mean, I can change a tire, but I’m sure as hell not doing it myself if I can avoid it.
Elephant in the room, besides yourself, not seeing many people capable of, exerting pressure in our little group. “ I see the words ‘violent’ and ‘unstable’ repeated over and over in the dossier.
Mike laughs to the point of being obnoxious. He wipes the tears out of his eyes before answering my question.
“Don’t’ worry about them, they are packing some heat in ways I don’t understand in the fucking slightest. “ My fellow traveler on the road to redemption or damnation explains.
It’s noon, we’ve been driving for hours, and I’m sweating bullets for reasons that have nothing to do with my first paranormal face to face since, well, you know when.
The amount of drugs in plain view is staggering, mid level as they may be, but that isn’t what’s sending every bit of sketch-bag trained paranoia in me into overdrive.
In Mike’s lap is a large chrome suitcase, inside this suitcase is a redneck’s erection worth of guns and ammunition. Enough to send everyone in this rattling boat to jail for the rest of their lives.
To be fair, public intoxication could put half of the Watchers in jail for the rest of their lives.
“If all goes well, we won’t have any need for those Michael. “ Jim says without looking backward, “This, likely, will be a simple business transaction. “
A car full of watchers follows us, two of the youngest, men in their mid forties, exit the pale yellow corolla, their rough hewn hemp outfits are not identical, but they certainly shop at the same fucking store.
The massive building in front of us bears a sign, reading, ‘Pop N Mom’s Lumber Mill’ and the building itself seems fit for the task.
The young watchers enter through immaculately cut oak doors.
Mike wears a drab, tweed suit, it’s tailored well, but makes me think of cheap uncles at rich churches.
Jim checks in on the two periodically, default text notification noises letting us know that all is going according to plan.
But there is a break in the back and forth rhythm, a pause that turns into a silence, a silence that has everyone in the minibus shifting nervously as it drags on for nearly an hour.
The six of us jump as Jim’s phone rings, he sighs, letting his exasperation hang in the air for a moment before picking up and placing the call on speaker.
“I’m going to assume this is Edward? “ Jim says, one eyebrow raising in anger, as if the person on the other end could see.
“Jim, I thought you’d make it. “ The voice is confident, raspy, and with just a touch of malicious edge, “ I wanted to go over some of the finer points of our deal, in person. Which I was trying to explain to your guys, but they didn’t want to hear it. “
“Our deal, was finalized and of great benefit to all involved Edward. Why do we need to go through minutia now, at the eleventh hour? And why in the blazes can we not do this in a peaceful manner ? “ Jim is angry, I’d find it comical, but this situation feels like the moments before a storm.
“This is a yes or no question Jim. You coming in, or are we parting ways? “ Edward’s question is answered by Jim disconnecting the call.
“You can bring two small firearms. And if you do anything more than make their existence known, it is only on my word. “ Jim reaches into the glove box and pulls out a collection of trinkets, playing cards, and errata I can’t even guess as to the purpose of. But judging by the somber look on his face, they serve a similar purpose to the two automatic pistols Mike conceals.
“Whoa, hold up there grandpa. We were told you only. “ Three men stand barring the stairs to Ed’s office. All wearing blue jeans and simple brown t-shirts, brown belts, and scuffed workbooks. They are around six feet, early thirties, square jawed with a mustache straight out of the 90’s.
Their resemblance is uncanny, not exact enough to be triplets but something about that sets me on edge.
“At this point, any pretense at sticking to our original deal has been thrown to the wind.
Everyone is going to have to make concessions, and either my employees accompany me, or we leave, and take the vast wealth of funds and esoteria we are offering with us. “ Jim walks up to the man half his age, showing neither fear nor aggression.
There’s a pregnant pause, tension building.
I look to Mike, and I don’t see what I expect, which is a psychopath itching to pull a trigger.
No, while I’m two steps away from pissing myself, and focussed on why these guys don’t seem right to me, Mike is relaxed, hands no where near the well hidden pistols.
We walk up the stairs, lead by the three nameless men, Ed sits behind a functional plywood desk. Behind him is a tinted glass window, transparent enough to show the massive lumber mill behind him.
At first glance, nothing seems off, but the more I look the more I see things that tell me there is more going on here than the usual bullshit that comes with commercial logging.
There are dozens of employees, and my heart sinks as I see they all bear that same cookie cutter look. There is no genetic variation here, just slight twists on the same basic person, suited better to their roles in the sprawling warehouse.
The farther back I look the more esoteric and nonsensical the ‘manufacturing’ process becomes. Not that I know fuck all about wood work, but saws, and forklifts make sense, hunch backed doppelgangers splashing blood onto impossibly long planks on the other hand, not so much.
I have no way to describe Ed, other than he feels like the original picture all of these clones or homonculai were Xeroxed from.
Jim sits, Mike and myself engage in an awkward staring contest with his… sons?
“Say how much more you want, I wish our association to be as brief as possible. “ Jim says.
“Well, it’s not as simple as that Jimmy, it’s not just about money.
This deal you want me to agree to comes with a lot of risk, can you really put a price tag on that? On a man’s safety? The safety of his family? “ Ed is enjoying this, I half expect him to light up a cigar.
“The question isn’t if I can, it’s if you will. “ Jim’s tone is curt, and at some point he has started to flip a coin through his fingers, an old silver dollar.
The nervous display from the old man does nothing to calm the fear I’m desperately trying to keep off of my face.
“Well, my problem is, I don’t think you have the pull to get me what I really want. So who can you get ahold of that can talk turkey? “ Ed pulls out a tin of mints, and begins to loudly chew a small handful.
Jim is spinning the coin at a rate that seems nearly impossible, it’s a grey blur in his hand. I seem to be the only one that notices.
