The Church

I.
The chamber radiated with blinding lights, with piercing shrieks and bells and whistles. Cautiously, the man ambled in. Tall and wearing a uniform decorated with countless ribbons, he sat in his chair, resting a hand in his head as the world fell apart around him. As each and every soul in that chamber hurriedly scoured the countless monitors that lined the walls, he simply sat in impatience.

In his hand he held a photograph, there were smiles in it, true happiness. His son, his granddaughter, people that he hid behind the wall of stone-cold indifference that he served with. There would be a day that he would return to the ground, to break through myths and legends and restore his world. But that was not today.

Silence flooded the chamber as the blinding lights, and as the piercing shrieks and bells and whistles died out. He was grateful for the silence, it allowed him to think clearly, to see the world as it truly was. Such a mess, such a pity, such a shame that they had to hide themselves in the clouds. There were things down there, things that should not be there, things that only existed in myths and in legends.

“Sir, lieutenant Miles Archer reporting from Pod 31” the thin man wearing a less decorated uniform anxiously stated as he gazed apron the decorated man. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a note and presenting it.

The decorated man stared at the note for a passing moment, reading each and every word twice over before crumbling it in his large hand and tossing it aside.

“We’ve lost contact with Subject Penpal” Beads of sweat dripped off lieutenant Archer’s forehead as he tried to concentrate on the superior before him. “Project Exchange has failed”.

He continued to remain silent. Project Exchange was of little importance to him. There was nothing that could have possibly changed what had happened to his world, not even better, cleaner worlds. The so-called ‘Foundation’ from somewhere else, they were just part of the experiment, nothing more, nothing less.

“Subject Penpal located” the mechanical voice broke through his shell, almost making him feel the slightest hint of any emotion. They had done it, they had located the one who had been to the other side, the one who had seen ‘the Foundation’.

“Where is the subject?” He spoke with a deafening roar, breaking the silence of his own. He had seen so much and done so little, there wasn’t much time to atone for his activity. Just one chance, he only needed this one chance to set things right.

“It’s in a valley between villages 35 and 56. There are two confirmed dimensional errors surrounding it, one is… no… that cannot be right”. The researcher dropped his clipboard and bolted over towards the monitor. He flailed his fingers over the keys as his desperate search reached a conclusion. An image was projected from the cameras above, a map of the realm. Two concentric circles held prominence on the map, one vibrant green and one crimson red.

“Village 35, that’s where my granddaughter and son live” the decorated man mumbled as he rose from his seat, approaching the map with loud, crashing footsteps. “Did the Foundation know about this? Are they trying to discourage me?”

“It’s hard to say. Without Subject Penpal, we don’t have a clear explanation on what had occurred in the other reality. We simply don’t know why or how they sent the dimensional error over here.”

With crooked eyes, the decorated man sighed and returned to his seat. Outside, the sky swirled with a vivid mix of radiant colors, a golden sea of what once a beautiful world. A world that had been destroyed by the foundation, a foundation that had given rise to itself, time and time again. “Find the subject. Do not interfere with village 35, I do not want them to know.”

“Right away sir” lieutenant Archer spoke with a hush tone as he slowly backed away from the decorated man. Two confirmed dimensional anomalies in one location, one within the other. It had been at least five Decirevolutions since the Sky-Dwellers took flight, since the night the monsters had come to play. They had captured the monsters, taken them to the skies with them, but they were not prepared for this. They were not prepared for when the planet itself would die, for when the grasses and trees and birds would wither.

As the steel door opened before him, as the lights flickered on, lieutenant Archer set his sights to the chamber’s back wall. There was a mirror, a mirror of proportions immense, a mirror that reflected all and saw none. It was what was in the mirror’s center that he was after, an object dwarfed by the mirror of immense proportions. Archer placed a much smaller mirror around his neck, a mirror that saw all and reflected none. With a gloved hand, he grasped the dwarfed object and watched it cling to his medallion. He was to not remove the glove, he was to not touch the object, he was to not let the small mirror reflect nor let the large mirror see.

He proceeded quickly through what came next. Protocol debriefings, instructions, reminders of his place and time. They never told him why he was given the dwarfed object, why he wore the mirror on himself. They never told him why Subject Penpal had worn the same mirror, they never told him why he was sent to recover the subject itself. He needed not to know, he only needed to trust that the decorated man was right, that the decorated man understood the situation.

