The House On Oblivion's Ridge

A Chapter by Silent Sonata

In search of a strange land, a group of people first make a stop at a great manor.

With the flora black and the fauna subsided. With the day turned night and spread overhead. Harve knew they were close. It hung like the reaper, stalking and preying in the shadows that cut into the dark brush and only emerging when his time was called. Now was no exception. With the reaper’s emergence from the brush, he carried soft streams of mist that glided over the ground like snakes and a frigid wind that tore claws at open skin. Above the weariness it brought, the reaper held sort of a nostalgic feeling to it. Like discovering a song that defined your childhood or remembering a time when money wasn’t an issue, it lingered upon you and brought you back to when you were little. The reaper watched the closed carriage as it bumped along the stone path, and waited to move back into the brush. Back to the dark.

Simon held his gaze through a minuscule window and into the rolling darkness they moved upon. He scratched at the gelled-up hair above his lip and tugged at his wool-woven collar like it was choking him. His abstract figure folded itself inside the carriage with his head pressed up against the wooden roof. His eyes dilated and quivered in movements that one could only explain as alien. In fact, his whole body reflected that attitude. His ears were shallow and thin but elongated enough to run down to his jawline. His hair was slick and black and combed like a ringmaster would. He was as though he was looking to impress someone, and his sleek tuxedo only added truth to that view.

Across the carriage sat his wife who dressed no more casually than he did. Except she had the brilliant idea of wearing a hefty, featherly dress that took up nearly half the space of the carriage. Such a brilliant idea, in fact, that no one bothered to point out the sheer absurdity of the act. With more makeup than there was feathers and more jewelry than there were stars in the sky, she topped it all off with a dazzling white hat that crushed itself against the roof.

Then, there was Abram. One didn’t need to be a detective to read him. Scars dashed his sunken face, large bags drooped his small eyes, and his arms were wide and broad, but comfortably fitted with the faint ghosts of despair that shared place on his face. His head fell backwards and rested upon the wooden wall. He reeked of alcohol, cigars, and abuse. His stained clothing only reflected that fact. It was fine to the others, after all, no one was being judged in this carriage. They had all come for a reason.

Finally, there was Harve who silently watched the figures that surrounded him. The only words he spoke were the ones he planted down onto paper. The cramped carriage, the interesting beings, the dim lantern that hung above, there was so much to write about in this cramped estate. He continued until his pencil became dull and he had to retire it into his coat pocket. Now, he had no choice but to hang back and watch the scenery. And what interesting scenery it was.

There was a deep blackness that sunk its teeth into everything. Like oil, it stained the trees, the grass, the rocks, the dirt, and even the sky. It was as though life had taken a plunge into the void, only to realize that the other side was more mysterious.

“Ten minutes, everybody!” A disembodied voice shouted from the front of the carriage. Simon pulled back his slim sleeve and peered at his watch which, of course, was rigid and still.

“Ah, jeez.” he muttered. The carriage continued bobbing down the rocky path, this time making twists and turns across the bleak hillsides. The more they moved, the more they felt drawn back, as if the world was trying to take back its missing property.

Harve took the time to watch the skies above. The thick, murky clouds of black seemed to linger in the sky like they were frozen, only shifting when one wasn’t paying attention. Every so often, a thin line of blue would streak across the clouds and, after a few seconds, would come crashing back down in booms of boisterous warning. Like most warnings, however, no one paid their mind to it. They simply let it rage on in the background like a TV set or a car radio.

Five minutes now. The air was still yet unsettling. Black leaves rustled in the absent wind and thunder crashed in the moonless night. All sound seemed trapped in a vacuum of discrete limitation and every movement was left unfollowed. The same force that drew them back now seemed to drag them forwards and into the oblivion that forebode them.

