Jeff Hodson's Strange Invitation

Johnson: January 12, 10 AM found me seated at my desk hooking down my third ARP brew. Horst Wessel lurched into my cubicle to explain once again how he knew aliens from the Jovian moon Io were really responsible for Iowa. More agitated than usual, he gestured wildly with his own mug of brew, splattering everything within ten feet of him, and beat the air with a rolled up sheaf of papers. These, he expounded pompously, after smacking the top of my head with them for emphasis, comprised his manuscript showing conclusively that the Io-an aliens successfully planted, through the use of their superior technology, a set of race-memory instructions which would enable John Lennon to form the Beatles, launch them into super stardom and then orchestrate his own murder to further improve their sales.

     When I became diplomatically noncommittal about showing it to senior staff, he grew instantly abusive, gesticulating even more vigorously, and slopping more ARP brew about my cubicle. Abruptly, though, he abandoned his bluster, darting his eyes from side to side as if hearing unseen voices and ambled out of the office without further word.

     I tried to get back to work but to no avail. No matter what amount of the mysterious ARP coffee substitute I drank, my concentration dissolved like sugar in hot water. Leaning back in my chair, I put my feet up on my desk and slid into revere. The trio of cabinets at the far end of my cubicle reminded me once more of my misadventure among the standing stones in the Druids' grove at Albaton (see: Why Are Druids Running A Small Iowa Town?, January, 1997, vol. 4, Issue #1).

     I found myself thinking drowsily about this gloomy circle with its grisly severed heads, when a sudden feeling of unease overcame me---a longing but of such an intensity that I had never known before. I closed my eyes...

     The delicate alabaster dome's coffered expanse greeted my sight a moment---or millennium---later. White glistening stone pillars tinged with pink and orange from the rising sun held the great bowl over me. Immense, restless crows took wing in such a slow otherworldly way, flapping from roost to roost. I made to sit up, but found to my horror that clattering dried bones covered me! Bones surrounded me---clavicles, ribs, femurs, skulls---I was buried in bones! Fear gnawed my guts when I suddenly realized that for the life of me I couldn't see my own limbs! The crows flapped and cawed impatiently as if I were ruining their grim repast.

     In cold desperation, I threw off the clattering things which suddenly turned into a luxuriant comforter printed with bones. Instead of lying amidst death and decay, I discovered myself stretched upon a huge bed . I rose and put on a white hooded robe which hung next to a doorway. The sunrise captivated me, so I peered out between two of the pillars.

     Yet, instead of seeing tiny Albaton as I fully expected, below stretched a placid sea glistening beneath the morning light. Perplexed and awed by the sight, I felt drawn to the water below. An instant later, I found myself walking down a dark winding stair.

     The old man sprung up from the floor like a corn stalk and held out a giant pearl the size of a softball. As I took the thing from him, he asked, "Where does it begin?"

     I wanted to tell him "in an oyster" but couldn't since I knew at just that moment it wasn't the answer he seemed to seek. Something told me he was using the pearl as a metaphor but for what eluded me.

     Again he asked, "Where does it begin?"

     "In the center," I replied, the answer bursting from deep within me. And as it did, my uneasiness of spirit vanished.

     "Prove it," he smiled.

     I examined the pearl, turning it over and over in my hands. Suddenly, it split open and out came hundreds of smaller pearls. As these rained onto the steps, they broke open, each releasing thousands of tiny black pearls that instantly became fat, black crows---each one clasping an apple blossom in its beak.

     Suddenly, I stood outside. Something fibrous and bitter filled my mouth. I spit it out into my hand and beheld a perfectly dry sprig of mistletoe. Looking around, I recognized the oak grove from Albaton; the hideous heads decaying in their niches.

     The old man appeared at my elbow again. "We're glad you're back." He produced a heavy collar of twisted gold and placed it about my neck.

     "There can only be five," I said, knowing only that it meant...something.

     "The place is prepared." He handed me what looked like a golden sickle.

     I stared at this tool intently as if reading its surface while weighing the heft and balance of thing with an inexplicable familiarity. And as I did so, a thick mist descended obscuring everything; leaving me wholly alone, but not with a sense of abandonment. Rather, I belonged somewhere reserved and sacred---and all that I lacked was the invitation.

     Water dripped somewhere in an ever plodding rhythm. The sound deepened, becoming the beat of a heart, then a voice calling, "This way. This way."

     I followed and soon began walking up a flight of stairs, my footfalls reverberating like thunder. "This way!" the voice urged, more hoarsely now and gradually growing raspier and raspier...

     It became the caw of a crow.

     I shuddered, suddenly staring wide-eyed at the filing cabinets in front of me. Taking a deep breath to clear my head, I rubbed the weariness from my eyes.

     But I still heard the crow cawing.

     It came from behind me. I turned and there it stood on the fire escape, feathers puffed out against the cold, watching me; as enigmatic as a man in black. As soon as it realized it had my attention, it reached down below the window sill and placed something carefully on the sill. Then it flew off.

     I would have ignored it normally, as some anomalous avian behavior, but my experience with crows of late as well and the strange dream dictated otherwise. I opened the window and picked up the small, creamy-white object. It was a human finger bone---with my name inscribed on it!