I have no memory of who I am. My mind is a blank, empty canvas. From across the shoreline to the beach itself, I drew upon what was left of my remaining strength and gave it my all to shout. I ran towards the beach, but each step felt like heavy stones dragging me down.

  It’s as if the island itself hated my presence. My thoughts returned to the woman I saw: she was crying, trying to outrun something. They chased her—lanky figures and gaunt physiques, things that moved with erratic movements.

  Their voices were bizarre. Loud, distorted, broken. Then, I saw it; my attention shifted to something gargantuan—a towering tree with a massive hole at its base. The woman from earlier approached its gigantic roots, protruding from the sand, a commanding presence that loomed over most of the beach. It was comparable only to the height of the lighthouse I’d seen earlier from a distance. It was otherworldly, surreal.

  My mind couldn’t grasp the sheer size of this tree. It was alien and strange, a contrast to the beach’s beautiful aura. The giant hole in its feet was spiked and looked rough. It looked like it had a life all of its own. Its height—unbelievably taller than probably most urbanized buildings stands tall and foreboding.

  The woman from earlier was nearing the mouth of the tree. She climbed its roots, gripping onto it for dear life. I can only imagine how painful it must have been to touch the spiked edges of it. Until it all clicked inside my head, and my understanding of the situation formed itself. She’s going inside it. I felt my pulse quicken, now realizing the severity of this situation. If she misses just one step, she’ll lose her footing and fall into it.

  Who knows what’s inside that tree? It could be a fall to her death, just waiting for her, swallowing her in its depths. I had to reach her—somehow! My legs ached with complaint, still tired from my encounter at sea. I forced all my remaining strength into running. My feet drummed the sand beneath me, the distance between the things chasing her and the tree closing in with every heavy step I took.

  I have to warn her—anything to prevent her from falling to her death! Then, like a twisted prophecy unfolding, I saw her missing a step, her ankles twisted, she lost her balance, and she fell inside the tree’s cavernous mouth. “NOOOO!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, realizing what I had just witnessed.

  She might as well have been dead at this moment, and I, her last witness, just saw her plunging into the abyss, falling prey to whatever horrors lay within the tree's twisted guts. The things chasing her stopped abruptly. The same way a deer might freeze when faced with a speeding car barreling towards its path. I screamed, panic ripping through me like a blade, my voice breaking the trance that had locked them in the chase. As soon as the sound escaped me, one of the creatures snapped its attention to me.

  I was just a few steps away from them, and that’s when I saw: featureless nothing, telling me that they were human, hell, anything from this world. Their entire face—or what should be a face—is smooth except for the hints of veins across their expanse. At their abdomen lay a massive gaping hole.

  Their hands, if you could even call them that, protruded wild claws resembling a human’s fingers, if not for the fact that they were disproportionate. Their nails stretched down into their thighs, translucent and sharp. It was covered with earth and other slimy filth that also covered the entirety of their unnatural bodies. They stopped, as if an invisible command had been given to them.

  I felt my heart lurch with immediate disgust and fear for my life. My mind panicked and scrambled for a way to get myself out of this nightmare. Running would be a poor choice. I saw how erratic they moved. One moment, they looked like they were about to leap into the air and run fast; the next, they moved with purposeful slowness to their chaotic stride. It told me that they were more than capable of killing me instantly without even breaking a sweat.

  Running would only prolong the inevitable; sluggishness and exhaustion would slow me down. I had to think, and I had to do it fast because my life depended perilously on it. I felt like a man out of his depth, running out of his wits. Like walking a tightrope that led to life or utter oblivion.

  I willed myself to be still and quiet. Moving would be the harbinger of my death. I saw the things that focus on me, bearing into my soul. I inched away; every step I took was a gamble, afraid to the point of breaking, desperate to maintain their stillness, trying to reach the void of distance that separated the tree from myself. These creatures, despite having no eyes, seemed acutely aware of where I moved. It felt like a standoff.

  With every hint of movement I made, their faceless heads followed. They’re watching me, observing. The thing in front of me tilted its head ever so slightly, stopping, as if weighing down what its next move should be. Their twisted elation from torturing the woman they were hunting down was now gone.

  To my disbelief, I realized they were hesitating. Why? I didn’t want to know. The reason is beneath me. This opportunity, regardless of its reason, is ultimately a gift. They weren’t reaching for me—not yet. I had to move.

