The Whispering Caves

It was getting dark as Fover made his way up a side road, with no real name and not even hardly a spot on the map. He had gotten the directions after finishing everything. Fover chuckled, it had been drawn on the back of a small restaurant napkin.

The road started to get a bit bumpy, and he could feel his rental vehicle buck underneath him a little bit. His mind was still going over some of the calls in his mind from the recent job. He tried to shake them off. But they still rode alongside him in the passenger seat like memories that wouldn’t take a hitch hike when asked to get the F out.

His headlights illuminated the gravel, but then he came up upon a small cabin set alongside the road. The home was also dark. It was adorned with some small windows and a few curtains. Upon immediate inspection, it didn’t look like a spectacular place. In fact, his grandpa could have afforded anything, even minorly better, than this. This was what someone like him, before he inherited all that gorgeous money, could afford. That made him even more curious, what could such a simple little place possibly hold in store that would be more interesting than a big beautiful cottage situated somewhere more.... civilized.

Fover was honestly excited to have a reason to get away from the busy grueling pace of the constant calls. Plus, whether or not he sold it, it would certainly take a fair bit of time to sort through things and see if anything at all should be kept. Plus, if he waited a few weeks to think about listing it, he’d have some time to wander out and hike around. After all, there were still a few beautiful weeks of a late summer into fall that he sensed was a ripe opportunity to take advantage of the territory.

He pulled up and parked, shut off his car. The cabin almost seemed to stretch out the small set of stairs leading up to the main door, and screen door on the outside. There were two windows in the front, and the shutters had been closed shut. Fover wondered when the last time his grandfather or another person was out here.

The big keys clanked again as he took them out of his pocket walking up to the door. He inserted them, and felt the door give and yield inwards to let him finally have a peak. There was a loud screech as the door gave way to the dusty, shaded interior hidden away from daylight. He stepped inside and felt his boots press against the old wood. He looked around for a light switch or feeling for anything that would shed some light on the situation.

Finally, the daylight spilled in through the door, and he saw that there was a breaker box in the back of what appeared to be the main living room. Of course, there were several candles around that he instantly brought the lighter out of his pocket for. He got at least a couple candles lit and made his way to the breaker. There was a switch for “ON” carved into the metal door, pointing to the top black switch in the box. With a crack and a few tinking noises, a few lamps came on and finally illuminated his new inheritance.

His grandfather had had nice taste in furniture; much of it was oak and detailed with beautiful etches. He was curious to investigate further about the markings on the wood, but there was a lot to take in. He figured there may be a lot of items to go through, and with no intent of disrespect, he knew that many of them may have to be donated, or at least re-gifted to someone appropriate in the community. Hell, perhaps he would even have some items that could be preserved in a local history museum, if Bottomdown Road was even a part of a town big enough to have one. But perhaps some of it could be important family heirlooms that he should make sure don’t get into the hands of someone else. Sentimentality was an odd currency to him, because he felt he didn’t really belong anywhere, there wasn’t anything hardly meaningful to inherit.

There was a small kitchen on the far side of the room, with at least a semi-decent stove and fridge in place, and a nice table centered with a large decorated old lamp light over it. He also noticed an old ladder that was pushed up stored against the ceiling, with a string hanging down to climb up it; that must be the attic, thought Fover.

Fover decided that it was best to tackle the possibly scariest parts of the old home first. After all, if there was a squatter or if there was a big bad monster living out there, then he would have to find out eventually. Better now before he spotted someone peeping in on him while he was in the bathroom.

Fover moved all the furniture out of the way first, and then pulled the string gently. It looked so old that it might come off as he pulled it. With a tumble of dust, the rusty old equipment rolled out, and the ladder presented the way up. It didn’t look like any natural light came from up there, so he brought a flashlight with him. He warily approached the ladder and took a step and then another up the ladder until he was all the way up. He finally peeked over the edge, and being such a fan of horror movies, was almost disappointed to find that there was no evil or scary entity living up there. Oh no, I forgot, it already lives outside. Fover could not help but make light of the creature that had been plaguing him outside. To his pleasant surprise quite oppositely, there was something in the middle of the floor, but nothing else. It looked like it had been collecting dust bunnies for quite awhile. It was a small to medium box of some kind… Or what appeared to be an old journal; it had a ribbon included in the middle of the book. He went over and suddenly became quite taken with it; it was a heavy weight in his hands. As he picked it up something thudded to the floor quite solidly. It must have fallen out of or off of the book, and Fover had missed it in the middle of the dark and excitement.

