The Rock Swallows Whole-- A Cosmic Horror Story

By Chava Possum

If you would like to access an illustrated version including additional pieces of the story, click here.

Content warning: Suicide, depression, mild gore, some language

When we crawled on all fours, reptilian, sails upon our backs, when massive swamps reached across the whole of a supercontinent, two tectonic plates locked mouths. Their kiss closed a primordial sea. In the lower lip’s descent, the crushing of earth scraped something out from its rocky tomb and the land bled— volcanoes erupting at the fault lines, spilling magma and soot. The land creased and as the two plates collided for millions of years, mountains arched their backs. 

From 15 miles beneath the ground rose a rock, there since the Earth’s birth. It ripped through the hot, wet puddles of creation, a great being, its alligator mouth wide open. It inhaled— the first breath— and stopped. Before snapping its jaws closed around the molten earth in its teeth, the beast hardened into limestone and marble. And the mouth that ripped open the flesh of the land waited— waited for the inevitable accumulation of millions of years’ worth of shifts that would one day drop the entire side of the canyon down its gullet, where things as permanent as rock lose themselves. In terrible stillness, it waited— hungry.

Day #1: Arrival

The charter bus crawled to a halt in front of Chalet Austere and the gaggle of empty-faced passengers inside clapped upon their safe arrival. Melding together into one hive mind, once one started clapping, they all clapped. But the bus driver ignored them, chewing his gum loudly, as his dead eyes scanned a clipboard. Passengers leaked out onto the cold driveway where the chalet staff awaited in-uniform, their eyes detached, but smiling wide, their teeth gritting as if their mouths were full of chalk.

Iskra gazed out their window at the back of the bus. Beyond the chalet, rising up from the south stood an immense rock formation, striking against the hills of green, red, and yellow. The late September afternoon sun blasted the face of the rock— golden orange, almost peach. In its dark shadow stood the chalet, swallowing up the trickle of guests with bags in-tow.

“It’s just for one weekend,” Iskra’s mother said as she rose to join her co-workers, pulling Iskra’s attention from the rock. Carolynne buttoned her blazer jacket, straightening up after the long journey from town up into the hills. 

“You could have left me at home,” Iskra said, their forehead still pressed against the window. 

Carolynne shook her head. “I can’t spend the weekend worried about you.” 

“But, I–”

“Carol,” a lanky man in a crisp blue suit called from the front of the bus, his eyes glued to his blackberry. “Carol, we need to uh touch base.” Patrick was just one of Carolynne’s many underlings, constantly circling around her in orbit, pecking at keyboards like birds pulling prey apart.

“Just a minute, Patrick,” Carolynne replied, grabbing her purse from the overhead compartment. She slung it over her shoulder and looked down at Iskra. “You shouldn’t be alone right now,” she whispered, as if ashamed to be talking to her child in front of the team. “I’m coming,” she assured Patrick, leaving Iskra alone in their seat. 

A low hum rose, shaking the window pane against Iskra’s forehead. Iskra glanced around the bus seeking the source, but heard that it was coming from outside. The hum grew louder. They closed their eyes, letting the hum ripple up their legs and arms, rushing up to their skull. Iskra could feel the earth tremble in their teeth. They swallowed the hum, feeling it slide down their throat like molasses and settle deep in their stomach, hardening, aching suddenly. Iskra felt sick, the hum rising back up in their esophogus like bile. Iskra opened their eyes again, but this time the rock stood closer behind the chalet than before. 

“Hey,” the busdriver shouted from his seat. The hum stopped. The bus was empty save for the two of them. “Time to depart,” he barked, looking at Iskra irritably from the rearview mirror above him.

Day #1: The Tour

“Welcome honored guests,” one of the smiling staff greeted in the foyer, all the group’s suitcases piled to the side. “I’m Stacey, the property manager, and I’m here all weekend to make this the best company retreat possible.” The gooey group of realtors and brokers clapped at Stacey’s subservience. 

“First thing,” Stacey continued, her bright red acrylics glittering against the cold light of the chalet, “I’ll show you around and make sure you’re real comfortable with where everything is and uh so you can get a lay of the land– Mark your territory, right?” She started laughing, cueing the rest, their half-throated chuckles caught in between mutters of agreement and acceptance. She spoke their language, one Iskra could never quite grasp. 

With Iskra lingering in the back, the group walked in a clump following behind Stacey through the chalet, the sound of their heels and dress shoes clicking gently across the dark hardwood.  

Stacey began, “The land was sold in 1919 to Jack Hinks– a coal baron. He opened many mines in this area. But he wanted a refuge, a sanctuary in the hills for him to escape to. Chalet Austere, he called it.” 

Stacey swung her arm towards a set of floor-to-ceiling windows facing the back of the property; the rock formation peering in back at them. “This site was chosen for its views, and its proximity to the majestic South Rugged Top.” 

Iskra stopped abruptly as the rock’s presence filled the room. It towered over everything, the canyon, the chalet, and the valley floodplain below. It felt larger from inside, refracted in a grotesque prism. The house was an altar at the base of a great being. Who watched.

“After the Hinks Family died off,” Stacey pressed on, walking backwards, “the land was sold to another coal operator who opened a mine dangerously close to South Rugged Top.” Stacey pointed to the far right side of the formation. “It’s completely out of view from here, of course,” Stacey elaborated, “the mine and the uh slate dump– But,” she quickly recovered, “it just goes to show how mineral-rich this area is. Not only coal, but the hills are full of marble, shale, quartzite, and granite.”

Nods of approval. 

“South Rugged Top goes by another name,” Stacey continued, taking on a spooky tone which the group chuckled haughtily at. “Locals call it the Rock Swallows Whole because from certain angles it looks like a big mouth.” As if playing with shadows, Stacey’s hands formed two halves of a mouth with jagged teeth in between– snapping closed– crushing bone. 

“From our Tennessee Sitting Room,” Stacey quickly pivoted, gesturing to the main gathering space just beyond the foyer, “you get beautiful scenic views of the landscape, like you get in every single room of the house.” Except perhaps the staff’s quarters.  

Iskra surveyed the base of the rock across the thin river canyon, up along the rock slides where a few sparse trees somehow clung to the pebbly slant, up further still to a graveyard of boulders— Iskra shivered — remnants from the larger whole that had once been there, that had been torn apart by geologic forces. Lifting their eyes even higher, Iskra followed the line of rock, its jawline, up to the highest point, where the rock broke into sharp pillars. Teeth.

They saw something scramble up part of the rock, then disappear in shadow. Maybe a deer, maybe a bobcat. Though from that distance Iskra could barely make it out, they saw something crawling— 

“Keep up, now,” Stacey called from up ahead. Iskra stood suddenly alone, as the rest of the group waited at the other end of the sitting room at bottom of a set of stairs leading to the bedrooms. Iskra shuffled over to the stairs, cheeks red, all those eyes on them. 

“There are twelve suites,” Stacey led the group through a long and wide hallway with double doors lining only one side. The liminal, softly beige hallway felt underground without windows. Strangely, Iskra had seen windows from outside, windows that should have overlooked the driveway out front. But from the inside, no such windows were there. This made the fluorescent overhead lights harsher, casting a dreamy glow over the seemingly endless hallway. The carpeting underfoot muffled their steps so that Iskra had to look down to make sure they were still walking.

Stacey continued, “Each suite has a balcony. The chalet was designed so each room faced South Rugged Top. The sunrise and sunset views are,” Stacey chef kissed, “high quality.” 

“Just a quick Q,” one of the young brokers in a grey suit piped up, “but– with all this scenic beauty– not that it’s not great,”

The rest of the group nodded along. “Sure, right, yeah,” they agreed.

“It’s great, for sure,” the broker continued, bolstered by the team having his back, “But my question has to do with vital communications– there is WiFi here, right?”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Stacey assured him, her eyes wide ontop of a plastered smile. “We have excellent WiFi, in fact some of our prior business guests commented it was the best they’d ever seen.” Grunts and wows of approval swept through the group, the exhilaration of good bandwidth like a super-charged battery plugged into their nipples. 

After viewing the suites, Stacey led them down another set of stairs opening up to a large dining space with a long table stretching across the middle.

“This is our Royal Dining Room,” Stacey announced, “where you’ll enjoy 5-star breakfast, lunch, and dinner provided by our in-house Chef, Brayden.” 