  A voice from above called to me in a hushed tone. I took a risk on making a sudden movement, looking up to see the woman from earlier! She’s alive! Her face is a mess, full of dirt and grime that obscures most of her features, but they were sharp. Her hair was wild, matted with dirt and blood. Her eyes, deep and striking blue, looked down at me with fierce urgency in them.

  She was perched in the mouth of the tree; in her hand were vines, as thick as roots, sinewed, and dense, strong like tendons. She tossed them to me. They swayed just within my reach, inviting me to escape. I risked it all. Without any second thought, I seized this opportunity and held the vines tightly. They protruded from the tree’s dense branches. It looked massive, like strong arms.

  A brief hesitation nagged at my head. “What if it’s not strong enough to hold me? What if they reach me before I’m up?” I had no time; I had to act. I pulled on the vines, desperately trying to inch my body upwards. I felt my entire body scream and ache with pain, but the severity of the situation pushed me beyond my limit—at last, I landed on one of the tree’s thick roots, finally able to stand.

  I grabbed one edge of the tree’s mouth. My palms were burning as I pressed against its jagged surface. A few feet below me, I could still feel the creatures’ gaze on me, stalking my every move. I didn’t need to see them to know they were watching—I just knew.

  SCREEEEEEEEEEH! The sound ripped through me like a banshee’s shriek, amplified to be worse. Not from the air—but from within. The creature’s voice was inside my head. I felt my vision spin as I staggered inside the space of the tree.

  My world turned into a blur—hazy, repulsive. I felt the muscles of my body finally giving out as I stumbled onto the floor. Fragmented images forced their way to my mind like an angry storm, a force of nature, flooding my consciousness with things I couldn’t fully comprehend. Then everything went dark…

  I awoke with the taste of ash—strong and bitter, clinging to my tongue. I was floating suspended in some liminal place, witnessing things that my eyes had never seen—fragmented murals, things happening in front of me. I was a pale specter. It was like watching the world through a cracked lens. Before me stretched a plain, far across to the horizon, a hail of arrows was raining down towards a platoon’s formation.

  A wall of corpses stood in front of them, twisted and mutilated. Their spines were bent at unnatural angles, bones splintered and jutting through flesh. Their mouths hung open, frozen mid-scream, faces locked in eternal agony and disbelief. Some bodies were put into metal stakes, their eyes rotting, easy pickings for the crows hovering above, waiting for the massacre that’s about to happen, black little omens of death and decay.

  All around me, soldiers clad in hardened leather and jerkin vests, moved in swift efficiency, their voices hoarse with tension and fear for their lives, and their eyes contained a crazed sorrow telling me that they fought for a war they didn’t believe in.

  Then he appeared.

  A man amidst the chaos stood tall and walked with purposeful strides. He wore a different attire, plate armor, while a visor covered his face.

  He took deep ragged breaths, despite having the entirety of his face covered, he spoke with the voice of total command. He held a sword in his hand and raised it high, pointing at the gray sky blotted out by raining arrows. The loud echo of his voice was heard by the entire platoon.

  MEN! TUCK TAIL! UP WITH THE SHIELDS NOW! At that instant, the soldiers bent down and formed a circular phalanx that covered their formation; a thick shield of wood and steel spears protected most of them from the storm of arrows that came in their direction. By all means, it should have been a victory—an adversity conquered.

  But like most things, hope is but a figment, a small dream, like a wisp lost in a field of flowers. Behind their formation came a wall of cavalry, tall and loud; their war cries came as a deathly surprise. They realized this error too late.

  The enemy has circled them and made the perfect ambush. The arrows were merely a diversion meant to ensnare them in their fate. How did they fall for such a simple trap? They didn’t know; it was all pointless. They all lay dead, never to return home, their bodies covering the plains.

  One of the corpses twitched, the air changing the scenery, destroying itself, and giving birth to a new one. The scenery beneath me looked like an image straight from hell. At the core of this madness was a blindfolded woman, stripped of her dignity, continuously whipped and paraded as a crowd of fanatics cursed her name.

  Her skin glistened red with each impact from the whip of her accuser. Her skin was now an angry red, blood dripping from her back like tears. I didn’t understand their language, but somehow I understood. They screamed at her, voice dripping with rage and ecstasy, manic, crazed. The crowd moved and talked not as individuals but as a crazed hive mind.