Fover bent over to pick it up, in his hands was a small rock or crystal that had fallen. It was a gentle blue color (lapis likely) with differing hues across the surface of the rock. He turned it over and over in his hands, wondering what it could mean. It glinted in the light that came off the lamps.

The journal was shut with a binding around it, and now with the two mysterious items combined he felt set on making himself at home for the evening, so that he might figure out what secrets the two trinkets may hold. Luckily he had brought a few supplies with him to make sure that he had something decent to eat. The kitchen appliances seemed to work, so he went back to his car to get the food and his own clothes and supplies.

It was still fairly light outside, but the sun would be setting soon, and the light was falling across the trees. Wildlife was quieting down, and even the birds were starting to snuggle into the trees, and squirrels were tucking into the little groves of branches.

He carried a few sacks of groceries in with him and set them on the kitchen counter. He also saw a fireplace in the corner, and thought that would be a fit place to stay warm while he unraveled the sense of what was going on in the first place. He took a minute to go out and unwrap the tarp from the front porch to pull an armful of wood inside from the cord stacked just to the left. Whoever had taken care of the estate had at least made sure things stayed in working order, and left basic wood provisions so that whoever stayed would have a means of stayng warm.

He got a fire started and felt the chill of the evening wearing off as the sun finally set into a beautiful explosion of color. He saw the sky sprayed with spectacular watercolors. For the first time in awhile, he did actually find himself taking a deep breath and releasing the tension in his shoulders. So often in his role, working in the corner desk away from the real light, the artificial light worked on breaking him down daily. This was one of the first times he really remembered feeling the light from the outside. It was breath taking. It was warm.

Turning his attention back to the kitchen, he went about making himself a large bowl of pasta. He had discovered working his role that he had a big appetite for carbs when he felt stress. Who didn’t? He just so happened to feel stress consistently, so he ate carbs on an intense and regular basis. Hence the big bowl of chicken Alfredo now in his hands. Hence his many times spent working out when he had the occasional off moment and enough energy to pursue fitness of any kind. Fover began to settle into his environment, and even though it was unfamiliar, it’s still preferred to his incredibly stressful, mostly empty, and loneliness back in New York as an overtime working 911 operator suffering from some constant trauma both from his own personal life and also from witnessing so much of it in his daily line of work. He begins to feel joy in the presence of stress, and it only drew him in more, It was a relief from the pain of everyday. He likes being distracted, especially with a big mystery.

He sat down at the table he had found the items at earlier. Gently setting the old leather-bound volume aside along with the crystal, he put them out of his mind for now. The food was warm, and he simply took enjoyment in the fact that tomorrow didn’t involve an early alarm, a neatly pressed cleaned outfit, and a full 12 hours of being amazing and saving the world.

He just wanted to be nobody, with nothing going on. Except, Fover’s mind twirled around the next thought as his fork did the same on his flat noodles, there was something going on. He could hardly shovel his food in fast enough without choking, even though that was the first homemade meal that he’d had in a long time. But that aside, he really wanted to dig into this cabin.

The fire needed a little tending and the dishes washing, so he hurried to settling the cabin into a soft evening hush. Finally with a sigh he took a seat at the now cleaned off dining table and squared the book in front of him. He took the pale blue rock and kept it in his fingers, he had a strange compulsion to keep it affixed to his person until he got to the bottom of...paper and rock. Before he knew it scissors were bound to show up.

The fire quieted and stars shone clearly outside the window while he really finally studied the front of the cover for the first time. It had a large circle in the main upper middle portion, with a braided border. Inside he couldn’t tell exactly what the faded dark illustration depicted, but it seemed to be waves of some kind, and perhaps either a shelter, or...a cave? He thought it a bid odd anyhow, of a decoration for an old traditional journal like the one sitting before him. Was it possibly an unconventional Family Bible? That wouldn’t be that strange, since he understood this property went back some ways, well before his family had picked it up. He could tell that it was rather old because the pages looked worn, some torn, some had things spilled on them, but they were all tanned by the presence of time. He would make sure to take care with this literature.