“I spot the bar,” one of the realtors chirped pointing down the stairs towards the far corner. 

Clicking down from the last step, Stacey affirmed, “Yes, we are fully stocked for your stay. There’s enough there to knock out a herd of horses, but don’t try it! Even though I know some of you are killers,” more nervous chuckling, egged on by the forced laughter of the group. Everyone was pretending. Except the rock.  

Once Iskra stood at the base of the stairs, facing the wall of windows, South Rugged Top peered in at them, as if crouching down at a tiny bug. It saw them– studied them not as an interested observer, rather as a predator. But it wasn’t like the nature documentaries, not so black and white between to hunt or not hunt, to feed or go starving. There was something else– something intimate and suffocating.

“And we’re good to use this dining room as a conference room too, correct?” Carolynne asked rhetorically

“Absolutely,” Stacey consented, clapping her hands together so her rings clicked. “This chalet is yours for the weekend to use however you like. Mi casa su casa.” Nervous chuckling.

It amused Iskra to hear Stacey flip between a matte professionalism like a flight attendant and the familiar colloquialisms of the corporate-tongued. They wondered how many languages she could speak, how many ways she could put the same thing, if the words ever got stuck in her throat and if they do, does it hurt?

“We want you to have a good time,” Stacey concluded. “If you ever need me, I’m usually in the office,” she pointed down a small corridor separate from the flow of the house. “The staff are available 24/7 so just push one of the call buttons located throughout the chalet and let us know what you need.” She stepped sideways towards one wall where a white intercom was mounted at eye-level.

“I think, now,” Carolynne turned to the group, “it’s time we debrief, right, gang?” 

While the adults all took their seats at the table, a few staff members entered to take drink orders. Iskra snuck away. They skirted the far side of the room, then exited through a sliding glass door leading to a balcony. Stacey eyed them on their way out. 

The fresh outside air, chilly with the coming sunset, rushed against Iskra’s skin. They sighed and leaned on the rail where the balcony overlooked the canyon below and where a sliver of a river ran at the very bottom. They met South Rugged Top’s gaze above them. The setting sun cast its orange-red rays on the rock, lit up as if the light was coming from within. 

Iskra breathed in the cool air, sucking it in through their mouth, then out again hard. They struggled to catch their breath, as if they’d just run a mile. No matter how much they breathed in, their lungs felt empty. Iskra’s heart thudded loud enough for the birds in the trees to hear.

As they took deep, measured breaths, they watched the passage of the sun across the rockface, shadows lifting, then dropping away into the larger darkness of the canyon. In the quiet twilight, the rock faded to pale pink, then to soft grey, then blue and indigo like the coming dark. A few stars were already visible. Rain clouds were moving in from the south. They couldn’t stay out there much longer.

The soft hum of talking from inside filled the balcony only to be carried off by the breeze, ever-present and moaning, shaking the trees in the canyon below. Iskra couldn’t breathe inside, not with them and their incessant, empty words. They actually preferred the company of a rock– silent and honest. At Iskra’s back, the chalet waited with its mouth open wide for their eventual and inevitable return to its embrace. 

A thin streak of sweat brimmed their hairline, cold in the wind. Their hands felt clammy against the iron railing. Iskra gripped the railing to steady themself, but felt an engraving against their finger tips. 

No words accompanied the symbol. Someone had etched it. It looked new—

“Hey,” Carolynne said from the open sliding door. Iskra spun around, startled. 

“We’re done in there,” Carolynne continued on. “Time to get ready for dinner.” 

“I’ll be right there,” Iskra replied, hugging their arms in the mounting cold. Just a few more moments of air. Though they’d been outside for over 20 minutes, they still felt winded. 

Iskra fingered the engraving again, the lines deep into the iron. Whoever did this, it took them a long time. A long time kneeling on the cold balcony, etching, etching, etching, over and over again, like the river carving the canyon floor. Iskra knelt down to see the engraving, running their thumb over the lines, petting it. 

When they looked up at South Rugged Top, they felt themself drifting off, disassociating. Though they tried, Iskra couldn’t stop it, the trance. Their eyes watered staring at the rock, now completely concealed in darkness. Iskra kept rubbing the engraving, rhythmically lift up, slide down, lift up, slide down. Finally, Iskra gave way to double vision, letting the rock slip into two selves, blurring somewhere in the middle into something out of sight. 

Is this what it feels like? To just let yourself slip away? A coyote yipped somewhere in the distance. 

Day #1: The Hallway

Once back inside, Iskra found an empty dining room. They mounted the stairs alone, headed towards the suite they were sharing with Carolynne.

You shouldn’t be alone this weekend.

Iskra scoffed. Seeing how their mom interacted with everyone else, Iskra knew that they may be more alone here than they would be back at home in an empty house.

Dad was alone too. Iskra breathed deeply, anger and grief rising into their lungs. But I was there. I guess I just didn’t count.

It took Iskra what felt like forever to pass suites 1 through 11, then they turned right into a new corridor leading to suite 12– separate from everyone else. Their steps clunked softly against the carpet, the frayed edges of their jeans stuck underfoot. It smelled like lemons and the dry, textured scent of new carpet.

But at the door, Iskra felt a set of eyes on them, looking in from their periphery, just out of view. When they turned, they noticed a painting at the end of the corridor, just next to the suite door. Cast in dark colors and a sickly looking green-yellow, the painting lured Iskra closer.

A small placard next to the painting read, 
Atropos (The Fates)(Átropos/Las Parcas); Fransisco Goya; from the Black Paintings collection

Iskra smiled faintly, imagining what the realtors and brokers down the hall would say about the painting. As always, they’d talk a lot yet say nothing. This painting demanded your truth; there’s no way they could face it. 

Iskra studied the fates– the lines and shadows distorting them, parts of them swallowed entirely by fabric. Then Iskra saw the scissors. Open, ready. Ready to cut something, to severe forever a link between two things. Maybe between two people.

He chose to severe our ties. 

Iskra shook their head, trying to clear away such intrusive thoughts. But over the last few weeks, since Iskra’s father’s death, the intrusions grew harder and angrier. 

They keep slipping into this hole and they aren’t entirely sure what’s in it with them. This hole is the bottom-line, the heart of the matter. But it feels uneven, wrong, so Iskra tries to claw their way out, only at the rim of the hole to fall down again. 

Help me understand. 

A scratching noise from behind pulled Iskra’s focus. But there was no one there, at either end of the hall. Iskra eyed the painting suspiciously. The scratching sound returned, this time from the other side of their suite door. Iskra pressed an ear against the wood, the scratching tickling the side of their neck like little teeth biting down. At first, it sounded like mice– short, quick scratches. But then the scratches became longer, sliding down the length of the door. Iskra saw for the briefest moment a hand slide out from under the door, reaching for their ankle. 

Iskra scrambled inside. 

“You alright?” Carolynne called from the bathroom. Iskra exhaled hard, scoffing at themself. 

“Yeah,” Iskra muttered, loosening their grip on the doorknob and meandering to their suitcase. 

“The staff already unpacked us,” Carolynne said, applying lipstick in the bathroom mirror.

Iskra changed into fresh clothes for dinner, running a brush through their hair absentmindedly. This was a weird place. Yet, they seemed to be the only one noticing. Was it grief making them see things? What was real?  

They glanced into the mirror poised gently ontop of the small dresser where their clothes had been neatly folded and tucked away. But in their reflection, Iskra wasn’t like themself. Shadows hung low under their eyes, their dark hair windswept and tangled. Their lips were pressed into a thin line. They inched closer to the glass, inspecting their sallow face. They looked older than 17. Not a child anymore. They looked like their father, the version of him closest to death. 

“You’ll feel better after you eat something,” Iskra whispered to themself. “You’ll feel better soon.” 

Carolynne scurried off before Iskra was ready, encouraging them to come downstairs soon. When the door shut behind her, the intercom box in their room gave a staticky hiss followed by a muffled voice. Iskra walked across the room to the intercom and pressed the button. 

“Hey, is someone trying to call?” They lifted their finger off the button. 

Silence, then a garbled sound, like someone struggling to breathe. 

“Hello?” Iskra whispered, eyes narrow, waiting for something to speak to them through the intercom, waiting for something to say their name, to call for them and them alone. 

