The Crosses We Bare
12/31/19
It was late The moon reflected off my skin like a pane of glass. I usually don’t leave my window open, but something compelled me. Maybe it was a random gut feeling, maybe to hear the noise of the crickets that helped cover the sound of the stairs creaking—since my door was the closest to the Stairs. Maybe it was that weird screech I’ve been hearing for a week now, which my mind had conjured into a monster. Or maybe it was just me using the moonlight to see my room better; I had overseen my brother watching a horror movie in the living room just that afternoon, and I thought the light would keep the monsters away.
How wrong I was.
As I was dozing off thinking of hanging out with my friend tomorrow things often took for granted, mere moments from the warm embrace of sleep, I heard something: a crack, a slither, a screech. It was coming from downstairs. I ran past two doors and into my parents' room, only to find them already alert. Their faces were pale as they whispered to one another. When they saw me, they put a finger to their lips with a fear so conquering that even the warmth of the brightest sun, the happiest smile, or the greatest reassurance couldn’t stop it. I was stunned by the strangeness of the moment. Just as I was going to ask what was wrong, they gestured for me to shut the door and turn off the lights. After I did, they waved a hand, and whispered telling me to come sit so quietly I thought I might have been imagining it.
My father said to me, "Son, I’m sorry for not being able to be a real father. I’m sorry for failing the one task every parent is supposed to," he whispered somberly.
"Why? What did you do? You're acting weird," I whispered back immediately.
Then, with a face mere moments away from tears, he said, "I can’t save you."
It was dead silent. I didn’t say a word. I was confused and terrified, but I didn’t know why yet. Then I heard him sob. "Damn it i thought we were safe. I’ll still try. Even though I know I won’t succeed, I have to try. I have to give you, your brother, and your mother time to escape—even if it’s without me."
Then I realized why I hadn’t heard from my brother. He was behind my father, frozen in fear almost fainted. I didn’t know why they were so afraid of whatever made that noise, but I would find out soon.
After a few seconds of silence, I heard scuttling. My father picked up my grandpa’s shotgun and a knife and said, "He knows."
Then, I heard it run up the steps. It broke one door, then two, then three. I heard a bang; the shotgun rang out before the creature could touch our door. Four more shots followed in quick succession. My father, with a booming voice, commanded us to run down the stairs even as he screamed from the pain of being punctured by the creature’s arm.
My mom grabbed my brother who had fainted with the strength and speed of a superhuman and threw him over her shoulder. As we were going down, the thing saw us. Its head cracked like a whip in our direction, and it immediately tried to lung toward us. Then I heard my father: "Not today. Not ever again, you monster!" He pierced its hide, and it let out an oddly familiar screech that sounded like it came from the depths of hell.
My mother sped up, instantly knowing what to do. She grabbed the keys, put us in the car, and pulled out as if driven by primal instinct. As we were driving away, we could see him being easily overpowered by that monster.
We drove for what felt like years, dead silent the whole time. Eventually, we pulled up to a mans house my uncle’s house a house which for some reason we hadn’t visited in a decade He was happy to see us, though we didn't return the cheer. He asked where his brother was. Without a word or a glance, my mom showed him a picture. Nothing else needed to be said. His face went pale and sorrowful as he let us inside.
Since i lost him i haven’t seen my friends haven’t been happy. Ive been questioning things religion faith. That thing obviously isn’t from this realm. Its made me have bad thoughts. Every night i unravel questioning all the facts beliefs and knowledge that make me who i am but at the end of the day i still lay in bed close my eyes and pray for a quiet night
Update:
We haven’t been back to our old home since. I still hold out hope that one day he’ll knock on our door, even though I know he’s gone. My father was a great man. I miss him.
But I know he failed. No matter how much I love him, I know he failed us—because last night, I heard it again.
Update:
It’s been five days since I heard the noise again. If this is the same monster, then he will be here in two days. I’m not disillusioned by some imaginary, unconquerable will to survive; I know if I try to fight this monster, I will most likely die. I’ve asked my mom how she and my dad knew about it, but she couldn’t give a straight answer. So, I snuck into her room while she was getting groceries and found the same picture she showed my uncle.
It was a picture of a statue of that monster, only smaller than the actual thing. But in front of that statue were two young men and a young woman, with a date in the corner: 12/31/99. Although they were younger, it was still abundantly clear who they were: my mother, my father, and my uncle. Seeing this picture made something crystal clear—my mom wasn’t the only one hiding the truth.
