Link to part 4
https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/114dpv9/the_big_rock_candy_mountain_part_4/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=android_app&utm_name=androidcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button
We’re hurting, Mike’s wizardry with the most basic of supplies notwithstanding, the trek through the forest took pieces of our bodies and minds that we couldn’t afford to lose.
The fire crackles, the night seems, thick around us. That abomination of a cat lays on it’s side, mismatched, off sized, soulless eyes stare blankly at the flames.
Rabbit and myself, we haven’t talked in a while. Physical and mental stress long past the point of taking a toll, and into giving us collections notices.
Mike on the other hand, the guy seems strung, full of energy. The PCP, of course has a lot to do with it, but I’m annoyed as fuck.
“We just took out a God damned forest guys, a giant living forest. Come on, show a little pride. “ He says, his enthusiasm is like a poke in the ribs.
Mike gets more silence, Rabbit looks shell shocked, if I look how I feel, it’s pissed off and tired.
“Anyone think we could do this stuff, full time when we get out of here, kind of a Scooby Doo deal? “ I can’t tell if he’s trying to piss me off or just being himself. Either way I snort another bump.
“Three friends going up against the supernatural? The killer, the reformed junkie and the Vet? Tell me that isn’t classic.” One word in this childlike proclamation sets me off.
“ Friends, fucking, friends!
That’s what you think this situation is?
Holy shit Mike do I have some news for you… “ I rise from the piece of wood I was using as a chair.
“Kev, come on, don’t… “ Rabbit is worried, trying to calm me down.
“No, fuck that Rabbit, we’re half dead, and I’m not going to hell without this off of my chest.
Friends? Oh, you piece of shit, you think we’re friends?
Newsflash cocksucker, you’re some kind of killer clown. We’re here because we’re afraid of what happens if we leave.
Not one second of my time with you has been by my choice. And if either Me or Rabbit thought we could, we’d have beat you half to death and left you in an alley with a broken leg for something to find.
Every life or death shit storm you barely dragged us out of, has been your fault to begin with. You want a new coat, or are in a pissing contest with another group of psychopathic assholes in costumes, and we come out missing chunks.
Eat shit Mike, you beat me bad enough I had a broken rib and missing teeth. You threaten us with ‘slow death’ or some shit any time we question you.
Friend? You’re half way between the world’s worst boss and an abusive husband.
Go fuck yourself. “ I’m standing face to face with him, in the dim light I get nothing from the look on his pale, scarred face.
He stands, we are still intimately close, and I make peace with the fact this outburst probably cost me my life.
He makes eye contact with me for what feels like hours, chuckles to himself and walks over to where we are storing the minimal gear we have.
He takes off the twitching coat, then the homemade vest underneath. He places his cane, and knife down, then proceeds to strip the thick, gaudy shirt from his back.
The wind picks up and the fire flares, illuminating the overlapping scars, improperly healed bones and other evidence of wounds, both historical and recent on the killer.
He disrobes until he stands in the firelight, a naked, pale, ghost of a man. His body telling a story too violent and complex for me to grasp.
“Mike man, it’s the PCP, he’s just amped up. “ Rabbit tries to interject, but Mike ignores him.
For all the supernatural horrors that could be lurking feet away, as Mike takes a seat, it feels like we are the only two people in the universe.
He motions for me to sit, when I do he waves me closer, eventually grabbing my wrist. He brings it up to his face, the palm near his chin, and finally seems satisfied with our seating arrangement.
“The hell are you doing Mike? You want to scare me, trust me, another ass kicking will do it. “ I sound sullen, defeated.
“Something I learned when I spent time with some of the last real bikers.
You’ve got questions I’m not going to answer, I respect you too much to just take a finger and call it a day.
So here, until sunrise, you ask anything you want, don’t worry about the consequences, there are none.
I’ll try to be honest, but there are some things I’m not going to get into. And if that pisses you off, feel free to talk with your hands.
You agree no one comes away dead or maimed, and by morning we don’t have to worry about our little personality conflict blowing up in the middle of some kind of satanic game, or fight for our lives. “ I think about telling him to fuck himself for a sixth time, but decide to take him up on his offer.
“You a serial killer? “ I say, bluntly.
“Yes, mass murderer, spree killer, rampage killer, pretty much any violent crime really. “ I have no doubt the truth of Mike’s answer.
“That, what you are doing there, why? You know what the hell I’m asking, but instead you just make yourself out to be an asshole.
At this point, I’m inclined toward that point of view anyway, but I’ve gotta know, why? “ My emotions are all over the place, I decide against any more powdered courage for the moment.
