06 Dec Bygone

Posted at 11:00h in Cosmic Horror and Lovecraftian Stories by CreepypastaStories.com 0 Comments

📅 Published on December 6, 2024

“Bygone”

Written by Grey Walker
Edited by Craig Groshek
Thumbnail Art by Craig Groshek
Narrated by N/A

Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on CreepypastaStories.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed, adapted to film, television or audio mediums, republished in a print or electronic book, reposted on any other website, blog, or online platform, or otherwise monetized without the express written consent of its author(s).

🎧 Available Audio Adaptations: None Available

⏰ ESTIMATED READING TIME — 12 minutes

Rating: 8.00/10. From 2 votes.

Please wait...

That’s the thing about getting old, isn’t it? The perspective. When you’re a kid, you think the whole world loves you. You can’t comprehend the idea of someone hurting you, and when someone or something does, it hurts that much more because of that lack of understanding. You can’t comprehend why the mean ants in the anthill began biting you after you stepped on their home.

Then you become a teenager, and you start thinking the whole world is out to get you, so you lash out at it. You want to make yourself known to the world. You get to adulthood, and you start thinking you can take on the world. It’s not until you realize that everyone else thinks something similar, that everyone else has that same ambition whether they realize it or not, and they’re willing to do whatever it takes, even if it means trampling you unless you do the same.

You ask yourself why someone would do this to you, and you realize something else. You realize that you’re little more than a blip, a gnat, dirt under someone’s fingernails. It hits you that you’re an ant, and something just destroyed your anthill.

My anthill was destroyed in the year 1968, when I was 27. Back then, I was studying archeology with the intent of uncovering evidence of civilizations people overlooked, nations beyond those born in Mesopotamia and Mesoamerica. I wasn’t some rugged, handsome adventurer type. Between my skinny build, glasses, and mild-mannered disposition, the folks I spoke to probably thought I was some kind of clerk.

I will say for the record, though, that I did carry a snub-nosed .44 with me whenever I traveled. Between the very real possibilities of grave robbers and the Kremlin’s finest, it was always comforting to have that weight on my belt.

The search I conducted took place in an Eastern European nation that I won’t name. For all I know, it lost its name during the collapse of the USSR anyway, as I’ve never found any records of it existing. I went there with a small team funded by an anonymous donor who had expressed interest in uncovering evidence of a lost civilization before the Soviet Union could find it.

My team consisted of five others: Mike, Leo, Martin, Charles, and Keith. Mike and Leo were the medic and armed guard, respectively. Martin and I were the people who handled the cultural and historical aspects of our journey. Charles was a linguist, and Keith was a quiet man sent by our donor to oversee the expedition and to document our findings and the conditions among the team, among other things.

We often joked that he was also a hatchet man that our donor would use to keep us quiet about the operation. Maybe he was, maybe he wasn’t. If I knew then what I know now, I would have begged him to just shoot all of us there and then. I would have handed him my gun.

The ruins we found were located 120 kilometers outside of a small village beneath a mountain range, the name of which I won’t mention. It was a sad, empty place, to put it lightly. The moment we entered, we could see that the few tired, fearful villagers outside seemed to know what we were after, and they didn’t want us to find it. Even then, I couldn’t help but liken it to Jonathan Harker’s experience with the locals of Transylvania.

This comparison persisted when Charles began to ask about the ruins, as he asked a local man about surveys conducted on the mountains. The man grew agitated and began to say things that Charles translated as “We don’t talk about that place.” Naturally, this piqued our curiosity, so Charles offered to buy the man a drink at the local tavern in exchange for telling us what he knew.

This gesture being the universal icebreaker, the gentleman, however reluctantly, took him up on it. He and Charles went into the tavern, and the rest of us waited, feeling the oppressive gloom of the town weighing on us. We tried to keep things casual, but that sensation persisted up until Charles emerged about an hour later. He said that he had used up half of the money in his wallet that he brought just to get the man to tell him anything, and what he said had been equal parts fascinating and eerie.

According to the man, nobody who ventured into those mountains ever came back. At least, they never came back as themselves. There was always something odd about them. This oddness had resulted in no less than fifty people dying in his lifetime alone. He never discussed the exact circumstances, but Charles had enough empathy to not push him further, especially not when the man said his own brother had been a casualty.

