A common saying to describe one in extreme desperation is having “reached the end of one’s rope.” Having surpassed that point some time ago, there does not yet exist an adage that accurately addresses my forlorn reality. Destitute and entirely dependent on the pocket change I receive for driving my decrepit carriage, I spend most of my time in a wretched existence, surviving on the charity of the snivelling stiff-necks I obediently transport day after day.
One could assume that a sense of adventure and picturesque landscapes would accompany the job of a cross country coachman. Yet along the same accursed road I travel every morning. The callous and detached suits to which most of my pay goes to have me stationed permanently to this singular trip. I know every turn along the twisted path of this day-long journey; the wide curves, the way the road hugs the rivers and snakes its way through forests of dead trees. All of this I am excruciatingly familiar with. The road itself is an amalgamation of run-down cobbled paths and stretches of dirt carved by my own carriage wheels. I am a ghost on a road, doomed to eternal duty, to make the long, threadbare trip that I can never defer from.
Approximately twelve and a half hours later today I will have arrived at the other end of this wicked road to Stoughton, my body wracked with exhaustion and my mind all but a puddle in the base of my skull. When daylight breaks after a sleepless night, I do it all again. This is my pitiful presence; friendless, penniless, and most certainly, completely out of rope.
A Mr and Mrs Stoddardt were to be my passengers on this cold morning. Mrs Stoddardt was a particularly haggard and tired-looking woman, despite being dressed in a fine travelling cloak and bonnet. The man was dressed in a slick tweed suit, a shining gold pocket watch at his hip and a pair of glasses far too small for his round face. They both however carried the same demeanour, a certain air of contempt and sense of superiority that only creatures of wealth could muster. I loaded their luggage onto my carriage as they looked down their noses at me, an exceptional feat for Mr Stoddardt whose head only just reached my shoulders.
The agonisingly recognizable rattle and creaks of my carriage filled my mind with dread, a dire reminder of the lamentable journey that waited for me. For my passengers, a day-long experience out of the home, a chance to see some wildlife and maybe a beast or two. For myself, a grindstone to the body and brain. As I went underway, I slipped into a trance; a sleep-like effect where my only brain function would be to follow the same predetermined route that I was more familiar with than my mother’s face. Any on-looker would be bewildered to see a waked corpse piloting a horse drawn carriage.
In the years prior, while I still held some semblance of sanity, I would read at night. After the long day trips, all I would yearn for is to lie down and delve into other worlds, stories of great beasts and grand tales. I had an increased interest in legends of mythical beings; dragons, ghouls, chimaeras, giants. It was a certain escapism that not only let me lose sight of my dreary day job - if only momentarily - but it intrigued me in a way that I cannot describe. The idea of a world where momentous beasts roam, part of the natural fauna found across continents, simply enraptured me. I would spend what little money I had on old manuscripts, tomes, and folk tales. Sleepless nights would befall me, utterly captivated by these written words. It was a welcome distraction, an aberration from my drawl of an occupation. That was an eternity ago, however - my mind now empty and bruised, and my wakeful evenings came effortlessly now, no disturbance necessary.
It had been just shy of four hours of the road’s uneven surface and the unchanging landscape when a ferocious rapping at the coach’s window snapped me out of my stupor. I pulled over to the side, bent down to the window and peered in. The source of the noise, as expected, was the two impatient betters I lugged along with me now demanding for an early camp. Despite my assertion that due to the one-camp limitation of my services, this would result in an eight hour trip without break, I was met with the cold stares of two people who would have undoubtedly had me strung up by the feet at that very moment if they were able.
So sufficient space for a temporary camp was found, a fire pit was established, and I began to set up the Stoddardt’s tend under their scornful gaze. The canopy poles were finicky, like always, but - no thanks to the help of my passengers - I managed to get it up. I went through the motions that I had done so many times before: I hastily constructed their seating arrangements underneath the covering, and my own, on the other side of the firepit. Just far away enough to keep the stench of subordinate from infiltrating their space. For many of my passengers I often find think about asking them to build their own damned chairs, but as I examined Mr Stoddardt gingerly lower his body into his seat and Mrs Stoddardt struggle to carry her own bags across, I decided that the thought of manual labour even crossing their minds could exhaust them on the spot.