“Yeah, I know what your asking.
If we ever get out of here, I’ll tell you my whole sad little story. That’s a promise.
But for now?
I need to be a certain thing in this place, it’s the only way I’m going to get home, and you guys are going to get… whatever the hell you are in this for.
So here? What you see is what you get, because, Kev, it has to be.
Let’s say I tell you I’m some kind of special forces agent, back home I deal with real X-Files shit.
Well, now you are going to act differently, those wheels in your head are going to turn in a different way.
Or maybe, I tell you I’m some kind of superhero. Now you treat my like a Deus Ex Machina, here to make sure you two keep on trucking.
Or, I could say, I don’t know what I am. That, at one point, I was just some schmuck that saw some bad things, and made some bad decisions because of them, and now, I’m just a collection of shitty luck and personality disorders.
How would you feel about me then, Kev?
I’m no child killer, I don’t venture into anything sexual in a criminal sense, and I need you guys. If you’re looking for reassurance, that’s about all I can give. “ He’s honest because he has no reason not to be.
The proclamation chills me, but it’s more answers than I’ve gotten since starting The Path.
The conversation goes on until the first rays of sun light up our depressing little campsite. I won’t bore you with the details, it went off in some random and drug fueled directions, but it was informative none the less.
The biggest takeaway I got, was the voice ( this guy has a few.) Mike calls Demi, has been the source of anything he knows about this place.
And from what this possibly real companion says, our last stop before the mountain is going to be like nothing We’ve seen before.
The walk is slow, plodding, we pass other beaten, weary, and violent looking followers of the path, but anyone who has made it this far seems too Strung out and falling apart to start shit.
One day ketamine turns the road into a blurry, half remembered stumble, the next some synthetic THC makes the same distance seem like a miserable, confusing meander. Day after day, drug after drug, we don’t stop.
Not after we lose ten pounds, not after our lips begin to crack and bleed, not even when our hair begins to fall out. Even the path has limits as to how long we can go without eating or drinking, and we are beyond pushing them.
I almost fall face first as my feet hit the asphalt of what, would, at a normal scale be a parking lot.
Up close, the size was disorienting, blocks and blocks of tinted black glass fronting the place, the parking lot alone large enough to take up a few hours travel.
There isn’t a vehicle to be seen, instead we see the others that have made it this far, to the penultimate stop along the path.
And, I don’t like what I see.
Rabbit, myself, and even Mike, look thin, haggard, and blown out. Every step sends bolts of pain through us no drug can dull.
But the others, the packs of survivors making their way to the cherry maple doors of this city spanning bar, they are a collection of fear, violence and physical condition that seems nearly cartoonish.
I pick up on it immediately, these are the folks that went in knowing what they were getting into. The type of people that spent their lives becoming the type of person that would excel on the path. Mean bastards who made a game of taking life, and a sport of causing pain.
I look at Mike, he seems like a cosplayer by comparison.
“This isn’t good. “ Mike says, confirming he feels the same way.
“Have to agree. “ I answer, “Rabbit, didn’t you say you had a friend here? Maybe get ahold of them before we get killed and robbed, probably not in that order. “
“I’ve got, the, friend in there Kev, but that’s inside. Red doesn’t leave the bar. “ Rabbit states, putting another turd into the overflowing punch bowl that is our lives.
The crowd thickens as we walk to the doors, groups of eccentric looking hard men (and women) get too close for comfort and short, brutal fights begin to break out.
I see a thick set man in his mid forties get disemboweled by two people in torn, spandex bodysuits. Two women, built like linebackers bicker over some trade deal, and both die slowly from the ensuing knife fight. With every step forward we feel the tangible cloud of violence starting to close in.
A massive person, a head taller than Mike, dressed head to toe in bleached, carved bone shoves me to the ground.
I put up my hands, trying to defuse the situation, the wannabe skeleton kicks me hard enough to break two fingers with an audible snap.
I scramble backwards, heart racing, I stop myself feet before a milling scrum of people, fighting tooth and nail, tearing themselves to pieces on the cracked uneven cement.
I don’t see Rabbit, but the rattling giant keeps closing in, a deep chuckle, full of violence is muffled by his mask.
The old man is at my side, helping me up as Mike silently makes his way behind the bone themed executioner.
I’ve seen what Mike can do when he wants to cause harm, the guy is the fucking Mozart of hurting things. His overhand strike should have cracked the guys head down the middle.
A crack, a spurt of blood, and for the briefest of moments the looming skeleton’s knees buckle.