I ran to the living room, grabbed my uncle's arm, and asked, “What do you know about that monster?”
At first he said stuff like, “What monster?” “Are you messing with me?” “Monsters aren’t real,” and “Your mother told me it was just a group of men.” But then I showed him the picture, and he let out a large sigh.
“So you found that. Your mother can’t hide things to save her life.”
“Tell me about the monster and tell me about this picture. I just want to know the truth,” I said, on the verge of tears.
He told me to follow him. We walked up the stairs and into his room. He shut and locked the door the second I was inside. “I don’t want your brother to hear about this if he doesn’t already know.” After I told him he doesn't, he sat down and began to speak.
“A long time ago, before your parents were married, me and your dad went exploring almost every day after school. Since we were so young, we couldn’t drive, but that never stopped us from loving every second of it. I swear we explored every inch—every forest within a one-hour walk. In 8th grade, we met your mother. Your father fell in love instantly, and so did she. I was scared at first that our exploring would become a thing of the past, but to our surprise, she loved it just as much as us.
We did our casual exploring as usual until the summer before junior year, when I got a car and my very own license. Every weekend we’d go out in my 1995 Toyota Tacoma and explore. We found abandoned houses and abandoned forts, but we wanted more. June 5th, 1998, we had all graduated from East Kentwood High and had all the free time in the world. We flew around nearly monthly for a whole year straight, exploring temples, bastions, and caves—having the time of our lives. Your father even proposed in front of an Aztec temple on June 5th, 1999, exactly a year since we started our continental adventures. Of course, your mother said yes.”
I cut him off. I was stressed, and my patience had been justifiably low since my father died. “Get to the important part,” I said.
My uncle let out a small smile, then a laugh, and said, “OK, OK, I will. Your father had bought an all-expenses-paid, first-class flight to Latin America to search the jungles. The flight was set to leave December 28th and arrive early the 29th. Your mother was insufferably giddy for those few months. When the day finally came, I expected to stay home, but my brother and your mother wanted me to come as well. They said it wouldn’t be the same without me. So, I packed my things and came with them.
The flight there was pure luxury—first class—and when we got there, it was much of the same. He rented one of the nicest hotels: two rooms, both with king-sized beds and every amenity and nicety imaginable. But I digress. Those first two days were some of the best days of my life, but they are ultimately unimportant.
On the last day there, near midnight, we saw a temple—huge and unlit. It looked like no one had been there for a millennium. We were overjoyed. We raced through the shrubbery to the entrance.” He gave a small smile and a laugh. “I swear we used ten disposable cameras exploring that thing. All the details and carvings were sublime and perfect.
But then, at 11:30, there was a shift. We walked into the first room of the top floor and the candles were lit. The building had a hum. We didn’t have the slightest clue what was going on. Me and your mother assumed it was a prank by your father, but we were wrong. As we walked through rooms of texts and bowls of fire being held by serpents and men alike, we finally made it to the main room. I swear the words moved and morphed. One second they were some language lost to time; the next, they were English. The sign read Room of Worship: Tomb of the Sacrificed in perfect English. Me and your mom were now 100 percent sure it was your dad playing a joke and walked in without a care in the world, while your dad looked weird and hesitant.
It was now 11:55. When we entered, we looked around for a minute before finding a nearly perfect outline of three people standing in front of the statue—two men and a woman—getting wrapped by some eldritch beast that looked Lovecraftian in nature. At this point, your father was nearly scared to death, but we were none the wiser. We just thought he was putting on an act. Then your mom had the idea to take a picture in front of that monstrous statue in the room, which is the origin of that picture in your hands.”
“Can you please continue?” I asked.
He let out a sigh. “I don’t want to, but you already knew too much when you saw that thing in your home. After the picture, the clock struck 11:59. We were hit with a breeze that was almost intoxicating; it felt like we were being pushed to look at the statue. There was a plaque in front of the creature, and honestly i forgot what it says lemme see that picture” i handed it over “ i remember now i remember all to well it read:
Bound with blood, born from evil, bound from a time pre-medieval. An ancient being with a life unknown, said to grow from the hate that has been sown. Every thousand, he comes to feast, if someone reads this cursed piece choosing a victim with innocence to reap. If killed not in this very location, he will find a way back to you with a strong vocation. For this is his tomb, the only place he will lie, because of his need to live and not die. Once a decade—ten Earth rotations—he comes back to find you and will have strengthened once. If he does not kill one person once every ten rotations, he will come back too soon to claim his reparations.
