Day 293: The Shaft

I wrote a short story a long time ago called 'The Shaft' that never got any traction no matter how much time I spent on it. I'm not sure why this one never caught anybody's eye. It's decent when I read it back. Since nobody seems to want it I'm going to post it here instead. It's a horror story, so if you're not into that kind of thing then maybe skip this one. If you do read it, any feedback would be much appreciated.

Thank you for reading,

Benjamin Hawley

The Shaft

I could see it there above me. A spherical mass of rock embedded way up high in the face of the mountain. Alluring, but practically inaccessible. That was, for any normal person. For anybody not like me. 

The arm of the valley floor where his directions had carried me was scenic like no other part of the range. Two great slabs of stone rose hundreds of feet either side to blot out the Sun’s rays, forcing me to do my preparations for the climb in shadow. Those two huge rises were like guardians protecting the valley from evil, or so they seemed to me. It was pre-dawn when I set out. The loneliest time of day when your breath rolls out like a fog and the earliest birds are the only company. I’ve always found hiking more of a chore than anything. The face of a mountain is where I’d rather be, dangling from nothing but my fingertips and the sticky soles of my shoes. Hiking is boring by comparison, mind-numbing in its simplicity, but at least it goes by quickly. Ten miles is nothing for me after I’ve lost myself in the steady beat of my own footfalls. Flanked by the stone guardians that were at once welcoming and warning. Venture too deep or too boldly into the guardians’ valley, and I knew their forgiveness for trespassing would have its limits.

The one who told me about the thing up there, looming over me, drawing my glances whenever I had a spare second, was not right in the head. All the best climbers are a little crazy. I knew he was telling me about something special, curled up around his beer in that dank little bar, croaking out his story with a voice so hoarse I could have sworn I was hearing his last words. A place like no other on Earth, he’d told me. A dangerous place. I said I was a mountaineer, a professional, and that I wouldn’t be in any danger. I also told him that my interest was in the sport of the climb and the unique formation, when asked. This was only a partial truth. 

I’d first seen it with my own eyes during the hike in. The rising Sun had peeked over the eastern guardian and shone on the face where the two slabs met and rose into a great peak. It was just as described, but so much more striking in person. A rock wall is my home, so believe me when I say this was like no rock I’ve ever seen before. It has a very distinct shape. I could tell it couldn’t be a natural formation. Like a giant had hurled a baseball at the mountain and left it half buried for millennia. A perfect sphere with a slice taken out through the middle formed a strange cave. The two hemispheres, separated by a mere sliver of open space, were poised to come crashing together at any second. It was a wonder the top half hadn’t already crushed whatever, or whoever, was unlucky enough to be caught inside. Just looking at it, the ominous formation gave me a thrill I hadn’t had in years. There was a new thing to go see and climb over, sitting just there in the distance, waiting to be found. I’d hurried ahead as soon as I spotted it, ready to be done with the hike and get to the good part.
At the base of the wall I took all the time I needed to prep my gear, but there was an excited tremor in my hand that made me want to rush. I kept looking up at the big sphere above me, checking the progress of the sun’s rays across its bulbous surface. None of the light was able to reach into the cave, and so I was glad I had brought my own.

I climbed up in the shade where the Sun had yet to reach, one handhold at a time. Three points of attachment are all you need. Two hands and a foot, or two feet and a hand, but the rope is nice to have too. That is, unless you want to die. The first pitch is the most dangerous, where the solo climber must ascend perilously before a rope can be set. This is when the three points are the most important to maintain, never only two, and certainly not just one.

The granite slab had many small cracks and crevices where a nut or a stopper could fit and anchor me to the wall, but only up high. Down below, where the climb began, was nothing but slick rock, chip holds, and smooth slopers. All alone in the wilderness, one fall could do me in. I could see each of the palm sized rocks in the dirt below that might be the one to split something open if I fell. Primordial anxiety surged as I imagined how much higher I had yet to be. Animal instinct told me that climbing gigantic rocks was stupid and reckless, as it tells every sane human being, but the thing about instincts is that you don’t have to be beholden to them. After a while of doing what you want, they get the message. I taught my instincts over the years that at the foot of a climb, the only way out is up. The more anchors I set, the safer I would be.

