The Lost Level (3 page)

I also glimpsed other worlds, realms, and dimensions completely
different than Earth. Out of an abundance of caution, I never set foot in any
of them, although the desire to do so was strong. The first one I saw was a
desert planet, coated with red sand, much like we are told the conditions on
Mars are like (although I have my doubts about that). A human skeleton lay
there in front of the door, dry and desiccated. Nothing else moved in that
wasteland except a group of scarlet dust funnels, dancing lazily in unseen wind
currents. I didn’t like the funnels. They reminded me of mini–tornadoes, and I
had the uneasy impression that they were alive. I can’t explain why I came to
that conclusion, but I felt it strongly. Suspecting the air there was
poisonous, I stepped back from the door, lest any fumes cross over from that
level to mine. Another time, I glimpsed a world populated by what I think were
robots, but nothing lived there, either—at least nothing constructed of flesh
and blood and other organic material. The last alien level I saw was a city
composed entirely of crystal. It, too, was empty and lifeless, and so utterly
alien in architecture and dimensions that I grew uneasy just gazing upon it.
After watching it for too long, my stomach turned nauseous and my vision grew
blurry.

That wasn’t how I felt when I first gazed upon the Lost Level,
though. You must remember that I didn’t know that’s what it was upon that
initial encounter. When I first saw it, I was transfixed by the beauty and
splendor of a lush, green, tropical jungle. I saw palm fronds and ferns gently
bobbing in the wind, and a white–tailed deer with velvet–coated antlers
nibbling at some low–hanging leaves. Mistaking the dimension for an alternate
reality of my Earth, I stepped through the doorway. In doing so, I startled the
deer, who ran away. The ground was soft beneath my feet, a mixture of white
sand and soil. The air was warm and humid, but a cool breeze caressed my scalp
through my crew cut. I sighed, then smiled.

“This is paradise,” I murmured. “Maybe I’ll stay here awhile.”

A buzzing insect hovered around my ear. I slapped at it and then
turned back to the door.

But the doorway was gone.

AT FIRST, I
WAS TOO
shocked to do much more than stare. I was certainly too
surprised to even think about being scared. I turned around, and blinked, but
when I looked again, the door was still gone. Stunned, I ran back to the spot
where it had been and put my hands out, feeling for it, but they passed through
the air and met no resistance. The door hadn’t just closed. If that had been
the case, I would have still been able to see it there, or at the very least
feel it. No, this was something far worse. The door through the Labyrinth—and
my only way back home—had vanished.

Only then did the fear set in. I’m ashamed to say that I
whimpered like a lost puppy. My frightened sobs grew louder and more frantic,
with no concern for who or what might hear me, until I finally began to rave
like a madman. I just kept repeating “No” over and over again, so fast that the
words just sort of blended together. It sounded more like “Nuhnuhnuh” than
anything intelligible, and had anyone saw me, they would have thought me
insane. Perhaps I was. I certainly felt so at that moment; crazed with terror
at the prospect of being trapped on another world or dimension—whichever it
was, I didn’t know, but neither possibility appealed to me. In desperation, I
tried the invocation again, but without the proper accoutrements, the ritual
was useless. I ended up on my knees, clawing at the dirt and crying out, but
the door didn’t return. The Labyrinth was sealed off, and with it, my way back
home.

Eventually, I gathered my wits. More buzzing insects darted
around my eyes and ears, their tiny drones bringing me back to my senses. I
slapped at one as it landed on my neck and felt it squish across my palm. I
glanced down at my hand and frowned. The crushed insect looked much like a
mosquito, but its blood was bright green, the color of a lima bean, and it
smelled slightly alkaline. Wrinkling my nose, I wiped my hand on a nearby leaf.

Moments later, my palm began to tingle and then burn. When I
looked at it, the skin was red and swelling. The pain quickly grew intense,
like a bee sting, but much stronger. Tiny welts popped up on my skin, like the
blisters caused by poison ivy. I stripped off my t–shirt and wiped away the
rest of the noxious fluid as best I could. Then, swatting the shirt back and
forth to keep the insects away (just as a cow or a horse does with its tail) I
began to make my way through the jungle. My hand throbbed. There was a small
game trail cutting through the foliage. I guessed that it had been made by the
deer I’d seen earlier, or perhaps a herd of similar animals. If so, then there
was a good possibility that the trail would eventually lead to some sort of
water source, so I decided to follow it.

