Echoes from the Dead World

11/22/2025

The Cursed Numbers: Rome’s Permanent Scar

Image: A Roman era reenactor with an Aquilifer.

The Battle of the Teutoburg Forest was more than a military defeat for Rome; it was a profound psychological and spiritual wound. The loss of nearly 20,000 men under Varus was devastating, but the capture of the three sacred legionary aquilae (eagles) of the XVII (17th), XVIII (18th), and XIX (19th) legions was an unthinkable humiliation.

These eagles were not just flags. They were the divine soul of the legions, objects of worship that represented the honor of Rome itself. Their loss was a sign of divine disfavor.

The trauma of this event was so deep that it permanently scarred the Roman army. The legions were never reformed. In the entire 400-year history of the Roman Empire that followed, the numbers XVII, XVIII, and XIX were never used again.

They were considered numeri infausti—unlucky numbers.

This act, or lack thereof, is a form of unofficial damnatio memoriae ("damnation of memory") applied to the legions themselves. To reuse those numbers, to even speak them in a military context, was to invoke the memory of the disaster and tempt the wrath of the gods. The memory was so painful, the dishonor so great, that Rome chose to erase these numbers from their rosters forever, as if the legions themselves had never existed.

This is precisely why the campaigns of Germanicus years later were so critical. It wasn't just about revenge; it was a sacred quest to recapture the lost eagles and cleanse the army's honor. He eventually recovered two of the three, but the numbers themselves remained cursed for all of Roman history.

11/18/2025

Weepings of the Moss: Old Bones and Haint Blue (Chapter 2, Part 6)
*FICTION*

Image: The tabby ruins of Fort Frederick overlooking Port Royal and its waterways. Image taken by myself.

“Good to see you sir, how ya’ doin’?”

“Just fine Mr. Freeman,” Gabriel said with a smile and shaking his hand. “I’ll say you appear to have worked a miracle here.”

“Well, I sure won’t say it was easy,” Darius said with a laugh as he gestured towards the property. “But she sure do come together well don’t she?”

“That she does, that she does.” Gabriel said with a sigh and a nod, admiring the grounds. “Did you have to replace too much of the foundation?”

“No, sir. Ain’t much to fix in that respect.” Darius said in a matter of fact tone. “She’s got old bones, very old, but very strong too. Take a gander here…” Darius rummaged in his pocket for a moment and pulled out a square headed nail. “See that? That’s an old nail. And I mean old nail. It’s iron and see those marks? This is forged, like by a black smith. Pre-industrialization, don’t get more local small business than that.” He handed it to Gabriel who weighed it in his hand and observed the old metal.

“Any idea how old?” Gabriel’s eyes didn’t leave the nail as he asked.

“Hard to say exactly, I’d guess probably before 1850, but likely much older. I’d hang on to that as a souvenir.” Gabriel considered it for a second more before putting it into his pocket. “Like I said, the bones were still good for the most part, much of what we did was superficial. Care to let me give you the grand tour?”

“Lead on sir.” Gabriel said, gesturing towards the house. They began walking across the sandy grass and stopped at the well.

“I know this was more of a…I guess you could say superficial thing but it was just such an eyesore out front here.” Darius dropped his hand on the wood cover, a hollow echo sounded below. “We fixed the roof, and cut back the thorn bushes into the well, made a new cover too. Don’t worry I didn’t charge you a dime for this, didn’t take me more than an hour to get it built and it just made the whole place look better.”

“Well I appreciate that sir, that was mighty kind of you.” Gabriel admitted with a nod of appreciation.

“Think nothin’ of it, it didn’t take much. Now that smoke house out back on the other hand…” Darius said remorsefully, looking towards the back of the house. There had been a moderately sized smoke house that likely had not been renovated since the house had been built, it was little more than a ruin of wood and some iron fittings now, but Gabriel didn’t care to have it removed or fixed, he wanted to be in the house and out of town as fast as possible. “I know we could fix that up for not much more. Or at least let me remove it sir!” The contractor implored, but it fell on deaf ears.