So I went up. The first anchor went in, and I was able to breathe a little sigh of relief. The rest of the climb would be relatively safe, though by no means an easy one. With a stiff overhang and lots of exposure I was certain to get a good workout. 

I left the first anchor behind and started my ascent, the sphere above daring me to climb quickly while my safety first mindset demanded the opposite. The ironic part of dizzying heights is that you are in no greater danger at the highest point than you are at the lowest. If you fall without a rope after the climb has truly begun, you will, in all likelihood, die. It’s only the mind that creates a sense of rising stakes. A sort of illusion our brains throw at us to keep us from getting up there in the first place. Knowing that the climb will kill you at thirty feet or three thousand feet doesn’t help to dispel the illusion, but knowing that it is nothing but a trick can make it manageable. To conquer the fear I only needed to let it pass through when it pleased, and see it over the horizon as it left again. Sometimes it came back, but only during critical moments, while clipping to a newly placed anchor, or traversing a sketchy section of wall. In those moments the ground yawned out below, the wind whistled around my ears. Just my brain reminding me that it hates me for doing this. 

The climb was strenuous, but invigorating. A light breeze and nothing but exposure behind me. Perfect. The open air drove my pulse a little bit higher, made my grip a little bit tighter, and my mind just that much sharper. Some climbers are careful to keep their gaze from wandering to prevent freezing up, but I’ve never had that problem. The drop is there whether I see it or not, and I’m always happy to take in the view that makes my heart pound. Far below, far enough that those rocks that might kill me were no longer visible, the ground faded beneath the canopy of the forest. Sunlight lit up the western guardian as the Sun peeked over the eastern ridge, opposing the shadows that lined the valley floor. At noon they would both be lit, and by sunset they would have switched roles in nature’s fantastic theater. 

I arrived at the final approach, the bulbous orb looming just above. I was almost to the top, and wouldn’t have to bear the Sun’s rays for much longer. I just had the sphere itself to navigate. Climbing the nearly ninety degree overhang at the bottom would be ridiculous no matter how good I think I am, so I angled around, aiming to end my climb at the sphere’s equator where the cave cut through. Climbing along beside the sphere, I noticed it was a lot smoother than the rest of the rock. When I placed my bare hand against the cool surface, a shiver crawled down my spine. It felt as unnatural as it looked. I climbed up as quickly as I could, anxious to see the rest.

I neared the entrance, only ten feet to go. Cool air poured from the opening, trickling down the side of the mountain. It tickled my face and braced me against the hot sun. An invitation from cave depths. Ominous feelings returned, but I had come too far to give up now. One last push, and I made it up to the lip. Gripping the edge, I propelled myself up and over, then sat with my legs dangling. 

I could see all the way across the curved opening of the cave, where light streamed in across the breadth of the sphere. None of that light made it very deep. I pulled a torch from the pack on my hip and pointed it at the wall nearest me. It receded away into the depths with a suggestive concavity. The cave was truly massive. The bulbous shape protruding from the rock was actually just a small section of the total volume. Seeing this, I hesitated to even call it a cave anymore. The walls and the lip were covered in thousands of years of wear, but were precisely cut. The space I now stood in was an even horizontal layer, and except for the growing moss and the leavings of so many birds, there was nothing to lay eyes on within. More like the floor of an abandoned building than a cave.

The old thrill of finding myself in places unknown urged me on, begging me to go deeper. I untied my rope and left it behind. Daylight faded behind me until my only light was the torch in my hand. Protected from wear by the thick plating of rock surrounding it, the walls here were even smoother than the surface I had laid a hand on before. Smooth as glass. 

“Impossible,” I said quietly. 

The cave stole my voice, echoing it back many times even though I had spoken at only a low whisper, as loud as I dared. Darkness beyond the torch’s beam encroached on my thoughts and sped my heart more than the heights ever could. 

Is this what I’m here for? I wondered. Is this what I’ve been looking for all these years? It couldn’t be as simple as that. My old friend adrenaline wasn’t the only thing drawing me to places like this. Though, there weren’t any other places like this, I reminded myself. It had to be something else. It had to be deeper within. The real reason I came. 

I stuck to the wall, naturally avoidant of a dark, wide-open space. The wide mouth of the cave had become a narrow strip of light in the distance. To see my only escape getting smaller in the distance made me feel very alone. I moved slowly, wary of any pitfalls that might take me by surprise.