But before he can even retract his cane, the skeleton turns, throwing Mike to the pavement, sending him skidding for five brutal feet.
A good portion of Mike’s skin stays on the pavement as he gets to his feet in almost an instant.
The open handed slap slams Mike’s head off of the tarry ground, putting him on his hands and knees.
Mike tries to leap at the man, but gets nothing more than additional time with the asphalt for his trouble. A size thirteen stomp leaves the clown face down and gasping.
I hear a noise, it’s familiar, but I can’t quite place it.
Then I notice, from somewhere, the skeleton has produced a large cigar cutter.
He walks toward me, the rhythmic scraping of the blade blending with the rattling of his attire to create a haunting, almost chime like melody that blends with the surrounding chaos.
You know what happens next, right?
I’m not going to lie and say the pain wasn’t the worst part. That cigar cutter was dull, and pushed through the last joint of my middle finger using nothing more than the freakish strength of the skeleton.
But the feeling of helplessness, the total inability to help or be helped, it was a close fucking second.
Hey, at least I can be glad a finger was all he wanted, right? Lots of things would have fit in that cigar cutter.
The psychopath wanders away, already flensing and cleaning, what was once a part of my body.
No time for battlefield patch up’s, rabbit burns the mangled stump of my finger and binds it with a few strips of cloth.
“Welcome to the club. “ He says, with a morbid chuckle as we try to see if Mike is still alive.
He is, but I’ve never seen a man so demoralized. He’s silent, hunched, of course some of it is the beating itself, but I get the feeling Mike is used to being the scariest guy in the room, not the poor bastard saved by nothing more than the whim of a psycho.
We have a handful of close calls, but, for the most part get to the massive doors unharmed.
I want to call the two things at the door men, but the fact they stood no less than twelve feet says otherwise.
They wear identical blue suits with white piping, blue tinted sunglasses do their best to conceal wide, dark, pure black eyes. Their skin is an unnatural tanned orange.
They look at us with an inscrutable gaze, with every passing second I notice more odd things about them, as if their bodies were just best guesses at human anatomy.
My hand throbs, broken and missing fingers screaming for some kind of medical attention. Blood loss, malnutrition and mental fatigue make my vision blur and my head spin.
The alien stare from the parody of humanity in front of me sets my heart racing, it’s rhythm awkward and asystolic.
A dozen different scenarios start to go through my mind. A dozen different challenges we are not prepared for, a dozen different nonsensical, lovecraftian ways to die.
But whatever the doormen were looking for, we had it. Somehow, silently, the doors open, Mike, Rabbit and myself, walking through into exactly what we were expecting.
That might be going too far.
Yes, the inside was a bar on a large scale. But that statement, no matter how accurate, fails to encompass how vast and strange that is.
Thousands, maybe tens of thousands of people mill about in cliques and groups. Though, in contrast to outside, no random violence. The patrons all seem more than capable of it, for what it’s worth.
A countertop stretching miles, red cherry, with bronze trim pens in limitless bottles, and draught taps, sparse staff serving and moving beverages of all forms.
The ceiling is higher than should be possible, somewhere, hundreds of feet above, I can see giant fans, doing what they can to circulate the clouds of smoke and general bar reek.
It doesn’t feel like the world’s biggest bar, it feels like a natural formation, some ninth wonder of the world, that just happened to be bar shaped.
I’m doing my best to stay standing, Mike looks like his mind is anywhere but here, though, for once, Rabbit seems at ease.
“Care to spread a little of that good cheer?” I say, talking more to keep sharp.
“Red! “ Rabbit screams in response getting the attention of a man handing out a pitcher of dark red fluid I didn’t feel like asking questions about.
Red is 5”8, dressed sharp as hell in a suit that was a shade of crimson that kept me guessing as to if it was gaudy, or too high fashion for me to understand. His short hair is immaculate, and unlike everyone else here, his dark skin is unmarred by scars or lesions.
“Is that Rabbit? When you said you might be a while, I didn’t think you meant decades. “ Red has a voice made for radio or a courtroom, he eyes Mike, then myself, “ Looks like you’ve found your people too. “
I stumble, and take a seat on a cherry leather barstool, before the black spots in my vision get any worse.
A tumbler of what appears to be blood slides to a stop by my hand.
“Drink up, you need it. “ Red says offering no further explanation.
I pick up the glass, and after smelling, blood is the only thing it could be.
“Not sure that’s how things work. If you’ve got an i. V. Back there, spike me up though. “ I say, having to put real effort into speaking.