“It’s really fine, I don’t mind leaving that piece of history out to see. It won’t get much in the way anyway.” Gabriel insisted.

“Well if you insist,” Darius relented with a sigh. “but if you ever do want it gone or-”

“I’ll know exactly who to call.” Gabriel said with a smile, which made Darius laugh.

“Exactly sir. Now come on inside.” They walked up the double brick stair case, Gabriel’s hands gliding along the cold, ornate iron. Gabriel looked up at the haint blue ceiling of the classical portico as he passed underneath, it had come at the insistence of Darius, who said many used this color to ward off evil. Gabriel was skeptical. Death takes what it wants, and leaves us scrambling to grab the pieces of the light we can as we are dragged away, clutching them to our chest like they’ll save us.

Passing through the doorway revealed unpolished wood floors, white walls except for the occasional easter shade of red, blue or green, or even an old style wall paper. Gabriel had opted to keep a similar theme throughout the house to fit the Georgian architecture, as it would likely sell better that way, especially in a region where this style was so popular. Darius walked him through the first floor. Entering through the front door one would enter the main hallway, which stretched back to a back door that was identical to the front. A stairwell ran up the right side of the hall and to the second floor. Pediment doorways adorned entry to every room, sash windows with modern clear panels let in the natural light. Four rooms made up the first floor, the kitchen, the drawing room, the library, a general use room, and a bathroom that was wedged under the stairwell. A screened in porch had been restored that connected to the kitchen, it had barely existed in its ruined state but now was rebuilt and connected to the house via door to the kitchen. Much of it was still under repair on the interior, but was already looking promising. Many modern amenities were being added, the old gas stove had been replaced with a classic looking but functional modern one, the old steel fridge had been replaced with a modern one, and so forth. The house was abustle with tradesmen, electricians, plumbers, carpenters, all replacing the old without making it feel too new.

“…and we will for sure have all new light switches before you come in. As they were this whole place would have burned up like a tinder box with a single flick.” Darius said with a shake of his head as Gabriel followed him out of the kitchen and back into the main hallway. Suddenly he stopped and looked at the floor. “Aw come on man…” He said with a shake of his head. At his feet seemed to be a puddle of water. “Come on y’all we can’t be leavin’ water on the wood! Who spilled this? And are those…?” Darius peered at the stairs. “And someone even walked through it, without proper foot wear? That sure ain’t a boot print I see! Miguel!” A short but stocky Hispanic man peaked his head out from the library. “Care to tell me how I will explain this to the lawyer for my next employee who gets a nail through their foot, or to Mr. Blackwoode here why his floors are warped?” Miguel began to respond in Spanish but Darius cut him off.

“I ain’t got time for this nonsense. Fix it. Now.” He commanded, instantly a few other workers jumping to his command and with some work towels started mopping up. Darius looked up at the ceiling, which Gabriel did too. “We’ve had to darn near redo the roof, it just seems to keep leakin’ no matter what we do. I promise Mr. Blackwoode we will have it fixed before your move in date.”

“I’d appreciate that, but I also understand this has been a very neglected house. We may not get it all first go around.” Gabriel said as they proceeded up the stairs to the second floor.

11/17/2025

The Night in the Forest: Teutoburg Forest (Part 5)

Knowing in my heart I perhaps would forever live with the regret of not seeing what the spirits wanted to show, after all the employees left, and against my better judgment, I switched off all my lights, parked my car inconspicuously, and left the car.

I stepped into the freezing snowy night, cursing myself for my insanity. But I felt it, like a magnetic pull back to that spot I couldn’t ignore. I was questioning myself so hard the whole time, wondering what madness possessed me. But it was that strong. It overrode every common sense I had.

The woods felt full, their presence around me as I navigated the dark, muddy trails. I reached a place and felt prompted to stop. I stood there in the darkness and, quite audibly, gave the invitation once again. For a time, nothing happened. I was nearly about to give up, but I felt the impression to wait.