If not, there was always the Middle-City.

II.
Sunlight shone over the slowly flowing river, expanding its rays over the glistening water surface. It created shadows underneath the trees where the crows were nesting, casting certain patches of ground into darkness.

Yuma shuddered at the sight of the shadows. The way that they snaked across the ground, like a serpent devouring the light from the sun above. The trees were not much more visually appealing, for each one was merely a skeleton of a tree. Dead wood anchored into the ground by gnarled roots, leaves rotting and falling off, bark that only served as food for the beetles that burrowed into the husk. It was quite an irritating sight, to wake up and see nothing but rot and decay, a constant reminder of the slow drip of time. Even under the infinite expanse of the sky, it still felt unwelcoming.
Cautiously, she strode over a bridge that extended over the river. Wooden planks creaked under her thin frame, shuddering and buckling, threatening to drop her into the chilled autumn water. She wasn’t in the mood for a swim; there were much more pressing matters at hand.

“Yuma, where are you going?”
“Father, I’m going to the church, I’m going to find out why the bells are ringing, why we are having nightmares. I’m going to prove that there is nothing to be afraid of.”
“Please, I promised your Grandfather that I’d keep you safe, that I’d protect you from what we cannot know. I know that you’re afraid, we all are…”
“Damn it, I’ve been trying to tell you that I’m not afraid! It’s nothing more than a piece of fallen technology from a Sky-Pod. It’s just broadcasting a low frequency that’s disrupting our sleep.”
“I will not stop you then. I will not shelter you from the truth. Just promise me that you’ll come back alive.”
“Father, why don’t you come with me? Will you put your fears at ease too?”
“No. I’m sorry, I’ve seen the church before, It’s not right. It’s not right what it is. It’s what killed our world.”

By the time that she had finished her daydream, the bridge was long behind her. There was a trail ahead, a glistening trail of fiery reds and deep oranges, where the autumn leaves lined the ground. There were colors on this trail, most unlike the grim plains on the other side of the bridge. Her curious mind always enjoyed the colors that this path provided, but she had never gone so far as the church. No one had gone to the church before. Not her, nor Makoto, nor Reina, not even Annabelle, the person that she cared for the most.

The church was a myth, a legend, a tale passed and shared among the people who lived on the ground. They would talk of sacrifices, of bloodshed, of untold eldritch horrors that lurked among the dark parts of the human mind.

“I’ve heard that they would sacrifice children, to summon demons…” Makoto had told her once.
“Ridiculous” Yuma would always reply, “It’s just an old building, with a story invented by bored villagers”.

She never believed the legends, never seen the building itself, never associated with it. Then the day came that the bells began to ring, the bells that clanked and clattered with a minute and whispering tone. Despite the quietness of the tone, everyone in the village heard the bells, including her. From the sounds of the bells, she had been sent to investigate. The one who didn’t believe the legends, who never cared for the stories, she had set out for this reason.

Now she found herself hearing a different sound, the sound of crunching leaves underneath her boots. The autumn path continued, winding around itself multiple times, looping endlessly as the crows circled above her. She could feel the air growing warmer, only slightly, but still enough to make her remove her jacket. Yuma could see something on the ground, an object that she had only seen once in her life. Purple petals surrounding a yellow center, a strange creature emerging from the ground itself, something so mysterious, so intriguing, so unknown, that it was impossible to ignore.
She had found a flower.

Autumn pathways gave way to something unbelievable. Tapestries of green covered the land, trees, vibrant and full of life had broken through the earth. More flowers grew here, over the rolling hills in immaculate gardens, colors too immense to process. In the middle of this grove sat the church, a structure of stone and of wood, of brick and of mortar, of love and of hate.

Now the church lay before her, sitting alone in this paradise. Yuma began to walk slowly down the hill, in silent awe of what she had found. “How could nobody know about this?” she asked herself as the warmth embraced her in a hug, “It’s so beautiful here”. From her vantage point above the building, she could see the gardens and the sculptures, each one in perfect condition, much unlike the church itself.

