Page 35 of Solivagant

TRESPASSERS WILL BE EATEN.

The words were faded, bleached by the sun and swallowed by the creeping vines slowly engulfing the crumbling stone. It was huge, maybe fifteen feet tall, made of stone and brick.

Intimidating enough without the peculiar threat. “Trespassers will be shot,” was the usual one used on private property out here by folks particularly protective of their land. Eaten was a new one.

Eaten by what?

There weren’t any roads this far into the woods that I knew of. So what was this place?

The wall circled an area far larger than I expected. Hours of walking along the border and I still wasn’t close to making it back around to where I’d started. It seemed old, though any areas heavily damaged had clearly been patched up, not leaving so much as a crack to look through, so the place hadn’t been abandoned.

I’d come across only one road so far, unpaved and unlikely to have been used any time recently going by the branches and plants reclaiming the space. Though it still didn’t lead into the actual property. Just to the unending wall.

There hadn’t been any gates or entrances. No way in or out. The only signs I’d come across were the same. “Trespassers will be eaten.”

It shouldn’t have mattered. While my dad would have found this place and absolutely believed he’d stumbled onto some secret government base where they were keeping aliens or something, I was of the opinion that some strange private property wasn’t really any of my business.

So why couldn’t I leave it alone? Why was something in my chest tethering me to whatever was beyond this wall?

Go inside.

There were very clear warning signs telling me this was a place that wasn’t meant to be disturbed. But the beast was active. Not in rage. Not this time. But in something new. Excitement.

Go inside.

“It’s not a good idea.” I sighed.

Go inside.

It wouldn’t be too difficult to climb the wall. Sturdy enough I wouldn’t do any damage but cracked enough I could find finger and foot holds if I was careful.

Maybe just a peek. I wouldn’t go inside, no matter what urges were whispering to me, but just a look inside might satisfy them for now.

I tucked my axe into the back of my jeans, then scanned the wall for a potential path up.

It didn’t take long to find one.

Go inside.

My fingers traced a crack in the stone, testing the depth before pulling up my weight, reaching for the next crevice.

It was slightly harder to wedge my boots in, but I managed. I’d climbed almost halfway when a sudden pain sliced up my forearm. Multiple lacerations, the skin splitting as if cut with invisible knives.

“Fuck!” I cursed, sliding down the stone, stumbling as my feet hit the ground once more. I ripped up my sleeve to see the wounds, only to find there weren’t any. I could feel them, the sting and throb of open flesh, even the sensation of fabric damp with blood. But I couldn’t see it.

It’s not real.

It is.

It faded. My fingers trembled as the pain eased and drifted away, as if carried by the breeze. And still they trembled.

Why?

Silence.

Too silent.

The chirps of birds, the rustle of leaves, the chorus of insect songs, even the wind, all were now silent.