I had invited them to express themselves in any way they could. As I waited, a deep sadness rested upon me. Then I was consumed by a swirl of emotions. I felt terrified. Like an almost rabid, terrified fear, coupled with paranoia, like I was surrounded in the forest. I felt a deep urge to flee, to run, to go home, a deep longing for my family. It all combined into a blind panic. Barely restraining myself, I fled back to my car.

On the four-hour drive, I felt like an idiot. Why had I felt prompted to go back, only to be betrayed by such bizarre, negative feelings? Then, a strong prompting came: “The feelings were not your own. You asked them to show you, and they did.”

It dawned on me. I was making the mistake of assuming those feelings were mine. But what better way to express the sheer terror of a moment than to release it into their soul? I felt what they felt. The homesickness, the paranoia, the terror of the forest. For a brief moment, I got to experience it. And it was terrifying.

Image: An artists rendition of the legion's final moments, where the Germans sallied out from the wicker wall and finished the last remnants of the Romans. All they ever were, all they ever knew, their wants and dreams, ended here, in a muddy patch of grass between a marsh and the dark forest.

The full story is on the blog (link in bio). Follow for the final, validating conclusion to the Teutoburg Forest story. . . .

Image: An artists rendition of the legion's final moments, where the Germans sallied out from the wicker wall and finished the last remnants of the Romans. All they ever were, all they ever knew, their wants and dreams, ended here, in a muddy patch of grass between a marsh and the dark forest.

The full story is on the blog (link in bio). Follow for the final, validating conclusion to the Teutoburg Forest story. . . .

11/16/2025

Need to visit here and do a reading, I was always fascinated by the 18th century.

Haunted Kings Mountain

Kings Mountain National Military Park is a beautiful place, but through the years, it has earned quite a reputation for being haunted. The park is located in Blacksburg, South Carolina, near the state line between North Carolina and South Carolina. British officer Ferguson is said to still haunt the grounds by his cairn, along with others. Visitors to the park have reported seeing ghostly figures, phantom drumbeats, and hearing the sounds associated with battle.

According to an article on August 20, 2022, by the Southern Spirit Guide, “Some years ago, two reenactors were camping on the battlefield and in the evening went to visit Ferguson’s cairn. Both men deposited rocks on the grave. As they began to walk away, both had a sense that someone was standing nearby. They turned expecting a park ranger, though instead they saw a form that resembled the British Major. The figure spoke in a thick Scottish brogue saying, “It doesn’t always work, my lads,” and let out a hearty laugh.”

“A moment later in front of the frightened witnesses, he faded into the darkened forest.”

Written By John G. Clark Jr.

11/14/2025

Sorry for the break, I took some time to do more readings, research, and celebrate Halloween of course. Anyone have any experiences with the other side over the weekend?

10/24/2025

Weepings of the Moss: Ghosts on the Floor (Chapter 2, Part 5)

Image: Chapel of Ease on St. Helena Island. Image taken by myself.

FICTION

Almost unconsciously Gabriel took his smart phone out and was nearly about to tap on a social media app, when he had forgotten he deleted them all. With a sigh he set his phone on the table and ran his hands down his face. What did people do before social media when they were alone? For a moment he sat there, the noise around all blending together into a dull background noise. In his mind, he was all alone as all drowned out around him. It’s okay. There’s only pictures on there I’d rather forget. And friends who would rather forget me. Anyone except for his parents had yet to call. No neighbors, no coworkers, no high school friends. It shows how meaningless it all is. Conversation. Really knowing anyone. Everyone is here, everyone says they care, but it’s all because they get something in return... You can’t wait for someone to save you. Because no one is coming. We’re just bits of flotsam on an indifferent sea, destined to wander the abyss endlessly.

