Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1.

 

Mary woke, and as she did, she stifled the urge to emit a petrifying shriek.

As though they were possessed by a demonic entity, her arms clumsily lashed out, though they connected with nothing but still air. Disorientation made her energetic movements inept. A small, terrified part of her screamed for action, for desperate engagement like she had only recently been fighting for her life.

Problem was, she couldn’t remember anything. Nothing at all.

Where the hell was she? Her eyes opened and shut, rhythmically and repetitively, but she may as well have not bothered, so dark was the surrounding locale. She could only barely make out a flickering ambient light, but nowhere near enough to distinguish much of her surroundings. If anything, it only added to her confusion. Despite the placid environment, her heart pounded, unrelenting, refusing to relax. Her frantic gasps shattered the solid silence of an otherwise eerily soundless area. The area was so quiet, she wondered if she was in fact dead, and in purgatory, a place devoid of any sound, light or life.

At least, until he spoke.

“Are you ok?” asked a calm voice.

The sound startled her. She squealed in exclamation. Whoever it was, they were nearby, less than a few metres away. She was completely at their mercy.

“Ssshhh…”.

It was quite sudden, and unexpected. A warm feeling was washing over her, like a good, trusted friend had suddenly entered her presence, and smiled so brightly her fear and anxiousness immediately fled. She felt her heart rate drop, the thumping subsiding gently. Her muscles began to relax.

For some reason, it had only just occurred to her; she was in a bed. She could feel the smoothness. It was soft, comfortable, the sheets worn enough to be gentle on her skin, with some kind of blanket cosily enveloping her, shielding her from the panic she had awoken to.

The realisation of her exact positioning added to her soothing. There was no danger, not any more. She was somewhere safe. A hospital, maybe, or the domain of someone she trusted. She sunk into her tranquil cradle, which she suddenly found even warmer and more comfortable. She wasn’t sleepy. She was just…relaxed. Gradually, as the fear gave way to peace, her eyes adjusted to the deep loom of the room, which was dark and mysterious, but nevertheless seemingly secure. Serene.

She began to make out details. The walls were timber, long, thick planks which somehow seemed freshly cut. The refreshing scent of pine tickled her nostrils, along with the rugged smell of wood smoke. A soft rug was covering her. It was thick, yet delicate, different to hers, which she frequently acquainted herself with on lonely nights where she worked.

Wood smoke…she recognised the yellow, flickering light. It was firelight. She couldn’t see the flames anywhere, but she could start to make out some of the furniture. It was simple, also made of timber, with a bedside table next to her, and a small chair across on her right.

She blinked. The darkness didn’t let up, but as her eyesight improved, adapted to the unnerving murkiness, she began to make out a form, a person sitting in the chair.

 

Whoever it was slowly got up. They paused a moment, and then gently moved towards her. She felt the panic rise again.

Abruptly, the person put their hand on hers. Inexplicably, she felt a calming influence from the gesture. With their other hand, the person reached across her and reached for something on the bedside table. There was a spark, like flint, but when her eyes recovered from the intensity of the ignition she realised they were lighting an oil lamp.

The light flared, and was quite bright. She could not avoid an instinctive squint as it assaulted her, but she found that she relished the improvement of perception. The atmosphere was far less intimidating with light.

The person, she realised, was a young man, around her age. He peered at her, his expression gentle, and completely non-threatening. He sported short brown hair, and his eyes had a soft quality about them. He wore concern on his face, which comforted her in a way she found surprising.

“How you feeling, kiddo?” he asked, with a slight smile.

Kiddo. What was she, ten? But the nickname came across as endearing, as she was sure he had intended. Her cheeks flushed, slightly.

She didn’t feel any pain in her body. Aside from her panic attack, she felt more or less fine.

“Ok, I guess.” She tried to sit up.

“No, it’s ok. Lie down. You need to rest,” said the man. His voice was deep, and had a calming effect on her. She obeyed, and relaxed. There was something about the situation, his demeanour and her response to it that she found odd.

“My name’s Michael,” said the man. He squeezed her hand, and shook it. “You are?”

“Mary,” she answered. “Where am I?”

Michael smiled. “You are at a rudimentary recovery station. In Tasmania, Australia,”

“Australia? What…happened?”  Michaels’ voice did not sound Australian. In fact, she had trouble picking his accent. She wondered where he was from.

“Well, what do you remember?”

Mary tried hard to think, and found her memory was so convoluted it was surreal. A part of her wondered if at some point, someone had mickied her drink or something, which was a concern that she didn’t at that moment feel like indulging; she was too relaxed.

