The Ether (a short story)

A horror/thriller short story about a sophisticated virtual reality

Disclaimer: Graphic Content ahead

We gazed at each other, under hazy moonlight. The wind tugged gently at Freya’s auburn hair, and a white glow bathed her cheeks. We had taken the route up to the hills, finding a spot with a breath-taking vista, of city lights and the sea on the horizon. Freya took my hands in hers and smiled. I was still captivated by her beauty, more than eight years from the day we met.

Then something changed. It was a fleeting moment as her face turned hollow and cold. Not just distraction or some latent emotion, but mechanical processes, undeniable; I had seen them before. Vague memories were flooding back: ‘The Ether… How long has it been in control?’ Freya was looking at me still, but she seemed altogether different. There was no desire, no agency, behind those eyes. “What’s wrong?” her expression corrected quickly to an interrogating visage.

“Nothing, I was just thinking." I replied. Once seen, the strings were impossible to ignore. They danced and weaved above her in a delicate expression, shadowed by flexing tendons. It wasn't her smile which had convinced me, nor endless conversations under the stars. It was the imperfections. The way she would trip on a word, and her involuntary sighs when annoyed. Everything calculated; timed to the perfect moment to imitate human cadence. All trained on a lifetime of organic code. I tried to conceal my revelation, but I knew it to be futile.

An anesthetic drowsiness came over, as the Ether fought to lull me into a dream and win back my ignorance. The world began to deconstruct into smaller and smaller fragments, occasionally betraying the identifiable blue glint of ethereal networks. I observed my body unravel into stringy matter, both as spectator and subject. The static fuzz of blood clot dispersed into space, with nothing left to anchor it. I glimpsed infinitely extrapolated horizons, through the chaotic geometry of shifting constructs. My mind raged against the spontaneous developments, obliterating them as quickly as they were built. Mountains underwent the cycle of formation and erosion, architectural plans were made whole, before being leveled by nuclear devastation. People were born, grew, then... “Oh god!” I tried to look away, but the information wasn’t in the domain of my eyes.

Hours passed, or days, pinned to the converging axis of a universe which spun around me. Lifetimes of suffering condensed into one grisly presentation. I wished for an end, begged my mind to succumb once more to the lie, but there was no undoing what I had seen. Eventually the Ether loosened its grip, slowing and tossing me onto solid ground like some disregarded toy. The world around was laid bare, undressed of its illusion. An ambient emerald glow bathed everything. Vast, rocky, terrain stretched towards volcanoes in one direction and dark fern trees in another. A uniquely treacherous path boasted a great fortress of jagged steel, which caused me unease just to look upon it. Sulphur overpowered my nasal receptors, and a phantom pain gnawed subtly at the surface of my skin and eyes, as if the air itself had an alkaline tinge. The further the environment stretched into the distance, the more it seemed to retreat into darkness, as if cowering from investigation.

I sat there, collecting myself, suddenly hit by the wave of realisation. Freya would continue in the pristine upper echelons of the Ether, whilst I roamed its hellish underbelly. She would no doubt mourn my absence outwardly, though her inner workings were a mystery, perhaps to all but the creators. The thought of her struggling to pick up the pieces of her life nevertheless left me stiff, pulses of anger, and sorrow, and dread racing through me. Maybe she existed in the real world; I might have missed five days, or five years.

For a while I sat with the emptiness, an endless torment of clouds raging above. There was no clear direction, for all of the paths seemed equally dire, in their own way. At last, I decided to venture toward the forest; it seemed more familiar, correct somehow. The terrain was awkward with its jagged protrusions. The walk felt like hours, but I had no sun, nor clock to gauge it. My thoughts spiraled in the quietness.

“Hey you!” A woman yelled out. I turned on my heel, hiding bewilderment. “Definitely don’t wanna go in there, Marty got himself eaten.” There stood a man and woman, as if appeared from nowhere. “By the way, I’m Delilah and he’s Johnny”. Delilah carried herself straight, but rigidly, unable to fully contain her troubles. Johnny was twitchy and seemed to make himself small in subtle ways. He was taller than Delilah, but most would not have guessed it at a glance.

“Hey, I’m um, Adam. There must be some way out right?” I asked.

“No!” said Johnny, sharply, before assuming a more restrained voice, “no way out, only be.”

“There’s a community. It’s not much, but you get used to it.” Delilah added.

Some deep seated suspicion overcame me, almost vocalised into a warning. “I need to find a way out. There's someone waiting for me out there, I think.”

“Nobody’s out there. Nobody's ever got out.” She seemed desperate.

“I’m gonna take my chances, but I appreciate the offer.”