As he unlocked the neat clasp keeping it shut, the book almost seemed to give a heavy sigh of relief that someone was finally about to know its secrets.

“How long has it been since you’ve shared your internal knowledge with a friend here?” Fover found himself talking out loud to the book. For that he felt a little concerned, but he didn’t bother with that for now. He felt more startled to even hear his own voice, it felt so quiet out here. It was such a relief to finally not hear anything, because he heard so much, constantly. His heart was weary. He pressed on into the old folds on the leather.

The first page was ascribed in messy hurried old black ink to the name of his predecessor and grandfather, Felix Tucanan, but why? Before his grandfather’s name, there were others he didn’t recognize, that looked as if maybe they had gotten the book first. He further discovered what looked like a series of grid pages, maybe maps? They were hand drawn to be certain, so they weren’t official and were not likely anywhere else other than the journal before him. How even more enticing. The maps seemed to be a series of interconnected, squiggly, lines? Waterways? Roads? Hard to tell either way, but it looked like they led somewhere, but it was off the page, into the unknown. So far, his mysterious book did not look any more clear.

Just as he had done in graduate school, he got up from the task at hand to go grab a cup of something. Anything to make sure he stayed awake. Because if it didn’t make sense now, he was sure it meant an adventure was in store. He felt coffee was fit for this evening, and he brewed a pot and fed the fire again. Opening the door to the front porch, he felt the cold end of October lingering outside, reaching in for the warm tendrils leading out from the fire. Brrrr. He quickly grabbed the wood and was just about to shut the door behind him.

He glanced up quickly to one of the nearby tall pine tree giants that crowned the air space by his house. What had he seen? He almost wanted to call out, a simple hello perhaps, to the nightly owl or squirrel that was likely scurrying about nearby. But something in his gut told him better of it, to go back inside, and learn more as he could. Was it trying to keep him from investigating the inside of the cave? Or had he personally offended the guardian of the land? He was exhilarated. It was wonderful to be involved in something besides the lingering of death and life, rather the pursuit of an unknown puzzle, to perhaps an inefficient end. But that was the fun in it. That was the point, to take a risk and find out. This was no corner desk here. This was a whole thirty acres with who knew what out here.

He did see that his grandfather had thought about security, he saw a large shotgun mounted both above the door, and on the back of the door. He had to admit, he liked the man’s tenacity for survival during his time alive. He also saw that Felix had made sure there was a large board he could drop across the back of the door, as he had seen on old horse barns growing up. He dropped it now. With a solid thud of the door in place and the fire roaring, the distant movement in the tree felt like a far-off moment now. He felt reassured.

Sipping his coffee and sitting down to his task once more, he chided himself for getting so distracted. Time to work. He also took a note pad out. He never left home without one, because Fover believed that one should be a constant investigator in any part of one’s life. This was very much a time to be an investigator.

Unclasping his pen, he opened the book once more. Now he was coming upon writing; it looked now like a series of journal entries. Better yet, was this a naturalist’s journal? He knew his grandfather had a proclivity for local birds in his spare time; the few communications Fover had received by hand over the years had always had bird stamps of some kind.

But there was no mention of birds here. Instead, the writing seemed solemn, of someone that hadn’t seen someone in a while. Of someone that had been keeping to himself for some time. It didn’t seem like his grandfather had written this, the writing itself was very old, and obviously had faded in some spots.

The book was ready to be read, he could feel it. He was ready to read it. The first entry was dated back to January 15th, 1872. The writer couldn’t have originally been his grandfather; he would have either had to have lived a long while longer than the typical human, or somehow have access to time travel or teleportation of some kind. Neither was a very probable circumstance.

He pressed on. The first entry detailed someone that seemed like they were exploring, and someone who intended to give this account back to someone or some authority. Who was this journal originally intended for at its summation? Who had ordered it written? And who had written it to start? All these questions turned around in his mind.