He had told him that he didn’t know what lay in those mountains, but whatever it was, we would be entering at our own risk. At the time, we dismissed it as local superstition, as anyone would, and reasoned that anyone who came from the mountain and died had been affected by isolation, changes in air pressure, pre-existing mental and medical conditions, virtually anything that wasn’t supernatural.

This village was old, and saw very few modern commodities, so it would make sense that they would rely on such things to see them through. Perhaps we were trying to reassure ourselves.

At any rate, the man had told Charles where to mark the location on his map, and with that, we soon departed from the village to begin the trek up into the mountains. As we left, I looked back and was unnerved to see that everyone in the village had turned out as if to bid us farewell. They said nothing, but the somber expressions on their sallow faces said that they genuinely thought we were headed to our dooms.

We hiked through the forest that grew along the mountain, and by the fifth hour, we had thoroughly convinced ourselves that there was nothing to be afraid of. We took occasional breaks for meals and rest, but we were all quite eager to see what had our client so interested in these ruins.

Martin and I engaged in frequent conversations over what civilization the structures belonged to, or if it was possible that people might even live there. This possibility, in particular, intrigued Martin, who postulated that we might happen upon a tribe or race of humans more cut off from the civilized world than the village. He regaled us with fantastical possibilities of our respective civilizations learning from each other.

None of us had the heart to remind him that if there had been people still there, the mountains wouldn’t be as wild as they still were, lacking footpaths and markers, among other man-made things, that would keep them from getting lost. About two days passed, and we continued hiking deeper into the mountains. The further we climbed, the mistier the air became.

It wasn’t until noon of the second day that we stumbled upon it, literally. Martin’s foot connected with a loose rock, and he almost tumbled off the side of the mountain. Luckily, we caught him and hoisted him back up. He was shaken but no worse for wear. However, it was when we looked in the direction in which he almost fell that we saw it.

What we had previously mistaken for a mountain range was a circular formation of smaller “mountains,” something that shouldn’t have been geologically possible. It was as if a colossal mountain had previously existed, but something large, a meteor perhaps, had struck the pinnacle. The resulting impact had changed the mountain into something resembling an enormous “crown” of rock and trees.

Between the mist and the illusory mountains on all sides, one would need to have traveled in the direction we had to understand its nature. But what struck us more than that was the inside of that “crown.” We all saw it clearly, even with the fog tenaciously blocking out the sun. We said nothing, but I know we all believed the same thing: what lay before us was impossible.

It was an edifice of immaculate and bizarre construction. It was constructed of a material like obsidian and possessed an almost pyramid-esque shape. The dread and confusion that had gripped us broke when Leo gruffly asked what we were waiting for. Pushing the dread to the side for now, we began to descend the other side of the mountain, which was far smoother than the outside.

We were able to reach the bottom with ease, and given Leo’s military background, he estimated that we could make a quick and easy escape. As he said that, I felt the dread that had already permeated the air around us slither down my spine. Why would we need to escape? If these ruins were mere ruins, then the only thing to fear would be hostile locals, which should have been little issue to a man accustomed to warfare.

But the tone of his voice told me that it wasn’t men he was afraid of. No, he didn’t know what he was afraid of, and that in turn frightened us. Trying to put brave faces on it, we began walking towards the structure, and the closer we got, the more it seemed unlike anything made on Earth.

What I had initially mistaken for a pyramid had eight sides, and at the top of it was a strange, cube-like object that rotated slowly, letting out odd pulsing sounds as it glowed. Had I not known better, I might have thought that this thing was acting as a kind of artificial sun. Something I also noticed was that it seemed smaller in scale than it appeared from a distance, like some kind of optical illusion.

What I had taken to be a twenty-foot-tall behemoth was in truth no bigger than an average suburban home. Before us stood a narrow entrance that was lit up perfectly by the cube. Without warning, the cube ceased its motions, and the structure shifted. All of us had, until that point, basked in awe at the impossibility of this thing that we didn’t notice the opening changing to a gaping maw. Once we noticed it, though, the implications were clear.

Whatever this thing was, it was alive, and it was inviting us in.