A sense of dread, foreboding, somehow the guy in front of me seems more than human.
“Are you telling me how things work, in my joint? You get one strike with that shit sweetheart.
Now, drink the fucking drink” To say there was no arguing with Red’s tone would mean that in some way, that was a possibility.
But that command, it might as well have been from my own brain. With no conscious thought, no opportunity for defiance, I find myself forcing the thick, copper fluid down.
And against all scientific knowledge, after a few minutes, well, I can’t say I felt great, but I felt like a much cleaner piece of shit at least.
Red gives me a look that says ‘ I told you so’ in every language known to man. The next thing he gives me is an old, greasy looking tablet.
“Rabbit here, he did me a real solid once upon a time. And now, it’s his turn to cash in.
You get a few answers, and a little help. It’s not much, but altruism is in short supply around here.
The path, it weeds out those who aren’t worthy, the weak, the stupid, those who have nothing to offer.
But my place, well, it’s for people who have something to offer. What we do here is see if you still want to offer it when you see what you’re really getting into. “ Red grins, I want to like the guy, but something about him seems too happy to be here.
“And what’s this? “ I say, tapping the tablet with my good hand.
“That’s what you’ve gotten yourself into. “ Red lets this hang in the air like an executioner’s axe.
I turn the thing on, figuring whatever the next supernatural grab bag is, it can’t be any worse than all the other ones we’ve had to open.
It was though. Despite not drawing a drop of blood, not breaking a single bone, what I saw on that scratched, grimy screen terrified me more than anything else on The Path.
I see a city block that seems familiar. I see myself, Rabbit, and Mike, but not how we were, not even the mangled walking dead we’ve become. But sad, poorly clothed, wild eyed, and pathetic.
Next, I expect to see the trench coat wearing thing, and the life or death struggle we barely came out of.
But I don’t, the scene that unfolds is horrific enough to snap Mike from his self pity induced stupor.
Instead of some kind of creature, the next person in the scene is an older man, beige pants, sweater vest, and garbage bag in his hand. Doing nothing more sinister than taking out his trash.
I rewind the video, again and again, not believing what I’m seeing.
But each time, it’s the same.
Rabbit, Mike and myself drag the man into an alley, there isn’t a fight. Just a slow brutal murder shared by three drifters. We rob the man’s corpse, and without so much as a look back, disappear into the night.
“So… all this, it’s nothing? Just a fucking slide show to keep us killing people? That’s what all this has been for? “ I want my voice to shake the walls with rage, but it’s a panicked, cracking scream, bordering on tears.
“Oh no Kevin, it’s much worse than that.
Everything you do here is very real, and everything you are doing back home, is very real.
This place, The Path, it isn’t quite a full step away from reality. You should have picked that up when you could still journal your adventures for the world to see.
But things here, have echoes, in the real world. What you’ve had to become here, turned you into what you see back there.
This isn’t Little Monsters, or The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. A little pocket of adventure you can visit and leave when shit gets too thick.
We want people who have chosen the path above everything else. Who want to see the mountain so bad they truly reject the normal world.
So, do you? All of you, I mean.
Can you look at this, understand what it means, and still keep your course?” Red’s revelation makes me think of every fight, every creature, everything we’ve done, and all of the brutal consequences.
Rabbit speaks for us, “We do. “ he says, somber.
I hear no trace of shock in his response, in fact, the old man didn’t so much as flinch as the video played.
“You knew didn’t you? “ I’m not accusing him, simply stating a fact.
“Not for sure. But yeah, I knew it was something like this. “ his voice has no shame, just acceptance.
If I could work up a rage, I’d have likely killed the old-head. But knowing that I’m the villain in someone else’s story, likely dozens of times, all I feel is scared, alone, and not in control of myself.
A noble man would have dashed out his own brains on the countertop after seeing that. But this isn’t a noble man’s journey, it’s mine.
“What’s next? “ Mike says, his voice is rage suppressed only by the smallest of margins.
Red keeps eye contact, not wavering for a second.
“Tone that holy vengeance shit down real quick, clown. My patience is fucking thin, friend of a friend or no.
What’s next, is normally a surprise. But for Rabbit, I’ll give you fellas the gist.
One of you is going to have to play a game of cards, poker to be exact.
Don’t worry if you’ve never had a knack for the game, it isn’t about winning or losing. It’s about you being willing to play. It’s why you see so many people, who have came this far down the path just fucking around my joint, never working up the balls to take that last step.
Win, lose or draw, you get to the mountain. Your chips? The lives of everyone, present company excepted, you still care about.
