Well Beyond the World

The Well Beyond the World

Author's note: This story follows my earlier story "The Cabin in the Sky" but reading that is not necessary to enjoy this piece. I wrote this with my wife as an erotic adventure story featuring her and her friends. Hope you enjoy!

*

"Okay, is everyone clear on the plan?" You turn around, scanning the car. Pixie gives a curt nod from the passenger seat. Christie and Aaron, squeezed together in the back, look up at the Hotel Murano looming over your car.

"That's the spooky ass hotel you all are worried about?" Christie muses. "I expected it to look . . . "

"More like the Shining?" Aaron interjects.

"Less tacky." Christie finishes. You are thankful they are here. A second visit from Aaron less than a year from the Beltane festival was a welcome treat but you suspect it has more to do with the engagement ring on Christie's finger than a need to fight evil hotels. Still, if push came to shove, having a 6'6'' guy on your side never hurts. Caroline perks up from underneath Aaron's elbow in the backseat.

"Oh Evil is always tacky. Wait till you see the red carpets and the furniture."

"Is it bad?" Pixie asks. Caroline nods. "Like a Motel 6 had delusions of grandeur."

"So the plan . . ." You start again.

"Aaron and Christie register as guests, they have room 207 reserved. While they are getting settled, I slip in as cleaning staff," Pixie had sewn her own cleaning staff outfit based on Caroline's recollections and a nurse's scrubs she found at whatever the Canadian equivalent of Goodwill was. From a distance, it looked good. She had one of those cleaning baskets, with squirt bottles and gloves, to complete the look.

"And then you and I go in the back door with your master key." said Caroline. "We use the tunnels to make our way down towards that central room and reach the furnace. We figure out a way to get it out of there and free the creatures trapped inside."

"Yeah, that's the plan that sounds the most sketchy to me. Setting aside the whole alien creatures thing, you all know I'm open-minded ever since that freaky sex ritual you all did" said Christie. "But what are we going to actually do when we get there? What if the weird white guy . . ."

"Kalchik."

"What if Kalchik shows up?"

"If things get dicey, we all run and regroup at the brewpub just down the street over there."

"Okay, I'm not wild about this but let's do it." Christie and Aaron get out of the car and make their way into the front of the hotel. Pixie reaches over and squeezes your hand.

"It's going to be alright. We've got this." and then hops out of the car. You take a deep breath, trying to stifle the butterflies in your stomach.

"You okay?" Caroline leans forward from the back seat, her warm hand resting on your shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah. I just . . . . never been much of a rule breaker. I leave that stuff to Ryan." She rubs your shoulder gently.

"He's in the best place he can be, looking after your kid."

"Yeah, they are safe. And we've got to see this through. Ever since we stayed at the Cabin in the Sky a month ago, it is all I can think about. I see that jazz club in my sleep, and I'm not the only one. Pixie has nightmares of being chased by that Count, being unable to speak her own words or move her own body." You feel a wave of guilt, remembering what happened with Pixie when she was the Countess, but you brush it aside.

"To live through that, to walk in their shoes, and see those other lives. After all we've experienced, we can't leave this be." You lean into her arm as she reaches over the chair to hold you, strong and comforting.

"You are right, you are right." You take a deep breath. "Okay, let's do this."

She hops out, grabs her bag of tools from the back and waits for you in the alley next to the hotel. You zip up your Olympia Film Festival hoodie (it was the darkest jacket you own) and scuttle over to join her.

Here was the first test - the back door. A solid metal slab between two heaping dumpsters on a dimly lit sidestreet. You pull the large iron-wrought key from your hoodie pocket, the heft feeling oddly satisfying in your hand.

Despite the modern trappings of the door, the lock was clearly built for a skeleton key. It glides right in, CLICK. You turn the key and large metal door groans open as you two leap into the dark hallway within.

###

You quickly find yourself on one of the secret passageways sliding between the rooms and the hallway. The two of you follow along, searching for stairs down or a door with a big heart. By noting the room numbers, you swiftly make your way to room 207. You can hear voices as you approach.

"We've got a little bit of time."

"Not that much time, they could already be there by now."

"I'm just saying, we've got a little space to ourselves, there's a bed . . ." Aaron cajoled.