  EEEE EEEEE AYEEE, WITCH! WITCH! YAYAYA AYEEE! KILL, CONDEMN!

  Their eyes twisted with fervor and elation, their voices dissolving into a maddening chant. Her small, frail body trembled with each strike. The pain wasn’t just limited to the physical; it was meant to dehumanize her. The woman screamed, her voice like a siren of agony and terrible omens, until the landscape in front of me changed once again.

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  I felt my consciousness traveling until I saw myselfbut not me. A figure sat upon a golden throne. The head of the enormous chair was a roaring lion; its feet resembled strong, sturdy paws that looked like they could kill a man with a swipe. The air around this figure exuded absolute authority, the kind earned through lifetimes of war, wisdom, and blood.

  His face was sharply handsome, and his lips were marked with a golden ring that pierced them. Thin silver chains draped his face with royal ornaments—a testament to his wealth. He looked at the crowd, stood up, and walked not onto stone, but onto flesh—two human slaves who were at his feet, bending down, their hands full of calluses and their faces covered with black cloth except for the holes they used to see.

  His eyes hinted at vast knowledge, yet they were cold. Uncaring. Ruthless. He was calm in his posture, confident to the point of arrogance. His robe shimmered with mystical gems, their glow shifting like liquid gold, dripping from him in rivulets of opulence. It was as though the world itself bowed at his feet. Something about him stirred an ache in me—a quiet familiarity, like a reflection seen through a mirror.

  The scene faded as I felt my consciousness once again being pulled apart. I felt myself being forced back into my body; the sensation was like a violation. I felt my hands ringing as though they were shaking at light speed, my soul being thrust back again into my body—darkness.

  “Are you okay? Hey! Wake up!” I felt the strange visions loosen their grip on me as they stopped their assault in my mind. A distant but familiar voice shook me awake from my terrible trance. The woman from earlier was looking at me with slight concern etched on her features. AHHHHHH! I felt my thoughts crashing back to me in a wave of incoherent sequences.

  The creatures, the woman running from them, the giant tree, the towering lighthouse, drowning, nearly dying, being stranded. I staggered onto the floor as bile rose to my mouth and let itself out despite my best efforts to contain it. I feel a part of my essence being shaken, as if I had just been woken up from a terrible dream. My hands grasped the floor as I let the wave of disorienting images pass over me.

  As I cleaned up, I felt horrible about myself. I looked up—and there it was. On the space above us, where branches should’ve been, the tree curved inward into a dark, bark-covered ceiling. Twisting vines ran along it like little veins, and at the very top, impossibly, were stairs.

  It didn’t make sense. They shimmered like a reflection caught in waving water, blue but clear, suspended upside down where no stairs should be. Like a mirror turned liquid. And through it—there were more stairs, leading somewhere I couldn’t quite comprehend. Otherworldly. A wound, in reality.

  “This place makes no sense,” I said, standing up and taking a look around our surroundings. Inside, faint lights pulsed along the walls, casting a strange smoky glow. Yet there were no lanterns, no torches. The light simply was radiating from the walls of the tree itself. Like the dying pulse of a star. Warm but not comforting.

  “Yeah, I saw it too, right when I fell here.” She looked around, mirroring my face in awe. On the floor beneath us, the space is big enough for a man to stand comfortably and for several people to be inside shoulder to shoulder. Two floors stretched below us, carved into the bark itself.

  I realized that this was no mere tree. It was a structure inside. Beneath us, at the center, loomed the heart of this monstrous tree—huge, hollow, and alive—what I can only describe as a huge pulsating ball of transparent liquid. A huge mass of unknown goop.

  Suspended stairs and a giant ball of unknown liquid. I felt like I was dreaming, half awake, questioning my mind, but nothing about the illogical made sense; it simply is.

  I turned to see the woman from earlier, looking at me as if I were a wounded animal in need of help. Are you okay? “I’m good; besides the splinters I got climbing this damn tree,” I said, my eyes focusing their attention on her right leg. “I don’t want to be rude and impose on what you’ve been dealing with, but clearly, I think you should be asking yourself that question first, not me.”

  “Your leg is in bad shape,” I said, looking at it bruised, swollen, and wrong. “At best, it's just roughed up. At worst, it’s dislocated. We need to get you help—somehow. The fact that you were able to climb this tree without help is a miracle, you know that? They were close—too close for comfort. Do you know what the hell’s happening here? What are those things?”