There was a lot going on in her mind, though. Michael’s presence was tremendously obvious, even when she couldn’t see him. Part of her found that odd. It wasn’t a sensation she had ever felt before.

The look of gentlemanly concern remained on Michael’s facial features. “Do you need some more time? To rest?”

“No,” said Mary, softly. “I think I’m…ok.”

Michael took a moment to regard her, seemingly deciding how to continue. “Well, let’s start at the beginning,” he suggested. “Do you remember where you are from? Where you live?”

Mary paused. “Yeah…I’m from Miami Beach. Florida.”

Michael smiled at this realisation, apparently pleased that her memory was somewhat intact.

“Ok, do you have any family? Husband? Who do you live with in Miami?”

“Umm, I live with my…work colleagues. They are good friends of mine.”

“Do you remember their names?”.

“Yeah… Kobi Tanaka, and Drakken St. Louis…. We went to college together.”

“Good,” Michael continued. “How about what you do for a living? Do you remember much about that?”

“Yeah. I work in the Antarctic. I’m a marine mammal biologist.”

 Something began to claw at her memory. A strange, unpleasant feeling. She looked at Michael, and immediately wondered why she was drawn to him. It was as though she was trying to absorb his calm, pleasant nature.

“Aah. And you live in Miami? Quite a contrast,” Michael smiled. “I see…..So in Antarctica. What station do you work at?”

Mary paused. “It was…Wilks. Wilks research station.”

“Wilks?” Michael paused, and for a moment he looked confused. “Ok…So… when were you last at Wilks?”

Something was making Mary shiver. Something in her memory. “I think… I think I was there just now. Before I ….came here.”

“Hmm…” Michael paused.

Mary was suddenly struck by the intense look she was receiving from her interviewer.

“Are you feeling ok?” he asked, with slight worry emanating from him. “If this is too hard, we can do it at a later stage, when you are feeling better…”

“No, I’m ok,“  she replied, firmly. She suddenly felt a need to minimise the babying treatment she was receiving. She no longer wanted to feel weak or incapacitated. There was something about the situation, or what had preceded it, that was wrong. 

“Ok,” said Michael, a little uncertainly. “So, do you remember the last thing that happened to you? At Wilks?”

Mary’s memory was fleeting at best. She concentrated.

Certain images gradually began returning to her, and the more she tried to remember, the more the disturbing feeling intensified.

“I remember darkness,” she began. “Like…a power failure or something. And… people were screaming, I think.”

Screaming. The words had formed at her lips before she could even understand what they meant. What the repercussions were. If you heard your work collegues screaming, it probably wasn’t because everything was normal.

Michael looked like he was listening intently. It was strange. She suddenly noticed how brightly blue his eyes were.

“Yes? Go on…”

 

“We were running,” she continued.  “I…. think we were trying to … escape.”

The intensity in Michael’s eyes was almost hypnotising. He gave her a moment to collect her thoughts before asking, “Escape what?”

Panic was returning, and now Mary understood why she had awoken in its cold grasp. She found she was having trouble vocalisation her realisation.

“I think the station, it was …collapsing. The supports were falling. We were in the mess room, and it fell. We were…we were buried in the ice!”

Mary felt her pulse start to rise again. She felt the grief. Michael didn’t say anything. He just watched her penetratingly.

“Melinda…” Mary could feel her features distort with horror. She wasn’t mistaken, and she wasn’t hallucinating. She knew what she saw.

“She got crushed when one of the supports felt on her. I saw Rob, I think he fell through this, this crack that formed. I didn’t see anything after that. I… it all goes black.”

She stopped talking, and her eyes narrowed. The memories were all there, but she didn’t want to talk about it. Suddenly, she wanted answers.

“What happened?! What happened to the station?” She couldn’t stop the harsh tone in her voice.

Michael raised his eyebrows. “Pardon?”

Mary felt her annoyance rise, and she used it to hide the grief that had arrived with her memory. “You found me! You must know what happened! Tell me!”

“…It’s a little more complicated than that,” Michael began.

“Oh bullshit!” she said dismissively. She knew he was avoiding her questions, and she wanted none of it. “I didn’t just appear in your care! Where did you come from? It couldn’t have been McMurdo, the winds were too strong. The last supply vessel left us a month ago, and we wouldn’t be seeing anyone for another five! How did I get here?”

Michael said nothing, but he continued to gaze at her. There was no animosity in his eyes, but she found it annoying, like he was staring her down. She glared defiantly back at him, ignoring the intimidation she felt.

Michael sighed, as though he had to display an unusual amount of patience. “Well, we know a few facts. But our perspective isn’t really what you would expect.”