“Dear Reader,

Welcome to my account of the navigation and exploration of the nearby region. The following is my experiences and tracking my progress delving into the native or local accounts of paranormal tendencies. Whether or not they are warranted, they are indeed to be investigated.

Eagerly to find the next step,

Your Seeker”

Fover was just even more intrigued. The next entry discussed finally the illustrations and maps. It appeared part of the requirement, or intention, of this external report was to provide a lay of the land as well. Perhaps...he mused, he could find a way to whatever this book described by following the hand drawn guides by this mysterious Seeker. What was at the end? I suspect its no pot of gold, but perhaps I could be a great adventurer in my future, instead of an emergency phone operator. It felt odd to entertain any possibilities of future dreams; to do that required hope. Hope he hadn’t felt in a long while.

He couldn’t believe that even that early, there appeared to be formal investigations into the strange things going on. So he had been at least on the right idea; his grandfather had not just “happened upon” this land. He had meant to come to this land.

Fover had to get up and stretch both his mind and body; both were exhausted already from capacity required to learn everything in the past few minutes. The fire was dying lower, but Fover did not see the urgency of going outside right now to get more wood. In fact, he thought it much better to stay behind that big wooden door slotted down.

He went and sat down by the dying embers in one of the comfier chairs to the side. They were embroidered with an old pattern that had nearly faded into the woodwork. There was not room for a full couch here, but the chair itself was very comfortable. He sank into it, feeling gladder to be wrapped in the certainty of the chair than the larger mystery now unfolding before him. He had to ask himself, in the quiet hours now of the night, when no one was watching, did he believe in the supernatural?

He had come across the question so many times in his line of work. Fover stared into the fire, getting lost into thought. He had had callers that had sworn they were in the throes of possession, or of the last moments before an oncoming apocalypse. He always calmed them down, but he also found himself emptier of openness to any spiritual possibilities either, since before him he just saw more often the broken state of humanity, due to its own actions.

Had he had any paranormal experiences of his own to possibly offer him evidence that there was paranormal beyond the life he knew here? His mind wandered to his time as a teenager, living in a quieter large ten bedroom house, when he had found a summer job staying at a local rich old couple’s home. He had not discussed it often with anyone, for the typical fear of being taken as crazy. Even now, he doubted it. He had experienced intense shadow figures, black eyed fog that had wandered the grounds outside at night, as far as he could tell from the windows. He stayed his promised allotted two months he had given his word that he would care for the home. But after that, he was completely done. He had kept a dog with him, to stay his nerves and keep him company, Ito had been his best friend and mutt from the local pound. Rescues made his world go round. Too bad that Ito had passed many years ago.

Now, a fully grown man, Fover was dogless, and now he felt even more answerless. He at least had to admit, as a logical man who looked at his current situation through the lens of his own experiences, there was room for something to be a possibility.

He knew he had to get some sleep, but his mind was racing. He wanted to know more about this land, but he also did not feel entirely safe. Especially since he had no canine that was keeping him close to the light in his heart. He had not had any time for a dog, or at least not the fair amount of time that a loving companion like that deserved. He felt eager to go find a loyal and loving companion; he had more than enough funds now to fly the dog home if he went back to New York. That was a pleasant feeling at least that helped him think about where he might sleep.

Sleep. Ugh, his nemesis. He looked around, and as Fover studied the cabin a little more in depth, he saw a small door to the back of the room on the right, and after pursuing it, he saw it led to a nice bedroom, with a large sized queen bed in the middle. Sighing with relief, he at least had brought a few blankets and a couple of old pillows.

He at least laid his own blanket on top and crawled over the covers. He was exhausted, but he was relieved, to be anywhere but that corner desk. A shocking thought entered his mind as he started to give into the lull of delirium that was sleep. Would he have to work that job anymore? Could he, perhaps take on a more minor and less stressful position, as a part time safety consult? That question made him realize that he didn’t work his job anymore out of the goodness of his heart as he had when he first started in his very early twenties.

Now he stayed with it because its what he knew; and of course it paid at least some medium income. With that thought, he could tell the fire had died all the way down. The room smelled comforting, and there was honestly a small feeling of comfort and coziness that had draped itself over the cabin. In the night, when nothing mattered, when he could be anything with no consequence, perhaps even for just a second, he found himself, content.