The sky went dark and the air grew cold. As the light faded from the horizon, an otherworldly hush fell down, broken only by the soft crackling of the tamed fire. It was at these times, in passing trips, my mind would wander. The night is full of mystery and magic, shadows and secrets. It is a time when, if one is brave enough, you could venture out into the unknown and discover things that were hidden in the light of day. The footfalls of giants far away would make the ground rumble, griffins would circle overhead, and the screeches of dragons would pierce my eardrums. I could reach down to my left and find the hilt of my golden sword, with which I could protect my passengers in our little camp. The only sound that filled my ears this time was the Stoddardt’s incessant chatting. Those dreams of mine are ancient history, my brain long since drained of any fanfare, and imagination itself is a lost concept.
Against my admittedly hopeful wishes of a trip I could forget in the morning, this journey was revealing itself to be a formidable beast. The Stoddardts were clearly far from satisfied by the food that was packed - by themselves - because it was not five minutes after they dug in that they were ordering me to find something else. A strong believer in exceptional customer service, I slung my rifle over my shoulder and headed into the surrounding woods. I knew that hares were a common creature here, and that they had a habit of standing still as a tomb when faced with the barrel of a gun. As long as I didn’t make a lot of noise, I could get it over with quickly.
In earlier years I would have cursed the Stoddardts for making me scramble through branches in the dark, hunting for an elusive snack which I was sure they’d barely touch. But my mind stayed empty. THe brambles carving through the skin on my legs barely stung me. I was whacked with stray offshoots from the thick trees that surrounded me, but I continued unhampered. It would be far too flattering to say I carried out my tasks like an automaton. That would imply an accuracy, a competence that I did not possess. A more accurate description could be that of a puppet, limply strung forward by an invisible force. It was common, on outings like these, for me to return to camp met with mouths agape and concerned gasps. My body had stopped feeling the pain long ago, and I would come back with lacerations covering me head to toe. It was just another part of the job.
It wasn’t as simple as I had hoped. I could usually finish this task within an hour, previous experience told me where hares gathered often and how to track them efficiently. However I hadn’t seen a single sign of the jumping critters. After further reflection, I wasn’t sure I had seen signs of any creature at all. For most, this would not be a concern - trying to hunt in the dark without light is not a simple task. I had done this so many times, however, that the lack of evidence of any other living thing was cause for concern. My hands were painted red from pushing my way through the brambles that grew thicker and closer, with the sharp and jagged branches carving patterns into my skin. The blood was slicking my fingers, making it difficult to hold my firearm. I could only imagine the hounding I’d receive if I returned empty handed, so I pushed further.
The woods were silent, they had been for a little while. It wasn’t the quiet that falls when a predator is nearby, for that was too familiar to me now. No, this was something far different. I hadn’t seen a single sign of life since entering this woodland. Even the trees, which I could just barely make out in the darkness, seemed dead. A man of different sensibilities may have turned heel and fled in fear of entering the unknown. But I continued. Do not confuse this for bravery, or courage in the face of danger. This was a stubborn execution of a task.
I was losing grasp of time. It could have been hours since I left the Stoddardts to wallow in their adequacy. The darkness was all-consuming, and I was losing my way through the foliage. I was stumbling more than I used to, my feet caught more and more unseen roots. I almost considered turning back, and simply enduring the mouthful waiting for me. I quickly struck that from my mind however. It simply wasn’t an option. The Stoddardts would surely be restrained in their pay, and who would stop them? As long as heavyweights that kept me tethered got their cut, nothing would be amiss. My foot suddenly caught itself on something large, and I found myself tumbling down a sharp decline. When I reached the bottom, something struck the back of my head and everything went black.
THUD.
My eyes were plastered shut with grime. Opening them was a herculean feat. The inside of my mouth was dry as a desert. It tasted awful. The light creeping in through my eyelids was like standing in front of the sun. The light…
THUD.
I gingerly lifted my head and opened my eyes wider, with considerable struggle. The darkness had vanished, replaced by a dull light filtered through a canopy of grey fog. How long had it been?
With great pain, I lifted my body and scoured the landscape around me. I found the culprit for my sudden nap - a black rock sticking out of the ground, now slick with my blood. I prodded at the back of my skull, and recoiled when I met the sticky crimson substance entwined with my hair. Gone was the shadowy woodland that I scrambled through, I was now at the edge of a great clearing. The thick, billowing fog that invaded every corner of my vision was too impenetrable a barrier to see through clearly.
