The Inception Trilogy by Easton Livingston (best classic novels .txt) 📗

The words were coming out as an involuntary response, the reality of their truth hitting him like a truck, stunning him into silence.

“Dad? You okay?”

Hal awoke from his poignant musing.

“I am because I'm here with you.” Hal smiled. “Things will change. I want you to believe that. I want you to know that you may not have many friends but I'm your friend. Your best friend if you'll let me. Deal?”

Sean nodded. “O.K.”

Hal stood up. “Awesome. Now, let's see what trouble we can go get into.”

Another ten-minute hike and they were on the edge of the French Creek River. They walked down the bank, looking into the water for fish but had no success. However, they found toads and water snakes.

Sean took a liking at being the photographer, having taken about fifteen photos. Turning the camera towards the forest behind them, he snapped a photo while Hal scrutinized the murky water looking for signs of movement.”

“I don't think we will find too much out here today. May have picked a bad time.”

“Dad!”

Hal turned around. Sean was standing near the edge of the forest, peering into the woods. “What's that?” Sean pointed at something in the woods. Hal could make out an odd shape about thirty feet in.

“Huh. Don't know. Stay here.”

Hal made his way through the brush, keeping his eyes fixed on the dark object, readying his shotgun as a precaution. As he walked closer, and it became clear what it was, he saw it wasn't a threat and waved Sean to him.

They stood on the perimeter of a circle made of large, unkempt stones of different shapes and sizes. Some were goldish-beige while others were gray. In the center of the circle was an old tree stump entangled with dark green foliage which did not appear to be native to the surrounding forest. On top of the tree stump was a large, ornate silver bowl surrounded by a lavish array of candles in different sizes, shapes, and colors. An old hollow tree trunk lay in front.

“What is that?” Sean said.

“Looks like some kind of altar.”

Hal walked into the circle towards the tree trunk.

“What's it for?”

He peered down into the bowl.

“I don't know.”

A dark green, viscous fluid filled the bowl. Sean took several pictures of the whole scene.

“Cool.”

Hal didn't share Sean's enthusiasm. Something was disturbing, a burgeoning wave of uneasiness breaking over him.

“Let's get out of here.”

On the way back to the cottage, Hal scanned either side of the trail with intense vigilance.

Part IV - Something's Awake

The night before they Departed, Hal couldn't get the altar out of his mind. It had been a few days and the thought of it loitered in the recesses of his thoughts. Veronica said it could have been part of a live action roleplaying event. He didn't know what that was even after she explained; it sounded like Nerdville U.S.A. Why people would want to dress up in costumes and run around playing pretend as adults in the woods?  It sounded loony. She had insisted it took place in various forms all around the country and it was the most plausible explanation for the altar's existence. He'd heard and seen Trekkie, Star Wars, and comic book fans online dressing up for conventions. She was probably right. It just made little sense to him.

“You know, with everything that’s gone on this week, I think we forgot to enjoy the outdoors. So, I say we make an old-fashioned campfire. We get some hot dogs, marshmallows, roast them on a stick, sing campfire songs, the works.”

“I don’t know any campfire songs, daddy,” Donna said.

“Don’t worry about it pumpkin,” Hal replied, coming from behind and wrapping his arms around her. “Daddy can teach them to you.”

“Goodness,” Veronica said. “I haven’t done that in so long. I don’t even remember any songs. Last time I was at a campfire was, I want to say, I was a girl scout. Seventeen, eighteen.”

“We had a campfire last month in the Boy Scouts. Had them all the time in Cub Scouts too at Camp Mshindo,” Sean interjected. “We told stories which was fun. Some stories were lame, but some were pretty good. I liked the one about the motorcycle man with no head.”

“Dad. I don't wanna hear the story about the headless motorcycle man,” Donna said.

“That's fine sweetie. If we tell any stories, they will be nice ones.” Hal gave her a quick kiss. “So, it’s unanimous. We’ll go get the hot dogs and marshmallows, gather some firewood, and get this thing going.”

A few hours later, they had everything they needed from the store. The ladies volunteered to prepare the chairs while Hal and Sean went into the forest to gather firewood. Armed with the machete, they spotted a small tree.

“This is a good place to start,” Hal said, putting a slight bend in the tree's appendage, chopping the branches at the base so he’d have a clear cutting path.

“Step back,” he said. “Don’t want to hit you when I start swinging.”

The blade was sharp, steel severing the tree meat, wood chips littering the forest floor before cleaving through, leaving a small stump. He then worked his way to the branches of the bigger trees, cutting and breaking, the cracking of the wood echoing in the emptiness of the forest. Satisfied that he had enough for what they needed, Sean and him hauled the branches back to the turnaround in the driveway where they decided they would create the campfire.

“Dad. What is that?”

It began when he cut down the first tree but he wasn’t sure since his cutting drowned it out. But now, it was distinct. A low exhalation, like a dying man breathing through oxygen tubes connected to an amplifier. Hal turned around and scanned the forest to pinpoint where the sound was coming from. Then, as sudden as it came, it stopped.

“Hm,” he said, peering into the hanging branches and foliage of the forest. “I don’t know. But whatever it is, it’s gone now.”

“You think it's