Part of him felt bad for thinking that, knowing his parents were at his home now, worrying about him. Never once had he felt they had a selfish bone in their body. But what made his home so different from everywhere else? Where had his life gone wrong? Why did home feel like a distant star once visited but never again could he return? Now he was surrounded by the endless darkness, and he was starting to become part of it. They wouldn’t want me anyway if they knew. If they really knew.

Soon his shrimp and grits were in front of him and he devoured it hastily, before paying with the voucher and heading out the door. Walking back to his 1995 Toyota Tacoma, he unlocked it and stepped inside. The black truck... was nearly as old as he was. For a moment he caressed the dash, thinking of his dad. Empty Gatorade bottles rolled across the floor. A crumpled hoodie sat on the back seat. Copies of divorce documents lay on his floor, a G***k 19 sat in his center console. I guess those last two are new, he thought with a small, defeated sigh. His hand touched the seat where she used to sit; he could hardly remember her face now. Gabriel stared for a moment, then abruptly put the keys in the ignition and pulled out of the dirt lot... onto the Woods Memorial Bridge.

Down By the River by The Dirty River Boys blew out Gabriel’s open windows as he crossed the bridge, the salty, humid wind filled with the sulphury smell of pluff mud... The blue of the sound shimmered... A large blue heron passed over the bridge... The white painted steel beams whipped past him; it made him think of Forrest Gump.

Gabriel crossed the bridge onto Lady’s Island, then St. Helena’s Island, then turned north toward Pine Island. The larger homes gave way to smaller ones, then a mix of manufactured houses and massive refurbished plantation homes. The sea smell was replaced by the smell of moss, pine, underbrush, and sand. Live oaks draped in Spanish moss formed a tunnel over the road, welcoming him back into their shade. Gabriel drove into their embrace, chasing the shadows where he could rest forever.

Temporarily Gabriel had to stop where the sandy road began, at a red gate. Numerous signs warned: ‘no trespassing’, ‘stay out’, ’24 hour surveillance’. The Walkers had given him a key. Yet another reason this was the perfect place, Gabriel thought as he unlocked the gate, drove through, and locked it behind him.

He pulled his truck up to the house, where contractors' trucks were parked. The Georgian style home was resurrected. New white paint and modern glass windows glinted in the sunlight. The well had a new roof. Rusted rails were repainted. Warped boards replaced. The porch roof was painted haint blue. The house reminded him of the blue heron, but this one rested on the edge of a tidal marsh. This heron had shaken the moss from its bleached bones and spread her wings beautifully.

Echoes of power tools sounded through the trees. He stepped onto the pine needle covered soil. Though I don’t need much to get by, I will admit this is the most beautiful home I have ever been in, he thought, staring up at the white home like many bleached bones stacked atop one another.

“Mr. Blackwoode!” Darius Freeman, his head contractor, called out. Gabriel turned to greet the black man wearing a flannel and a large grin.

Gabriel arrives at his newly restored home on Pine Island, ready for the tour. But what secrets lie within its resurrected bones? Follow the page for the next installment.

10/21/2025

Sorry I've been absent lately, been busy with work. I'm saddling back up to get you all more stories! Stay tuned for more to come this week. Thanks for listening!

Image of Heidelberg, Germany. Taken by myself.

10/21/2025

The Veil Thins: Teutoburg Forest (Part 4)

The air on the Teutoburg battlefield grew thick with unseen presences after I spoke with the Roman soldier, Titus. Time itself seemed to warp, and I received an invitation I couldn't refuse...

It was around this time I checked my watch and saw that a little over an hour had passed. I was amazed; all of this surely had taken me no longer than fifteen to twenty minutes, or so I thought. It was as if, in the middle of these conversations, I felt nothing. I did not feel the passage of time, my legs getting tired, not even the cold of my limbs or the numbness of my face from it. I felt utterly as if I were in a dream, and time could pass quickly but I did not feel it. I was stationary, stuck in a moment in time, staring at a singular spot on the battlefield. It utterly engrossed me, enveloped me, whatever was happening to me.