Before we could react, we heard a loud ring. Clocks appeared made of granite and stone that weren’t there before. They all said the same thing: 12. Suddenly, that creature burst from the stone and wrapped around all of us. Luckily, it was three against one, and he wasn’t nearly as strong as he is now. We simply stabbed him with pocket knives. He died fairly quickly. We only ended up with a few lacerations, but before he died, he jumped out of the temple, becoming a pile of purple goop on one of the lower levels.
We thought it was over. We couldn’t have been more wrong. After that, our lives were different. We didn’t adventure as much; we chose to stay in America. Then your parents had you. Gosh, I loved you. You were just the sweetest kid ever. Every day I spent with you and your parents was perfect... except for one.
It was New Year's Eve, 2009—a decade since the incident. You were in my room with the TV on. The adults were having drinks at my house; we partied, watched a movie, sang karaoke. It was like we were kids again. We were just talking about life and singing with all of our friends. I said I had been noticing weird noises for the last few days, but we all thought it was nothing. Then, as soon as the clock hit 12, we felt something.
We noticed guests were missing. Friends weren’t in the room. Upstairs was silent. Everything was silent. It was like the noise was being sucked out of the planet, like a void of nothing. We went into the bathrooms; both of them had their windows open and our friends laid there, ripped to shreds, blood on the walls.
Then, like a punch to the gut, all the noise came flooding in. Screams of terror. Blood we somehow couldn’t see or feel was revealed. The monster came out of nowhere and started destroying people, slicing them into bits, devouring them, leaving their lifeless, half-eaten corpses on the floor. It lunged towards the stairs. We felt relieved, like it was running away, then we realized you were still upstairs.
Your father ran up those stairs and grabbed the monster, fighting with every ounce of power he had. He single-handedly killed that thing; he decapitated it, almost dying in the process. After that, everyone ran to the cars and left. We realized it was the same monster we tried to wipe from our memory. I assumed that monster wanted me because I read that incantation, so I told them to leave and never return. They left, and I never saw them in person again. I miss him more than anything. I’d pay any price to see him. The last time I saw my brother feels like the last time I saw the sun. But that night, I felt free.”
He started to cry, and so did I, if I’m being honest then me and him walked back into the living room like nothing happened . But at least I know what to do. I looked in my uncles eyes and he had a face of realization and he instantly grabbed his card and booked a cruise….. a cruise….For 3, actually... to Latin America.
Update:
We waited patiently for my mom to get back home with the groceries. As soon as she walked through that door, she looked at my uncle with that same sad expression she’s had the last few days since the death of my father. But suddenly, her expression changed from deep sadness to an uncontrollable, flaming ball of rage.
“WHY DID YOU SHOW HIM THAT PICTURE?” she yelled with the fury of a thousand suns.
“Mom, please calm down! He didn’t—I found it. I just wanted to know the truth, and he actually told me,” I said.
“We know what to do. It’s on the plaque,” he said.
“What plaque?”
“The plaque on the statue, Jane. It’s in the picture. It says if we kill him where the statue was, he will accept death and stay for another millennium.”
“What does that have to do with telling him all of this?”
“We’re going to Latin America to stop this once and for all. Your son’s been hearing the scratching for five days; he’s taken over your husband’s place in the ritual. We can go stop this once and for all. No more bloodshed, no more tears being absorbed into wood and pillows, no more tears going uncared for. This is penance for my brother. Penance for Nolan.”
“We already booked the cruise, Mom. That thing, that monster—it’s going to be back in two days. Do you expect us to roll over and die, or fight for this family? Fight for Dad? Fight for the people who died a decade ago?”
Jane sighed. “You’re right. I’ve heard it, too. I hoped it wouldn’t come to this. Let me call a babysitter for your brother and we should pack our gear and supplies Paul.”
“Jane, don’t worry about gear. I’ve been prepping for a decade. I have four 9mms, four AR-15s, two 12-gauge shotguns, 24 grenades, five Kevlar sets of full-body plates, and basically a suicide bomber vest, and a partridge and a pear tree in three duffel bags. We’re ready.”