I don’t know why we went in. Maybe we had been taken by some hypnotic effect of the cube’s light. Maybe we were exercising our natural human curiosity. Maybe it was what we found inside. In any case, we did, though Leo insisted on taking point, aiming his rifle ahead of us.

The hall that we strode down had changed to accommodate our numbers, allowing for easy access and traversal of it. The distance to the central chamber was only about fifteen feet or so. Beside me walked Martin, who had grown silent in comparison to his optimistic, chatty self. Until that moment, I had never truly noticed just how young he was. He was only twenty-two, but the look in his eyes seemed to be that of a boy of six.

They were open wide as he looked back at me, his gaze conveying raw, childlike terror. They told me he didn’t want to go a step further. His feet, however, told a different story, and with each step, he grew increasingly afraid. I tried to reassure him, but I knew we all felt it: the instinct to continue despite all reason telling us to flee, the voice in our heads coaxing us deeper into the structure.

And so, unwittingly, we trailed behind Leo as he aimed the gun. It felt like an eternity before we finally reached the chamber. But what a chamber it was. The walls were decorated with markings reminiscent of hieroglyphics, all of which glowed with the same light as the cube. But what drew our attention and changed the entire situation for us was the thing in the center of the chamber.

My fingers shake as I write this, even as I’ve had years to ponder its appearance. That thing had only the vaguest impression of a human being. It seemed to have the appearance of some ghastly hybrid between a man, an insect, and some great, soft amoeba. At first, none of us made a move to approach it. We just watched as the light pulsed from it, realizing that it was the source of the ethereal glow.

For a moment, we thought it was either dead or a bizarre statue of some kind. Then it happened. From the chair it was seated in, it rose, and within a billionth of a second, it crossed the distance between itself and us.

Reaching out some mix between an arm and a pseudopod, it dashed poor Martin’s skull against the wall, then turned to the rest of us. It stood at ten feet tall, gazing at us with eyes that were barely visible behind its jelly-like head. When we regained our wits, Leo began firing at it wildly.

He had only gotten a few shots off before it casually swatted a hand through the air. His gun fell to the ground in neatly cut pieces, and he slowly turned to us with a look of befuddlement in his eyes. Thin lines of red began forming on his body before he fell to the ground, his entire form surgically sliced before it went to work on Mike, Charles, and Keith.

They tried to make a run for it, but it just swatted them, giving them the same fate as our other teammates. I collapsed to the ground, too shocked to register anything at first. Then I fully understood what had happened, and I retrieved my revolver. I fired all the chambers but one, screaming like a lunatic.

When the bullets passed through it with no effect, it lowered its head to where the projectiles had connected and then looked at me. Realizing what it was about to do, I placed the gun beneath my chin, intending to deny it the satisfaction of killing me. Then the creature knelt quickly and took my arm, which flopped limply and dropped the gun.

It extended one of its limbs and touched my forehead. Instantly, I felt a surge run through my head, probing my mind and filling it with pictures, words, questions, and memories that weren’t my own. Somehow, I knew what it was doing. It was trying to communicate with me. I felt its emotions.

It gazed at me, curiosity radiating from its mind. Then, a new feeling emitted from it. It was excitement, rapture, joy. This creature, after effortlessly murdering my friends, was excited. It must have sensed my shock and confusion because I instantly felt it sending another series of words and pictures to my brain.

This creature wasn’t a “little green man” like I’d seen in B-movies. It wasn’t from outer space. It was from a completely different plane of existence, and it was dedicated to exploring other worlds and universes beyond its own. We were standing in its mobile laboratory.

It was a researcher similar to me, and by its people’s standards, it was around my age. The creature—which I came to call the Explorer—had come to this universe to study its energy and that of the living beings in it. What got to me the most, though, was the enthusiasm with which it probed my mind.

It viewed me the way I might view an animal or an insect, but it was overjoyed to find a “lower” life form that possessed similar goals. It thought of me as a kindred spirit, a refreshing change from the “lower” intelligences it had encountered, i.e., the villagers and my friends.