I decided to walk back onto the Germanic Weg and follow that path, as I had not gone there yet. As I walked, however, I felt the presences around me, doing what I thought was almost impossible, feel even closer. It was like the more I interacted with them, the more sensitive I became. I felt nearly paranoid, as I could feel their eyes all watching me, walking around me. It was such a great feeling as I walked along on that path that I looked over my shoulder, turned around, a few times, as I was so sure I would see someone following me. I could feel the Roman soldiers, and some Germans too, treading near me. At one point, I stopped and reached out by the spirit and said, “If someone is here, you can show yourself.” Nothing happened; however, I felt the words enter my mind, the voice of a nameless man, “Come back alone, and we can show you more.” I was not entirely sure what that meant; however, I assumed it meant after the park was closed and no one else would be there. Unsure of what to do with that information, and feeling somewhat disconcerted, I continued on my walk.

I continued giving the invitation at multiple places, stopping periodically to do so. At one point, I was on a secondary trail again, near a large, very ancient-looking oak. One might hope it was a witness tree, as Oaks were sacred to the Germans then, holy trees admired by the popular god Wodanaz, or Odin in Norse parlance. I doubt it was, but I do wonder at its age. Here, in between the juvenile deciduous trees, I gave the invitation again. The response I got, I did not expect in the slightest.

A voice answered, but it was the voice of a woman. She answered my invitation. “I am…” Once again, I struggled to understand the name. I was not expecting a woman here. Why was she here? “I did not fight, but I was not far. I was the daughter of one of the men who fought here, and wife to another. I lingered not far in the forest to see the outcome of the battle. We were deathly afraid. Not just for our husbands, but that we would lose. The Romans would come; they would sell us and our children into slavery and burn our homes to the ground. I could not wait far away for the news. If I saw my husband die, I would rather die myself. I would never let them take me. I would fight back as hard as I could. That is what we fought for; we put everything out there. I met Arminius, walked with him through this patch of woods in preparation for the battle. Many of us were scared this would not work because we had not been able to defeat the Romans in a very long time. But he helped give us courage that it would work. We had to try.”

I was unsure how her spirit was there. Her voice was probably the weakest of the three, and I am unsure why. Perhaps she did not die here. Or maybe she did somehow. It was strange how the most discontent one came through the strongest. Her voice faded, and I did not really have the chance to ask more questions. I continued down the path; that interaction took me nearly 30 minutes. The sun was now setting.

I did not want to leave. I mean, of course, I had an interest in this place, but the spirit, the feelings, they were utterly magnetic. I almost felt a tingling in my body. The veil felt paper thin. I scarcely have ever had a feeling like this in my whole life. I could feel them all around me. At one point, as I walked back to the trail, I felt there was one staring at me from behind a tree. I’m not sure why, but he felt to be staring more than the others, almost like he wanted me to know he was staring. I cannot say precisely if he was Roman or German. But I felt him, incredibly strongly. I want to say he was Roman. It was so strong, I audibly and firmly said, “Please, show yourself, if you wish to be seen.” Nothing happened, and then in an instant, the feeling of his presence was gone.

I returned to the museum visitor center, got a book for myself and one for a friend, then left shortly before closing. It was nearly dark, as the sun sets early in wintertime Germany, and I got back to my car. I turned it on, readied myself to go home. I was tired, almost exhausted, but I felt as if I were on a spiritual high, unlike anything I had felt before. That is really the only way I could describe it. I felt it buoying me up. But this feeling, like something pulling at the back of my brain inside my skull, it’s like I had to go back. I needed to. Like an itch in my soul I couldn’t scratch. It was a four-hour drive, and I knew by the time I left I would not get back to my hotel until around 9:00 PM, and I was physically quite tired. I turned on the car and said to myself I was crazy, literally telling myself I am nuts. But the feeling persisted. I prayed in my heart to know what to do. I was watching the employees leave and drive home for the night. The lights turned off. Night overtook day. I felt a prompting that I could go home, get some early rest. Or, I could follow the prompting I received and see what awaited me in the forest. Accept that spirit’s invitation. The choice was mine to make.