Out of the eerie silence came Stacey’s peppy voice. “How can I help you, Miss Petrović?”

Iskra exhaled. “Sorry,” they added sheepishly, “I thought I heard someone calling. But it was too muffled to understand.” 

“Ah, I see,” Stacey replied, her voice even and certain. “Sorry about that Miss Petrović. Way out here, sometimes we get interference.” Stacey paused. “The rocks,” she said vaguely, “make the technology around here do weird things. So don’t worry if you hear static from the intercom.”

“Oh, okay, uh– thanks,” Iskra said, not sure how to end this conversation. Do they say “over”?

But Stacey had already left, on to the next thing, leaving Iskra standing by the intercom, listening.

Day #1: Dinner

Dinner started before Iskra got there, so they took the empty seat closest to the staircase, ready to bolt up to their room as soon as dinner was over. Carolynne stood up and clinked her spoon against her wine glass. 

“Excuse me, everyone,” Carolynne began, “I’d like to make a toast.” Her eyes, light green eyeshadow sparkling, scanned the length of the table, meeting the gaze of each of the eleven realtors and brokers present. But not Iskra’s. 

“This team, this family–”

Iskra rolled their eyes. 

“-- means more to me than anything. And I know y’all feel the same.” A murmur of agreement followed. 

More than anything. Iskra already knew that. And their father had known it too. 

“We’ve had some struggles this year, that’s for sure.” The table fell awkwardly quiet, everyone there thinking about what no one would dare speak of. Eyes darted at Iskra, then quickly averted. Iskra’s very presence was a screaming reminder that most of them had not the first clue how to talk about suicide. Or even how to feel about it. 

But there was another presence in their silence too. Iskra didn’t understand what this whole financial crisis was about, but the adults did and they were afraid. 

“We’ve faced adversity and are still standing where others have fallen short.” Carolynne smiled, revealing some lipstick on her teeth. “And we’re gonna keep going. Our most profitable year lies ahead.”

“Hear, hear!” One of the brokers cheered, raising his glass high. The others followed suit, the sound of glasses clinking broke the tension in the room. 

Seated next to Iskra was Patrick, who filled his plate with ham, green beans and squash, biscuits, and cheesy potato casserole. He met Iskra’s gaze and gestured toward the mountains of food across the table. 

Iskra shook their head. They weren’t hungry, not one bit. And hadn’t been for the last few weeks. It was hard just to keep food down. Carolynne nudged them with her foot under the table. Iskra took a biscuit to appease Carolynne. But they could only nibble here and there, slinking deeper and deeper into the background as Carolynne and her team talked shop. 

“What about the Tenth-and-Hudson neighborhood, Chuck?” Carolynne asked before sipping her wine. 

Chuck swallowed the large bite of ham in his mouth. “Tenth-and-Hudson, we’ve got by the horns. I can feel it. I met with several developers– you know, uh, the Hansen Group, McDonald & McDonald.”

“Those guys are tough puppies to crack,” one of the realtors commented. “Unless you can get them in a bar with a couple drinks– couple, uh, martinis, if I remember right.” He chuckled. 

The group laughed back knowingly. “Oh, yeah,” rippled around the table, “One or two martinis. Maybe more if the night goes well.” Iskra had never heard laughter so hallow.

“But is Tenth-and-Hudson worth our time and investment?” Carolynne challenged. “The crash is hitting that area hard.”

The biscuit in Iskra’s mouth was dry. But they kept chewing.

The adults filled their plates a second time, some still chewing on what came before. 

“You’ve gotta be hungry for it, Chuck,” Carolynne continued. “Think you can swallow that big a bite?”

Down on the flats of their feet, Iskra felt again a low hum vibrating under the floor. It started faint, quivering beneath Iskra’s shoes. What happened on the bus when they first arrived was happening again. Louder it grew. Iskra looked around the table, but no one else reacted. What an odd little roar. It tickled Iskra’s shins, then up through their thighs. 

“I’m all about drilling down,” someone said. “Brass tax.”

Iskra gulped their glass of water, pulpy bites of biscuit still stuck to the roof of their mouth. The hum danced off the rim of their glass, vibrating Iskra’s lips and teeth. It tasted like soil, like limestone.

“Can we get a sit down with him?”

As Iskra swallowed, they let everything go down with it– the limestone too. The shivering hum filled their lungs. 

“We gotta move the goalpost.”

More food, more wine, more, more.

“I’ll ping you about it.”

Iskra coughed, feeling the hum stuck in their chest. COUGH, COUGH.

Carolynne clapped at Iskra’s back. “You alright?” 

“Just–” COUGH COUGH, “Just went down the wrong pipe.” 

The hum stopped. 

Scraping their chair loudly against the floor, Iskra stood abruptly, as if looking for the sound and where it had run off to. All eyes stared at them. South Rugged Top leaned down from the heights outside. Fearing it might crush the chalet, Iskra inched towards the stairs. 

“I’m-I’m gonna head up,” Iskra stammered. “Long day.” 

The adults’ pity stuck to the back of Iskra’s neck like a red sunburn. When the windows did not come crashing in, from the top of the stairs, Iskra turned around. South Rugged Top remained in the distance, where it had been for millenia, lurking big and hungry. But it had just moments ago felt so close. 

“I’m just tired,” Iskra assured themself, turning back to the hallway. “I’m okay, I’m okay.” But their throat was sore. The night surrounded them.

Day #1: Bedroom

Midnight and still Iskra could not sleep. Carolynne snored lightly in the bed next to Iskra’s, deep in slumber after a few too many glasses of wine. Seeing that Carolynne would not wake, Iskra slipped silently out of bed, into a warm jacket, and stepped out onto the balcony. 

Crickets sounded alongside the soft lull of the river down in the canyon below. A waxing moon hung high in the sky, illuminating the north face of the rock, casting a few slippery shadows that had a life of their own.

Iskra watched South Rugged Top with growing suspicion, as if it would come to life, slink down the hillside, and swallow the whole house. 

Since their father’s death, sleep evaded Iskra like a thought forgotten on the tip of their tongue. But Iskra had hopes that this weekend would offer them a chance to sleep and recover. So far, no such luck. 

From their jacket pocket, Iskra retrieved a tightly-rolled joint– one they bought from their school’s dealer after their dad died. Iskra had held onto it, waiting for the right moment to smoke it. Desperate for sleep, this was the moment. Having stolen Carolynne’s lighter, Iskra lit the joint and inhaled hard, the smoke scorching their tongue and throat. They held in a cough, but it sputtered through their tight lips anyway, stifled to keep from waking Carolynne.  

Joint smoking between their fingers, Iskra leaned over the railing, seeing how high the chalet sat on top of the hill. The back patio attached to the dining room turned down into a wooden staircase leading to a rope bridge connecting the chalet’s side of the canyon to the rock’s. The tops of the oak and maple trees could be seen below. An owl hooted from the woods. They looked up again, back at the rock.

As the moon reappeared from behind the clouds, Iskra spotted a light on South Rugged Top. An orb of white light shined bright in the darkness from one of South Rugged Top’s cliff sides. Iskra could not tell what it was coming from. At first, they thought it might be someone’s flashlight, but it didn’t shake or move as if held by a human hand. It hovered, quite still, in-place. 

“Iskra,” Carolynne groggily rasped from the sliding glass door. Iskra clutched their chest, then sighed, embarrassed to have been so frightened. “What are you doing out here? It’s late.” 

Iskra automatically hid the joint behind their back, but Carolynne could smell what they were doing. Waiting to be scolded, Iskra stood watching their mom, but Carolynne studied them quietly before asking, “So, do you have my lighter?”

Sheepishly, Iskra handed Carolynne her lighter, revealing the joint in their hand. But Carolynne pretended not to notice.

Carolynne took out a cigarette from a gold case in the pocket of her robe. The spark from her lighter illuminated her round face, some leftover makeup still smeared across her eyes. She exhaled, stepping beside Iskra, leaning her elbows on the railing. 

“You know, Iskra,” Carolynne finally spoke, breaking the silence between them. “Your father loved you very much.” 

Iskra scoffed, then immediately felt bad for it. They hadn’t expected their mother to say something so vulnerable. 

“How can that be true?” Iskra finally asked, “If he loved me, why did he choose to leave– to leave forever?”