Before doing so, I noted my surroundings so that I could find
this spot again. If I could obtain the ingredients needed to effect another
opening ritual, it might be possible to regain entrance to the Labyrinth and
find my way home. That was what I told myself at the time. Of course, I know
better now.

I am lost, and I can never go back. This is my home now, for
better or worse.

I started along the trail, and other than swatting at the
persistent bugs, I did my best to be quiet and stealthy. My pulse hammered in
my chest, and my body tingled with nervous tension. Fortunately, the pain in my
hand had slowly begun to subside. The flesh was still red and puffy, but
already the swelling was starting to go down, and the blisters had receded.
Whatever the poison inside the mosquito was, my allergic reaction to it had been
mild.

Trying to remain calm, I trudged along the narrow footpath. The
sun hung overhead, its bright rays occasionally breaking through the thick,
leafy canopy overhead. I mentioned earlier that the sun here never changes
position and that we live in a perpetual state of high noon. I didn’t notice
this until later on that first day, but as I climbed the trail up a hill where
the trees thinned and eventually cleared, I did get the uncanny impression that
this dimension’s sun was much closer to this world than my own sun, and that it
was smaller, as well.

“Where am I?” My voice was hoarse after all the crying I’d done. “Where
the hell is this place?”

A glint caught my eye, the sunlight flashing off something in the
dirt at my feet. I knelt down and found a silvery coin half buried in the
footpath. I dug it out with my fingers and brushed it off, examining it. The
coin looked just like an American quarter from my world, complete with George
Washington on the front and an eagle emblazoned on the back. The date stamped
on it was 1958. I paused, wondering what this find meant. Was it possible that
I was in another alternate reality version of my world and just hadn’t
discovered civilization yet? Or was it more likely that another traveler from
my world had dropped the coin here on this level? Both were possibilities.
Ultimately, the only way to tell was to continue onward and keep exploring. I
stuck the quarter in my pocket and looked around.

The game trail wound down the hillside and back into the dense
jungle again. I took note of a few large rocks jutting from the dirt. They
looked banally normal—the same type of rocks I could find in the yard back home
in Minnesota. The vegetation around me was the same, as well. Granted, there
were no lush jungles in Minnesota, but the ferns, palm trees, vines, and other
plants all looked very Earth–like. The strange mosquitoes had disappeared,
perhaps in search of a meal that didn’t swat back. I could almost convince
myself that I was indeed back home on my level. I closed my eyes for a moment
and let the breeze blow over me. It felt good on my sweaty forehead and chest.
I stood there and listened to the sounds around me. Insects buzzed and chirped
in the greenery, and I heard a number of birdsongs. None of them sounded
particularly alien.

Now that my panic had subsided, and the pain in my hand had
completely disappeared, I began for the first time to logically consider my
predicament. While I still thought it was a good idea to follow the footpath
and find water, I decided to inventory my pockets and figure out exactly what I
had with me. As it turned out, I didn’t have much. I always traveled light when
journeying through the Labyrinth. I’d left my wallet, phone, and keys back home
in my apartment. All I had on me was a wad of bills, a few coins (including the
one I had just dug out of the dirt), and my jeans, underwear, socks, and boots.
My shirt made a fine fly swatter, but I was hesitant to put it back on again.
The venom had left ugly discolored stains on it, and just in case the poison
was still potent even when dry, I didn’t want to wear the shirt for fear it
might seep into my skin from the fabric. I had no desire to experience that
pain again, no matter how briefly.

It occurred to me that perhaps I should search for the things I’d
need to re–open the doorway from this side, but I had no idea where I’d find
salt, a red blanket, red candles, or oil in this world. All of these were
required ingredients for the ritual. There were other ways of accessing the
Labyrinth, true, but I’d neglected to study them after having so much initial
luck with this method. Only then did I realize the inherent foolishness in such
a single–minded pursuit of study. I’d grown overconfident and cocky, and now
that self–assuredness had left me stranded.