I can hear footsteps below, I begin to sweat in levels only rivaled by dope sick.
I hear a ringing well before I see the coin launch into the air, then stop, suspended in mid air.
I feel nauseous, there is utter silence, broken only by Jim’s voice as he stands from his chair and begins walking away.
“Michael, I trust you can stall this situation for twelve hours or so until The Watchers and myself rectify it? “
“For a way home, yes. “ Mike says, as the old man walks leaves.
I look around, everything from Ed and his ‘sons’ to dust motes are suspended, frozen in time. Besides our outmanned little group, that is.
Jim makes his exit, shaking his head and grumbling.
Time starts again in a brain scrambling lurch, Ed and his sons looking around frantically.
One of the copy and pasted woodworkers pulls a pistol, a shining oak handled hand cannon, and aims it at Mike. A second later the second clone has a similar firearm trained on me.
I have my hands up, my heart is pounding and I am regretting my decision to get involved in this bullshit.
Something about being on the path felt, less real, as stupid as that sounds. As dangerous as things were, the absurdity of them, seemed to take the edge off somehow.
But regardless of what the hell Ed’s sons are, the blunt reality of the gun in my face is just as frightening.
“Whoa, how about we all relax. “ Mike says, fixing the son in front of him with a level look, “ You two with the pistols, this shit is between our bosses, no?
Well, we don’t want to go putting any more broken glass in this pudding than there already is, right?
Ed, sir, we’re still at the bargaining stage here, aren’t we? Jim is going to get you set up, you showed him who is in charge, but you go adding nearly a half dozen bodies, you have to admit, that’s going to put you in a weaker bargaining position once the contracts start getting signed. “
I can say nothing about Mike other than the man is full of surprizes. He calmly sits down, and puts his own weapons on the desk in front of him.
After a long pause, Ed motions for his sons to put down their weapons. I slowly sit down, gripping the arm of the chair to try and hide my shaking hands.
“I suppose your right, and unlike my idiot kids, I know a gunfight in a cramped office isn’t going well for anyone.
You two can be our guests until ‘ol Jimmy gets his shit together.
But you two better hope that’s sooner rather than later. I have hospitality, what I don’t have is patience. “ Ed’s threat sets my heart pounding.
We are taken through the massive woodshop, and for the first time since the path, I’m surrounded by things that shouldn’t make sense.
I shouldn’t have been surprized this place was equipped with literal jail cells, but still, it added to the whole industrial horror aspect of this wood mill God forgot.
It takes us an hour to walk from one end to the other, impossible, even given the dimensions of the building from outside. And the state of the place by the time we reach our dank, mold ridden cells is surreal.
The clones are shambling, multi limbed horrors, some misshapen to the point of immobility, fused to rusted steel benches, repeating seeming meaningless tasks, or simply thrashing and screaming through deformed mouths.
The tools become less like anything one would find in a shop, and more devious, jagged pointed devices stained with rust and crimson. It smells of sweat and rot, like something very large with not long left to live.
The cell door shuts with a metallic bang that echoes through the building.
Mike lays on the yellowed, tiny mattress, looking up at the ceiling.
I pace, starting to really feel the weight of my decision as panic sets in. I’m rambling, and shaking, and becoming more and more irate at the look of calm that hasn’t left Mike’s face since this all started.
“You want to show a little fucking concern here? “ I say, turning my panic outward.
“Kev, I’m concerned. We have to trust both Jim, and these things. A lot of shit can go wrong.
That being said, being trapped in a cell by some ego inflated bastard with one up on the world, that’s my bread and butter.
I, we, are going to play the game, but the second I feel we are going to lose. “ Mike smiles, wistfully, “ Well, you know where that goes. “
His statement does nothing to calm me down, to stop the jackhammer my heart is becoming. And as I look at the mutilated state of his face, I can’t help to think Mike over estimates his ability from time to time.
Sometime in the middle of the night, the door opens, and two of the homonculai, deformed things with faces that looked more like fungal blooms than anything human drag me out of the cell.
I’m confused, still sleep slowed and groggy. I try to question, but if the pained, gurgling noises the bad copies make in response are an answer, I don’t understand it.
They open massive set of repurposed barn doors and lead me into a room that is draped with foliage and vines. It’s humid, and smells of compost.
In the centre of the massive room, rooted to the floor and the ceiling, is something, at first, I think is simply a tree. But the texture is wrong, the winding, looping cords of matter resemble flesh as much as plant life.
The middle of the pillar blooms like a flower, thick ropes of purple tinted liquid fall to the ground. The overlapping layers of flesh like wood reveal what appears to be a woman, or at least something woman shaped.
She’s beautiful, if not, clearly unnatural. She’s easily ten feet tall, I’d say she’s naked, but her green and tan skin is covered with leaves and vines growing from her.
I’m stunned, my fear is tempered by an almost compulsive curiosity. Something about her seems at odds with the constant supply of violent horrors the paranormal has shown me so far.
“Kevin, you and Michael are not the only prisoners here. I am bound to the lord of this place, I cannot leave without his command.
Or, his passing. “ The plant like person pleads.
I try to respond, something deep within me desperately wants to help her, but before I can speak, I wake up, pouring sweat and out of breath.
I’d say Mike is snoring like a saw, but that would be a bit too on the noise in my current situation.
And that’s where things sit. Me soaked and shivering in the cold cell, lit by nothing more than my dying phone, and wondering what if my dream was something meaningful, or, to coin a phrase, just a bit of undigested beef.
Link to Part 2
https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/13qcl3m/the_big_rock_candy_mountain_book_2_finding/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=android_app&utm_name=androidcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button