"Oh baby, I want to just as bad but we promised, no sex until the wedding night." Christie answered.

"Fuck, yeah. Yeah, you are right. I just, it's been a while." Aaron whined. You look in through the peepholes to see Christie and Aaron changing out of their evening clothes they used to check in, into their dark pants and shirts, both looking like oddly displaced theater tech crew in matching black outfits.

You reach down and flip the switch below the peephole and the wardrobe in their room clicks open.

"You hear that?" Aaron says. He goes to the wardrobe and slides open the secret door. Within moments, the two of them have joined you in the hallway.

"How's it going?" Christie asks.

"So far, so good." says Caroline and the four of you make your way through the maze of inner doors till you find the metal stairs leading down.

The air is moist, so you must be close to the pool but you find the large door with the heart on it.

You peer around the corners but no sign of Pixie. There are hundreds of mundane reasons why she may have been delayed, no need to fret yet.

You pull out the key and open the large double-door.

CLICK.

You push the doors open, revealing a perfectly round chamber with red carpet floors. If it weren't' for the lack of furniture or doors, it would almost resemble an old parlor or gentleman's cigar room. In the center of the room, a tall wrought iron brazier is open to the air, flames simmering in the coals with a dim heat. On the far wall, there is a floor-length painting of the Hotel Murano. Examining it, it seems to be a historical painting of the hotel, showing a model-T parked in front. Behind the hotel, curled peacock feathers frame the sides of the painting and fill in the sky.

Hanging at regular intervals around the room are gold frames with blank canvases.

Ignoring the pictures, you head straight to the brazier. The metal is exactly how you remember it from the visions in the cabin, shimmering grey. You walk around the brazier, looking for a way to pry it out. It seems to be fused to the floor but at the base of the brazier you find it - a single large keyhole.

"Get ready." you announce, as your master key slides effortlessly into the hole.

"For what?" asks Christie and you honestly have no answer.

CLICK. The key turns. RUMBLE RUMBLE RUMBLE. Machinery groans deep in the earth and the brazier lifts up towards the ceiling of the chamber revealing a yawning black hole.

All of you gather around the hole and look down . . . down . . . down, it's smooth dark sides. Faintly, you can hear water sloshing down below.

"It looks like an old well." says Aaron. Caroline clicks on a flashlight from her bag and shines it in the darkness. You see choppy water.

Water rushing up towards you. You give a startled gasp but you realize you are no longer standing on the edge of the well but hurtling towards the bottom. You look up - the vanishing circle of light dwindling above you, the outlines of your friends falling in and then

SPLASH. You hit the water, it folds over your face and in your eyes and nose.

###

You gasp, coughing the briny salt water out of your mouth and blinking the sun from your eyes. Sun? You try to pull your wet hair out of your face but get nothing but sand for your trouble. You cough again and spend the next several minutes focusing on your breathing.

Where are you? The sand beneath you is white and fine, a far cry from your pacific northwest shores. You are sitting in the surf, soft waves gently splashing against your back as you sit up. The beach stretches on in either direction. Directly in front of you, the beach quickly intermingles with tropical trees creating a dense jungle that leads up to a mountain. A caldera in the middle of the island.

There's no sign of anyone around.

Pulling yourself to your feet, you disentangle yourself from the shreds of the black hoodie you were wearing. You hold it in front of you, three large gashes sliced through the front leaving scraps of empty fabric and a jammed zipper. Did you get caught on something on the way down? You squint in the bright sun and blinding sand. Yes, even soaked in the seawater, there are traces of blood around the cuts in the sweatshirt.

You run your hand over your breast and chest, suddenly quite aware of the warm breeze blowing through your slashed open shirt. No blood, no wounds. In fact, your skin didn't even have red itchy bumps or a sunburn. It was smooth and glowing.

You take a deep breath and steady yourself. One challenge at a time. This feels real, but like a dream. Best to assume it is similar to the other experience in the Cabin. You tie the remains of the sweatshirt around your waist, relieved that your pants survived the journey intact. You twist the shirt together, knotting it under your bust. Not the most flattering look but you are confident that you could run without them getting in the way.

With a glance towards the jungle, and noting the afternoon sun, you start walking west along the beach. Well, you think it is west anyway.