Images: Equipment of a Germanic warrior; the large oak tree I saw; and two images of the dark forest on the Germanic side of the battle lines, or the Germanic Weg. Images taken by myself.

An hour lost. An unexpected voice. An invitation from the unseen. The pull to return to the dark forest is undeniable. Follow the page for the next installment to see what happens when I answer the call.

10/03/2025

Weepings of the Moss: The Sound in the Waking World (Chapter 2, Part 4)
*FICTION*

After a terrifying nightmare, Gabriel wakes to find the horror may not be entirely over. But is the booming sound he heard real, or is he losing his mind?

TUN-BAHH! The sound made Gabriel shoot upright in bed. But no shadowy figures greeted him. The sound had been barely audible this time. He whipped his head about, yet saw nothing but his own room.

“It’s over, it’s over, it’s over, it’s over,” Gabriel repeated to himself again and again breathlessly. Bringing his hands to his face, he covered his eyes for a moment. “It’s not real. None of it’s real.” I need to see a doctor. I’ve been having night terrors ever since Atlanta, he thought to himself. Slowly, he lowered his hands. In the dim ambient city light of Beaufort creeping in through his window, he stared at the moisture on his hands, somehow dirtier than he remembered. His sweat had spread the dark dirt around. I heard that thunder after I woke up. His hands started to shake. Was it a dream? He began brushing the dirt from his hands, but it only smeared it more.

Standing up, he strode to the bathroom and flipped the light on. He was covered in sweat, his skin clammy and pale. The dirt was now smeared all over his forehead. For a moment he stared at his pale self in the mirror. I’ve leaned out. Just look at me, he thought with some disgust. I’m losing it. He had once maintained his body and face well, but he had lost weight, dark circles formed under his eyes. Though not a hideous sight, Gabriel felt his mother would be appalled to see him. Splashing his face with cold water he washed his face. His eyes ached for sleep. For a moment Gabriel held a staring contest with himself.

“It’s not real. None of it was real. Keep it together. You’re okay,” he reassured himself, then with a flick of the light, he stepped back into the darkness and slid into bed.

Immediately he was blinded by a light. Gabriel held up his hand, letting out a sound of dismay. Being seized by a moment of confusion, he almost said to turn off the light, only to realize it was the midday sun shining through his open balcony door.

“But I just…” Confused because he had just closed his eyes, he rolled over to look at his alarm clock. “One PM?!” Gabriel exclaimed, throwing his sheets off. “Crap!” He had promised his contractor he would come do a house check at two-thirty. Throwing on the same dirty clothes from the night before of some tan jeans and a faded blue t-shirt he quickly brushed his teeth and ran down stairs and across the courtyard to the main, pink painted house and front desk of the Beaufort Inn. He passed under ornate chandeliers and spiraling staircases that wrapped circularly around the walls like white snakes. The blood red floral carpets stood in contrast to the beautifully enameled white walls. A middle aged man sat behind the desk watching something on his smart phone, which he quickly put down at Gabriel’s approach.

“Mr. Blackwoode, good morning!” He said enthusiastically. “How can I help you?”

“Thanks,” Gabriel glanced down at his nametag. “John. So I know it’s a bit late, but I was hoping you still had some of those breakfast vouchers. I slept in way too late.”

“Of course sir, no worries,” John said with a friendly smile, handing him the cardstock piece of paper which Gabriel took gratefully. “I know exactly how that goes!”

“Where uh, where can I take this to?” He asked, looking at the clock behind the counter.

“Well there’s a few places you could redeem at, all equally delicious, there’s Blackstone’s Café, Rain-N-Bagels, Lowcountry Produce-“

“Okay, thanks!” Gabriel said as he headed out the door into the warm but slightly windy weather.