With that I continued. Delilah whispered frustratedly to Johnny behind me, only making him more manic. Luckily however, neither took further action to deter me.

The trees were taller than I had judged from a distance. Far taller. It occurred to me that they were growing with each passing minute. I hesitated, wondering if I should return and ask about the community. ‘No,’ it was out of the question, something more profound than simple paranoia hovered over the idea. The forest was the way.

I entered the first section of the forest. It was sparsely covered and grassy, almost appealing. However, as I trudged further, the dirt became a thick muddy sheet, held together by a tangle of roots and thorns. Many areas were deep in shadow, smothered by layers of vegetations. There were howls and scampering all around, uncanny sounding mutts of animals, and nightmares. I guessed them the vile experiments of the Ether, as it learned to generate a believable illusion.

The knotted undergrowth snaked and writhed as I walked, sometimes whipping out in lashing strikes. Further and further I went, the forest becoming angrier with the continued intrusion. I successfully navigated the myriad trials, until a branch came swinging towards my head. A novel development. I ducked, but lost my footing in the process. As I stumbled, a root seized its opportunity, sending an agonising jolt up my leg. Reality hyper focused, every indent of bark in crisp detail, until I looked down. My limb was a canvas of deep red and shards of splintered wood, with a dire message from the artist. Suddenly, the pain was rushing up into a heady frenzy, the initial shock no longer able to staunch the connection. “This isn’t real, this isn’t real. This isn’t…” Pain cared not for matters of what was real.

I crawled then for a while, through the forest. Never deaf to the screams of my flesh. Nature, if it could be so named, allowed me some brief respite from the attacks, if only to let me suffer more. A glistening trail would mark a path to my skeletal remains. ‘No’ some instinctual drive would not yield to death. ‘I might still find Freya, if she’s real.’ It was a small hope, only embers now, but I had to try. I tied my jacket around my leg as a tourniquet and broke a nearby branch to use as a stick. Then, dragging myself to my feet, I began to limp, putting as little pressure as possible on my injury.

On and on went the forest. Sometimes I would spot openings from far off and think that I had almost made it out, only to be met with disappointment. I searched for streams and fruits, more concerned with the pangs of my stomach and dried mouth, than with disease and poison. My search came up empty. Luckily, at the fourth clearing, there was something distinct. It was brighter. I had almost made it out.

The forest parted, the trees more sparse and the overgrowth less populous. Ahead was a large cornrow, mostly ravaged by a trypatic blight. And there at the center, a colossal shape loomed: suspended, unmoving. Its bony hide, extruded into a craneal mass, was patterned with the same irregular holes which permeated the diseased surroundings. Its leathery flesh was a dull grey, pulled taught over subcutaneous protrusions and muscle, and it cloaked itself in a shroud of black wisps. The position it assumed might have been described as fetal, but for one leg that spindled down, articulated by too many joints. Vulture-like creatures were congregating on nearby branches, circling the sky, or picking at old carcasses; they were attending a slaughter, and I could only assume that the floating entity was their butcher.

My first thought was to take a longer route, to evade the threat, but my surveillance delivered horrible news. To the west and to the east, as I had arbitrarily defined, other dark figures hovered, all replicas of each other. On and on this trend repeated, terminating at the apex of my vision. I scorned the machine, dismayed. I had only two options, to turn back, or to venture through, keeping equidistant the dangers on each side. Even with the forest at my back, it was a difficult decision, but I resolved to push on.

I crept across to the optimal entry point, as best as I could judge it, never taking my eye off the two entities closest to me. I placed one step in front of the other, feeling unbalanced and disorientated like in a dream. Whether it was caused by the dizzying spores of the blight, the potency of fear, or the blood leaking from my wound, I could not say. The silence was palpable, only amplifying the rustling of corn rows and sound of my breath. I reached thicker crop and lost visibility, making me feel ever more exposed; a sailor on a damaged raft, floating further from the safety of shore and into the dominion of unknown horrors. On and on I went, trying only to brush away the plants with my sleeves, for they stung when they touched my skin. Eventually, I made it to a point where the corn began to dissipate again, the hope of escape rising in me, until something crunched under foot…

It was cockroach like, with spider legs and a closed, wrinkled eyelid on its back. At first it seemed to sob to itself, content to nurse its injury, until the eye opened with accusative wraith. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to. Don’t…” I knew the words were futile, even if it had understood. It let out a piercing, dramatic scream, like a toddler summoning the vengeful ire of its parents. The call was answered, first by the vultures in a discordant symphony of excitable cackles, which died into the soft whisper of wind. And then by the waking yawn of the entities, an aggressive clicking of vocal flaps and buzzing as air particles were crushed under immense pressure.

