#unearth

A rumble blows through and suddenly there is only the darkness.

The heat from the creature’s breath burns at his skin.

Heavy claws scrape across the unknown space.

A wave of sickness passes over him. He stumbles.

His head and throat and feet are heavy, full of blood, he feels as if he’s running through water.

The sounds get closer. Louder.

He cannot move fast enough

The smell, the heat, the sounds get closer.

Closer.

Something sharp moves across his skin–

*******

Dantini woke breathless, tears streaking his face. The dreams were always the same, never able to see what was coming but never able to escape them. He wiped at his face; sobbing, exhausted. He steadied himself, his eyes still wet and lit the lamp by his bedside. The sound, the vibration, that plagued his dreams seemed to be following him into the waking world. The sound of the cicadas outside was so loud, it was bigger than him, everything else was muffled and far away. The repetitious pulse got louder, he tried to shout out to tell them to stop, but he could not hear himself. He attempted to stand but his legs wouldn’t take it. He fell awkwardly, his head pounded. Vomit spattered the teracotta tiled floor

Stumbling into the bathroom he splashed water on his face. The water brought little relief, the night was so hot and humid that the water was too hot. Everything was too hot. It was as hot as hell at this time of the year in Sicily. He swilled out his mouth, his full weight against the ceramic. Standing, he regarded himself in the mirror. The candlelight from the neighbouring room was sufficient for him to know that his reflection was not the one he was familiar with. Even the candlelight could not disguise that the man looking back at him was paler than he remembered, his hair thinned, out of control. He’d not felt himself, he’d not been well since–

The noise pulsed again in his head and his heart. Steady. Low. Loud. He gripped the basin, closed his eyes, hoping for the worst to pass. Louder. The walls seemed to move closer. Louder. Closer. Spinning. The room was smaller than he could cope with.

Dantini stumbled into the night, fireflies strobed in all directions. The sounds of the cicadas like a million discordant voices, the cacophony of night echoing all around him. Underneath it, just beyond it, he imagined he heard a voice. A promise. A promise of greatness, of fame, of fortune.

Louder.

He would be the first to discover something long forgotten. He would be the greatest archeologist in all of Italy, in all of the world. He would shed light on lives forgotten. He would give shape, give substance to those that had become just ideas.

Louder.

He would be loved. She would love him again. He would be idolised. He would be a god. But he would have to keep it secret for now, couldn’t tell anyone the voice said. They would not believe it. Not without proof. The voice made him swear. The voice was everything. “Look up.” the voice commanded.

Softer.

Dantini looked out into the distance and was transfixed by the lone mountain. He knew, he knew he was meant to go there. The fireflies seemed to form a pattern, a trail of light pulsing towards the mountain. Every step closer he felt a burden lift. Every inch closer was a reward. The pulsing slowed. The mountain was becoming all, the mountain was peace, the mountain was destiny. The cicadas, the pulse, it all slowed the closer he got to it. It was release, it was heaven. His limbs felt light, his belly full. Only he could hear the voice, only he could make the discovery. At the foot of the mountain he knew he could not climb the peak alone, not that night. But he also knew his reward was inside, he knew there was someone in there waiting to come out. He dug at the earth, trying to find a way in but underneath was volcanic rock, his fingers raw from the effort. He cried again, not from sickness, but from frustration.

Quieter.

He fell asleep in the dirt. Cool. Quiet. At peace. He slept under the watch of the mountain. It sang to him of course, in the voice of his mother. It promised to sing to him every night he slept in the mountain. It promised him so much. Secret promises that hung like gossamer at the edge of his conscious thoughts. He would be safe. He would be rewarded. Tomorrow he would bring others. Tomorrow he would find a way in. “Every day,” he swore, “Every day is yours. From now until my last breath.” Somewhere far away from the waking world, underneath it all, Dantini heard laughter. For a moment he stirred but the laughter was gone. He was a part of it now. Safe with it. Safe in it.

Silence.

****

To be continued in the comic UnEarth, a one shot comic by John-Paul Bove and Conor Boyle.
 Available digitally from: https://www.comixology.co.uk/UnEarth/comics-series/55380
And as a comic from http://unearth.bigcartel.com/