  “I don’t know.” I saw the hesitation and worry on the woman’s face. She’s been through a lot; that much is obvious. Not wanting to press her further, I changed the topic. “Do you know anyone we can contact here for help? What about the locals—any residents living here on this island?”

  The woman looked haunted, pushed to the brink of exhaustion; her eyes, alluring as they were, looked past me, as if she were carrying a memory too painful to recall. She looked distant, worn out. “Are they dead? All of them?” I asked her, clinging to the little hope that we could look for someone to help us out of this awful predicament. She started, “If they’re not dead, then they’re probably hiding from those things, too.”

  “On those first days, right after all this, phone signals and any reception went out. It’s been like this for two weeks.” Two weeks? I asked her with a baffled look on my face. “You’ve been holding out here for two weeks? With those things out there?”

  “They only come out at night,” she said. During the day, they’re less active. Not dormant. Just less erratic, some of them stay still, like they’re sleeping; granted, they don’t have eyes, but with the time I spent here. . . . She struggled to find the right words for what she was saying.

  The weight of this revelation sank to my chest, reminding me how bleak our situation is. “Well, that works to our advantage, right? I said, If they only come out at night, that means we can move during the day.” I took a heavy breath, trying my best to calm my nerves.

  “Those things sleep?” I asked her, curiosity sprouting from that thought. “Yeah, she said. I guess that’s the best way to describe it. But I wouldn’t trust it to approach any of them, regardless of what time it is.”

  “You observe them?” “Hey!” She replied, mock-offended, “There’s not much else to do here, and I don’t observe them—I just notice.”

  “I’m Julia. You?” Right at that moment, I realized that I didn’t remember what my name was. The memories of almost drowning at sea returned in my head like an awful afterthought; for some strange reason, I felt bitter frustration and a strong worry at this fact. Who am I? I truly don’t know.

  The woman—Julia—looked at me with expectant eyes, waiting for an answer. “Lain,” I said. “Lain?” That’s—uh…unique.” She said, one eyebrow rising in silent judgment, eyes looking at me like she was calling me out on the strangeness of the name I randomly gave her. I don’t even know why I gave her that name; it just rolled off easily.

  Who I am right now is irrelevant. I think, therefore I am. I exist; I am here. I thought to myself, feeling a little better. It came out a little desperate in my mind, doubt carrying the familiar feelings of dread, slithering its way into my mind as I grappled with this question internally.

  Trying to change the topic to soothe my internal crisis, I asked her. “How have you been surviving on this island for two weeks? “What about food? Water? Where do you sleep? Are you even with someone?” Too late did I realize that I’ve been bombarding her with intrusive questions. I felt a pang of guilt as she looked at me with anger, which turned quickly to sorrow.

  I’m so- “I was with someone,” Julia cut me off before I could even apologize. Where are they now?” I asked, this time genuinely. “That’s what I’m trying to find out.” With that dismissive tone, I decided not to push my luck and let it be. After all, she did save my life.

  “Well, Lain, you’ve got too many questions on your hands, don’t you?” Julia said, her voice casual, though the hint of grief around her eyes betrayed the effort. “Well, I’ll tell you this: I ran to grab food and supplies from the hotels. Not many people remained because, well, all this happened. I haven’t seen anyone else until you showed up. “I stayed in the hotel rooms. The people left before they were killed—at least, I think they did.”

  She said it smoothly, her words sliding out with surprising ease. Like she was forcing herself. Trying to mask something deeper. Painful. Something that, even until now, is eating away at her. I can see it in her demeanor. As if she were trying to play at being in control.

  Despite it all, I felt sympathy for her. She’s just as lost as me. Morbidly, this woman’s struggle comforted me. It reminded me that I’m not truly alone. How hideous of me.

  “You’re drenched in seawater; whatever happened, how you showed up at the beach screaming like a maniac. I won’t force you to say,” Julia told me with a look of slight annoyance, though it felt more like a mask than anything real. She was probably sick of being asked questions. “You’ll need some new clothes. We can take care of that in the morning when they’re not around. Sounds good?”

  “Well, in my defense, I started. I did see you being chased by those things. I just wanted to help.” I stood in the space inside the tree and leaned to rest my back against the rough bark of the wood. I looked up to see the floating expanse of the stairs above us.