Carefully and calmly, the carriage came to a halt. “We’re here.” The voice said. Without wasting anytime at all, Harve popped open the carriage door and stepped out into the black void. The others followed soon after. The air came in a frigid wave that drowned the group in bitterness, nearly sucking the oxygen straight out of their lungs. Harve, as well as the others, could now see a full, unobscured view of the terrain. It came like an abstract painting, like a dream that was projected into reality. Everything moved and swayed and rose and grew, but at the same time, everything was still in its place. No animals or insects skittered, no stars shimmered brightly, and not even a sound was heard. But what really got to the group, was the vigorousness of it all. Who knew that the bleak trees, the murky clouds, the deep flora, and the slinking mist could be so beautiful. So welcoming. So alive. But at last, the house on oblivion’s ridge was the true attraction. The pitch black wood that made up the structure, the wide and open windows that shot beams of light into the void, and the overall evenness of the manor brought a warm feeling to even the coldest of hearts. But most welcoming and most surprising, was that not a word was spoken amongst the group.

The Driver of the carriage hopped down from his seat and began to lead the two dark horses which drew the carriage down to a hitching rail that stood separate from the manor. Before moving out of earshot, however, he noticed the group had simply stopped in their tracks to admire the vista. He called back in one shout. “You can head on inside, Isaac is expecting you.” So the group followed the order. Shuffling amongst the soft-patted dirt and fine lines of beaten path, they came to the main entrance of the house--a broad door of sinking black wood. With one knock, the door remained closed. With another, nothing changed. Simon reached for one of the two large silver handles that hung off the door and--with a tug--opened the door smoothly.

The interior seemed to improve on the exterior in every way imaginable. With crimson curtains that hung beside the windows and golden chandeliers that swung down from the ceiling, the place felt like a monument to all of mankind.

To the right of the entrance was a lengthy table lined with sleek silver and shining golds. Beside the table, stood a man ominously. The man was tall and firm and his structure was as finely built as the manor he resided in. He wore a fair suit, one formed and crafted with absolute delicacy. His eyes were wide and bearing and when he spoke, he spoke not in a singular voice but in a stream of deep tones.

Hearing him speak stuck Harve strangely. This disembodied voice that he relished inside his head and crafted to near perfection, and this god-like man that he perceived as more myth than fact was now standing in front of him, speaking tones that rumbled the skies above.

“Take a seat.” He said, simply put, and the group did as he asked without question. The seats were laced with a fine leather and golden wood that seemed to sink whoever sat in it into sweet bliss. “We leave in seven hours.” He said. Simon seemed struck. He let out a chuckle that faded quickly.

“How do you expect us to tell time with no clocks and no sun?” Simon asked.

“You’ll know when it’s time.” Isaac said. Harve spoke up.

“Why seven hours?” He said. Isaac paused for a moment.

“Any earlier and you die. Any later and you still die. I thought your guide went over this already. You see, the zone is a hostile place. A hostile being I should say. It doesn’t take kindly to strangers wandering about its plain; kicking its stones and crushing its plants. So the zone changes its rules every so often. If you enter the zone during a rule change, saying you’ll be ripped apart atom by atom would be an understatement. Plus, I bet you’re all tired from the trip. Takes a while, not many cars are non-electric these days after all.” Isaac said. Simon spoke suddenly as if to subdue what Isaac had just stated.

“Don’t worry, we don’t drive anyways.”

A smile flashed across Isaac’s face. “Vintage people, eh?”

Simon lingered on his tongue for a bit. “Yeah, vintage.”

“What are the zone’s rules?” Harve said. Isaac simply shrugged.

“To put it straight, I have no idea. Like I said, the rules are always changing, and no two rule sets are ever the same. What I can tell is that the zone doesn’t take human impact kindly, so it would be wise to move in and out quickly and with as little footsteps left behind as possible. Another, is that the zone does not forgive. The instant you take a step into the zone, it starts reading you. If it sees you as unworthy, or as without a goal, it will kill you and there won’t be a thing you can do to avoid it. So, before you all head in, I need you to take a good look inside of yourselves and decide if you’ll make it out alive. I hate to say it, but few do.”

An unnerving silence smothered the group before Simon’s wife spoke up.

“And the room can bring back the dead, right?”

“Whatever your greatest desire is.” Isaac said.

“Who did you lose? If you don’t mind me asking, that is.” Harve said.

“Our son.” Simon said. “Car accident.”

The main entrance swung open and in stepped the guide. He simply waved at Isaac, like spotting a friend, and moved upstairs.