“A building that’s worn and weathered with time, but a garden that’s perfectly fine” spoke another soul who had emerged from the tree line. It was a human female, with hair the color of fine cocoa and eyes of pure amber. She spoke softly to Yuma, sharing a piece of fresh bread that she had tucked away in her small backpack.

“Annabelle? What are you doing here?” Yuma asked with concern, trying to not tumble down the hill. Annabelle looked unusual, her normally pristine red dress had begun to fade to a pale pink, and her normally perfect hair appeared in disarray.

“They had sent me here, from my village when they heard the bells. I assume that they sent you here for a similar reason?”

“You would assume correctly. We heard the same thing in my village, people are most upset at the moment, I’m quite grateful to be away, if I can speak honestly.”

Annabelle leaned back on the hill, extending her arms and feeling the light touch of the olive-green grass on her skin. She giggled slightly at the feeling, completely unpassed by any similar rumors in her village. “What happened to your blazer? The blue one that you love so much?”
“I left it on the trail on my way here, to mark it. It grew warmer and warmer as I walked.”
“Understandable”
Yuma could not understand Annabelle’s apathy towards the building that they both gazed at. The rotting, distorted structure that emerged from the center of this paradise. She didn’t buy the legends, saw them as the stories that they were, but even then, there was something horribly wrong about the church.
“A building that’s worn and weathered with time, but a garden that’s perfectly fine”
“Annabelle, someone must be living here. Someone must be living in the church.”
Her friend rose from her position, looking slightly ruffled, even more ruffled than she had initially appeared. “Why would they maintain the garden and statues, but not repair the building?”
“I do not know. I guess that’s why my father sent me here, and why you were sent here. We’re just going to check”

It was a different view from below the hill. The hills extended further up than they had expected, the marble stairs that led down the hill could be counted differently if one was descending rather than ascending. Annabelle had been counting the stairs, loosing track at the halfway point. Yuma had been more interested in wondering why there was fine marble imbedded into the hillside, who would of placed such a thing here.
At the last step, the gardens began to approach them. Hedges were trimmed, flowers were in full bloom, and the sweet smell of nectar entered both of their noses. The pair walked up to the church’s front door, observing the rotten wood that composed it. Archaic and forgotten symbols were carved into the wood, each one more esoteric than the last. There were only a few times that Yuma had felt dread, and this was not one of them. As the day dragged on, and they waited for someone to open the door, she had begun to grow bored and impatient.
“Perhaps the Sky-Dwellers are maintaining the gardens” Yuma said as she sat on the steps, resting her head on Annabelle’s lap in a playful manner. “It would explain at least part of the mystery.”
“But why would the Sky-Dwellers come to the ground? They have their citadels with their sprawling botany centers, I’ve been there more than once. They don’t need what we have.”
“Just an idea…” she mumbled as her eyes began to close and her mind began to wander.
Annabelle soon felt herself feeling in a similar manner. She too closed her eyes and drifted off, hoping that someone would be there open the door soon.

She fell into a dark void, the colors of the nova swirling around her as her lungs attempted to choke down a breath. Makoto, with his wide-eyed grin and deep-set eyes was there, as was Annabelle. They were standing still, as was time. Yuma crossed the checkerboard floor towards them as the fires roared in the background. She felt no heat, only felt the rapidly rising rhythm of her raging heart, a heart that felt swollen and sick.
“Omega seven set to liftoff, take into sky blue in less time” she heard through whispers and yells, through bells and moans of a horrible kind. Yuma ran to the edge of the checkerboard, towards the fire and brimstone that lined the edge, an endless abyss that threatened to drag her into the depths of her own mind. “Omega seven, what is your status? Have you reached sky blue?”
More copies of Annabelle surrounded her, trying to force her off the edge. They moved like pawns across the tiles, taking large then small then large steps towards her position. Escape was an impossibility, there was nowhere to go but down. Down into the fire, and the maw, where she would burn for eternity.
Yuma jumped into hell.

