Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License
I could never resist a “keep out” sign. The last one that caught my eye was made from clean red plastic and the words printed in a bright white, serif font which screamed seriousness. Thick chains ensured that the sign gripped tightly to the polished, silver bars which extended high above my head into angry sharp points. Those bars were part of a gate which opened outwards but was held in place by a heavy sliding bolt and a thick padlock that probably cost more than my television. I stared at the “Keep Out” sign and the words melted and reformed into the phrase, “Can you get in?”
Of course I can.
It was the lock that was the weak point. Four digits meant only 9999 combinations. This gate, aside a quiet road was one I passed every day from work.
The secret to taking big challenges is to do it one step at a time. Each day a few steps, only 9999 steps are needed.
I checked out the site on Google Maps. From my high up virtual view I saw a lake, dark and kidney shaped and wrapped around it like a vein seemed to be a path but the resolution made it hard to be certain and the trees on the East side blocked out anything on the ground. Other than this hint of a path, water and woodland there seemed to be nothing else there but someone had bought this lake, someone had built this fence around it and more importantly someone had fitted that lock.
The secret to taking big challenges is to do it one step at a time.
On the first day the lock was set to 5329. I tugged and it obviously didn’t budge. I took out a piece of paper and a pen and wrote 5329 in the corner. I then reset the lock to 0000 and tugged. Nothing. 0001.
Nothing. Onwards I went for about thirty minutes. 0311. I made a note of how far I’d done and reset the lock back to 5329.
Each day. More numbers. One step at a time. On the sixth day the lock wasn’t on 5329. It was on 8736. Either someone had been in, or someone was behind the fence and might soon come out. I decided to leave it and continued the next day. On and on this went. One step at a time.
4776, 4777, 4778. The lock slid open. The tips of my fingers twitched with the electricity dancing through them. I opened the gate enough to squeeze through and then made sure I could unfasten the padlock again from the other side. Once I was confident I pushed my hands through the bars, snapped the padlock shut and turned the numbers to 8736.
I took a breath and then moved away from the gate. The dirt path dropped away from me and as I started moving down the slight incline it split to wrap itself around the lake. I ignored the sharp left fork which disappeared under the canopy of the trees and instead continued straight on for no other reason than it afforded me more of a view of my surroundings. I walked downwards and quickly the trees and the slope of the land which had blocked the view from the gate opened up and for the first time I saw the water. It appeared to be pimpled glass and almost black. I moved forward but quickly stopped as I became aware of the silence around me. It caused the pressure to build in my ears and I thought they would explode. I rubbed the back of my neck. With all these trees and all this water I should be able to hear some sort of wildlife singing, mating or fighting. Yet there was nothing.
I followed the path around the lake. With the silence in the air I became more aware of the noise of my boots against the dried dirt path as each step crunched down.
At the south end the path got muddier and the weeds either side started encroaching on it as if the trail were an attacker and needed to be pushed back. However, to combat this battle of nature someone had erected wooden decking. It was new, freshly stained and looked solid. I started walking on these wooden boards and with the different noise of my steps on the wood I became aware of something else. I stopped.
The noise was guttural and animalistic. Yet it was not a roar but a groan heavy with distortion as if the voice box that created it had been torn apart by glass shards. I tasted copper in my mouth and my guts sank as if filled with lead. The noise stopped and it now became so quiet again that I wondered if I’d actually heard it. I stood still and strained against the silence to pick something up.
I heard it again.
I felt the need to spit and considered dragging up some sputum and hurling it into the lake. I turned and went to walk the other way but my feet remained rooted. I could walk away, go through that gate and not come back but it would drive me crazy. Just like I had to know what was behind that Keep Out sign I had to know what caused that noise. At that moment bravado and foolishness overcame me. I felt certain that I’d discover it was a creaking tree, wind rustling through the leaves or a figment of my imagination.
Moving off the broadwalk I got back onto the dirt path which led into the trees and under their canopy. Without the sunlight the temperature immediately dropped and it took a second for my eyes to re-adjust to the light. I estimated I was about half way down the lake again when the noise made a reappearance but this time louder and with more anticipation. The fear at it coming without warning tore through me and I shouted a swear word to punctuate it.
It was then I saw it. It took me a second to comprehend what was before me. Then I noticed the smell. I started dry retching as my senses went into overdrive. If it wasn’t for the odour I’d say it was fake. A man covered in make up like I’d seen before in so many movies. I’ve never smelt death but as the inside of my nostrils burnt something instinctively told me that’s what it was. It was stone cold dead but had fooled itself into thinking it still had a right to move. A zombie. The undead. The Living Dead. I was 17 again, renting horror films on VHS from the video store and singing the praises of Mr Romero. The skin on this creature was a sick grey and caked in dirt. It was about six foot tall and still had a middle aged paunch ill disguised by a V-neck jumper. It wore ragged and soiled blue denim jeans and was barefoot. Around its neck was a thick leather collar attached to a heavy chain that was in turn wrapped around a tree. Its dead eyes continued looking at me and the moaning was an incessant unnatural white noise. The moment it saw me it had lifted its arms and ambled slowly in my direction. Now it was at the limit of the chain and while it had snapped to a stop it continued trying to move, unaware that it couldn’t. I stepped forward slowly and could see its neck straining against the collar.
