Only The Numb Remain (Third Teaser)

(Cover Design: Cody Sexton & Neda Aria)

Below is the fifth draft of Part One, Scene Three and Four. Massive thanks to Paige Johnson and Neda Aria for their support and suggestions. The final version might be different, but here’s what I have so far. I hope it’s in pretty good shape. Comments welcome ☺️

For this novella, think: Thomas Ligotti’s Conspiracy Against the Human Race + Cormac McCarthy’s The Road + some degenerate Buddhist and Taoist musings.

Hopefully this keeps your interest ☺️

Part One, Scene Three & Four

Skies darkened as winds set the sky ablaze, and droplets from the dome turned to an atmospheric hemorrhage. Flashes of light followed cracks of thunder availing them of nature’s raw power.

They pushed deeper into the woods, through spaces peppered with skulls on posts, some picked clean, others fresh with crows foraging for whatever flesh forgot to rot. The beasts squawked, as though their human presence were an offense, a desecration of sacred ground, trespassers on reposed lands.

Deliah hung back, sword clutched tight. “I got a bad feeling.”

“Don’t mind the crows.”

“They’re not my concern.” She wiped rain from her face. “Isn’t it unusual for crows to be so casual?”

Calix gestured to a bleached skull. “I put that there a few years back.”

Deliah waved her sword at one with maggots burrowing into a melting eye. “Fresh.”

“In medieval times, Catholic monks used to keep skulls in their chambers. Buddhists meditate in graveyards. It’s highly generative of contemplative—”

“—You’re not listening.” Deliah said. “Fresh.”

“I heard.” Calix waved down the path. “The cabin should be up ahead. You should see a sign: Trespassers Will Be Shot. Survivor’s Shot Again. I put that there too.”

“What if someone’s there?”

Calix pushed on, Passed the sign, further down the dirt path that turned to red and brown sludge. A cabin revealed herself, smoke emanating from the chimney, winds whipping it like a ragdoll.

“Someone’s home,” Calix said.

“No shit.”

Lightening split a tree followed by a gunshot. 

Pause.

Another shot.

“Who da fuck goes there?” the voice cracked.

Deliah and Calix retreated behind crooked oaks. Another shot.

“Ya didn’t see the fuckin’ sign? Now get the fuck off my—”

“—Sir,” Deliah yelled, “we’re weary travelers. We mean you no harm.”

“Sure, sure. Of course not. They never do, of course they never do. Now get the fuck off my property.”

Calix leaned in. “Keep him occupied.”

“Why?”

Calix slithered through the trees like a viper, the man’s gun pointed towards Deliah’s voice. Calix produced his knife, and positioned himself a few feet behind the man. Lightning scorched the sky, and Calix grabbed the man from behind, the blade taut against his throat.

“Be silent,” Calix said. “Drop it.”

“Why’s he silent?” Deliah asked.

“It’s safe,” Calix said. 

“I was just protecting my—” the man started.

Calix tightened the blade. “How many others?”

“I’m a hermit. Now let me go!”

“Your voice sounds familiar.” Calix tightened his grip, drawing blood. “I recognize your voice.”

“Let me go!”

“Sure there’s no others? You a praying man, old timer?”

“Don’t,” Deliah said, approaching. “There’s been enough of that today. Too much if you ask me.”

“I ain’t gonna kill the poor bastard,” Calix said, grabbing the shotgun from the old man. “But we do require respite.”

“Sir,” Deliah said, “really, we mean you no harm. We aren’t marauders.”

“Sure, sure. Ya bushwhack an old man, then—”

Calix dug the blade in deeper. “How ’bout I gut you like a pig?”

Deliah held up a finger, ice in her eyes. “Don’t.”

“I suggest,” Calix loosened the blade, “you let us in unless you want to join the ministry of skulls out there.”

“Alright, alright, goddamn it,” he said. “Whole damn world’s gone mad.”

“Just figuring that out now?” Deliah asked.

#

A bear skin lined the floor, a buck’s skull hung over the fireplace, and a pot of stew simmered over the fire producing an aroma approaching something Calix’s mother had made. As wind rattled the cabin, Calix and Deliah took seats at table chairs opposite a cot. The man stirred the pot as the storm raged.

“Whoever built this cabin,” the hermit said, “built it well.”

“The stew has a smell,” Calix said. “I’ve eaten many stews. Beef stew. Chicken stew. Lamb stew. And, of course, pork stew.” He paused. “The bitterness of the smell, like pork, but it ain’t pork, is it?”

“I don’t appreciate the innuendo. You think—“

“—Thanks for taking us in,” Deliah said. “Please, don’t mind him. He’s—”

Calix glared at her, and she looked away. 