###

The beach is beautiful and soulless at the same time. Unending stretches of white sand, dotted with the occasional branch, or downed palm tree, interspersed with shells. You thought you spotted some animal tracks along the way but they were too faint to make heads or tails of.

After an hour of walking, you were reconsidering your course when you rounded a corner and saw the shipwreck.

The prow of the Merry Chritchett still stands tall, pointed at a jaunty angle, it's middle rotted and sunk into the sand. The black paint chipped, the wood covered with barnacles, it only retained one mast, sticking up like a defiant middle finger.

You make your way to the feet of the shipwreck, a good ten feet from the tideline but more than close enough to soak the sand into a hard surface. You didn't get a chance to truly marvel at the pirate ship when the Black Orchid captured you, but you recognize the shape and the color.

You reach up, knocking off some seaweed and read the giant letters on the side of the hull.

"1717 N. Jackson Avenue. Huh. That's a funny name for a ship." You muse.

"Brenna!" Caroline's voice cries out from the top of the ship. She pops her head over the deck, her hair wild and tangled. You head the creaking of wood as she climbs down, jumping the last five feet.

She sweeps you up in a desperate embrace.

"Oh shit, Brenna, god damn!" You hold her close, fierce and loving. "You okay?" you ask.

"Am I okay? Brenna, the creature damn near tore you in half!"

A memory, searing hot, jabs at you. Silhouettes tumbling in the darkness, like seed pods in the wind. A powerful wind, tossing you this way and that. Down below, the island, all blue and green, hurtling towards you. A gasp as suddenly the air around you was hot and moist instead of cold and filtered. The leathery beating of wings, a flock colliding with you, smashing into you like a jet stream of water, sharp piercing pain across your chest, darkness.

You shake your head.

"I don't . . . I don't know what happened." Caroline nods, looking you up and down. That's when you notice Caroline, hair matted and sunbleached, wearing a dark t-shirt slashed on the side and pants ripped off at the knee.

"How long have you been here?" Caroline's face drops.

"Three days." All the air rushes out of your lungs. Three days? And you just arrived.

"The others?" Caroline shakes her head, "I haven't seen them. But that just means we have to find them." You give her a fierce nod of agreement, and then soften into a hug.

"Wait, if you've been here for four days, and you have kept this body? Have you seen anyone else here?" Caroline laughs.

"You mean have I slept with anyone else here?" She shakes her head. "No, no. It's different this time. I don't feel that seeping away feeling you described."

You look her over again. "Maybe because we are here in the flesh, instead of taking someone else's place in history? Or maybe it has to do with being inside the well rather than in the cabin? There was so much more metal here than a few bars melted into the foundation." You pace back and forth, trying to fit the pieces together.

"Or maybe we ate bananas before we jumped in and that means we don't have to have an orgasm every six hours? I don't know, Brenna. I'm still stuck on the fact that this boat is named after a house."

"What?"

"1717 N. Jackson Avenue. That's an address in Tacoma. I once had a friend, he was part of the Fools Improve group, he lived on North Jackson." You shake your head.

"This looks like the Merry Critchett. The pirate ship that Tina piloted, that found the meteorite?" You pull her along inside the ship, pointing up through the rotted hull. Through the bulkhead you can see the Captain's quarters, the door adorned with a fading Black Orchid.

"Either way, I've picked it clean. There's nothing in here left but old wood and seafood." Caroline knocks on the boat. "We should get off the beach. When the sun starts to set, the crabs come out."

"Crabs?" You ask, glancing nervously towards the sea.

"Big ones."

###

Caroline's base camp was just within the tree line next to the beach. Her gear back hung from a tree, filled with fruit, and a pile of leaves filled in a hollow between a downed coconut tree and the sand, making a soft bed.

Caroline's tale was surprisingly straightforward. When the creatures attacked - Caroline insists they were Pterodactyls but you are cautiously skeptical - one of them punctured the gear bag, spilling tools all through the sky. Caroline just held on to the gear bag as the creature flailed this way and that before it dropped her in the sea near the shipwreck. She sprained her ankle so she picked a spot on the ship to rest . . . until the giant crabs drove her into the trees.

By the light of the small fire, started with the lighter Caroline retained her pocket, she could see a churning mass of limbs and shells and claws reflecting the sparks. There was barely a patch of sand uncovered. The crabs, easily the size of doberman dogs, where mottled black-green.