After my mom called the babysitter, we loaded our stuff in the trunk and headed to the dock. What I didn’t know was that he had booked a cargo freight that his friend owned and operated, so we got to bring the car to Latin America with us. I’ve been on the boat for thirty six hours now i somehow heard scratching at 12 am even on a boat in the ocean this thing really is not from earth. (Sigh) god I hope we’re almost there. It will come in less than a day, most likely. I don’t want to die to that monster, but if death comes for me, then it has to earn me. And if it does, I’ll bear that cross, because freedom don’t always come free.
Update:
We haven’t talked at all since we got on the boat, and that hasn’t changed since we got off; we’re currently driving there right now. I don’t know if it’s the fear or the nerves, but I swear my hearing will go out and then come back, and stuff is disappearing and reappearing out of nowhere. Every blink is its face a hellish mix between demon god and insect a creature never meant to be seen i feel it crawling on me talking to me it says thing to me in a screech that sound in human but for some reason i understand but the one thing i cant forget it said is “your father is trapped their is no after life for the people i gather they’re here in purgatory for eternity they will see me they will not grow braver in their death”
But we’re almost there.
Despite the situation, I can still hear my uncle humming to the radio and I can hear my mom breathing. I know they’re still alive. I still have them, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure they don’t die to this slithering creature’s conquest. It might be bulletproof now—hell, it might even be invincible—but we—no, I—will make sure it dies on that plaque and that it doesn’t come back for a thousand years.
We’re going to be there in eight hours.
Update:
We’re here. For some reason, I find this place beautiful: the flames, the statues, the etchings, and the carvings. It’s the truest form of artistry. It is like swimming through the River Styx while being in the middle of Olympus—a sense of unmistakable horror, fear, and dread, but inside a place meant for gods. It makes me feel big and small, young and old. The breeze pushing me along truly is intoxicating. I walk through endless, cursed corridors of crimson cloth, charred with flames held by statues ignited by horror. It is a feeling of familiarity and unknowingness; a place that shouldn’t exist. Words form to you; terrain changes to comfort and concern you. There is red on the floor from paint and pain, from the sacrificed and the sacrificer. And here I stand, in front of the room built to worship the one this was all made for: a creature everlasting and ever-hungry. It is a creature that can only grow, seemingly incapable of love or hate; a creature that was here before us and will be here after us. My actions, no matter how noble they may be, will not matter. In the end, we will be gone and he will be all that remains. I have nothing else left to say, besides this: I will meet this thing—this creature of infinity—in only two hours.
Ring. Ring. Ring. Suddenly, those same granite and stone clocks burst forth. The monster shatters its stone skin; it has grown gigantic. But we came prepared. I have a 12-gauge, my mother has a 12-gauge, and my uncle is a little further back with an AR-15. The creature begins to lay down for a fast crawl, so I shoot twenty-four grenades, causing a gigantic cloud to form. “Was it that easy?” Jane asks, just before she is lunged at by the monster. But right before it bites her, I hear a boom ringing from inside its mouth. My uncle threw a grenade into its maw while it was going for the kill. A loud explosion is followed by a screeching cry that I could never un-hear; it shattered my eardrums. The monster proceeds to spit out that thick, purple acid—only darker, thicker, and just as incomprehensible. Ignoring the acid, we unload every bullet we can in the fifteen-second span of its agony. Suddenly, it lunges at me. I was scared for my life. I feared the end; I feared being stuck in that void forever. Forever alone. Forever scared. Forever suffering. But I won’t be. At the last second, my uncle jumps in its way. The creature takes his torso clean off. He had a smile on his face, knowing he died protecting me. He was wearing a suicide bomber vest. As soon as the monster swallowed him, he detonated with an explosion far stronger than even twenty-three grenades. Me and my mom dropped to our knees, crying. He had killed it. We stayed there weeping for what felt like days until we finally left. We got in the car, still crying, caught a plane, and went home. We used what was left of him for a funeral. It was quaint, but nice. He would have loved it.
But sadly, that is not what happened. Everything up until now was a story told by my nephew, Jessie. The truth is, when that monster lunged at me, he was the one wearing the suicide vest. He must have had it on for that entire car ride. He was the one we mourned. He left a note in the car that said to post this. He was a bigger man than me—faster, smarter, braver. Just like his dad. I wish he were here so I could tell him how proud I am, and how proud his father would be. I haven’t stopped crying. I would love to say it was only because my nephew died, but the truth is, there is one other reason. That gigantic monster got too big.
IT.
DIDN’T.
FIT.
ON.
THE.
STATUE.
STAND.