Carolynne looked blankly out over the horizon. She didn’t seem to notice South Rugged Top at all, nor the light shining from it. “I wonder the same thing, Iskra,” Carolynne said softly. She took a long drag, the ash glowing orange. 

Anger broiled in Iskra’s throat. But they spoke at the same register as Carolynne. “It just doesn’t make any sense.” 

“Is it supposed to?” Carolynne replied. “Maybe if you get it, that means you’re, you know, at risk or something.” One more drag and Carolynne snuffed out the cigarette and tossed the butt over the edge of the balcony. 

“Did you seriously just fucking litter?” Iskra gawked. But Carolynne didn’t respond. She waved her hand at Iskra dismissively, as she opened the sliding door and retreated to her bed. The smell of smoke lingered behind her. 

Iskra’s eyes naturally drifted to the rock again, the light still shining. How did Carolynne not notice?

Click.

The sound of Carolynne’s lighter turned Iskra toward the door, but there was no one there. Iskra looked down to the patio below– no sign of anyone there either. The flick of the lighter had sounded so clear to Iskra, but maybe they were hearing things– too tired.

Iskra’s stomach growled. They returned their gaze to the rock, but the light was gone. The moon fell back behind the clouds.

Day #1: Midnight Snack

Iskra tip-toed down the stairs leading to the dining room, then circled behind a corner to find the kitchen. They opened the fridge, illuminating the dark room, and saw someone else standing there. 

Iskra inhaled fast. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” The woman smiled. She held in one hand a bottle of bleach, but no rags or scrub brushes. Iskra could smell it, though, scanning the kitchen, there was no sign she had been cleaning in here. 

“It’s okay,” Iskra replied hesitantly. “I was just hungry.” The staff had a nametag on, but Iskra couldn’t make out the name– not just because of the dark, but because it looked like she had slowly scratched her own name out over the years. 

The woman tapped her fingernails rhythmically against the countertop. “Nothing like a midnight snack when you can’t sleep,” she said, still smiling. Click, click, click, click, went her nails. The woman’s brevity would have been awkward had the conversation been during the daytime, but in the dark, her curtness felt agitated, uneasy, like something was about to happen. The dread hovered heavily between them.  

Iskra placed a tupperware of the leftover beans in the microwave, its quiet hum the only sound in the room. The light cast an orange glow on them both as they watched the circling Tupperware, the countdown bringing closer and closer the inevitable.

“I don’t mean to disturb your work,” Iskra said as they pulled the tupperware from the microwave. Though what work she had been doing, Iskra wasn’t sure. Why had she been standing here in the dark? 

They grabbed a fork, and gobbled the beans up quick, eager to get back to their room, and away from this person who stared at them through the dark. Iskra placed the empty Tupperware in the sink, and turned to leave. 

“You didn’t disturb me,” the woman replied way too late, as if Iskra had only just then spoken. 

Iskra stood half in the doorway, half out, waiting for her to say more, but nothing came. 

Just as Iskra turned to leave, the woman said, “I’ve cleaned up after a suicide once.”

“What?” Iskra’s cheeks flushed and a knot inched up their throat. 

“Yeah,” the staff continued. Iskra could hear the look on her face in the dark kitchen: a smile that was hungry with a voice so careless such mangled thoughts came sliding on out, pooling around Iskra’s feet. “Yeah, that’s right. It fell on me because, well, no one else would do it. They all asked me because I know suicide– I know it intimately.” She spoke in a marching cadence; unafraid.

“You know it?” Iskra repeated, unsure, considering bolting up the stairs back to bed. 

“And it knows me,” she added, taking a step closer to Iskra, who could only make out her faint silhouette in the night. “Once you come into contact with it, it never leaves you.” 

“Who was it?” Iskra prodded, morbidly curious. “Who killed themself?” Iskra leaned against the far edge of the counter, daring the woman to say more.

And she took the bait. “A guest,” she replied. “Obviously.” She inhaled slowly, then sighed, “He was wealthy, came here on a family vacation. Wasn’t too long ago now, actually.” 

“Why did he do it?” Iskra pressed, leaning forward. This was the most any adult had spoken to them about suicide and it was Iskra’s best chance at finding some real answers. “Do you know why he did it?”

But the staff warned them, “Careful,” in a harsh whisper, piercing through the dark. “Careful where you step on that path.” 

The overhead light suddenly flicked on. From across the room, Iskra saw Stacey looking at them curiously.

“Are you alright?” Stacey asked quietly. “Who were you talking to?”

The woman was gone. 

“I-uh,” Iskra was lost for words. Stacey stared, waiting for an answer. 

With the light on, suddenly the house felt scarier than before. The room span, Iskra wasn’t sure which way was up. Their heart pounded. Sweat brimmed their hairline and suddenly their arms felt hot, then chilled. 

“Were you having a bad dream?” Stacey asked.

Iskra groaned, pressing their hand to their forehead. They were burning up. Iskra gagged, then bolted to the sink, puking into it. Stacey rushed over and placed a gentle hand on their back. Iskra tried to shoo her away, but Stacey returned with a towel. Iskra turned on the faucet to wash the bile away and to run the cold water on their face, then dried off with the towel. 

“Let’s get you back to bed,” Stacey said slowly, gently guiding them back to the stairs. “You’ll feel better once you rest.” 

“I’ll feel better,” Iskra agreed in a monotone voice, letting the pressure from Stacey’s hand move them through the chalet and back to their room.

Day 2: Visit 1

Iskra slept through breakfast. Carolynne left them be, so they woke alone in their bedroom to a note on their bedside table. 

“Hope you slept well. Big day today. Check the itinerary to find us when you wake up.”

Remembering the night before, Iskra got up and immediately went out onto the balcony, searching for the source of the light on South Rugged Top. Iskra saw no signs of light now in the daylight, however, they could make out what looked like a small cave. Was that where the light was coming from? 

Iskra could breathe easier that morning, the rock’s presence not as intense as it was the night before. Maybe they had just been tired. Today, it simply looked like a wet rock in the rain. 

The sound of voices below the balcony drew Iskra’s attention. Looking down over the railing, Iskra saw their mother along with the rest of the team, dressed in brand new hiking boots and rainjackets on the patio. It must be time for the hike. 

Iskra dressed quickly, then went downstairs, passed through the dining room, then out the back door onto the patio. But they found themself alone, the group already crossed the bridge, walking towards the trail. 

Hearing the convivial tone of the group even from a distance, Iskra decided that they would hike alone instead. There wasn’t room in them for the group’s coded language this morning. Their throat hurt still, scratching and tickling as if they’d swallowed bugs. 

The late morning was chilly, the wind stronger than usual. A slight drizzle wetted the ground. Iskra wished they had brought hair ties; the wind pulled their hair in different directions, tangling and knotting despite Iskra’s best efforts to pull it under the hood of their coat. 

Up they hiked over the first hill, where they spotted the Ridgeline trail, leading up to South Rugged Top. The rest of the hikers’ bright colored raincoats were still visible up the trailhead, as they marched higher and higher. But Iskra wanted to find another way up, hopefully one leading to the source of light Iskra saw the night before. 

The trail broke off into two, one leading up to the group, the other leading towards “Old Homestead”. Iskra took the second trail, narrower and less maintained than the other. They glanced back over their shoulder at the group headed out of sight, and for a moment considered running to catch up with them. This trail was dark, Kudzu swallowing nearby trees, rocks, and bramble, veiling the path in shadow. The other trail was light, out in the open. Alone, the trail was too quiet. If they hurried now, they could rejoin the group and see the lookout point. 

But, Iskra knew they weren’t wanted. Maybe someone would have woken Iskra up, if they felt otherwise. But they left Iskra behind, not so much as one look back. 

The night Iskra heard the news about their father’s death, they dreamed of snow– all around, after a storm covered everything in the neighborhood. Iskra lay in the road just beyond their front yard, the snow around them like a vast, white ocean. They couldn’t move. When their father opened the front door and walked to his car, Iskra tried to cry out, but their voice was trapped somewhere deep in their chest, dancing on their stomach. The words came out as a strained muffle– stifled like they were underwater. Their father couldn’t hear them, and closed the car door shut behind him. As he backed down the driveway, Iskra felt the urgency to get his attention. The implication, Iskra knew, was that he’d leave if he didn’t see them– leave to do the unthinkable.  