I thought I had been walking along a relatively straight path through the dark, but before I knew it, I was coming around to face the strip of light in the distance once again. I had come all the way around the farthest wall, but found nothing. It really was a perfectly circular space. I almost couldn’t believe it, even standing there and experiencing it for myself. The disorienting curve of the wall had taken me in a great circle.

I knew that should have been impressive enough for me. I had never seen anything like it in all my years of exploring the great stone behemoths scattered around the planet. I’d learned to climb early, going out into the unknown to scale the rocks as naturally as a monkey is drawn to a tree. It was a rush like no other in those days. But here, in this place, I felt something was missing. That rush of discovery and of bold conquest and awe at the power of nature was not enough, even in the face of the incredible, the impossible. My boyhood could not be recreated by the simple act of finding a strange structure anymore. There must be something to make it truly special and not like all those other dead rocks I had been to the top of. If not, I had come all this way for nothing. There was only one place left to look for the answer.

I left the safety of the wall behind, and walked as straight a line as possible through the middle of the sphere. Darkness quickly overwhelmed my feeble torch. Without any support in sight to keep the roof off of my head, it felt like the world was sitting on top of me, waiting to come crashing down and crush me in an instant like an insect. I instinctively oriented myself by the light from the mouth of the cave, but it was only enough to guide me forward, not enough to see by. A small part of me worried incessantly that my torch would flicker out. The hanging threat of oblivion above pressed on my mind, squeezing me underneath the huge column of rock. It threatened to buckle at any moment, seemingly held aloft by nothing but the fickle grip of fate itself. 

The trembling beam of my torch cast a shadow on something jutting out of the ground not too far ahead. Desperate to find something, anything, so that I could leave this nightmarish place, I hurried ahead. 

Creeping dread slivered down my spine, putting the hairs of my neck on end. I thought I heard a longing gasp, though I couldn’t be sure it wasn’t my own. The top rungs of a ladder lay at my feet, one that extended down, deep into a narrow shaft cut into the rock. Each hold was just a piece of iron bent into a loop. The shaft itself served as the only enclosure. 

I got low and leaned over to have a look, but the light from my torch could not penetrate to the bottom. I clipped it to my harness and pulled out a spare nut, holding it between two fingers out over the shaft. It dropped silently into the dark, subsumed in an instant. I sat listening for the telltale metallic ‘tink’ against the bottom, counting the secondst. 

“One, two, three …”

The rocks echoed my count back, mocking. I focused on the shaft, trying to ignore the oppressive rock above, and the cold sweat on my brow.

“Four, five, six …”

I noticed rungs of the ladder, free of rust, were perfect holds.

“Seven, eight, nine …”

The shaft was narrow, narrow enough to brace against. 

“Ten, eleven, twelve …”

Even if I fell, I could probably catch myself.

“Thirteen, fourteen-” 

My voice failed me. Though I waited as long as I could bear, I never heard the nut hit bottom. 

The shaft must have the answers. I knew it must, or else they did not exist at all. With only one option set before me, I surrendered myself to the rock. The mass above pushed me down the ladder, forcing me in if only to escape the crushing weight above. The bottom had a pull to it, just as the top had its push. My instincts told me to turn away. The animal part of me, desperate to escape, raged against the course of action I knew I had to take. Over the years, I’ve trained them well. Too well. 

The shaft was the perfect climb, but the endless darkness below was worse than the exposure on any rock face. Fear coursed through my body, sending me from a tremble into spasms that threatened to knock me into freefall. To let such powerful emotion pass through and on its way is impossible when you know it will never be finished with you, so I kept climbing, rung after rung, foot after foot, hand after hand, foot-foot, hand-hand. I kept going, not because I wanted to, but because I couldn’t stop. I descended against my better nature, against my own most primal urgings. I descended until my foot didn’t touch the next rung. 

The ladder ended. The shaft did not. 

I breathed deep, shaky breaths against the fear, pushing as hard as I ever have. There must be something! I lowered myself as far as I could, until I was forced to let go of the third point of contact to reach any further, hanging only by my arms, then just one hand so I could unclip the torch to peer as deeply into the darkness as possible, letting my grip slide just a little further, just so I could see a little more, so the light could reach the bottom and shine upon what I had been searching for for so long, if only I could just, just lay eyes on it, and then-

I slipped.