"What are they doing?" You ask.

Caroline looks up from the fire where she's roasting a melon. "Eating. They pick the sand clean each night." You shudder and turn back to Caroline, her warm eyes following you. She pats the leaves next to her and you curl up, dining on a roasted melon, tasting vaguely like papaya, and drinking coconut milk straight from the nut.

Finally, she speaks, her head resting on yours, your cheek on her chest as she absent-mindedly strokes your hair. "We need to find our friends. From what I can see, there's a river that runs up through this rocky bluff and up the side of the mountain. Or we can make our way into the jungle valley and see what is down there. Or we could back track along the beach passed where you landed.

###

The river water is warm and languid, dribbling over rocks and flowing over naked toes in a way that reminds you of squelching mud in the Puget Sound. You and Caroline laugh, splashing each other, then leaning for support as you follow the rambling stream up towards the rocky bluff.

Around Caroline's shoulders, two fresh coconuts of water and in her tool bag, some fresh fruit. While coconut meat and fruit would hardly make a balanced meal up above, you felt refreshed and clean. The hike up didn't trouble your lungs one bit and when the stream finally vanished into a crevasse in the rockface, and you could survey the path you had come, you were amazed that you had come so far.

From your perch partway up the bluff you could see the thick green of the jungle stretching out to your right, tumbling down to meet the sapphire sea with a thin strip of sand demarking the barrier. In fact, the largest bit of sand held the wreck of the Merry Chrichitt.

"Oh shit, are those treehouses?" In the heart of the jungle, you can see bamboo poles and thatch roofs interspersed in sporadic clusters with the foliage.

"I wonder if Pixie or Aaron and Christie are there?" You speculate. Looking beyond them, you see large stone steps, as if for a giant, carved into the side of the mountain, leading up away from the village and around the face of the island out of site.

You feel a prickling sensation on the back of your neck and hear just the faintest huff of breath. You turn, and there, crouched on the rock face at eye level, is a jaguar as big as a Suburu.

"Oh FUCK!" shouts Caroline. The Jaguar leaps, both graceful and comical at once, claws outstretched. Without thinking, you fling yourself at the great cat, colliding into it's muscular belly, knocking it to the ground.

It lands on its feet and snarls.

You run, splashing through the water and scrambling over rocks, frantically down the hill. It bolts after you, a blur of black and yellow fur, it's claws flashing. Your calf burns as it scores a slash on your leg as you splash through the river.

Caroline grabs you and yanks you over to the river bank and smashes through the foliage. You fall, tumbling among branches, scratching your face and eyes, till you slam into the ground, wet and moist.

You push yourself to your hands and knees, peering at the spots of light above you.

"Caroline?" You whisper.

"I'm here." You hear back as your eyes slowly adjust to the echoing darkness.

It's a cave, with its own subterranean river dripping through. The trees and rock and vines make a dense roof leaving dappled sunlight to fill the air with a million floating particles of disturbed moss and flower pollen. You wait, still as a statue, but all you can hear is the dripping water, the hum of insects and the distant cry of birds. No sign of the Jaguar.

By the river, you find Caroline, clutching her bloody arm.

"Oh Cass!" The cat scored two lacerations on the top of her arm. They were bloody but they didn't look deep. You go to tear your shirt,

"No no! Use mine. You don't have much left to share." You give her your best grin.

"Well, would that be such a problem?" She flashes a smile, and then a grimace as you pull the makeshift bandage tight.

After a moment's rest, Caroline suddenly points to the dark end of the cave.

"Is that a watch?"

Hanging from a vine in the very back of the cave, an old pocket watch glints in the sunlight.

You approach, wary but finally decide to unhook it and read the inscription on the back: M Garcia and was not actually made of silver. It was made of a mottled grey metal that vibrated softly in your hand.

"I think this is made of the creatures." You look at it aghast.

"Brenna, there's more." You see the very back of the cave has been filled with dried old leaves and fruit reins. Hashmarks on the wall, carved with a rock, and the remains of an old disintegrating jumpsuit that may have once been used as a pillow.

You brush the dirt from the jumpsuit, only the back logo is still legible - reading "Robertson Development".