“Daaad,” Iskra rasped, but he was already driving away, the red glow of his tail lights soon disappeared in a cold mist. When Iskra woke up, their hands were still frozen and they wondered when Dad would come home, before remembering.  

It was drizzling when Iskra arrived at the old homestead– an abandoned cabin left in disrepair, tucked in the trees. All around the cabin, the leaves had fallen from the trees, creating a circle of debris and barren branches. Iskra’s boots crunched as they approached what was left of the cabin’s front porch. 

They stopped and drew their attention up to the window on the second floor– pitch darkness lurked inside. The possibility of something watching just barely out of sight made Iskra see the faintest white of someone’s eyes in the window. 

A cold breeze rattled the branches overhead, like the trees were warning them of something– something spoken in a language Iskra didn’t understand. Their breath quickened in their throat. 

“Hello?” Iskra found themself asking aloud, calling into the window. There was no one home, Iskra knew, and yet they called out anyway. They waited for a response, for the slightest sound of movement, fearful they may have found someone who didn’t want to be found. 

Iskra stepped backwards, unable to turn away from the window. The branches of the trees bent backward in the mounting wind, their spines arching so far they might snap. SLAP, SLAP, SLAP. The shutters banged against the side of the house in the wind. 

Iskra backed themself away from the cabin, returning to the trail, and pressed on, leaving the abandoned home as quickly as possible. Up higher into the hills they climbed, the path growing steeper. Iskra had to stop several times for breath, their legs shaking more and more with each step. Soon, the trees began to clear, revealing a rocky terrain. 

Out they looked behind them, from where they’d come, spotting the chalet nearly at eye-level across the canyon. Boulders lay scattered around them, most larger than Iskra. 

Squeezing between the boulders, Iskra followed a rocky path up further, until finally they reached a cliffside, flat and wide enough for Iskra to stand comfortably. Gazing out over the horizon, Iskra had clear view of the woods and the valley below. They must be close to the top. The clouds were beginning to clear, revealing patches of blue sky, pushed along by the wind.

Just around the corner, barely visible from the cliff, Iskra made out the slate dump Stacey had pointed out on the tour– coal refuse left the hillside ashy and grey. It reached up the side of the rock like a wound, the gravel like exposed flesh.

A soft howling sound resonated from behind them. When they turned, Iskra found the cave, its mouth open beneath two long slabs of rock meeting into a V-shape. Aside from the wind, it was eerily silent in the wake of South Rugged Top, watching closely from above. 

The pebbles crunched underfoot as Iskra approached the cave. No sign of the light Iskra had seen the night before. But dread surrounded them, as if laced in the air they were breathing. At the threshold of the cave entrance, Iskra stopped and, once again, called out, “Hello?” Only to hear their own voice reply. 

Iskra stared into the darkness, willing their feet to keep going, yet unable to move. The breath of the cave sucked Iskra in, but they stayed planted where they stood, watching their dark hair rise and tremble in the breeze. 

The police found Iskra’s father in the woods near their neighborhood– alone, lying still under a tree, curled up in a ball, like a child playing hide and seek. An empty, orange pill bottle lay next to him, the white cap half-stuck under dead leaves. 

Iskra hadn’t been there when they found him. But they’d heard the police talking with Carolynne at their house. Iskra waited up the carpeted stairs, out of view from the front door, but could hear everything– including their theory that he’d had second thoughts and tried to crawl toward the edge of the woods, where he might have been seen. But it was too late. 

“Many have second thoughts,” the officer added, as Carolynne stood with her hand over her mouth. 

It was that idea that frightened Iskra the most– that you could make a decision that drastic, that violent, then realize, quite suddenly, that you made a mistake. To fall under an idea’s spell, then awake terribly too late. 

Iskra inhaled short and quick, as if waking up from a deep sleep, and found themself standing in total darkness. The sun had set hours ago and the moon was already high in the sky. 

“What the fuck?” They muttered, looking all around them for an answer– where the time had gone. 

They shook out their hands, anxiously stepping back away from the cave. Upon turning around, they saw the chalet, all lit up and glowing in the night. Even from that distance, they could make out the sound of music playing. 

Trembling, Iskra re-traced their steps back down the rock and onto the trail. The woods were pitch black, blocking most of the moonlight. Careful not to lose the trail, Iskra wound through the woods, until they saw a light up ahead. Maybe it was someone coming to look for them. 

Iskra followed the light until they found themself back at the old homestead. A candle glowed from the second story window. 

“Hello?” Iskra called through the dark. “It’s Iskra; I’m okay!” They added, suspecting maybe it was someone from the chalet up there searching for Iskra, who hadn’t been seen all day. But no response followed.  

“Are you in there?” Iskra asked, stepping onto the front stoop. 

Slowly, Iskra pushed open the door, its hinges creaking miserably. A small room unfolded in front of them, nothing inside but an old mattress next to a fireplace. The light of the candle upstairs illuminated the ladder leading up to the loft. 

Creeeeeakk…

Creeeeeakk …

Each footstep felt like their last; the warped wooden floorboards were in danger of breaking at any moment. 

“Hello?” Iskra looked up the ladder but saw no one. Gingerly, they climbed up and stepped into a room much colder than downstairs, even with the candle lit in the far corner. Iskra peered through the dark and saw that, surrounding the candle, was a small altar. 

“What is that?” Iskra mumbled, their eyes desperate in the dark. They inched closer. 

SNAP! Iskra’s right foot fell through the floor. Their pants got stuck in the splinters, stopping them from falling straight through. Iskra pried their foot loose, heart thudding. The floor had left a bite mark around Iskra’s ankle, red and splintered. 

Breathing heavily, they knelt in front of the altar and found in a semi circle around the candle three cast iron pots. In one was what looked like rotten berries. In the other, a mysterious liquid Iskra couldn’t identify in the dark. And in the third, hair. A slab of Gneiss, with waves of black and white sediment, sat between them and the candle. Etched on the wall behind the candle was the same symbol Iskra had seen carved into the railing at the chalet. 

Iskra was interrupting a ritual.

Iskra fell backward from kneeling and scrambled to stand up, their legs trembling. They backed up to the window and looked out, then heard something moving below. 

A pale white arm extended out from under the porch, dragging out a bald head, blue with veins, and a naked body. He groaned as if his stomach was falling out of him. Iskra held their mouth shut, shallowly breathing in and out, their eyes locked on the man crawling out from under the cabin. 

As the man slowly stood, Iskra hid under the window sill. They waited until they heard the sound of leaves cracking to slowly lift their eyes just over the sill and look down. The pale man swayed from side to side, confused for a moment, then quite suddenly darted off into the woods at full speed.

As fast as they could without falling through the ceiling again, Iskra rushed to the ladder, hurried down, and ran out the front door onto the trail, running in the opposite direction of the pale man. 

They felt eyes on them the whole way down the mountain– someone watching from behind trees, in shadow. They didn’t dare turn around. They ran, they sprinted across the bridge, away from the crawling thing dragging itself through the dirt. 

Day #2: The Moonlight Party

It was the night of the full moon. 

A disheveled Iskra stumbled across the chalet’s back patio and into a party already underway. The diningroom had been transformed into a ballroom. Dressed in black suits and dresses, Carolynne’s team drank and socialized, while a DJ played from the corner. Stacey marched to and fro conspiring with her assistant and the caterer, making sure everything was perfect. 

Though Iskra’s hair was tangled in leaves and twigs from their flight down the mountain, the line of staff holding trays of flute glasses and hors d'oeuvres didn’t seem to notice. Their big, vacant smiles greeted Iskra as one offered, “Sparkling water?”

Blankly, Iskra accepted, holding the glass awkwardly as their eyes fell into a stare, the “Moonlight Party” fuzzy and pulling back into the distance. At their back awaited a wide open mouth, teeth sharp, perched in darkness, ready the moment they turn around. 

“Iskra, there you are,” Carolynne’s black heels clicked as they walked up to Iskra at the edge of the party. Her face looked pink; she’d been drinking. “Did you have a good day?” She asked, her attention on a circle of brokers chatting. “Didn’t see you very much.” 

So no one had come to look for them. Whoever it was who lit the candle in the abandoned cabin, they didn’t come from the chalet. Iskra had been gone for almost 12 hours, yet hadn’t been missed.   