I guess that “Keep Out” sign had some justification afterall.
The questions who, what, where, when, why and how ricocheted off the inside of my head like a stray bullet fired in a tunnel. I had to get a grip.
I glanced at the chain and collar and it seemed strong enough. It was also obvious that even with its arms at full stretch it was possible to still walk past this thing on the path. I looked down at the dirt to make sure there was nothing to trip up on and then slowly started walking towards and past it.
It followed me, all the time straining at the collar, reaching towards me and expelling that grating moan. The stench hung thickly in the air and was overwhelming me so I just held my breath and moved slowly while affording myself a closer look. That grey skin covered in small bloodless wounds. Those cracked and broken teeth in black gums. Those soulless eyes.
My breath ran out as I got past it so I took a lung full in through my mouth and started moving away. I walked briskly up the path glancing backwards occasionally to find the ghoul still reaching out to me. I wanted to get from out of this dark canopy. I wanted to go home and work out what to do. The secret to taking big challenges is to do it one step at a time. Step one was to get through the gate. Step two was to stumble upon a Zombie.
I figure step three can wait a little while.
I heard a cough further up the path and the fear intensified. I glanced around to find some
where to hide, saw a tree of suitable size and quickly dived behind it. After a few seconds, a woman appeared walking unimpinged down the path as if she were heading into an office to sell insurance. She wore what was obviously a hazardous chemical suit but wasn’t wearing the helmet, which she instead carried in her left hand nonchalantly. In her right hand she tightly held a metal bucket which creakily swayed with her movement. As she walked past me I again held my breath and she passed without incident. I breathed out. She stopped. I froze wondering if she’d heard me but instead she donned the helmet to the suit and then continued walking. In the distance I saw her approach the zombie which was now reaching out for her. She threw the contents of the bucket towards the base of the tree the ghoul was tied to. It lost interest in her immediately and she watched for a moment as it knelt down and started eating whatever had been thrown. As the woman turned away I again ducked into my hiding place as she walked back towards me. She removed the helmet as she moved and went past me back towards the exit.
I wanted to see what she’d left for the monster but at the same time I didn’t want her to return and find me so I leaned against the tree and waited. After a few tense minutes I walked briskly towards the ghoul to find it was still tucking into whatever had been thrown. As it ate, it had no interest in me. I got closer to it and tried to make out what it was chewing on. It was raw, covered in blood and some sort of soft internal organ as opposed to a joint of meat. I moved closer to try to identify the organ and, truth be told, admire the gore when the zombie lashed out a hand in my direction. I felt the leathery skin claw against my cheek and bottom lip. I fell backwards and could sense the moisture on my face. I panicked and started screaming while scrambling backwards away from the zombie who had returned to its food.
I wiped my hand across my face and looked down at gore smeared on it. I dragged the blood stained extremity across my T-Shirt to clear it of mess and wiped my face again. It came back clean. I used my other hand. Clean. No Blood. I took a breath and I realised it was the blood from the meat it was eating as opposed to my own. I laughed at myself to release some tension, before standing and heading up the path away from the ghoul.
I locked the gate behind me and ran home.
I showered.
Twice.
It has been three days since I first saw the ghoul. Each night since I have dreamt of walking over to people and sinking my teeth into them. I dream of chewing on their flesh. Ripping them apart, smearing my face in their internal organs and slurping up their blood and bile. I’m a rabid machine. As I tear their lives away I feel nothing but except for the desire to feed.
I prefer my dreams because reality is sickness. Yesterday I felt rough. Today I feel even worse. Each joint feels like it is being ripped apart. That sickness feeling envelops me like my scratchy blanket.
In all this pain is a thought which I’ve kept beating down but as I grow weaker it builds and now it is feedback squealing in my mind.
I keep thinking of the fingers of that ghoul brushing past my lips. Has it passed something onto me?
The secret to taking big challenges is to do it one step at a time. I deal with the sickness with painkillers and will wait to see what comes next.
About Dave Pitt
Dave Pitt is a writer and sometimes performance poet. He’s based in the West Midlands and hates writing these bits about himself which feel false and pointless. The writing is the important bit, isn’t it? Does the person behind it really matter?
Follow Dave on Twitter: https://twitter.com/davethepitt
Visit his website: https://www.davethepitt.co.uk
About the License
At the start of this book it says it is Distributed under a Creative Commons
Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License. What the hell does that mean?
Essentially if you want to make a copy of this and send it to your friends, stick it on BitTorrent or distribute it in some other way electronic way then do it. Really… go do it now.
If you do something which means you make money with this work then you can’t. You need to talk to me first.
You can also adapt it, remix it, rewrite it or generally screw around with it but you have to share it using the same license. Because sharing stuff is important. But so is looking after the commercial interests of content providers.
To find out more about this particular license please visit: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/
For more information about Creative Commons in general please visit: https://creativecommons.org
Bookmark the page & position
Name it so you can find it faster next time
Only numbers and alphabets are accepted.