Which one of you is brave enough to try your luck? “ Red’s grin as he says this cements in my hatred of the guy.
“Looks like I’m the clear pick here. “ Mike says.
Rabbit laughs, his demeanor authority and calm.
“Naw, don’t think I’m letting you do that.
Mike, I had you figured out by about day 5. Could be that I’m wrong, but If I’m right the world loses a lot more innocent people. If you take this bet. “ I have no idea what Rabbit figured out that I didn’t, but judging by the look on Mike’s face, he’s not bluffing. “Red, how many chips we looking at for Pagliacci, and how many are we looking at for me? “
“Always liked you for your mind Rabbit.
You, three, I’m surprised it’s that many, with how long you’ve been here.
Bozo with MPD? About a borough of New York, give or take, I’d have to haul them in with wheelbarrows. “ I get what Red is saying, but still don’t understand shit about Mike.
Rabbit holds out a hand and Red places three brass coins in it, each one has an impossibly detailed picture on one side.
The old man pics one up, looking surprised and sad. It’s a picture of an older African American woman, pretty, for what it’s worth.
“Don’t worry Mike, your secret’s safe with me. “ Rabbit says, before we start the somehow too quick journey to the back of the bar.
When we get there, the setup is bizarre, a massive 1980s era television displays pixelated, faded cards on a green background.
Nervous followers of the path mill about, each trying to work up the courage to take their turn with the old, knock off Atari controller.
Sitting on a rotted, torn, plaid couch is a man that can be described in much the same way.
He doesn’t look undead, but his skin has an unhealthy tone, and wounds, in perpetual states of bleeding, cover his skin, the blood, somehow, never dripping or falling from the entity.
It wears old jeans, and a massive rusted belt buckle, I try to decipher the text to no avail. Completing this country uncle from hell look the thing wears a mold ridden denim jacket, two lone tassels remain on it’s fringe back.
Rabbit doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t question, just sits on the couch, picks up the joystick and takes his chances.
I’m not one for cards, find it boring as shit, but I will say, knowing the stakes, this game of poker nearly killed me on a few occasions.
Rabbit is good, his face blank, he doesn’t respond to the things attempts at conversation, and in a few dozen hands, he’s turned his pile of three coins into a sizeable collection.
In a place full of one sided fights and certain death, this was the first time I felt one of us was being given a fair shake.
But the dripping thing, it had deeper pockets, and just as much skill.
Hand by hand it got it’s chips back, Rabbits impassive look begins to falter as he starts betting all in.
It works, for a time, the aggressive plays getting caution from the country themed abomination.
But life hates heroes.
A bad hand leaves Rabbit spent. He doesn’t sob, or try to bargain, but tears fall in quantity from the old survivor.
“Not something I tell everyone, but I’ve been enjoying this game, old top.
You think you got a chance at saving those chips of yours, you still got one left to bet with. “ The entity’s voice is full of guile, and from the base of the controller, one last chip slides out. Rabbits face embossed in perfect detail.
If either Mike or myself thought there was a chance in hell of the old man risking his life, we’d have stepped in.
It felt like slow motion.
Rabbit takes the chip and bets without a second thought. The dirty, muddled old graphics show his shit hand a moment later, and the Entity’s four aces immediately after.
The controller makes an almost insect like noise, and, quicker than the eye can track, a thin, sharp metal spike extends from the joystick, burying itself under Rabbit’s chin.
It wasn’t a hero’s death, it was sudden, but not quick, the spike extending wafer thin blades and slowly turning. I can’t watch Rabbit’s struggles, the pained gibberish he speaks makes me scream for mercy. But in a place like this, there is none.
“I know I can’t put a hand on you now Cow-fucker, but you need to understand, I’m the kind of mother fucker who comes back.
Keep smiling asshole, just keep smiling till the next time I walk in those doors, it’ll be with a God damned army behind me, and every nasty little trinket I can find.” Mike promises the entity as the last bits of life, mercifully fade from rabbit.
The door that appears beside the vintage television is unimpressive, a simple exit sign flashes above it.
But what we see on the other side, was a marvel.
It wasn’t just a mountain, it was as if we were standing in front of the concept of a mountain. Ragged and split granite extending in every direction.
The tall man standing at the cave entrance in front of us is dressed in a sharp Armani suit, his teeth are pointed fangs, and his voice is Game show announcer friendly.
“Welcome to the mountain, now it’s time for your reward… “
Link to finale
https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/11sizs8/the_big_rock_candy_mountain_finale/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=android_app&utm_name=androidcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button