“Yeah,” Iskra answered, still staring off, not looking at their mother. And as Carolynne walked off to rejoin the group, Iskra muttered, “Not that you care.” 

Alone, Iskra skirted the party and walked up the stairs, unnoticed. Iskra clenched their fists and bit their tongue to keep from crying. At the top of the stairs, before turning into the hallway, Iskra spotted another painting, one they hadn’t noticed before.

“Drowning Dog; Fransisco Goya; from the Black Paintings collection”

The dog’s nose hovered just above the water, looking at the wave swelling, heading his way. 

Didn’t see you very much, implying Carolynne had seen Iskra, though Iskra knew she hadn’t. Pain swelled in Iskra’s chest. Forgettable, that’s what they amounted to. 

Down in the dining room and patio, the party continued, laughter and music rising like a tide up the stairs. The current, agitated and strong, swirled around Iskra’s ankles as the water kept rising, until soon Iskra tread in place, their feet no longer able to touch the bottom. 

Breathe. The water lapped at Iskra’s chin as they inhaled sharply, lips lifting up into the air. The ceiling was approaching fast, the water hoisting Iskra higher and higher. The oxygen going into Iskra’s lungs burned, breath harder and harder to find. 

Breathe. But it hurt so bad; they didn’t want to try. Iskra watched as the swell from downstairs arched up, inching towards them. The waters swallowed up the party, leaving the strangest sound– this low moan coming from the water itself. 

Maybe drowning would feel better. They let the water overtake them, submerged entirely, floating in the blue, lit up from the shining lights downstairs. When they closed their eyes, they saw South Rugged Top. The muffled moan of the water met the low hum of the rock, wrapping Iskra in a vibrating blanket. There they drifted off, the water hardening into stone around them, yet just as fluid, like paint. Iskra imagined their skull, crystalline and glimmering even in the dark abyss of rock. 

Scratch, scratch, scratch. The sound penetrated the quietude of the deep. When Iskra opened their eyes again, they stood in the hallway, the waters having receded, and the party lively downstairs. 

Iskra took one last look at the painting of the dog, then walked down the hallway towards the suite. But after a few steps, Iskra felt that they were no longer alone in the corridor. Again came the scratching sound, fingernails getting tangled and stuck in carpet. Iskra could hear it just over their shoulder. Scratch, scratch, scratch, like footsteps. 

Something was crawling on the ground behind them. 

Iskra bolted forward and slammed shut the suite door as fast as they could. Iskra rushed over to the balcony, hurling their silent sobs over the edge, quivering and gasping. But the pain didn’t go away. And the music played on downstairs. 

South Rugged Top faced them. Iskra stared at it angrily, feeling cornered– trapped between the lights downstairs and the dark mountain, between two hungry things. Through the open sliding glass door poured out heat and noise from inside, licking Iskra’s back like a sickly sweat. Breathing down their neck. 

The bedroom door slammed behind Iskra. 

“Just came to reapply,” Carolynne waved her lipstick tube and stood in front of the mirror. The care she put into each stroke of the lipstick irritated Iskra. 

“Why are you celebrating?” Iskra blurted, their voice harsh and judgmental. 

Carolynne sighed, like she was disappointed by the question. “It’s a retreat,” she replied, popping her lips in the mirror, “there’s always a party on the last night. And we worked hard this weekend– strategies for new markets. There is a path forward through all this mess.”

Iskra learned about the market crash in waves as their parents talked worriedly in the kitchen late at night. At first, the housing market was a little jumpy, that’s all. Everyone was highly motivated. But then, the water started rising. Mortgages, CDOs, and stocks– meaningless words that had their father up late every night, staring at the kitchen table, mindlessly shoveling peanuts into his mouth. CRUNCH, CRUNCH, CRUNCH. While Carolynne slept, he ate and waited, dread filling the house so that even from their bedroom, Iskra could feel their dad’s presence. He sat there like a prisoner waiting for his day. Waiting for time to inevitably pass. Waiting for the fallout. Afraid and alone. 

At his funeral, Carolynne said she couldn’t have married anyone else. No one else could have understood her work– her obsession. They were in it together, their own brokerage. She romanticized that partner dynamic, acting as if the market crash had nothing to do with his death, as if the crash didn’t even really exist. As if he didn’t die by suicide. Her husband by title, but maybe more of a coworker.

“One of your coworkers,” Iskra spat viciously, “died three weeks ago.” 

Carolynne set the lipstick inside her makeup bag and stepped towards where Iskra stood on the balcony. 

“Your father would want us to be celebrating,” she said, taking both of Iskra’s hands in her own. She was giddy. “This is big, honey,” she explained, “we’re going to corner the foreclosure market! We’ll be the only ones doing that in our area. We’ll sell foreclosed houses; they’re popping up faster than we can sell them. We’ll have the best quarter yet!”

Iskra threw their mom’s hands down, away from them. 

Iskra pictured the woods, the dark, green place where the police found their dad. They pictured him after taking the pills, coughing, vomiting. 

“WOOOOOOOOO!” Came cheers from the patio below. 

“Mom, I–” 

But Carolynne didn’t hear; she was already walking back towards the door, back to the party. 

“I’ll see you in a few hours!” She called over her shoulder on the way out.

The sound of the door closing stung Iskra so that tears welled up in their eyes. They knew that the clicking of the door shut meant what Iskra had to say would never be said. It was finished. Decided. It was the same certainty they felt in the dream, stuck in snow, unable to speak, unable to get their father’s attention. The burning in their throat crawled up the sides of their esophogus. 

The full moon filled the sky. Iskra gazed up into it, arching their neck backward, seeing the shining stars, needing air, needing to open up– their body felt tense like a barricade. 

South Rugged Top glowed in the moonlight and then, just like the night before, there appeared a circle of light up the rock. It hung in perfect stillness on the cliffside. The mouth of the cave opened up again before Iskra; they remembered standing in front of it, hearing it breathe in and out. What was that light coming from? Was it the pale man? Iskra’s stomach dropped, thinking about a man wandering the woods just behind the chalet. And they knew he was patrolling somewhere out there, waiting for them to come back. 

“No way,” Iskra muttered to themself, dispelling the mere possibility of returning to that horrible place. They would ignore the light and the rock. It was so obviously simple, so simple it was a relief. They’d be leaving the next day anyway.  

They pressed against the railing to push themself back toward the sliding door when they felt something scratchy brush against their hand. There carved again was the symbol. 

They knelt down on their knees, this time trying to see a bigger picture to the symbol– searching for meaning. Iskra thought of ideas, but how could they possibly know? It was pointless. All of it pointless. Exhaustion wrapped around Iskra, pressing hard like miles of rock weighing down on them. They felt so tired that they wondered why try? Why try to figure out the symbol? Why try to find the source of the light coming from the cave? Why try to understand something that is going to be forever obscured, just out of sight, like what lies inside a black hole? 

Iskra finally got the energy to drag themself into bed. Tomorrow, they’d leave the chalet and South Rugged Top. Relief was coming. Just wait until tomorrow. Just wait until morning. 

But come morning, they opened their eyes to sunlight, kneeling on the cliffs, facing South Rugged Top.

Day #3: Visit 2

The urge to cry rose up in Iskra’s throat, lodged in the back like Iskra had swallowed their terror, dense as a marble. 

“No, no, no, no,” they muttered, still kneeling. They rubbed their face— am I here? 

They stumbled into a standing position, squinting in the bright morning light, until they bumped into one of the boulders at their back. The rains yesterday had passed, leaving a bright, blue day. Once able to see again, Iskra gazed at the cave, just a few yards away. Even the Sun couldn’t breech the mouth’s dark shadow. 

Someone shifted in the thicket below.

Iskra sprinted blindly down the mountain as fast as they could. Around every tree, Iskra thought they saw the pale man, running parallel, chasing them to the bridge. Branches and bramble tore up the bottoms of Iskra’s already tender feet, but they didn’t notice, hurling themselves towards the chalet. 

We’re leaving soon, we’re leaving soon.

But the smell of smoke stopped them. 

Up ahead, they could make out a thin wall of white smoke passing through the trees. 

They hurried through the smoke, coughing, desperate to stay on the trail though it was hard to see. Soon, Iskra recognized where they were, and around the next bend stood the old homestead, completely ablaze, the flames inches from the trees. 