Tears ran from my eyes as my overwhelmed mind was made to process this information. The Explorer sensed my distress, but it didn’t understand. I felt confusion from it. It pulled away and then looked at the bodies of my companions. It seemed to think that was the reason for my emotional state, but while that was one reason, its means of “apologizing” only made me scream.

The Explorer’s hands passed over the bodies of Mike, Leo, Martin, Charles, and Keith. They were seamlessly repaired, and in a moment, they were standing there, staring ahead vacantly. Their bodies were alive, but they were gone, and their reanimator didn’t understand why I was wailing in pure horror. They were like butterflies pinned in picture frames.

I stood up shakily and began running. I sprinted up to the mountainside, and then, as I began to retrace our steps, my sprint slowed to a jog and then a slow, plodding walk. I knew it was following me, eyes as inquisitive as ever. Somehow the Explorer went with me, traveling beyond its laboratory, possibly by astral projection or some other bizarre means.

I walked non-stop, eventually reaching the village. Initially, the people assumed defensive positions, but as they saw my vacant expression, their stony expressions faded to confusion, then fear and pity. I think they knew the Explorer was following me. I kept walking, past the village and to the nearest civilized area kilometers away.

When I got home, my benefactor had questions, of course, as did the families of my partners. The best explanation I could give was that there had been a deadly rockslide, that there were no ruins, and the mountain was unstable. I received my pay, and the families received large settlements. Whether it was hush money or a genuine attempt to make up for what they had lost, my benefactor never said.

I quit archeology in the field and took up a teaching position instead. I was always certain to tell my class to be careful when studying ancient folklore, and to take the word of the locals if something seems off.

Time passed. The USSR fell, technology advanced, and I gradually aged. The Explorer continued to follow me and watch me, like I was bacteria beneath a microscope. I would always see it somewhere, standing in an alley, watching from a window, and every night since, it’s stood at the foot of my bed.

I’ve experienced things that should have killed other people. I’ve been in car wrecks that totaled my vehicle but left me without a scratch. I’ve fallen from heights that should have crippled me at best and walked away with no damage from shocked civilians. I’ve seen armed muggers seized by an unknown force, crumpled like paper, and dashed against walls.

In all circumstances, the Explorer was there, and its influence was obvious. It wouldn’t let me die. And why would it? I was its prized subject, its worthy counterpart. I resented it once, but as time went on, I couldn’t find it in me to feel that way. It was too emotionally taxing to curse something that didn’t even understand human emotion.

The Explorer isn’t malicious, but it’s no friend, either. It’s a young, excited researcher like I was, maybe like Martin.

The thing is, as powerful as it is, it can’t reverse or stop aging or illness. Now that I’ve reached my twilight years, one might think I’d be relieved, knowing that my torment is near an end, and what’s more, thyroid cancer has me dead to rights. I only have about a year left.

I’m not eager or relieved, though. I’m terrified, almost as terrified as the first time I saw the Explorer. This is because once it realized I was at the end of my rope, the Explorer began to grow frantic. It knew its best subject was near death, and after witnessing my reaction to my friends being brought back, it seemed to understand that after death, humans can’t simply return, not completely.

That seemed to give it an epiphany. For the first time since I met it, the Explorer vanished. I had become so used to seeing it that for the three days it was gone, I was afraid of what it would do. Then it returned, and it had brought with it a “gift” for me. After seeing these gifts, I broke down more than I had before, to the point of absolute despair.

As I said at the beginning, the thing about getting old is that your perspective changes. When you think of what monsters are, you think of boogeymen, hostile aliens, and even fellow humans. Sometimes, though, the most terrifying monsters are creatures that don’t even know they’re hurting you, that are confused by your trauma and consider your mind to be worthy compared to their own.

Sometimes, your anthill isn’t destroyed by sadistic kids, but by someone who thinks they’re helping you. Sometimes, intending to help a hapless bug, you force it into a far worse situation. The Explorer realized that it hadn’t been able to return humans to their fully human states post-mortem, and the idea of losing me after such a short time—by its standards—was unacceptable.

So, it decided to give me a second chance. Standing perfectly still in front of my bed, with the Explorer in the background, were Mike, Leo, Martin, Charles, and Keith. Their bodies hadn’t aged, and they were smiling affably at me. From the Explorer, one single word was projected into my mind.

Choose.