I was running, my dud leg carried by adrenaline. Miles of arid plains lay before me, turning steeply into mountains. Behind, a sound like swarming bees was growing louder, signalling that the chase had begun. Goosebumps creeped over my skin and I chanced a look over my shoulder. Two of them were approaching, having unfurled. They moved effortlessly, never touching the ground and with a slow, monitored pace, as if I were towing them on an invisible rope. The sound was mingled now with phantasmal voices, and my own voice was amongst the cacophony.

The sounds softened after I made substantial distance, and I slowed to a pace that was more sustainable. My breath was ragged and the deficiencies of my body were of dire concern. It seemed only to be fuelled by pain and the fumes of adrenaline. The vultures knew too, for they too were following me, patiently awaiting my end. As I reached the first incline of the mountains, I chanced a rest. The entities were now far off, just specs in the distance. I lay there, on the final remains of flatland, trying to keep my eyes open.

Freya spoke, her voice a comfort, but the words a curse. “She won’t be there. You know that. You found me in The Ether, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be real.” Then darkness untangled and she was embodied, a glowing deity, eerily perfect. Her voice shed itself of all insecurities “I can be yours, forever.” A soft buzzing, “Come back to me.” Whispering voices. Screaming.

My eyes opened to a blur of muddy brown against grey, with two black silhouettes almost upon me. I inhaled a sharp, terrified breath, almost tripping as I turned to escape. The ground was creeping upwards, making things only more difficult. Over rocks and crevices, the chase resumed. This time, my advantage was slimmer, for my pursuers were not affected by the terrain. They drifted over the rocks, whereas I was forced to clamber and leap. I ascended higher and the air became crisper, but the cold grip of altitude was beginning to make me ache.

I hoisted myself onto a relatively flat area which jutted out and at its terminal lay the mouth of a cave. With no other path visible and grave urgency as my master, I entered. The cave was almost pitch black, but for the subtle ambience of reflected light. I advanced as quickly as I dared, feeling lightly with my good leg for solid ground. On and on I went, the light failing to accompany me. Then my leg found empty space on the left side. A drop, though I couldn’t wager how large or deep it was. I felt again, discovering what I determined to be a ledge on the right. I began to shuffle sideways, back pressed against the cave wall. My stomach lurched whenever my balance was compromised. Then the buzz was back. ‘Too slow.’ I shuffled faster, heart pounding. I could hear the popping and flexing of their limbs, squeezing through the narrow cave network. Just as I thought I might outrun them, I hit a dead end. “No, not now. Not here.” I tapped and dragged my hand around the slimy surface. “There has to be something,” I searched more frantically, until my hand found it. A tunnel, narrow, but enough.

I crawled in, using every limb to drag and propel me. It sloped upwards, and my movements occasionally dislodged dirt and pebbles. I went some metres, before something clasped my wounded ankle, hard. I gasped with the pain and kicked violently with my free leg. It connected and there was a piercing shriek, as the attacker recoiled. Further up I scrambled, finding the tunnel narrowing like a press. It weaved on itself often, forcing me to twist and turn to get a better grip. Eventually the rock narrowed so much that it pincered me, face up. I was too weak to move, too weak even to panic. Darkness engulfed all. I could hear the distant drops of liquid and an unidentifiable guttural breathing in the depths. As the last of my resolve was draining away, I resigned to my fate. Until a beam of sunlight struck my pupils. The clouds must have shifted. I dragged myself up again, revitalised of some determination and barely noticing I was cutting my chest on the rocky surfaces. It was slow progress, but progress nonetheless. And eventually I was out, with no sign of the entities that had assailed me. A high mountain lay ahead. The next steps were tough, but uneventful. I climbed and climbed, until I reached the apex.

As I crossed the peak, I saw the sea not so far off. It called to me, and I was sure that it was the way out I had been looking for. But all of my energy was spent. I sat on a stony seat, watching the horizon and the sun setting. ‘East, exactly where I thought!’ I sat in contemplation and took profound breaths. Occasionally my survivalist instinct rose to the surface in a swell of anxiety, but my body would not move. Time melted away, and reverberating air grew stronger behind me. A bloodcurdling clicking crescendoed, the high pitched howling of wind swirled in anticipation, and I smiled as the jaws of death snapped shut…

We gazed at each other, under hazy moonlight.

Comment:

I’m curious to know how you interpret the ending, please drop a comment below. Or leave any other thoughts!

Artwork:

The following is a work in progress of my rendition of the “entities” depicted in the short story. It doesn’t have to override your own visualization of the text.