“Holy shit!” Iskra gasped, covering their mouth and nose with their arm, as they pushed through, headed toward the bridge. They ran, and ran, and ran until they leapt across the last few feet of the bridge. Their barefeet patted hard against the patio, then they barged into the dining room, where Carolynne and all the others were having breakfast. 

“The old homestead is on fire!” Iskra shouted, their voice echoing through the quiet chalet. 

At first, no one responded. They just stared at them. Mouths full, another forkful on the way, paused mid-air, as Iskra stood there breathing heavily, covered in leaves and dirt, dressed in their pajamas and barefoot. Stacey, standing in a corner, looked on them with disgust.

“Iskra,” Carolynne slowly stood up speaking softly, “are you okay?”

“I’m serious!” Iskra pointed out the wall of windows looking out over the hillside. “The cabin is on fire, if we don’t hurry, it might–” Iskra stopped. The hillside was completely clear– no smoke, no fire, only the autumnal leaves glowing orange and yellow in the sun. 

Iskra stared in disbelief, scanning the woods insistently, but saw nothing unusual. Iskra could feel all the eyes on them. They slowly turned around. 

Iskra stammered, “It– it must have been– been put out–”

Carolynne stepped closer to them, with one hand held out like Iskra was a wild animal. “Honey,” she said gently, more gently than she’d spoken to Iskra in years. And Iskra knew it was only because she was embarassed. “Iskra, you’re bleeding.”

“I–” Iskra’s knees stung; their eyes darted down and saw blood covering both, little pieces of gravel stuck in their flesh. 

The moments passed like years standing there in the awkward silence. Their cheeks burned. They were being eaten alive in front of everyone, the gravel threatening to swallow their knees and their legs and up their torso, up across their face, until the sooty dirt filled their eyes, nose, and mouth. Every inch of them belonged to something else. 

Iskra, keeping their gaze down, said nothing and floated past the group to the stairs. Carolynne followed gingerly behind, but Iskra could barely hear her footsteps, everything muffled around them. Walking wasn’t one foot in front of the other; it was Iskra’s feet inches off the ground, gliding through the chalet like a sailboat upon the water. If they moved a muscle, the spell would break and everything would come crashing down. The rock would come for them. 

Carolynne closed the bedroom door shut behind them and watched Iskra with growing fear and, in that moment, suspicion. Iskra sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly ahead. 

“Is…” Carolynne began, her hands on her hips, “Is this you trying to freak out my team? I know you don’t like them, Iskra, but this is a little bit extreme.” 

Iskra didn’t say anything, didn’t move. They were numb. And no one cared. 

“I want you to apologize,” Carolynne continued, pacing the floor. “I want you to go back and apologize to everyone for scaring them. This is the last day of the retreat and I don’t want it to end like this.” 

“I don’t want it to end like this either,” Iskra agreed quietly. 

“I’m going back down there,” Carolynne concluded, not having heard Iskra at all. “Clean yourself up and come down when you’re ready.” 

Alone in the room, Iskra listened to the heater hum from Carolynne’s side of the room. The charter bus would arrive in six hours, come late afternoon. Maybe if they kept still, then those six hours would pass over them like water. They’d been swimming since they arrived, swimming against a feverish current. Survival instinct had kept their nose above water. But it was getting harder and harder to tread. All Iskra could do now was float, let the water take them. Finally, they let their nose drop below the surface. And they relished how easy it was.

The intercom hissed awake, static shredding the quietude of the room. Iskra ignored it as Stacey had said to. But it hissed again. And again. And again. Finally, a voice. 

“Hey,” someone whispered. Iskra jolted up out of their seat; it sounded like the voice was in the room with them. “Hey,” the voice repeated, drawing Iskra back to the intercom. 

“Who is this?” Iskra asked into the speaker, their lips dry. 

But the voice ignored their question. 

“Did you know that this whole area used to be underwater?” To Iskra, it sounded like the staff person from the other night in the kitchen. But they couldn’t be sure through all of the static, distorting the voice into an eerie melody.

“Who is this?” Iskra repeated with irritation. 

It took the voice a moment to respond, smiling through the silence. “Imagine it,” she whispered harshly, enchanted and maniacal. “We are standing on an island, surrounded by an ocean that’s no longer here.” 

Iskra said nothing, their breath quickening in their chest. 

“Can you feel them?” The voice continued in a low register. “The shells, the coral, the algae. Do you feel them beneath your feet? Squirming, pressed down and down and down, ground up under all that earth, all that rock.”

Silence. Iskra looked down at their feet, ankle-deep in clear, blue water, the hardwood floor visible on the bottom. They could feel the prickle of cracked shells against the bottoms of their feet. And the pull of the tide, small waves colliding against their shins. Iskra closed their eyes, letting the sounds of the chalet drift away, only hearing the sound of water. And then, yes, movement. 

“I can,” Iskra said smiling. “I can feel them.” They waded over to the bed and sat down, watching the afternoon sun shine in, glittering off the blue water. They stared into it, unable to look away, a faint grin plastered to their face. 

Day #3: Visit 3

As the afternoon’s shadow began to lift into the hills, Iskra’s legs stood them up and walked absently to the balcony. Carolynne and her team sat on the patio below, drinking and snacking, enjoying the last few hours of the retreat. 

“This was so productive,” one said to Carolynne and the others vigorously agreed, sounding in Iskra’s ears like a dull, bleeting sound. 

Another said, “We work hard and we play hard.” 

Iskra stood out of sight from the patio, in the doorframe, gazing out at South Rugged Top. A chill went down their spine; they shouldn’t be looking. They darted their eyes away, tucking their chin to their chest. Iskra craved more of the rock, but was afraid to return their gaze to it; The Rock Swallows Whole may not give it back again. That’s what Stacey had called it on the tour. The name she mocked.

The rock’s other name– suddenly forgotten– got swept away. It felt clinical when Iskra thought back on the vague memory, this name that felt like it belonged to some place else. What else could the rock be called but swallows whole? So hungry.

They dared not look because the rock could devour Iskra’s scrutiny, then every last inch of them until there was nothing left to eat— until Iskra’s bones bleached in the sun. No, light couldn’t follow into the rock’s gullet. Iskra’s flesh caught in the teeth would rot, but in the beast’s stomach, Iskra’s body would churn with the dirt and the rock in their immortal passages through deep time, a motion incomprehensible to the human eye. While their body decomposed and crystalized into the rock, Iskra’s soul— what would being devoured do to the soul? Perhaps death’s very nature would change in the darkness of the rubble. Though after 100 million years, their spine may glitter as an opalized fossil— like oil spilled on asphalt, shining bright blue, green, and purple — Iskra’s soul would leave no traces.

“Lots of great ideas this retreat,” Carolynne congratulated, her voice authoritative. “But we need to debrief on this fast. How do we implement? Let’s talk about that on the drive home.”

Iskra’s eyes glazed over, the rock blurring, expanding as they squinted, reaching towards them. It wanted Iskra; they could feel it now and, though terrified, they couldn’t help but also feel cherished. What sort of love is this? 

The charter bus would arrive in a few hours. “I have time,” Iskra muttered– time to be with the rock, to stand in its mouth, to stare into the cave, waiting for what it would show them. Oh God, how they didn’t want to move. Just stay still. But their feet carried them anyway, downstairs, and through the dining room, while the others on the patio retreated inside to pack, passing Iskra blindly. 

 Iskra wasn’t afraid of being caught. They didn’t rush or sneak, they just walked, waiting for someone to spot them and stop them. If only someone would notice and reach out and say, “Hey, where are you going?” They’d turn around and leave the rock behind forever. But no one said a thing. And so Iskra kept going. 

On the path, it felt like it was already night. Iskra floated up the hills, breath even and steady. The destination was inevitable, Iskra couldn’t turn around even if they wanted to. Oh, but they wanted to. Terror tugged at them to go back, to get away from the beast. But Iskra couldn’t change the path of their feet. 

When the path led to the old homestead, Iskra saw the blackened and charred roof, caved in. The fire had ripped the house open. The air was still. So there had been a fire after all. One only Iskra had seen. The bond between person and place hung like a song in Iskra’s throat. Horrified, they felt at home. 