“Try me,” she replied dangerously.

“Well, we know your station did collapse. We believe that it was caused by a tsunami, or earthquake. Something broke the integrity of the surrounding ice, and that caused the station to be buried.”

“How far?” Mary asked, weighing the equipment requirements in her head.

“Five hundred and thirty metres.”

If the situation were different, Mary might have burst out laughing. Either this guy was a fantasy storyteller, or he was completely insane.

“Sure,” she scoffed, injecting contempt into her voice. “Because I’m sure you would be able to rescue someone like me buried under 530 metres of ice. In the most remote and harsh environment on the planet, with portable, operational excavation equipment, which we did not have access to. What kind of drugs are you taking? Is there anyone around who won’t be wasting my time with complete bullshit?”

Five hundred and thirty metres. Were it not for the fact that parts of her memory confirmed that the station seemed to be collapsing at the time, she might have directly accused Michael of making the whole story up. It was completely impossible that she could survive something like that. She made her disrespect of him, and his palpable lies, obvious, but to her surprise, Michael did not look remotely affected by her aggressive comments. He almost seemed to have expected them.
”Calm down. I know this must be upsetting, and may seem impossible. But there are a few facts you could not possibly be in possession of.”

“Oh yeah? Hit me with it, then. What miracle occurred to make any of this possible?”

“Miracle,” he commented. His smile returned, in a way that was beginning to make Mary want to hit him. His expression turned slightly odd, but only momentarily.

“Alright,” he relented, finally. “Just one question…what planet are you on?”.

Mary gaped at him. “What planet am I on? Are you calling me stupid?“

“No,” Michael replied, with extreme seriousness. He didn’t even smirk. “It may not seem like it, but I am asking a genuine question, so I can understand your perspective. Please, humour me.”

“What kind of a…idiot!” Mary couldn’t have felt more frustrated. “If I am really in Tasmania, then the planet I am on is the blue one called ‘Earth’” she replied in her most demeaning tone of voice.

He had to have been insane. She was about to demand that he leave, but there was a change in his demeanour that put pause to her thoughts.

He said nothing, but he stared at her. Intensely, his hypnotic blue eyes seeming to shine in the firelight. It was slightly unnerving. She felt a little like he was staring right through her. Seeing every inch of her. She felt a little exposed under his gaze.

The moment of intense scrutiny seemed to stop suddenly, when he abruptly reached into his pocket. “I suspect you would believe this to be a trick, so I will show you some evidence first,” he commented, distractedly.

He produced a small object. It looked a little like a silver lighter, box-like, except slightly smaller than average.

“Hold out your hand,” he gently commanded.

She rolled her eyes to express her impatience, but held her right hand out. He placed the small box in her palm.

“I’m just going to give your palm a slap. Give you five, so to speak,” he said.

“Sure, whatever.”

With little hesitation, he brought his palm down. The slap was not hard.

The box sprang to life. Parts of it unfolded rapidly, tiny, miniscule mechanisms in a complex systematic fashion, with minute and complicated parts and systems.

The transformation was swift, terrifying and dramatic. The box became a spider-like automaton, animated and very frightening. It was very obviously rubbing its’ head, squeaking in apparent annoyance.

Mary screamed, and the entity seemed to panic in a similar fashion, swiftly traversing her hand, then knuckles, then tried to flee up the length of her arm. She finally grabbed and threw the machine across the room, a small part of her shocked at how light it was. It collided roughly with the wall, rebounded slightly and impacted with the ground, but then, in a groggy kind of motion, set itself up and moved off, mimicking a stunned behaviour in a cartoon-like fashion.

“What the hell is that!?” Mary screeched. She found herself visibly recoiling from the mechanism, as it crawled steadily in the corner of the room where she had thrown it. Her bed wasn’t big enough to allow for the distance she would have preferred.

“It’s a toy,” said Michael, calmly, completely at ease with both the entity, and Mary’s reaction to it. “It’s called a spiderpal. Manufactured by Frederick Bionic systems Incorporated. Suitable for ages two and up.”

Mary stared at him. He returned her gaze, pointedly, and then said; “I would refer to this planet as ‘Terra’, as does everyone I know. To the best of my knowledge, the term ‘Earth’ has not been used for approximately two hundred years.”

Reviews

[karen101]

Hi, I like this. You have a strong, descriptive voice. And the plot has me hooked. I love the last line of this chapter. One thing I do notice though is that some things tend to be repeated. For example, the fact that Michael has a calming affect on her is mentioned several times in the first few paragraphs. But I probably only have noticed this because I am looking at it with a fresh pair of eyes. Good start. Going to read the next chapter now.