THUD.
The thumping I initially thought was the aftermath of my fall - a side effect of having the consciousness violently knocked out of me - grew louder. I waited for a moment, straining my ears and trying to squint through the foggy abyss.
THUD.
I winced at the feeling. While I was unable to spy anything through the grey mass, it was unmistakable now: the dull thudding wasn’t a by-product of my concussion - although the searing pain and wobbly vision certainly was - it was from an extraneous source. It was somewhat far off, but it couldn’t have been outside the confines of the valley.
I was hesitant to move. My head was still throbbing and my body was like a bag of wet cement with some bones tossed throughout. For a moment I laid there, half to rest my reeling form and half hoping to wither away.
Another moment passed. I closed my eyes and released all my previously taut muscles.
Perhaps this was to be the finale to my pitiful narrative. Beaten, broken at the bottom of a hill, lost in search of a mere rabbit. Maybe if I were to relinquish the last grasp I had on life, sever the final thread keeping me mortal, I could finally get some rest. Good luck, Mr and Mrs Stoddardt. I’ll see you in hell.
THUD.
Before too long, I found myself righted. My legs could barely take my weight and an outer crust of mud, leaves and blood had formed around my bruised body. If not for the fact that my heart unfortunately still pumped, I would fulfil the requirements for a corpse excellently. A magical force had drawn me to stand, pulled me up like a broken marionette. A force that I had not known for quite some time.
Intense curiosity fuled me as I lurked further towards the middle of the field. The fog swelled and twirled around me as I staggered across the dark muddy floor, much of which was still accumulated on my body. As I got closer to what I assumed was the middle, the thudding began to disturb some of the leaves below my feet. Making my way further still, it started kicking up mud. I could feel the ground beneath me shudder slightly at every impact. I had my guesses; a machine of sorts, perhaps a mining rig. Not many contraptions could shake the earth like this. I was inclined to ignore this thought on the basis that in all my travels I had never heard or seen a mining operation in this forest. However at this point, for all I knew I could have been on another planet. This was uncharted territory.
The fog hadn’t gotten any thinner. I was walking blind, a grim similarity to just a few hours ago in the underbrush. Traversal now was much easier than stumbling through the forest. Without the trees, bushes and roots to trip myself over, it made for easy transit. At a certain point the fog grew so thick I couldn’t see past my chest. It was an unusual experience, so immersed in this milky substance that I had no bearing of anything. I trusted my struggling legs to carry me forward, wherever that may lead. The thumping, which had become much closer, was now impressively overbearing. The ground shook violently, and it took all the remaining dregs of my strength to remain upright. The sound was deafening, like a small asteroid smashing into the earth. I continued to limp forward, tossing aside fear in favour of inquisitiveness. A thirst for this wholly unique thing out there in this heavy sea of smoke.
The energy had been drained from my body. Upon the next unearthly impact, my legs buckled from underneath me, and the muddy sludge met with my face at speed. My body landed like a tree trunk, driving the air out of my lungs and punishing my throbbing limbs. I hadn’t the vitality to curse myself. To curse my eagerness, which dragged me up from the bottom of that hill and traipsed me towards this infernal sound. Ultimately I remained shattered, only now in the centre of a cloudy maelstrom. Something dark several metres in front caught my eye. When I looked up, peeling my face from the ground, I could only see the dull emptiness. Another impact; like a volcano erupting, threatened to toss me into the sky. A darkness appeared again, to my left. This one I caught. A ginormous pillar had appeared, larger than a windmill and uneven around its base, it looked rocky and cratered. The earth sunk beneath it, like it was pushed downwards with a great force. It was impossible to tell how tall it was - the colourless miasma swimming about it hid the true height behind its misty mask. I crawled towards it, entranced by the mystery of how it got here. I couldn’t have missed it before. It had to be new, despite the aged look of its surface. I collapsed again, returning to the ground. The monolith had vanished by the time I raised my head once more. Unless the fog had grown thicker, the strange outcropping had completely disappeared. The dirt where it once lay had a large dent, showing the true size of the missing obelisk. It must have been five times the size of my carriage.