“Didn’t give me much choice.” The hermit brandished his Ruger No. 1. “This here baby’s done saved ma life more times den I care ta count.” He set it down to stir the stew again. “At the end of the day, a man only needs good firearms. He’s lucky if he gets whiskey, tobacco, and a hot meal.”

Deliah inspected the rack of firearms. She counted three rifles, a shotgun, and a revolver.

“Should be ready soon, I reckon. It ain’t much, but perhaps it’ll warm ya.”

“We appreciate the hospitality, don’t we, Calix?”

“Calix?” the hermit said. “Haven’t heard that name in, oh hell, thirteen maybe fourteen years. I heard’a fella who went by that name. Not his Christian name, mind you. A moniker he adopted. Lotta rumors about that there name too.” He paused. “To play baseball, ya need ice in yer veins. Out here? Ya need liquid nitrogen. And if the rumors be true? Well, then you’re—”

“—Old man,” Calix said, “the ultimate terror is realizing all conceptions are manufactured within ourselves. A dream within a dream within a dream tormented in a skull prison.” Calix’s eyes pierced the hermit’s. “The prison of the self cobbled together from sensory—”

“—Don’t believe I follow, sir. You the Calix from them there rumors?”

“Calix is my—” Deliah started.

“—We’re all aliens to one another, never penetrating the soul of the other. The illusion that we manufacture the person as they really are. On the surface, we pretend to be connected, but reflection reveals how deeply alone we really are. We talk, and pretend to know one another, but at the end of the day, the real you could just as well be from Venus.” He stared into the stew, remembering the skulls, but no other bones. “We're aliens even to ourselves. The final alienation is from existence itself.”

“That’s quite a mouthful,” the hermit said. “Ya never did answer ma question.”

“You taught me that.”

“We met before?” the old man asked. “Taught you what?”

“Calix,” Deliah said, “what’s the meaning of—”

“—Still run with a limp?” Calix asked. “I saw you hobble. Leg still lame from the early days of the fall?”

“Ya, how did ya—”

“This has been quite a serendipitous evening, eh, Philip?” Calix pointed his revolver at the hermit. “I figured this world would’ve taken you by now. Didn’t think you had the grit. Then again, I was mistaken about your character, wasn’t I?” He cocked his head. “The fall revealed who you really were.”

“How da fuck ya know ma name?”

“Deliah, be so kind as to remove the firearms.” He aimed the gun at the hermit’s knee. “Try anything and I’ll leave you for the dogs.”

“I gave you refuge.” The hermit said. “I was nice to you.”

“I’d have slit your throat if you said no.”

The cabin grew hot with rage, as if an ancient god, suppressed for too long, returned for revenge. The wind howled, and shook the cabin, but Calix remained still, almost in a meditative state.

“He offered us hospitality.”

“I was nice to you!”

“Ted Bundy was nice too.” Calix waved the gun at Deliah. “Niceness isn’t a personality trait. Now, Deliah, remove the firearms from the cabin. Now!”

And without warning, the storm ceased, and the cabin shook no more.

“Tell me what the fuck’s goin’ on,” Deliah said.

“The dice came up snake eyes.” Calix leaned back, resting the revolver on the hermit’s knee. “The clouds have vanished, no doubt, but the silver lining remains. I’m asking you, pretty please, with a cherry on top: Remove. The. Fire. Arms.”

“What is—” Philip started. 

“Shut the fuck up! Just shut the fuck up, Philip! Deliah, remove the fuckin’ guns. Now!”

As Deliah gathered up the firearms, silence deafened the room, only to be broken by the butt of Calix’s revolver against the hermit’s skull.

Deliah stared at blood soaking into the rug. 

“You should leave,” Calix said. “He and I have unfinished business.”

“Answer me what’s going on, goddamn you.” Deliah came at him, sobbing with balled fists. 

He let her bang on his chest. 

“Answer me, you fuck! Why are you like this? Why can’t you be—”

“—Leave now.” Calix opened the cabin door.

“No. No. Answer me. I demand it.”

“No.”

Deliah produced her blade and held it to Calix’s neck. “Answer me!”

“If you stay, if you absolutely must, wait outside until the sun rapes the sky, then I’ll tell you.” He lit a Blackwood and inhaled. “Until then, don’t enter the cabin for any reason.” He took a long drag and exhaled. “And if that’s not good enough, kill me. Only the numb remain. And the numb are already dead inside.”

“Why? Just tell me why.”

Coldness filled Calix’s eyes. “The violence I’m about to unleash will make existence vomit.”

Driver