“Yuma… are you awake?”
Her hand gripped the soft grass as moonlight flooded into her pupils, grazing her corneas on its way in. Annabelle softly smiled at her, trying to comfort her with as much concern as she could muster. They were both on the hill, the green trees and radiant flowers still existing. As the butterflies flew from flower to flower, Yuma sat up and continued to observe. Her mind raced to remember the dream she had, but it was all for naught, the only thing it left behind was the slight tremor in her left hand.
“We should head back, it’s already dark out. I’d rather not die from the scarecrows and mowers that lurk around these woods at night. You can come back to my village with me, I know that yours is further away.” Yuma smiled back, reassuring Annabelle that she was alright.
Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding…
Before Annabelle could respond, noises from the belfry began to emerge, the sound of chiming bells. A hushed, whispering tone that was barely audible to the ear. Like an angle shrieking in pain, or a banshee shrieking in delight, it sounded almost like a human voice. As if it was a parasitic cyst, it always lurked within the back of the mind, just on the border of consciousness and unconsciousness.
As the night wind howled through the whispering bells, the pair returned to resolute observation. Yuma’s eyes squinted as she held her breath, a figure was emerging from the church’s interior. With a horrible creak, one that caused her to shudder in her boots, the door opened wide as the church opened its maw.
It was hunched, gangly, and disoriented, as if it lacked any knowledge of special awareness. Under its black robes, the figure shambled about, crawling up the side of the church with its clawed digits. If it had a face, they were too far away to observe it. Neither of them had any intention of getting any closer, they only wanted to flee back to the village, they only wanted to hide under the covers of their beds and pretend that they had not borne witness to something that unnatural.
Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding…
The noises only increased in intensity as the figure shambled to the roof and began to ascend the spire. There were voices among the clanging bells, voices that cried out for mercy, voices that sounded like a prayer for a long-forgotten religion. When the figure reached the top of the spire, it crawled inside the large bell, disappearing from their sights. The noises had died out at this point.
“Let’s go back” Yuma sighed as she helped Annabelle up. “We’ll need to get the whole village involved, whatever that thing was… it doesn’t belong in our world.”
The greenery and flowers were behind them as the autumn trail stretched on. Her blue blazer was still hanging on the branch where it had been left, marking the way home. When the creaking bridge entered her sight, Yuma knew she was safe. The lace of her boot became entangled on a stray piece of splintered wood, sending on her crashing to the wooden ground.
“Yuma? Are you alright?” Annabelle reached down to help her up, noticing that Yuma was staring into the chilled autumn water, paying particular attention to a sunken object. She thought it was a rock, just another stone to line the river’s stony bottom, but there was something horribly wrong with it. Annabelle knew why Yuma was staring intently at the object, how it radiated light with a light crimson tone, how it was perfectly round in a sea of jagged rocks. How the object appeared to stick to an old mirror that lay on the river’s bottom.
And how the figure from the church wore an identical object on a medallion around its neck.

Her head lay pressed into the soft pillow, her jet-black hair lay in a disorganized heap atop her head. The checkerboard, each piece shifting and sliding around the perimeter. The fire, the burning, the heat. She could not sleep, for the church bells kept wailing throughout the night, there was no pattern to their appearance. Yet, even in the waking world, she still dreamt. She dreamt of the game that she didn’t want to play, her friends being pawns, and her the queen.
“Test procedure, begin, I will follow”
Even smothering her ears with the pillow did nothing to block the noises and the visions. There was no end to it, there was no way of stopping it. The only people that might have been able to stop the bells, to stop the noises and the visions were the Sky-Dwellers.
Yuma quietly crept down the stairs, trying to not wake up Annabelle who slept quietly in the guest room. She walked past the object from the river, still attached to the mirror that she found it on, she never dared to touch it. In the living room, Yuma reached for a sheet of paper and her favorite pen. She reflected on the words that the village elders had told her.
“If you ever need to contact the Sky-Dwellers, you only need three words, the three words from which they came.”
She penned these words quickly, attaching the small paper to a carrier pigeon with her signature. As she returned to the hallway, the sounds of the dreams continued to follow her. They talked about containment, about rockets, and about monsters. A thought crossed her mind amidst the chaotic words that twisted her thoughts, a horrible, wonderful thought.
She would return to the church in the morning, she would take the object with her, and she would speak the three words to the figure. She was never one to fall into the superstitions of her village, she was never one to be fooled by a trick of the mind. The church was surely the work of the Sky-Dwellers.
In her daydreams and her plans, Yuma had felt something warm in her palm. She saw an emerging yellow light in her grip, and she began to think about her own containment in this world.