Another slam of the ground beneath me forced me to cower. An explosion of dirt and rocks came from the right, and there it had appeared once more. Raised from the ground, dropped from the sky, I was sure, but the source of the pounding had revealed itself. I could see it more clearly now, the gigantic stonelike stump had travelled what must have been over ninety feet. And with the movement came the earth-shattering clamour. I clambered after it, my fingers digging deep into the brown mire, using the final deposits of power in my decaying arms. I dragged my body further, the dark grey mass growing larger. As I closed in, the ground quaked again. The monument, pillar, thing, lifted from the ground and into the air.
It towered over me. A mass of stone, dirt and antiquity. A colossal, malformed creature loomed through the murky fog above me. What must have been kilometres tall and almost as wide, it was a being of tremendous proportion. I had been chasing the feet of this cyclopean brute. The impacts, like demolished buildings crashing to the ground, had been its foot falls. Now I, lying in the rottenness of the ground, faced a walking mountain. A behemoth of rock and age, it had escaped right out of the depths of my dreaming mind. My early machinations of mythical creatures from other realms paled in comparison to the sight of this true abomination. An incredible grinding of stone and earth filled the air; a moving of hills against themselves, as a face descended down, shadowed over me from the fog.
The titan stared at me. I could feel its eyes upon me, as if they were physical things. They were empty, like two black holes in the fog, sucking in light. The rest of its face was a mess of moss covered rubble, a craggy form hovering in the fog. It had no mouth. It was like a cliff face with two voids bored into the side. Whether there was a visage hidden under this slag mask was a mystery. The beast was old. Its surface was pockmarked and weathered. As if the thing had been around since the beginning of time, eroded and carved by the millenia. The pressure of its eyes was immense, it held me frozen in place. I could not look away, or even close my eyes. A walking abomination, it should not exist. And yet, here it was, ripped from the pages of the fantastical stories I used to read. Its endless eyes drew me in, and I found myself tumbling in the darkness. I stood still. The pain had subsided, my cuts no longer stung. My wounded limbs grew numb and stopped throbbing. I stared back into the void and found something familiar. An overwhelming feeling, a vortex of prodigious emotion flooded every inch of me. This leviathan that should not be, had an extraordinary pain. I feel into the pool of despair, and for a moment, I saw its sorrow. I saw this legendary giant completely alone. It had existed for an unfathomable amount of time, yet had never met another living thing. It had never known anything but the pain of existing. A feeling of profound misery. It was completely alone.
I let the salty liquid stream from my eyes. I knelt, weeping loudly. It all escaped me; the terror, the pain, the exhaustion. All that was left was compassion. The shared sense of loneliness. I could swear the giant’s eyes leaked. Two tiny streams, carving through the grime on its featureless face. Or maybe it was the fog, I couldn’t tell. We stared at each other for a long time. We cried for aeons. I was entangled with the only one who understood.
The hike back was easier. In the light of day the forest proved simple to traverse, and I saw many creatures frolicking amongst the thriving flora. I was unable to retrieve my lost rifle, but I wasn’t looking very hard. The giant had eventually broken our gaze and lifted its head back into the clouds. Earthquakes had followed it into the fog, a sensation I was now happy to endure. The grey gloom seemed to dissipate on cue, revealing the wide open plain I sat in. The towering behemoth was nowhere to be seen. Maybe it vanished behind a mountain somewhere, a hill larger than it. But I felt no more shaking, and heard no more thudding. A quiet fell, for only a moment. The sounds of leaves swaying in the wind slowly filled my ears, birds chirped loudly and crickets buzzed harmlessly. I had rested, and now was the time to return.
When I got back to the camp and my carriage, I didn’t find the yelling and berating I had expected. I found an empty campsite. The horses neighed contently and hooved at the dirt, blissfully unaware. The Stoddardts were gone, along with their baggage. The canopy and chairs were left where I remembered them. I walked around the site and without touching anything, climbed back up into my seat of the carriage and headed off.
A strange calm settled in me as I travelled down the path. The bumps and turbulence that once destroyed me were barely felt. I noticed the vibrant colours of the trees as I passed, the sounds of wheels and hoof on cobblestones almost musical to my ear. A little further down the road I spied two fatigued looking figures, creeping their way along the ragged path. When they turned around and saw the muddied body in the drivers seat, their faces contorted from anguish to relief. Without a word from anyone, I let the Stoddardts back into my carriage and carried on to Stoughton.
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