  For something wrong and defied logic, I found it to be strangely mesmerizing. Like a moment captured in a dream. Only this time, it's more pleasant, much less oppressive. I surveyed the image it showed. A spiraling staircase, with rough stone bricks, dust, and traces of moss, littered the walls of the staircase from my viewpoint. Like a memory suspended in water.

  It was like an illusion; it made me question my perception of reality. It's as if it weren’t merely a projection. It looked real. I felt myself being drawn to it. Shaking off the thought, I looked down at my palms and saw that they were splintered, bruised, and nicked with tiny cuts that made them painful to touch.

  I turned my attention and focused on Julia. Something terrible happened to her. I could see it in her eyes; it held a certain grief in them, as if she were carrying the weight of the entire world on her shoulders. ‘Did she lose someone?’ I thought to myself, feeling a sudden pang of guilt and sadness wash over me. ‘Maybe I should’ve been more careful with my probing and questioning.’

  “We need to take a look at your leg, I told her.” “That’s the second time you told me that. While I appreciate your concern, I’m not helpless. Besides, there isn’t much we can use here to treat it.” “We can look for something tomorrow.” I offered, trying to meet her halfway.

  Julia looked at me, meeting my gaze, and it was then that I got to take a good look at her features. She was pale-skinned with a soft, oval-shaped face. A pointed nose. She had the subtle tinge of freckles draped across her cheeks, like brown grains of sand.

  Her face reminded me of the warmth of a comforting fire. She looked like someone who used to be filled with joy, with vibrancy. Despite myself, I envied her. What would it feel like to have memories of your own? I don’t know. All I know in this instant is that Julia’s beautiful.

  “We need rest. Tomorrow can sort itself out. We’ll scavenge; look for things still useful. Find a place other than a strange gigantic tree with suspended stairs to spend the night.” “What about the lighthouse?” I said, prompting a suggestion. There could be people there with appropriate tools to help us.

  “That should be a good idea, Lain, but look at my leg; you think I can walk that far? What about the forest and the hilly terrain?” “Not to mention, could we even make that trek without the night catching up to us?” You don’t have to come with me if you don’t wish to. “Hey, it was just a suggestion, I said, feigning hurt and placing my hands on my chest.”

  “The hotel?” Julia said, “Maybe we can find something there to help me, even if temporary; some gauze, bandages, maybe even a splint would do.” I did look there for food before, but we can check it out again. I haven't seen its entirety. Besides, it's closer to us than the lighthouse.

  Sounds like a plan to me, I said. “You’re coming?” Julia asked, “Yeah, where else can I go? The island is desolate.” As far as I can tell, it’s just us and them. Alright then, we’re going to the hotel.

  Through the tree’s mouth, I could see the moon, ever-present, its silver light shining down across the beach. The things chasing us before are nowhere to be found. Where they went—I didn’t care; right now, in this little moment of peace, they weren’t an immediate threat—or so I hope. I sat down on the tree’s floor, leaning my head against its bark, closing my eyes in contemplation. I’m not alone; the sentiment echoed inside my head, like the soft sound of tiny bells ringing in my mind.

  Exhaustion gave way to sleep. A dream within a dream. This is what escaping this island feels like. In these little moments of peace, that’s where the absurd and grotesque envelop this island in its fist, choking the life out of everything. From a far corner, deep inside my mind, I could hear a faint sound. A lullaby, beautiful and sweet, the kind you hear in a music box. I felt the sound calling to me.

  Like a momentary way out of my situation. Perhaps I’ll find solace in knowing that despite my lack of memory, the harsh reality of this island anchors me to the present. These creatures, these fiends, products of something unknowable or otherwise, are present. Whether I’d come to regret this thought in the future is still a small part of the island’s uncertainty.

  —————

  Julia awoke from her restless sleep to find Lain levitating, mouth agape, his pupils now gone, replaced by a ghostly gray hue. He was inching towards the suspended stairs of the tree’s ceiling. It’s too late; he’ll fall, and there is nothing she can do but watch. She could see a figure, arms outstretched, a hand reaching for his head, dragging him in.

  NOOOOO! All she could do was shout as his body in its entirety fell inside the suspended stairs.

  …….

  And so!

  Like a moth to the flame!

  Find its towering warmth!

  Go to where they tread not!

  SALVATION!

  SALVATION!

  SALVATION!

  Lighthouse Poems and Writings

  The Ramblings of a Mad Zealot, II.