“Oh, n-no problem sir! Have a great day!” John called out as Gabriel headed down the white latticed, green railed double front steps with flower boxes hanging from them. The American and indigo blue South Carolina flag danced gently in the cool, salty wind coming off the sound. Street lights that looked like old gas lamps lined the road, along with numerous live oaks and blue palmettos adorned with Spanish moss. Small single story homes with brick steps and chimneys, and small white porches with rocking chairs, lined the small Port Republic Street.

Gabriel, having seen Blackstone’s Café before during his drive into town, walked east down Port Republic Street. The humid air filled with the smell of salty ocean and greenery filling his lungs as he power walked to the café. Turning south he crossed to the other side of the street. He walked under the shadow of the rattling fronds of palmettos in the wind, until he came to a small white store called Bathe, just across from Blackstone’s Café. The Café was of painted white brick, then the lower quarter being painted brown brick. Small benches sat next to newspaper machines near the entrance of doors with large windows painted a mahogany color. A tin overhang loomed over the entrance, with two maritime style lamps flanking the door.

Looking both ways, Gabriel jogged across the street and stepped onto the black and white tile floor of Blackstone’s Café. The restaurant had two floors. As soon as one enters there are tables to the right, the hostess booth on the left, then stairs that led to the second floor with more seating. The walls were adorned with flags of colleges and military units. A marine private in his dress blues was before him, talking to the hostess with what Gabriel only guessed were his parents. After that he was quickly seated at a table by the entryway windows.

“Crazy night,” he muttered to himself with a sigh. Though he did not wish to remember that night terror, images of it kept coming back to him. The final booming sound is what confused him most.

“Hey there hon, the name’s Amy!” The waitress suddenly broke Gabriel from his musings. “What can I get to drink for ya’ today?”

“Coffee, black please in a to-go cup,” Gabriel spat out. He didn’t bother taking any more time with the menu. “and Cajun shrimp and grits too please.”

“Alright, we know what we want this morning!” Amy said with a chuckle and a sweet southern accent as she wrote his order down.

“Actually, can I ask you a quick question?” Gabriel blurted. She turned around with a big grin.

“Sure, shoot.”

“Did you uh, hear any sort of…. booming sounds? Like early this morning?” Gabriel gave an awkward laugh. “I know it probably sounds weird they just woke me up in the middle of the night.”

Amy quirked her mouth, raised an eyebrow, and looked up at the ceiling as if straining to remember. “I can’t say I do. Though…are you from around here?”

“No, I’m a pretty recent move in actually.”

“I see, well first of all welcome to the low country hon,” Amy said with a sweet smile. “and second, if you walked right out onto the Beaufort bridge and looked right down the river you might catch a glimpse of Parris Island.” A beat skipped as Gabriel stared at her expectantly. “You know, the base?”

“Base?” Gabriel asked confusedly. Amy gestured towards a table where the Marine private from earlier now sat.

“Parris Island? The Parris Island? Where basically all Marines go through boot camp? They’re shootin’ and blowin’ stuff up all the time there. You ever seen Full Metal Jacket? That was at Parris Island.”

“Oh yeah, sure,” Gabriel said with a false nod. “That was probably it. Shooting some big guns probably, thanks.”

“No problem, sugar. You’ll get used to it.” The waitress walked off, and for a moment Gabriel sat there, staring at the table, before turning his gaze out the window he was sat next to. Marines. It was the Marines training. Shooting an artillery gun or something. He thought to himself. His bones could still feel the reverberation of the thunder, that booming. His mother’s voice, so twisted and grating, and the woman. Staring at the wall. His eyes closed tightly. Trying to dispel the image from his mind’s eye, he squeezed his eyelids together until they felt ready to burst, then opened them. It wasn’t real. It can’t hurt you.

A rational explanation has been found for the thunderous sounds, but what about the woman in the woods? Or the dirt on his hands? Follow the page for the next installment as Gabriel reflects on a world where not everything can be so easily explained away.