Iskra returned inside the house, climbed the ladder up to the second floor, and stood, gazing up and out at the trees and the kudzu, small pieces of sky just barely visible. 

Only when Iskra stood in that spot without the roof did they notice that the Rock Swallows Whole leaned over the cabin, glowing red in the late evening sun. And the Black Gum trees in the distance all around had turned a deep, blood red too. They stood in what felt like a giant mouth, the red-pink womb surrounding them. The rock towered over everything, its presence exerting its own gravity so that Iskra struggled to breathe deeply. It was watching them. Waiting for them. 

“I won’t be long,” Iskra said, chin tilted up at the rock above. It was all coming so soon, Iskra trembled. But their feet knew the way. And so they went. The last bit of the hike was treacherous, but Iskra scaled it with ease, though their hands quivered. 

“Whew, I made it,” Iskra sighed in resigned relief– the sound of their voice comforting– as they passed between the boulders at the cliff. The sun had set. Iskra looked down the cliff back at the chalet. All the lights were out, no one there anymore. They had left without Iskra. 

The distance between the cliffside and the chalet might as well have been a thousand miles. The idea of returning was unreachable, buried deep in a neural pathway that might have lit up before– before Iskra met the rock. Tears welled up in their eyes. They could turn back, but Iskra knew they wouldn’t. 

None of this was a choice anymore. The moon rose in the sky.

A cold light landed against Iskra’s back. When they turned, they found the orb of light they’d seen since the first night here, floating in the air, beaming out from inside the cave. That’s when Iskra saw it– the symbol that had followed them around the chalet all weekend. 

The two slabs of rock above the cave met in a v-shap, just above the mouth, like arms reaching up. The orb of light was the dot in between. Like the orb of light was falling down, down something’s gullet. Plummeting to extermination, the dot stretched out– pleading. The expression begged for mercy, to catch itself, to fly— anything to prevent the agony of dropping. But mercy lies at the bottom, at the horizon of the Blackhole, at the point of no return, in the stomach.

Face-to-face with the cave, they noticed something arranged in a line just at the cave’s lip. Kneeling down, Iskra saw that it was the cast iron pots they’d seen at the alter in the old homestead. Iskra let one finger gently dip into the furthest left pot. Crushed berries. Iskra ate one– bitter and hard, making them salivate. They plunged their other hand into the middle pot, pulling back fingers dripping red. They ran their blood-soaked fingers along the limestone underfoot. When they reached for the third and final pot, they found it empty. 

What had been in the pot before? Iskra couldn’t remember now. 

Iskra heard a low hisssssss— a gentle vibration in the ground. Transfixed, they listened, feeling their bones shift with the quaking underfoot.

Then a firecracker— POP. The earth shook. POP, POP— POP! 

But the echo— that was the worst sound of all. The rupturing of the rock echoed in the front of their teeth, cold and wrong.

Up above them, the great being shifted, like feet moving under a blanket. And it let Iskra see out of the corner of their eye. Brief. But the movement made their eyes sting, like looking into the sun. Fleeting, the motion was over almost immediately, like nothing had moved at all. Such a dissonance that the rock’s turn felt imminent, happening, then long gone. The ground quaked beneath their feet, until they stumbled backward into the cave, when it then stopped.

Day #3: In the cave

Inside, Iskra’s arms chilled against a gentle, cold breath coming from deep in the cave. Drip, drip, drip. The limestone ground underfoot met Iskra’s feet with a gravelly hiss as they glided deeper into the cave, letting the darkness envelope them. They peered into the depths, seeking the source of the orb of light. 

Iskra looked behind them at the cave mouth, now a small dot of white light in a sea of blackness. 

“Hello?” Someone called from the entrance. The hairs on Iskra’s neck rose; it sounded just like Iskra. When they looked back at the mouth of the cave, they saw themself far away in silhouette, peering into the darkness. But when Iskra tried to call back, no sound came out. Soon, they were alone again, Iskra having gone back to the chalet. Only to return the next day. It was all so inevitable. Iskra was powerless to stop it.

Up ahead, coming out of the cave wall was a mouth made of crystals. It formed a cavity big enough to stand in. As the moon shone into the cave, Iskra found where the orb of light was coming from. The moonlight danced off the crystals, then shot out of the cave into the sky for Iskra to see.

It had all led right here. 

A low hum climbed out from the depths of the cave, shaking the ground beneath their feet, tickling Iskra’s legs. The same hum Iskra had heard when they first arrived. All that time, the rock had been talking to them. Singing and flashing lights to get their attention. They were wanted.

Iskra turned around and found the crystal cavity wide open- had it been that large just moments ago? At first, they couldn’t move closer; their feet were rooted into the rock, unbudging. But when the hum reached their lower mandible, they opened their mouth, and a sob slipped through Iskra’s clenched jaws. They clutched their mouth, tears flowing down onto their fingers. They slipped their body into the mouth, the points of the crystals sharp and jagged, tearing at their skin. 

The moonlight fell all around them in a sparkling veil, captured forever in the crystals. “It’s beautiful,” they whispered, their cheeks still damp from crying. One of the crystal’s sharp edges dug into Iskra’s cheek, pulling at their flesh, tearing into a thin, red line.

Then, it all went dark. From that pitch black night came stars and galaxies, surrounding Iskra as they floated through space. Were they floating up or down? Forward or back? Directionless, Iskra let the darkness of the universe take over; too tired to fight it anymore. 

It became hard for Iskra to breathe, compression against their chest dense. All over their body– tingles. Little pin pricks. They could no longer feel their legs. They felt the sharp teeth like bursts of light, but they had lost touch with the space around those teeth– whatever was being eaten. That flesh is nothing now. Other things slipped away too– the chalet, the last few days, the last few years, their name. Time folded. 

When Iskra opened their eyes, red smeared the crystal walls around them– blood. 

Maybe I can still crawl out. But it was too late. The Rock Swallows Whole chewed Iskra up, grinding their skin and bones into a pulp stuck to the crystals. The rock sheared their hair.

“Dad,” Iskra whispered, so close to understanding. So close, but they couldn’t breathe. Stars all around them. Everything hurt and, God, it felt marvelous. The density of the entire universe pressed upon them, squeezing little pieces of them out, like dirt and oil in a pore. With each pinch, they were cleansed. 

Then they saw him– their dad. He lay on his back on a bed of decomposing leaves staring up at the sky– grey, like it was about to rain. Iskra lay on their back too, head tilted to the side, watching him. They were so close they could have touched. But they didn’t. When their father finally turned his head, he looked at them in terror. 

“No,” he rasped, the effects of the pills beginning to take hold. He clumsily rolled onto his stomach and started crawling towards Iskra who felt the gravity of this moment, this fleeting moment. They tried to roll over too, but they couldn’t; they were stuck. 

“Dad,” Iskra gasped, their chest heavy and caving in. They reached for him, fingertips scratched, bleeding, exposed. The look in their father’s eyes revealed to Iskra that they should be afraid, that they are doing something wrong. Only seeing the horrified look in his sunken eyes scared Iskra. The fear gripped their throat, building pressure until their skull popped.

Their thoughts started leaking out of their open head, a flowing river, stretching into the endless. Their father disappeared and Iskra knew they’d never see him again. 

Iskra’s river carved through the rock over millenia and Iskra watched it all– thousands of years passing before them as easy as water through a sift. But the loneliness overwhelmed them, not felt as a human emotion but as a physical phenomenon as real as breaking a rib. CRACK. POP. CRACK. 

Iskra slid down the rock’s throat, the feeling of falling becoming permanent until they realized they were swimming in the rock as fluid as water. But dark. The darkest water Iskra had ever known. The blackness all around was punctuated only by momentary flickers of light from crystals, from ore. Like stars.

The Rock Swallows Whole gazed down at the dark valley below. Flashlights danced in the blackness, hurried footsteps in the woods, voices calling out, searching. 

Inside the cave, Iskra stood in a narrow crevice, facing in, away from oxygen. Iskra’s right leg jolted, once, twice, again, as Iskra took their last breaths, suffocated by the rock. They could still feel the teeth of the rock against their tattered skin, but now all they saw was darkness– no crystals, no universe, no blood. Like prey mesmerized by dazzling lights, they’d been lulled into the rock’s jaws. And…

The Rock Swallows Whole.

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