Sweat ran into my eyes, stinging them. Sighing, I wiped my brow
and then got to my feet again. I returned the money to my pocket. I thought of
my parents, and my brother and sister, and my few friends. The distress they
would suffer, not knowing what had happened to me—the thought was crippling.
For a moment, I felt another surge of panic, but I fought it down, certain that
if I succumbed to it now, I would die right there on that hilltop. I wasn’t
ready to give up or die. I wanted to get back home. Strengthening my resolve to
do just that, I started down the trail again.

When I reached the bottom of the hill, I found myself once more
surrounded by thick vegetation. The insect and bird sounds stopped, and the
jungle became still. I wondered if it was my presence that had caused this
silence, or if there was some sort of predator about. I walked slowly, creeping
along, trying to stay alert. I found a stick that was as long as me and about
an inch thick. Testing it, I found the wood to be sturdy and sound. It would
make a fine walking staff, and though I doubted I could do much with it as far
as a means of self–defense, it made me feel more confident to hold it.

Armed with my new staff, I came to a spot where the trail was
overgrown with a snarl of vines. Strange leaves sprouted from them. Their shape
and sheen reminded me of poison ivy, but they were pink in color, turning to a
deep magenta at the tips, and they gave off a noticeably sweet scent that
reminded me of honeysuckle. A few butterflies flitted around them, the same
size as the butterflies back home, but with multi–colored wing patterns of
blue, purple, orange, and green. They seemed to be feeding on the leaves. I’d
always been under the impression that butterflies ate shit—literally, based on
how many of them I’d seen alighting on the marshy area of the grass above our
septic tank when I was a kid—but these particular butterflies were apparently
attracted to the sweet aroma coming from the vines. Despite that, the
similarity of the leaves to poison ivy made me wary. Rather than just shoving
my way through, I pushed the foliage aside with one end of my stick. There was
no immediate reaction from the plant. I’d half expected the leaves to eat
through my staff with some type of corrosive sap. The butterflies scattered,
alarmed by my intrusion, and I paused, considering them for a moment. The
foliage, insects, and placement of the sun certainly seemed to indicate that
this level was not an alternate version of Earth, but then how to explain the
American coin I’d found? And if this wasn’t an Earth, then where was I? It
seemed like the more I tried to figure it out, the more confused and frustrated
I became. I decided instead to focus again on more immediate things like
finding food and water and shelter.

After clearing the path, I continued on my way. Soon, I became
aware of the sound of trickling water. I slowed my pace even more, listening
carefully. The sound got clearer. Pushing through some ferns, I paused. Twenty
yards ahead, a deer stood with its back to me. Its head was bowed, and it
lapped from a small spring trickling from an outcropping of moss–covered rock
alongside the trail. I wasn’t sure if it was the same deer I’d seen earlier,
but it certainly looked identical, right down to the fuzzy velvet on its
antlers. I stood there, watching in silence as it drank, overwhelmed with its
simple beauty and majesty. Then, the wind shifted and the deer caught my scent.
Its white tail twitched. It raised its head, saw me, and snorted. Its eyes
widened in fear. Then it darted off, running down the path and disappearing
into the foliage. Even after it had vanished from sight, I heard it rustling
through the undergrowth. Soon, the sound faded.

I approached the spring. The water looked clean and inviting. I
decided that if the deer was drinking it, then it was probably safe for me to
do the same. If there were parasites or other dangers in the water, I’d rather
face them than die of thirst. I cupped my hands under the trickle and filled my
palms. Then I rubbed my hands together, washing the remaining remnants of bug
venom from them. Satisfied that my hands were clean, I then drank. The water
was crisp and cold and pure, tasting just like bottled spring water back home.
I gulped it eagerly, filling my cupped hands again and again until my thirst
was sated. Then I splashed water on my face and neck, washing the sweat away
and relishing the coolness against my skin. Reinvigorated, I smiled, forgetting
all about my situation for a moment. Finally, I decided to try cleaning the
venom out of my shirt.