Part Five: Hecatoncheire
Nov. 1st, 2004 03:26 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
uberreinigerThe written journal in which I recorded my journeys is lost to me now. Therefore, my memory betrays me. As I gathered my thoughts for the telling of these tales, I have become uncertain whether the following incident occured on the first night or a later one. But I assure you, it DID occur.
Irish actor/filmmaker Peter Mullan once described madness as being "curiousity taken too far." If that be the case, then Termez was most certainly mad that night. Convinced that the creaks echoing down from the skeletal stairway leading to the Doorway In the Sky were the direct work of some entity, he was determined to communicate. When it became clear that his verbal entreaties would get nothing further than more creaks and crackles, he grew bold; aggressive.
"Are you and evil spirit?"
............*creak*.........
"Why don't you show yourself?"
....................*creakCREak*
"You a COWARD? You afraid to show yourself!?"
......................*crak*..
"CAN you show yourself!?"
.....................
I tried to tell him what he was doing wasn't smart. He wouldn't listen. But once it became apparent that his dialogue with a rickety, partially-melted staircase was truly going nowhere, we ambled onward toward the concrete balcony which overlooked the rod mill. Here molten steel was shaped into beams. Beyond the concrete overlook, the halogen lights which had been rigged throughout the building ended. It was a realm of complete blackness where the hulks of disused machinery gave rise to monstrosities in silhouhette. If you have seen the movie Alien and remember the interior of the alien spaceship where the eggs are found, then you have a good idea how the rod mill looked entwined in halogen shadows.
When we reached the rim of the balcony, the silent black void came slowly alive with a symphony of crackling noises. I have said prior that all ambient noise in the building centered upon living visitors. Here it was the strongest, yet still, seemingly random.
Termez took it as a sign. His impatience growing, he continued to demand an audience.
"Are you an evil spirit?"
"Show yourself!"
"Are you a pussy!?"
As before, each time he spoke, he was greeted with nothing more than the random noises of an old building settling upon itself in the night. Impatience turned to disgust.
"I don't believe in you."
I cannot describe what happened next except to say that starting from the farthest wall of the rod mill, the entire building SHOOK. A massive, reverberating crash from high up on the wall near the ceiling and spreading outword, echoing. Drowning all other noise. No human could have caused this. It was too high up, with a force no human could generate with anything less than a wrecking ball or a boulder hurled from a medieval catapult.
Termez and I were back on the ground floor again before we stopped running. If you remember the old cartoons with Scooby-Doo and Shaggy clinging onto each other in fear, that's about what we looked like. I did not want to go back in. I wanted to LEAVE. Termez wouldn't have it, though. He would have none of it.
But I took note of something: he never insulted Our Friend, nor questioned his existence again.
POSTSRIPT: You may call me reckless or a fool, but there was a tear in the sheet metal on the side of the rod mill which faced our guard shack. One night I entered through the tear alone and spent several minutes throwing the largest, heaviest rocks I possibly could against the sheet metal wall.
None of them could reproduce the sound. None of them were even close.
Irish actor/filmmaker Peter Mullan once described madness as being "curiousity taken too far." If that be the case, then Termez was most certainly mad that night. Convinced that the creaks echoing down from the skeletal stairway leading to the Doorway In the Sky were the direct work of some entity, he was determined to communicate. When it became clear that his verbal entreaties would get nothing further than more creaks and crackles, he grew bold; aggressive.
"Are you and evil spirit?"
............*creak*.........
"Why don't you show yourself?"
....................*creakCREak*
"You a COWARD? You afraid to show yourself!?"
......................*crak*..
"CAN you show yourself!?"
.....................
I tried to tell him what he was doing wasn't smart. He wouldn't listen. But once it became apparent that his dialogue with a rickety, partially-melted staircase was truly going nowhere, we ambled onward toward the concrete balcony which overlooked the rod mill. Here molten steel was shaped into beams. Beyond the concrete overlook, the halogen lights which had been rigged throughout the building ended. It was a realm of complete blackness where the hulks of disused machinery gave rise to monstrosities in silhouhette. If you have seen the movie Alien and remember the interior of the alien spaceship where the eggs are found, then you have a good idea how the rod mill looked entwined in halogen shadows.
When we reached the rim of the balcony, the silent black void came slowly alive with a symphony of crackling noises. I have said prior that all ambient noise in the building centered upon living visitors. Here it was the strongest, yet still, seemingly random.
Termez took it as a sign. His impatience growing, he continued to demand an audience.
"Are you an evil spirit?"
"Show yourself!"
"Are you a pussy!?"
As before, each time he spoke, he was greeted with nothing more than the random noises of an old building settling upon itself in the night. Impatience turned to disgust.
"I don't believe in you."
I cannot describe what happened next except to say that starting from the farthest wall of the rod mill, the entire building SHOOK. A massive, reverberating crash from high up on the wall near the ceiling and spreading outword, echoing. Drowning all other noise. No human could have caused this. It was too high up, with a force no human could generate with anything less than a wrecking ball or a boulder hurled from a medieval catapult.
Termez and I were back on the ground floor again before we stopped running. If you remember the old cartoons with Scooby-Doo and Shaggy clinging onto each other in fear, that's about what we looked like. I did not want to go back in. I wanted to LEAVE. Termez wouldn't have it, though. He would have none of it.
But I took note of something: he never insulted Our Friend, nor questioned his existence again.
POSTSRIPT: You may call me reckless or a fool, but there was a tear in the sheet metal on the side of the rod mill which faced our guard shack. One night I entered through the tear alone and spent several minutes throwing the largest, heaviest rocks I possibly could against the sheet metal wall.
None of them could reproduce the sound. None of them were even close.