“I think it’s time you’ve gotten some rest. The bedrooms are upstairs, make yourselves comfortable.” Isaac finalized.

“But wait!” Simon said. “That can’t just be all.”

Isaac shrugged. “Like I said, the zone is always changing. The best thing you could do is figure out the path to the room on your own. Get some rest now, we’re leaving in seven hours.”

After a bit of hesitation, Simon, his wife, and Abram exited the room, but Harve still lingered behind and Isaac took visible notice of this. Harve could feel that Isaac already knew everything about him, but chose not to tell him.

“This room, you were the first one to discover it, correct?” Harve said.

“That is correct, yes.” Isaac said.

“How did you find it?”

Isaac stood from his seat and moved across the room to gaze out one of the many wide windows. He stared into the void like he was projecting his thoughts into the black canvas that forebode him.

“Not long ago, I was not the man I am today. I was beaten and broken and living on the streets, disowned by my family, and disowned by my own mother. I was dirty, sick, and poor. Life tossed me a poison apple and left me to die alone and afraid. At times, I could feel the reaper’s cold hands tightening their grasps around my wrists, pulling me ever so slowly into oblivion. Then, from the blue, God opened his arms to me. I moved into his light and awaited forgiveness. I wanted justice. I wanted vengeance. I wanted redemption. But what did God give me instead? He gave me death. Or the lack thereof. God killed the reaper, and for the first time I was free of its grasp. They say Heaven and Hell last for eternity, but I know better than that. Everything must end. That’s just how the universe works. But when Heaven ends, and when Hell ends, and when God dies, what will be left of me? I don’t end. I can’t end. I used to fear this day, but now it soothes me. I’ll be the last thing in existence, the something in the greater nothing.”

Harve thought into the fine table. What has Isaac seen? What does he know?

“Why do you keep the room a secret?” Harve began. “Do you know how many loops I had to jump through to get here? How much I had to pay? Why not tell the world? Why not promote its existence?”

Isaac lifted his firm shoulders before dropping them silently. “When man first discovered fire,” He said. “It was no secret--and soon, everyone was using it. They used it to build villages, which became towns, which became cities, which became empires. People thrived and improved because of fire, but when their anger built up and when rage became apparent, fire was no longer a tool of advancement. Instead, it became a tool of destruction. The fire burned those villages, it burned those towns, it burned those cities, and it burned those empires. And finally--when man faced its final foe--he lit the fire once more. But the fire burned not for man and not for his foe. Instead, the fire burned in an uncontrollable rage, for the fire knows no right from wrong--for the fire knows one thing and one thing only: death.” Isaac moved back to the table and leaned one hand against it. “What do you desire?”

Harve paused and watched the void move outside the window. What did he desire? Why did he come here? What drew him here? He didn’t come under his own terms, so who’s? “I don’t know.” Harve admitted. Isaac simply shook his head at Harve.

“If you are not sure what you desire, you will go in the room and come out dead on the other side. Get some rest, Harve” Isaac said. “You need it.”

The group gathered themselves on a small beaten path that led into oblivion in a thin line of weariness. The final stretch until the zone consumed them--the final road into the eternal night. The black forest stood broad and looming over the group. Simon and his wife no longer were dressed in their over fancy attire, but instead, ragged clothes and grime. On the side of the path, Isaac pulled aside Abram and focused on his minuscule eyes.

“You haven’t said a word at all this entire time. I know why.” Isaac said. “I’ve been in your shoes before. I know what you desire. Well, let me tell you, when you come out of that room, you’ll feel empty, like something was stolen from you. Your life will be twisted in a matter that you can’t even comprehend. But, I tell you, it may not seem obvious at first, but the room gave you what you desired greatest. The room doesn’t falter and it doesn’t lie. If one thing is certain in this world, its your own desire. So go, and find yourself in the room. Find yourself in your own desire.”

Abram simply nodded and moved forward with the group. Before moving into oblivion, however, Harve took one last look back at Isaac and the guide who watched them advancing from behind. Who knows what they’ve seen. Who knows what Harve will see. Who knows really, in these desperate lands that they called hope.

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